#i don’t see them as siblings except when i can make a religious reference from it

[doinkmaster5000]

smasha you with a rock

quote is from This American Life: Brother’s Keeper

[cancerjupiter]

astro notes: neptune edition (pt. 1)

neptune represents issues which are frequently unconscious, so all of this may operate without your awareness. if projected, the negative aspects of neptune become more emphasised. the more you reject it in your own life, the more likely it is that you’ll meet it in exaggerated ways outside yourself.

neptune in the 1st house

tends to be the kind of person who waits and sees, but your outward behavior doesn’t begin to describe what goes on inside. you feel connected to your environment because you’re aware of subtle energies, you pick up impressions from others they’re usually unaware to be giving. you find yourself in the uncomfortable position of knowing (beyond a verbal level) what others’ unconscious motivations are, what’s hidden behind their civility. you tend to be very idealistic, preferring to live in harmony: peaceful non-demanding relationships and quiet and aesthetically pleasing surroundings. you choose to think kindly of others, whether they reciprocate or not; your sensitivity gives you a natural compassion. you can be most charming, often whimsical, sometimes romantic, and usually empathic. you seem approachable and often receptive to a degree others find startling and deeply gratifying (if not a little scary lol). you want life to be perfect for yourself and others, and your desire for a better world can be channeled into artistic creative pursuits, social work, or mere daydreaming.

you often struggle with personal identity. you may be so open to others that you pick up their moods without realising it. you tend to mimic, unconsciously, the strong characteristics of the last person you were with. don’t become an emotional sponge; define your emotional boundaries and accept it is necessary for your growth to establish a firm identity. another thing i noticed about you is that you guys don’t mind suffering; no, i’m not saying you don’t hate it (everyone does!) but you seem to accept it when you don’t have to. you put others first and feel that it’s best to sacrifice your own well-being than to be responsible for someone else’s suffering.

there’s almost always a strong awareness of and interest in spiritual energies with this placement. you may actually be psychic, whether or not you’re comfortable with the ability. you may deeply religious, although not conventionally since institutions don’t satisfy you; you feel at home with a belief system you know, from personal experience, exists. your lack of interest in the real world can lead you into seriously bad habits like drug abuse or eating disorders and due to your dislike of physical activity, this can quickly damage your (often sensitive) health. alternatively, this placement can also lead to arrogance, depending on the sun and midheaven placements/aspects.

neptune in the 2nd house

you tend to be idealistic with the use of money and personal resources, not terribly attached to them. you look at them as temporary and although sad to part with something you own, you can let it go where others simply cannot. there’s an indifferent attitude towards finances, income and etc. some of you are v generous and will give things away to people who can truly admire it, believing nothing truly belongs to anyone. this outlook satisfies you greatly, making you easygoing but also easily being taken advantage of. this sort of gives you a fairy-tale attitude towards your money - it’s either always there when needed, or simply one of the world’s idiotic, materialistic preoccupations. you may be unpractical or simply forgetful with resources; not willing to sit down and figure what’s the best buy and choosing to go with intuition. purchases usually go by what you want rather than what you can afford (my friend has no idea how much is on her bank acc and doesn’t care to figure it out. she just doesn’t care lol). you should actually read the small print in contracts and not trust just anyone with your money.

alternatively, there may be a strong tendency to overvalue material things (neptune = beliefs in the house of money and possessions), specially if there’s an earth emphasis in the chart, making you inclined to putting great care and time into upkeep. you usually want your things to look aesthetic™️. 

there’s also a strong creative tendency; it may be expressed in various forms but it will certainly be inherent. you need at least periodic access to music and inspiration, including the outdoors where you can soak up peace and serenity. since the 2nd house also relates to sensual pleasures, you probably expect these to provide a kind of ultimate ecstasy. in short, this placement forces you to face up to your tendencies to create illusions about money, possessions, sex, or creative pursuits. don’t expect more from them than they can provide.

neptune in the 3rd house

on one level, this placement can confuse and scatter the brain, giving it vagueness and disorganized thinking. sometimes, however, the mind exhibits uncanny insights into the subtleties of the environment. you sense the hidden nuances and meanings behind what’s being said. what you miss in terms of precise analytical ability, you can by being able to view the big-picture more clearly. there’s a danger to this however; your desire to view what’s beautiful and ideal around you can give a kind of selective perception in which only the good is seen and what doesn’t fit into that is ignored.

you don’t usually feel comfortable expressing yourself through normal channels of communication. what you have to say can be better demonstrated through dance, poetry, song, or picture (painted or taken). there’s often a shyness in the early school situation, which manifested in mental illness (my friend has dyslexia and this was a hard time for her) or simply confusion.

since this house also rules siblings, there may be some sacrifices to be made in relation to them; they may be a problem or have difficulties. since neptune fuses the boundary between the self and others, you may feel you’re responsible for their problems or everything which happens in the immediate environment (also ruled by the 3rd). if you don’t have siblings, you probably longed for the companionship of it, an idealized vision of what a sibling is. i also noticed this neptune placement showing exceptional ability as teachers - specially working w children who have learning difficulties. they can understand ways to communicate with and understand the child better than anyone else.

neptune in the 4th house

i have this one and it’s a loaded position: an unconscious planet in an unconscious house. to feel safe in a secure nest is fundamental, though that’s often quite unconscious. your idea of haven includes a lovely home, w lots of food and someone who will take care of your needs. there’s an assumption that the mother, early home life and emotional security all need to be perfect. that is, all needs will be met with ease, and there’s no upset or disappointment in these areas. the mom or other primary caregiver, is supposed to be there when needed, regardless of other commitments. the illusions connected to the 4th house (remember, neptune refers to illusions which must be exposed and released) are deeply intimate; and any threat to them is profoundly threatening to you.

neptune in the 4th generally has to overcome the strong need for the nurturing parent to not only be perfect but to continue being so into your adulthood. you have great difficulty separating from them; you may never fully do it. it doesn’t matter if they actually lived to your expectations, for their importance is in your head - the parent you idealized or pretended they were. sometimes, however, this desire focuses on the home rather than the parent. in this case, the childhood home was either perfect, or mysterious and elusive. you can react by trying to re-create the exact same nest.

with this placement, nurturing yourself becomes the ultimate value, a way to find supreme satisfaction. you can also make the most amazing caretakers and companions. your need to nurture others is a complicated expression of your own hunger to be taken care of; you give too much and eventually become resentful when no one appreciates your (not asked for) sacrifices. you might also project neptunian traits onto your parent; they may be v spiritual and loving, vague and confusing, or even absent, so you were left w only a fantasy of what they could - and should - have been. they might have also been a victim (similar to pisces moon) and you might’ve felt obligated to save them. 

you feel like caring involves being swallowed up completely, and it’s something you either constantly yearn or are terrified of. you also feel if your (unrealistic) emotional security needs aren’t met, you won’t survive the disappointment (you did, and you will again). neptune in the 4th can make the most patient and loving parents, w a strong sense of their emotional bonding and spiritual responsibilities. you will do more to create an ideal parent/child relationship than anyone else and constantly remind others of how important it is to strive to be the best parent one can be.

neptune in the 5th house

this combo leads to a definite charisma, an aura of charm and power and importance (timothee, angelina, mlk, drake, etc). it’s a strong indication of some kind of acting ability, though it may be used as a teacher or a salesman rather than on stage. you’re likely to work in some area where applause and respect can be immediate and experienced personally. you need this; neptune undermines the self-confidence so you depend on others’ feedback to measure your worth. this can be a deadly dependency because even the highest praise and respect can truly fulfill the yearning to be loved unconditionally, only provide a temporary high, making you forever vulnerable.

some of the illusions related to this placement include the need to have perfect relationships and children, and the perfect artistic creation. whenever one expects perfection, they’re doomed to disappoitment, although the process of disillusionment may be needed to rethink your outlook on life. you may expect your love life to provide a complete sense of fulfillment. you can make a v romantic partner, the type to love cheesy romantic things and music, who can surround your lover with utmost affection. however, you might also expect them to sense your wishes and always meet them; or expect yourself to always be sensitive and caring at al times, regadless of your moods and/or needs.

you need to re-evaluate your tendency to romanticize lovers instead of seeing them for who they are. you may also harbor illusions towards children, your own or all, which hamper your ability to deal w them realistically and effectively. there’s a difficulty in developing a strong sense of self-worth, or maybe fancying yourself to be far more important than you really are. this placement is associated w a great deal of inspired creativity, however, and if other chart factors support it, it indicates exceptional artistic talent. with humility and self-awareness, you can use your magnetism to uplift those who have lost all confidence.

neptune in the 6th house

w this placement, neptune is in its polar opposite, since 6th house relates to virgo and neptune relates to pisces. this house is about the world as it is and how to manage it in a day-to-day basis. neptunian energy is the opposite: it yearns for and seeks to unite w the cosmos, which transcends this world. how can these two work this out?

when they’re well integrated in the chart, you can dream of neptune while using the practical 6th house skills to plan and organise the dream you wish to make true some day. it can direct the neptunian energy to envision something better, prettier, more creative and inspiring. without this, the 6th house is merely a housekeeping unit - a drive to organise and plan, but for what purpose? neptune supplies it with purpose and the house repays it with practical skills, usually related to some artistic work.

however, if the energies are at odds, there is the need to dream vs. the need to be practical and realistic. you feel a strong need to busy yourself w details and make everything as efficient as possible, tidying up and even criticising others (negative virgo energy). you may expect far too much from others and yourself, never able to say “no” when more work is piled on you. another expression is not being able to keep your shit together; you forget, are disorganized, feel tired and drained of energy, get sick often, or feel generally unfulfilled. my friend, for example, often seeks jobs for its glamorous aspects, only to get swamped by details and routine. 

[atlantis-scribe]

Mcshep as Destiel

first thing's first: this ask is evil. cursed. this is the kind of text that even Dr. Daniel Jackson, successor of the great Evelyn 'I-don't-believe-in-cursed-texts' Carnahan-O'Connell, who canonically possesses 0.1% self-preservation instincts, will not touch with a ten-foot pole.

no fandom archivist / enthusiast worth their salt would want to wake up in the morning & immediately sustain massive psychic damage upon seeing a notification like this:

understood? cool.

now that we have those disclaimers out of the way, dear anon, we can play ball.

let me preface my actual response by saying that my experience with Supernatural & Tumblr’s Golden Ship has been unorthodox, at best.

when spn first came out, I was a child, but a child with an indulgent father who cultivated my love for cinema & urban fantasy. we got into Supernatural wayy before Castiel was a thing. we watched it diligently as soon as the newest episode became available in my country. my dad would quiz me on the case’s salient points, and we’d talk about the monster-of-the-week & how it compares to the creatures in our own folklore. Supernatural was, to some extent, educational. heh. (yes, i was very much a minor. yes, my parents were pretty lax on the exposure to blood & gore. I grew up fine, all things considered.)

we stopped our religious following of the show around the time the Leviathan storyline was unfolding. my father & I loved Bobby, and we were also starting to notice a lack of focus in terms of plot & direction. the rest of my exposure then to SPN was courtesy of Tumblr, which I managed to compartmentalize thanks to my other hyperfixations with high fantasy & sci-fi shows.

BASICALLY, what I’m saying is that I know Supernatural like a kid knows their local urban legends. and that, plus my current hyperfixation on All Things Stargate, has been a cause of many a crossover & fusion ideas.

but there’s a reason I’ve been dragging my feet when it comes to actually making content for these plotbunnies (and why I have yet to include spn for my McShep AU series). it’s because the whole thing is bound to be chaotic.

(by the way, dearest anon, what the actual heck made you send me this cursed ask? exactly which blog posts made you go, “ah. this Kit person loves Stargate & McShep, and would absolutely know something about Heller stuff.” WHERE did i go so wrong??)

ACTUAL RESPONSE:

it’s sooo easy to have Rodney as Castiel + Sheppard as Dean. (bitchy, sanctimonious fandom favorite? self-loathing, repressed, & too-pretty-for-his-own-good green-eyed action hero? practically cardboard cut-outs)

but here’s the thing, my lovelies: Kit thinks otherwise (and yes, I just referred to myself in third person. “mentally unstable as a fox“ and all that jazz)

1. Rodney is Dean because while Sheppard’s Daddy Issues are more overt & present in-text, Rodney’s are closer to the Winchester Kind of Daddy Issues (in that there’s pressure-from-beyond-the-grave to carry on with the ‘family business’. in this hypothetical AU, it could be hunting, it could be science, take your pick, but Rodney-as-Dean has taken it upon himself to be the Good Son, and it’s 99.9% because of Dad McKay.)

“This is not what dad would've wanted.”

"Shared credit, huh? We'll do this together? Dad'll be so proud."

- 3x08, McKay & Mrs Miller

2. Rodney & Dean both have a kid sibling who wants out (who wants a normal life outside the family business, dammit.) really no need to elaborate on that. Jeannie is Sammy. I dont make the rules.

3. Rodney & Dean both have that one-track-mind drive to do what they think they do best, their only purpose for existence, to the point that they cannot see anything beyond that One Thing (science, hunting/protecting their younger sibling) because that’s how they were raised. their perceived Only Talent becomes their whole identity, and when that is taken away from them, there’s (at least according to them) virtually nothing left.

4. Sheppard is Castiel because of the gay coding. c’mon.

5. Sheppard is Castiel because grace & ATA gene can be metaphors for each other, and I think that’s pretty cool.

6. Sheppard is Castiel because they’re both Soldiers who rebelled & disobeyed shitty orders because it went against everything they are & have ever believed in. there was a fundamental disconnect between what they’d been asked to do & what makes them them, so they went up against The Man, and said, No.

7. Rodney is Dean because they refuse to believe in a higher power that governs everything they do. they tell the universe what’s what, not the other way around.

8. Rodney is also Dean because the only exception to this is Sheppard & Castiel. if the higher power (God / Ancients) had a hand in the creation of this Being, then maybe it’s good for something, after all.

9. Sheppard is Castiel because they share an inability to say no to this one person they keep having to save over and over again, even when said person’s ideas are shitty and risks everyone & everything in this plane of existence.

10. McShep as Destiel will have Rodney McKay as a stubborn & competent man who embodies everything good and bad about humanity, and whose misguided views on family & masculinity are forever changed when someone who is Definitely A Little More than Human chooses him as their favorite person ever; it’ll have John Sheppard as the Prodigal Son Extraordinaire, who damns himself & all that is holy because he just wants to save his best friend, this flawed human he’s come to treasure beyond reason, from himself.

[piratewithvigor]

My first thought in regard to every band that gets played on my radio station

ACDC: Every dad’s favourite band

Adams, Bryan: Every mom’s favourite singer until Michael Buble came along

Aerosmith: haha they thought Vince Neil was a lady

Alice Cooper: he’s a Game Of Thrones fanboy and I have proof

Alice In Chains: my sister doesn’t like them because she decided AC were Alice Cooper’s initials ONLY

Allman Brothers Band: good music for dropping acid to

Allman, Gregg: That’s too many Gs for one name

Animals: House Of The Rising Sun, or who even cares

Argent: Sometimes Hold Your Head Up is really catchy

Asia: Tuesdays

Autograph: one of the members went on to be a pharmacist

Bachman-Turner Overdrive: There are just so many pop culture jokes about Taking Care Of Business that whatever I say won’t be as funny

Bad Company: with their song; Bad Company, off their album; Bad Company

Benatar, Pat: Always getting her confused with Patti Smith

Black Crowes: I like them for Lickin, but it doesn’t seem to exist outside of one shoddy video on youtube and my old CD

Blackfoot: this band name feels kind of racy

Black Sabbath: Dio was not better or worse than Ozzy; just different

Blondie: I like Call Me, but Blondie confuses me stylistically

Blue Oyster Cult: MORE COWBELL

Bon Jovi: Hello, childhood trauma, I missed you

Boston: ONE GUY. ONE GUY DID IT ALL AND NO ONE KNOWS

Bowie, David: Don’t let your children watch The Man Who Fell To Earth, or David Bowie’s will end up being the third penis they see in life

Browne, Jackson: Another musician ruined by Supernatural

Buffalo Springfield: Jack Nicholson was at the riot they sing about

Burdon, Eric: no ideas, brain empty

Bush: ditto

Candlebox: ditto once more. Who are these people?

Cars: This band feels so gay and so straight at the same time, I can only assume they’re the poster children of bisexual panic

Cheap Trick: I played Dream Police on Guitar Hero so fucking much because it was the only song anyone who played with me could keep up with

Chicago: Chicago 30 exists, but they do not have 30 albums. Fucking riddle me that

Clapton, Eric: 6 discs in one Greatest Hits is too many. That’s called “re releasing your discography”

Cochrane, Tom: For some reason, everyone thinks Rascal Flats did it better

Cocker, Joe: Belushi did it right

Collective Soul: who?

Collins, Phil: If his biggest hits were done by MCR, they would be emo anthems, but because he’s 5′6″ and from the 80s, they’re not

Cream: *Vietnam flashbacks on the hippie side*

CCR: *Vietnam flashbacks on the war side*

CSNY: David Crosby; meh

Deep Purple: THEY’RE SO MUCH MORE THAN SMOKE ON THE WATER

Def Leppard: the only music for when you’re a heartbroken bitch but also a sexy one

Derek And The Dominos: Clapton and ‘Layla’ broke up

Derringer, Rick: Tom Petty if he was from the midwest

Dio: You thought it was an anime reference, but it was me, Dio

Dire Straits: You can tell how bigoted a radio station is based on how much of Money For Nothing they censor

Doobie Brothers: I have yet to smoke weed, but I listen to the Doobies, and I think that’s pretty close

Dylan, Bob: I take back everything I said about him in my youth

Eagles: Hotel California isn’t their best song, but the memes that come from it are second to none

Edgar Winter Group: @the--blackdahlia

Electric Light Orchestra: Actually an orchestra and sound a fuckton like George Harrison

ELO: I really hesitate to ask what happens with the 7 virgins and a mule

Essex, David: no prominent memories of him

Fabulous Thunderbirds: cannot spell

Faces: Who on earth thought that was a good album name?

Faith No More: I got nothing

Fixx: One Thing Leads To Another is a damn bop

Fleetwood Mac: I ain’t straight, but I’m simply not enough of a witch to enjoy them to full potential

Fogerty, John: He got sued cause he sounded like himself

Foghat: Slow Ride slowly becoming less coherent feels like a drug trip

Foo Fighters: He was just excited to buy a grill

Ford, Lita: deserved better

Foreigner: dramatically overplayed

Frampton, Peter: a masterful user of the talk box

Free: dramatically underplayed

Gabriel, Peter: leaving Genesis changed him a lot

Genesis: if someone likes Genesis, clarify the era, because yes, it does matter

Georgia Satellites: sing like you have a cactus in your ass

Golden Earring: Twilight Zone slaps, but it doesn’t slap as hard as this station thinks it does

Grand Funk Railroad: Funk

Grateful Dead: I like their aesthetic more than their music

Great White: there are so many fucking shark jokes

Greenbaum, Norman: makes me think of Subway for some reason

Green Day: the first of the emo revolution

Greg Kihn Band: RocKihnRoll is literally the most clever album name I’ve ever seen

Guns N Roses: They have more than three good songs, but radio stations never recognize that

Hagar, Sammy: I’m still trying to figure out where he lived to take 16 hours to get to LA driving 55 and how fucking fast was he driving beforehand?

Harrison, George: He went from religious to rock, and if he had continued rocking, he would have gotten too cool 

Head East: I respect people who use breakfast foods as album names

Heart: Magic Man and Barracuda are played at least once every goddamn day. They’re not even the best songs!

Hendrix, Jimi: I have both a cousin and a sibling named after Hendrix references

Henley, Don: Dirty Laundry gives me too much inspiration

Hollies: Somehow sound like they’re both from the 60s and the 80s at the same time

Idol, Billy: he’s doing well for himself

INXS: Terminator vibes

Iris, Donnie: knockoff Roy Orbison

James Gang: too many funks

Jane’s Addiction: if TMNT had a grunge band representative

Jefferson Airplane: *assorted cheers*

Jefferson Starship: *assorted boos*

Jethro Tull: The only band to make you feel not cool enough to play the flute

Jett, Joan: icon

J. Geils Band: I requested them on the radio once and it got played

Joel, Billy: he really did just air everybody’s business like that

John Cafferty And The Beaver Brown Band: literally wtf is that name

John, Elton: yarn Elton sits in my basement, unstaring. Please someone take him from me

Joplin, Janis: Queen

Journey: Stop overplaying Don’t Stop Believing. It takes away from the rest of the repetoire

Judas Priest: literally started the gay leather aesthetic

Kansas: another fucking band Supernatural stole

Kenny Wayne Shepherd: the man confuses me to the point where he isn’t in the right place alphabetically

Kiss: Mick Mars and I will simply have to disagree on the subject

Kravitz, Lenny: runaway vibes

Led Zeppelin: Fucking fight me if you don’t think they’re the most talented band (maybe not the most talented individually, but collectively, no one comes close)

Lennon, John: My least favourite Beatle for reasons

Live: I got nothin

Living Colour: slap a decent amount

Loverboy: do you not get TURNT the fuck up to the big Loverboy hits? Who hurt you??

Lynyrd Skynyrd: Sweet Home Alabama is a Neil Young diss track

Marshall Tucker Band: no opinion

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band: VERY STRONG OPINIONS THAT THEY AREN’T GOOD

McCartney, Paul/Wings: Power couple

Meatloaf: I have nothing but respect for a man who willingly named himself Meatloaf

Mellencamp, John: voted cutest lesbian of 1987

Metallica: I liked their appearance on Jimmy Fallon

Midnight Oil: I get them confused for Talking Heads a lot

Modern English: who?

Molly Hatchet: Hollies vibes, but also Georgia Satellites vibes

Money, Eddie: DAN AVIDAN, IF YOU SEE THIS, COVER TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT

Motley Crue: Stan Mick Mars and John Corabi. They’re the only ones who deserve it

Mott The Hoople: no one loves them except for David Bowie

Mountain: props for naming an album ‘Climbing’

Nazareth: I want to make a John Mulaney joke here, but I can never come up with one

Nicks, Stevie: witch queen

Night Ranger: I get them confused with Urge Overkill

Nirvana: Kurt Cobain was the ally grunge needed

Nova, Aldo: he’s Canadian, at least

Nugent, Ted: *serves a ghost as jerky*

Offspring: nothing here

Osbourne, Ozzy: this bitch crazy

Outfield: Your Love is kind of a sketchy song, but it slaps hard

Palmer, Robert: low quality Eddie Money

Pearl Jam: *grunts in Eddie Vedder*

Petty, Tom: I have so many feelings about Tom Petty and they are all good

Pink Floyd: which one is Pink?

Plant, Robert: solo career is a crapshoot, but his voice is unparalleled

Poison: I want them to write a song called ‘Alice Cooper’

Pretenders: I want to say good things, but I have nothing to say

Queen: A doctor of astrophysics, a screaming girl, a disco queen and a diva walk into a bar. It’s Queen; they’re there to play a gig

Queensryche: neutral opinion

Quiet Riot: they got big because of a song they hated. I love that

Rafferty, Gerry: the second-sexiest sax opening in all of music

Rainbow: Ritchie Blackmore created something very magnificent

Ram Jam: one good song and they didn’t even write it

Ratt: I’m sure they have more than Round And Round, but I don’t know it

RHCP: funky, but if you have paid money to hear them, you’re going to The Bad Place (I don’t make the rules)

Red Rider: basically Golden Earring

Reed, Lou: Walk On The Wild Side would be such a cool song if it wasn’t so dull

REM: American Tragically Hip

REO Speedwagon: Props for having a dad joke as an album title

Rolling Stones: Never in my life could I imagine the drummer being named anything but Charlie

Rush: How to make being uncool the coolest fucking shit

Santana: The world needs more Santana

Scandal: There’s something really funny about The Warrior being my brother’s “song” with his girlfriend

Scorpions: Was Wind Of Change written by the CIA? Only the spotify podcast I got an ad for once could say

Seger, Bob: A different variety of Eric Clapton (frankly a better variety, but that’s just me)

Simple Minds: we ALL forgot about you

Skid Row: Sebastian Bach is prettier than all of us

Soundgarden: music that makes you feel like you dunked your head underwater

Springsteen, Bruce: my arch-nemesis. Maybe someday, he’ll find out about it

Squeeze: according to my friends, the stupidest band name ever, but they’re theatre kids, so you know

Squier, Billy: If he can make it through 1984 alive, you can make it through whatever bad day you’re having

Stealers Wheel: Yet another band who I always mistake for George Harrison

Steely Dan: my house’s nickname for the Robber in Settlers Of Catan

Steppenwolf: Either makes me think of Jay & Silent Bob, Jack Nicholson, or that time I had to cut 6lbs of onions

Steve Miller Band: when you’re in the right mood, they slap hard

Stewart, Rod: my soundtrack to summer 2015

Stills, Stephen: Love The One You’re With Is Catchy, but the lyrics are questionable

Stone Temple Pilots: the only band to write a song about goo you smear on yourself

Stray Cats: an obscene amount of merch is available for them

Styx: Supernatural would have ruined them for me too if I hadn’t been into them previously. 

Supertramp: I hunted for Breakfast In America for two years and it was worth every hunt

Sweet: I will never understand my two-month obsession with Ballroom Blitz when I was 15, but it was legit all I listened to

Talking Heads: you may find yourself in a pizza hut. And you may find yourself in a taco bell. And you may find yourself at the combination pizza hut and taco bell. And you may ask yourself; ‘how did I get here?’

Temple Of The Dog: I keep confusing them for Nazareth

Ten Years After: somehow still relevant

Tesla: not the car or the dude

The Beatles: Evokes a lot of opinions from people. Mine is that I love them

The Clash: I showed my sister the ‘Lock The Taskbar’ vine ONCE and it still kills her

The Doors: evokes teenage terror from deep within my soul

The Guess Who: Canada’s answer to confusing question-themed band names

The Kinks: kinky

The Police: wrote the theme of 2020 and everyone somehow forgot it was about a teacher resisting becoming a pedophile

The Ramones: playing all of their songs in a row wouldn’t take more than 2 hours

The Romantics: you don’t think you know them, but if you’ve seen Shrek 2, you have

The Who: If someone can explain Tommy to me, I’d be glad to hear it

The Zombies: I think they happened because of the 60s

Thin Lizzy: Could the boys maybe leave town?

Thorogood, George: blues, but make it modern

Toto: the most memed song behind All Star

Townshend, Pete: just makes me think of the end of Mr. Deeds

T-Rex: Mark Bolan is an icon

Triumph: The no-name brand of Rush

Tubes: like the yogurt

Twisted Sister: they did a christmas album and my mom does NOT hate it

U2: U2 Movers; we move in mysterious ways

Van Halen: RIP Eddie

Van Morrison: honestly, who’s named Van?

Vaughn, Stevie Ray: Steamy Ray Vaughn

Walsh, Joe: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get

War: Foghat, but even groovier

Whitesnake: the most successful band to be named after a penis

Wright, Gary: the 90s thanks him for writing the song every movie used for the “guy sees cute girl and it’s love at first sight” scene

Yes: To Be Continued

Young, Neil: The best part of CSNY

Zevon, Warren: the album cover of Excitable Boy makes me deeply uncomfortable for reasons I don’t understand

ZZ Top: has been the same three guys since 1969. Lineup unchanged. 

3 Doors Down: They feel a little modern to be on a classic rock station, but whatever

38 Special: Why 38?

[seasonsofeverlark]

Menorah Lights, Blessing of Life

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: I would LOVE to see some Everlark Hanukkah fluff there’s way to little out there right now. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T - for non-explicit: adult situations, childbirth description, and breastfeeding. 

Canon typical violence. Vague reference to a war zone/conflict. 

This work contains religious and cultural imagery and traditions. There’s also some use of the Yiddish language, as well as some Hebrew. There will be a glossary and more in-depth commentary at the end of the fic, when this piece gets cross posted to AO3 in a few days. Peeta makes a quick reference to 1 Samuel 1:27 towards the end part of the fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for this prompt. I have to be honest, and disclose I’ve never witnessed a Hanukkah celebration personally, and most of the events depicted in this story concerning the festival is a product of hours of research. I apologize for any inaccuracies or if I’ve inadvertently misrepresented any cultural or religious aspect of the holiday.

Extensive thanks to @rosefyrefyre​, who was kind enough to beta read, spell check my Hebrew, direct me to some great sites to aid my research, and serve as the best resource for Judaism accuracy I could’ve asked for! Rose, I always learn something from my interactions with you. I’m grateful for your willingness to share your knowledge. 

***Hannah: Hebrew origin. Means: ‘grace’/��favor’; attributed meaning: ‘He (God) has favoured me with a child’.***

Happy Hanukkah to those celebrating the holiday! 

————-

The house is reverently quiet, despite being crammed to the gills with all our family and friends.

  Peeta checks his watch nervously for the fifth time in ten minutes. He’s so rigid, I know his leg will bother him so much tonight, he’ll take hours to fall asleep. 

  I smile at him, making a mental note to warm some lavender infused oils to massage the stump of his leg. It’s the least I can do for my husband. 

  Peeta lost his lower leg protecting me from shrapnel during an attack while deployed to the Middle East some 16 years ago. I was rendered deaf in my left ear on the same attack…we are a perfect match, my husband and I; he has to wear a prosthetic leg to get around, I have to wear a hearing aid, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the burn marks and other scars we sustained in the service. 

  “I think we should…” he says quietly, motioning to the small table we placed by the window earlier. 

  I turn to my cousin, Johanna, and nod. 

  Jo winks at Peeta and shuts the lights off, while I pull back the curtains from the windows and tie them up, revealing a waning sunset over the rooftops of our neighborhood. 

  Peeta stands a pace behind me, transfixed by the slim line of flaming orange in the horizon being swallowed by deep purples and indigos of the falling night. It’s Peeta’s favorite color. 

  “Almost time, Katniss!” he whispers, giddy, placing a match box on the table at the foot of the menorah. 

  There’s a soft buzz behind us, which means everybody  is shuffling closer to the window. Outside, the world is busy with cars driving by, splashing the dirty slosh of melted snow accumulated on the ground from days ago; a dog barks somewhere in the distance, and a couple of people hustle home; but the thing that really catches my eyes, is that in a few houses down the street, candlelights start to flicker to life on windows and front porches, announcing the start of Hanukkah. 

  “Should—should we do it?” Peeta asks leaning closer to the window pane, clearly seeing the other houses already lighting their candles. 

  “There’s still a sliver of sun. They just can’t see it because they’re facing our way, against it.” I mutter back. 

  This is Peeta’s first Hanukkah as a host, so he’s a little eager. In fact, my beautiful husband was beside himself when everything fell into place for us to host tonight’s celebration. If he could’ve gotten his way, we’d have everyone over to light the menorah the whole eight days of the festival. But, we are expecting the arrival of our very own little miracle any day now, so hosting the first day was a very generous compromise with our family. 

  The thought warms me inside, and I caress my protruding stomach absentmindedly, staring at the darkening sky. 

  The sun finally sinks. “Now!” I grin at my other half. 

  Peeta grins back, handing me the candles. Two of them, to be precise; long and blue. If my Tatte —my father— were here, he would’ve insisted we used olive oil and wicks instead, but it’s only Peeta’s first Hanukkah leading, and he’s so nervous about the whole thing already…candles are perfectly acceptable. 

  First, I place the shamash— “Shamash means helper candle, Katniss,” Tatte would explain— in the middle peg of our menorah, so it sits higher than the rest. Then, I place the one other candle in the rightmost holder, to signify today is the first night of the Festival of Lights. 

  Peeta passes me the matches, and I light the shamash. I smile at him, encouragingly, and mouth the words: “Your turn,” 

  He takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers at his sides, and then starts reciting the first blessing: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Asher kid-shanu bi-mitzvo-tav vi-tzee-vanu, Li-had-leek ner shel Chanukah.” 

  His Hebrew isn’t perfect, but he recites the whole prayer exactly as we practiced. 

  My mother, who’s standing with Peeta’s family, translates quietly, to not disrupt too much, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.”

  Peeta waits a moment, and then recites the second prayer: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Shi-asa nee-seem la-avo-teinu, Ba-ya-meem ha-haim baz-man ha-zeh.” 

  Again, my mother translates, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

  Peeta’s blue eyes shine joyfully in the dim of night. 

  “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Sheh-he-che-yanu vi-kee-yimanu vi-hee-gee-yanu laz-man ha-zeh.” 

  He finishes the third blessing, which we only say on the first night, with utmost reverence, and holds my gaze for only a second. 

  My mother translates this prayer as well, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She explains this one we only say once, during the first day, but the first two, we recite every night. 

  I take the shamash from its holder and tip the flame into the wick of today’s candle, so it starts the mitzvah of the night. After the light has been kindled, we —the ones in attendance who speak Hebrew— sing Ha-nerot Halalu together. 

  When we finish, my sister, Primrose, starts singing Maoz Tzur, and Peeta turns puppy-dog eyes on me, because he loves my singing.

  I chuckle ruefully before opening my mouth and letting the lyrics spill like second nature. The rest of the attendees join in singing, and suddenly everyone is participating in some way. When the song ends, another one starts, and the atmosphere grows animated and joyful the longer it goes. As it should! 

  Peeta’s brothers came with their families, so he goes to them to chat. My mother has been sitting with them, explaining the proceedings, since it’s the first time they’ve joined us for Hanukkah. 

  The candlelight flickers from the menorah, the only light in the room, just as we finish another song, and then Uncle Haymitch staggers into the middle of the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. The children peer up with interest, because most of them have known Haymitch long enough to guess what’s to come.

  Haymitch moves his arms just a fraction, and all the kids slip out of their seats like an exhale, and then, the paunchy, ol’ grump is throwing small, shiny, gold disks up towards the ceiling, crowing: “Gelt! Gelt! Gelt for everyone!” 

  “I think he believes he’s some kinda middle-aged, Jewish Oprah!” Blight, Johanna’s husband, cackles somewhere behind me, as the children descend like locusts on the chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil scattered all over the room. 

  Peeta encourages his younger nephews to get in on the fun. 

  Between all three of our siblings, Peeta and I have seven nephews— two of them are teenagers— and one niece. 

  The adults shake their heads and smile from the sidelines, watching the children in merriment.

  When all the gelt has been collected from the floor, Peeta asks the children if they would rather: eat, play dreidel, or hear a story. Since the oldest child in attendance is 8½, the kids settle on a story pretty quick. 

  I sink into the cushions of our plushest chair to watch my husband corral the little ones onto the rug for their story; one of my hands rests lazily on my heavily pregnant belly, while I hold a half eaten sugar cookie in the other one.

  “So…who can tell me what we’re celebrating for the next eight days?” Peeta starts.

  There’s a soft chorus of kiddy voices calling “Hanukkah!”

  “That is right!” Peeta agrees, his eyes are wide, excited, merry, “and Hanukkah is a very important party, because it reminds us of the Miracle of Lights and the victory of the Sons of Israel over the mean ol’ gentiles—“

  “Mamme says gentiles aren’t ‘all’ bad!” cries out Bekka, Johanna and Blight’s little girl, who looks like a carbon copy of her mother, except with long, wavy hair. 

  “Um…you’re right, I should’ve said ‘Greek invaders’ instead of gentiles…my bad—”

  “Uncle Peeta…” one of our nephews— on Peeta’s side— blinks owlishly at him, “What’s a gentile?” 

  “Non-Jewish people,” says Asher, one of Prim’s twins. 

  “Oh…like Muggles are non-magic folk?” asks another of the Mellark boys. 

  “I guess so,” answers the other twin, Aspen.

  “I don’t think we are Jewish,” comments one of Peeta’s nephews, turning inquisitive blue eyes to my husband and then to his own parents, “Are we?”

  “No, buddy, you aren’t a Jew—“

  “Uncle Haymitch says gentiles are helpless,” interrupts Aspen, shaking his head sadly, “He says the goyish thing gentiles do is putting mayo in their pastrami sammiches! So, if neither of you don’t put mayo in your pastrami, then you’re alright. You’re mishpachah, Bran!”

  “Um…what does that mean?” asks Bran.

  “We’re your mishpachah, right, Mamme?” inquires Asher.

  “It means ‘family’,” explains Prim, making the Mellark boys look relieved, and even proud. 

  “Are you a gentile too, Uncle Peeta?” asks Asher, “Uncle Haymitch says you used to be his favorite Shabbos Goy of all times before you married Auntie Katniss.”

  I almost choke on my cookie. 

  Peeta wheezes out a tiny chuckle, but is interrupted by my enraged sister.

  “Boys!” Prim rushes from her chair, her daughter half asleep in her lap; she dumps the toddler into her husband’s arms to stand in front of the twins with her hands on her hips. “That is not nice! What have I said about repeating all the mishegas Uncle Haymitch says?”

  “Not to…” the twins mumble contritely. 

  “Oy! I’m sitting right here, Sunshine!” Haymitch calls out. “Plus, kinder wisdom,” he pronounces it the Yiddish way, like the start of kindergarten, “it’s still wisdom!” 

  The twins are 7, but they can be a menace and clever to boot.

  Haymitch continues, “Everybody knows the Boy used to be pretty helpful back in the day. I was almost sad when Sweetheart finally snatched him up, despite it being the smartest thing she’s ever done,”

  “Haymitch…” I ground a low warning. 

  It’s a well known fact I kept digging my heels in against Peeta’s subtle advances for years, despite having feelings for him myself; I’m grateful my beautiful husband persevered though, because looking at him now, I can confidently say that our marriage, our family, would’ve happened anyway, despite my deep seated fears, the physical and mental toll being in a war zone took on us both, and all the heartbreak in between… 

  Unlike my mother, Peeta did not convert to Judaism in order to marry me. He did that on his own, way before I agreed to make our odd relationship official. I tried to persuade him from converting though— he does love Christmas and bacon— but again, he was committed to our faith with an iron will only the grave can quell. 

  “Eh!” Haymitch waves me off, “Nobody can win with you girls. Not even kvelling about one of your husbands!” 

  I sink deeper into my chair, sufficiently mollified. The old man can gush all about Peeta all he wants, as long as he doesn’t comment on me.

  But Haymitch has a big mouth; he used to give me a hard time for my apparent ‘prickly personality’, often telling me I was so surly, I was practically gornisht helfn—beyond help—and once, he even said, I was as charming as a slug. I retorted he was probably looking at a mirror, and that was the end of that.

  When Peeta started hinting at wanting more out of the casual arrangement we’ve had since the Army, and to my chagrin, two more suitors sprung out of nowhere, Haymitch had the gall to tell me that before Peeta, I was as romantic as dirt. Peeta gave him an earful for that one, though. It was glorious seeing Haymitch properly chastised by his favorite Shabbos Goy.

  I giggle at the memory. 

  I finally relented a couple of years ago, letting my fears go. Haymitch was the first to congratulate me when I announced I was dating Peeta, like a normal couple. My uncle fixed me with a stare that said he expected me to really try, because this boy was a true catch, or as he called him then, “a mensch if he ever saw one.” 

  I happen to agree. 

  I sigh, massaging my ribs where the baby is digging its tuchis in. 

  Haymitch gets away with a great deal of things on the simple account that he was the only person who actually accepted, and welcomed our mother into our family, when she married our father. Everyone else called her an opinionated shiksa behind my parents’ backs, probably thanks to my Bubbe…dear old Grandma really disliked the idea of my father marrying a gentile girl, despite being clear as day how much they loved each other. 

  My sister glares at Haymitch too, then turns to her sons, “It’s the first day of Chanukah, nu?” The boys nod in affirmative, “Then be good, so Uncle Peeta can finish the story—“

  “But, Mamme…we know the story!” 

  Prim gives them The Look and shuts them up right away. “Bannock, Graham, and Bran don’t know the story. They’re our guests, and we are called to be hospitable to everyone, right?” 

  I stare at Prim with mild amusement. She’s such a MOM! 

  “Yes, Mamme.” 

  I wonder if I’ll be able to master ‘the stare’ as well as my baby sister has? 

  Prim told me once, that everything she knows about mothering, she learned from the years in which I took care of her, after our father died, and our mother fell into a debilitating depression that almost killed us all from starvation and hebetude. 

  I have mixed feelings about that assessment, first, because: At first I was just trying to keep our situation hidden from others, so I made sure Prim and I were clean and presentable for school, that all homework was made on time, that we studied our Torah lessons, and that we attended Hebrew school without missing a class. I made sure Prim ate at least once a day, even if that meant I went without.

  There were things I couldn’t provide for my sister, simply because I didn’t know how, and when the pantry was empty, I started secretly raiding the trash containers behind the stores in our neighborhood.

  I was 11 then. 

  That’s when the first and only interaction with Peeta— or as I knew him then: the baker’s son— occurred before the Army. 

  Peeta had been watching me steadily lose weight and figured something wasn’t right. Then he saw how I dove out of his folks’ bakery’s garbage container and emerged empty handed, because trash had already been collected. 

  Instead of sneering, bullying me or calling the police, Peeta gave me two, fresh loaves of bread— the chiefest of foods in our culture— and thanks to his generosity, I figured out how to keep Prim, mother and myself fed when money was tight, hunting squirrels and little birds, long enough for my mother to find the strength to get the help she needed to get better.

  Secondly, in my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate our mother’s position. She had a really hard time with life in general. Her family turned their back on her when she converted to Judaism, yet people in our community mistrusted her because of my grandma’s own prejudice, the fact that my mother was a nurse and every now and then her hospital wouldn’t (or couldn’t) honor her religious freedom to observe the Shabbat didn’t help her case. People started trusting her after they saw her care for the sick in the community, often paying from her own pocket for their treatments. 

  Peeta never struggled fitting in with my family. Then again, he’s so sweet and friendly with anyone, always so happy and ready to lend a hand…why everyone in our community loves him, and welcomed him with open arms as one of us. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture my loving, sweet husband as a seasoned Army veteran, who’s seen his share of destruction and death…then again, maybe it is because he’s seen humanity at its worst that he makes the extra effort to stay a pacifist and he chooses to show The Lord’s love unto others. 

  “Sorry, Peeta, please continue with the story. You’re doing a lovely job!” says my sister.

  I chance a glance at my husband, and see the mirth in his bright, blue eyes. 

  “Thank you Prim,” he says, turning back to the boys, with wonder in his voice. “But, I was thinking, and this might be the best idea I ever had! What if we let the boys tell the story of Hanukkah tonight, since it’s true, they know it better than I do? They are incredibly smart young men!” 

  “Avadeh!” exclaims Haymitch from his spot. 

  The twins wiggle with excitement, and both of them turn eager, hazel eyes to their mother, seeking approval.

  Prim takes a deep breath and nods. 

  Both boys turn their bronze haired heads back to Peeta, enthusiastically. 

  “Alright, go on then, tells us what happened!” Peeta encourages. 

  Asher starts, “The brave heroes, called the Maccabees, kicked out the Greek gentiles that wanted to make the people of Israel pray to their gentile gods! Then the priests came to ‘re-medicate’ the Holy Temple—“

  “Rededicate!” Thom, Prim’s husband, corrects from the back of the room, but the boys are on a roll now.

  “‘Redadecate’ the Holy Temple, by lighting the menorah. So, they looked all over the place, but found only one jar of ‘puridified’ oil—“

  “Purified!” 

  “Yes, what Tatte said! They only found enough of the good oil, to light the menorah for one day!”

  Asher pauses for effect, while all the adults react to the suspense accordingly, gasping and murmuring. 

  Aspen continues the narration after a second. 

  “At first, the priests thought: oh no! We don’t want to light the menorah for only one day, it needs to burn all the time to clean all the filth the Greeks left behind, so we can praise Adonai again!”

  Hushed voices comment their approval. 

  The other twin picks up the story. “But they decided, that even one day, was better than none at all, so they used that little bit of oil, and fired up the lamp, and the lights burned for eight times straight!”

  “Eight days…” corrects Thom.

  “Eight days straight!”

  “It was a miracle!”

  Everyone claps, excitedly. 

  “The priests had time to…” Asher cranes his neck, seeking his father in the crowded living room, and then smiles, enunciating his word with precision, “‘purify’ more olive oil, to add to the menorah from then on!”

  “That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah every year! To remember how our people defended their freedom,”

  “And won back the Holy Temple,”

  “And The Lord accepted their effort with a miracle of lights!” 

  The whole room erupts in cheers and song. Everybody hugs each other in celebration. 

  After a moment, our auntie Effie calls out, “Oh what wonderful storytelling, Tattelles!” She rushes over to the twins and smacks loud, wet kisses, on both of the boys’ cheeks, leaving red lipstick all over their wincing faces. 

  The twins wipe their cheeks with the backs of their hands, and Prim just sighs, hugging her sons to her chest. “Well done, Asher. Well done, Aspen.”

  Peeta pats them both on the head, and ever the attentive host, directs everyone to help themselves to the many treats he made. 

  “Is everything fried?” asks one of Peeta’s sisters-in-law.

  “For the most part,” I hear my mother say, fondly. “To commemorate the miracle of the oil, traditionally, Hanukkah food is fried.” She explains, patiently. “Everything is delicious, and Peeta and Katniss made quite the spread.” 

  My mother busies herself, setting up a stack of napkins on the table where we placed all the food; she then serves latkes to the Mellarks.

  Haymitch grabs her hand and pulls her to sit by me. “Come rest, sit with your daughter, enjoy the lights. I’ll shmooze the bakers now, nu!” 

  My mother comes to sit next to me. She smiles tiredly, “How are you feeling, zeeskeit?” 

  I grin, she’s using the same term of endearment Tatte used to call us. It means ‘sweetheart’.

  “I’m alright. Just a little tired. My back is killing me and I think I have gas, ‘cause my belly keeps rumbling and tensing up.” 

  My mother arches a dark blonde eyebrow, “Maybe the baby is on the way?” 

  “I suppose that could be a possibility,” I shrug. I’m 6 days shy of my due date, but the doctor says I’m healthy, and he expects no complications, whatsoever, plus first time mothers can be early. 

  Thom brings out a dreidel to play with the children. 

  My toddler niece rubs her eyes grumpily— she’s got gray eyes, like my father did. Like mine. Mother and Prim are blonde and blue eyed, but I favored my father in appearance…I wonder who my child will like? I hope it’s a little of both Peeta and I— the girl clings to her father’s arm, watching her brothers and cousins spin the top, suspiciously. Once she realizes gelt is involved in the game, she perks up a little, and tries to spin the dreidel to mixed results. 

  Everyone sits around the children, eating latkes dipped in applesauce or sour cream; Peeta decided not to serve any meat tonight, so we could eat dairy products. Effie is dipping hers in salsa…what an odd woman! 

  Johanna is eating an entire block of cheese, noshing on it like a mouse. 

  Peeta brings me and my mother sufganiyot; he smiles sheepishly. “These were a hit.” He says, “they’ve already disappeared from the tray.”

  I stare at him with wide eyes. “Why does that surprise you, babe? Your cooking is amazing!” 

  Peeta rubs the back of his head, bashful. “Eh, it would be embarrassing if the baker couldn’t handle jelly filled donuts, nu?” he whispers, kneeling in front of my chair. 

  “Nonsense,” I say equally quietly, “you are the most talented person I know.” I kiss him on the forehead, after pushing back the ashy waves of hair falling into his eyes. 

  I hope our child has wavy hair like Peeta does! Mine is boring…not so much the dark as ink color, but the way it’s so thick and straight, the only way to keep it up is in braid.

  Peeta gazes at me with so much love, my heart skips a beat. 

  “Have I told you recently, just how grateful I am to have you as my wife, lover and partner in life?” He reaches up to caress my face, and suddenly the hubbub of the party fades, leaving us in a bubble of our own. 

  “I’m grateful too!” I say, curling my sugar coated fingers around his, cupping my cheek. 

  It’s a veritable miracle that Peeta and I are here today, married and with a child on the way. 

  We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and frequented the same places; yet, despite crossing each other’s paths often, and outside the lone time with the bread when we were eleven, we never truly interacted with each other until we found ourselves deployed to the same base overseas.

  Peeta enlisted in the Army fresh out of high school. I enlisted much later, when it became glaringly obvious that if I was going to pursue any higher education, it would have to be paid for by the military, since every penny Mother and I made, went straight into Prim’s Med school fund. 

  Prim took a couple of breaks from school while building her family, but she’s a pediatrician now, beloved by her patients and their parents. 

  Thom is in the field as well, as a Physical Therapist. He was Peeta’s PT for a while; that’s how him and my sister met. They married years before we did. 

  Call it chance or providence, Peeta and I had no idea we were in the same camp, until our names got chosen for some grunt duty I can no longer remember. We recognized one another instantly, and became very close friends while in the service. Close enough to share cots and knock boots when the itch was too unbearable to ignore. We discovered we had more in common than just our hometown, and then…the worst day of our lives happened, cementing our dependence on the other, like only tragedy can. 

  While on a mission, our unit got attacked. Our Commander, a burly man named Boggs, called for extraction while we ran for cover from a volley of bullets raining on us. In the confusion, Boggs stepped on a landmine that blew off both his feet. 

  I rushed to him, pulling him back to safety. I didn’t think of the shrapnel flying everywhere, but Peeta— who had located me a second earlier— did. He made it to me somehow, and shielded my body with his own, earning a mangled leg full of lead for his troubles. 

  Boggs was beyond medical help; the poor man bled to death in my arms in the transport back to base. Peeta was badly hurt, losing blood quicker than anyone in the transport could stomach. I tried to help him as best I could, wishing I had my mother’s touch or Prim’s cleverness; I placed a tourniquet on Peeta’s thigh. It saved his life, but cost him his leg. 

  It wasn’t until we arrived back in camp, and the adrenaline and terror left my body, that I was able to feel my own wounds. I had second degree burns in several places of my body; the fire and heat miraculously spared my face. Then, I noticed the ringing in my left ear wouldn’t go away, and when it did, no other sounds came in. 

  I was honorably discharged for my damaged ear, but I requested to stay close to my buddy, Peeta Mellark, until he was stable enough to go back home. When questioned about this, I simply replied, “We protect each other. Is what we do.” 

  Peeta was discharged too shortly after. We got shipped back home to America together, which is how we’ve been ever since.

  Peeta and I survived against the odds.

  It took us months and lots of counseling to be able to sleep through the night without waking up screaming. 

  It took him years to convince me it was okay to let my guard down around my heart. I was always so scared I’d lose him to some unseen danger, and like my mother, fall into such a deep depression I could harm any potential children we had together, because in my heart of hearts I knew Peeta was it for me.  

  It took us five, ten, fifteen years to be where we are at, and that in itself is a miracle I’m grateful for. 

  “Peeta, darling, the candles are almost out,” says Effie, who apparently is eager to turn the lights back on. 

  “Alright, let’s see…” I stand up to check just how consumed those candles really are, and as soon as I do, my incompetent bladder releases all the pee I have in my body, and then some. “Feh!”

  My mother gasps and pushes Peeta back, who was still kneeling close by. “Katniss, your water just broke!” 

  “What?! Already? Whatdowedo?!” Peeta is frantic, practically jogging in place, hands hovering uselessly around my belly. 

  Effie screeches in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “Oh! What a big, big, big day this is, darlings! Katniss, doll, you might get to hold your very own bundle of joy in your arms on the first day of Hanukkah! What a blessing!” 

  “Well, first things first,” says my mother, going into nurse mode. “Everyone, calm down! This child is not about to drop just yet. Second, Katniss needs to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. Then we need to get you packed and ready to go to the hospital. Peeta, dear, you need to call the doctor, and let them know your wife’s water broke, and you’re heading to the hospital soon.”

  “Okay! Yeah…on it!” says Peeta chewing nervously on his lower lip. 

  He reluctantly steps aside to make the call. By then, my sister is moving people around to get me through the room.

  Delly, Peeta’s sister-in-law, comes from who-knows-where with an armful of towels to mop up the floor. 

  “Thank you,” I offer embarrassedly.

  Delly waves me off, “Oh no, honey, don’t you worry about it. I know how these things go. You have more important stuff to think of right now. We will clean this place up, and probably call on grandma and grandpa Mellark, to let them know.” 

  I give her a hug, because she’s the nicest person I know, and barely hold back an ugly sob. 

  Peeta comes back from calling the doctor just as my mother is helping me into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Prim’s going through my bag triple checking what I packed, despite my protests that both Peeta and I have been checking on it every day for the last week. 

  “Everything is ready, Katniss. The doctor is on the way to the hospital. There’s a triage nurse already waiting for you, our paperwork is being processed as we speak, so all we have to do is sign it when we arrive, and Effie and Haymitch are taking over hosting duties from us.”

  “Oh great!” I sigh, “you can say goodbye to all the wine in the house if those two are in charge,”

  “Is that sarcasm I detect? That means the contractions aren’t even painful yet…” says Prim dryly. Then she and my mother giggle. 

  I glare at them, rubbing the back of my hips, my bones back there kind of burn. 

  Peeta seems confused and wisely keeps his mouth shut. He grabs the hospital bag I packed for me and the baby, a week ago, and shoulders a backpack for himself, he packed almost a month ago. 

  My mother rides with us to the hospital, and since everyone knows her and my sister there, I get extra pampered by the nursing staff. 

  My obstetrician, Dr. Aurelius, checks on me as soon as I’m put in the hospital gown; he’s a little concerned about my blood pressure, so the nurses keep an even closer eye on me. At 32 I’m not at any greater risk of things going wrong than any other mother-to-be, but this is my first child, so I endure their over prodding gratefully. 

  Labor itself goes quickly, only a couple of hours from the water breaking to the crowning. Peeta holds my hand through it all; he tends to me lovingly, feeding me ice chips, blotting sweat from my face and neck, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement into my ear, and when he’s not talking to me or the medical staff, he prays. 

  After surviving a war zone, second degree burns and a few broken bones, I think that giving birth is perhaps the least painful experience of all. Not in the literal sense of course— giving birth physically hurts like a mother!— but in the psychological-emotional sense. I’m going through this trial for love, with the expectation of meeting someone amazing in the end.

  But when it’s time to push, a fear older than time itself chokes me up. “I can’t do this! Let the baby stay in my belly…I can keep the child safe here, please!” 

  “Sweetheart, look at me,” says Peeta cupping my face in his hands, “You are the bravest, most selfless person I know. I’m not denying how scary this is, bringing an innocent into the world, but you’re not alone…we have each other, and we will face this fear like we’ve faced any other fear, and we’ll beat it into dust!” 

  “Together?” My voice wavers.

  “Together!” he vows. 

  “Katniss…the baby’s crowning,” says Dr. Aurelius, “This is it! On your next contraction, I need you to push real hard, alright?”

  I nod, exhausted; Peeta squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze right back. 

  “Here it comes!” I bear down with all my might and growl all the breath out of my lungs, and suddenly, the best sound in the world fills the delivery room: the meowling of my newborn reaches my ears. 

  “It’s a girl!” calls the doctor from between the stirrups holding my legs up.

  The man holds the screeching child up, so we can see her, and my whole world shrinks to her tiny shape. 

  Peeta is crying. 

  I’m crying too! 

  My mother is somewhere in the background singing something I can’t quite catch, and everyone around is bustling to get my brand new baby girl cleaned up and measured. Then finally she’s placed on my chest, and my husband and I can’t stop staring and caressing her. 

  “Shalom, sheifale,” I sigh in contentment, kissing my baby’s forehead.

  “Welcome, little one!” Peeta murmurs. Our daughter wraps her whole hand around her father’s index finger and holds fast to it. 

  Again, it feels like we are in this hermetic bubble, where only Peeta, myself, and now our newborn, exist. Meanwhile the doctor and nurses are still working on me, but that doesn’t matter. My family is finally whole, and that too is a miracle full of light!

  “Mazel Tov, my dears!” says my mother, smiling at Peeta and me. “I’ll go tell the people in the waiting room the good news…do you have a name picked out already?” she asks tentatively, her face lit with happiness and relief. 

  “Hannah!” says Peeta right away. “For I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted my plea.” Peeta’s eyes widen, then he looks down at me sheepishly, “unless, you have something else in mind?” 

  “No!” I laugh, “Hannah is perfect!” I hold the babe higher on my bosom, and tilt her head towards my mother, “Hannah, say hello to Bubbie Lily, she’s my Mamme, and I am yours!”

  My mother giggles, “Happy birthday, Hannah Mellark, and happy Hanukkah, zeeskeit.” My mother leans closer, and gives Hannah’s head a peck. “Next time I see you, there will be others with me…your mishpachah, who are eager to meet you, sheifale!”

  “We’re almost done here, and you can see some of your family. But be mindful of visiting hours!” says Dr. Aurelius, pushing back from the instrument table. 

  We all say our thanks to the staff, and my mother goes to talk to our family in the waiting room. Peeta’s led to the nursery, to give Hannah her first bath. Once the baby is dressed and swaddled into a hospital blanket, Peeta snaps a couple of pictures of her with his smart phone and sends it to everyone one we know. The caption reads: “Hannah Mellark, because G-d favored us with a child!” 

  The nurse helping Peeta, takes two of those thin hats they give all the newborns, and fashions it into a single hat with a big bow on the front. Our daughter’s head will be warm and stylish.

  Back in the room, Hannah latches onto my breast easily enough, and to our surprise opens her eyes, to show deep blue peepers, like her father’s! 

  “Look, Daddy, she’s got your eyes!“ I exclaim. 

  “Can she call me Tatte?” Peeta asks quietly, as if asking permission.

  I nod, “Hannah, your Tatte gives the best hugs in the world!” 

  The visitors file in. My mother-in-law falls in love with Hannah, her first and only granddaughter. Peeta’s father tears up a little bit, and hugs his son, kissing his temple. I’ve never seen the Mellarks so happy and moved. A baby would do that, I guess. 

  After our siblings come to visit, Effie and Haymitch make a quick appearance. Haymitch holds Hannah the longest; he sings her a song in Hebrew, then says a blessing over her. 

  Effie pulls Peeta aside, “What we discussed…” she says demurely, smiling softly, and hands him a bag. 

  Since she already gave us practically half of Buy Buy Baby at our shower, I have no idea what else she could’ve gotten, but my husband’s entire demeanor lights up like fireworks when he peeks in the bag. He hugs Effie and thanks her profusely. 

  I fall asleep after a while.

  When I wake up again, the room’s mostly dark, except for a soft, flickering light. 

  Hannah is not in her bassinet, so I sit up with a start, only to find the most wonderful scene in front of me: Peeta’s holding the babe by the window looking down the road. The blinds are open, and on the sill sits a child size menorah. The shamash is lit, but the day one candle is not. 

  “Peeta?” I call softly.

  My husband turns, smiling, “You’re awake! We didn’t want to disturb you. You had a hard, busy day, but…” he shrugs, “It’s Hannah’s first Hanukkah, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna miss it,” 

  No, I wouldn’t. 

  I get up, gingerly, and shuffle towards my family. 

  I cock my head and study the candelabra, which looks suspiciously like the kind business owners put in their offices along their Christmas trees and other wintry decor to show how inclusive they are. This one is smaller than regular menorahs, made of plastic, with a cord sticking from the side which is plugged into the wall besides the window. The flickering light I thought at first to be a real flame, is just a small bulb with a candlelight effect. 

  “Where did you get an electric menorah?” I ask skeptically.

  “Effie,” my husband blushes. “She said it was okay, as long as we lit a kosher menorah, which we did at home,” he says a little defensively, with a lot of pleading generously sprinkled in between. 

  My father would’ve frowned at the decidedly un-kosher menorah. 

  Reading my expression, my sneaky husband harrumps, “This is a hospital, Katniss. I don’t think they’ll be thrilled to find there’s an open flame in a room housing a newborn, no matter what holiday you’re celebrating.”

  I sigh. He’s right. Safety protocols should be observed, and we did light a traditional menorah already; plus, this one is practically a toy for the baby…technically a Hanukkah gift. 

  I relax my stance. I wasn’t aware that my shoulders were so tense during that exchange. 

  “Fine,” I acquiesce, “show me how does the thing work?”

  Peeta grins, looking at ease holding our daughter in one arm like a pro. No wonder he’s always our nephews’ and niece’s favorite uncle. 

  He pulls a couple of bulbs from his pants pocket, and holds them on his palm for me to peruse. “All you do is screw these in the small sockets, just like placing the candles in a regular menorah. Then, you press this button, and it lights up!” He points at a small button at the base of the toy. 

  I nod, accepting his explanation. 

  Hannah wiggles a bit in her father’s arm, then makes an aggravated noise. Peeta adjusts the child against his chest, and looks at me, expectantly. 

  “Hannah’s waiting, and she’s probably getting hungry. I should know, I’m her Tatte!” 

  I snort a reluctant laugh. The man can drive me crazy, in an endearing sort of way. How can I deny my family anything?!

  We say the blessings together, then Peeta whispers all the ceremonial rules on lighting the candles to our baby.

  Hannah has her fist wrapped around his finger again, so he picks up the pretend shamash with the same hand, and touches the tip of the bulb into the opening, so— according to him— Hannah is lighting the day one candle herself…symbolically. 

  He screws the bulbs in their right places, and switches the candlelight on. 

  I must admit, it’s not as tacky as I feared it would be. I make a mental note to let Peeta know I’m glad he thought of this, later…probably tomorrow. 

  We sing quietly, not to disturb anyone else on our floor. After the ceremony of the candles is done, we hold onto each other, watching the flickering lights, while Peeta narrates the story of the Maccabees to Hannah. 

  Everything is quiet after that; Hannah fusses once, so I take her into my arms, and sing a lullaby. 

  Peeta has been staring at me all night like I hung the moon in the sky. He gazes at our daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I’m sure my eyes reflect the same feelings as his.

  “I wish I could freeze this moment, right now, and live in it forever.” 

  I smile up at him, who in turn is gazing at our daughter and me with adoration; my heart fills to bursting!

  “I do too!” I stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Peeta. Happy Hanukkah, Hannah.”

  “Same to you too, sweetheart, and thank you Lord, for blessing our family with the miracle of life.”

[captainsimagines]

Titanic || H.S

Part Five || “No Me Queda Mas”

Disclaimer: I do not own the pictures I use for title cards. Obviously. 

Warnings: This book contains mature themes and discussions, such as gun violence, emotional and physical abuse, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, character deaths, heavy sexual content, and reference to the real maritime disaster of the 1912 cruise liner Titanic.

“Exactly. But if you jump, I’m gonna have to jump in there after you.“

         Both Harry and Drake were up by seven in the morning, energetic and absolutely starving. They made sure to dress as quietly as they could, careful not to wake their other two roommates. They were men of the same age, around their late twenties, heading to the states to escape religious persecution. They had arrived later that day after they had picked up the remaining passengers from Ireland, both men talkative and equally as excited to start a new life. The four men chatted into the deep hours of the night and discussed a variety of topics. Perhaps the funnest topic they covered was women.

The two men were traveling with their girlfriends and since they were not legally married, they had to bunk in separate living quarters. Except their boyfriends had splurged what money they could to give them the best comfort as possible, and Harry learned their girlfriends were staying as second-class passengers. Drake made the joke about how first and second class weren’t all that different, and that these boys were living every poor man’s dream of being with a woman of practical royalty.

“They scream louder than any woman.”

“What do you mean?” Harry questioned.

“I mean,” Drake nudged his shoulder playfully, “they’re so touch-deprived that they practically melt from any man’s touch.”

“Man, shut the hell up!”

Everyone continued to joke and tease, and Harry wondered if that was indeed true. He had only been with two other women before - his first when he was seventeen and a woman he thought he loved at the age of twenty-four. He prided himself on the noises he caused, but he didn’t quite understand what Drake meant. Did upper-class women really not experience pleasure as often as women in love? Did upper-class women even fall in love? Do upper-class men not know how to perform? He understood the point of the joke, and although slightly misogynistic, Harry pondered on the societal gossip that sometimes proved true. It wasn’t like he was ever going to experience it to compare.

He and Drake tip-toed outside their room and locked it behind them. Breakfast was available until ten, but they wanted first dibs on the freshest stuff there.

It was a buffet style breakfast. They stacked their trays up high, first come - first serve, with buttered bread, sugar cookies, chicken noodle soup, and milk.

“They’re holding out on us. I saw them lugging buckets of grapes and strawberries up to first-class.”

Harry chuckled and sipped his milk, “Because they’re first-class.”

“Either way, this bread is delicious.”

And over breakfast they chatted about their past trips, skills, family, and aspirations. If it was possible, Drake spoke more than Harry. Once a conversation reached its end, Drake would easily glide into a new one. It was quite refreshing to speak to someone who didn’t shut you down or didn’t know how to carry a conversation. Harry paused Drake, however, when he mentioned that he was a trained carpenter.

“You build things?”

“Buildings. I build buildings.”

Harry shoved him, “That’s what I meant!”

Drake laughed along, “Yeah, my father was a carpenter. I built my Montana ranch from the ground up with my own two hands.”

Harry felt like meeting Drake was fate. Now he didn’t have to grovel and beg some New York carpenter to oversee the construction of a London business. If Drake agreed to help Harry build his bakery, he would at least trust the process more. A few sips of soup and some sugar cookies later and Harry considered Drake a closer friend than those he met on the playground.

“I have a proposition.”

“Well, Mr. Capitalist, I’m all ears.”

Harry grinned, “Would you like to help me build my family’s bakery? I would pay you generously and provide you housing during your extended stay in New York.”

Drake mimicked the act of deep thought, leaning forward and swishing around his cup of milk. “Hmm, a generous offer.”

“Or do you have to be back in Montana immediately?”

Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.

“My brother has the ranch covered. I can write to him and let him know I’ll be bringing in a little extra cash.”

Harry jumped in his seat like an excited child, “Is that a ‘yes’?”

Drake chuckled and tried not to spill his milk as Harry shook his shoulders excitedly.

Drake was around five years older than Harry, thirty-two and thriving, so it made sense that he had this feeling of being an older brother to Harry. He was actually the youngest of his siblings, having older brothers at his side since birth. It was a blessing, and in a weird twist of plot, he felt like an attentive older brother sat here at breakfast. The way Harry’s bright smile lit up any room and the way he acted as if everything happened for a reason - he was almost tempted to give this kid the rest of his sugar cookies.

“Sure, man. I trust you’ll pay me.”

Harry nodded and while overflowing with joy, he slid his sketchbook in front of Drake and began reviewing the first couple sketches of the type of building he had in mind.

     You had been kept up late by your mother’s final walk-through of your stay room, complaining there were not enough towels and not enough space for your accessories on the bedside table. She acknowledged the vastness of the ship and its wonderful hospitality, but there was always something wrong in her mind. And all you could do was nod your head as you sat impatiently in the side chair as she worked the midnight crew through each fix.

So excuse your slow responses and tiny yawns at breakfast. The tables were beginning to clear out, with many still entering for early tea or a late meal. The breeze passed through the open doors and nipped at your cheeks, waking you up slightly from the boring chatter.

As the others spoke, you couldn’t help but think about yesterday and what weird a kiss you and Cal had shared. Was it supposed to feel good? You knew Cal had other women before as he was turning thirty-six just a week after your scheduled wedding. He was never so playful, especially not in front of waiting staff, so you pondered what that change in attitude could possibly mean. Or perhaps you were thinking too much, and he really just had a lapse in judgement.

You could make out talk about the weather, America’s current stock market, and ideas about what the cooks were going to prepare later today. Speak on topics that never interested you and never will interest you carried on for a few more minutes before everyone began ordering their second course. You pulled a cigarette and its holder from your handbag, expertly placed the cigarette inside the silver and inhaled the cooled, mellowed smoke. It woke you up instantly, also calming any nerves from the night before.

You didn’t like when Cal smoked and dusted your flooring, but the presence of a holder made all the difference. No mess, no stains on your fingers - just tranquility.

Your mother cleared her throat quietly as to only alert you, watching the other occupants of your table carry on with their conversation. She unfolded her napkin and placed it carefully across her lap. “You know I don’t like when you do that in public.”

Instead of rolling your eyes at her absurd worry, you inhaled the smoke deeply and exhaled across her view, clouding her face in your personal stress release. It was a power move, a move that you were allowed to execute since she was in control of literally every other aspect of your life. A little smoke shouldn’t anger her as much as it did, but any ounce of independence you still displayed could be interpreted as plain disobedience. And disobedience of your own family meant it resulted in disobedience within a marriage. But before you could establish dominance in one area of your life - your own body - Cal reached over to pull the cigarette from its holder and extinguished it on one of the side plates. You narrowed your eyes, ashamed of the control he proved he had.

“She knows,” Cal chuckled, ignoring your look of embarrassment and instead calling over the waiter who was making his rounds.

A woman you had met briefly yesterday as she boarded from Ireland, Molly, was invited to sit at your breakfast table by one of the men here, yet you couldn’t remember which one. She was a small woman, dressed in a comfortable dress that didn’t quite match the occasion of a late breakfast, but she wore it proudly. She was sweet, strong-willed, and almost always proved louder than anyone else in the room. You liked her personality as it was entirely different from everyone else you had ever met. Although your mother called her “new money” with a nasty grimace on her face, you only saw her for what she was - independent and vocal.

But here you were now, being dehumanized in front of practical strangers, and you looked up to see Molly’s surprised expression. She lowered her arm to extinguish her own cigarette on her ashtray. To continue smoking freely after you had been refused your tiny refuge seemed wrong, improper even. But you didn’t acknowledge her action, ears perking up as Cal restated your breakfast order.

“We’ll both have the lamb, rare, with very little mint sauce.”

You absolutely hated lamb. Any type of meat, really, and the thought of having to stuff it down so you wouldn’t starve maddened you.

“You like lamb, right Sweetpea?”

You plastered a thin, wide smile as you turned to your fiancé, your face almost comical and proving so as Cal took it as a real ‘yes’.

By now your little squabble had gained attention from all at your table. Molly began laughing loudly to cut through the tension, raising her water glass to take a quick sip.

“You gonna cut and chew her meat there too, huh Cal?”

Your mother turned to her sharply but Molly was unmoved, deciding to change the subject to something more interesting. Cal interlocked his fingers together and rested his hands above his belt buckle, looking across the table at Molly with a more calm look compared to your mother, but still hardened with displeasure.

“Say, who thought of the name ‘Titanic’? Was it you, Bruce?” Molly asked.

Bruce Ismay, the chairman of the White Star Line, seemed ecstatic to receive questions about the ship. As of that month, it was his greatest accomplishment and current world wonder, his newborn creation that deserved any and all praise given. He nodded happily and swallowed the piece of fruit hurriedly to answer Molly’s question.

“Yes, yes,” he answered, cleaning his mouth with a napkin. “Mr. Andrews here built her from the ground up!”

Thomas Andrews, a shipbuilder and main architect for Titanic, was shy with any compliment he received, deciding to accept the praise quickly and return the attention back to Ismay. “But the idea was all Mr. Ismay’s! He envisioned a liner so grand in scale...”

You began to drown the conversation out. Cal insisted on dining with specific groups of people. From your point of view, it worked almost like a ranking. Ismay and Andrews were certainly important people on this ship and had first hand experience with such social circles, but they were no John Jacob Astor. The most Cal and your mother did was share morning greetings with Astor, who dined with his wife in a more private section of the same dining hall. Cal had always maintained your titles of royalty, saying that only a few dollars here and there separated you from a higher connection. And at dinner time your group expanded, including around ten others who were just as respectable.

“I wanted to convey sheer size with her name! And size means stability, luxury, and above all, strength,” Ismay spoke.

You sucked in a low breath, ready to make a select few laugh and others seethe. “Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay?”

Mr. Ismay turned to you in silent astonishment, surprised by the first complete sentence you had spoken all breakfast. But he smiled and shook his head ‘no’ at the name. You felt your mother reach her hand under the table to cup your arm.

“His opinion about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.”

Your mother’s fingernails dug deep into your forearm. “What has gotten into you?”

But Molly and Mr. Andrews enjoyed your comment, laughing under their breaths.

You smiled sweetly and tore your arm away from your mother, standing and excusing yourself from the table. Both Mr. Ismay and Mr. Andrews stood out of respect for your departure. You exited the room to walk out on deck.

Cal took in slow breaths to steady his rising anger, avoiding other’s eyes so that they wouldn’t notice the effect you had on him. But Molly, with her rapid wit and steady toughness, wouldn’t let Cal live this down.

“She’s a pistol, Cal. Hope you can handle her!”

Cal crinkled his eyes and chuckled as to brush off your misbehavior. “I might just have to mind what she reads from now on, don’t I?”

Mr. Ismay sat down and readjusted his tie. “Freud, who is he? Is he a passenger?”

     It was bullshit that third-class passengers were barred from touring certain areas of the ship. All Harry wanted was a better view of the ship’s structure so he could outline it. He mainly drew portraits but he had promised his mother he would show her his drawings of the best parts of the ship, like the grand staircase, fashion, the giant steam funnels, even the food. But third-class passengers weren’t allowed in first-class areas without the proper approval, having to eat from a choice of about four foods each day and reduced to simply imagining what the giant clock looked like.

So Harry doodled anything he found interesting - the dogs who traveled down to third-class to take a shit, the coast of Ireland as Titanic sailed past, and third-class passengers with their children, card games, and instruments. He was currently drawing a man holding his daughter up against the railing to see the water, focusing on the detail of their clothing and their happy expressions. Drake watched Harry work his magic, grinning every single time Harry drew the next precise detail accurately. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but Drake swore that every human wanted to have this specific talent. Anyone who disagreed wasn’t human.

“I can’t believe you got the eyes right,” Drake scoffed, inhaling smoke from his reduced cigarette.

Harry grinned at the comment, smudging the charcoal over the two foreheads to create the shading. Looking from the models to his paper, he completed another detail that impressed his friend. He was almost finished, brushing his index finger over certain parts. Drake greeted some friends he met at last night’s dinner as they walked past and rested in the surrounding benches. He motioned them over to Harry’s work.

Drake nodded in approval at all the compliments Harry received, “Do you make any money off your drawings?”

It’s quite possibly every artist’s worst nightmare, to scribble incorrectly over a good drawing, completely ruining the fine detail it took too long to accomplish. But as Harry’s pencil scraped over that crumpled piece of paper, the air around him and the water under him spoke to his artistic desires, telling him to wreak havoc on his flimsy sheet and to never stop. The somewhat endless black line did indeed stop once it reached the edge and to the fabric of his tan pants, leaving a light but visible charcoal mesh on his only pair. His eyes, as well as his clouded mind, ignored his major mistake and instead focused on the yellow fabric that begged to flap higher in the cool, ocean breeze.

His eyes traveled through every detail- the white lace clinging to the base yellow, the pearls hugging your waistline and wrapping around your backside to function as buttons, the baroque beauty of your neck and the lace wrapped around it, your brown skin glistening underneath the sun, and your red lips sculpted into a memorable pout - all of it entered Harry’s viewpoint in what seemed like forever but only took a mere second. One glorious second for Harry to stumble into a world he knew he could never abandon. The curl in your hair, the frown on your face, the gentle nature of your grip on the forbidden first-class railing - all of it a disastrous craving that would for sure develop into a blister on the lip if Harry didn’t get a smell of your lavish locks and accidentally brush the tip of his nose against the priceless diamonds draped through each curl, or get a taste of the red syrup staining your plump lips and accidentally bite it a little too hard to muster a moan of pleasure rich women kill to produce, or get to feel the touch of your fingertips against his palms, his face, his chest, his back as you left streaks of bright red. These prohibited images knocked against the padded confines of his thick skull and he felt like he completely violated the law with such an absurd idea.

But as you furrowed your eyebrows and focused on another focal point - Harry himself - he felt as if every inch of your being was worth being imprisoned for. His forbidden sweet creature.

You stared at the stranger briefly before looking back at the waves beyond the bow of the ship. Yet, you continued to feel his powerful gaze. You didn’t feel uncomfortable with his locked stare, but you wondered if he was possessed, spiraling through a trance that you had become a victim of. Was his gaze good or bad? Was he seriously entranced or judging your physique? Walking away would break the spell, but you stayed glued to the railing for some reason, watching the waves make way for Titanic’s many entrances.

You heard the voice in your head instruct your view to stay on the water, but you disobeyed for once, unaware of such a lovely decision until you locked eyes with your third-class admirer. You have always gotten attention from anyone you encountered, both pleasant and unpleasant, but attention nonetheless. And the waves of this particular admiration traveled through the misty breeze and onto your blushed cheeks, pinching them with a silent yelp, a plea, an almost beggarly request for your consideration. So you obliged its want, gazing across the third-class gatherings to the man sitting on one of the few benches on deck, surrounded by confused and teasing passengers who looked between you and him, wondering if you were going to break first from the rare situation. A situation that many never considered legitimate, possible, or even appropriate. But the lot of you were on the blue waves and the bubbly foam and the impressive craft of a thousand good Irishmen that welcomed the rare and extraordinary.

He was attractive - his short hair dancing in the air one curl at a time, his broad form rising to sit up straight when he realized you were also admiring him, and his eyes never blinking as to not miss anything you might do. And he had this magnetic pull, almost as if he was screaming at you to come down and speak with him. You felt somewhat disgusted with yourself, imagining a normal conversation with a normal person, a very handsome person, whose gaze alone made you feel a tingle at your fingertips and caused a tiny grin to break on your face. It wasn’t appropriate to be thinking of another man this way when you had never felt this way for the man you were to marry. And yesterday’s kiss did not equate to the powerful senses you were currently experiencing.

You hoped he didn’t see your grin, but Harry did. He caught it instantly, his heart pounding and his hands instructing him to quickly sketch the curve.

By now Drake was waving a hand over Harry’s face to see if that broke off his view, but Harry simply leaned forward, unaware of the obstruction and oh so enchanted by that tiny grin you hadn’t dropped.

“Oh, forget it, Harry! It’s like angels flying out your ass to get next to the likes of her.”

To be seen, thought of, recognized as a human being and not glossed over as some extra - the recognition of plain existence excited you to new extremes. And just as your mind told you to unlock the first-class gate and venture over to your admirer, real life interrupted in the form of Cal’s tamed grip on your upper arm.

You dropped your gaze quickly, hoping Cal did not realize your original viewpoint, and looked down at the unwanted physical connection between you.

"Why must you defy your mother’s orders and misbehave in front of friends?”

You pulled yourself away from his tightening grip. “I have already received this lecture from my own mother. I do not need to hear it again.”

Cal let out a low chuckle, “Then why must you not listen? You embarrassed me.”

You fought the urge to yell and relay yet another disapproving tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m not feeling well this morning.”

And with that fake apology, Cal hummed in sympathy and tugged you in for a short hug. “Why didn’t you just say so? It could have saved us the humiliation.”

You sucked in a harsh breath at his choice of words to avoid the frustrated tears, pulling away and patting his chest as you excused yourself to your stay room. He groaned as he suspected he had done something else wrong, but did not dare to follow you this time.

Drake shook his head in discontent, “A man like that should be grateful to have a woman like her.”

Other passengers shared their agreement, whistling and all. They teased Harry and shoved him playfully, congratulating him for the impossible. And as you walked from Harry’s eyesight back into the ship, he rejoined the conversation briefly before he began a simple illustration of your eyes.

Drake sat back down on the same bench as Harry as all the chatter died down, looking over at Harry’s paper. He rolled his eyes and smiled.

“She really did a number on you, huh? I’m all for going after the unreachable but this is truly unreachable, boy-yo.”

Harry stopped his tracing to look up at Drake, “I know… but she saw me, too.”

Drake furrowed his eyebrows, wondering if Harry was simply awestruck or serious. And with a slight chuckle of disbelief, Drake muttered, “that she did.”

A moment passed before Drake spoke again, deciding on letting Harry live in his little fantasy for the rest of the day. He tapped Harry’s stack of papers with his index finger. “I’m sure you’ll do her justice.”

And Harry did.

     If you stood in the middle of the room and screamed at the top of your lungs, you were certain no one would even look up. Because besides your impressive attitude you were known for, your problems seemed minuscule compared to others. No one seemed to piece together why you were the way you were, opting for society’s sexist explanations instead of simply asking you.

Just a few hours ago you were seen and not looked over quickly - you felt appreciated and noticed. Now, even in a room with hundreds of people and many sat at the same table as you, you weren’t even acknowledged. Perhaps it was because you never spoke - you couldn’t blame them for not noticing you then. But then again, when you did speak and Cal silenced or interrupted you, discrediting even opinions, no one minded.

They were the same endless parties, the same narrow people, and the same mindless chatter. Like they flipped a switch each night and wiped their slate clean, ready for the same routine the very next day with no complaints at all. And it frightened you that this would remain your routine, the same routine you had already lived for twenty-two years, with no way out and no ‘off’ button.

You felt as if you were floating away, heavy and lightweight at the same time, feeling yourself blink every few minutes. Your eyes focused on one point - the ashtray in the middle of the rounded table, even as people from surrounding tables came to greet your mother and Cal. You kept track of time by the impressive height of the gray ash, some landing outside the tray and onto plates. It grew higher… and higher… and your food was barely picked at, Cal was reaching over you every so often to tap his cigarette on the tray, and your mother was on her fourth glass of champagne.

They didn’t see that you weren’t eating. How does someone not notice that someone isn’t eating at a dinner?

You reached over for your champagne glass, your hand shaking slightly as you downed the rest of it. Everyone’s voices were becoming silent, like you were covering both ears or going deaf, and as Cal reached over to give you a kiss on the cheek, your eyes were suddenly heavy.

“Please, excuse me, Cal. I need to run to our room really quickly.”

Cal paused his conversation with Astor to turn to you. “Are you alright? Would you like me to escort you to the cabin?”

And you smiled, “I’ll be fine.”

It was a really nice gesture, but in Cal’s mind it was simple chivalry.

You stood up, your feet sore and the nerves bunching together throughout your legs. The laughter seemed to grow as you exited, and now those nerves shocked you into running.

You barged into your stay room, ignoring the obvious worry the staff gave you, their questions of tea or more blankets flying over your head. You simply speed-walked past them, hiding your face behind your curls so they would not see your very real tears, staining the powder on your cheeks and leaving visible streaks lighter than your natural color. You leaned back on the door and tried to drown out the drunken laughs and loud violins. Controlling your breathing was easy at first until you opened your eyes and saw a mass explosion of gold, the intricate designs of each piece of cloth, the carvings in the wood encasing your mirror, your freshly made bed that Cal had jokingly suggested he’d crawl into late at night. You swallowed the itch in your throat, walking to the make-up table to drop the pins you began tearing from your hair. One-by-one you let each curl fall to your shoulder, their lost weight causing your headband of diamonds to fall to the floor. You silently deliberated what the name of your maid was, cursing yourself for forgetting when she had so nicely introduced herself last night. But then her name slid from your tongue, and you almost cried from the sudden joy.

“Trudy?” you called, starting to hyperventilate. “Trudy?”

You reached behind you to unbutton your dress, but your shoulders just wouldn’t bend far enough. Suffocated, you clawed at the loose hanging jewels instead, pinching and stretching the skin on your back that you could reach.

“Trudy!” you began to choke on your breath, yelling louder each time you called the maid. So you tugged and ripped the silver necklace from your neck, threw your jewelry box across the room, and tossed a few perfume bottles you had packed so delicately against the wall.

“I can’t... I can’t,” you cried, knees partially crumbling beneath you as you leaned against the chair. You lifted your head to witness your disheveled look, hair a mess and mascara smudged just below your water line. Lips quivering, an intense wave of self-pity and self-hatred drowning your thoughts, exclaiming the few words that actually made it through your sore skull. You listened to them, repeated and mean, basically ordering you to listen and to follow.

“Ya no queda mas.”

There is nothing left.

You were indeed a follower - and you were going to oblige.

And so you abandoned everything, opening your room door and running through the crowded hallway full of oblivious passengers who swam in the bliss of a full stomach and buzzed fingertips and toes.

You ran across the deck to the stern of the ship, careless as to who or what you toppled along the way. Of course everyone took an interest, calling out to see if you needed assistance. But as you left their eyesight, their worry diminished and they assumed someone else would offer a hand. One right after the other, they allowed you to cross their paths and leave it in an instant.

Harry lay on a third-class bench, staring up at the starry night. With a cigarette in one hand and the other stuffed away warmly in his coat pocket, he wondered just exactly where in the hell that damn ‘Big Dipper’ was. Or the little one. Hell, any constellation for that matter. He loved watching the night sky, but the city smog hid most of the stars. Now, with only the steam from the funnels blocking his view, he focused on every star individually, losing track of them as time passed, each one beginning to look the same in size but different in brightness. They formed all kinds of shapes in Harry’s mind, but he could not find those documented ones the astronomers raved on about.

He could have sworn he saw the rectangular shape slightly, its handle coming into existence as the sound of sobbing arrived and left in a flash. He lifted himself up, cigarette hanging from his pink lips and eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He watched as you continued running, pausing to catch your breath at one of the benches.

He recognized that beautiful brown skin anywhere.

His feet hit the deck floor immediately once he saw that you weren’t stopping, instead walking towards the stern railing and looking over into the water. He jogged lightly, careful not to make much noise as you contemplated such a drastic decision. Perhaps you were going to change your mind, step away, take a deep breath and go back to your endless desserts and musical concerts. But he quickly hid behind a pole when you checked to see if anyone had followed you, slightly disappointed in the fact that no one did, and stepped onto the railing and swung a leg over.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, his mind racing and thinking of a way to calmly and safely get you back onto the deck without frightening you. If he were to jump out now, you were for sure going to let go.

You turned around once more and back toward the water, this small gesture of goodbye to the ship and all on it finally settling within you. The waves were dark, not light blue like they were during the daytime. And they sounded louder and more angry, taunting you instead of offering tranquility. The thought of jumping when the sun was out danced around in your head, a more vibrant suicide seeming better suited for your needs.

But maybe you deserved to die in the dark with no other sound besides the unnerving crashing of water and massive propellers in a never ending motion of slicing. You thought about Cal and almost immediately recoiled, the last thought before you died an unhappy thought and not at all what you wanted it to be. Perhaps your mother or your father. Trudy. No one seemed to properly fit, so you settled on the image of your famed racehorse as you leaned away from the railing, hanging off and ready to fall. Your racehorse, dark brown and majestic, waiting for you to come home.

“Don’t do it.”

You gripped the railing tight, unaware that your initial hold was so loose, and you were moments away from leaving your misery behind.

You whipped your head to see who had followed you, stunned that this person was not from the first-class - the class that prides themselves on their selflessness and courage. He was from the third - the class that truly embodied all things selfless and are crucified for it.

“Stay back,” you begged, raising one hand up as if to physically stop him, but you quickly regretted it as you felt the tough winds push you ever so slightly. “Please don’t come near me.”

Harry contemplated his next move, inhaling some final smoke from his cigarette and stepped closer. He showed you the cigarette, stepping towards the railing to throw it overboard.

It was smart, you thought. He was going to come closer, you knew that. But to do it so discreetly as to not scare you - you were kind of grateful.

“Please just leave me alone,” you sobbed, looking back down to the rushing water. “I’ll let go.”

Harry stood dumbfounded, hands in his pockets and worry etched into his face. He remained calm, however, trusting in himself to sweet talk you back over the railing.

He cleared his throat, “No, you won’t.”

You scoffed, newly formed tears threatening to leave your eyes. “What?”

“You won’t do it.”

This time you looked up to the starry sky to gain clearance in thought but were intrigued nonetheless. Either you could snap at him and jump, or you could listen and come back over the railing. All you wanted to do now was sleep, as your head began feeling heavier by the second.

“What are you going on about? Don’t presume to tell me what I will or will not do! You don’t know me.”

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, still trying to calm the situation down as easily as he could. But as your hands turned whiter as your grip strengthened and your voice began to crack, Harry knew he had to convince you this was not the answer.

He didn’t quite understand it - wanting to end your life at such a young age. By the look of your clothes and make-up, Harry could tell you had most material things the people in third-class would kill for. But there were sparkly tears on your waterline, contradicting the image of glory and wealth you so effortlessly portrayed, and the sounds of crashing waves waiting to gobble you up - the sense of you, the mere idea of that glory and wealth, - it absolutely bombarded any quick wit or joke Harry’s mouth was thinking of spitting. All rational from here on out.

“I’m sorry,” Harry spoke, bringing his hands up to breathe warm air into them. “I just don’t want you to experience the dip, is all.”

You stayed silent, staring at him as he stared at you.

“You know the water’s freezing. If you were to survive the fall, the cold would probably hurt more.”

Now your bottom lip quivered and the sudden realization of how cold the night air actually was hit you at that exact moment, and you internally begged for the stranger to step closer. “How cold?”

Harry shrugged, still trying his best to remain casual. “Most likely a couple degrees over.”

You stared at the black abyss beneath you, “I bet that would hurt.”

Harry chuckled lowly, taking the risk and stepping closer to you that a simple turn of the head was enough to see his whole face. And it dawned on you, swiftly and surely, that this was the boy who could not seem to stop staring at you earlier. He was much more handsome up close, and his voice was the final piece of the puzzle. “Exactly. But if you jump, I’m gonna have to jump in there after you.”

You laughed dryly, “You’re crazy. Absurd. The fall alone would kill you.”

Harry smirked to himself, focused on the way your wavy hair flew in all directions. He was getting you to speak more. He was buying time. So, he removed his jacket and warm vest to prove his statement.

“Yeah, it would hurt,” Harry shrugged, finally stepping close enough to hang across the railing with you. He glanced down to your shivering feet, fearful that the heels would unlock themselves and send you free falling. “Trust me, you don’t want to do this-”

“And how do you know that? Maybe I want to… die.” It resonated as a question in both your minds, the sinking sensation overwhelming your chest.

“We all die someday. I think the best part is not knowing when.”

You observed the boy’s face, studying his expression to somehow gain a better explanation as to what he possibly meant. You swallowed more tears, this time speaking in a low whisper.

“I can easily predict when.”

Harry actually felt his stomach clench.

You continued, “It’s probably already planned, with as many as two-hundred guests in attendance, and an open bar.”

Harry shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s difficult to respond to that.”

You gave him a small smile, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Whether you meant that in a sincere or disrespectful way, Harry was hurt by the comment nonetheless.

“I know you’re angry, but trust me,” he redirected, an attempt to forget suicidal intentions and reasons and focus on the actual present moment itself. “Water that cold, like right down there… it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. You can’t breathe, can’t think-”

You closed your eyes, eyebrows scrunched and suddenly so very cold. “Okay, please stop.”

Harry watched as your skin produced goosebumps and your grip tightened even more. It was a sign of victory, he thought. “I’m just hoping you’ll save me the swim by coming back over the railing.”

You sighed deeply, the air you expelled turning into the cold breeze itself, mixing with the shaky breaths of the one person on this whole damn ship to hear your screams. And you didn’t even physically cry out.

“Come back with me. Trust me, you don’t wanna do this.”

You reached your arm over to prepare for the turn, but instead of gripping the railing like you expected, a warm hand gripped yours instead, tightly, and his thumb immediately began rubbing your knuckles in a soothing motion. He helped you turn back toward the ship, hands now gripping both of yours.

He smiled up at you, his eyes almost watering from the unnoticed stress that was building within him. You grinned slightly, giving a small shrug of the shoulders as the silence broke.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Harry grasped your hands tighter, “Hey, me neither. Do you know how many rats welcomed me in my cabin yesterday?”

You laughed (somewhere between a laugh and a snort), forgetting momentarily that the two of you were standing in dangerous positions exchanging quiet words.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. I’m Harry Styles.”

“I’m-”

“An absolute blooming rose.”

Your eyes widened momentarily, the moment passing with an awareness of peace from the sudden declaration of recorded beauty. You told him your real name anyway, absolutely loving the way it sounded in a british accent, his british accent, but the ‘blooming rose’ reference remained number one. There, with your body still on the wrong side of the ship and his hands now clutching your upper arm and elbow to begin pulling you over - there you were actually content with your current life.

“Up you go.”

You raised one leg to step up a rail, unaware that the beaded lace part of your dress was longer than the rest. It caused a severe slip, and before you knew what was happening, you were falling. You screamed, one hand barely catching the railing and the other arm suffering Harry’s grip and digging nails.

“Harry!”

Harry cried out in distress, almost going over himself. He locked his feet to the ground and against the ship, thighs pressed against the railing, and attempted to pull you up.

“C’mon, you can do it! You gotta climb, too!”

You followed his instructions, trying to climb the railing like a ladder with your free hand. But as you got higher and your legs remained swinging mindlessly against the wet ship, you slipped lower.

“Help me! Help me, please!” you yelled, to Harry and to anyone else who would hear, the ocean now loud with the outrage of your absence.

Harry could feel his heart exploding from the adrenaline spiking as he looked down at your terrified face, relying solely on him to save your life. The whole time he spoke with you he was frightened of the possibility of you letting go or accidentally falling, but now that he could visibly see that you most certainly did not want to die this way, he was mortified.

“I got you, okay?” Harry waited to shout again until you looked back up to him. “I got you.”

You nodded the best you could, the tears still dripping from your eyes and nose, determined to hear his frightened voice.

“I won’t let go! I promise. Now, pull yourself up!”

It took everything in you to support your own body weight with a corset strangling you at the same time, but you gripped the rails and then Harry’s shoulder. The corset made it more difficult to breathe, but you compiled the last pinches of energy and strength within you and aided Harry in your rescue. You groaned as your knees stabbed into the top bar, but the feeling of Harry’s arms wrapping around your waist to pull you over fully eradicated that pain. You two toppled over onto the safe deck, rolling over each other with a loud thud. Harry stayed glued to your waist while you gripped the deck with your nails.

In such a climactic moment, the two of you didn’t notice three members of the crew running toward you with no clue as to what just occurred.

“What’s all this?”

Your dress had ripped slightly, and due to your bedroom tantrum and the high winds, your hair was in absolute disorder. You had no coat on, tears streamed down your face, and a third-class man was hovering over your trembling body. And the crew failed to detect the similar shaking of Harry’s large frame or his scared expression, instead pointing a finger at him and labeling him the guilty party.

“Don’t you move an inch,” a crew member warned, stepping toward Harry and dragging him away from you. Two of the men swooped in to scoop you up, checking for signs of harm.

Your frantic eyes searched for Harry, but he was already looking at you, slightly disappointed and eager to prove himself innocent without throwing you into the cold water himself by revealing the truth.

- 

Finally, they have met lol. xxMoni

[wesleyhill]

A New World of Wedded Bliss

A homily on Mark 10:2-16, preached at Trinity Cathedral, Pittsburgh, on the Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost 2021

In the Name of God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

One of the things I like about preaching in the Episcopal Church is that we preachers don’t get to choose our own Bible passages. They’re decided for us by the lectionary, the schedule of readings or “lessons” that we share with a lot of other churches, including the Roman Catholic Church. The good thing about that is that it keeps you from being subject to my particular whims as to what to preach on. And it keeps me and the other preachers here honest: we are forced to confront passages we’d maybe rather not talk about. We’re forced to grapple with what St. Paul referred to as “the whole counsel of God” (Acts 20:27) — the entire sweep of what God has spoken, even the bits we’re confused about or resistant to or scared of.

I confess, I would rather not have to preach about Jesus’ challenging words from our Gospel reading today. And, truthfully, I could wriggle out of it by choosing to preach on one of our other readings for this morning; that’s always an option. But I remember what I once heard a great preacher say: if your preaching is consistently failing to address the questions that your congregation has about the Bible, then you’re going to frustrate your congregation. I know many of you were paying attention as the Gospel was read just now, and I know you were probably struggling to relate Jesus’ words to your own histories and families and relationships. How do we make that connection? — that linkage between what Jesus says and the lives we’re actually living? That’s what preaching is meant to help you do, and so, with God’s help, I’m going to try this morning.

As I was thinking about our Gospel lesson this week, I came across an article in the New York Times, published this past Thursday. Written by Lara Bazelon, it was titled: “Divorce Can Be an Act of Radical Self-Love.” The author talks about how she felt her marriage was keeping her from living fully into her sense of purpose and gifting. She says upfront that there was no emotional or physical abuse and that she is still in love with her ex, even after the divorce. Then she says: “I divorced my husband not because I didn’t love him. I divorced him because I loved myself more.” And here’s how the article concludes: “I no longer think of divorce as shameful or feel sorry for people who tell me that they have decided to end their marriages… My divorce spared my children… pain and let me live the life I was meant to. I view that as an accomplishment.”

I am fully aware that, in our fallen, broken world, divorce is sometimes necessary, sometimes best. But I think the way this article frames the matter — that divorce isn’t something to feel sad about, to mourn over — doesn’t do justice to the way many of us experience divorce. We may feel that our marriage had to end, but that doesn’t take away the ache we still feel, the wistfulness and sadness and self-doubt that can still stab us at odd moments. We may feel that we made the best choice, given the circumstances, but that doesn’t stop us from feeling like we let ourselves down — or let our ex-partner, or our children, or our parents, or our priest down.

One of the gifts our Gospel reading gives us this morning is permission to mourn divorce. If you still lament the divorce you went through, or your parents went through, or your sibling or best friend went through — if, no matter how many positive self-help podcasts you’ve listened to or therapies you’ve invested in, you still feel somehow that divorce is a tragic thing — then you can take some comfort in our reading this morning. Because the main message of it is: It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Let’s rehearse the details. Some religious leaders come to Jesus, who himself is a publicly recognized religious teacher and authority, and they pose an ethical question. They ask him whether it’s a lawful to divorce one’s wife (notice, they, who are men, don’t ask anything about the wife; her perspective and protection don’t seem to matter to them). Secretly, they’re setting a trap for Jesus. They themselves aren’t in agreement about the religious legality of divorce, and by trying to force Jesus to pick a side in their debate, they expect he’ll embarrass himself with a large segment of his audience, one way or the other, and that’s exactly what they want. In short, they’re using a debate about divorce as an opportunity to try to drag Jesus down into a partisan spat and thereby discredit him.

True to form, Jesus doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he turns the question back on them: “What did Moses command you?” In other words, what does our shared Scripture have to say about the matter? Jesus asks. And they point out, rightly enough, that the Jewish law allows a man to divorce his wife. And then Jesus takes them off guard and reorients the entire conversation by reminding them that in the same law — the Jewish law, the Torah, that permits divorce — there’s the story at the very beginning, in the very first two chapters of the Bible, before any evil has marred the story, of God creating a man and a woman and blessing them to become “one flesh,” one new indissoluble pair. So, Jesus says, it must be because we are fallen and diminished and rendered incapable of keeping even the commitments that we most want to keep — that must be why divorce happens, because in the Bible’s depiction of the bliss of human life as God wants it to be, divorce isn’t part of the picture at all. “Because of your hardness of heart,” Jesus says, the law of Moses permitted divorce. “But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’” In the world as God wants it to be, there simply are no autonomous selves in a marriage to tweeze apart in divorce.

Jesus, in other words, is simply refusing to be drawn into a debate as to when divorce is appropriate or inappropriate, when it may be justified or merely frivolous. He’s calling us to imagine a world without divorce on the table as an option at all. He’s inviting us to imagine existing in an atmosphere where love really is everything it’s cracked up to be, where promises really are kept, and violence and indifference and cruelty and boredom and spite really are nowhere to be seen. He’s calling us to imagine a world that doesn’t exist, in other words.

Except… maybe it does.

One of the scarlet threads that runs through the entire Bible, both Old and New Testaments, is that God has a spouse. God’s spouse is you and me. God’s spouse is Israel, His chosen people. God’s spouse is the church of Jesus Christ, Jesus being portrayed as the Bridegroom and we, His people, as His bride. And in the story Scripture tells, from beginning to end, God does not divorce us. No matter how many times we rebuff God, or thumb our noses at God, or give God the cold shoulder, or storm out and slam the door in God’s face, God goes on loving us. God loves and loves and loves us, all the way to whatever miserable end we find our path to, and then God loves us beyond that, opening up a future for us, forgiving us of all the ways we’ve turned our backs on God and others, and promising us a new creation in which there will be no more grief, despair, loneliness, resentment, abuse, neglect, or anything else that would try to undo our bonds with each other. In Jesus Christ God goes all the way down into death for us, and in Christ’s resurrection on Easter Sunday morning we see the ultimate triumph of God’s covenant love for us. From now on, nothing “in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39).

The new world imagined by Jesus is here. It has arrived already. It has broken into our present, and it is remaking us. We can even now, stumbling attempt after flawed stumbling attempt, begin to live in light of it, to embody its promise, to partake of and revel in its audacious wholeness.

In the one of the very last scenes of the Bible, one of the early Christian prophets says that he saw a vision of us, the church, the people of God, appearing before God as God’s bride. And then he hears a heavenly voice that says this:

See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.

May that new world, which is here right now among us in and through our risen Lord Jesus, come in all its radiance and wonder and fullness. And may we taste the promise-keeping, covenant love of God in the supper of the Lamb which we’re about to eat.

Amen.

[bestworstcase]

18 & 20!

writer asks

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

WELL

bitter snow has the “cassandra raised by sirin” au which i’ve been meaning to talk about ever since i posted chapter 15, so might as well do that here: 

cassandra casāndra witnesses her parents’ arrests but is a little better hidden, so sir peter never finds her + she is adopted by aunt sirin instead

so sirin’s family is. sirin hároham, her partner mainé dathamar, their kids tathēdora (9) and cornaīn (7), plus cas who is 4. mainé and tath are both ill and mainé in rapid decline; sirin, cornaīn, and cas are all distraught; the socona community is decimated and reeling. it’s bad times.

mainé dies about a month after the arrest, while tath lingers in ill health, neither recovering nor getting any worse. (this is the norm among survivors of the crop sickness.) sirin channels a lot of grief into knitting the community back together + trying to scrape together some semblance of safety + taking care of the kids. 

so cas grows up in the thorn syconium/zhan tiri’s cult + all this trauma + the youngest of three siblings whom she loves but also, because she’s cas, has a bit of a rivalry thing going on with + her natural ambition and what all of that combines into is. cas is just as intensely loyal and eager to impress as she is with her dad in bitter snow and canon but it’s all directed at sirin / the cult / saporia in general and.. no one is going to arbitrarily stand in her way, and instead of Desperately wanting to be a guard she Desperately wants to be the one who frees zhan tiri vhbhjdfhbjsdf

anyway

rapunzel’s and varian’s backstories are the same

moira caine’s is also the same (her mom, lada caine, is disabled as a result of crop sickness, dad gets arrested, she and lada move in with fraternal aunt neasa, they’re dirt poor until caine hits her mid-teens and takes up piracy) with the exception that she and cas do meet as kids / moira and cornaīn are kinda friends and cas is their obnoxious tagalong. they don’t know each other Well because the caines are in alcorsīa and that’s a ways from socona but they do encounter each other every so often during big religious festivals etc.

because peter doesn’t have an orphaned saporian kid to occupy him when the search for rapunzel starts to range beyond corona, he ends up in vardaros the spring after the kidnapping, following a lead that turns out to be a dead end. while he’s in the city a grubby five-year-old tries to pick his pocket and that’s how eugene fitzherbert gets adopted by a sergeant of the coronan royal guard and grows up to be basically Flynn Rider, But A Cop

*deep breath*

tath passes away due to complications of the chronic crop sickness in 1669 PE, when cas is 17 and cornaīn is 20. the family is devastated; cornaīn takes off for alcorsīa with the vague intention of joining the separatists as kind of a way of retaliating, and through a series of shenanigans ends up reconnecting with moira + joining the crew of the zampermin + supporting moira’s subsequent mutiny + becoming first mate on the zampermin under moira’s captaincy

cornaīn is killed during a battle at sea three years later in 1672 PE. cas takes to wandering / exploring a lot while sirin sort of snaps; in bitter snow proper this is the point where sirin’s plans in benighted start to really take shape but in this au well. Guess Who Finds Rapunzel In The Tower.

cue “well okay i'll take you to see the lanterns but also, this is going to sound weird but bear with me, can we take a detour to free my god from her prison with your hair?”

so cas and rapunzel make a pit stop at janus point en route to herzingen and while the sundrop by itself isn’t enough to free zhan tiri completely they do make a nice big crack in the wall for her to squeeze through so. well. you know: 

- cas, rapunzel, pascal, and zhan tiri head to herzingen so rapunzel can see the floating lights zhan tiri can conspire with this excellent new disciple and get the sundrop on her side

- gothel, realizing what happened, goes to herzingen in a rage, finds what seems like an easy mark in eugene—who is a respected member of the guard at this point but also has a lazy streak and is a bit callous and interested to a fault in personal enrichment because, again, flynn rider but a cop—and gets in his ear about saving the lost princess from zhan tiri’s cultists and then he’ll have all the riches and admiration he could possibly ask for :) 

- basically her plan is to wind him up and hurl him at cas + zhan tiri so she can “rescue” rapunzel and vanish into the night with her

my elaborate musings on this au sort of peter out at this point but i like to think there’s some big messy confrontation + cas gets stabbed by gothel + gothel does in fact get away with rapunzel and then... something something reluctant allies eugene and cas go after rapunzel with varian + lance + caine all getting dragged into it and then it’s wacky eldritch adventures all the way home. nonsense. 

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

ohhhh boy.

- i love writing dream sequences in general and the ones in benighted are fun because they all come from the various. entities of the sublime realm. and i have just been having a lot of fun kinda... playing with the imagery and weaving in hints about what’s coming vis a vis the sundrop/moonstone and zhan tiri lore. all the dreams are important / have meaning beyond the obvious of freaking the characters having them out. 

- the characters didn’t mention it in the moment because it felt wrong for them to do so / they had much bigger problems but the final scene of chapter 19 takes place on varian’s 15th birthday, the 2nd of Sicáraen. i didn’t do this on purpose (the way i pin things down on the timeline is largely based on travel times between different locations and that scene falling on that day was coincidental) but jksdkjlkbhhjsdfj this poor boy

- in-universe, there are 42 days remaining until benighted ends. this isn’t important i just think it’s neat. 

[bledmagic]

**the following is no way indicative of direct rp interactions & is solely referring to the personal canon to idrylla. if your muse wants to refer to the closeness of one of the companions listed here by all means, unless you are holding another rper muse in mind as that connection is different & not based upon these by the interactions idrylla & that muse has had. however if you would like to base interactions on these descriptions with your muse def lemme kno & we can plot on this further !

idrylla is not the only focus of the story, they are one of many that line the cast of our main tale & the interactions between idrylla & these characters drive the story forward or back. as the game still rests within the area of early access & there are hints from datamining of future companions this list is not complete nor is it going to contain anything proper beyond act 1 in terms of connections. with the previous statement said, here is each of our companions & the relationships held with idrylla as per the canon to their character & me. **i will note if i have romanced a npc like this, as the game is in early access n just like in who’s line is it anyway the choices n points dont matter there is no canon romance for idrylla at this moment in time. 

LAE’ZEL: idrylla has very few memories of the nautilus. their capture, their containment, & the escape itself is somewhat of a blurry mess. what they do remember is lae’zel. they remember her face, her struggling, her escaping that pod. they saw the moment the mind flayer infected lae’zel & the fear held within the githyanki’s features. all of this is unspoken between the two, but for idrylla it’s spurned a lot of emotions that have boiled down to pushing idrylla to get close to lae’zel & be quite defensive of her with strangers( shadowheart can make a few insults as a treat, lae’zel in return can make some serious threats in return as a treat ). it is with the first weeks of travel idrylla can be found hanging out along side lae’zel like a safety net, finding the familiarity of their escape as a bridge to base a friendship upon. despite that link that idrylla has tied between them they find lae’zel absolutely delightful in every way possible & considers lae’zel probably the closest friend idrylla has had in years, the honesty lae’zel shows in the most blunt way a refreshing change from the passive aggressiveness of the wizards guild peers. beyond all this, lae’zel is also the first githyanki has ever known & has prodded the poor warrior with a multitude of questions to absorb the info like a weird elf sponge, even going out of their way to learn on their own & ask lae’zel about later on. idrylla holds lae’zel’s opinon in high regard & often will ask her or look to her for her advice & even if not followed takes it in consideration. anyways they are best friends. ( lae’zel: we are not ‘friends’ / idrylla: you’re right. we are best friends, pal. / lae’zel: tch. ) **lae’zel has been romanced 

SHADOWHEART: while idrylla did try to save shadowheart from her pod, idrylla also has particularly failed at every turn to get shadowheart to even attempt to trust them. traditionally anyway. since the common ground of the parasite & needing to team up & trust each other has failed to get shadowheart to loosen up, idrylla has taken the approach to just be a utter nuisance to shadowheart. often chiding the other with jokes or teases, stirring up trouble between shadowheart & lae’zel, forcing shadowheart to go talk to people at parties( notable example is when idryl forced shadowheart to dance with them at the big fun tiefling celebration party in which shadowheart was so emabrassed she probs would have died on the spot if she wasnt actually having fun the whole time ), etc etc. shadowheart stresses idrylla out, so tightly wounded & clearly bothered by something that is clearly at times more dire than the worm in their brain. it activates idrylla’s older sibling mode near instantly as often the fussing of the other reminds idrylla very warmly of their younger siblings, one being very similar to the uptight cleric. when shadowheart does breakdown some of those walls & reveals her religious beliefs idrylla presents themselves as very accepting. while agnostic themselves, they do make a point to show they hold no ill will to shadowheart & support them, but more importantly wants shadowheart to learn to rely on them from then on to be more honest about anything. it’s after this shadowheart tends to be less antagonistic toward idrylla. but only a little less.

WYLL: idrylla noted early on that the “”””stone”””” that rests in his socket has a heartshaped looking pupil & annoyingly( to everyone except wyll himself ) calls him hearteye. as a baldurian they are very well versed in knowing the various tales & stories of the blade of frontiers. wyll is idrylla’s favorite drinking companion & the two get along like a pair of bros in a budding bromance that will make the fans go crazy. wyll holds a hard sense of justice that idrylla tends to think of a buzzkill at times, but does value the pull of morality his chiding holds considering her own moral standing at current is fuzzy at best. she does truly worry about how skiddish he tends to be about his guarded secrets & once learning upon the truth they promise to aid them in his quest to save his ‘totally not devil girlfriend’ & when wyll protests about such a title idryl simply responses ‘oh no i totally get it, hearteye.’ with a laugh & wink. idrylla also has wyll teach them the use of the blade, taking those teachings & applying them to their learnings of the staff as a weapon vs a channel for magic. often one can see them sparing in camp on down time. wyll is also the only one of the companions who gave idrylla a proper condolence when idrylla’s less than tragic backstory is revealed to the the companions, to which idrylla who was properly touched thanked him with a hand to their heart & a ‘aww, thanks man. you’re a real one.’

ASTARION: idrylla is far softer on astarion than they should be & they will deny it. usually such a judgement of letting astarion getting away with ( in most cases, literally ) murder is preceded by a loud groan or sigh. it’s not that idrylla wants to dull astarion’s sparkle, but more of a general worry. the more idrylla learns of him, the more & more they just feel bad( astarion: i rather be spared of pity, thanks / idryl: it’s not pity. i don’t pity you its just. well hearing that shit that happened to you ? makes me sick, man. horrible things to go through. makes me want to hit something. ). but the primary worry is what will happened to their newfound friend once the parasite is extracted, will astarion burn up in the sun ? prevented from hanging out with them at bars ? will they not be able to find something for him to eat on the journey they set on ? idrylla has no real way to comfort astarion in the face of his past & it makes them uncomfortable. all that can be offered is a arm about his shoulder & a ear to listen.  beyond all this, however, the two get along disturbingly well. idrylla’s current fuzzy moral standing & general pull to do really stupid things setting a stage for the two of them to act in their own chaotic fashion. the two make comments with each other that would make people wonder if they share a braincell. idrylla often pulls lae’zel into their shenanigans much to her dismay. the fact that astarion is a vampire spawn has absolutely zero negative effect or reaction from idrylla. **astarion has been romanced

GALE: i hate these two. considering gale being a wizard busybody i have to do the most divergent shit with this mf. love this catdad, anyways here go. gale & idrylla absolutely know of each other prior to the events of the game & have a loving rivalry friendship thing going on. they have met a few times due to the wizarding guild( take in mind, this wizard guild is something im developing for idrylla & is not canonical to the game ) of which gale would visit, but is not apart of, due to his associations. the two never had a proper moment of conversation prior but are as i said, very aware of each other at least in terms of their talents in magic. so whilst there is a pre-established link between them they are without a doubt strangers. their rivalry comes out at any time magic is spoken about or knowledge thereof. a interesting change in demeanor for idrylla who, for all intents & purposes before & during the events, tended to not have a proper ambitious or know-it-all bone in their body. the two will often agree about magic or purposely disagree. they speak of other wizards & generally are capable of working together to figure out spells or something magical in puzzles. when gale says that idrylla knows nothing about the weave, it took everything in idrylla to not set him on fire. when faced with the truth about gale’s utterly stupid need to consume magic & the reason behind it, idrylla simply just starts smacking him on the arm & calling him an idiot( considering idrylla’s recent expulsion from the wizarding guild spurred on by peers that are  power hungry & would do whatever they could to get ahead, the ordeal of gale sits very heavy on idrylla. while they does apologize later & explains the why. ). over time the two have gotten less antagonistic to each other & more or less bicker for the fun of it, showing that the two have found themselves more or less comfortable with each other & in their aventures found respect in each other’s talents. so far anyway. idrylla has threatened to steal gale’s cat( in jest to make gale wig out. )

[everydayanth]

STARTING AT 21:48

TRIGGER WARNING: The thumbnail doesn’t convey the tone here. This is footage of anti-protestors “protecting” a columbus statue in a park in PA. Things get violent, over-sensory, and include mob-mentality stress. Shortly after the timestamp indicated, there is mad disrespect to Native history and culture, a lot of ignorance and generalizations about the local Black communities.

If you don’t want to watch it: I am referring to a point where many white Americans are challenging a journalist asking them about policing, BLM, and politics, and one, to paraphrase, is worried that the journalist is going to cut it to make them look racist and call them white Americans, and he wants to be clear that they are “white Americans of Italian descent with deep roots in the area!” When pressed about Native American roots in the area, they erupt in swears and cuss at him, the same guy yelling “what do you want me to do about it?” Throughout the exchange, another guy is riling them up about media twisting their stories while the journalist continues to explain that he is live streaming and it therefore cannot be cut up. The Italian flag can be seen on shirts, bags, and waving in the background.

I can’t stop thinking about this. 

I ran into this in every corner of the US except the deep south cus I haven’t really been there yet (teen years don’t count). White Americans who want to belong to a cultural community continue to cling to their heritage culture in often stereotypic ways as a a way to separate them from the “whiteness” of white America and belong to a local community.

I can’t stop seeing it everywhere. But I know there is no one line, its all grey, and belonging to something bigger than yourself is a powerful connection for humans, as social creatures with dynamic identities and emotions, it can be a grounding place. 

But when I see stuff like this, I wonder how the heritage cultures see it. What do you think video clip of this in Italy? 

What do the Dutch think of all the Calvinists and Dutch Reformed Church communities in West Michigan? I actually asked a few Dutch people once, and one old guy goes “well... they left for a reason, and no one stopped them for a reason” lol.

Cultural identities were assimilated harshly, or else held onto in unexpected ways. When I look at it, my Dziadzia is Polish, from Poland, but he was a baby when they came, or born shortly after, so his siblings speak Polish (you know I hung out with great aunts and uncles all summer), but he doesn’t, he was pushed to be American. Technically, he’s a first generation immigrant, and I’ve connected to a lot of Polish-Americans and Polish people through experiences and linguistic pieces I never considered to be Polish before. 

In contrast, my dad’s Dutch parents lived in the Dutch part of town and went to a Dutch church and read from the Dutch (well, Frisian, I was in my 20s when I learned what that meant or why it was important) family Bible and my nana spoke to us in her thick accent and the d and v sections of my schools were the largest (de- and van- surnames) and we did Tulip Time and renamed areas Holland and Zealand. So while they had assimilated, it was in a VERY Dutch area, and assimilation was quite minimal. Some of my aunts and uncles are very... white-American, while others and my dad (he’s one of 6, my mom is one of 8) are very much Dutch and stayed in the Dutch neighborhoods and churches. It took me a lot of training to start capitalizing proper nouns guys, you don’t understand, then I studied German and I turned in a paper to this really harsh English teacher and he made me stay after class and yelled at me because proper nouns had been left uncapitalized while regular nouns were capitalized... it was a bad day lol.

The Irish are critical of the Americanized St.Paddy’s day (understandably) and the souvenir shops seem to welcome Irish-Americans with open-arms and family crests on every type of knick-knack tchotchke you can imagine, while I have also heard Irish-American claims of identity dismissed in documentaries and series about Gaeilge as their own separate thing, with their own history that has become distinctly not-Irish in culture, location, language, or history (though the British enemy stayed the same).

There are tons of anglophiles in America who idealize England and watch the royal wedding and consume British media with glee. 

I’m not too sure about Spanish or French identities in America because growing up in MI, I learned the basic French from Canadian friends and their families, but I associated that with Canada, not France. When did it become different? Like Cajun, is it its own identity? Seems like it, tbh. And I associated Spanish and Portuguese language with friends from Central and South America because I didn’t really know of anyone from Spain or Portugal heritages and learned about them in school as the colonizers (along with Italian). Strange how that framing works to displace blame/responsibility, huh. In that Dutch school and I had to learn about the Dutch East India Trading Co from frickin’ Pirates of the Caribbean? Psh, says enough.

Bavarian has become the American stamp of German heritage, despite many families being from the lowlands or surrounding areas. A German friend got so fed up with the association one time, he yelled at everyone about electronic music, jumpstyle, and green energy so long that we ended up not playing soccer and just listening to him rant about what “German” was not. It was Oktober, and it was a college town, so I get it lol.

Eastern Europeans seem to often get stigmatized while Scandinavians... I dunno, seem to assimilate or keep to themselves? There’s a Danish population in a small town in MI that is very proud of its roots but beyond a parade and some flags, some round pancakes and me struggling eternally with the Danish language, there wasn’t too much of a focus on it. There’s also a large Finnish population in the UP (NOT Scandinavian, Nordic, I know, sorry), and they retain many Finnish words and phenotypic traits, flags wave over porches, but again, for the most part, they’re just... Michiganders. 

My view of this could also be very skewed because while I’ve lived in tons of states over the past 6-7 years, that doesn’t change the 20+ I spent growing up in MI, a place that is very insulated and island-cultured, making a steady clash of hot/cold and high/low-context cultures in a concentrated area.

Anyway, European friends (or anyone), do you think about this? Is this a conversation topic for you? How do you view white Americans who stand by or maintain ownership of a European identity? 

White Americans who know or claim a heritage often have a story about a family member who rebelled and came to America. Do you have those stories from the opposite POV, a wayward family member who left to America and was never heard from again?

For everyone: is there a point where a cultural heritage becomes an idealization? Where you are no longer an active participant but a bystander? Is there an American replacement or did assimilation remove that? Or did assimilation create it?

There’s an Ancestry.com commercial I think about a lot. The guy wears a kilt or Leiderhösen, I forget which one first, then does some research on ancestry, and finds that his family had their history wrong, so he traded in one for the other. Is this cultural appropriation? At what point do you lose ownership? Or do we always own our roots? What about when our roots get too tangled to trace, or cut off altogether, by our own family’s nonchalance (as in, not remembering or maintaining) or forced by a stronger power? 

Is it a different conversation when talking about personal costuming for an event vs anti-protests using their European heritage as a platform to deny change? Or is it the same act to different degrees or in positive/negative lights? 

If you are White-American, did you grow up with a heritage culture in your family or community? When did you start to notice it? How has it impacted your identity?

I know these questions also extend to BIPOC and immigrant/religious minority cultures in America, but due to histories of stigmatization, demonization, oppression, genocide, slavery, and appropriation, it seems like that has to be a different conversation. Clinging to roots when someone has cut you away or is trying to uproot you to assimilate is different than willfully leaving, which seems different than being forced out as a refugee or due to internal conflict/crises (famine, war, etc.), these are different conversations to me. 

I’ve just been thinking about this a lot. 

[2heartgirl]

If I wanted to get into playchoices how would I do it?

Getting into the Playchoices fandom is very easy! Playchoices as a tag refers to the Choices: Stories You Play app by Pixelberry Studios. It’s an app that hosts original visual novel stories with a big emphasis on romance options and branching paths. While I’m sure it’s not the first app of its kind it is what helped the big boom in popularity of apps similar to it like Storyscape (R.I.P.) and Episode which you may or may not remember used to make those really weird clickbait ads on tumblr:

I’ve been a fan of Pixelberry since their previous simulation app games High School Story and Hollywood U and have been playing Choices since the first month it came out. The only thing you have to do to get into it is find stories you like and read/play through them! Outside of a few exceptions like direct sequels or the ability to recognize reused assets to save some money nearly every single story is self-contained so you don’t have to worry about finishing them all at once. They’ve built up a lot of content since the initial release and now if you start up a profile they’ll have a quiz at the beginning to point you in the right direction of what you want to read but down below are some of my recs. If you find you don’t enjoy a book don’t be afraid to stop playing and try something else!

Horror 

It Live: Absolute favourite!!! The It Lives series in my opinion is the most dramatic books they’ve put out and the best written when it comes to the consequences of your choices. Each is an anthology series with a different cast that focuses on a monster living in the local area. Since it’s horror there are mentions of gore/people getting hurt and the big draw is that if you don’t make the right choices everyone in your friend groups can abandoned you or die. The series does come with trigger warnings at really big parts though. Also PB please give us It Lives 3 soon : (

The Haunting of Braidwood Manor: Very, very short but I still remember it fondly! The first horror story by PB you decide to spend the night in the infamous Braidwood Manor as a last ditch effort to recover from a car crash that’s haunted you for years.

Mystery

Veil of Secrets: Only one book long but I really liked it! Your best friend goes missing minutes before walking down the aisle at her wedding and everything points to sabotage. Go around the seaside trying to unravel what happened as you try and rescue her and discover the dark secrets of the town (also this story has like the first major flash animation sequence at the reveal of [redacted] and everyone in the fandom lost their minds that day it was awesome) 

Endless Summer: Basically the Homestuck of Choices if it was also Lost. You and your college friends arrive to the tropical island you were suppose to enjoy a vacation on but soon realize that something is very, very wrong. You go around solving the mysteries of what happened while trying to find a way home. I can’t even describe most of the plot because of how many spoilers there are but it’s a wild ride.

Fantasy:

The Elementalists: Love this one! One day at college you accidentally see a girl in your mirror and fall into a magical portal to a fantasy world. You are pushed to enroll at the local knock-off Hogwarts and discover with your new friends that something out there is trying to use you for its own purposes. I love the magic system and lore and the bonus scenes! One of the few stories where I went it knowing I would save diamonds to buy extra content.

The Crown & the Flame: Actually one of the first three books PB ever put out and even if its been years I still remember enjoying it a lot. Has a different flavour compared to most of the later stories in the app as you play as predetermined characters princess Kenna and her best friend Dominic who have just witnessed the fall of Kenna’s kingdom and work on opposite sides to build Kenna the army she needs to take her home back. Very ambitious with a lot of worldbuilding but a major con is that if you want the best outcomes you do have to spend a bit of diamonds to get them.

Romance: 

(As a disclaimer like nearly every single book has romance elements in it if not all of them so if you’re playing to kiss some cute PNG art you’ll have no trouble finding it lmao)

The Royal Romance: So popular PB gave in and wrote us the Royal Heir sequels. You’re a waitress in New York who accidentally encounters the prince of a faraway country having one last big party before getting married. The next day his friend sponsors you to become a potential suitor and are taken to his home to battle it out in court with princesses to win the prince’s hand. Obviously romance trope heavy it’s a really fun read and if you don’t want to marry a prince don’t worry, you got options here.

Rules of Engagement: Very old but I played this one religiously when it came out. You play as yourself and your three siblings on a summer cruise as you try and fulfil the requirements of your late grandmother’s will for her fortune. It can be very silly at times but the game seems aware of it and I named all of my characters something weird and got this amazing reaction image out of it.

Those are just my recs but you can start nearly anywhere if you find something that interests you! As well keep in mind while every book can be completed for free the in-game currency of diamonds can be used to to purchase bonus scenes (usually one of your friends/love interests asking if you want to hang out for some alone time), better outfits/hair (usually it’s just for cosmetic purposes but better outfits for special occasions will net you more approval) and sometimes whole characters (The Heist: Monaco and Perfect Match both do this). I’m sure they give you some for free starting out but you can also earn up to five a day by watching ads. (Also before they increased the time refresh I saved up biggggg by doing them everyday during my work breaks and I’m posting a pic of my hoard just because I want to show off)

That should be enough info for you to start out with so have fun playing!

[idkwhoiamanymorebutwtf]

What song do you associate with Gumball Watterson?

Ooh, there are a few! Not all of them are an exact fit for him but I think of him when I hear a lot of them. Below are two songs (along with a detailed analysis on why I think each one is fitting). There are more that seem to fit him but these are the big ones off the top of my head. 

Fine, Great by Modern Baseball is one. The song really strikes me as someone who tries to pretend they care less about things and people than they do, tries to seem annoyed with those around them, comes off as apathetic. “But it’s alright, and i’m okay, I don’t need your help anyway” is one example, showing how the person responds to other’s worrying about them, brushing it off and trying to act like they don’t want the support they clearly need. This reminds me of Gumball because he’s known to act like he’s fine when he isn’t (the shell is the biggest one example where he told his family he was alright and then went and cried his eyes out, and while usually it’s more subtext than that, his tendency to pretend things that upset him aren’t a big deal is present a lot) and usually he deflects any worry people may show for him by being sarcastic and snarky with them because when people are annoyed with him they don’t usually see through his fake apathy. “All I wanna do is worry about everyone but me” is another one, showing that the person doesn’t focus on themselves as much as other people. Now within the context of the song it probably means they try to help other people instead of helping themselves, however worrying about other people doesn’t necessarily have to be caring about them or innocent concern. I mean, have you ever had a teacher tell you not to worry about other people when you complain to them about someone else breaking the rules? “Worrying about” someone could be focusing on their negatives and they way they’re messing up, and it’s been established that Gumball often deflects his own insecurities by focusing on other people’s. The whole verse “I’m so tired, or maybe just bored, I can’t really tell the difference whenever i’m talking to you, and I know that you just adore starting off with me that way there’s no way i’ll assume that you’re wasting all of my time to vent about your problems like how your instagram stopped working or how you’re friends bailed on you but it was funny because that was the day you were supposed to hang with me....yeah about that...” also strikes me. The part where they say “I’m so tired” could definitely be a sign that the narrator has some emotional issues and depression going on that would make them ‘tired’, but not wanting to confide in the other person they quickly backtrack, changing it to be talking about how bored they are with the conversation and how annoying the other person is. Again, I think Gumball purposefully portrays himself as selfish and tries to act all bored an judgey and apathetic specifically so people don’t look too deeply into him and all I can think about when I hear those lines is him talking about how annoying Alan is because he’s nice to Gumball and Gumball doesn’t know how to deal with someone being nice and patient and actually acknowledging his emotions since he uses being a bit of a jerk to deflect that exact sort of attention and usually people don’t look much deeper. The whole verse “I’m guilty as charged for leading you on a lie that I know it’s easy to see, but it’s crucial to blot out any signs that I might have feelings This way you don't ask me, how am I? This way you won't force me to proceed with actually having to tell you my worries, with actually having you give a damn about me....you giving a damn about...” has the same implications but it actually shows that a lot of people around the narrator notice something’s wrong but choose to take the opportunity to ignore it. ‘Leading you on a lie that I know it’s easy to see’ is saying that their false apathy is see through and that people can easily tell that it’s not real, however with, ‘it’s crucial to blot out any signs that i might have feelings’ it shows that not only does the narrator encourage people to ignore the emotions they try to hide, but that most people, seeing through the lie, purposefully take the opportunity the narrator gives them to ignore it since they don’t actually care, they just don’t want to be responsible if the narrator has some sort of breakdown, and they take the deniability the narrator gives them without a second thought. ‘this way you don’t ask me how am i, this way you don’t force me to proceed with actually having to tell you my worries, with actually having you give a damn about me..’ strengthens that. The people in the narrators life don’t actually care about the narrator’s feelings or mental stability, they don’t really want to know how the narrator is, they don’t want to deal with the narrator’s issues, they just want to look good by going through the motions of asking so they can say they tried, and the narrator, not wanting to talk about themselves or their issues, is happy to oblige and give them an out. Once again this reminds me of Gumball. The people around him love him but they also wanna believe everything is fine with him because they have their own stresses and if they found out he wasn’t okay, they’d be forced to deal with that, both out of a sense of obligation to take care of their loved one, and because they do care about him. It’s not that they don’t care, but they want him to be fine so they don’t have to deal with it if he’s not, and so when he tells them that everything’s fine and deflects by being all annoyed and apathetic, they want to believe it so badly that they do because they’ve got enough issues to deal with themselves. However it obviously comes across to him as if they just don’t care, and so he hides even farther because now he thinks nobody cares. At the very end of the song the narrator repeats the first few lines of the song “ I hate worrying about the future cause All my fucking problems are based around the past, and I hate when you call me late at night just to check in to make sure I got nothing to be sad about But it's alright and I'm okay I don’t need your help anyway.”, except with more emotion than the first time because the narrator is even more hurt by the apparent unconcern of those around them, which I find fitting of Gumball because while it’s true that the kid has a lot of emotional issues, the one I think effects him the most, is that he feels like those around him (especially his family) don’t really care about or need him.

Saint Bernard by Lincoln (ignoring a lot of the religious tones to the song and taking them as metaphor). The song starts off with the line “Hung pictures of patron saints up on my wall, to remind me that i am a fool—” and honestly what immediately strikes me about this line is the narrator referring to themself as a fool as if they legitimately believe themselves to be one. It strikes me that they have very low self confidence, and that reminds me of Gumball, especially since the narrator described themselves with the word ‘fool’ and Gumball has been lead to believe that he’s stupid. Now whenever I picture this song when thinking about Gumball I don’t use patron saints because....the religious references are just metaphors (at least in my interpenetration since...Gumball doesn’t have much to do with religion, lol) and I actually think of his siblings filling the role of the patron saints in this song. Someone above him, who’s better than him, who he doesn’t necessarily resent but who he still feels some level of hurt towards for them being better than him. Someone who’s pictures would be hung on the wall, taunting him, proving to him that he’s nothing, at least in comparison. Then there’s the line “Tell me where I came from, what I will always be: Just a spoiled little kid who went to Catholic school.”  and it feels like the narrator both is upset that he’ll never amount to anything or have a greater legacy than...catholic school, but he also refers to himself as ‘spoiled’ which shows that maybe the narrator acknowledges that they haven’t had an objectively awful life and feels like they have no place to complain. This reminds me of Gumball, not only because he’s been convinced that he doesn’t have any potential and won’t amount to anything, but because there aren’t many reasons for him to complain. His family loves him, he’s got food and a house and even a tv, he had an education, etc, so it’d be dumb to complain, and yet he’s still a very sad and insecure character (for good reason but it’d be easy for him to doubt himself and think he’s just spoiled) the song also has this line, “When i am dead i won't join their ranks because they are both holy and free” is another line. The narrator is comparing themself with these people and clearly doesn’t believe that he matches up to them and that they’re better than him. But the narrator also clearly sees all the good in them, not in an annoyed ‘ohh, they think they’re so great >:(’ way but in a genuine ‘they’re great and i can’t hate them because they really are great but i can’t help but hurt that i can’t be great too’ way. And I can see Gumball feeling that way towards his siblings, who I already said I was using as stand-in’s for the ‘patron saints’. He loves them with all his heart, really. He thinks they’re wonderful. But he’s painfully aware that he can’t compare to them. Now there’s the line “I said make me love myself so that i might love you. Don't make me a liar, because i swear to god when i said it i thought it was true”. Well this one isn’t talking about the patron saints anymore since the saints are referred to as ‘they’, separate people from the conversation, while thing line uses ‘you’, as in the person the narrator is talking to. And it feels like a romantic partner so when I think of this in the context of the song applying to Gumball I immediately think of Penny. This line just drips with affection and genuine love, like the kind of love that Gumball has for his girlfriend, but the line also acknowledges that the narrator is deeply insecure and feels torn because people always say you can’t love someone before you love yourself, and yet Gumball doesn’t love himself, and he does love her so so so much. Then there’s the line “Saint Calvin told me not to worry about you, but he’s got his own things to deal with. There’s really only one thing that we have in common: Neither of us will be missed” Well again, we have the ‘you’ prefix, which i’m assigning to a new person since I don’t think this line is fitting for talking about Penny tbh. However i’ll have to explain why i’m using this person so I won’t name them yet, just bare with me. ‘Saint Calvin’ is probably John Calvin, and I know I said I would use the religious stuff as strictly metaphorical, but I think the connotations behind him were interesting. John Calvin was a believer in predestination, or the idea that someone in destined to heaven or hell since birth. In the song, talking about John Calvin is probably speaking on how the narrator doesn’t feel like they have much potential, like they were born into a role and like they’re meant to spend their whole lives in it (the role of a spoiled kid who went to catholic school). When applying this to Gumball it works on multiple levels. First off, it works with the implications the narrator put to it, that, as said earlier, he doesn’t believe he has any real potential in his life. However there’s a whole new implication to that which we can put on Gumball that wasn’t implied with the original narrator. In tawog, they’re in a tv show in universe as well as out. The idea of being born into a certain role, predestined to be in that position, is incredibly prominent in the show. Gumball was put into the role of the protagonist, the hero. And what’s the other side to that? The villain. Which makes me associate this line with Rob, who was forced to be the villain just off the merit of Gumball being the hero. I’m calling Rob the ‘you’ in this section of this song. The part where he says ‘Saint Calvin told me not to worry about you’ is probably the narrator addressing someone he cares about who he sees as a sinner, going against the beliefs the narrator holds dear,  which makes the narrator want to help this person, but according to John Calvin’s belief, people are destined for heaven or hell from the start, so there’s nothing that can be done for this person. Well, putting Gumball in the role of the narrator and Rob in the role of the other person, this still works. Gumball clearly cares a lot about Rob weather he wants to admit it or not, but Rob was forced into the role of a villain, and to everyone involved he’s meant to stay in that role, and it’s no use trying to help him be anything else. Gumball isn’t supposed worry about him, though, both because it’s not supposed to be possible to change his role in the show, and because with Gumball being the hero and Rob being the villain, Gumball is supposed to hate Rob. Also, going with the theme of using Gumball’s siblings for the saints in this song, neither Darwin or Anais care much or worry about Rob the way Gumball does, and could also be the saint telling him not to worry about Rob, and I can see Gumball using the line ‘but he has his own things to do’ to show his annoyance over always being judged. They’re better than him and they clearly act like they’re above him, so they shouldn’t waste their time judging what he does, and they don’t because while they more than likely don’t see all that Gumball sees in Rob, they also are too occupied with other things most of the time Gumball is around Rob to scold him. Clearly, though, Gumball doesn’t follow this idea that Rob is bad and that he shouldn’t care about him, since he really really does not hate Rob. Then there’s the part of ‘neither of us will be missed’, which is also fitting of the two of them. Rob has no friends, no family, he was sent to the void for heaven’s sake, the only person who would probably notice if he went missing tomorrow is Gumball. And as for Gumball, he’s deeply insecure and feels like people don’t really care about him. If he disappeared tomorrow maybe people would notice but maybe they’d be better for it too. When Gumball imagines the future he probably sees his siblings (who we talked a lot about earlier) having good, successful lives. His sister’ll probably graduate college and be some big shot scientist or something and make loads of money and be able to support herself. His brother’ll probably have a nice house and marry his highschool sweetheart and have 2.5 kids and a dog and he’ll get a nice job and host game night for all his friends every saturday. However it’s been established that Gumball doesn’t really think he’ll have an important future. He probably thinks he’ll have no job or a poor paying one, probably thinks his girlfriend will either leave him or be held back by him, etc. Gumball doesn’t think he’d be missed if he were gone, really, and it’s something that connects him with Rob, who’s supposed to be his enemy, who he’s supposed to have nothing in common with. Then finally there’s this part of the song “A saint bernard sits at the top of the driveway. You always said how you loved dogs. I don't know if i count, but i'm trying my best when i'm howling and barking these songs”. Well, i’m hesitant on the meaning of this one because in talking about ‘saint bernard’ they’re most likely making more associations with actual saints, however I couldn’t find much meaning behind the actually saint bernard, so i’m going with the associations behind the dog breed cause he mentions the name particularly in reference to the dog breed. This breed is particularly known to be sweet and well behaved and patient and easily trained and very very intelligent. And going with the theme of associating ‘saints’ in this song with Gumball’s siblings...Darwin is very sweet and well behaved and Anais is definately extremely intelligent and trainable. Going off of another running theme in this analysis, we’re going to change who ‘you’ is in this paragraph too. Imma go with their parents who clearly favor his siblings over him. This shows Gumball, once again, thinking he can’t live up to his siblings, but trying his best to anyway despite thinking he falls short, and just hoping it’s good enough.

[lifeawoke]

ramble on about our fave's kid(s) please

if they had a kid ask meme    -    open    ! 

i WILL and i will do it for all of them because i love the bezukhovs very much.

name: marya “masha” pyotrovna bezukhova (honestly should just be bezohova in my opinion but whatever)

gender: female

general appearance: dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin. not particularly special looking, like both her parents honestly. nose that goes right down and ends with a curve rather than a point. 3a hair, never a hair out of place (thanks aunt marya). a little tall for a girl, average weight for her height. 

personality: marya had a lot more say in masha’s raising so she takes after her a little bit. also, she’s the eldest of the bezukhovs, so she’s more strict and responsible than her siblings. she’s religious, not to the same point as marya, but where her dad’s a spiritual religious person & her mom’s a church-going, pray when something bad happens/you want something religious person, she’s more of both. not very artistic but smart and practical. knows a lot about politics from her dad. caring & protective, especially of her younger siblings. not soft spoken but not loud like her parents might be. will stand her ground though. more of an ambivert than anything, appreciates silence though. i love her

special talents: is the only one of the rostov-bezukhov kids to remember any english & often translates things, mostly political articles, for her parents/family.

who they like better: pierre, he’s a little more serious than natasha. but if she had to choose anyone ever it would be aunt marya or grandma natalya even.

who they take after more: pierre. facts. i kinda explained it earlier. 

personal head canon: marya, like her aunt, is a lot like sonya. she has the most potential/reason to marry up or rich and leave the family, maybe even travel, but is far too dedicated to her family to leave before the youngest are grown up.

face claim: i hate this no

next kid !

name: elizaveta “lisa” pyotrovna bezukhova 

gender: female

general appearance: a bit of an oddball, light brown hair, hazel, eyes, tanned skin. looks a lot like pierre, despite being a short little thing like natasha. has long arms though, something you wouldn’t really notice unless she points it out (and she will point it out to complain about them). a big mouth like natasha and more brown-ish lips, which she also hates. lisa also has “curly” hair, although its more of a wave so maybe 2b-2c. it suits her well enough, considering hair is mostly pulled back in her generation/time. a lil thicca than the rest of the litter. chubby cheeks that suit her round face. i’m kinda thinking a half-guatamalen e.liza s.canlen.

personality: was raised with a lot more freedom than masha, so a little less prim and proper. this was kinda the point where nat & pierre already knew they were gonna end up popping out kids the way disney pops out remakes so they kind of just went with the flow and got a lot more.. parenty with lisa. this didn’t mean much. she’s affectionate like natasha and passionate like pierre. doesn’t share his interests, though; lisa’s more of an athletic type. is a big complainer, which is sometimes endearing but less so the older she gets. fairly feminine but doesn’t have this obsession with boys and marriage the way her mother did and the way that girls were expected to. gets along well with her sister. more of an extrovert. 

special talents: she’s an excellent horse rider, also says fuck side saddles because she heard a queen in denmark did it once and she’s only gotten better since. 

who they like better: she’s freest around pierre & she loves that but she relates most to natasha, so it’s 45/55 tie honestly.

who they take after more: natasha; they both like riding (lisa more than nat) and both have personalities that demand to be seen in a mostly endearing way. 

personal head canon: growing up lisa was probably closest to nikolai andreyevich, and you can see even as they grow up how close they are. there are even moments when lisa goes to coco before she goes to her own sister about something. it scares some guys off as lisa gets older but she doesn’t really mind.

face claim: if e.liza s.canlen was half gutamalen, i’d say her

the boy !!

name: pyotr “petya” pyotrovich bezukhov

gender: male

general appearance: okay you know o.scar i.saac? imagine him young, tall, and SKINNY. except not when he’s young, he’s a chubby kid and it’s the cutest thing. some pictures for reference. he also is p confident looking, if that makes sense. maybe not the long hair but maybe when he’s younger? 

personality: mirrors his namesake a lot. young kid that’s just so weirdly mature it’s like... who are your parents bc it’s definitely not nat & pierre. except it is. he gets a lot of extra love from natasha who has been wanting a boy for so long so she could name him after petya. he’s a mama’s boy, #respectwomen, an intellectual like his dad. has a lot of the same problems as his dad in his youth– indecisive & sometimes hedonistic. i mean he grew up rich it does things to you. but i love him dearly. and he does find his purpose earlier than pierre did, finds love in government stuff, which he half gets from his dad and half from his older sister, who cared a  l o t for him. is super close with marya, gets along well with lisa. he isn’t very sentimental though, although he has a soft side for his mom and eldest sister, he can be too objective for some people. an introvert but not shy.

special talents: he can knock out a novel a day if he wants to; his attention span is a mile long

who they like better: oh natasha. she loves that kid & he loves her

who they take after more: pierre ! petya admires pierre for sure and i can imagine pierre feels a lil more comfortable teaching his son about puberty nd sex and stuff than he does his daughter so i imagine they speak freely to each other

personal head canon: petya was even going to run off into the army like petya ilyich without knowing that his uncle did the same thing, but natasha caught him and explained to him what happened to her brother & he’s been jaded by the idea of fighting in a war ever since.

face claim: o.scar i.saac but half russian bhsbdj

the last one! in my head they have a lot more but we shall discuss them at a different time. 

name: yeva “yevochka” pyotrovna bezukhova

gender: female

general appearance: an oddball again, but less so. dark brown eyes and straight blonde hair. a skinny, long face and a very unique nose, one you don’t ever see– i’m thinking like a.licia v.ikander’s nose. it adds character to her already freckled face. her skin is many shades lighter than her father’s but she tans well and often.  very feminine in appearance and dress but looks shy. very skinny, almost sickly skinny like her mom is. average height. 

personality: more of the observing type. spoiled but not necessarily bratty (at least not compared to most rostovs growing up). enjoys the arts, especially performance ones, but doesn’t really enjoy being a part of them. she’s insecure like lisa is but isn’t as vocal about it, which gives this sad kind of air to her. she’s more religious like marya, almost soley because she spends the most time with marya. lives life slowly. very chill but clearly lacks purpose. not very comfortable with who she is as a person. ends up being very close to her parents because she would rather spend time with them than other kids. 

special talents: she’s an excellent chef because she spends a lot of time in the kitchen (usually with grandma natalya until she died, then just on her own going through old recipes) 

who they like better: probably natasha because she admires her outgoingness. 

who they take after more: pierre ! doesn’t have his passion but has his slight awkwardness.

personal head canon: yeva grew up watching her father a lot, but felt the most embarrassed when he’d say something that wasn’t well-received. this proclivity towards second-hand embarrassment stops her form doing a lot & putting herself out there. 

face claim: a.licia v.ikander’s nose on a much paler, freckled, and blonde a.dria a.rjona. it sounds weird but i think it?? kinda works for what i’m trying to get across

[cannabisrefugee-esq]

(via Antiauthoritarianism: Illustration via Juxtaposition.)

If the above vid is not the perfect illustration of concept I don’t know what is. This is the most recent YouTube upload by Royalty Soaps, what used to be a one-woman soapmaking business that has grown over several years into something else. The backstory here seems to be that at some point, the eldest yet still teenaged daughter in some freakishly large Quiverfull-type family consisting of a mother, a father and a dozen(ish) Irish twins* started making soap and with the help and support of that family has become very successful and has now delegated some of her substantial duties to others.

As described in this vid, this woman’s business recently experienced an unexpected and frightening setback and she relied heavily on her family to correct the situation and save the day, which they did in spades.  They also had the time, energy, material resources and desire to throw her an Insta-worthy backyard 25th birthday party in the midst of this family project.  The party was beautiful and the familial love and care given and received there, as documented in this vid…well watch it for yourself and see what you think.  For me, the experience of watching this was somewhat complicated.  I enjoyed it, was moved by it but it made me deeply uncomfortable and thinky…and hungry for salad, cake and sun tea.

What was so deeply disturbing to me about this footage was the backdrop against which it was shot and I’m not referring to her (albeit somewhat disturbing) home state of Texas, or a photo prop.  The backdrop here, as it is most everywhere, is the social context of capitalism and patriarchy and what that means is that, in order for this situation and this footage to exist, this woman has had to comply, comply, comply in order to reap what must be conditional rewards of love; affection; physical presence and caretaking; emotional care and concern; and finally, material things that, under the current system, really only money can buy.  Doesn’t it?  In her case, she has had to buy into the religious, political and social traditions of her family including the patriarchal authority of her parents, the heterosexual and mommy mandates and more in order to have what she has.  Of course, the traditions of her family mirror the traditions of her culture more or less exactly.

Luckily for her there does not seem to be any obvious conflict between her own values, conscience etc. and that of her family (or culture) but what if there was?  What would happen to her if she woke up one day with, say, environmental concerns implicating overpopulation and natalism, or economic concerns implicating capitalism and the money system and the ethics of making and selling soap (or doing anything) for profit?  What if, God forbid, this Quiverfull (or whatever) daughter woke up one day with feminist concerns which implicate all of that plus the destablization of the patriarchal authority of her father/parents, her husband, her church and the State?

Let’s talk about anitauthoritarianism for a bit.  Antiauthoritarians, as far as I understand, do not normally stand around trying to sip lemonade through twigs, pissing in the wind or paddling swamped canoes sideways upstream; antiauthoritarians accept some authority in other words, like natural authority/natural law including the laws of physics.  As described in this article from the Mad In America blog, antiauthoritarians just flatly reject illegitimate authority, or authority that appears to be illegitimate to them:

Anti-authoritarians question whether an authority is a legitimate one before taking that authority seriously. Evaluating the legitimacy of authorities includes assessing whether or not authorities actually know what they are talking about, are honest, and care about those people who are respecting their authority. And when anti-authoritarians assess an authority to be illegitimate, they challenge and resist that authority—sometimes aggressively and sometimes passive-aggressively, sometimes wisely and sometimes not.

People who do not or cannot accept what they see as illegitimate authority commonly become socially and financially disenfranchised leading to isolation and chronic poverty, homelessness and physical injury and disease.  Contributing to their disenfranchisement, they are also often diagnosed, by capitalistic patriarchal medical authority no less, as being mentally ill.  Which is exactly what authoritarian medical providers would tend to think of — and do to — anti-authoritarians innit.

In the case of the founder of Royalty Soaps, she seems to be doing quite well for herself, as far as we know is happy, healthy, and (therefore implicitly) socially, mentally, emotionally, intellectually and materially well-supported.  But what did it take for her to get there?  Under the current system of capitalism and patriarchy, since she is not particularly disenfranchised I think we can infer at least that either she is an authoritarian or that she is an antiauthoritarian who has decided that capitalistic and patriarchal authority is legitimate.   Can’t we?  I suspect that she is an authoritarian but even if she isn’t, in either case, she has been willing and able to take direction and correction from (for example) a serial impregnator (her father), a domesticated/patriarchal woman (her mother), an entitled male child (her young husband) and others with such dubious credentials and she seems to be fine with this.  To be fair, her parents and family do seem to be nice people.

Funnily enough, in this vid we also see her taking direction and correction directly from the capitalistic patriarchal State by way of the town’s Fire Marshall who evicted her noncompliant workspace from her property, but if she ever wakes up with antiauthoritarian tendencies and an anticapitalist or pro-feminist bent the Fire Marshall — or even the State — will be the least of her problems.

The concept of antiauthoritarianism under conditions of capitalism and patriarchy has given me much food for thought and insights into my own life and struggles as a feminist woman in a capitalist patriarchy: I am pretty obviously an antiauthoritarian myself and have been unable to consistently take direction and correction from patriarchal authority which I have deemed illegitimate on its face.  Of course, under a more or less global social system founded on patriarchy ALL social authority is rather inherently patriarchal isn’t it.  That explains a lot.

I simply cannot take impregnators and oppressors of women or their authority seriously, I cannot take patriarchal handmaidens and/or domesticated women and their authority seriously.  If some fucking porn addicted greasy manager/patriarchal enforcer/capitalist/prick says or implies that I have to do thus and so or else I will become homeless and raped (disenfranchised in other words) I have always had a serious problem with that.**  I don’t know why more people don’t, except that they are either authoritarians, or antiauthoritarians who think the authority of porn addicted greasy pricks is rooted in something legitimate.  Some people probably do think that, yes.  But I don’t.  And “authoritarian” is not that great of a thing to be.

au·thor·i·tar·i·an adjective favoring or enforcing strict obedience to authority, especially that of the government, at the expense of personal freedom.

“the transition from an authoritarian to a democratic regime”

synonyms:  autocratic, dictatorial, totalitarian, despotic, tyrannical, autarchic, draconian, absolute, arbitrary, oppressive, repressive, illiberal, undemocratic, antidemocratic

noun an authoritarian person. synonyms:  autocrat, despot, dictator, tyrant, absolutist.

*The youngest sibling, a toddler girl, was born with Down’s Syndrome and has leukemia for which the parents are subjecting her to chemo and radiation treatment. On that basis alone some people would start to seriously question the values and customs of this family and this culture but this woman doesn’t.  Not yet anyway.

**I don’t have any problem avoiding homelessness by, say, not playing with fire, not living on a flood plain if I can help it (learned that one the hard way) or not disassembling my home with a screwdriver and selling the pieces for scrap.  That means something.  And the sicker I get, not-doing things — as opposed to doing things — is about the best I can do anyway.

Comments Open.

[scorchroots]

15 Questions for Your OC

Rules: Pick a character from your WIP, and have them answer these 15 questions, then tag 15 people!

I was tagged by the lovely @fictionshewrote to do this tag game (twice!!! because I am so behind on ask games!!! gah!!! so I’m going to put them both here). Thank you! I’m so excited! I’m going with Maddie Leonard, the most chaotic child in the Mystic, CA series, and her brother Sam Leonard, now that their intro post is up. I love the Leonards. Maddie is fully just who I want to be when I grow up.

(tw: mention of suicide)

MADDIE LEONARD

1. What is your full name?

Madeleine Emma Leonard.

2. What does your full name mean?

Madeleine is from Magdalene, which means ‘woman of Magdala’. But Magdala means ‘elevated, great, and magnificent’, as well as ‘tower’. Emma means ‘universal’. I think that’s appropriate.

3. What are your nicknames/other names?

It’s Maddie. Please do not call me Madeleine. 

4. What’s your gender?

I’m a cis girl.

5. What’s your sexuality?

I guess you could say pansexual? Gender really just isn’t a factor for me. But dating is also pretty weird anyway, thanks to my magical abilities. Being able to poke around in someone’s emotions doesn’t really make it easy to have boundaries, which I’m working on.

6. Where are you from?

A little house on the cliffs of Mystic, California. 

7. How old are you?

I’m 16.

8. What is your magic form/What species are you?

That’s up for debate. Both of my parents are human, my brother’s human, but I’m a magic user. Something about growing up over the opening to the magical world affecting my DNA. I can manipulate people’s emotions and affect their consciousness; so basically, I can make them feel what I want them to feel and put them to sleep. Also, I can see the Trizellis’ future, and I’m mentally connected to them. I thought I just had a really vivid imagination growing up. 

I certainly look human, though. But I’m not really anything. 

9. What does your human form look like?

Short, freckled, long red hair. I’m a soccer goalie so I’m also pretty ripped.

10. What’s your aesthetic?

I’m a big fan of crop tops and I have a really beat up pair of high-tops. It gets pretty cold in Mystic, but I don’t really get cold. I’ve got a couple of team hoodies and a polka-dotted sweater, but other than that, I show a lot of skin.

11. Who’s your best friend?

My brother. Sam’s my number one ride or die. 

12. Would you ever get a piercing/tattoo?

I’ve got ear piercings. I might get a nose piercing, but I don’t know how my mom would take it. I don’t think she’d stop me, but she’s seen too many cases of infections at the hospital so I know she isn’t the biggest fan. Tattoos seem like too much commitment, frankly. 

13. When are you happiest?

I’m probably happiest with my friends; I never really had a tight-knit group until they showed up, literally out of nowhere. I’m calmest when I’m asleep though, which doesn’t happen often. The problem with having a bunch of magic kids in your head is that you really never get any peace. 

14. What’s your biggest secret?

I’m the reason my dad left. I told Tres, but my mom and Sam don’t know.

15. What was your first impression of Tres?

He’s too smart for his own good. He’s also kind of a dumbass.

SAM LEONARD

1. What is your full name?

Sam Logan Leonard. Well, okay, my full name is a little different, and I haven’t legally changed it, but... I just like this one better. So that’s the one I use.

2. What does your full name mean?

So Sam means “name of God,” which would be cooler if I was religious, I think. Logan means “hollow.” That’s funny because technically my house is in a hollow. I’m the God of the Leonard hollow.

3. What are your nicknames/other names?

I really just go by Sam.

4. What’s your gender?

I’m nonbinary. I use a few masculine descriptors, mostly because I can’t imagine Maddie calling me her ‘sibling’; it just sounds so formal and distant, and my family is really important to me. I think if I dated anyone it’d be boyfriend too, because... same thing with ‘significant other’. But please only use they/them pronouns to refer to me.

5. What’s your sexuality?

I prefer guys.

6. Where are you from?

Mystic, California.

7. How old are you?

17.

8. What is your magic form/What species are you?

I’m just human. I don’t have any magic like Maddie does.

9. What does your human form look like?

Sandy blonde hair with the usual Leonard freckles. I’m a lot bigger than Maddie, but I don’t know how much that says since she’s tiny. I’m 5′9″. She’s also got a lot more muscle than I do, though.

10. What’s your aesthetic?

Anything pastel. I wear the Mystic Aquarium uniform polo and khakis a lot, though, since I work there.

11. Who’s your best friend?

Probably Maddie. We’ve never really had many other friends.

12. Would you ever get a piercing/tattoo?

I dunno, I haven’t really thought about it. Probably not.

13. When are you happiest?

Either when I get to sit alone in the backyard or when I’m surfing. I like being at the aquarium, but I also have actual responsibilities there, so it’s harder to chill out, haha. I’m usually pretty alright at my therapist, but that’s because I can let anything I want out without worrying about being judged or scaring anyone.

14. What’s your biggest secret?

Probably that I’ve attempted suicide, but Maddie and my mom know about that, so I don’t know if it’s so much of a secret as something I’d rather not think about. So maybe that I sometimes think I can actually do some magic.

15. What was your first impression of Tres?

I can’t say I had a first impression of him except extreme gratitude? Since the first time I met him was when I woke up after he healed me from a severe head injury. He seemed very anxious though. I thought he might’ve just been stressed from trying to figure out how to heal me, but I realized later that it was, you know, the anxiety.

***

Oh goodness, I’m the worst at tagging people, let me see:

@kainablue @writing-and-nutmeg @farrradays @fartistically @sleepy-and-anxious @elonanwrites @nouveauweird @wlwwrites @pythiea

We’re gonna go with that for now because I am a smol anxious child!

[meeresnaechte]

Get To Know Me Questions (Very long)

1. What is your first name? Justine

2. What is your nickname? Jess

3. What is your zodiac sign? Gemini

4. What is your favorite book series? I do not really have a favorite book series since I actually do prefer shows or video games to get lost in. However, I once read a "self published" ebook by an unknown author called "Human" which is actually a fanfiction but it was SO well written and it made me more emotional than any other book ever could.

5. Do you believe in aliens or ghosts? Yes I do believe in such things. I often experience sleep paralysis and get visited by someone- or something. I can see a person who's not actually there and I do believe it's a lost soul or the ghost of the person which committed suicide in my apartment before I moved in. I believe in demons and posessed things, I am really scared of dolls but I think not believing in such things would make life more boring.

6. Who is your favorite author? I do not have one.

7. What is your favorite radio station? I don't listen to the radio.

8. What is your favorite flavor of anything? I like any flavor except sweet flavors like vanilla or else.

9. What word would you use often to describe something great or wonderful? Pure. It's one of my favorite words. I often like to refer to my best friends as pure.

10. What is your current favorite song? Anarchist by Yungblud is a really good song at the moment.

11. What is your favorite word? Pure in english or Bettgeflüster in German, I'm sorry but the sound of that word is just so beautiful ahhah

12. What was the last song you listened to? I write sins not tragedies by panic at the disco. Definitely one of the best song ever made (Also Brendon is especially hot in this one)

13. What TV show would you recommend for everybody to watch? How I met your mother (very life changing) & Stranger Things

14. What is your favorite movie to watch when you’re feeling down? The perks of being a wallflower. It changed me and my perspective on life completely.

15. Do you play video games? Yes. I love them, especially Fable 2 and Bioshock Infinite.

16. What is your biggest fear? The ocean. I love the beach but I am really scared of deep water because my father and I had to save a man from drowning when I was maybe 7 years old. He experienced a stroke and only his little daughter was with him.

17. What is your best quality, in your opinion? I can be very interesting to talk to because I love getting into depth about everything.

18. What is your worst quality, in your opinion? My self confidence and my mental illness. It ruined and continues to ruin many things for me. It took my youth away.

19. Do you like cats or dogs better? I cherish dogs so much, they make me so happy.

20. What is your favorite season? Summer or winter. (Fall is quite awesome too, it's kind of spooky)

21. Are you in a relationship? No.

22. What is something you miss from your childhood? Not being afraid of anything. Being free, not being judged for what I do and who I am.

23. Who is your best friend? I have more than one. Someone I met through the internet in 2013. Someone I've known since kindergarten and suddenly met again 15 years later. Someone I've been deeply in love with for 5 years & Someone who's always been there but never really got the courage to be around until last year.

24. What is your eye color? Green.

25. What is your hair color? Blonde.

26. Who is someone you love? My best friends & my lovely grandma.

27. Who is someone you trust? My best friends.

28. Who is someone you think about often? I often think about someone I haven't met yet. Someone who will change my life forever.

29. Are you currently excited about/for something? I am truly trying to live in the moment. I'm not excited for something, but scared of the future because I have to move abroad next year and leave everything behind.

30. What is your biggest obsession? Fable 2, Dan and Phil and Stranger Things.

31. What was your favorite TV show as a child? Spongebob or Max & Ruby

32. Who of the opposite gender can you tell anything to, if anyone? All except one person of my best friends are my opposite gender and I can tell them anything.

33. Are you superstitious? Yes

34. Do you have any unusual phobias? I don't know if they are unusual but the ocean, dolls, funfairs, bugs and speaking in front of people (except acting)

35. Do you prefer to be in front of the camera or behind it? In front of it. My greatest passion is acting and I've always wanted to become an actress.

36. What is your favorite hobby? Acting.

37. What was the last book you read? It's been a long long time. I have no clue.

38. What was the last movie you watched? Annabelle 3. Yesterday at a drive-in cinema with my best friends. One of the most special moments I've made so far.

39. What musical instruments do you play, if any? I can play the piano. I would love to play any instrument.

40. What is your favorite animal? Dogs, wolves and red pandas.

41. What are your top 5 favorite Tumblr blogs that you follow? I don't have a favorite.

42. What superpower do you wish you had? Time travelling, being able to read people's minds and heart.

43. When and where do you feel most at peace? At the beach, listening to the sound of the waves. I tend to forget everything during those moments.

44. What makes you smile? When people aren't afraid to show me that I mean something to them. Not only words.

45. What sports do you play, if any? Football, Basketball, Badminton.. did I forget anything? I like all sports except gymnastics.

46. What is your favorite drink? Water or Iced Coffee (it's so bad for my skin)

47. When was the last time you wrote a hand-written letter or note to somebody? This month, I believe. It was a letter.

48. Are you afraid of heights? Yes, but I still manage to push myself to do things that involves heights. I just recently climbed up a 80 metre high building with my friends at night to get a nice view of the skyline. Almosy shit my pants but I am still alive. Little did we know someone killed themselves by jumping off that exact building at the exact night.

49. What is your biggest pet peeve? Screaming. I hate it. I love chill people.

50. Have you ever been to a concert? Do little concerts count? If not, no.

51. Are you vegan/vegetarian? No.

52. When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up? I've always wanted to become an actress or a police officer.

53. What fictional world would you like to live in? Albion from Fable the video game.

54. What is something you worry about? My future.

55. Are you scared of the dark? I love the night and being outside during the night but I can't sleep without keeping my little light on because I tend to get sleep paralysis when my room is all dark.

56. Do you like to sing? I wish I could sing

57. Have you ever skipped school? Yes

58. What is your favorite place on the planet? Wherever I feel happy and where I can connect with the people I love the most.

59. Where would you like to live? California.

60. Do you have any pets? No.

61. Are you more of an early bird or a night owl? Night owl.

62. Do you like sunrises or sunsets better? Both. Sunsets are like a beautiful ending, they make me believe that no matter how hard things are at the moment, they will pass, but the bittersweet feeling of the ending of my best memories comes after. Sunrises feel like a new beginning after the dark.

63. Do you know how to drive? No, I'm currently doing my car and motorcycle driving license though.

64. Do you prefer earbuds or headphones? Earbuds for music, headphones for gaming.

65. Have you ever had braces? Yes, I want them again, I'm not satisfied with my teeth.

66. What is your favorite genre of music? Rock

67. Who is your hero? Daniel Howell. I've never met him, but I saw myself in him. He saved my life. I feel like I've known him before.. in a different life.

68. Do you read comic books? No

69. What makes you the most angry? Negative people who always complain and never see the beauty in certain things or moments.

70. Do you prefer to read on an electronic device or with a real book? A real book.

71. What is your favorite subject in school? Sports.

72. Do you have any siblings? No

73. What was the last thing you bought? Film for my polaroid camera.

74. How tall are you? 5'4ft

75. Can you cook? Not really. I can make pancakes, that's about it.

76. What are three things that you love? Dogs, nature, video games

77. What are three things that you hate? Negativity, hatred, self-centered people

78. Do you have more female friends or more male friends? More male friends.

79. What is your sexual orientation? I don't care who I fall in love with, but I don't know how to label myself. I'm in love with the feeling of love.

80. Where do you currently live? Germany but I'm moving to London next summer.

81. Who was the last person you texted? One of my best friends.

82. When was the last time you cried? This week

83. Who is your favorite YouTuber? Dan and Phil.

84. Do you like to take selfies? I take like 2 selfies each year so, no.

85. What is your favorite app? Twitter or Tumblr

86. What is your relationship with your parent(s) like? Not very good. I feel pressured most of the time and can't connect to them on an emotional level. It's even harder now since they got a divorce. I love my grandma so much.

87. What is your favorite foreign accent? American.

88. What is a place that you’ve never been to, but you want to visit? New Zealand, Norway and Canada

89. What is your favorite number? 24

90. Can you juggle? No

91. Are you religious? No

92. Do you find outer space or the deep ocean to be more interesting? Outer space. I'm scared of the deep ocean and I don't even know what's down there.

93. Do you consider yourself to be a daredevil? Not at all

94. Are you allergic to anything? Wasps, dust

95. Can you curl your tongue? Yes

96. Can you wiggle your ears? No

97. How often do you admit that you were wrong about something? 50/50

98. Do you prefer the forest or the beach? Both.

99. What is your favorite piece of advice that anyone has ever given you? "Cut the seed before it grows"

100. Are you a good liar? I hate lying and being lied to.

101. What is your Hogwarts House? Slytherin

102. Do you talk to yourself? A lot

103. Are you an introvert or an extrovert? Introvert.

104. Do you keep a journal/diary? I use my Tumblr as my diary since 2013

105. Do you believe in second chances? Yes

106. If you found a wallet full of money on the ground, what would you do? Search for an ID and try to reach out to the person who lost it.

107. Do you believe that people are capable of change? Not really..

108. Are you ticklish? Yes

109. Have you ever been on a plane? Yes

110. Do you have any piercings? Yes

111. What fictional character do you wish was real? Reaver from Fable, I'd like to marry him

112. Do you have any tattoos? No but I'm planning to get three.

113. What is the best decision that you’ve made in your life so far? To keep going.

114. Do you believe in karma? Yes.

115. Do you wear glasses or contacts? Either I wear glasses or go through life blind lmao

116. Do you want children? I'm not sure, but I prefer to adopt.

117. Who is the smartest person you know? Daniel Howell

118. What is your most embarrassing memory? I reject them lmao

119. Have you ever pulled an all-nighter? When haven't I?

120. What color are most of you clothes? Black

121. Do you like adventures? I love them.

122. Have you ever been on TV? Yes.

123. How old are you? 18

124. What is your favorite quote? So many. I really like "Irgendjemand liebt dich immer" a lot these days, it means "someone will always love you"

125. Do you prefer sweet or savory foods? Savory. I hate sweet.

I tag @ludicrousperson