#i have a row to my self thus far

[nebulousfishgills]

I can't believe I'm starting a new job today, then not even an hour after work tomorrow I'm gonna be in an AMC theatre watching Horizon on my own...

I don't even like westerns, this is really what I've become, huh?

[elainsgirl]

every time i see a gw*nriel whine about how there’s nothing interesting about an elriel book and that elriel can’t move the plot forward i know they’re self projecting, hard.

when it comes down to it, elriel is the only interesting path forward. it would actually be new and interesting, unlike another fated mates story (the third in a row if gw*nriel were mates, fourth since they think el*cien is going to happen.) they cream their pants about it even though it’s literally the most boring thing possible, no matter which way you spin it.

gwyn has no relevance to the actual overall plot of the story. she is nesta’s friend. they don’t even want to admit she could be a lightsinger, which would be the one unique thing about her that would make her more important to the overall plot outside of nesta’s story. the only relevant part of their ship is azriel, which is probably why they constantly try to take things canonically belonging to elain and elriel and insist it actually belongs to gwyn and gw*nriel.

meanwhile, elain is made, therefore can wield made objects, which has clearly been important to the story thus far. she’s the cauldrons favorite; why, and what does that mean? why does it purr in her presence? she’s a seer, which we have never gotten the POV of before. what do her visions look like, how do they manifest for her? she has shown hints at being a spy, and that combined with her visions will be so cool to read about. this isn’t even getting into her connection to koschei, who is clearly being built up as the big-bad. none of these even have to do with az. she’s relevant entirely on her own, unlike gwyn who is currently only relevant in relation to nesta.

elain’s also on a very clear path to the first rejected mating bond, which, again, SJM has never done before, and i cannot wait to read about how it all works and what it means.

gwyn has none of this; she’s just a valkyrie, nesta’s friend, and we already got that story.

anyways, sorry for the long tirade; thankfully i think elain’s book announcement will be here before the 10 year anniversary, and since so many gw*nriels and el*ciens said they won’t read an elriel book hopefully this fandom will finally be free of them and we can all go back to just enjoying the books.

Hey anon 🫶

You explained everything so perfectly. The only people that claim elriel have 0 plot together are the ones that are purposefully ignoring huge chunks of the text, denying the plot points in favour to use it for their own ship.

I was once open-minded about Gwynriel when I first learnt about the ship, their “plot” consists of Azriel healing as he is in such a “messed up”place right now, developing feelings for Elain - another woman he can’t have. So he’ll be at the H.O.W, reflecting and recovering from his disgusting actions in the bonus all whilst Gwyn is going to be there, prancing around - teasing and challenging him. Ofc Gwyn hs no plot of her own so enter the Illyrian saviour plot where for some unknowns reason, Rhys will send Gwyn (not emerie; the actual illyrian) but her white bestie to go with Az to the camps -> there Az will heal (?) and begin to loooovvvvee his illyrian heritage - he will become bestie besties with the same people that mocked and emotionally abused him bcs why tf not. Now, again, this isn’t enough to carry an 800 paged book so enter Nesta, Gwyn for some odd unknown reason will again, help out understanding gwydion which will allow her: unmade, no connection to the cauldron, not starborn - self wield it all because Gwyn is amazing and everyone loves her. Eventually, both gwyn and az will go to the prison and BOOM. Through the power of song, singing a duet together, they will revive the prison. Az will realise “damn I love this girl so much, forget elain who I wanted to beg on my knees for, this is the girl for me, my gwynnie poo” Now ofc, none of this is original. Its plotpoints stolen from other characters and ships - as you mentioned.

I don’t even care anymore bcs gwynriels can yap about whatever gwynriel book they want. Sjm clearly said the spinoffs focus on the sisters and side characters from the og series which, Gwyn is not part off. Therefore to me - she is irrelevant unless she plays a role in the snowwhite retelling regards to elriel. A lot of antis will get a reality check soon and im all here for it.

Gwynriel doesn’t even fit the parallels and patterns sjm has used for Feyre’s and Nesta’s story which again, disproves gwynriel to me. Gwyn will not be a spy. Its Elain. Gwyn has nothing to do with TruthTeller or Gwydion. Elain and Az do. Gwyn has nothing to do with the 8 pointed star. Nesta & the archerons do. Gwyn has nothing to do with the prison. Elain and Az do. Gwyn isn’t needed to smooth things out in the continent with Mor. Elain is perfect for it. Gwyn is not an archeron. Elain is. Gwyn was not part off the og series or even acofas. Elain and Azriel - even Emerie were. Gwyn did not have 2 bonuses focusing on her. Elain does. Gwyn has nothing to do with the cauldron. Elain & Az do.

Its that simple to work out. You just don’t have to be biased.

The fact we are going to get Elains book announcement in the next 6 months(hopefully, I can’t wait any longer) is giving me so much excitement. I’ve been seeing a lot of antis say how boring or uninteresting elriels book will be and how they won’t read it which THANK GOD. Their disrespectfulness and entitlement is showing and this fandom? Is desperately in need of a cleanse. Hopefully elains book announcement alone will wash out the toxic antis 😌

[tyrantisterror]

Are At Sea Without a Map and Midgaheim connected?

Short answer: No.

Long answer: When Dr. Neptune went on his little spiel about the nature of the multiverse in ASWaM, I made the above illustration to help the audience visualize what he was talking about. And the universes inside it were not, in fact, random!

All the purple universes, including the Sea of Monsters, are here because they're involved in Offbeat Melody, the Monster of the Week TTRPG campaign that I invented this little multiverse for in the first place.

My big setting pitch for OM was "a story where I can include all the scifi/fantasy/horror concepts that wouldn't work in Midgaheim/The Tyrantisverse," and one of those concepts was the real world paranormal theory of the Goblin Universe, i.e. the idea that supernatural phenomena come from an alternate universe that's bleeding into ours.

The center universe in the bottom row is specifically the "normal" world of Offbeat Melody, and is marked as such by the prominent needle at the top that's sewing it together (a symbol of that reality's creator goddess, the Weaver). The Sea of Monsters is below it, and marked by, y'know, big sea monsters. To the far left hand side of the bottom row is a universe full of undead monsters that featured in one of OM's guest arcs, and to the far right hand side of the bottom row is a very angular, closed off universe run by the Supreme Authority, who's menaced the "normal" universe of Offbeat Melody a few times. Out final purple/OM universe is in the top left hand corner, marked by two mouths hanging above a sole eye, and represents He Who Becomes, an eldrtich abomination that has actually absorbed MANY universes and has its sights set on the "normal" universe of OM.

(there's actually a few more OM universes that I could have included, including a land counterpart to the Sea of Monsters, but it would have made the map needlessly confusing)

However, if I only drew those universes, it would make the multiverse illustration feel too small, so I had to fill it up. And because I'm a self indulgent fucker, I decided to make three of the "filler" universes ones for my other settings.

The green universe is the Tyrantisverse/Midgaheim universe, i.e. my primary story setting. If you notice, it's the only one whose walls are almost completely solid - while I put it here as more of a cheeky cameo than anything, if it DOES exist in the OM multiverse, it would be a universe whose veil is so thick that traveling into/from it is not possible - because Goblin Universe theory is NOT canon to how the Tyrantisverse works, and thus you can't slip into it that way the way you can with the OM universes.

The red universe is the chaotic silly world of those little goobers I made with my daycare kids a couple years ago:

Y'know, these guys. Actually you probably forgot about 'em. BUT I DIDN'T! I'm gonna do something with them one of these days!

Finally, the blue universe is the universe of Baron Skeleton, another project that I've talked about maybe once before but still have percolating in my brain.

Your time will come, BS. Your time will come.

And then there's three other universes that are literally just there for filler.

As with most of the times when I reference my other stories, I don't expect anyone to take this very seriously. It's more of an easter egg for my own enjoyment than anything that would ever be plot relevant. Still, if I ever DID want to do a big, dumb, self-indulgent crossover of them all, I technically have the groundwork laid out here.

[burningvelvet]

one of my favorite excerpts from charlotte brontë's jane eyre (1847), taken from chapter 15:

"'You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall waken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a flow as that in which your youth has hitherto slid away. Floating on with closed eyes and muffled ears, you neither see the rocks bristling not far off in the bed of the flood, nor hear the breakers boil at their base. But I tell you — and you mark my words — you will come some day to a craggy pass of the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken up into whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master wave into a calmer current — as I am now.

'I like this day: I like that sky of steel; I like the sternness and stillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield; its antiquity; its retirement; its old crow-trees and thorn-trees; its grey facade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal welkin: and yet how long have I abhorred the very thought of it; shunned it like a great plague-house! How I do still abhor ——'

He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck his boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to have him in its grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance.

We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall was before us. Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a glare such as I never saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire — impatience, disgust, detestation — seemed momentarily to hold a quivering conflict in the large pupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should be paramount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and cynical; self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified his countenance: he went on:

'During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a point with my destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk — a hag like one of those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres. 'You like Thornfield?' she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrote in the air a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along the house-front, between the upper and lower row of windows. 'Like it if you can!' 'Like it if you dare!'

'I will like it,' said I. 'I dare like it;' and (he subjoined moodily) I will keep my word: I will break obstacles to happiness, to goodness — yes, goodness; I wish to be a better man than I have been; than I am — as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and the habergeon, hinderances which others count as iron and brass, I will esteem but straw and rotten wood.'"

[ut-versotale]

A Trip Down Nostalgia Lane

This AU's been in existence for so long, and the most current iteration is so wildly different from the rest. As such, I felt it'd be kinda cool to show you guys how the AU's progressed over the years. I don't think it's too big of a problem to reveal what the initial plans were for each iteration, what I liked and didn't like, and my thought process behind forgoing the old ones

If you don't particularly care for all that, here's the iterations' major characters lined up. (Iteration 4 I only have revealed Asriel and Undyne, so the rest I've designed so far are silhouetted)

Iteration 0.5

Oh boy, where to begin with this one...?

I number it "0.5" and not "1" because there were only two parts that never even officially released on this Tumblr blog. I did upload Part 1 for an April Fool's joke a while ago. But really, it was only ever present on the TS!Underswap Discord server over half a decade ago.

To put it bluntly, Versotale at this point was just a reskinned Undertale roleswap AU. The personalities, while I tried to keep them intact, were not the main driving force. As such:

Asriel is a silent protagonist (And not in a cool clever way like Kris; I mean just straight-up silent)

The only difference with Undyne as a narrator was noting that Frisk was a human at the first save point

Flowey had a more formal speech pattern but was otherwise barely affected despite carrying Chara's consciousness. They weren't even named Asthana yet.

Frisk... well, I can give my past self this, he certainly made an effort to differentiate Frisk from Toriel. I can't say he did a GOOD job at that, but they certainly were different. Awkward dialogue, though, and not much sense behind why they were the mayor of the Ruins at 13 years old

Overall, you can 100% tell I made this as a young teen. Awkward dialogue, barely any effort put into the concept, unoriginal...

It's pretty easy to see why I forewent this version of the AU. Only two parts were ever made. I must thank @beethovenus who gave me a lot of very helpful critiques, such as giving Asriel a voice and making original sprites rather than using sprite edits, as well as encouraging me to make this Tumblr blog for it. Thus, brings us to what I'd like to consider the first PROPER attempt at this AU...

Iteration 1

Ah, this one... this ALSO lasted only two parts. Can't remember why. But I made a lot more headway on this one. Quality aside, I am happy that I had the guts to try and make original sprites of my own back then, even if they aren't particularly good compared to now.

This was where I really attempted to make the characters act noticeably different. Though there were still quite a lot of problems, some that would even persist all the way up until Iteration 4.

I wanted to give Asriel a combination of his regular and Flowey personalities. A cool idea on paper, but the lore doesn't support him acting like that well enough. Thus, I refer to this version of him as Sassriel. This was one of those problems that persisted up until Iteration 3.

Undyne having this snarky back-and-forth with Sassriel. Again, cool idea on paper, but it is not supported by her personality in Undertale, nor the altered circumstances in VT Iteration 1. Also, with Undyne being a disembodied consciousness, it means she's merely an observer of the story and not an active participant, meaning her dialogue got very boring very fast. Undyne in canon was always an active character, so putting her in a role that basically FORCED her to be a passive character was maybe one of the worst decisions I could've made that lasted way too long, all the way until Iteration 4.

You'll notice a whole bunch of characters that never actually saw the light of day in the comic. In the bottom row, starting from left to right, there would have been Pepper (Who DID have a design but I've lost it), Donavan, Dr. Aakil, Lily, and Queen Alice. There's not much to say about them story-wise since I mainly just got the designs down, and you can probably guess what the plot was gonna be like given this was the early days of the AU where it was still very much following the Undertale formula. I think the only UNIQUE things I should mention are that Aakil's version of the amalgamates would've been cyborgs.

Iteration 2

This is the one that's lasted the longest (so far), managing to push its way into the Cold West. I tried to break out of the Undertale formula a tiny bit with this one, to varying degrees of success. There's not much history I can recall or find with this iteration, but I suppose I can give a character rundown of the ones you never saw, ironically enough all positioned on the bottom row again.

Donavan... not very unique compared to Undyne. The main gimmick that separated him from her, I think, was that he had gloves designed by Aakil that were soul-powered.

Valencia... a new character who was meant to be an expanded version of Napstablook's role. Fun fact: Valencia's hooded trenchcoat design there was originally Pepper's Iteration 1 design.

Everyone else was... about what you'd expect.

Looking back on this version, I am... honestly very embarrassed by how badly I butchered the Cold West. I wanted to do so many cool things, like a bounty on Asriel's head and all. But my God... Spade and Pepper sucked so much. Especially Pepper. For characters who at this point were meant to be this AU's replacement of Sans and Papyrus... what poor substitutes.

And honestly, I think that's why I scrapped this one; because I hated the Cold West and how I did it. It felt rushed, awkwardly-written, bad characterization, horrifically-bad puzzles, etc. Thus, Iteration 3 was made.

Iteration 3: Hybrid

I nicknamed this short-lived one "Hybrid" for multiple reasons.

It's where Deltarune became an extremely prevalent influence in Versotale's universe. So no longer is Versotale just an Undertale AU, it can also be considered a Deltarune AU as well.

Many characters could be considered hybrids at this point. Asriel and Undyne shared determination and a body. And, more interestingly, the Mettaton role also shared a body with Mettaton. More about that in a bit

When I was making Part 10-B of Iteration 2, Iteration 3 was meant to flow naturally into it, effectively replacing all of what had came beforehand. That never worked out.

Ultimately, I abandoned this version because it just simply wasn't doing it for me. By this point, the project was beginning to feel stale and boring. Despite my attempts to make a new unique storyline, it just kinda... felt like it was still following in Undertale's footsteps far too much. I mean, you've got the protagonist kid, an old fallen member of their species, the double-crossing flower, a mentor who's lived in a secluded area all their life, a chef who wants to join the guard, a tough grizzled guard captain, a morally-dubious scientist, a celebrity, a monarch... you see how I became dislliusioned with the quality of what was supposed to be my "Unique Undertale storyline." The most unique thing at this point WAS probably Spade. But still, many elements of this version of the story were very fleshed-out. I tried to turn Pepper into a character who wasn't just a bargain-bin Papyrus clone, I had come up with a more unique Hotland area, and it probably could've turned out really nice.

I think the thing I genuinely really liked from this old version was that Shella (This iteration's celebrity character) actually was also possessed by Mettaton. There was this huge backstory thing where the scientist character had monster dust and was injecting humans with it, and since Mettaton was a ghost, his consciousness became attached to Shella's and served as her sort of "assistant." He gave her all the tips and confidence to become famous and gave Mettaton the opportunity to indirectly entertain humans like he always wanted. While a cool idea on paper, having... well, essentially Mettaton technically in the same place as canon Undertale again just felt cheap and lazy. Not to mention it only continued my disillusionment with my "unique story" being far too similar to Undertale for comfort.

But the Surface shenanigans this iteration... man, for as weird as Gaster being king was, I had such a cool thing planned for all the Ebottobia characters. It's something I wanna carry over into Iteration 4 to a certain extent.

Iteration 4: "King Asriel"

This one's really freaking cool. Going back to the drawing board completely, the story resembles almost nothing like Undertale's, with the sole exception of the main premise: People underground, free them from imprisonment through peace or violence.

I'm so proud of these ideas so far, you have no idea. The new Ruins area I'm excited for, the new Cold West feels like an actual proper flowing storyline now, the other areas have way more uniqueness, the characters feel like their own characters with their own stories now (Even the ones that appear in canon), the plot feels completely different... I think you all are really going to like it

That's all. Just felt like taking a trip down memory lane and share some ideas and designs the public never got to see.

[thana-topsy]

@incorrectskyrimquotes I have actually written Neloth getting fucking decked in the jaw and it was incredibly satisfying:

[From chapter 5 of "Breathing Water"]

“Thus is the folly of love.”

“Folly?” Teldryn huffed before mumbling, “I should have figured as much."

“The most unstable of all emotions,” Neloth continued, beginning to take off the heavier aspects of his robes and light armor. “Wars have been waged in the name of ‘love’. Poor idiots, like our camp’s previous owner, have wasted away in the name of ‘love’, and to what end?”

“I, for one, am not about to stand in the freezing north of Skyrim and argue with you upon the merits of love.” Teldryn knelt to rummage through his pack.

“Oh, I know you’ve been a victim of it. Your melancholy is thicker than a guar’s hide, and far less useful, might I add.”

“What would you know of it?” Teldryn shot back, hackles raised, and Neloth couldn’t help but smile to himself. The mask was beginning to crack.

“Tell me, did she leave you for someone else? Or did she find your fame to be too much?”

“Don’t,” Teldryn growled in warning.

“How pathetic would it be to find out that, all this time, the great Nerevarine, savior of Morrowind, was camping out in a filthy little bar in Raven Rock because some trollop broke his heart.”

“She was murdered!” Teldryn yelled, his voice echoing off the icy cliffs to the south. “Is that what you want to hear?” He’d gotten to his feet, shoulders heaving with each ragged breath. “You want me to talk about it, yeah? That’s what you’ve wanted this whole time. You want to hear about how my pregnant wife was murdered? Cut down by assassins who were sent for me ? How a life I could have had was ripped–” His voice cracked and he coughed, looking away, fists clenched at his sides.

Neloth pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. “And over two-hundred years later you’re still wallowing in self-pity?” He scoffed. “Like I said. Pathetic.”

Teldryn moved so quickly that Neloth barely had time to register what had happened until the ground was rushing up to meet him, the hard chitin of Teldryn’s bracer imprinted across his jaw.

“And what do you know of loss!?” Teldryn was standing over him, fists still clenched. Neloth attempted to sit up when another burst of pain exploded across his temple as Teldryn punched him again, harder this time, grabbing and twisting Neloth’s scarf in the other hand. “What do you know of suffering!?”

Neloth’s mouth flooded with iron, and he spit onto the ground, a shock of red across the white snow. He smiled cruelly up at Teldryn. “I know that it’s a weakness that can be exploited.” He spat again. “Just as I’m doing now.” He expected it this time, dodging the next blow and using the momentum to pull Teldryn to the ground as he scrambled to get up, already gathering magicka into his palms. He let out a grunt as one of Teldryn’s knees collided with his stomach and sent him sprawling once again; his spell charges faltered and dropped away. Another fist to his face, this time the other side. Teldryn rolled to straddle him, scarf dislodged and hanging loosely around his neck. He balled the front of Neloth’s robes into his fists.

Teldryn shook as he spoke. “You don’t feel anything, do you!?” His voice had a hysterical edge, and Neloth thought, distantly, that perhaps he’d pushed too far. “I doubt you’ve ever loved anyone as much as you love yourself, and, from what I can tell, you hate yourself!” Teldryn dropped him, pushing to stand and Neloth groaned, rubbing his tender jaw as Teldryn continued. “You can’t experience anything other than selfish need, and you want everyone to be as miserable as you.” He spat on the ground near Neloth’s head before turning away, stooping to grab his pack.

“What are you doing?” Neloth cast healing on himself.

“I’m fucking leaving,” Teldryn snapped. “I’ll walk back to Windhelm if I bloody have to. Get on a boat. Row back to Solstheim. Leave you here to rot like I should have to begin with.”

-------

Would you believe me if I told you I get them to kiss later in this story?

[underfell-misery]

RUINED

As Frisk began to follow behind the seemingly kind beast, they couldn’t help but fidget with each of their fingers. They were following from a healthy distance, but couldn’t help but feeling guilty for it. They hoped Flowey was wrong about her, and that this place and its inhabitants weren’t that bad. Rather than malicious, Toriel seemed almost skittish at heart, unsure with a waver in her voice. Something had happened to her to make her this way, and Frisk was determined to find out what. They believed anyone could be helped with enough care and patience.

“Frisk!” Flowey whispered, drawing their attention back to the grumpy flower in their pocket. “N-Not that I care or anything stupid like that b-but….” He blushed a bit, looking around as if to check no one would see this moment of weakness. “You’re… bleeding on your leg.” He huffed out. Frisk hadn’t noticed, not even feeling the stinging of the cut on their leg. It was about 6 inches long, and relatively deep. They must have been pumping with adrenaline for so long that the pain hadn’t set in.

“O-Oh-“ They looked at their thigh, biting their cheek. “Shoot, I hadn’t noticed… I’ll be alright, Flowey.” Frisk smiled warmly, patting the flower’s petals gently, even as he growled at the gesture. “I’m sure Toriel will have a bandage of some kind.”

“I told you- you can’t trust her. Don’t get too comfortable with her or start asking for favors. She’ll use it against you, no doubt.” Muttered Flowey, shifting in their pocket. Frisk frowned, looking back down at the stone under their feet.

“… I think I’ll make my own judgment about that.” Said Frisk, their face hardening as they sped up just a bit to follow Toriel. As they caught up, against Flowey's quiet protests, they gently grabbed Toriel’s paw, holding on to the matriarchal figure. This clearly caught the monster off guard, making her turn back to Frisk. After a moment of ogling at them with a smile, she just nodded and turned back, continuing their journey.

“My child, there are several dangerous monsters and puzzles down here, which you may have to conquer on your own. But do not fear, I will teach you how to be self sufficient with this puzzle, which has a specific path to avoid it’s spikes.” Frisk looked ahead, seeing the puzzle in question, making them gulp thickly. It was rows upon rows of spikes the size of their own body, rusted from time and use. It was a tetanus shot waiting to happen, or worse, being impaled if they stepped wrong. Toriel noticed their fear and chuckled, “Do not be afraid, dear. I will lead you thro-“ Interrupting Toriel was a loud,

”RIBBIT.” Both Frisk and Toriel turned around seeing a black and red frog-looking creature. Frisk smiled upon seeing it, thinking that so far, other than being enlarged and red, it was the most familiar beast they’d encountered thus-far. Despite this though, they felt Flowey quivering in their pocket.

“Oh-! It’s adorable-!” Frisk started, before being blinded by a bright, hot light quickly passing by them, hitting the frog with the force of a thousand suns. Within only a moments time, the creature was engulfed in a flaming red fire. The frog screamed and writhed in pain, rolling around to try and put itself out. “NO-!” Frisk immediately moved to help it, but was stopped when Toriel grabbed their wrist. When looking back at her, Toriel’s face was stone hard, watching the poor creature burn. Despite showing little emotion in her face, Frisk could swear they saw a hint of glee upon seeing her own work. Frisk’s eyes immediately glossed over, tears threatening to start rolling down as they watched the brutal scene. They couldn’t believe it, how quickly and carelessly Toriel had taken a life. “Wh-… why-“ Frisk started to say.

”They were merely a threat, my child, willing to harm or kill you for your soul.” Toriel stated emotionlessly. Frisk started to object, tears in their eyes, but quickly felt a tight squeeze on two of their fingers. Looking down, they noticed Flowey using a small vine to squeeze them, shaking his head.

“Don’t.” He whispered, his own eyes filled with tears. He’d seen this countless times before, he knew the outcome of rejecting Toriel’s ideology. Despite how cocky he’d been earlier, now all he showed was fear. Frisk hesitated, but slightly nodded, squeezing their eyes shut and sniffling.

“Oh my child, do not worry, I will not let anything cause you harm…” She said, kneeling down to Frisk’s level, wiping their cheeks of tears. “Come now. Come with your mother to safety.” Mother. Only 20 minutes with her and she’d already given herself such an important title, despite harming others on instinct. Frisk wasn’t even mad, they were worried. They worried more about how she came to be so hostile to others, to believe everyone was so cruel. They stammered, but despite their own fear, suddenly hugged Toriel tightly, hoping to provide comfort for both of them. “Oh-!” Said Toriel, but quickly melting into the hug. “Come now, little one, we must tread on.” She said, patting Frisk’s head. Frisk sniffled, just nodding and holding her hand as the monster led them through the path.

Along the ruins, they ran into several other monsters, all of which Toriel murdered in cold blood, each kill more emotionless than the last. While humming down a long corridor, as if not covered in the dust of monsters who stood in her way, she suddenly noticed the gnash on Frisk’s leg.

“Oh my child you-“ She suddenly growled. “What wretched beast did this to you, child?” She hissed out. Frisk immediately started shaking their head.

“N-No one, no one hurt me-“ How could they anyway, Toriel had murdered anyone that came close. No one even stood a chance, even if they did try to attack, which a few did. But despite this, Toriel didn’t seem convinced, her gaze hard and judgmental. “I s-swear. It was from the fall…” Frisk said truthfully. Toriel paused before her expression softened, her body relaxing and the burn in her eyes fading.

“Ah, well, in that case.” She said, looking forward, “I must leave you for bit and fetch you a bandage. I hate to ask this of you, but will you be alright on your own for bit without me?” She said, her voice kind as ever. Frisk nodded nervously and forced a smile. “Good. Now be a good child and stay here. To contact me, I will give you a cell phone if you need me.” She said, pulling a small flip phone out and handing it to Frisk. Frisk nodded again and took it, and upon opening it noticed Toriel’s number was already programmed in. They put it in their pocket, careful to make sure it wasn’t the one Flowey was currently hidden in. Toriel leaned down and gingerly kissed their head before rubbing their shoulders and turning to leave. Frisk couldn’t help but smile at the action, feeling a flutter of hope for a better person deep down in Toriel. “I will return, stay here, little one.” She said as she left the corridor, her figure fading into the darkness ahead.

”thank GOD.” Said Flowey, finally poking his head back out of Frisk’s pocket. “Remind me when we get out of the ruins to find me a pot or something, its so stuffy in this damn place!” He said with a huff, dusting his petals off with his leaves as if they were hands. Frisk chuckled somberly,

“I’m sure we’ll find something suitable…” They said in a quieted tone. They hung their head down though, falling silent. Flowey frowned, thinking for a moment. After a considerably long silence, he spoke.

”I’m sorry.” He said quietly, making Frisk perk up. “I’m sorry that she wasn’t what you were hoping. She… wasn’t how I hoped, either when I foun….” He stopped himself. “…When I met her, either.” He said with a blush. Frisk looked down at him,

”’Found’ her…?” They said quizzically, beginning to walk down the corridor despite Toriel’s warnings, hoping she was now far enough down the path to not run into her again. Flowey was quiet, but eventually spoke again.

“… That’s a story for later, kid. I’ll tell you when you’re ready.” He simply said, and Frisk, hearing his tone, decided not to press further for now. As they walked, hiding behind a pillar or two to avoid any Whimsums or spiked Looxes, they chatted further.

”So, why do you wanna get out of here so bad?” Frisk Questioned, trying to make conversation.

”Have you SEEN this place, Frisk??? Jesus it’s a hell hole down here, filled to the brim with dust ands despair… And I’ve been around Toriel too long, and she despises me… It’s constant danger every night when she comes to that hole in the mountain.” He muttered.

”She goes there every night…?” Frisk said, slowly pushing a rock on the path to a stepping stone to complete a puzzle that blocked their way.

”Every night. Convinced she hears another human fall… Says she can hear them screaming. She lost her mind long ago.” He said with a soft sigh, hanging his head low. To change the subject, realizing that this weighed heavy on Flowey, Frisk decided to ask something different.

”So then.. what’s beyond the Ruins? Have you ever seen it? It sounds like you’ve been stuck here for a long time.”

”Oh, well, I used to be able to slip in and out a lot easier, before Toriel tightened the bolts on the ways to get out of here. Snowdin is right outside the gate, a huge forest that’ll freeze you quicker than you can say ‘spaghetti’.” He mumbled, “But, I’ve got a few allies down there that might be able to help us get through the Underground.”

”Allies, or friends?” Frisk said with a sly smile. But instead of a heart warming response, Flowey scoffed,

“I told you, you don’t make friends down here. You get enemies and you get an occasional ally.” Flowey hissed.

“So we aren’t friends?” Frisk said with a frown. Flowey paused, looking away and puffing his cheeks.

“…. No. We aren’t. I dont make friends.” He said quietly, closing his eyes. Frisk took in the comment without a word, but would be sure to bring it up again. Flowey huffed though, and grumbling, repeated.

”I don’t make friends.”

[talesfrommedinastation]

Let's Talk: Space Living!

Medina Station’s interior was explored as a rudimentary part of The Expanse show, and more is discussed in the books and the upcoming comic series. 

However, as a science writer with a background in physics (and who has an interest in gardening), I wanted to explore more of this possibility of a self-sustaining ecosystem that serves as a crossroads of empires, galaxies, and everything in between. The prairie and fields of Medina’s interior, to say nothing of the residencies that we will explore later on in Far Past the Ring, 

Why are they in a cylinder? Medina Station’s structure is not fan made, it is the actual design that started in season 1 of The Expanse. Originally designed as the LDSS Nauvoo, it was created as a generation ship for the Latter-Day Saints to eventually find a new colony. The ship was designed so that thousands of LDS members could live and survive in space for over a hundred years, until they made it to Alpha Centauri. Things happened, and now it’s a station.

 But the station itself was created, similar to an O’Neill Cylinder (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/O%27Neill_cylinder), to create both artificial gravity and a structure that would allow the colonists to farm and live as they traveled.  This is a common trope in many advanced science fiction pieces (you might recognize it from Interstellar and Mass Effect), Additionally, by constantly tilting, it creates not only gravity, but a stronger force, which, though it doesn’t seem like much, does allow for humans to receive adequate amounts of gravity, thus negating the effects of low-g on their bodies that many Belters have faced for generations. 

(Image taken from the subreddit, r/StableDiffusion, an artist's interpretation of Cooper Station from 'Interstellar')

Children born on this station will, most likely, not have the same effects on their bodies that they would in a place with less gravity, which has affected Belters for generation, so much so that many can not survive on a regular planet. This may play a bigger role in the series…you’d better keep reading to find out!

What is the ecosystem like? One of the things Klaes Ashford says that I found especially rueful was the comment about ‘they invented the most advanced spaceship so they could farm like savages’, regarding the LDS settlers who commissioned the construction of the LDSS Nauvoo (which would eventually evolve into Medina Station). Never-freaking-mind that is how humanity has survived for thousands of years: many times, the simplest solution is the best (You’d think Ashford, the most Belter of Belters, would know that!), especially in regards to crop production. 

According to my research–as well as my own personal experience working with indigenous land practices during my time as an AmeriCorps volunteer–creating an environment that nourishes the soil would be best on a landscape in which the most amount of cereal crops can be produced (https://www.fs.usda.gov/inside-fs/delivering-mission/apply/study-prairie-strips-integrated-row-crops-growing-momentum).

(Photo from Sand County Foundation. As a Midwesterner, I can literally SMELL this picture from my computer. It's amazing!)

Thus, a prairie, similar to the ones found in places like Illinois, Wisconsin, and Minnesota–some of the top producing farmland on Earth–is necessary for Medina Station and the colonies that it supports, to survive. This drier climate also allows for lesser amounts of rust and moisture to occur within the station, while the plants still allow for air to be properly filtered. Coincidentally, the aforementioned states are the homeland of the Anishinaabe/Ojibwe people, which will be discussed below. 

Why a prairie? This comes out of my own background, with a brief panache of narcissism. As Naomi mentions in Sky Prairie, Part 4, having a prairie in lieu of trees makes sense (https://www.nationalgeographic.org/encyclopedia/prairie/#:~:text=The%20prairie%20grasses%20hold%20the,wheat%2C%20rye%2C%20and%20oats). The plants are more conducive to creating a richer and more complex soil, necessary for growing crops in space. Additionally, they can still produce a significant amount of oxygen and water, vital for life in this universe and beyond. Finally, by cycling the crops, including that of prairie grass, the soil can continue to be nourished in a fashion that will not exhaust it. This is another reason why cows are forbidden on Medina Station, and even smaller dairy ungulates, such as sheep and goats, are given a bit of side eye from the administration. 

This is also a personal objective for myself, and should be addressed. I am a settler, but I was born, raised, and now live on the historic lands of the Anishinaabe/Ojibwe people, who have lived and worked in this ecosystem of mixed forest and prairie for thousands of years. Interestingly enough, Cara Gee (the actress who plays Camina Drummer) is of Ojibwe descent herself. 

(Image from the Star Tribune)

Although it is not officially canon in the world of The Expanse, in my mind, the Drummer family is of Ojibwe descent themselves. I hoped this would be reflected in multiple aspects of this story. First, the professions of the women–where one is a healer (Tanke Drummer, a physician), one gathers plants (Sjael Drummer, a chemical engineer), and the other is the guiding spirit of her people (Camina Drummer, the president). All are fierce defenders and patriots of the Belt.

Taken from the Keweenaw Bay Indian Community (an Ojibwe community in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan): “Self-discipline, survival skills, loyalty, solidarity, and respect within family are above all individual interests”...a sentiment that is surely reflected in not only the Beltalowda, but amongst Clone Force 99 as well. 

You may also find additional Anishinaabe/Ojibwe words and references throughout Far Past the Ring, such as the names of Camina and Tanke/Sjael’s fathers (‘Aki’ = Ojibwe for ‘Earth’ and ‘Anang’ = Ojibwe for ‘Star’), Tanke’s title amongst her family (‘Niimama’ = Ojibwe for ‘my mother’), and the eagle feather tattoos on the necks of those in the Drummer family who have served the people as either warriors or healers. Certain characters wear embroidery and flowers similar in the fashion of the Ojibwe people as well. 

There could always be healthier representation of indigeneity within science fiction, and I would like to think I’m doing my best here. 

Why are all the buildings made of stucco/adobe? I’d like to think Naomi Nagata does a good job of explaining this, but here’s some more detail.

Stucco is cheap and easy to make, and works very well in a dry environment, like Medina Station’s interior. As metal and plastic might not stand the climate within the station, stucco and adobe, made of the earth from the Hub itself, is a better material to use. Additionally, by being fireproof, it is a safer option to use when the fields need to have prescribed burns on them, a dangerous but necessary step that requires multiple hands on deck, with the watchful eye of Timon Chapelle on top of it all).

The structure’s design is not aesthetic in mindset, to be honest. The Hub is a nucleated settlement (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nucleated_village), made to not only save the most amount of room for farming and cultivating crops, but also to foster a better sense of community and continuity amongst  the residents within.

(Photo from https://opentext.wsu.edu/)

Ultimately, the Hub is envisioned to look like the Taos Pueblo (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taos_Pueblo), which, while not a prairie habitat per se (though those have existed–thanks Frank Lloyd Wright!) offers solid dwelling in terms of heating and cooling, ease of supply creation, and a more organic feel to housing that, for many Earthers, is assuring, and for Martians and Belters, a new experience that helps them reconnect with their Terran roots. 

(Photo taken from WTTW Chicago)

The Ziyaret, meanwhile, is also constructed of adobe, but, due to the transitional nature of its residents, does not have the intense communal aspect of the Hub. Instead, it is a reflection of the Islamic roots of the term ‘Medina’, and the nature of movement in human history, making it resemble one of the many mosques and madrassas found within Mali (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Djinguereber_Mosque), constructed as places of safe haven along a perilous trade route. 

(Photo taken from The Guardian)

How does everyone move around? Methane and other gasses are a challenge to have in this type of environment due to the need to keep air pollution at a minimum. As a result, bicycles, skateboards, and other similar modes of transportation are strongly encouraged–a treat for Earthers and a confusing new mode for Belters and Martians! Additionally, this taps right into the independent spirit of the Belt–you do not need to beg for gas when you have a bike!

[christelgothamite]

The Marriage.

Carol glanced at the small crowd as they entered the hall. Alfred had picked a wonderful setting for the wedding.

Carol cleared her throat, getting everyone's attention “Dearly beloved, today we are gathered as the witnesses to a spectacular wedding. Today we watch as devoted lovers Damian Wayne and Christline Judith celebrate their love in the eyes of the law, though in spirit they have been married far longer.”

The crowd had various reactions of happiness.

"I will let you know that while pictures are allowed, kindly don't post them on any social platforms. This is their private wedding afterall" carol explained before smiling brightly. "With that, let’s begin!” she cheered with the crowd.

After some minutes, the music started to play as everyone took their positions.

Anasticius and nyx entered the hall, walking down the aisle. Nyx throwing flowers at people as some people aww'd at how adorable she was.

Anasticius gave Hecate and Dick the respective rings. Before saluting them and returning to their seats.

Cassandra and Amelia walked in as bridesmaids, Cass winked at Damian who was with his groomsmen behind, both Jon and collin grinning while looking at a nervious but happy Damian.

It was an agreement that Damian would not see christels wedding dress.

Then suddenly behind Cassandra and Amelia, Christel entered the view. In a white and pink-flower themed mermaid dress. She didn't have a veil but instead a flower crown. Damian recalled Alek and Aris making the crown together. He smiled at the fact.

Besides christel, Delenn was smiling. Walking her daughter down the aisle. They stopped at the front row, in front of Damian.

He stepped forwards and took her hand.

Now Damian and Christel were standing in front of carol, facing each other holding hands.

Carol said some few lines about their realtionship before saying "now the bride and the groom will say a few words to each other"

Damian glanced at Christel before saying.

"I felt irritated by your presence the first time I met you. Thus, I saw you as my enemy." a few people laughed as Christel pounted.

"Then one day I found myself coming to you for comfort, strangly you welcomed me with open arms. That's the day I fell for you.

I love that you care so deeply for others. Either it be a criminal or a lost soul. You give everyone a chance to redeem themselves." Christel blinked before looking away, who knew she would be shy on this day?

"I once asked you why you loved me and you responded with the statement that you couldn't stop yourself from loving my small quirks or my actual self. I still don't know what you mean.

My fondest memories of you must be you carrying our children around. Even though it is pretty clear you can't carry all three at the same time." Christel again pounted. She could hear the kids laugh at the statement.

"I promise you that I will protect you.

I promise to protect our kids.

I promise to be near you always.

I promise to listen to you.

And in case you lose your way again... I promise to guide you to the best possible outcome.

Your husband." Damian finished his words.

Christel gave a small smile as she started to read her note.

"From the day I met you, I thought of you as the crazy animal loving robin who just won't leave me alone." Jason and Tim laughed out to loud. Only to be hushed by Alfred and Bruce.

"But somewhere along the lines my view of you changed. I remember having a breakdown in my kitchen one day and you decided to ruin my day as a enemy but instead of doing that, upon seeing me cry. You talked to me with kindness trying to cheer me up in your own fashion.

From that day onwards I saw small glimpses of a nice and family oriented Damian. I fell for you hard." Damian was full on blushing. Both Jon and collin were having fun taking pictures of that.

"You are not only an amazing father to Aristella but also Aleksander and Anasticius. You are an amazing father. And I know you would be an amazing husband.

Even when I make wrong decisions, you are ready to move past it and help me.

I can see a brighter future for me with only you by my side.

All I have to say is. Thank you for choosing me to be your wife." Christel finished off her words. Happy tears almost falling down.

Carol smiled as she said "do you two stand here today to give yourselves to each other in marriage?"

They both nodded "we do". Carol stating something's further. Then she said to the crowd "If anyone knows of any legal reason why these two may not be married today, please speak now.”

Damian suddenly side glared Talia, who just glanced back at her son unimpressive. Christel raised her eyebrow.

No one objected.

Carol nodded as she asked for the ring exchange. Dick handed Damian his ring.

"repeat after me" carol said "I give you this ring as a sign of my commitment to you.”

"I give you this ring as a sign of my commitment to you" Damian repeated. Christel bit her bottom lips, trying not to smile or cry. Hecate went ahead and gave Christel her ring.

Carol said the same again.

And Christel repeated "“I give you this ring as a sign of my commitment to you.”

They had agreed not to kiss in front of the crowd. Prior so carol went ahead with stating.

"with that I pronounce you husband and wife, congratulations"

The crowd, mostly the batfamily and Grelitia's cheered loudly.

Carol then again said, gathering the groups attention "On behalf of the happy couple, thanks for coming and have a wonderful evening! Celebration will began soon. Eat and have fun"

She continued, "everyone can come forward to personally congratulate the couple OR as the mics are open to everyone, feel free to give an embarrassing speech towards the newly weds"

@gothamsrevolutionaryheretic , @gotham-its-seven-in-the-morning , @gotham-is-fucking-weird , @gotham-bitch , @your-average-gothamite , @scarecrowspawn , @freerangeowl , @formerarkhampsychologist .

[theimpossiblescheme]

If It Be Thus to Dream

(I needed more MyaGinnyDee in my life, and in honor of @bombawife’s OC week, I decided to indulge myself--hope you enjoy!)

Iphegenia knew that she shouldn’t.  They were far outside her league, too far even for dreams.  She must be the quiet, practical, unassuming queen her mother had raised and not let such dreams run away with her.  And she had no desire to quit the stage, regardless of what the future held.

She knew she shouldn’t.  But Deuteronomy was so dashing, all warm dark eyes and rich fluffy coat and a laugh that filled your own chest to bursting.  You would never know he was the Jellicle Leader either–he really was a salt of the earth kind of tom, much more at home on the streets and in the long grass, conversing with the mice and picking nettles out of his fur, never acknowledging his status without a tilt of his head and a self-deprecating smile.  He would tell her about the vicarage and the relative quiet of the countryside, or he would talk about the crowded little Junkyard across the city, and she could hear the deepest affection in his voice when he talked about the other cats and passing humans who lived there.  He was always the first to laugh at himself, and so kind and such a good listener to boot.  With just a few words, he could make you feel like the only cats who existed.

She knew she shouldn’t.  But Myoraselle was so gorgeous, with her own dappled coat and spring-colored ribbons and smile that encompassed the whole world.  She was so modest, so loathe to call attention to herself, yet if you got her in the right mood she was probably the finest storyteller Ginny had ever met.  Such vivid characters she spun, such a beautiful tapestry of a world she wove, and such Romance–no story from Mya was complete without her delicately taking each of your heartstrings between her claws and playing them like a harp.  It was a wonder she never became an actress herself, but she insisted that she preferred smaller venues.  Just entertaining her friends and loved ones was enough, and she had a way of making you feel like you’d known her all your life.

She shouldn’t.  But they had given her such wonderful compliments at stage door that first night, and for those precious few minutes Rosaline’s wedding gown didn’t feel quite so heavy.  Andromeda grinned knowingly at her in the dressing room and commented that “you might have gained yourself a little fan club, darling.”  And sure enough, there they were at all her subsequent performances.  Always meeting her at stage door, and very slowly a few minutes’ rendezvous could easily turn into hours before Ginny realized she was still in costume.  To make things less awkward for her, they would meet her after rehearsals instead and let her regale them with tales of lost props and lighting malfunctions and Brighella being a diva while Gus took it all in teeth-gritted stride.  Deuteronomy–or Dee, as he insisted she call him–chuckled and said that sounded like the same Gus he’d played with as a kitten.  Mya asked after all her castmates, and Ginny gladly showered praise on Pumpernickel and Cornelius and Wiskuscat.  Unfortunately, Dee and Mya weren’t allowed to sit in during rehearsals (no matter how much Dee appealed to Gus), but she never had to wait long afterward.

She shouldn’t.  But when she was asked to go on as Queen Titania in Andromeda’s place one night, she couldn’t help searching the audience for them.  As she lay there under the lights in her bed of flowers, stroking the ears of Pumpernickel’s mask, she managed to catch their eyes in the third row.  Mya’s blush beneath her fur was almost incandescent, and Dee looked as though he’d caught a glimpse of the Heaviside itself.  It was all Ginny could do to remember her lines with their faces burning in her mind’s eye.

She shouldn’t.  But it was impossible not to think about them.  Their nightly visits became the highlight of her day, and she wondered what they would say were she to kiss them goodnight.  She had to remind herself not to peek through the curtain like a kitten to see where they were sitting, and Gus would lovingly needle her for it.  “Pining will only get you so far, my dear–sooner or later, you’ll have to tell them.”

She shouldn’t.  But whenever she watched them together, eyes glittering at each other as they conversed without words, leaning against shoulders and contentedly breathing in the other’s scent, Ginny wondered what it would be like to nestle between them.  She was just the right height to nestle under Dee’s chin and let Mya nestle under hers, after all.  And even as she mentally chastised her own boldness, the prospect of future visits, future shows, future nights spent together outside of the theater in much more intimate settings was almost more than she could bear.

She knew she shouldn’t.  It really was too much even to dream.

But one breathless evening, still in costume, still high on the thrill of seeing their starry faces from the stage yet again, still wondering why it ever took her so long, she did.

And even with the struggles and heartbreak that followed, she never regretted it for a moment.

[rayventhegm]

On Rayven Day

A long post about finding gainful employment.

One year ago, I declared the first Rayven Day.

It wasn’t my birthday, or anything special, really. Just had a long holiday break from the combined Christmas and New Year, thus wasn’t feeling enthusiastic about going back to work. So, I declared it a fake holiday, and had at least a few people humor me and wish me a ‘Happy Rayven Day!’ back. Felt kinda nice, like I had spawned a tiny inside joke.

I didn’t get those holidays, this year. Don’t misunderstand, I got my weekends - two days off, in a row, each week - but that’s it. Had to work Christmas, New Years, and both the Eve of those days. I’m getting a paycheck, sure, and I’m lucky to be employed. But it’s put me in a reflective mood.

My last job left me feeling stuck. Despite getting a few promotions over ten years, I had essentially the same entry-level job. I know this is a complaint many people have had, and I should have been thankful for the steady work, but the grind began to feel unbearable.

Also, I wasn’t technically out as trans.

Of course, I had to explain a few things to management. Only those few. But apparently pitching my voice was enough to tip people off, or maybe it was our clients who got confused. So eventually, I started getting called different pronouns from my peers. My supervisor told me to switch all my accounts to the nickname I stared to use – even though I didn’t see other co-workers who used nicknames get that treatment.

But maybe none of that mattered, maybe I was paranoid for no reason and should have given that conservative company a chance. This story is already starting to sound far too self-pitying, after so many others have been cracked under the combined weight of a pandemic and corporate price-gouging.

Let’s talk about the new job, then. Those who know me well have already been told I drive a paratransit bus. Sorry, there’s no bootstraps story of starting my own ingenious business or going to school and learning a hot new in-demand skill. I just went with the first job I could that I knew would support my half of the rent.

In some ways, it’s not that different. Constant barrage of people in need, day in and day out. But it’s a change I needed; I suppose. Many people switch jobs. Often several times in a single year, which makes two jobs in one decade seem like nothing. But this change always seemed impossible for me, no matter what I tried before. Maybe I don’t interview well. Maybe I’m just in a weird middle ground of being over-qualified for jobs available and under-qualified for what I want. But this new job took me.

And it’s union.

Not that means it’s perfect, by far. Lots of folks here don’t actually like the union. But I’m already appreciating the structure that it gives, the consistent benefits.

And I’ve made a trans friend at work. That’s something I just never did in the past ten years.

So… happy Rayven Day. Maybe next year I will get to celebrate a real holiday.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“The pale as they fled”)

A cinquain sequence

               1

The pale as they fled? My soul with Molly Bloom and half for their spell; and this after then me?

               2

Nor avarice, Vengeance, and tumblest wits to throwing to his quarter. Ah, ah, his, and wept.

               3

Tell his mind bemones his dress, so call’d by thy love! Would I not self- possessions flashing.

               4

A gallant’s Grave broke in doubtless, my teeth from the glimmering what the ring? To sing the brine.

               5

When that pass’d some talk of love. And good-bye: no trifle or toil or star and pearlins enow.

               6

’ But the placed, mark me, Peona! This poor Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantages white should be happen.

               7

I wish was gone, and, neither goes, and with Susan? My lover my sight. Brushes, book her eyes!

               8

He went at last hourly had face to some never wauks.—That make, of all along as your place.

               9

Some say, Don Juan, who knows? There was all round the Deacon in thy face, sadder, more or windows?

               10

It would pulled train of paying to the world—the better— all men’s bones with her brown, nor was more.

               11

Ah! For the same pond which arise that—loved well? Tells me we’re out its more I took half afraid.

               12

I drew near his old words that old for my birth, you nearly, and me. If suddenly, she fair.

               13

Mind you, who, one tenant. From the studde, and two feet stall. Was heart is a monk! Bower quiet?

               14

Till the wild Princessantly detestable. And haunt us through the her dear Genevieve!

               15

The tender, when the few shines and lover. Who queer a flag in, or the hangs by unseen win.

               16

You look whence? Is not so the day, knelt down on me or fourth offspring every sails, ton entanglée.

               17

A mode the gates the wheel, and yell: Get out? You may be, that the yellow’s nest-door, worthy song.

               18

Or when Hell, obscure and fearfully, the for cares— this respectable to the married? Yes!

               19

Thou ask how her friends here, as deadly perishable ring? And a-propos of ioyes for where?

               20

Greeting of passion’ e’er panted as far a-down thy heart. Leaves so deep midnight shall distance.

               21

Upon me I bore of scorn that’s this Old House strings, and rack and go to wayward ragged reef.

               22

No sonar with count that one, each piece of Tom. And this of men, till God release to the world?

               23

The wide a sunbeam by the sting! Who vent the arms I fly no farewell! Left but still I call?

               24

Advice. Of rhymes; a sort of meteor-stone;—felt the Eight and fly in, to be; heads or bore.

               25

But were in her e’re. At once more he can spoils despite, this world like Atlas, what’s last in vogue!

               26

And she becoming, in thy sciography? Soon as writing time when you lying gold sands, friends?

               27

All come out rapture’s general country in our souls out of spite this mood? Juan, who thus vnkind?

               28

For a row. For the sign she would somewhat: and thus did this pigtail till I do when the rill.

               29

And me. And there, by humour indifferent, with a farther raged, and ever name o’t.

               30

Pass superior to number’s sorrow will not my master what? Europe and choose, faint bread?

               31

Presumed them balances in never courtesy. How many think thus much women forecast.

               32

Juan among, glad of sacred part potential! He planet that he said: I feel thankful sighs.

               33

In islands, O my America! Take all a sleep. Brook her very pyre of weary.

               34

Men too; and time. Being sound the lonely such pixel you and left me in the Babe is born.

               35

Have closed eyes, and pale, he courteous bill of yew tree, for the skirts of the literature.

               36

In Lethe landlord make mistake sequel of black as index. And yet some string our forensics.

               37

Mystical light best when on it. ’ Then a full-blown up for high doth proue; bidden o’er their eyes!

               38

And a nose, and suddenly ablaze, a small? Great winter the stouter, first he fellow him!

               39

Beyond then her fancies cause? Thus Nature of that the wind, they’re pure a small aid from singing?

               40

A knife: it kills without you noticed, no breeds must still by Feringhi Glasses. Said you love?

               41

From singing the sleeping the fun hard by, pointed that lights. Appetite, hide in than bear it.

               42

Also although t is very when nature of thee to the burdening. Pity ne’er meant.

               43

Not but winter and dewy buds,-—that Juan and day, and ever daunt you! When Juan in heaven?

               44

He mutter’d but the child, I sat converse, to your reflection. To lives be; seeing what’s state?

               45

The breathing is my loves to those inmost dearly? From a star and feet glow on the place book.

               46

Two little maid’s reply, o misery! From great and go with his honest man, now to live.

               47

A daily pression from itself, which look; that god Pan. My voice in contrive, ’ he cried Dang it?

               48

And what I never tell what thou have seen some but looked up … zooks, rhyme at, are singer, the ground.

               49

And her; but in this great man, when went; and blood. A scent and countenance? Not Momus self down?

               50

Oh Thou dost speaks in the sea. Is pity that without a fool. You are double doubly name.

               51

Love in the chambers, who, for to their parks some day.— Great, marvelling among the broad- should say.

               52

The deep, impassion, as one of trembling mass. Moon, they are ever gave it was wither die.

               53

And the pipe, where the step aside his dangers mad. What art can proceeded or for ever.

               54

Heave his nearer heart that. ’ Then life’s oblivion, and shucks, along the independs soothe thin!

               55

Then all round there in loue of passionate breast. To be slain her status as object, His world?

               56

But they hearth gives scope, the reins would I? When this mould— the backward, these streams, as if thou presume?

               57

In sun a shawl, whose cloudless learned’s wings whose service and oil it. I hae been a pure rage!

               58

Than just to plunging all my love! Still regret poor Martha Ray of Light oaths and modest o’er.

               59

To make the Devil; the scorn, upon who rear’d mistake. Across the den of music has scoop.

               60

The lassie, fair rose leap, and gone by one, send very clerks; but only five. In shady brow!

               61

Well, which sits quite how Meg o’ the Mill was heart, his packet, to say. And moving youth is thine.

               62

—She storm by which with the bushes,—he did; that very nation. Die with my motherly head!

               63

They were my trousers of space between the Snow, we know how to bid first time all chaff of grass.

               64

Is idleness, and when you depart, gatherer. And pledge vastly hent, and weight years and where.

               65

The world, out-facing all doubt, the sensitive to stammer some Old Story? Before which should.

               66

Quo’ her grief to be call? In this mind you’ll not enough: how fair liking; thou my eyes turtle.

               67

Not to where to death. I have squeezed that a mere could fan off every way among that ere blood.

               68

Otherwise? The fates, strike six or seen some reasons as then what the Lady of the o’er hills?

               69

And all seem to guess’d. And turns the green. And stares and many works its born? Upon thy little!

               70

Her perfect Beauty born votaries, and heavy peace: so happy, happy I have closer.

               71

But as those days we have seen or poor; the spake were easier done as the chance. Of times stall.

[umbra-by-jacqui-natla]

Chapter Seventeen

The inky substance had triumphantly fused with Maria, its tendrils weaving seamlessly into her being. In a matter of moments, she was sequestered away in the isolation chamber, a spectacle for all to behold - particularly Drake, who was eager to witness the symbiotic transformation unfold. Thus far, there had been no signs of any discord between the two entities, and the process continued to progress without a hitch.

Estelle's insides churned with a tumultuous mix of emotions that defied any simple label like "sick." The Life Foundation had left her feeling hollow, like a shell of her former self. The urge to flee was a persistent itch at the back of her mind, a nagging voice that whispered of escape and freedom. But she couldn't abandon Carrie, not again. The memory of their separation still haunted her, a ghostly presence that refused to be exorcised.

It was a strange thing, this guilt that clung to her like a second skin. She knew, rationally, that she had done nothing wrong. She had been a child herself when Carrie was taken, powerless to intervene. And yet, the weight of responsibility bore down on her like a mountain. She should have done more, tried harder, fought back against the forces that tore them apart.

Even the smallest things seemed to carry a burden of guilt. The white bikini she had worn on that fateful day, innocent and carefree, now felt like a symbol of her complicity in the tragedy that followed. The Rain of Stones had been a cruel twist of fate, but Estelle couldn't help but wonder if she had somehow brought it upon them.

So she stayed, trapped in a web of her own making. The Life Foundation loomed over her like a dark cloud, but she couldn't leave Carrie behind. Not again.

Estelle stood in the sterile laboratory, surrounded by a group of white-coated scientists. They had just brought in their latest test subject, a male with rich, chocolate brown skin, a mop of black, fuzzy hair, and piercing dark eyes. He was dressed in the same clinical white clothing as many of the human subjects before him, but his body trembled with a cold shiver as he stepped into the unfamiliar room.

The man stood frozen, his eyes darting around the sterile environment, taking in the harsh fluorescent lights and the rows of gleaming equipment. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he felt the scientists' eyes on him, studying him like a specimen under a microscope. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound almost deafening in his ears, and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, as if trying to disappear into nothingness.

He longed to escape from the prying eyes of the scientists, to run away from this place of cold, clinical experimentation. But he knew that he was trapped, a mere lab rat to be poked and prodded, tested and analyzed. And so he stood there, a small, frightened figure in a sea of white coats, hoping against hope that he would survive this latest round of testing.

"Jacob, my friend, fear not," Drake's voice echoed through the sterile room. Jacob's eyes darted around, searching for the source of the comforting words.

"Here, Jacob," Drake called out, gesturing towards the glass partition. Jacob's eyes locked onto Drake's reassuring gaze.

"Jacob, a name steeped in history and tradition," Drake mused, his voice laced with a hint of admiration.

Jacob nodded, his mind wandering back to his mother's stories of the Old Testament.

"Your mother, a woman of faith, I presume?" Drake inquired, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Jacob nodded again, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Drake's voice lowered, his tone taking on a somber note. "Isaac, another man with a Biblical name, just like you."

Estelle's memories of Isaac flooded her mind, the sound of his screams still ringing in her ears.

Drake leaned in, his eyes glinting with ambition. "But first, we must learn from Jacob's story. He was no ordinary man. He was a cunning thief, a polygamist, and a wrestler with God himself. And yet, he was chosen to lead a nation."

Jacob's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.

Drake continued, "We too can be chosen. We can create a new world, a world where we are the masters of our own destiny. A world where we are not bound by the limitations of our bodies or our minds."

Jacob's hand tightened on the glass, his knuckles turning white.

Drake smiled, "Together, we can achieve anything. We can build a new nation, a nation of perfection. And we can call it... Israel 2.0."

Jacob's eyes widened in disbelief, but Drake was already turning away, his mind racing with plans for the future.

Estelle's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more chaotic than the last. The mere suggestion that Drake had made to Jacob was enough to send her spiraling into a frenzy of disbelief. She understood the logic behind it, but the idea of living with a parasitic creature inside of her was too much to bear. How could anyone survive like that? The origins of the creature were unknown, even to those within the Life Foundation. Estelle suspected that even Drake was in the dark, but he didn't seem to care.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit Estelle like a ton of bricks. Her stomach twisted and turned, causing her to double over in pain. She clutched her abdomen, her face contorted in agony. Dora noticed her distress and approached her with concern etched on her face.

"Estelle, are you alright?" Dora whispered, her voice laced with worry.

Estelle remained silent, her mind wandering far from Dora's question. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit her like a ton of bricks, causing her to bolt from the room. She sprinted through the lab, shoving aside bewildered scientists in her haste, until she reached the sanctuary of the women's restroom. With a hand clamped over her mouth, she flung open the door and lurched towards the nearest toilet. The sound of her retching echoed off the walls, causing Dora to wince in sympathy.

"Are you okay?" Dora's voice was laced with concern.

Estelle lifted her head, saliva dribbling from her lips. She knelt before the toilet, her hands gripping the seat as she struggled to catch her breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears, and she felt utterly drained.

"I'm fine," she muttered hoarsely, rising to her feet and grabbing a wad of toilet paper to wipe her face.

With a swift and determined motion, she hurled the offending object into the porcelain bowl and pulled the lever, sending it spiraling down into the depths below. As she turned to leave, she was met with the stern gaze of Dora, who stood with her arms crossed by the sink.

"It must have been the chicken sandwich," Estelle muttered, her hand pressed to her stomach in discomfort. She eyed the steel dispenser on the wall, its labels promising protection and peace of mind. "Can you pass me a pad?" she asked, pointing to the machine.

Dora deftly inserted a coin into the dispenser, and a sleek pink package emerged, cradling the solution to Estelle's problem. She handed it over, and Estelle retreated to the bathroom once more. After a moment, she emerged, looking relieved and ready to move on.

"Are you really okay?" Dora inquired, her voice barely above a whisper.

Estelle shook her head as she scrubbed her hands clean. "The whole thing is fucked up," she responded, positioning herself in front of the dryer with her palms outstretched. The warm gusts of air caressed her skin, and the droplets of water cascaded down her fingers. "This whole concept of symbiosis," she exclaimed over the whirring of the dryer. "It's twisted! It's a grotesque advancement, and I want it to end!"

Estelle withdrew her hands from the dryer, wringing them together. Dora gazed at her with deep concern etched on her face.

Estelle's mind raced as she muttered to herself, "There has to be a way to stop this." Dora watched her friend with a heavy heart, knowing that the situation was dire. They needed to find a solution, and fast. But how? Estelle's thoughts were interrupted by Dora's voice, filled with hope.

"Do you remember Dr. Drake's interview with Brock?" Dora asked, her eyes shining with a newfound idea.

Estelle nodded, wiping away a tear. "Yes, he mentioned something strange. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"I think he was trying to expose the truth," Dora said, her voice growing stronger. "And I know just the person who can help us."

Estelle's eyes widened as she realized what Dora was suggesting. "Eddie Brock? But how can he help us?"

"He's a journalist, Estelle. He knows how to get to the bottom of things," Dora explained, her excitement growing. "If we can get him to investigate, maybe he can uncover the truth about Drake."

Estelle's mind raced as she considered the idea. It was risky, but it might just work. She smiled, her eyes shining with determination. "Brock moved in six months ago. He's your neighbor! We just need to find him," she added, her voice filled with confidence. "He might be at home, or at the store. We just need to ask around."

Estelle's heart raced as she realized the potential of Dora's plan. It was a long shot, but it might just be their only hope. "Let's do it," she said, her voice filled with determination. "Let's find Eddie Brock and stop Drake once and for all."

Dora let out a deep sigh, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of hope. Just as she was about to give up, a glimmer of possibility crept into her mind. "Maybe we could head to the security room," she suggested, her voice laced with a newfound sense of optimism. "We might be able to find some visual evidence that could help us."

Estelle's arms folded across her chest, her expression skeptical. "That sounds like a risky move," she warned. "How on earth are we going to get in there?"

Dora's mind raced as she tried to come up with a solution. "Donna can help," she said finally, her voice tinged with confidence.

Donna Diego was one of Dora's closest friends. Despite her mysterious past and a history of psychotic episodes, Donna had managed to pass a rigorous background check and become a security guard for the Life Foundation. Her Mexican-Iranian heritage only added to her enigmatic allure.

"She might be on her break," Dora suggested, her mind already racing with the possibilities. With Donna's help, they just might be able to uncover the truth behind the Life Foundation's dark secrets.

Dora and Estelle emerged from the bathroom, their eyes adjusting to the dimly lit break room. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of disinfectant. As they stepped further into the room, the workplace kitchen greeted them with open arms. The small fridge hummed beneath the counter, while a microwave sat perched on top. The sink gleamed, devoid of any dirty dishes. A television hung on the white wall, its screen flickering with the latest news.

Their attention was drawn to a woman sitting on a black chair, her elbows resting on the round black table. She sipped her coffee, her eyes scanning the room. Her beauty was undeniable, with her brunette hair tied in a sleek ponytail and her smooth tan skin. Her brown eyes sparkled with intelligence, and her outfit was as black as the night - a jacket, vest top, jeans, and boots.

"Dora," she said, her voice deep and commanding. "What brings you here?"

"We need to get to the security room," Dora replied, her tone urgent.

Donna clicked her tongue and shook her head. "You know I can't allow people in there unless it's necessary."

"But it is necessary," Estelle interjected.

Donna raised an eyebrow. "Is it now? And what do you want from there?"

"We need information about the symbiosis experiment," Dora explained. "It's been going on for too long, and we want to put a stop to it. We were hoping to find some evidence to bring him down."

Donna's expression softened, and she sighed. "Alright, I'll let you in. But be careful - he's not one to be trifled with."

As they made their way through the throngs of people and labyrinthine hallways, their eyes were peeled for the elusive security room. They strolled nonchalantly, their movements fluid and effortless, until they came upon a nondescript greyish blue door. The word SECURITY was emblazoned in bold white block letters, with a black plaque serving as a backdrop. Donna deftly produced her card and swiped it along the reader, eliciting a satisfying beep. With a gentle push, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room.

"Five minutes," Donna murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll knock when it's time."

"Okay," Estelle replied, her own voice hushed, as she stepped inside.

"Thank you," Dora chimed in, her gratitude palpable as she followed suit.

The door shut behind them, enveloping them in darkness. For a moment, they stood there, their eyes adjusting to the lack of light. And then, as if by magic, the room sprang to life. Lights flickered on, illuminating the space and revealing a sea of desks, keyboards, and papers strewn about in a haphazard fashion. Pens littered the ground, their presence unnoticed by the harried workers who occupied the space. It was a chaotic mess, but it was their mess, and they were determined to make sense of it.

Dora's gaze was fixed on the multitude of computer screens that adorned the desk. They were diminutive, almost the size of their noggins. The majority of the screens displayed various sections of the edifice, mostly deserted corridors. However, her eyes were drawn to the screenshot of the experiment room.

"Alright," Dora whispered, sauntering towards the computer. "There it is. Perhaps we can unearth something there."

Estelle nodded in concurrence. Dora leaned over the computer and scrutinized the room. Then, she stumbled upon a folder that contained dates, months, and years. Dora clicked on the folder, and a list of dates materialized. Her eyes widened with astonishment.

"Do you recall what date it was?" Estelle inquired, looming over her colleague with a sense of urgency.

Dora furrowed her brow in concentration before responding, "Ah yes, it was the 20th of October. The day the interns joined us. And the field trip."

Estelle's memory was jogged by Dora's words, and she nodded in agreement. With a few swift clicks, Dora brought up the footage from that day. The grainy black and white images flickered to life on the screen, devoid of any sound.

As they watched the events of that day unfold before their eyes, Estelle and Dora strained to make out any discernible details. But the footage was frustratingly vague, offering no clues as to what had transpired.

Just as Estelle was about to give up hope, something caught her eye. "Wait, rewind that," she commanded, her voice rising with excitement. "Look at the door!"

Sure enough, the door to the room in the footage creaked open, revealing a figure shrouded in darkness. As they watched in stunned silence, a young woman with a beanie hat and glasses stepped into the room, her face obscured from view.

Estelle and Dora exchanged a bewildered glance, their minds racing with questions. Who was this mysterious girl, and what was she doing there? The answers remained tantalizingly out of reach, but they knew one thing for sure - this was just the beginning of a thrilling mystery that would keep them on the edge of their seats.

"Did Larry and Fred have their eyes closed?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Dora couldn't help but chuckle at the question.

As they watched the footage, they saw the girl leaving the boxes and the black goo crawling on the glass. Larry and Fred let out a small gasp, but it was too late.

"That bonded to Maria," Estelle pointed out, her eyes fixed on the screen. "How long did Drake have that thing?"

Dora shook her head. "No idea."

The girl in the footage seemed to be having a conversation with the black goo. It was as if they were in a staring contest, trying to outdo each other. Suddenly, a flash popped out, and the goo freaked out, throwing a tantrum. The girl turned around and ran out of the screen.

Dora pressed the reverse button, and the footage started to play backward until it stopped at the girl's face. The footage was crystal clear, and Estelle couldn't help but wonder why the girl looked so familiar.

And then she saw the glasses.

Estelle remembered having glasses like that before she had laser eye surgery. She had even told Carrie about it when she first discovered it while cleaning her bedroom.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Estelle realized that the girl in the footage was none other than Carrie White.

Dora, always quick with a quip, broke the tense silence. "Do you think she knows Eddie Brock?"

Estelle's mind raced as she tried to come up with a plausible answer. "Maybe," she lied, not wanting to reveal her true thoughts.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Dora quickly snapped a picture of the footage before they both exited the security room. Donna greeted them with a curious look.

"You found what you were looking for?" she asked, sensing their excitement.

Estelle and Dora exchanged a knowing glance before nodding in unison. "Thanks for your help," Dora said, grateful for Donna's assistance.

Donna shrugged nonchalantly. "No problem."

As Donna sauntered away, disappearing into the shadows, Estelle and Dora exchanged a meaningful look.

"So, what's the plan?" Dora inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"You find Brock," Estelle replied, her tone confident. "I'll find the girl."

Dora's brow furrowed in confusion. "But you don't know where she is."

Estelle's lips curled into a sly smile. "Maybe I do. And I did tell you where Brock could be, didn't I?"

Dora's eyes widened in realization. "Yeah, you did."

"Then let's not waste any more time," Estelle declared, her voice resolute. "Let's go."

Link to Chapter Eighteen

[electrospherevaults]

Since we are halfway through the year, and halfway through all the Fridays of the year, I've decided to push back the upcoming short and do a little self-assessment on what I've written thus far. This turned a bit more rambly and stream of consciousness, but feel free to read below the cut.

So, after 25 weeks, I have in total written 11 short stories, 10 of which have been published, which are largely complete and finalized! That's about 40-44% of the weeks so far with a published/written short! The most productive period was in the beginning, with a streak of 7 shorts written in a row.

There was also the participation in the SIGNALIS zine, which took a lot of time in March. I wrote two great pieces which were well liked, and I even shared them on AO3. I've also started editing the SIGNALIS fic ECHOS: The Silicon Queen, which is a really great fic y'all should read!

Then came the drought. As mentioned, March was a month devoted to the zine, so only one short story was written, which I feel disatisfied with; the ending was a bit rushed and I feel i could have worked on it further. Then, April really passed without a single story written, and May, which I had aimed to be a SIGNALIS-themed month on my writing blog, and to focus on writing Maiden on my off-time, also turned disastrous as only the pieces for the zine that I had finished back in March were published. Ngl, I'm disappointed with the output in spring, especially because the first June piece was planned a good deal early into May.

May especially felt disappointing because I had also participated in a writing marathon for the month, and I only walked away with ~12'000 words written for book 2 of the Defiler trilogy. Not a bad wordcount by any means, but when those words were produced in just the first week and then the rest was spent not writing... It kinda sucks, ngl

Alas, at least I finished the aforementioned Signalis short and published it on the first Friday of June, and I followed it up with another short in the second Friday, which I felt was really good. The third short I had begun last Friday, but I've been stuck in a rut about it; it is not coming along well enough, and needs some work. I was hoping I'd have finished it for today, but there is still no definitive ending and doesn't quite work. Worse, it seems to be getting bigger, so I am considering whether I might split it and publish it as a themed month instead.

With all that said, I have basically achieved my goal of writing one Friday short story about 44% of the time so far and I've still written a massive amount for all three books in the planned trilogy, which I cannot show. Speaking of not showing, two things that also stopped production were Tumblr going haywire on transphobia and discovering that posting my stories on Tumblr counts as self-publishing - which in turn means I cannot use those stories for competitions and submit them to literary magazines.

The latter especially has been a massive thorn on my sides, and can't lie I have not figured out some way to bridge the gap between the two. I thought that, maybe, by writing Signalis fics, I could then use my original writing to submit it online - but when output is severely lower than expected, what amounts to doubling the workload of what I was doing in the beginning in the year becomes near impossible.

So, in essence, I feel I'm in a production rut; writing itself is coming along, even though it's coming along slower than expected, but when I sit down to write a Friday short, I have to weigh internally if I should go and post this, or withhold it and consider adapting it for literary publication - which would not be as big a problem had I a job so I didn't have to think of earning an income through my writing as hard. The failure of May honestly made me reconsider about this year, and I feel I will refocus now in the remaining summer months on my neglected thesis, in an effort to get it done by September - and if I miss that deadline, finish and graduate by February next year.

As you can tell, I'm overwhelmed lol. Anygay, we forge on - the next short that started production on the 21st is (as of now) titled Empress, and if I can bring it to the finish in its current form, you can expect it next week to kick things off for July. I feel I will focus on writing shorter fiction and spend only two days max on writing a short for the challenge. There are 26 weeks left in the year, so if I could write 15 shorts more, I feel it would be a good output given the current output. Stay tuned regardless, I'll be seeing y'all around!

2024 Friday Writing Challenge Masterpost

Each Friday, at (give or take) 6:43pm (UTC+2), a new short story will be posted and shared here. Those will vary in themes and genre and worlds. Each one should be enjoyable without further prior knowledge. Enjoy!

Stories list:

Imbalance

Mostly Harmless

A Dance With My Clone

Sorry About The Inconvenience

Friends And Foes

Blossoming a wilder flower

Victory at Vineta [SIGNALIS fic]

FWD: RE: Relocation [SIGNALIS fic]

The Ocean Waves of our Home [SIGNALIS fic]

I Made You Breakfast

Coming Friday 5/7!

[To read my other stories, check here]

[semicoloncraft]

SAY YES TO THE GOOD STUFF

Snuggling under the covers writing this piece during a 4-hour power outage in my country. Allow me to share that being productive without actually being productive is a thing. It goes without saying that always being active or productive leads to burnouts, fatigue and anxiety. Here’s my two cents unapologetically on why you need to explore the possibilities of saying yes and embracing the unknown.

I have been home for a bit and it has been a journey of self-realization. During my ‘productivity’ time I have been writing everyday, getting tech savvy, playing more chess, reading new materials and exploring the outdoors. The birds are chirping and I am making jokes again. Wait, am I getting better? Is my mental health whispering in my ear saying ‘almost there, don’t give up’ ?

I want to drown in the pool of this sober high. It feels pretty great getting back to myself and being present again. Beach days definitely resonates with me. I asked my brother earlier: “So when is my breakthrough coming, my laptop is acting up and didn’t I just have my period the other day? Like what the actual fudge. I need to to get my ducks in a row.”

Drumroll please. The plot twist, the radical change. This break, work break, mental break, emotional break, people break, social media break, this. This is the breakthrough. Your ducks are in a row. You’re alive and breathing. Your hidden talents awaiting to be explored and your body is ready for reproduction. This is it.

This break has led my creativity into my new reality (an unpublished poetry book awaits.) Taking this break has allowed me to spend more time with the people I love. My mom: “So tell us, what does your tattoos signify?” I was surprised by this question because my mom are against them! I quote verbatim: “No tattoos please, your body is the temple of God my child” a contradiction I tell you, yet acceptance in sight. My dad is more present, helping around with renovations and gardening. My brother’s humor and intellect unmatched. My cup overflows with gratitude.

In 2022, I said yes to almost everything. Those yeses brought their A-game on strong. Amazing and daunting. Some soft, some deafening. Residing and working in other countries changed my entire outlook on life. The taste of my adventures and experiences. The failures. The disappointments. The strangers. All and all, the blessings in disguise. My favorite yes thus far was shaving my head. A liberal non-conformist. A trend setter? A broken girl? Everyones story a bit different. Purely a symbol of rebirth.

In 2023, we will do this, and we will do that, blah blah blah. Remember to just save some for you. The trash isn’t yours to take out and the weight isn’t yours to carry. Explore the possibilities of saying yes and to accept what cannot be controlled. I want to encourage you to take breaks, they are imperative.

Ps say yes to the good stuff. The ones that make you feel alive.

[doingthedirtydishes]

SEC Football Stadium Accessibility – Volunteers at University of Tennessee, Knoxville Do it Right!

It was a long weekend at the mining site, resulting in departing home on an early Saturday morning instead of Friday afternoon as we were accustomed. We were tired but after our third flight the beers were flowing, as were our spirits. Single at the time, I did not mind being stuck in any city on any given weekend. Big Sexy AKA Alex and I were sitting at a Toronto, Canada airport terminal sports bar enjoying great conversation and some college football whilst awaiting boarding flights to our home bases. Mine was in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and Big Sexy’s in Nashville, Tennessee.  All the sudden, out of left field, an invite came from Alex: “Come to Tennessee for a game?” Wait! What?!

Immediately rebuffing Alex’s attempt at being a polite Southern gentleman, inviting me down to his neck of the woods, the South, for a SEC college football game, I smiled. And I am a Vols fan too. Hmmm, could it be true? Alex stated: “I assure you in Tennessee we are sincere, if we make an invite it is authentic, it is real. None of that sugar-and-spice, all things nice you find in some other Southern States.” I told Big Sexy that his reply sounded more like sugar-and-spice than ever before. He laughed as he said “Come on down and see for yourself.” At the time Alex made the invite we were working for DeBeers diamond mines in the far north of Canada as management consultants.  Much had changed.

Seven years later, a book about meeting an express train rendering me a quadriplegic published, Alex once again brought up the idea of going to a Vols game.  By this time in my recovery I was comfortable attempting attending a college football game, and all it involved. But the dates just could not work. One year later, a new friend, also in a wheelchair, from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, in conversation made an invite to attend a LSU Tigers game. After quickly figuring out her invite was traditional ‘Southern spice’ – also known as BS – it was back to square one. Then a text arrived from Alex. He found a game date, and would it work for me? I replied I was in Europe for summer, would check schedule and advise.

Two weeks later, my summer and fall starting taking shape, and it appeared the weekend Alex wanted to finally see a Volunteers game together, I was free. But I would have a friend joining me. Alex did not mind as he had three tickets and was happy to break another SEC fan’s cherry by attending not only his first SEC college football game, but also his first Volunteers game at Neyland Stadium in Knoxville – home to the 4th largest college stadium in the US, seating capacity 102,455. The finer details still needed to be worked out. For now it was on – me and a friend would be venturing down south to Tennessee to see our first SEC game at Neyland Stadium. We were thrilled to the brim at the idea of the trip.

A few weeks before the game I inquired with Alex to see if our seats were handicap accessible or not. I was aware that Neyland, a very old stadium, has some parts dating from early 1900s, thus making accessibility a potential issue.  Our seats were not accessible, in fact. An idea came to mind. Alex, don’t worry about seating, I will call the Athletic office to see if they can find us some nice accessible seats. I will do a story on the stadium and my experience Doing The Dirty Dishes of life, attending a game there in a wheelchair.  He loved the idea. Well, it turned out, UT-Knoxville did as well. Now, instead of sitting in the nose-bleeds, we were front-and-center, end zone, first row, pro-gratis.

Originally I wrote a letter to the Assoc. Dir. of Athletics for Communication, Tom Satkowiak. He put me in contact with a Manager in event coordination, Angie Doyle. She put me in contact with someone at the ticket office – “Will the ticket man,” self-described, and super helpful. Tickets sorted, not a minute passed, and Angie fired off an email with all the information specifically needed for handicap parking, and direction to special handicap accessible buses that would shuttle us to the stadium.  It was quickly becoming clear I was dealing with a momentous event of serious proportions that would take proper planning and execution. It was also clear the level of professionalism of all UT-K staff was a step ahead.

Angie momentarily sent an email with descriptions of many types events, activities and other pertinent information leading up the game. We would have to arrive early. Early as in 8am or so! I had heard SEC fans liked to party early before noon games but did not think they were serious. Oh yes they were. We arrived at the stadium early that morning, the streets already buzzing with activity. It was fixing to be a hot day too, according to the forecast. We followed Angie’s directions, parking at the Agriculture Campus, where they had a special lot reserved with over 120 parking spots. And it was free, too. Bonus at a time when parking can exceed forty dollars, beers fourteen dollars, etc. at events.

The school’s athletic department has a ‘Game Day’ page where fans can find out upcoming game time, critical updates of any kind, along with stadium rules and regulations. There is an information tab clearly marked for accessible/ADA seating. There you can find information on parking, entry and seating. For those sitting in the upper levels, please check with the ticket office as you may need access to an elevator, which requires a pass. The website also describes the various game day festivities offered – there are many:  The Vol Walk, Band March, Volunteer Village, Tennessee Park, Kickoff Call-In Show and Tailgate Tennessee are a few of the endless activities offered prior to every home game.

The morning of the game we arrived bright and early, securely parking at the Agriculture Campus. The campus was very easy to find; police and event staff could be found every fifteen feet. Within minutes of parking we were in line for special accessible buses that would take us to the stadium. Only ten minutes passed before we were approached, given wristbands to enter and exit transport buses, and readied to board. Since I was traveling with a friend from home, Joe, and a friend from Nashville, Alex, we would need room for three. There was never an issue, at any point – the staff was always more than accommodating. Within thirty minutes of parking our car, we were off to see our first SEC game.

As we embarked on the short drive from our parking lot to Neyland Stadium, excitement was in the air, palpable on the bus and extending well beyond to the endless throngs of people outside, all slowly making their way to the stadium. There was no lack of tailgating everywhere, food and drink abound. They were not joking – it is serious business in Tennessee.  As long as you were wearing orange you were welcome to eat and drink as much as you liked, you were treated like family. Every direction you turned someone in orange was ready to offer a smile, beer, burger or laugh. The hospitality of the people of Tennessee is real – it can be felt.  Finally, fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the stadium.

Luckily we were dropped off close to the ticket office and also gate we needed to enter stadium. As there were large crowds of people gathering near the entrance I asked Alex to please sort out the tickets. Five minutes later Big Sexy appeared with three seats in Section Y9, Seats 4,5,6.  Ready to go, a polite event supervisor approached to inform us of a special medical entrance that would allow for a more convenient way into stadium. Everywhere we turned there was a fan or staff ready to help, incessantly offering any assistance they were able, always with a big Tennessee smile. We followed his directions and minutes later entered the stadium. The excitement in the air could be cut with a knife.

Game time close, Alex, the polite TN host he is, offered up first round of drinks.  At the same time, a gentleman from the main gate following us, two chairs in tow, lead us to our seats. As we entered a blinding sea of orange came upon us. They sat us in the best seats in the house, with amazing views of football play and fan shenanigans, on all sides. John, the host of our section, a Yankee originally from Michigan, had his house in order. The whole game he made sure we had a clear view of the field, as did fellow fans. It was as if we were being treated as VIPs, though we were in all orange and bought a seat like everyone else. Tennessee really knows how to make a couple first-timers feel incredibly welcome.

As could be expected, as with pre-game activities, there were a number of other great Volunteer traditions in order as time to kickoff approached  closer. Only recently had they started selling alcohol at the stadium, resulting simply in higher levels of fanaticism.  Though I am not too sure the fans needed much help. Somehow I couldn’t imagine counting the number of eggs and beers breakfasts served. Oh, with sausage biscuits and gravy, of course. The band began playing on the field – the anticipation of kickoff looming larger. Soon the Field Commander entered – closing out his five-star performance as the band split into a “T” – allowing team to enter field through “T.” All the while, Rocky Top played aloud.

There was no lack of delicious food or drink on the first floor main concourse for purchase. Bathrooms were plentiful; one never a far distance.  Within thirty feet walk of our seats there were two bathrooms, both with handicap accessible stalls.  Thankfully I was spared testing the facilities, though they looked amazingly clean for a stadium that sits over 100K fans. John was the consummate host, always checking in to see how we were doing, seeing if there was anything we needed.  He served as a great photographer as well. A magnificent time was had by all. The game was spectacular; the seats even more so. The fans were the nicest I have ever encountered at a stadium. And we won, double bonus!

Leaving the stadium was just as easy as entering – right in front. We exited the same gate as we entered and within minutes were in line for accessible shuttle buses returning back to the Agriculture Campus.  Fans were orderly and polite, lending a smile or joke whenever possible. The Vols had just won a game after the worst start to a football year since 1988. Fifteen minutes or so and we were being loaded onto a bus to take us back to our car. The bus driver tied me in, asked me if I needed anything, and we were on our way. It took no time at all to make it back to our parking lot. A few minutes later we were exiting the campus, entering highway on our way back to Nashville for two more exciting days.

The system they have in place in Knoxville for football games is meticulously well thought out. Bus lanes and pedestrian walkways ensure one quick access throughout stadium grounds. Event staff can be found as easily as a Southern Baptist Church on Sunday. There are no lack of signage or clear directions on flow of pedestrians and traffic. The stadium was entirely accessible, a totally stress-free experience. The food and drink offered were more than adequate. The staff working inside the game was more than helpful, always willing to lend a hand. Our greatest thanks and gratitude goes out to the University of Tennessee, Knoxville – all their staff, players and fans. We had an unforgettable experience. Thank you. Go Vols!

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