#it was the first time I’d experienced that kind of grief where I was old enough to really understand it

[doriansbutt]

Grief is also not always the same. You may react one way to this death and a completely different way to that death, no matter the person. Grief is a messy, tricky thing, and it’s okay for it to be weird. Treat yourself with kindness.

Don’t beat yourself up for reacting one way to an acquaintance’s passing, then not reacting as intensely to a family member’s. Or for feeling terrible about other kinds of griefs that some people may not understand, like having to give up a pet to another home, or your house burning down, but differently to the loss of life. You’re going to process everything differently. That’s okay.

Btw, if you have not had tragedy dropped on you before, grief does fuck you up in unexpected and physical ways. If you can’t sleep or sleep more than expected or have more or reduced appetite, or energy goes weird— your brain just had a bunch of emotions dropped on it and sometimes it reacts by hitting every button in your brain. It will pass. Just try to not get too frustrated with yourself.

It’s also fine if you feel normal. Grief literally hits everybody differently, and some people are made to be able to to keep the farm going the day after a death, and some of us turn into sleepless gargoyles and get really into trying to help, and some of us are just unspeakably sad. Grief is weird. Be kind to yourself.

[caramel-ribbons]

I just watched Avatar for the first time all the way through, and yeah, it’s great, but the one thing that surprised me was how different Katara was compared to the fandom interpretation I’d seen and internalized before watching.

Like, before you watch Avatar, you’ve seen all these memes about Katara and her mom, and based on those memes, you assume it’s one of those lines you have to get used to hearing at least once every episode. But then you watch the show and realize that she only talks about her mom maybe five or six times per season and you also realize she only brings her up when she’s trying to comfort someone or empathize with them because that’s how she processes her grief and that’s one way she connects with people.

Or you hear the infamous line, “then you didn’t love [our mother] the way I did” and you prepare yourself for one of the worst character assassinations ever only to see the scene after nearly three seasons worth of context and realize she was kinda right. She’s been the mother, the nurturer, the comforter. She’s been patient, gentle, and accommodating where everyone else has gotten to be insensible and reckless and childish, and the one moment where she allows herself to feel her grief, suddenly she’s this evil bitch and not, y’know, a 14 year old girl whose been thrusted into adulthood in a way no other character has. A 14 year old girl who should be allowed immaturity and raw emotion and anger instead of the patience and grace she’s been forced to extend to every character without even the smallest amount of gratitude or even consideration in return.

Or you see all of the clips where Katara puts Aang in the “friendzone” and you expect to have this wishy washy back and forth where Aang is putting his feelings out there only to have Katara neither commit nor express any clear reciprocation or rejection. Then you watch and realize that, as cute as the ship is initially, that there’s never a point where Aang returns any comfort or grace to Katara despite her always doing this for him to the point of coddling. That for as much as Aang says he loves her, he never seems to outgrow his perception of her so he can recognize her as someone who feels grief, anger, and pain as much as she expresses love, kindness, and maturity. And instead of having moments where he learns to see her beyond her strength or compassion, you’re instead given moments where Aang forces his feelings onto her, both romantic and non-romantic, and Katara is expected to just…shoulder those feelings the way she shoulders everyone else’s.

Katara is the most misunderstood character in the show. As much as people recognize the complexities of Zuko, Sokka, and Azula, they struggle to do the same for Katara because they see her struggles as somehow lesser, and therefore, less deserving of sympathy. They can handle her so long as she’s being endlessly patient and loving and kind, but the moment her endless love, patience, and kindness runs out, she’s suddenly this annoying bitch who can’t shut up about her mother or reciprocate Aang’s feelings. But Katara’s trauma does matter as much as anyone else’s. No, she wasn’t banished from her kingdom. No, she didn’t lose her entire community, and no, she isn’t the only one who lost her mother. But the difference between her and everyone else whose experienced loss because of the Fire Nation is that she’s never given time to process her trauma. Aang gets to lean on Katara constantly. Toph gets to express her feelings to Katara, and yeah, Sokka also lost their mother, but unlike Katara, he isn’t put in the position of being a substitute for everyone’s parent. He even admits that he sees his sister as a mother. The only characters who ever comfort Katara or allow her to vent is Zuko and her father and that’s, like, three scenes in a show where the other characters are consistently given opportunities to seek out Katara for unconditional support.

The fandom interpretation of Katara has been so bastardized that even those who haven’t watched the show know her for this fanon version and not for who she is. She’s such an interesting character beyond her fandom limitations, though. She’s brave, hot-headed, and hopeful as well as gentle and caring. She wishes to learn waterbending, not only because she wants to fight in the war, but because she wants to continue her culture’s practices because, and people often forget this, she also lost an entire subculture within her already fractured tribe. And she wants to defeat the Fire Nation both because of her deep love and empathy for other people, but also because she wants to avenge her mother. But because some of the fans have reduced Katara to a bitch who constantly whines about her mother and friendzones Aang, you wouldn’t know any of this, and it sucks because she’s the only character whose been dumbed down to such an extent.

[frogs-with-tea]

I think the One Piece Sound idea is Galaxy-brained. It has so much potential! The setting can be so rich, both in scenery and emotion: they’re all seeing the water and the sky and the forest all the time, but they all grew up there and they’re kinda stuck there so they don’t notice the beauty unless something brings their attention to it. And the potential for the characters! The main crew are 20-somethings living in a tourist trap - the older adults are going to consider their minimum-wage dead-end jobs (or lack thereof, looking at Luffy, king of the bums as far as they’re concerned) to be a sign of their laziness or whatever.

I’d like to think that Nami runs scams on the boardwalk to fleece tourists as legally as possible. She supports Luffy’s search for the One Piece bc she wants to be rich and famous.

I’d like to think Luffy is the goofy guy selling t-shirts out of Usopp’s van with absolutely incredible good luck (no matter what happens, he always bounces back). He’s always at every single one of Zoro’s kendo tournaments: he was the only person cheering Zoro on at Zoro’s first competition, where he foolishly challenged the current champion and got his ass beat to hell. Zoro calls him captain as an inside joke between them; they were friends first out of the group and they are each others ride-or-die. Everybody thinks Luffy is just a childlike dumbass until Luffy sets out to challenge and take down cruelty and greed in the town.

Since he was young, Sanji wanted to go to culinary school but he’s afraid to leave the town: ‘Zeff needs me, the restaurant needs me’. (‘If I leave, the Vinsmokes will find me’) After Zoro gets pregnant, Zeff is on Sanji’s ass constantly about mating/marrying the Cactus. Zeff’s views are a little old fashioned but his heart is in the right place. Sanji has the self-esteem of a flea so he’s really conflicted about it. When he finds out that people are looking down on Zoro bc he got knocked up by ‘just a line cook’ he goes nuclear (I’m thinking about a parallel between this mis-characterization of him and his bounty posters in canon being caricatures of him)

Usopp runs a “Ghost Tour!” that is 200% bullshit and he changes up the locations and stories every couple months. It is the highest-rated attraction on Trip Advisor for the town.

Robin works at the library and she’s got an extremely morbid sense of humor, which terrifies Luffy/Usopp/Chopper BUT she’s doing a lot of the reading research on the treasure and she helps in the search a lot.

Anyway, all of this is to say I think you’ve got a really winning concept on your hands and I wish you all the luck and energy to see it through!

Hey there!! It makes me really excited to hear that you're so passionate about my AU ideas!! I've actually laid out a lot of my ideas on my personal blog @spock-smokes-weed, all under the tag #one piece sound au.

My ideas for Nami and Usopp is that they would be the ones experiencing the most "my life is in a rut" type feelings since they don't have much outside of work and the straw hats. Nami works at a bait shop with her sister, cus I thought it would be fun to position Nami in the old-school economy of the town, fishing. I thought it would be a fun setting for Nami cus she's both a getting dirty with her hands kind of person and a girly girl. With Usopp, in my mind, he's that one friend who's always bouncing from job to job. If this AU is about early 20s eunni, then we all have a friend that can't seem to find a job that makes them happy or they can tolerate. Usopp is an artist at heart and a big personality, I think he'd find it hard to get fulfillment bussing tables or washing cars.

Luffy is pretty straightforward. Living in his van with his dog (Chopper), being a menace to society.

And honestly, I don't see Zeff being the traditional type at all or would give Sanji any grief about marrying Zoro. Since he exclusively hires ex-cons to work on his staff, and already has a non-traditional family with Sanji, I can't see him thinking marriage would solve any issues between Sanji and Zoro. Zeff is a big feature in the story and Sanji's biggest pillar of support, but his advice mainly comes down to "just do the right thing and take responsibility." He just wants Sanji to step up as a father and not run out like Judge did to him. Sanji doesn't react to Zoro being pregnant well (at first. he's terrified of being a father, and that causes him to lash out) and Zeff very much gives him some tough love about stepping up and taking responsibility for his actions.

And for a note about the Vinsmokes, with this AU I'm not looking for a pure 1:1 with canon. So they might be evil royalty in canon, but since I'm taking inspiration from slice-of-life, I'd rather refit them to fit tropes from that genre. I have two posts on Judge specifically and my ideas for his roll in the story, but the TL;DR is that he's a narcissistic deadbeat who only resurfaces in Sanji's life to take advantage of him and ask for money.

As for the other straw hats, I have a post here about where I think they'd fit into the town.

Also, I have a post about Zoro's focus of the story, mainly being his battle with his strength and masculinity and his struggle with the judgment he gets from the town around him.

This was all super long but I just get so excited when ppl say they like my au and all I want to do is share all the ideas I have cataloged (both on here and in my brain)

[bonefall]

I would absolutely have been a pretentious twelve year old dipshit about traditional naming if I’d used the internet at the time I was into warriors,,, I admittedly have a fondness for slightly boring names but back then I was worse and kept to -fur and -claw and -tail wayy too much other than the previously mentioned silvermoon, whose name was actually given to me by a stranger on animal jam

Now I’m mostly in your boat, balanced traditional-ish names - I like the concept of suffixes that carry more meanings but hate how hardcore traditional limits it so much, and also my main rule for prefixes is just “would a mother actually give a kit that name” (I do use a thing for my fan clans where they only name kits after their eye colour turns, in universe because losing kits is common in my stuff and it’s meant to lessen the loss + allow them to reincarnate into future kittens as a blank slate, out of universe so that I can give names based on their eyes if I want)

I think everyone's too hard on -fur. -Fur is a super cute suffix actually, it sounds so soft and it's so nice and short. It's close to -Fall which is why I like it so much

I'm thinking about adopting more of the older vibes when it comes to kits tbh, the way that they used to not really name kittens if they were stillborn (unless the parent was VERY upset over it, as a way of saying goodbye and letting go.) There used to be a vibe that a kitten who died too young would be named by StarClan, and I kinda like that.

Would help me sprinkle in more kitten deaths while saving some of the Missing Kit names which are so helpful for my rewrite

Also while I'm on the subject, I wish WC was better at showing and being compassionate towards different kinds of grief... I want more fathers who are inconsolable, mothers who care but moved on "too quickly" and feel bad for not being as torn up as they think they should be, cats who seem fine at first but then break down suddenly... I wish the emotions the characters experienced were more nuanced.

[flyxbyxnight]

You Didn't Kill Your Pain; It Just Switched Hosts...

(Trigger Warning: This is something I wrote to help me process the death of my close friend who committed suicide on November 11th 2023. If that could be triggering for you, dear reader, or If you know that it will trigger you, please do not proceed. You Matter, You are loved, and If you are caught in the middle of a mental health crisis please call or text 988 for the suicide and crisis lifeline. Dying will not kill your pain, it will only spread to those who love you most. Please Stay.)

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

One

🍂

The grief is heavy;

It hangs in the air so thick that you can cut it with a knife. 

Everyone is here, I wish you could see. Everyone who loves you has all gathered at your mothers house. Every friend you ever had– Even your military brothers have flown in from wherever they’re from. I’m not sure where, I’m sorry I’m not feeling social enough to ask. 

Everyone seems to be in various stages of mourning; Some angry, some sad, some completely numb… I guess I fall into that category at the moment. 

I’m sitting on the front porch steps, practically eating cigarettes one after the other as the low rumble of the chatter from inside disturbs the stillness of the night. It’s cold here on the holler, and I bring the collar of my jacket up to my ears to save them from the biting breeze. 

You picked a bad time to leave us, Vernon. It’s so close to the holidays. Thanksgiving is next week and your sister, Miranda, is already talking about how you won’t be around to tear into her special deviled eggs. You won’t get to meet the baby girl she’s carrying inside her. 

There’s so much you’re going to miss. Why couldn’t you have just hung on for one more hour…another minute, even. 

“Hey…” Virginia’s gentle voice cuts through the low roar of conversation coming from the open front door. She comes and sits by me, and I put the cigarette out on the bottom of my boot. I know the smoke bothers her. 

“How are you holding up?” I ask. Your sister-in-law has been my unsung hero through all of this– From being there to answer the call when I tried to get you help, to being the one to notify me of what you did the next morning. 

“I’m holding up, I guess… About as well as everyone else, I suppose. How are you?”

“I don’t really know. I guess I’m still in shock,” I reply with a heavy sigh. I don’t know how else to answer but with honesty. I know I’m hurting, I’m confused, I’m mad; I’m all kinds of things at once. When Virginia called me that morning and told me you were gone, I just collapsed. It hit me like a truck heading full speed into a brick wall. I screamed, I cried, I wailed into the void begging you to come back. I made sounds that frightened me as I looked back on it. I’d never experienced a loss quite like yours. I’d never felt pain quite like you’ve inflicted. 

You… You really are a bastard for doing this to me…

I know…I’m aware that I’m not the only one who lost you. I’m aware enough to know that I’m not the only one suffering, but… My own pain seems to be the only thing I’m focused on. I guess I’m selfish like that. Yes, you did this to your family, your other friends, your beautiful three year old daughter, Harper; but you did this to me. 

So much for being numb;  I went from numb to bitter in a matter of seconds. 

Grief is weird like that, I guess…

“I’ve gone over it so many times in my mind… I should’ve called you first. I should’ve–”

“No,” she interrupted, placing her warm hand gently on my shoulder. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this.” she said, pulling me close so that her arm could reach around my shoulders. I shake my head, and the tears begin to spill out. I do. I do blame myself because you called me when you needed me most and I couldn’t help you. When you held that gun up to your head– I… damnit…

Here comes that horrible noise I make. A new noise I just discovered with your passing. A noise that registers somewhere between an extended bleat of a goat and the braying of a mule. I hate this noise. I hate the way it pulls from deep within my chest, the way the contents of my broken heart spill into it after every shaken breath. I feel helpless, like a small child crying out in distress signaling to a nearby parent— I’m hurt, I’m hurting! Someone please make it stop, because I’m hurting! 

She holds me for a moment, letting her own pain saturated tears drip down onto my hair. 

I love you, Vernon! I love you so much, you said that you loved me too that night; You said I was your sister. 

I don’t want this. I don’t want to hurt this way, I was never meant to lose you like this. 

My mind flashes with visions of your face, none of them with a smile, or any happy memory we shared together- no. It’s all from that night. The emptiness in your eyes, the strain in your voice, the way your tears burned scars on my heart.

 And that gun, always the goddamned gun. 

You didn’t want any services, no wake, no funeral– nothing. Just straight to cremation. 

Not only did you leave me like this, but you took my ability to say goodbye away. 

There’s a process to this. You know there's a process; Those who love you gather together, we say goodbye, we bury you. That’s how it has always been, but you wouldn’t even give me that. 

I would rather have my last memory of you lying peacefully in a beautiful satin lined casket, surrounded by photo’s and flowers, but you wouldn’t give me that.

I’m so mad, Vernon. I’m hurt and I’m mad, but I don’t want to be mad at you. 

I hate being mad at you, because I love you.

I love you… and you can’t even tell me you’re sorry. 

Are you sorry?

Two

🍂

Last Saturday

If I knew this would be the last time I ever spoke with you, I would’ve done better to express how much you mean to me. 

I knew you were drunk when you called. I knew before I even picked up the phone. It was late; around 3am. You weren’t forming coherent sentences, but through the slurred mess I was able to make out what you were trying to express to me. You kept saying “ I want to see you, let's facetime.” So we did, because I wanted to see you too. I wanted to see you; but not like that.  It’s still such a blur. Bits and pieces come to me over time but it was just… so awful. You told me that I didn’t understand, but when you pulled the gun from your desk drawer and put it to your head, I understood. I understood fully. 

Clip in, Clip out, Clip in, Clip out.

Your finger trembles against the trigger. 

I cry out, “Please Don’t! Don’t Do This To Me!” 

I begged you, “Please, Don’t Go!” 

Don’t go…and don’t force me to watch.

 I messaged everybody– Anybody I could think of; Doing everything I could to get you some sort of help. But I didn’t do it right. I must not have done it right. I couldn’t have, or you’d still be here. 

You told me you loved me; but how could you do this to someone you love? 

You kept hanging up, and I kept calling back. But, when you didn’t respond to my calls anymore, I panicked and began to call for help. Nobody answered; No one, except Virginia. She alerted your older brother, Ronnie, and he was able to get you on the phone. You were crying. I was crying. Virginia was calming me down as Ronnie tried to talk you into putting the gun away.

1…2…3…4…5…6…7…

Silence.

You muted the phone before you pulled the trigger.

What you don’t realize is that the same bullet that killed you, 

Killed a part of me too. 

Three

🍂

Present Day

Where are you?

 I seem to be asking this question a lot these days. It feels like I’m closest to you when I’m sad. It's like the connection between us is stronger when I pick at my wounds. 

Am I picking though? Is it picking or is it processing? I can’t tell. 

All I know is that I’m not ready to let you go yet. Even though it seems that everyone around me is done talking about it. It seemed to come and go so fast for them. Kind of like, “Oh he died? Oh, I hate that.” then it's over for them. I’m not finished. I may never be finished, but it feels like my circle of those I can share this with is getting smaller. It is getting smaller. I can’t speak as freely as I want to because it bothers people. I don’t want to bother anyone, it’s not in my nature. But with this, I want to tear my chest open in a crowded place and scream, “Look What He Did To Me!... LOOK AT WHAT HE DID!” for I know that if my heart were to be exposed, if it were out in the open for all to see, It would be covered in gashes, open and bleeding, rotting down to the meat and muscle that it’s made from. I wanted to fix it. I should’ve been able to fix it. Everyone always comes to me for everything. And thus far I’d been able to say the right things; to give some sort of relief. 

But I couldn’t fix you. 

I couldn’t, and I’m sorry. 

I love you.

I’m lost. 

I’m completely consumed by the emptiness you left behind. I can’t see anything else. 

I can’t hear anyone else. I’m sensitive, and raw. 

I just want you back.

[inkofamethyst]

December 28, 2022

One of my friends brought up how this upcoming year is another major transition year, sort of like how 2019 was for us.  We don’t know where we’ll all be at the end of 2023.  Could be back in the hometown, could be out of state, could be out of the country for some of us.  But when they talked about it, I didn’t hear the same sense of anxiety from them that I’ve expressed here.  And maybe they’re hiding it, I don’t know.  But they’re right.  It’s another one of those “the-next-few-months-will-have-a-huge-impact-on-my-life” periods.  I hate times like these with a passion.  Just get me to April, already.

I’m thinking about searching for and applying to internships and research positions for next year, just in case.  I don’t want it to get to April and I’m panicking (even more).  I just want to have a backup plan in place, especially since I chose not to apply to master’s programs.

My mom did it again.  Asked me why I dress like an old woman as opposed to like a twenty-one year old.  FIRST of all, I don’t think I dress like an old woman, I just really like cardigans and also high-waisted trousers tend to look higher up on me because I’m short.  SECOND of all, she still won’t explain exactly what she means by that question, so neither of us are confronting any issues here, and I shall continue to dress as I so choose: comfortably.  I bear literally no animosity toward my mother, I just wish she’d be a bit more clear about what she finds so strange about my dressing (and to be clear: I am not dressing like a slob or anything.  I’ve stopped wearing sweats and leggings and opt mostly for button-downs and jeans or slacks (though, of course, the goal is to build up the courage to be a skirt girlie).  My clothes are clean and (mostly) pressed.).

I may reread Ntozake Shange’s For Colored Girls... this winter.  I think I need a good play.  Something poetic, real.. earthen and uplifting.  Not sacchrinely positive, but still something I can hold on to.  I think I want my own physical copy this time that I can highlight and underline in multiple colors.  Something I can annotate.  Something I can hold and that will hold me back.  [edit: I have ordered my copy from ThriftBooks :)]

Speaking of literature, I saw a take in the comments section of a tiktok which suggested that new parents should not let their children read Bridge to Terabithia because it was so sad when they read it and the book is permanently seared into their mind for that reason (the tiktok shared a similar sentiment about some sad movie I’d never seen but was apparently very impactful on millennials).  I thoroughly disagree with that take.  Yes, that book (and movie to a lesser extent) had a profound impact on me as a child (and still does!  I am tearing up just thinking about it!), but I think it’s important for children to learn how to engage with and navigate feelings like grief and anger and sadness in supportive environments.  When they’re young and haven’t actually experienced major hardships in life, learning how to process negative emotions is so so important for growing into a functional human being who isn’t completely blindsided by grief the first time they lose someone.  Reading can build both empathy and emotional resilience, and it’s so much better for children to talk through tough themes like loss with someone like a parent or teacher who can guide them through it.  Parents do no favors for their children by fully shielding them from pain.  This is why books like Terabithia are written.  Adults are not just writing sad books to trick children into depressions.  They’re trying to help them experience sadness in a controlled environment.  It’s kind of noble, really.

My cello-friend is planning to submit an arrangement for the orchestra next semester, and I just went through the draft he sent me and holy cow he is so talented.  This is a pretty hardcore project for an arrangement, and the skill with which he’s pulled it off is literally baffling to me.  And it shouldn’t be because I know intellectually that he makes music as a hobby.  Putting advanced musical ideas together is something he’s taught himself how to do, and it’s a skill he’s gained over years of practice.  I know this, but it doesn’t stop me from sitting here and listening to the musescore3 midi for his literal first draft and feeling so proud and happy with this thing.  It was something he was really worried that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish, and I would argue that he’s pulling it off quite amazingly.  He showed me a draft and really it can only get better.

And while I could sit here and be discouraged by the fact that my arrangements aren’t nearly as advanced as his, I’ve also gotten a lot better at preventing myself from going down a comparison spiral.  I’m a novice arranger, and I’m proud of what I’ve managed to accomplish!  That is a completely separate thought from also being proud of one of my friends’ accomplishments!  I am rooting so hard for his arrangement to be included in the final lineup for this semester (and that has nothing to do with the fact that I will be auditioning for the solo and it would be so much fun to sing).

Today I’m thankful for the walk I took with my cello and puzzle-friends today even though it was way colder than I’d anticipated :) [edit 2: I’m also thankful that my cello-friend is so encouraging despite our different musical levels?  like I’ve been involved in music for most of my life, but an innate sense of musicality isn’t the same as being particularly knowledgeable about how to make music sound good, but he’s still been really encouraging with my arrangement even in its more simplistic form, and I’m thankful because his enthusiasm makes me want to learn more and improve]

[adiarosefandoms]

Aunty ‘Chelle

About two weeks ago, my aunt passed away of metastatic breast cancer. As far as families go, mine isn’t the grandest. Besides an immediate group of four, the ones we keep most in contact with are my Nana and my aunty Chelle. She raised my dad as well as two boys, fought through and prevailed against her first battle with breast cancer, and cared for others in a way that guaranteed empathy to them as well as pain on those who hurt them. She was a tiny, kick-ass, feisty, compassionate, genuinely loving person who wasn’t always dealt the greatest hand, but continued to play the game with an unmatched stubbornness. I had one larger cry session about six days after she passed, and from day one to now have experienced the oddest little drops in my mood. Like I suddenly missed a step going down and in the moment didn’t know if I can catch myself. Like all the air was suddenly sucked out of the room for a minute. I figured I’d post my feelings on here since no one in my family would see it, and if there was ever an app to prattle on like an intense therapy session, Tumblr would be that app. Below is the art that keeps reminding me of her. Some make me feel fond, some make me feel sad, some make me want to thank her a thousand times over for my dad, some make me want to just lie down and weep.

Metallica Above all else the thing that reminds me of her is the heavy metal band Metallica, which has been her favorite since longer than I knew her. I listened to it and little else the week she passed resulting in two things. One: Enter Sandman left me in gasping sobs in the locker room stalls. Two: I realized Master of Puppets is glorious and it has taken the mantle as my favorite Metallica song. No, I will not take any criticism.

Into The Woods (2014 Film) While my parents went on a date night the first year we moved to our new state (where aunty ‘Chelle lived), me and my sister stayed at our aunt’s house and I watched Into the Woods with her for the first time, which would become a little phase of mine. (I think I also had my first watch of Grease with her.)

Johnny Depp So not exactly a piece of art, but rather a person. Aunty ‘Chelle loved every movie he was in. Edward Scissorhands, Sleepy Hollow, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, and the film pictured above. A Pirates of the Carribean poster we got for her four years ago is now set in a frame in her younger son’s room.

Stevie Nicks My parents bought tickets for me, my dad, and her to go see Billy Joel and Stevie Nicks on tour (she was in it for the latter). My dad brought home two bags of my aunts clothes the other day and I kept a tank top with Stevie Nicks on it that I’ll now be wearing to said concert.

Marvel Movies Most times we visited my aunts old house we’d see the ten-dollar grocery story action figures placed on tables or strewn on the ground. Mostly Spiderman or Captain America, (the second of which I think was mainly caused by my father). A result of her younger son whom she’d watch the movies with as they came out. We knew her passing was coming, my parents especially, and the same day she died we kept our tickets to see Ant Man: Quantomania. Because honestly, my parents are naturally the type to cry in intervals rather than a larger grief session, and they personally watched her health decline. They knew and so did what they could, but when all was said in done just wanted a little distraction before being brought back into the aftermath. While a fun film that worked well as a little diversion, we were all kind of struck as the opening title card appeared on how she wouldn’t get to see this or any future Marvel films release with her son.

Just fifty years old, she should have had fifty years more. I miss her like hell, and I look forward to really taking in all the art she loved so I can know her better, even now that she’s gone. She was an amazing person who will always have my love and thanks. Love you aunty ‘Chelle. 🌻🌻🌻

[former-ly-darth]

Completely unrelated to Star Wars

I’m so protective of the movie Onward

Have you guys seen that one? I remember sitting in theater with my sister and seeing the trailer for it. I was absolutely disgusted. My dad died when I was 1 year old. He died when my older sister was 3. That pretty much the same age range and Barley and Ian in the movie, and although my Dad was alive for a year, it’s still pretty much the same effect as him dying before I was born.

But I remember just being disgusted with the idea that someone had approved that movie. Parents don’t get to come back from the dead. I hated the movie before it even came out because I was just sure that it was going to be some hot garbage posing the question: “but what if we could bring them back for the day?” Well you can’t.

And then when it was released on Disney+ I watched it out of some passing curiosity. Within the first five minutes, I was in tears—not just crying. I was absolutely sobbing. I have many of my Dad’s shirts, and I like to wear them. They’re special to me. Any good story writer could have gleaned that from a little bit of research or simple observation of people, but when Ian runs into one of his dad’s old classmates and is hanging on to ever last detail he can get, that’s when I realized that this story wasn’t just written by someone who thought the story might be interesting. This was written by someone who had experienced the same kind of loss of a parent as Ian and Barley.

There are so many details I love about that movie, but particularly the end is what gets me (of course). When Ian says “I never had a dad.” I’ve said that about myself before, and I usually get the same reaction out of everyone: “you had a dad! He was an amazing man and he loved you so much!” As if saying that I never had a dad is some sort of disgrace to him. Yes, I have a father, and yes I do admire him and wish I could have known him, but I never had a dad to be there for me. I never had a dad. Simple as that. No one who hasn’t experienced the death of a parent at such a young age would understand that enough to write it in a story.

And the scene where Barley is actually getting to speak with their dad, actually getting closure, while Ian is trapped within the pile of rubble…I think that’s the most profound moment in the movie. You see Ian trying so hard to climb out of the debris, to get the chance to at least see his Dad and maybe wave hello. In the end, he is denied that chance. All he can do is watch though a gap in the rubble at a distance, no way of communicating with his father, only observing. If that had been Barley who had been forced to only watch, it would have been so much more devastating for him to accept that he had not gotten the chance to say goodbye. For Ian, it’s still emotional, but nothing has changed.

It’s like the memories I hear from others about my dad. They all got to experience those moments, and my sister was even old enough to vaguely remember a few, but the closest I can ever get to having memories will have to be settling for the stories I hear about my dad instead, like I’m observing from a third person’s perspective at a distance. That’s all Ian has ever been able to do either, and that’s okay. That’s enough.

I was 20 when I watched that film for the first time. I’ve had several phases throughout my life where I “mourned” my dad, but it was always really just the mourning of not having met him. After this film was the first time I went into what I feel like a true period of mourning my dad, experiencing the stages of grief, mourning the man that I have heard people tell stories about and remember fondly. It lasted about a week, and although I was miserable, it was cathartic. The grief I’d been carrying around for 19 years and pretending to ignore was finally addressed and I was able to let go of it.

I’ve heard people say that Onward wasn’t really anything special to them, and I understand that. Dan Scanlon wrote the story for a very specific audience, and although it’s not as upbeat as many other Pixar films, its message is powerful. I just really treasure Onward for what it has given me.

[buffenny]

i’ve avoided putting anything on here, on my public accounts because i’m not exactly a public griever. i never will be. i originally wasn’t going to put anything here either, but i think this is the next step in this whole grieving thingy for me.

idec if anyone actually reads this, because this is a comfort for me, plus i don’t think i can stomach not saying anything about someone that meant so much to me despite having never met him. he’s got me through so much. so fucking much. 

also before i get into it, i do want to mention that this is very much me rambling and may also come across sort of vent-like. 

things were really rough for me last night (as im sure it was for so many other people). i cried for so so long to the point where i couldn’t breathe and the only thing i could feel was the pressure of my headache that had formed, it wasn’t even one of those pounding headaches, it was just constant. honestly i blame it on being dehydrated, L to me for not drinking water ig. 

at first i thought it was some kinda of sick joke. about 10 seconds into the video i was actively hoping that it was. i don’t know how to fucking process this or how to properly grieve and i cant even imagine how anyone close to him must be feeling right now. but i bet that they’re fucking proud of him. he’s made such a positive impact on so many fucking people. 

he was the first person i watched when i started watching minecrafters again. instantly i grew attached to his content and his personality. the way he interacted with his friends was just so fucking nice to watch. i cant even explain it well because who the fuck actually manages describes complex emotions like this in full?? 

my first art post on my twitter account was him and my first mcyt post on my instagram account was him. i

 remember being fifteen fucking years old, having no friends and no one to even talk to. i remember being the loneliest i had ever been in my entire life, and i remember how much technos content helped me through that. 

yesterday, when the video was uploaded to his channel, i cried the hardest i had ever cried in my entire life. i have never dealt with grief like this. i’ve never experienced death. but yesterday, everything felt wrong. nothing felt real, it didn’t feel real. i straight up, could not fucking believe it. i still cant believe it. because it doesn’t feel real. i cant wrap my head around him actually being gone. 

and when i say that everything felt wrong, i mean that it felt like i couldn’t do anything. everyone was talking about distractions but i couldn’t distract myself because just the action of doing so felt like i was doing him a disservice. and don’t get me wrong, i know that’s not true, but that’s how it felt. i couldn’t listen to fucking music all day yesterday because the noise was just too loud, and the lights on in my room were too bright so i had to shut them off as well. it all felt so wrong. 

today, seeing the rest of the world move on with their lives was so confusing to me. people have been so excited to watch the new stranger things episodes and i just cant. i cant bring myself to do anything like that. anything that i can’t relate back to technoblade i cant distract myself with. 

i played a bit of minecraft, i watched some of his old videos, i watched phil’s stream. 

it was really nice to laugh with my friends though. i’m glad that i was able to do that today. really fucking glad. 

i’ve been spending a lot of time on twitter. right now the whole place is just full of love and support and other people who are grieving just as much as i am and it’s really fucking nice. 

i’m kind of scared to post this because i’m not really one for being public with my emotions, and i don’t have anything like this on any of my accounts. also the fact that i know my friends will probably see this. but like i said, it felt wrong not to post anything. 

it’s true that i could post something significantly shorter, but i think i’d rather post something that feels more me. 

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[eponymous-rose]

Please don’t reblog, thanks!

[cw: parental death, cancer, grief - nothing new or concerning about me, just working through some stuff!]

I still don’t really feel equal to reflecting on Mom’s death, to the point where I regret that I haven’t been able to offer support to the truly heartbreaking number of friends who went through the same thing in the year and a half since it happened to me.

But I was thinking today about how my dad mentioned in passing that his and Mom’s song was “My Romance”, which is an old standard. I don’t even know the origin of the song, or the context in which it was first performed, but the general gist is that the singer progresses through a list of elaborate and/or expensive things that their romance does not need: “My romance doesn’t need a castle rising in Spain/Nor a dance to a constantly surprising refrain”. In fact, the signer continues, the only thing their romance needs “is you”.

But one line in particular keeps getting stuck in my head lately, the climax of the song: “Wide awake, I can make my most fantastic dreams come true.”

Mom and Dad were realists in their relationship - it was both of their second marriages after disastrous first marriages, both were in their late thirties, and both were going in with eyes open. My mom in particular was aggressively practical - when she was first diagnosed with ovarian cancer in February of 2020, she privately told Dad that she’d read the statistics and knew that one in five husbands left their wives after that kind of diagnosis, and she didn’t want to cause him the kind of suffering sticking around would involve. She told me later that Dad very earnestly told her that it would be the greatest honor of his life to stand by her side to see this through. I don’t think any of us knew how horribly fast things would progress - in five months, she was gone - but in that time there wasn’t a day he wasn’t at her side, and she said her goodbyes to everyone the day before she died so that last morning would belong to the two of them alone. It wasn’t just a great love, it was a deep and abiding friendship underneath the passion. Respect and a joyful sense of responsibility to each other.

And I think I truly appreciate now what a terrible, wonderful honor it is to be the recipient of that kind of unconditional love. Everything that I am comes with that beautiful gift, and I can only hope to be brave enough to recognize it and continue to express it to everyone I care about.

I’d experienced a few different flavors of grief before this one - my very close grandparents, a good friend, childhood pets, a difficult aunt. But this was all-consuming, and it took me a while to work out why. We all become slightly different (or very different!) people around others in our lives - the you of the workplace isn’t the you of childhood friends, that kind of thing. And who I was with Mom was a reflection of her in so many ways, and that version of me was someone I liked very, very much, and that version of me was instantly annihilated.

So was a complex grieving process for all sorts of different things in my life - not only was I grieving my mom, I was grieving the version of myself I could only be around her. I could parcel off little pieces and bring them to light in my other relationships, but the whole was irrevocably shattered. And I was grieving the loss of a kind of innocence with regard to mortality, grappling with the realization that, in a very real way that has nothing to do with fate or destiny and everything to do with cold biology, some of us already have it written in our blood and our organs and our bones how and when we’re going to die.

I was deeply, unfathomably fortunate in that my relationship with my mom was uncomplicated, with no dark secrets, and that nothing was left unsaid in our last perfect goodbye. And also that my brother and my dad and I are just as close as before, but also capable of separating to give each other space to heal and work out who we’re going to be now that such a large piece has been torn from each of us.

So I rode out the darker moments with the help of dear friends, I supported others where I could, and I still walk every single night through dreams where it’s my family without Mom, or it’s my family with Mom, or my Mom isn’t dead but dying. And every one of those dreams, inexplicably, brings peace. When I have sleep paralysis episodes (very rarely these days!) it’s not a demon but a laughing figure in the doorway, teasing me for sleeping in.

And slowly, inexorably, I’ve started feeling good again. I can’t be who I was to her, but I can be the person she saw in the ways that really matter. She used to tell me she lived vicariously through my adventures, and I’ve had so many adventures: standing on the grass at Cape Canaveral during a space shuttle launch, watching a temple sink underwater with fireflies all around, stepping into a ballroom 300 meters under the earth where the chandeliers are made of salt crystals, moving to new city after new city after new city and reinventing myself along the way. And this new job, this absurd new job, is just going to get bigger and stranger and more and more exciting. There will be no shortage of adventures, big and small, not as something to fruitlessly, frustratingly pursue, but as giddy, wonderful side-effects of the act of living.

Wide awake, I can make my most fantastic dreams come true.

[curiosity-killed]

Lang Qianqiu deserves more love goddammit: a post, unfortunately

This brought to you by the wonderful @veliseraptor & @/yuer on Twitter but also mostly out of spite and the fact that it’s preventing me from writing a very dumb poke-the-bear post abt the entire weird social media culture around The Minors

As always ✨SPOILERS!! SPOILERS EVERYWHERE✨

So first off: when I hit the scene where lqq confronts xl and screams “I will never be like you” I sat up in bed, did a little shimmy of delight, and hissed “fuck yes” at like 2 AM so. Now you have a preview of wtf this train wreck will be

1 ) lqq is a good character

We don’t get a ton of time with lqq because tgcf is 87 side characters running across stage with The Most Interesting Concept constantly one-upping each other before vanishing. But what we do get is, I think, enough to make a pretty compelling story: Lang Qianqiu is a kind and generous prince who is also the sole survivor of the bloody massacre of his entire family, committed by the people dearest to him (both in his belief that Gusohi Fangxin did it and in the reality of An Le’s involvement), who goes on to peacefully lead his fractious nation into a peaceful reign before he ascends as a powerful enough (aka beloved and worshipped enough) god to be ranked among the top heavenly generals. That’s like. Pretty fucking classic protagonist vibes right there.

And, as usual with mxtx’s characters, we get a lot more than this lovely little backstory. In his interactions in canon, lqq is capable of great grief and anger; he is willing to sacrifice himself if it means avenging his murdered family; and he simultaneously holds both great hatred and great respect for his old teacher. And, of course, he winds up raising and taking care of his enemy’s son which shows a remarkable depth of compassion and emotional messiness that I find terribly compelling. He struggles with a simplistic view of justice that is supported by lies told to “protect” him and that is uprooted by the truth and forces him to try to make sense of the world without the guardrails that others installed around him (looking at you mister fangxin sir).

Also I’m stealing my own tweets bc I’m Right but:

*pulls up single barstool to lqq is a good character table* I think it’s interesting & Says Things abt the continued relationship btwn lqq & xl that lqq *didn’t* recognize xl, implying that he left fangxin’s mask in place even when he went to kill him

Like here is the man who killed his family & best friend, who left him abandoned in bloodshed on his 17th bday—& here is also the man who saved his life, who taught him, who lqq looked up to & wanted to be like

Even when lqq *does* recognize xl, he still has so much respect for him paired with that hatred that it’s honestly rlly tragic? Like man. There’s so much grief in lqq’s repeated demands for a duel & insisting it’s fine if xl kills him as long as he doesn’t hold back

*pats lqq pompom* this bb is so sad. And so much more like his teacher than either of them seem to realize or necessarily want

Despite being a pretty minor character, lqq gets a lot of complexity and nuance! Look at this child trying to be grown up while desperately turning to his old master for guidance and “the truth”! Look at him! Be sad!!

2 ) lqq is an excellent parallel to xl

Okay stealing my own tweet again don’t look at me I yell the same shit everywhere

Xl didn’t want lqq to become like him (self-sacrificing, vengeful, alone) but lqq not only became alone, chasing vengeance, & willing to sacrifice himself for revenge—he also became kind, open-minded, & remorseful!! & he still clearly respects xl @ novel end 🙃🙃

We all know hc’s “they’re not very alike at all” and yeah sure baby go support your man but narratively, there’s a lot of importance given to cycles, parallels, and foils in mxtx’s writing and most explicitly (compared to mdzs, haven’t read svss) in tgcf. For example, *gestures at beefleaf, gestures at Xianle Trio vs Wuyogn Crew, gestures at Xie Lian & Jun Wu’s whole uh. Deal.* And while I’d argue xl and lqq are part of a triumvirate rather than a pair, we’re not including mister three-face in this conversation so just looking at xl and lqq:

Both adored and sheltered crown princes

Both taught by a guoshi who was seeking to prevent the repetition of their own tragedies and in their efforts, lied/omitted information and failed to protect their charge from tragedy

Both were betrayed* by their closest friends

Both are the last living members of their respective royal families

Both caught the interest of supernatural beings from a young age

Etc etc I’m getting v bored and distracted writing this so moving on

Most importantly to me, we have their betrayal by a very close and adored mentor and how they react. The confrontation I mention at the start of this shitshow is really imo one of the most important scenes in the novel because it a) illustrates the differences in xl and Jun Wu and b) sort of gives you a preview of how xl ultimately wins

So a) Jun Wu and Xie Lian both take a talented, marked-for ascension young prince under their wing. Jun Wu sees himself in the boy and obsesses over shaping him into Jun Wu’s own image in the belief that this will make him the perfect heir. Jun Wu pushes his chosen heir into situations where Xie Lian is repeatedly harmed in an effort to show that the common people are fickle and cruel and don’t deserve his compassion and care.

Meanwhile, Xie Lian is reluctantly roped into mentoring his prince due to his inability to stand aside when he feels he could do something to prevent hurt or injustice befalling another (simultaneously his great strength and great weakness! God I love him). Xie Lian tries to teach his student to believe in and care for the common people and not to sacrifice himself (see: flashback convo re:taking the force of the sword strike into his own body).

When Xie Lian refuses to bend in the shape Jun Wu demands, Jun Wu bashes his head into the wall. When Lang Qianqiu cries “I will never be like you!”, Xie Lian laughs and says “Good!”.

B) this of course feeds directly into foreshadowing! Like Lang Qianqiu’s bold words, xl ultimately refuses to become like his mentor and remains defiant even when it would stop him from being hurt. Xl beats lqq and says so what if I tricked you, so what if I lied, I still won. Naturally, xl beats Jun Wu not through standard swordplay but by using a trick he learned while forced to busk and wander the earth alone and unlucky for centuries.

…okay so I have fully forgotten what I was actually saying here! Anyway!

Like Xie Lian, Lang Qianqiu spends a time consumed with the need for vengeance, hunting his enemy and rejecting the heavens. And like Xie Lian, he winds up caring for his enemy’s “son” and trying to both comfort him and maintain what’s left of Qi Rong’s life force despite having previously been hellbent on destroying him—bc he sees the impact it has on another person. In the end, he even gives a gift to Xie Lian—his mentor, his role model, and the one who killed his father—that was once given to him as a symbol of unexpected kindness. Sound familiar?

But, importantly, and contradictory to what I have been yelling abt but whatever it’s 12:30 am, Lang Qianqiu is not a direct mirror of Xie Lian but a closing of a vital loop in the story. Lqq is very similar to xl (I will die on this hill!! Only I won’t bc I’m stronger than y’all and will keep swinging these pots and pans) but bc xl tries to do better and keep lqq from suffering the way xl has, lqq is able to have a gentler and more optimistic path forward. He’s proof that even a small act of kindness or even kindness to only one person still matters and has a ripple effect that can’t be seen when you’re in the middle of it—a thread started with xl giving the coral pearl to Lang Ying and closed with Lang Qianqiu returning the pearl to Xie Lian.

So I have no idea if any of this is coherent or compelling but I meant to be asleep two hours ago and the points are:

A) Lang Qianqiu is good actually

B) parallels!!!

C) look ive already started another wip about Lang Qianqiu and Xie Lian and I didn’t want this but no one else wrote it so now I have to so pls just accept this as a warning

*sort of air quotes around this for Xie Lian bc frankly Mu Qing was right & Xie Lian kicked feng xin out BUT on the other hand, it was experienced as a betrayal and we also again have all of Jun Wu’s shit so it evens out

[deckthehallswithsunflowers]

THE GARDEN OF EVE Book Review

By K.L. Going

I will always love this book. I loved it at twelve, and I love it at twenty-eight.

The magical realism is subtle and beautifully done. I really loved the concept of gardens as afterlife. It’s a simple concept, and this is a middle grade book. Since The Garden of Eve is for children, the writing is uncomplicated. However, using simple language to communicate metaphorical or complex ideas isn’t always easy, so I applaud Going for managing.

K.L. Going does a remarkable job handling grief in The Garden of Eve, and I think it’s a book I’d want my own children to read. It’s hard to understand tragedy unless experienced, and I believe The Garden of Eve was empathetic and kind to those grieving while opening a window into how someone might be feeling if they are not. It shows different people in their own grief too. One person withdraws into themselves. One feels lost and alone. One escapes into a lie. One remembers fondly, if sadly. All of these things are normal reactions to grief.

I especially loved how Evie’s father was: doing his best for his daughter while mourning his wife. He did withdraw. He wasn’t emotionally available for Evie, and he also didn’t really understand how to interact with her in their new dynamic. And that’s okay! I’ve seen some reviews of this book say Evie was neglected and unloved in the face of her mother’s death, but I disagree. Grief isn’t perfect; it doesn’t allow for selflessness all the time either. I think the point The Garden of Eve makes is we all grieve, in our own way and time, but we do come back from it. We may be forever different, but we come back.

Evie herself is amazing. She’s barely eleven years old. She misses her mom more than anyone, and she wishes their life had never changed. She didn’t want to move away from home. She didn’t want to leave where her mother was buried. She didn’t understand her own father’s grief—and she shouldn’t have. She’s eleven. To Evie, her father’s actions are selfish—and in some ways, they’re that too—but she does come to understand that he’s doing his best. But my favorite part of Evie’s grief is the guilt she feels when she begins to have fun again, to enjoy things. Guilt is a huge part of grief I feel isn’t talked about enough. Survivor’s guilt is talked about all the time, but the guilt of moving forward is not. Evie feels a wrongness the first time she wants to smile, to laugh. And it’s beautiful to watch her grow through the book.

The Garden of Eve is on an expediated timeline. It takes place ten months after Evie’s mother dies. Ten months is not a long time, so the grief goes quick. This is middle grade fantasy, so you’re going to get a happy ending. A hopeful ending. There’s some adventure, some humor, some mystery, and some life.

~ Anna

[littlerit]

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

(Wow ok, let me start by apologising for taking a decade to answer this)

Five stars! I love your enthusiasm 🥰 and I'm taking five stars as a chance to talk about my Five fic ALOT!

I'll be considerate and put the long and joyous ramble about The Time Traveller's Life under the cut so I don't take up too much of y'alls dashes.

(This was written at the time that chapter 26 was published, so may contain some spoilers up to that point!)

Well, I gotta talk about the opening scene right? Writing this was so nerve-racking. Here I was, barely a month old as an author. I’d cranked out my first ever fic over two weeks in the post-season-2 peak, where there were lots of readers and many were kind enough to leave encouraging comments. Then I’d made the little prologue to this fic as a one shot, which also did pretty well. But then I’d sat down and said to myself, I wanna write a long fic (that's a lie, I said that before I posted the prologue). I have written 17k, I'm invincible, I'm gonna write something that's 60-80k long and I'm gonna complete it. I am. And while I'm at it it's going to be a freakin Time Traveller's Wife AU just so I can tick off keeping track of mind-bending timelines and character details from my list. No biggie for a first longfic.

Let it not be said that I do not take on a challenge, right?

Ok so no that wasn't quite the reason. I'm a sucker for a time travellers wife AU and was absolutely gutted nobody had written one for me to devour when Five seemed so damn perfect for one!

Oh right, I was talking about the opening scene. So, the fic opens on the apocalypse, at the moment that Five finds the bodies of his siblings amongst the rubble. But this time, it's told from the POV of an older Five, who has travelled back in time from later on in the apocalypse. A grown up Five, who is hardened to the realities of survival, of life without his family, but hasn't yet had to go back face this day, and has been dreading it for years and years. I think this offered a really interesting perspective on the scene, and a fresh one too, which was important to me as typically the only way to hash this scene is by the Five witnessing it, or by an older Five having a flashback. Being able to put another Five, an older more experienced Five, in the same scene, able to interact with himself and give us a different POV, seemed like such a good opportunity.

The three Fives at the funeral scene, which chronologically on a timeline immediately follows the opening scene but in the fic actually happens in chapter 14 from the POV of a Five who is 24, is a scene I’m super proud of. I think it really encapsulates the unique nature of this fic, bringing together multiple versions of Five all at various stages of life and grief, to comfort each other and to lay the siblings to rest. It was a good opportunity to play these Five’s off each other, with different opinions, experiences and ability to cope and comfort, and demonstrate just how much Five changes as a person, but also how he stays the same. It’s not something you can do very easily in a linear story, and when the fic gets long and you follow the journey of the character it’s easy to, not forget, but have softened memories of where they originally came from, y’know?

Allison’s wedding, and the Ben reveal, was an evil little scene I’d been dying to post for a long time by the time I finally got to writing and publishing it. I had originally planned for Five to find out about Ben’s death by being displaced in a library when it was the breaking news on the TV, but when the idea of getting Five to the wedding occurred, and having it be revealed by Reggie of all people? I couldn’t turn down that opportunity. It made narrative sense, that Klaus would have tried to conceal the truth from Five - as they both grow up they keep more and more secrets from each other, and this wasn’t easy news to share. That Reggie would coldly and callously reveal Ben’s death to Five through sly comments also felt particularly on brand for a man that never really got over Five’s disobedience about time travel.

So finally, to try and bring this long ramble towards something resembling an end, I’m not going to talk about any scene in particular, but instead a bit about some threads I’ve been weaving through the story - and there definitely is some planning amongst the madness and tangled timeline! There are a couple of threads I’ve been weaving since the beginning. There are some theories people have speculated on in the comments that may be right on the money… 👀

Some have now come to fruition - for example the Commission. So the little instances of Five displacing, or spending a day scavenging, and coming back to find his camp slightly disturbed, or things misplaced/missing, they were indeed the Commission playing dirty to keep him trapped in the Apocalypse, to slow his progress. Without interference, a Five with the advantage of being able to displace and teach his younger self maths, or leave notes, or visit a library to consult textbooks, the five of this universe would figure out his time travel equations much sooner than canon five. Five has realised this foul play since his stint in the MAPS department (and thank you @aye-of-newt for that wonderful post about why the commission left him so long in canon for inspiring the whole subplot loop with the Commission!!).

Finally I guess there’s two threads I am currently thinking about that will be revealed later on that I hope will get a strong reaction (@destinyandcoins and @clementineofmine I’m looking at you guys, I fully expect to be screamed at). One is linked to something I’ve been planning for over a year and been innocently dropping into several chapters and scenes from very nearly the beginning that I don’t think anybody will have (or even should have) picked up on yet (but hopefully will inspire a AHHHH! reaction should anybody reread the fic once complete and be able to see the foreshadowing). The other I set the groundwork for in the most recent chapter.

Looking at my outline document is wild. My little ‘aim for 20 chapters, 60-70k, write within 12 months’ story has ballooned into a fic that has over 100k drafted and may even go past 150K all in, is more than likely going to top 50 chapters, and most certainly will probably see it’s second birthday in autumn. But its my baby, I love this story so much and I really want to see it through even if all I can do it chug along and produce a 3k chapter maybe once a month. Aside from being dear to me as a story I love, and a project I have easily poured 150-200 hours or more into so far, it has also led me to some wonderful friends online who I feel blessed to know. 🧡

Thanks so much Shark for letting me ramble on about this, and for being patient will my glacial reply! And here, confetti for everybody who got to the end of my essay!🥳🎉

[idreamofplaid]

Stronger

Square Filled: Sung to Sleep for @spnfluffbingo & Hurt/Comfort for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

Characters: Moc!Dean x Reader; Sam and Cas mentioned

Rating: Teen

Summary: Dean thinks there’s only one thing he can do to protect the woman he loves from the Mark of Cain, but Dean doesn’t know everything.

Word Count: 2949

I felt it as soon as I held that thing in my hand. Rage. Raw and burning, demanding to be released. It was fueled by everything I buried so deep down inside me, and I somehow thought all that regret, disappointment, and frustration would never see the light of day. I could keep it buried out of sheer willpower, or it could magically go away if I wished for it hard enough.

That’s not the kind of magic that’s in the world. That’s not the magic I know. The magic I know curses, manipulates, and hurts people. It twists things up into something they shouldn’t be, and it’s all the things that shouldn’t be that make me so mad. They create the anger that’s in me for the mark to draw upon, all those things that never should have happened. All those things that still sit so heavy on me and Sam. 

Mom shouldn’t have died when I was four years old. Dad shouldn’t have tried to drown his grief in a bottle. He shouldn’t have left Sam and me alone like he did. I shouldn’t have watched my brother fall into a hole to hell and try to live a normal life while I knew he was in a cage with Lucifer being tortured. I shouldn’t have had such a good idea of what was happening to him in that cage because I’d been to hell myself.

Everything that’s pent up inside me gave The First Blade its power when I held it, the same way the mark gets its power from me. Those two things combined forces when the blade was in my hand, and I could feel the energy surging through me. It isn’t something I’m going to be able to control, not with silver bullets, rock salt, or a devil’s trap. Nothing I know about fighting is going to help with this thing. 

The day is going to come when this mark is going to take over my mind and everything I do. You can’t be here when that happens. I have to protect you, and that means getting you far away from me. 

I finish off my third glass of whiskey. It still isn’t enough. There isn’t enough whiskey in this bunker, or all of Kansas, to numb me so much that when I do what I have to do it’s not going to hurt worse than anything I’ve experienced in what has, more or less, been a lifetime of pain with brief moments of happiness.

Most of those moments have been with you. Anything I know of true happiness is because you showed it to me. You didn’t grow up the way I did. I’m thankful for that every day. You don’t know what it’s like to sleep with a gun under your pillow, but you’ve slept next to me plenty of times when there was a gun under mine.

That’s bad enough, but I will not let you suffer what this mark is going to do to me. You deserve better than that. You always deserved more than me, but this is where I draw the line. 

I think about pouring myself some more whiskey, but there’s no point. There isn’t anything in that bottle that’s going to give me the courage I need to do what’s right for you. The only thing that can make me strong enough is how much I love you. 

I’ve never even told you. Those aren’t words I know how to say, and it’s better now that I didn’t. That would only make this harder, and I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to. I never wanted to hurt you. I would go to hell again in an instant if it meant sparing you pain. I guess I am; it’s just this time my hell is going to be on earth, and the thing that will torture me the most is being without you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have to go.” You’re standing in our room with a look of disbelief on your face like you can’t comprehend what I just said, so I try again. “It’s time for this, whatever we’ve had, to be over.” Still you say nothing, just look at me with those beautiful eyes of yours that could make me lose my nerve and not go through with this, so I turn my head away. I can’t look in your eyes.

I’ve got to get through to you. You can’t be near me. I will not let this anger that’s going to consume me consume you too. This situation calls for something else. I still can’t look at you. I cannot look at you when I do this, or I’ll break.

I grab my duffle from the corner where I left it after the last hunt and throw it on the bed, then I open the drawer in the chest where you keep your clothes and start emptying it. I’m stuffing them into the duffle, trying hard not to really notice them because then I’ll remember. 

I’ll think about the last time you wore that shirt, or how this is the one you always wear when we curl up on the bed to watch movies together and end up wrapped around each other, making out and forgetting all about the movie. 

I’m managing to keep it together until I find one of my shirts in that drawer. It’s my black t-shirt you like to sleep in. I can picture the way it looks on you, the way it falls on your thighs and how good your legs look when you wear it; and then I remember the way it feels when your legs are wrapped around me. I take a deep breath.

I have to stop packing the duffle. I can’t touch your clothes anymore, and you see your opening. “Dean, what are you doing?”

I push the image of you in that shirt with your head on my chest out of my mind because it feels like a fist squeezing the life out of my heart. I zip the duffle closed. Whatever is in there will have to do. I pick it up and throw it on the floor. I never faced any monster that tested my courage the way this is. “I told you. We’re done, and you need to leave.”

“Dean, stop it and look at me.” You reach out and put your hand on my arm. It looks so small, and I want to feel it in mine so bad. It’s the hand I thought about holding for the rest of my life, however long that may be. 

I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing again before I turn around to look at you. When I do, I feel my knees go weak. Stay focused. Do what you have to do for her. “Don’t make this harder or more complicated than it has to be, Y/N.”

I’m waiting for you to say something. Anything. But I’m not expecting what you do say. “Dean, you’re full of crap.” Now, it’s my turn to look confused. I have no response for that, but you have plenty more to say.

You let go of my arm, stand back, and cross your arms over your chest. “You think you’re doing something noble, and you’ve done plenty of noble things in your life, but this isn’t one of them. There’s no way you’d be saying any of this if that mark wasn’t on your arm. I’ve seen the way you look at me, Dean. I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. You looked at me that way last night, and I know what it means even if you won’t say it.”

I fumble for something to say, and the best I’ve got is “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your arms fall to your sides. “Like hell you don’t, Dean. You try to stay hidden behind that wall you’ve made around yourself, but before you got the mark; I broke through it. You let me in, and it’s not going to be so easy to push me back out.”

You walk over to the bed and sit down. My eyes follow you; I’m watching every move you make. You’re staring at me, and just as much as I couldn’t look at you before; I can’t help but look at you now.  Your voice sounds steady and determined. You aren’t finished with me. You’ve decided I’m going to hear everything you have to say. 

“I could leave the bunker, but it wouldn’t mean I’d leave you. I’d still be in touch with Sam all the time, asking him about you, keeping tabs on you, doing everything I could to save you. I’ll never stop trying to save you no matter how many times you tell me to go because I don’t believe any of it, and because I love you. You can’t stop me from loving you, and I won’t. I can’t now even if I tried.” You wrapped your arms around your middle and hugged yourself. It was nothing like when you’d taken your defiant stance with your arms folded over your chest.

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, and all the air had been knocked out of me. All I wanted to do was sit down beside you, take you in my arms, and give you all the comfort you were trying to give yourself. It was true. You wouldn’t give up. That’s who you are. Stubborn. Willful. And the kindest, most loving woman on this earth.

Fuck no. There are tears in your eyes. Not tears. I can’t handle tears. I can’t just watch you cry and do nothing to stop it. The next thing you say blows my plan to pieces. 

You hug yourself tighter, and a tear slips down your cheek. “I need you, Dean. Our...baby needs you.”

I sit down on the end of the bed because I don’t trust my legs to hold me up anymore, and I’m trying to read your face, trying to will you to look at me. “Our...Wh...What?”

When you do look at me, your eyes are sad. Your eyes shouldn’t be sad. More tears are streaming down your face. I can’t just sit here. I slide down the side of the bed until I’m next to you, and I wipe the tears from your cheeks. You let me. You don’t pull away, and I’m relieved for that. Just forget what I said before. I was an ass. I didn’t know.

“We’re having a baby, Dean. Don’t make me go.” Your tears have turned into sobs, and I take you in my arms, my earlier act forgotten. 

I put my hand in your hair and hold the back of your head while I whisper to you and try to calm you down. You shouldn’t be upset like this.  “Shh, Y/N. It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry. I wouldn’t send you and the baby away. I would never do that.” I’ll leave if I have to. You’ll be safe here in the bunker with Sam. He’ll protect you, and this place is warded against anything that might want to hurt you. Sam is so smart; he’ll find a way to keep me out if he needs to. He knows what I would want.

After a few minutes, you stop crying and lift your head from my shoulder. Your eyes don’t look as sad as before, but they’re still sad; I hate that, hate that I did that to you. “Dean, why would you tell me to go when it isn’t what you want? I know it isn’t.”

I take your face in my hands and try to memorize how beautiful you are, in case the day comes when I can’t see you anymore. In case you and Sam can’t save me, I know you’ll try, but…. “Because I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared I’ll hurt you, and….” Wait. “The baby. When did it happen? Did I have this thing on my arm? Is the baby….?”

“It was before,” you tell me. “The baby’s okay.” I let go of you and scrub my hand down my face. Then I turn and brace my hands on each side of me on the bed. This is why I shouldn’t have kids. All this fucked up shit that is my life should never come anywhere near a kid. 

“What if it hadn’t been, Y/N? I could have infected our child with this evil that I’m carrying.” I can feel my own eyes filling up with tears. I could have hurt our baby, just because of who I am. I lower my head and cover my face with my hand. I wish I could hide from you. I feel so ashamed.

All that shame is mixed up with something else, a fierce protective love for you and the baby you’re carrying. I don’t even know what’s right for you anymore. I don’t know what to do.. 

I feel your arm go around me, and your voice is still the sweetest sound I could possibly hear. For some reason, you’re still here talking to me even though I’m a danger to you and the baby. “Dean, you won’t hurt me; you won’t hurt either of us. We’ll find a way to get that mark off your arm. We will.”

I want to believe you, but I can feel it burning. That goddamned mark is burning now. This should be one of the sweetest moments of my life. You just told me I’m going to be a father, and I can feel the mark. It won’t let me forget about it, not for an instant. It has intruded on something which should have been between us.

You put your hand over mine that’s still covering my face and move it to rest in your lap. “Dean, do you want to feel the baby?” Your voice is full of hope; I hear it.

Feel the baby. How can you trust me so much? “Can...can I do that? Isn’t it too soon?”

You smile for the first time since I walked into our room. “Well, it’s too soon to feel it move, but you know it’s there.” You lift my hand from your lap and put it on your stomach. My baby is in there. I can’t help it. I smile too. 

Knowing there’s a life inside you that we made makes me feel something I can’t begin to explain. This feels like an even greater responsibility than saving the world from an apocalypse. How do I fulfill that responsibility with this fucking mark on my arm? It’s too much.

I leave my hand where it is on your stomach, lay down, and put my head on your lap. You have something so precious inside you. I move my hand a little so I can kiss the center of your stomach. “Sweet baby, I love you.” Just like that, I said the words I thought I couldn’t say, and everything I’ve tried to keep pushed down inside me came pouring out.

I cried there with my head on your lap, cried because I’ve dragged you both into this mess with me, cried because I need to be a father to my child. I want to be, but what if I’m not here for him? Or her? What if I’m not even here to see the baby born? What if the mark has taken me already?

Cas will take care of it. I told him to kill me if it came to that. Sam can’t do it; he won’t ever do it. A sob rips out of me. I want to see my baby grow up.

I feel your fingers running through my hair. I never wanted you to see me like this. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

“Dean, it’s okay.” You’re still running your fingers through my hair. Your touch is so soft, just like you, soft and good. “You don’t have to do this alone, Dean. You never had to do it alone. We love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” I circle my arms around your waist and hold on. I don’t ever want to let you go. 

You take your hand out of my hair and slide it down my back, rubbing back and forth. I don’t know how long it’s been, but I finally stop crying; and your hand stops moving.

“C’mere, Dean.” I can feel you shifting your position, and I sit up so you can move. You lay down on the bed, your head on the pillow, and hold your arms out to me. “C’mon.”

I lay down next to you with my head on your shoulder. You start stroking your fingers through my hair again. “Close your eyes, Dean.”

So close, no matter how far

Forever trusting who we are

And nothing else matters

I want to stay here like this forever with nothing but the feel of our arms around each other and the sound of your gentle voice singing.

Never opened myself this way

Life is ours; we live it our way

Oh, these words I don’t just say

And nothing else matters

You make me feel calm. I believe you when you make me feel like this. I believe it can be okay.

Trust I seek and I find in you....

I dream about you, and in my dreams there is no mark. There’s only us and a little girl with green eyes and a smile like yours. We’re happy.

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library @thinkinghardhardlythinking @petitgateau911

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967​ @sgarrett49​ @wingedcatninja​ @coffee-obsessed-writer​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @ellewritesfix05​ @weepingwillowphoenix​

[samwisethewitch]

Coping with religious trauma

CONTENT WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS DISCUSSIONS OF MENTAL ILLNESS, TRAUMA RECOVERY, AND HOMOPHOBIA. The advice in this post is intended for an adult audience, not for those who are legal minors.

A lot of people find their way to paganism after having traumatic experiences with organized religion, especially in countries like the United States, where 65% of the population identifies as Christian. (This number is actually at an all-time low — historically, the percentage has been much higher.) Paganism, which is necessarily less dogmatic and hierarchical than the Abrahamic religions, offers a chance to experience religion without having to fit a certain mold. This can be extremely liberating for people who have felt hurt, abused, or ignored by mainstream religion.

To avoid making generalizations that might offend people, I’ll share my own story as an example.

My family joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, better known as the Mormons, when I was nine years old. The Mormons are an extremely conservative sect of evangelical Christianity that places a heavy emphasis on maintaining a strong community that upholds their religious values. The problem with that is that Mormon values are inherently racist, sexist, homophobic, and transphobic. As a teenager in the Mormon Church, I was told that as a woman, my only purpose in life was to marry a (Mormon) man and raise (Mormon) children. I was discouraged from pursuing a college education if it meant delaying marriage. I was not allowed to participate in the full extent of religious ritual because I was not a man. I was not allowed to express myself in ways that went against Mormon culture, and I kept my bisexuality secret for fear I would be ostracized. I didn’t have any sort of support system outside the Church, which inevitably made the mental health issues that come with being a queer woman in a conservative Christian setting much, much worse.

I left the Mormons when I was seventeen, and by that time I had some major issues stemming from my time in the Church. I had been extremely depressed and anxious for most of my teen years. I struggled with internalized misogyny and homophobia. I had very low self-esteem. I had anxiety around sex and sexuality that would take years of therapy and self-work to overcome. I wanted to form a connection with the divine, but I wasn’t sure if I was worthy of such a connection.

I was attracted to paganism, specifically Wicca, because it seemed like everything Mormonism wasn’t. Wicca teaches equality between men and women, with a heavy focus on the Goddess in worship. It places an emphasis on doing what is right for you, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else. It encourages sexuality and healthy sexual expression. Learning about Wicca, and later other types of paganism, helped me develop the kind of healthy spirituality I’d never experienced as a Mormon. Although Wicca is no longer the backbone of my religious practice, it was a necessary and deeply healing step on my spiritual journey.

I’m not sharing my story to gain sympathy or to make anyone feel bad — I’m sharing it because my situation is not an uncommon one in pagan circles. The vast majority of pagans are converts, meaning they didn’t grow up pagan. Some had healthy upbringings in other faiths, or no faith at all, and simply found that paganism was a better fit for them. Others, like myself, had deeply traumatic experiences with organized religion and are attracted to paganism because of the freedom, autonomy, and empowerment it offers.

If you fall into this latter category, this post is for you. Untangling the threads of religious trauma can be an extremely difficult and overwhelming task. In this post, I lay out six steps to recovery based on my own experiences and those of other people, both pagan and non-pagan, who have lived through religious trauma.

While following these steps will help jumpstart your spiritual healing, it’s important to remember that healing is not a linear process — especially healing from emotional, mental, and spiritual trauma. You may have relapses, you may feel like you’re moving in circles, and you may still have bad days in five or ten years. That’s okay. That’s part of the healing process. Go easy on yourself, and let your journey unfold naturally.

Step One: Cut all ties with the group that caused your trauma

Or, at least, cut as many ties as reasonably possible.

Obviously, if you’re still participating in a religious organization that has caused you pain, the first step is to leave! But before you do, make sure you have an exit plan to help you disengage safely and gracefully.

To make your exit plan, start by asking yourself what the best, worst, and most likely case scenarios are, and be honest in your answers. Obviously, the best case scenario is that you leave, everyone accepts it, and all is well. The worst case scenario is that someone tries to prevent you from leaving — you may be harassed by missionaries or concerned churchgoers, for example. But what is the most likely case scenario? That depends on the religious community, their beliefs, and how involved you were in the first place. When making your exit plan, prepare for the most likely scenario, but have a backup plan in case the worst case scenario happens.

Once you’ve prepared yourself for the best, worst, and most likely outcomes, choose a friend, significant other, or family member who can help you make your exit. Ideally, this person is not a member of the group you are trying to leave. Their role is mainly to provide emotional support, although they may also need to be willing to run off any well-meaning missionaries who come calling. This person can also help you transition after you leave. For example, you might make a plan to get coffee with them every week during the time your old religious community holds worship services.

Finally, make your strategy for leaving. Choose a date and don’t put it off! If you have any responsibilities within the group, send in a letter of resignation. Figure out who you’ll need to have conversations with about your leaving — this will likely include any family members or close friends who are still part of the group. Schedule those conversations. Make sure to have them in public places, where people will be less likely to make a scene.

If you feel it is necessary, you may want to request that your name be removed from the group’s membership records so you don’t get emails, phone calls, or friendly visits from them in the future. You may not feel the need to do this, but if contact with the group triggers a mental health crisis, this extra step will help keep you safe.

Of course, it’s not always possible to completely cut ties with a group after leaving. You may have family members, a significant other, or close friends who are still members. If this is the case, you’ll need to establish some clear boundaries. Politely but firmly tell them that, although you’re glad their faith adds value to their lives, you are not willing to be involved in their religious activities. Let them know that this is what is best for your mental and emotional health and that you still value your relationship with them.

Try to make compromises that allow you to preserve the relationship without exposing you to a traumatic religious environment. For example, if your family is Christian and always spends all day on Christmas at church, offer to celebrate with them the day after, once their religious commitments are over.

Hopefully, your loved ones can respect these boundaries. If not, you may need to distance yourself or walk away altogether. If they are knowingly undermining your attempts to take care of yourself, they don’t deserve to be in your life.

During this time, you may find it helpful to read other people’s exit stories online or in books. One of my personal favorites is the book Girl at the End of the World by Elizabeth Esther. Hearing other people’s stories can help you remember that other people have been through similar situations and made it out on the other side. You will too.

Step Two: Seek professional help

I cannot overstate the importance of professional counseling when dealing with trauma of any kind, including religious trauma. Therapists and counselors have the benefit of professional training. They are able to be objective, since they’re approaching the situation from the outside. They can keep you from getting bogged down in your own thoughts and feelings.

I understand that not everyone has access to therapy. I am very lucky to have insurance that covers mental health counseling, but I know not everyone has that privilege. However, there are some options that make therapy more affordable.

There may be an organization in your area that offers free or low-cost therapy — if you live in the U.S., you can find information about these services by checking the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) HelpLine or visiting mentalhealth.gov. You can also look for therapists who use a sliding scale for payment, which means they determine an hourly rate based on the client’s income. And finally, if you have a little bit of extra cash you may want to look into therapy apps like BetterHelp or Talkspace, which are typically cheaper than in-person therapy.

If none of those options work for you, the next best option is to join a support group. Support groups allow you to connect with other people whose experiences are similar to yours and, unlike therapy, they allow you to get advice and feedback from multiple people. These groups are often free, although some charge a small fee.

Finding the right group for you is important. You’re unlikely to find a group for people recovering from religious trauma but, depending on the nature of your trauma, you may fit right in with a grief and loss group, an addiction recovery group, or a group for adult survivors of child abuse. If you’re a member of the LGBTQ+ community, you may be able to find a queer support group. (The LGBTQ+ club at my college was an invaluable resource in my recovery!) Depending on your area, you may also be able to find groups for specific mental and emotional issues like depression or anxiety.

Make sure to do your research before attending a meeting. Find out what, if anything, the group charges, who can join, and whether they use a curriculum or have unstructured sessions. See if you can find a statement about their values and philosophy. Make a note of where meetings are held and of who is running the group. Some support groups meet in churches and may or may not have a religious element to their curriculum. It’s best to avoid religious groups — the last thing you need right now is to be preached to.

Getting other people involved in your recovery will make you feel less alone and prevent you from getting stuck in your own head. A good therapist, counselor, or support group can help you realize what you need to work on and give you ideas for how to approach it.

Step Three: Deprogramming

“Deprogramming” refers to the practice of undoing brainwashing and reintroducing healthy thought patterns. This term is normally used in the context of cult survivors and their recovery, but deprogramming techniques can also be helpful for people recovering from a lifetime of toxic religious rhetoric.

To begin the process of deprogramming, familiarize yourself with the way organizations use thought control to shape the behavior of their members. I recommend starting with the work of Steven Hassan — his BITE model is a handy way to classify types of thought control.

The BITE model lays out four types of control. There’s Behavior Control, which controls what members do and how they spend their free time. (For example, requiring members to attend multiple hours-long meetings each week.) There’s Information Control, which restricts members’ access to information. (For example, denying certain aspects of the group’s history.) There’s Thought Control, which shapes the way members think. (For example, classifying certain thoughts as sinful or dirty.) And finally there’s Emotional Control, which manipulates members’ emotions. (For example, instilling fear of damnation or punishment.)

Here’s a simple exercise to get you started with your deprogramming. Divide a blank sheet of paper into four equal sections. Label one section “Behavior,” one “Information,” one “Thought,” and one “Emotions.” Now, in each section, make a list of the ways your old religious group controlled — and maybe still controls — that area of your life. Once you’ve completed your lists, choose a single item from one of your lists to work on undoing.

For example, let’s say that in your “Information” column, you’ve written that you were discouraged from reading certain books because they contained “evil” ideas. (For a lot of people, this was Harry Potter. For me, it was The Golden Compass.) Pick up one of those books, and read it or listen to it as an audiobook. Once you’ve read it, write down your thoughts. Did you enjoy it? Why or why not? Why do you think your group banned it? What was in this book that they didn’t want you to know about? Write it down.

Once you’ve worked on the first thing, choose something else. Keep going until you’ve undone all the items on your lists.

If you want to go further with deprogramming, I recommend the book Recovering Agency by Luna Lindsey. Although this book is specifically written for former Mormons, I genuinely believe it would be helpful to former members of other controlling religious groups as well. Lindsey does an excellent job of explaining how thought control works and of connecting it to real world examples, as well as deconstructing those ideas. Her book has been a huge help in my recovery process, and I highly recommend it.

Step Four: Replace toxic beliefs and practices with healthy ones

This goes hand-in-hand with step three, and if you’re already working on deprogramming then you’ll already have started replacing your unhealthy beliefs. This is the turning point in the recovery process. You’re no longer just undoing what others have done to you — now you get an opportunity to decide what you want to believe and do going forward. This is the time to let go of things like denial of your desires, fear of divine punishment, and holding yourself to unattainable standards. Get used to living in a way that makes you happy, without guilt.

Notice how each step builds on the previous steps. Therapy and deprogramming can help you identify what beliefs and behaviors need to be adjusted or replaced. Your therapist, support group, and/or emotional support person can help you make these changes and follow through on them.

These new beliefs and practices don’t have to be religious — in fact, it’s better if they aren’t. If you can live a healthy, happy, balanced life without religion, you’ll be in a better position to choose a religion that is the right fit for you, if that is something you want.

Your new healthy, non-religious practices may include: mindfulness meditation, nature walks, journaling, reading, exercise, energy work, learning a hobby or craft, or spending time with loves ones — or it might include none of these things, and that’s okay too. Now is the time to find what brings you joy and start doing it every day.

Step Five: Ritual healing

This is an optional step, but it’s one that has been deeply healing for me. You may find it helpful to design and perform a ritual to mark your recovery.

Note that when I say “ritual,” I don’t necessarily mean magic. Rituals serve a psychological purpose as well as a spiritual one. They can act as powerful symbolic events that mark a turning point in our lives or reinforce what we already know and believe. Even if you don’t believe in magic, even if you’re the least spiritual person you know, you can still benefit from ritual.

You might choose to perform a ritual to finalize your healing, or to symbolically throw off the chains of your old religion. It can be elaborate or simple, long or short, joyful or solemn. It might include lighting a candle and saying a few words. It might include ecstatic dance. It might include drawing or painting a representation of all the negative emotions associated with your old religion, then ritually destroying it. The possibilities are literally endless. (If you’re looking for ritual ideas, I recommend the book Light Magic for Dark Times by Lisa Marie Basile.)

One type of ritual that some people find very empowering is unbaptism. An unbaptism is exactly what it sounds like — the opposite of a baptism. The idea is that, if a baptism makes a Christian, an unbaptism makes someone un-Christian, no longer part of that lineage. It is a ritual rejection of Christianity. (Obviously, this only applies if you’re a former Christian, though some of the following suggestions could be adjusted to fit a rejection of other religions.)

If you’re interested in unbaptism, here are some ideas for how it could be done:

A classic method of unbaptism is to recite the Lord’s Prayer backwards under a full moon. (For a non-Christians version, use a significant prayer from whatever religion you have left.)

Run a bath. Add a tiny pinch of sulfur (a.k.a. brimstone) to the water. Get into the bath and say, “By water I was baptized, and by water my baptism is rejected.” Submerge your entire body under the water for several seconds. When you come back up, your unbaptism is complete. (You may want to shower after this one. Sulfur does not smell good.)

The Detroit Satanic Temple has a delightfully dramatic unbaptism ritual. For a DIY version, you will need holy water or some other relic from the faith you were baptized in, a fireproof dish, a black candle, and an apple or other sweet fruit. Light the candle and place it in your fireproof dish. Toss some holy water onto the flame (not enough to extinguish it) and say, “I cast my chains into the dust of hell.” Take a bite of the apple and say, “I savor the fruit of knowledge and disobedience.” Finally, declare proudly, “I am unbaptized.” You can add “in the name of Satan” at the end or leave it out, depending on your comfort level.

Personally, I’ve never felt the need to unbaptize myself. I’ve ritually rejected my Mormon upbringing in other ways. Maybe someday I’ll decide to go for the unbaptism, but I’ve never really felt like I needed it. Likewise, you’ll need to decide for yourself what ritual(s) will work for you.

Step Six: Honor your recovery

Our first reaction to trauma is to hide it away and never speak of it again. When we do this, we do ourselves a disservice. Your recovery is a part of your life story. You had the strength to walk away from a situation that was hurting you, and that deserves to be celebrated! Be proud of yourself for how far you’ve come!

You may choose to honor your recovery by celebrating an important date every year, like the day you decided to leave the group, the date of the last meeting you attended, or the date you were removed from the membership records. Keep this celebration fun and light — get drinks with friends, bake a cake for yourself, or just take a few moments to silently acknowledge your journey.

If you feel like having a party is a bit much, you can also honor your recovery by talking to other people about your experiences. Share your story with others. If you’re feeling shy, try sharing your story anonymously online. (Reddit has several forums specifically for anonymous stories.) You’ll be amazed by how validating it can be to tell people what you’ve been through. `

Another way to honor your recovery is to work for personal and religious freedom for all people. Protest laws with religious motivations. Donate to organizations that campaign for the separation of church and state. Educate people about how to recognize an unhealthy religious organization. Let your own story motivate you to help others who are in similar situations.

And most of all, take joy in your journey. Be proud of yourself for how far you’ve come, but know that your recovery is a lifelong journey. Be gentle and understanding with yourself. You are doing what is right for you, and no god or spirit worthy of worship could ever be upset by that.