#love the sun and moon comparisons but the truth is they are each other UNIVERSE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wisdomrays · 2 months

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REFLECTIONS ON THE QUR'AN: Sūratu’n-Nūr (The Light)

God is the Light of the heavens and the earth. (An-Nūr 24:35)

It is God Who has brought and brings everything into the Light of existence from the darkness of non-existence and has made the universe an exhibition and a book to be mediated upon, nourishing our consciences with meanings that provide light for our eyes and exhilarate our hearts. Eyes do not see where His Light (of guidance) does not exist, hearts remain deprived of insight, sciences produce whims and fantasies, truths are confused with hypotheses, and existence is a chaos whose meanings remain hidden and cannot be understood. There is neither a substantial philosophy of knowledge in minds nor knowledge about God in hearts.

It is possible only through the Creator of Light, Who illuminates the heavens and the earth with whatever is in them, to advance from knowledge to faith and from faith to true knowledge of God and from true knowledge of God to a deep consciousness of servanthood to Him at the junction of the outer and inner human worlds.

Indeed, it is also through this same Light that the sun and numerous other suns illuminate the universe, the earth is bedecked with innumerable kinds of beauties, and hearts are enlightened with insight and perception. All these phenomena are like seeds from which people can produce knowledge of the Creator and His love and yearning to travel toward Him. It is through this Light as well that people think and form conceptions in the mind, and reason and judge, reaching certain truths by means of deduction, induction, comparison, and analogy or syllogism.

The eyes of human beings see the colors, the harmony among the colors and in everything else, and the eternal poetry in the general harmony of existence and transfer them to the heart as information. The insight takes these pieces of information and re-analyzes and synthesizes them, transforming them into knowledge about or recognition of God. Devotion to God and viewing everything through His Light and knowledge improve the truth of humanity that is contained in a mere drop and transform this tiny drop into an ocean, and human knowledge, which is contained in an atom into a huge sun, and transforms the human heart, which is nothing in itself, into the pulse of the universe. While human beings cannot view the past, the future, and even the present as a whole with their eyes, they feel and sense both themselves and all other sensible things with their insight. They also sense both the pieces and the whole, both the physical entities and their truths (i.e., the Divine Names they are based upon. Each physical entity owes its existence and essential nature to one or several of God’s Names). Furthermore, they sense the Truth of truths, which the universe and whatever occurs in it refers to and indicates, and they come into contact with Him through one of the ranks of certainty, each according to his or her capacity.

The knowledge acquired about God through mental or intellectual and spiritual study of the universe and whatever is and occurs in it may cause confusion concerning the Divine Being. In order to avoid any confusion, while we, as the travelers of this guest-house of the world, are walking among His signs, evidences, and indicators and amidst incidents and witness all this with our physical eyes, we should direct our insight to or focus it on the Creator and Illuminator of Light so that the information we acquire from the universe can be transformed into knowledge of God and so that our feelings and sensations may not cause us confusion. Therefore, the existence must be studied through the Light of lights’ Book which is more radiant than the sun, as declared in the verse: “Now a Proof has come to you from Your Lord” (An-Nisā’ 4:174), and in the light of the Prophethood of the Spirit of existence, namely Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings. Just as our world is illuminated by the sun in daytime and by the moon at night, as stated in the verse, “Blessed and Supreme is He Who has set in the sky great constellations and placed in it a (great, radiant) lamp and a shinning moon” (Al-Furqan 25:61), the Prophethood of the Spirit of existence is the sun of our consciences and hearts and the moon of our minds.

Indeed, when Divine Light is not taken into consideration, everything in the universe is nothing but darkness. When we consider everything in the light of God’s Light, then everything—visible or invisible—is illuminated and speaks about its Creator and Sustainer each in an articulate tongue.

To sum up, everything has come into existence, everything occurs as a result of the manifestation of His Light. And everything develops through the manifestation of His Light as well. Light, in the absolute sense, belongs to Him exclusively. To ascribe Light to anything other than Him is either a metaphor of the elite or ignorance of common people. If everyone is unaware of this truth, it is due to the incomprehensible, infinite, and dazzling intensity of His manifestation in the universe and on the horizon of our consciences. Just as being invisible causes incomprehensibility, so does the intensity of manifestation cause invisibility. Sometimes, however, this intensiveness of the manifestations of the Divine Light becomes an aperture for the most subtle spiritual faculty of some people to reflect upon them.

Truly, God is the Light of the heavens and the earth. Starting with the Light of Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, about which the Prophet himself says, “The first thing that God created is my Light,” everything is the manifestation of His Light at different wavelengths and its appearance in different forms in the external world.

Furthermore, I would like to draw attention to a few more points concerning the verse: “God is the Light of the heavens and the earth.” Although both are translated into English as light, the nūr and ishiq are different things. Nūr is something immaterial and can be the immaterial essence of light (ishiq), which is something material. In this translation, we have interpreted this Nūr as “Light.” The verse ascribes Light to God, not light. Unaware of this difference, some question: “The velocity of light is known; how about the velocity of Light?” In order to be able to understand Light, we need to approach the source of Light. The source of Light is God, Who is beyond time and space. Therefore, His Light should be approached and reviewed from this viewpoint. Indeed, light and things of light can be present at millions of places at once and can transfer from one place to another in an instant. As a matter of fact, since the blessed body of the Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, had acquired such refinement as to be able to accompany his spirit (the law of energy and matter changing into each other may be explanatory for this incident), the Prophet completed his Ascension in a few minutes and returned. Such a journey requires a trillion times a trillion years under normal conditions. However, the authentic narrations inform us that the Prophet’s bed was still warm when he returned from his Ascension. It is as if he transcended time during this journey.

However, one should not assume that Light is not something created. Light (Nūr) is something created. Its Creator is God, Who is the Creator of everything. The Prophetic saying, “The first thing that God created is my Light,” also indicates this. The first nucleus or seed which was brought into existence was the Light of Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings.

To sum up, we should not confuse Light and light. It may be that Light is the source of light, and light is a manifestation of Light in the physical realm of existence.

O God, O Light of all Light, O Illuminator of Light, O Fashioner of Light, O Creator of Light! Illuminate our hearts and senses with the Light of knowledge of You, and confirm us with a spirit from Your Presence; and, O God, bestow blessings on our master Muhammad, whom You sent as a shining moon, and on his Family and Companions, who followed him strictly.

#islam #allah #quran #muslim #revert #god #help #convert #religion #ayat

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kingreywrites · 4 years

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Golden Strings

Fandom: Tangled

Words count: 2684

New Dream Appreciation Week Day One: Sun and Moon

Summary: If he hadn't been in love before - and he had been - he would have certainly fallen for her all over again that night, when the light of the moon made her smile so much brighter.

Read on ao3

Note: Happy birthday to @tangledbea , @theofficialkai517 , @alrightginger and @tangledaddict !! (and to me :P) It’s quite a day for the tangled fandom, between the start of the NDAW and all of those birthdays <3

@our-newdream

Eugene woke up feeling like death warmed over. His head was smushed against the side of an armchair, he knew he was in for a mean crick in his neck, and he was pretty sure he had been drooling in his sleep - despite his dashing good looks, that was never a beautiful sight. Cracking one eye open, his only hope that no one had seen him like this disappeared as soon as he noticed the note someone had placed on the table in front of him. Rapunzel, to be precise - he could recognize her handwriting and her doodles anywhere.

Ah, and someone had tucked a blanket around him and had taken the time to bookmark the page he had fallen asleep reading. Definitely Rapunzel, Eugene thought with a smile, still exhausted after his untimely nap in the library. He summoned all the bravery he had and finally stretched, thus feeling the full extent of his bad decision. Living in a castle had ruined him - he wasn't made for sleeping in armchairs anymore.

Although, when he first arrived here, he remembered spending a lot of time in the library to calm down when he felt lost. It had been a weird time, for Rapunzel mostly, who was only discovering life after eighteen years - but it had been weird for him too. Communication didn't come easy for him and, even if he made efforts to be honest with her, he had often sought the comfort of the library - there, alone with his thoughts, Eugene felt like he could breathe.

That was, until Rapunzel discovered about it - until he realised that for this to work, they both needed to be open with each other. They had talked a long time that night, about their new lives, their fears, their boundaries, and stuff in general, and that was when Eugene realized that being alone wasn't the way he could finally breathe. Being alone helped him be calmer - being with Rapunzel gave him a peace and an happiness he had never achieved before.

If he hadn't been in love before - and he had been - he would have certainly fallen for her all over again that night, when the light of the moon made her smile so much brighter. He knew he was the first one to compare her to the sun, not only because of the pun but, above all, because she made his life brighter and warmer; however, Rapunzel was more than that. She wasn't just his sun, she was his whole universe - the sun, the moon, the stars and the planets, but also the darkness in between, which made everything more vivid and alive. And he wanted to be there with her, for the good and the bad, the light and the dark. He knew she wanted the same - the good, the bad, and even the drooling.

Eugene scrubbed his eyes blearily, noticing that the sun wasn't even set quite yet. He had been reading some old book about laws for his Captain duties, but had clearly lost that battle. When he straightened up, he took care of folding the blanket that Rapunzel had put over him - it smelled like her, and he knew she kept it in her bedroom, so she must have seen him, gone all the way up to her closet just to keep him warm. And warm he felt, he smiled, love blooming in his chest in a familiar way. The first thing he saw on the note she had left was a doodle of him sleeping quite unattractively, which drew a groan from him - and a grin, but he wouldn't admit it, instead starting to read.

Hi Eugene!

I wasn't sure if you wanted to be woken up but you looked so tired and so cute that I didn't have the heart to do it!

I love you!

Rapunzel

He folded the paper too, carefully putting it in his pocket - he could never throw them away. His neck was still protesting loudly the position it had been in, so Eugene stretched once again, yawning. He never took naps because he thought they were scam, since you often woke up more tired than before, but he had apparently been more exhausted than he realised. Thankfully, he hadn't been expected anywhere, and if he was lucky, only Rapunzel had seen him. The other guards wouldn't let him live it down otherwise, Captain or not. Blanket in hand, he decided to go put it back in Rapunzel's room so he could then try to find her - and he hoped it would be before she had doodled his drooling face somewhere everyone could see. He had a reputation to maintain.

The trek to her room was quick, and he thought it would be an in and out trip to put the blanket back where it belonged, but when he opened the door, he immediately saw Rapunzel painting high up on her ceiling. Thanks to Varian, she had now a complex pulley system to get to the higher spots of her room, and the kid had even added an automatic safety net that could deploy if Rapunzel fell - a suggestion that Eugene made and that he was forever grateful to Varian for.

Rapunzel hadn't heard him open the door, too focused on her painting and, even from down there, Eugene could see her poke a tongue out in concentration. He could feel himself melt at the sight, because he knew he had the cutest wife in the world - and he would never hesitate to brag about it. Then, he saw what she was currently painting, and felt affection swell in his heart.

It was them, sitting together on her windowsill. But, what touched him the most was how much care she had put into painting him specifically - his hair, his eyes, his expression… It seemed like he was glowing. Like he was the only thing painting Rapunzel could see, like he was the centre of her world. To say that Eugene once thought he wasn't an emotional man; Rapunzel had sure proved him wrong every day since he met her.

"Eugene!" she exclaimed, startling him a little. He hadn't noticed that she had seen him. Before he could say anything, she grabbed a rope near her and slided down easily. "Did you have a good nap?" she asked cheekily.

Eugene wanted to joke back, but nothing came to him. She was so beautiful, as always, but he felt like he rediscovered it everytime - rediscovered just how much he was able to love her, because each time it felt more than the precedent, more than he could ever conceive. Rapunzel was his light, his sunshine, the warmth and the brightness in his life - but she was also his moon, the softness and the tenderness in his life, the gravitational pull that made his love rise like an unstoppable tide. She was his everything, and he was the luckiest man in the universe.

"Yes," he finally smiled, putting the blanket in one arm, "my nap was nice, thank you."

He opened his arms and Rapunzel immediately to hug him, her body fitting into his like nothing else ever could.

------

At times, it seemed like Rapunzel's entire life had resolved around the sun. Her birth, the first eighteen years of her life, and the next four too - the power of the sundrop inside her body had regulated most of the big events she lived through. She had been kidnapped for it, yes, but had saved the love of her life and two of her best friends thanks to it so, overall, she couldn't help but be grateful. For all the pain these magical powers had caused, Rapunzel thought she received five time the happiness. She was the girl who had everything, and she knew it.

Today, though, she kept thinking about the sun comparisons.

It wasn’t rare that her friends told her she was the living embodiment of the sun and, in a way, she loved what they meant by it. It was just another way for them to compliment her kindness, or to tell her that she lightened up their days - and she was grateful to be able to do these things for them. They were a source of joy for her, and if being compared to the sun meant that she was a source of joy for them too, then she’ll accept it gladly. In the end, it was always Eugene who managed to make her heart beat faster with a simple word. Sunshine. She loved that nickname, loved how it sounded on his lips, loved what shined through his eyes when he said it - loved him, simply. The first time he used that nickname, she had felt her stomach flutter by the sheer emotion it provoked in her. She felt so lucky to be the woman he considered to be his sun, and she always knew his mind was the furthest thing away from the flower when called her sunshine - he was talking about her, Rapunzel, and only her. He never cared much about the whole destiny thing, except for what it meant to her. Today, though, it was bothering her. Not because of Eugene - it would never bother her coming from him - but because of what Sarah, an handmaiden, had told Rapunzel earlier, when they got a glimpse of the guards training by one of the castle’s window.

“The Captain is very impressive,” she had stated, and Rapunzel had nodded with a smile, indulging in a few more seconds of watching her husband being all competent and beautiful before they started walking again. “Still, I can’t believe how much you changed him!”

“What do you mean?” Rapunzel frowned.

“Well, you know, the whole thief turned good guy story! He told some of us about it again three days ago, but I’ll never get over how romantic it is,” Sarah gushed. “He’s very lucky to have met you, your Highness, because he said you were the sunshine that put the light back in his life!”

That was it, but Rapunzel mulled over it all through the meeting she was attending this afternoon. And now that she was back in her bedroom, with nothing important to do until at least an hour, she could ponder to her heart content.

It was strange, because she had heard the same sentiment before, often from Eugene himself, but it had never sounded as wrong as in Sarah’s mouth. Perhaps Eugene was lucky, but she was at least as lucky as him - and she didn’t like the idea that, without her, he would have been condemned to darkness. Eugene was much more than what she could give him. And she was much more than what he could give her, because together, they were everything. And she knew he thought as such, knew that he called her his sun he saw how brightly she shined, but did he know she thought the same of him? Did he know that she never thought he needed her to be the best thing in her life? They both changed together, they both were more together, but Eugene was already all she could dream of and more - not just a reflection of her light.

“Sunshine?” Eugene called, opening the door to pass his head through. “Ah, guess what I have for you!” he beamed once he saw her, officially interrupting her train of thoughts.

Before she could really try to guess, he got two cupcakes from behind his back, and went to sit next to her on the window sill.

“You read my mind,” she grinned, grabbing the cake out of his hand and drawing a laugh from him. “Training was okay?” she asked, her mouth full of sweet vanilla flavor.

“Pete only nearly fainted today, so there was a definite progress.” He winked and she smiled, her heart full.

They chatted about their days - nothing particularly exciting had happened but, today, Rapunzel couldn’t even remember how she could have been scared of being too comfortable and bored if she was married. Not only Eugene could talk to her all day about the rain, and she would be happy to listen and watch him talk; but she also knew that her husband would always, even unconsciously, try to make sure that she was interested in what he had to say. That was without counting on the fact that she fell a little bit more in love with him everyday, and that marriage hadn’t changed that at all - it only heightened her feelings, if anything.

Which was also why she didn’t like the idea that she was his sun, and that he was nothing that great without her. Because that was how it had sounded earlier, when Sarah said it, and that was what had bothered her so much. Eugene was… incredible. Demanitus last words to them had seemed, at the time, really sweet, but she caught herself doubting them today.

The moon can't be seen without the sun's light. She gives you light. Did she? Was Eugene really the moon that only shone under her light? And what about her, was she really that perfect sunshine that made everyone better only by having contact with them? Now that this seed of thought had taken residence in her head, she couldn’t help but feel that it was a complete misinterpretation. Or, at least, it wasn’t the full metaphor - if she was the sun, she certainly remembered burning too bright and too quickly, until Eugene cooled her down. She remembered discovering the real world for the first time in eighteen years, and she remembered wishing she could do it all at once, until Eugene helped her realise that she wouldn’t enjoy anything if she was exhausted. He was her anchor just like she was his, her savior just like she was his, her light just like she was his. She might give him light, but he gave her so much love in return that she refused to believe that he would only know darkness without her. He had too good of a soul.

“You okay? You seem deep in thought,” Eugene smiled, his brown eyes shining gold under the sunset light.

Rapunzel tried to form an answer but, before she could, he got closer to her face and, gently, stroked his thumb over the corner of her mouth - and she realised that, married or not, she still felt butterflies in her stomach because of the warmth of his smile and still shivered at the softness of his touch.

“Sorry,” he said cheekily, not sounding sorry at all, “you had frost on your cheek.”

Well, the only correct answer to that was to kiss him - so she did. She put her arms behind his shoulders to press even closer to him, feeling his own warm hand going to her back to stabilise them. Her hands were colder, though, and she didn't hesitate to slip one in his collar to draw a startled gasp out of him, just enough for her to slip her tongue between his lips. (He was happy to reciprocate.)

“Wow,” he breathed when they finally separated, Rapunzel still in his lap and her hands still around his neck, “I'm not saying that I'm not loving this, but what brought it on?”

Their breaths were still mingling together, and Rapunzel, from her position, could see every details of his face. The sky outside the window was orange now, and it only highlighted the blush she had brought to his cheeks, and the disarray of his hair, and the softness of his skin. Most of all, it highlighted his eyes, highlighted it until it seemed to hold tiny specks of gold in them - until it made his love shine through brighter than any star.

“You're my sun, Eugene,” she finally answered - it puzzled him, but then she kissed him again, and he forgot about it. Rapunzel didn't forget, though. She couldn't forget what she had finally understood, because he gave her light too - he made her world a brighter and better place everyday, and she loved him for it.

#really not sure about this one but hey when will i ever be #to say that this has a plot would clearly be an exaggeration #they just... love each other... and think about each other #love the sun and moon comparisons but the truth is they are each other UNIVERSE #New Dream Appreciation Week #Tangled #New Dream #Eugene Fitzherbert #Rapunzel

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retvenkos · 4 years

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to dance among the stars | c.b.

Bridgerton - Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader, fluff requested by @musicallisto

tw: talk of marriage

word count: 1.4k

prompt: “Dance with me?”

A/N: I started writing.... forgot i had a prompt to fit in... decided to just keep going and hope for the best. i feel like that meme “it’s not much, but it’s honest work.”

Summary: (Y/n) hated dances and balls, but if there was anyone who could change their mind, it would be Colin Bridgerton.

(Y/n) laughed into the clear night air, throwing her head back in blissful happiness, unaware of the way that Colin Bridgerton looked at her - as though his whole life was in her smile. A clement wind greeted the two on their stroll, allowing the music from the nearby ball to drift toward them, a sound much more soft and inviting now that there was distance between the two and the dance floor.

“You, Colin, will be the death of me,” (Y/n) said, her words like a happy sigh, a gentle ending to her enjoyment of his presence.

“The death of you? I thought I heroically saved you from having to entertain suitors all evening,” he teased, straightening his jacket dramatically, as though they were in one of (Y/n)’s novels - the kind with epic romances and gruesome battles. (Y/n) scoffed, swatting him on the shoulder. “I am your knight in shining armor, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes—” Colin chuckled, earning a smile “—but I saved you from your mother. She’s been looking for a project now that Daphne’s entertaining the prince, is she not?”

“My mother is always looking for something.” Colin rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I won’t be properly saved until I marry some girl from the ton.”

“Oh.” Colin’s words ushered in an awkward lapse of silence that had both of them turning away from each other, taking a sudden interest in their shoes. They slowed their walk to a stop, and the breeze drifted between them, as though pushing them apart.

It was silly that something like a wayward comment could reduce them to silence, but the future lay within that statement - a future fast approaching and terrifying in its weight. The ton was designed for marriage. Here, at these balls and parties, both of them were supposed to find someone to marry - to bind themselves to another for the rest of their lives.

Another couple walked past the two and (Y/n) watched them go, disappearing into the evening - perhaps to dance among the stars.

“Well... is there someone who’s caught your eye?” (Y/n) fidgeted with her gloves as she spoke, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer. Colin had always been a flirt, and his romantic tendencies had always been something (Y/n) both admired and teased, and yet to know if his heart truly lied with one of them was the very thing she wanted least. Being out here with Colin - away from everyone else and anything that might stand between them - was the only thing that made the ton worthwhile. All else paled in comparison to these moments seemingly stolen from the flow of time, where they were two souls together, walking the same path for a brief while, hearts close enough to touch.

To have them be taken away would be too much of a heartache. Worse than anything she could fathom.

Colin looked at (Y/n) with his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, (Y/n) took hold of the conversation once more.

“Perhaps Marina Thompson? She was quite popular before she fell ill. Will you be the one to ask for her hand, at the end of the season?”

“Miss Thompson is a fine girl, but... no.” (Y/n) looked up abruptly and met Colin’s blinking stare. Even when baffled there was something light about him - kind and caring - it tugged on her heart more than she cared to admit. “I would much rather wait than make a hasty match.”

“Hasty?” (Y/n) stifled a laugh, the mature word - not at all like the Colin she knew - bringing humor back into the conversation. Colin was forcing down a blush, his cheeks warming in color, like roses beneath his skin.

“I just mean I want to love my wife before we get married, instead of having to force feelings after the fact.”

(Y/n) smiled, taking a step closer to lock arms with Colin once more. “I hope you get to.”

The two resumed their walk, never going too far from the festivities to be considered improper, but managing to stay well away from anyone else. Colin admired the way that (Y/n) looked under the night sky - her beauty something wholly unique to her, and yet perfectly matched to the darkening sky. In the light of her eyes lay all the beauty of the cosmos, and in her smile lay all the thrills of the world. All the universe was captured in her essence, and Colin knew that all of his longing for travel could be satiated with a single touch; a kiss from (Y/n) could carry all of the wonders of the world, and no matter how many times he visited her touch, he would never lose his wanderlust.

(Y/n) fixed him with a look, as though they could sense that his thoughts rested with them.

Colin cleared his throat. It was one thing to care for (Y/n) - it was quite another to admit he had fallen in love. “What about you? Surely you’ve found a suitor who is the least bit exciting?”

“They think themselves exciting, if that is answer enough,” (Y/n) sighed, looking at Colin through the corner of her eye. “But truly Colin, having to entertain them is the worst part about these dances.”

"Even worse than dancing? I know you avoid getting out on the floor like it’s the plague.”

“Because when you’re on the dance floor, you’re trapped! That’s when entertaining suitors is at its worst.” Colin chuckled at (Y/n)’s words. “If I had a choice, I would come to these balls and the only man I would dance with is you.”

“Me?”

(Y/n) nodded.

Colin paused and they drew to a halt so he could better marvel at the woman before him. “If you had your choice in the matter, wouldn’t you rather avoid the dance floor altogether?”

“No,” (Y/n) said, dipping her head with a look that said she had spoken too much but was too fond of what she said, and not keen on taking it back. “I suppose I would like to dance with you.”

You’d dance with me?”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Well, I know you enjoy it.”

And around them, the world was hushed. The voices and sounds of the nearby ball were drowned out by the thumping of their hearts. Colin looked at (Y/n) and saw them so clearly, he was almost taken aback. How could one be so beautiful that their existence shamed a sky full of stars?

“Dance with me, then?”

He spoke before he acted, but it wasn’t long before his hand was outstretched, waiting for (Y/n) to take it.

“Right here?” But her hand was already resting in his, her smile bright and warm. "There's no music."

"Then come a few steps this way." Colin pulled her a few paces closer to the ball. (Y/n) chuckled as Colin tugged on her arm, guiding them nearer. He put a finger on his lips to shush her, causing (Y/n) to roll her eyes, smiling all the while. The soft lilt of music was slightly louder, here, but still distant enough that they had to be silent to hear the beat. Colin took a step closer, and although there were still enough space between them and enough bystanders around for their actions to be considered proper, there was an intimacy in the moment to make (Y/n)’s cheeks heat up.

"Is it loud enough for you to hear?” Colin whispered.

"It's perfect."

Adjusting his hand in hers, Colin led (Y/n) into a dance, smiling at her in a way that could only be described as lovestruck. His entire being was in awe of her as they spun around each other, like the moon in orbit of the earth. There was something heavenly in (Y/n)’s eyes, and when the song ended, the light in them did not fade.

“I love you,” Colin breathed, the words falling out of his mouth before he had the time to realize he had said them. It was the purest of admissions, one he hadn’t planned or even dreamed of admitting until the very moment he said it. “I-I love you,” he repeated, as though he needed to affirm the truth.

“Colin, I love you, too.” And all the world was in their smile, once again, all of the universe seemingly wrapped up in their blissful words.

Colin let out a laugh that was almost a joyful sigh, and in his eyes were stars - constellations that burned brighter than the sun. He took (Y/n)’s gloved hand and kissed it, wishing it could be something more.

“Perhaps you will dance with me more often, then.”

“At every ball we attend.”

-- taglist: @findmeintheafterglow, @prttybitchin // message me if you want to be added!

#bridgerton #colin bridgerton #colin bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x you #colin bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagines #one shot #imagine #fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #fluff #reader insert #fem!reader #i wanted to make it gender neutral but then i started talking about suitors and whatnot.#and finally. a decent fic title

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dailylogyn · 3 years

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Logyn Meta: Loki & Sigyn’s Family in Myth and Marvel (Comparison)

Photo Source: https://www.deviantart.com/youkai-no-shimo/art/Colouring-LOKI-s-FAMILY-260392721

The family that is ready to begin Ragnarok in order to defend your honor. It’s a tragic tale, but family is something worth fighting for!

Follow me as we explore this crazy, wonderful family that is probably the most famous of the Myth’s.

We may not know much about Sigyn’s side, but Loki’s side is one that legends are made of.

From the Norse Myths, to Marvel Comics and the MCU, we will see the similarities and differences for each member in the different universes as well as learn facts about each one and why they are important.

Laufey (or Nál) - Loki’s Mother

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

She is Loki’s Mother in Mythology.

Mostly mentioned by the matronymic, “Loki Laufeyjarson” meaning: Loki Laufey’s Son.

Her name (Laufey) is typically thought to mean leaves/foilage. Nal means Needle.

Not much is known about her. We don’t even know if she was a Goddess, human or giant so it is assumed Loki gets his godhood from her.

In the poem Sörla þáttr, Nál and Laufey are portrayed as the same person: "She was both slender and weak, and for that reason she was called Nál [Needle]."

Laufey is listed among Ásynjar (goddesses) in one of the þulur, an ancestry that perhaps led her son Loki to be "enumerated among the Æsir", as Snorri Sturluson puts it in Gylfaginning.

Related to nature like forests and leaves.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Laufey is Loki’s Father in this universe.

As Loki was born small, a motive of embarrassment for his parents, his existence was kept a secret.

A younger Loki sends Laufey into a fateful battle between Odin, leading the All-Father to claim Loki as a son. Laufey was left for dead, wounded, but alive, leaving a future Loki to kill him.

A group of Frost Giants try to revive Laufey by retrieving his skull. It ends with Malekith performing a spell to resurrect King Laufey.

Laufey hates Loki and thinks of him as a disgrace

It ends with Loki killing his father again after he tries to steal the Casket of Winters and kill Frigga.

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Same as Marvel Comics Counterpart. Appears in the first Thor movie.

Fárbauti - Loki’s Father

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

He is Loki’s Father in Mythology.

Attested in the Prose Edda and in Kennings of Viking Age Skalds.

A Jotunn

The Old Norse name Fárbauti has been translated as 'dangerous striker','anger striker',or 'sudden-striker'.

Related to lightning

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Mother of Loki in this universe.

Gave birth to an unusually small child to the annoyance of her husband.

It is said the night Loki was born that she stabbed her own heart with an ice dagger, but Loki suspects Laufey is the one who killed her.

Appears as a figment taken on by a parasite. She’s mostly deceased in the comics.

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Does not appear or have a reference in the MCU

Loki Laufeyjarson - Son of Laufey & Farbauti. Lover of Sigyn & Angrboda (and many others honestly)

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Everyone already knows the tales about Loki, so I won’t repeat it all again. It’s pretty lengthy. I’ll just point down the basics for him with it.

He’s famous for causing trouble among the gods as the Trickster and God of Mischief. Not a bad guy, but misinterpreted that way, although he can be a dick too. Despite how much he causes trouble for them, he also helps them out of situations too. He just wants to have fun, even if he takes it overboard at times.

Some sources put as Jotun and some say he is Half-Jotun, Half-Aesir (on his mother’s side.)

A well-known Shapeshifter who can be anything: Salmon, Male, Female, Horse. The list just goes on.

A really handsome being who loved to get it on. *finger guns*

Blood Brother’s with Odin. How? We don’t know. It’s interpreted as a friendship or foster-brothers. It’s unclear really.

Gonna start Ragnarok for valid reasons honestly after having his entire family taken away from him or killed by the Gods. #TeamLoki

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Far too many appearances to document here from 1942 to present. There has been some retcons as well with the fact the current Loki has been reborn in a new incarnation also known as Ikol.

In the comics Loki is the adopted son of Odin and Frigga and Adoptive brother to Thor & Balder.

He’s depicted as being the God of Evil in the classic comics serval times. In fact, it’s one of his titles.

Depending on the writer for the classic comics, Loki can have moments of humanity, but all around he causes trouble.

Just wants to rule Asgard and get rid of Thor who is his enemy.

He’s honestly a bad guy most of the time in the classic comics #VillianTrope

I personally have yet to read any current comics of Loki that aren’t the classics so this is where my knowledge and research stops.

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

First off, Tom Hiddleston as Loki is just *chefs kiss* perfection.

Pretty much the same as comics except for the fact he isn’t really a villain. He plays tricks on people for fun and laughs and truly cares about his family.

However, things change when he discovers the truth that he is a Jotun and has been lied to about it his whole life despite being told countless stories of how Jotun’s are monsters to be slain (You fucked up a perfectly good kid, Odin. Look, he has anxiety and trauma.)

He develops major identity problems on top of others things, but despite it, Loki tries to still do best by his family as he wants to belong. Yes, he becomes a villain in The Avengers movie, but not for the hell of it. #Thanos

Honestly, he just deserves better. That’s where this leads. Thank you.

Angrboda - Loki’s Consort/Lover (Fenrir, Jormungandr & Hel’s Mother)

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

She is only mentioned once in the Poetic Edda as the mother of Fenrir by Loki. The Prose Edda describes her as "a giantess in Jotunheim" and as the mother of three monsters: the wolf Fenrir, the Midgard serpent Jörmungand, and the ruler of the dead Hel.

A Jotun known as Mother of Monsters and Giantess of Ironwood.

In Old Norse, Angrboda means: 'the one who brings grief', 'she-who-offers-sorrow', or 'harm-bidder'.

According to scholars, the name Angrboða is probably a late invention dating from no earlier than the 12th century, although the tradition of the three monsters born of Loki and a jötunn may be of a higher age.

Some scholars say she was a very powerful witch and that she had the ability to see into the future. She was confined to Hel and would not be released from the realm of the dead until Loki was unbound.

In some versions of the Myth’s she knows her children will bring about the end of the world (Ragnarok) as well as being a witch set on fire three times before Loki eats her heart.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

A giantess of Jotunheim and a Witch.

Born to Elderspawn Vârcolac and Echidna.

She mated with Loki and gave birth to Fenrir and Jormungadr. Legends say she also gave birth to Hela, but it seems to be nothing more but legends.

Angrboda died of unknown causes and was sent to the Underworld of Hel.

When Thor needed to know how to get to Hela's realm because she had been taking mortals to Niffleheim, he went to the Hlidskjalf and summoned Angerboda from the underworld, forcing her to tell him how to get there. Once she revealed to Thor the path he had to follow, she tried to take him with her to the underworld.

Only has one appearance in the comics -- Thor #360 (1985)

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Does not appear or have a reference in the MCU

Sleipnir - Loki’s Son

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Attested in the Poetic and Prose Edda. In both Sleipnir is Odin's eight-legged steed and child of Loki by Svaðilfari. He is described as the best of all horses.

The Prose Edda contains extra information saying he is grey.

Old Norse meaning: Slippy or the Slipper.

Sleipnir is also mentioned in a riddle found in the 13th century legendary saga Hervarar saga ok Heiðreks, in the 13th-century legendary saga Völsunga saga as the ancestor of the horse Grani, and book I of Gesta Danorum, written in the 12th century by Saxo Grammaticus, contains an episode considered by many scholars to involve Sleipnir. Sleipnir is generally accepted as depicted on two 8th century Gotlandic image stones: the Tjängvide image stone and the Ardre VIII image stone.

Scholarly theories have been proposed regarding Sleipnir's potential connection to shamanic practices among the Norse pagans.

Sleipnir was born when Loki shape-shifted into a mare and became pregnant by the stallion of a giant, as is recounted in the tale of The Fortification of Asgard.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

There are two different origins for Sleipnir in the comics: 1. Thor fighting off an army of the undead on Midgard. He promised to help as long as his horses weren’t eaten, however, Thor was betrayed and took his horses remains back to Asgard, coupling it with Asgardian Magic to create Sleipneir. 2. Loki had hastily agreed to let a Frost Giant re-build the wall around Asgard, in exchange for the Moon, the Sun, and Freya, only he had to do it in six months. The Frost Giant had only asked to use his grey stallion, Svadilfari. Right as the last brick was about to be placed, Loki transformed into a beautiful white mare, and lured Svadilfari off. Loki later gave birth to Sleipnir. (Just like in the Myths.)

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Odin’s eight-legged steed.

Sleipnir’s origins are unknown. He appears in the first Thor Movie.

Fenrir Wolf - Loki & Angrboda’s Son

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Attested in the Prose and Poetic Edda as the first son of the Jotun couple. He is a wolf destined to kill Odin. So, they bind and seal him when he's still young, with Tyr losing his arm in the process. When Ragnarok comes, he indeed kills Odin, but is killed by Odin's son Vidar in return.

Fenrir is the father of the wolves Sköll and Hati Hróðvitnisson.

In the Prose Edda, additional information is given about Fenrir, including that, due to the gods' knowledge of prophecies foretelling great trouble from Fenrir and his rapid growth, the gods bound him, and as a result Fenrir bit off the right hand of the god Týr.

No chain can hold him, except for Gleipnir, a rope made by Dwarves containing the roots of a mountain, the breath of a fish, the sound of a cat's footfall, the sinews of a bear, the beard of a woman and the spittle of a bird, all of which were impossible items to obtain.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Pretty much the same as his Mythos with some additional storylines.

When Raganrok happened, Fenrir was reborn with the other gods on the New Asgard universe on Midgard. No details of his fate on Earth have been revealed.

Fenrir helped the mutant Wolfsbane as she was carrying the child of one of his descendants.

It is one of the few individuals believed to be more powerful, or equally as powerful, as Dormammu; the others being galactic entities like The Beyonder.

Fenrir is Genderfluid in the comics.

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Fenris is a giant Asgardian Wolf who serves under Hela and is portrayed as Female. She resurrects her as they take over Asgard.

Instead of being her brother, Fenris is her loyal companion and mount.

Fenris ends up getting into a fight against Hulk as he pushes her off, sending her falling into the void below to her supposed death.

Appears in Thor: Ragnarok.

Hel - Loki & Angrboda’s Daughter

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Attested in the Prose and Poetic Edda. She is a giantess/goddess who resides over the Underworld that is also called Hel, a place where many of the dead reside. She is the daughter of Loki and Angrboda, sister to Fenrir and Jormungandr and usually depicted as the youngest of the three.

Goddess of Death and Graves and ruler of Hel who welcomes the souls of those who died of old age, disease or by accident.

Hel is described as having been appointed by the god Odin as ruler of a realm of the same name, located in Niflheim.

The Prose Edda details that Hel rules over vast mansions with many servants in her underworld realm and plays a key role in the attempted resurrection of the god Baldr.

Old Norse Name Meaning: Hidden

She’s mostly mentioned only in passing. Snorri describes her appearance as being half-black, half-white, and with a perpetually grim and fierce expression on her face.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Renamed Hela in the comics.

Allegedly the daughter of Loki and Angrboda, but it’s never made clear or stated. Hela's genealogy is the subject of controversies and retellings.

Her path pretty much follows her Mythos where she is destined to do terrible things and Odin makes her the ruler over the dead in the realms of Hel and Niflheim until maturity.

At some point, she was considered the daughter of Odin and of a long-lost goddess.

Honestly, she usually tries to expand her powers, wanting to rule over Vahalla and obtain Asgardian souls.

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU):

Appears in Thor: Ragnarok as Odin’s firstborn and only daughter. Sister to Thor and Loki.

Kinda pissed her dad locked her away and wants to rule Asgard and take revenge.

The cause of Ragnarok and supposedly dies on Asgard after everything is said in done in the movie.

Jormungandr - Loki & Angrboda’s Son

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Usually depicted as the middle child of Loki and Angrboda, he is known as the Midgard Serpent or World Serpent who is a giant snake. When Odin takes Loki’s kids away from him, he tosses Jormungadr into the ocean that encircles Midgard. The serpent grew so large that is was able to surround the Earth and grasp it’s own tail. When it releases it’s tail, Ragnarok will begin and he will fight his arch-enemy, Thor.

The major sources for myths about Jörmungandr are the Prose Edda, the skaldic poem Húsdrápa, and the Eddic poems Hymiskviða and Völuspá. Other sources include the early skaldic poem Ragnarsdrápa and kennings in other skaldic poems; for example, in Þórsdrápa, faðir lögseims, "father of the sea-thread", is used as a kenning for Loki. There are also several image stones depicting the story of Thor fishing for Jörmungandr.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Both Loki and Angerboda were descended from the Frost Giants of Jotunheim and were of humanoid appearance; however, the sons Angerboda bore Loki, Jormungand and the Fenris Wolf, did not. It has been suggested that Jormungand and the Fenris Wolf were born as sentient animals because their parents each had the magical ability to change his or her own shape. Hence, Jormungand and the Fenris Wolf each bear the form of the animal that their parents had assumed at the moment they were conceived.

Jormungandr follows the same as his Mythos to a certain degree with his fate to fight Thor during Ragnarok as the God of Thunder would die from his venom.

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Does not appear or have a reference in the MCU

Sigyn - Loki’s Wife

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Sadly, not many stories that have Sigyn in them have survived to this day. She is only attested in the followings works: Poetic Edda & Prose Edda.

The most famous of her story tells of how Loki has been bound by the gods with the guts of his son, Nari, and how his son, Vari, has been turned into a wolf. The Goddess Skadi fastens a venomous snake over Loki’s face, from which venom drips. Sigyn, stated as Loki’s wife, stays by his side and holds a basin under and catches the venom so it won’t drip onto her husband, but when the basin grows full, she pulls it away to empty it, during which time venom drops onto Loki, causing him to wither so violently that earthquakes occur that shake the entire earth.

In the poem, Gylfaginning, Sigyn is introduced in Chapter 31 as being married to Loki and that they have a son by the name of “Narfi or Nari”. She is then mentioned again in Chapter 50 where events are described differently than in Lokasenna; Vali, described as a son of Loki only, is changed into a wolf by the gods and rips apart his brother, “Narfi or Nari.” The guts of Nari are then used to tie Loki to three stones, after which the guts turn to iron, and Skadi places a snake above Loki. Sigyn of course catches the venom in a bowl. This process is repeated until he breaks free, setting Ragnarok into motion.

In the poem, Skáldskaparmál, Sigyn is introduced as a goddess, an Æsir, where the gods are holding a feast for their visitors and in kennings for Loki: “husband of Sigyn” and “cargo [Loki] of incantation-fetter’s [Sigyn’s] arms.”

Old Norse Name meaning: Victory Girlfriend.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Lonely and looking for female companionship, Loki ends up coming across Sigyn and plans to make her his. However, she is already engaged to a warrior of Odin’s Crimson Hawks -- Theoric. Hence, Loki sets up a trap to have Theoric killed during a mission so Loki can disguise himself as Theoric. Once they are wed, Loki reveals himself and despite Odin attempting to annul the marriage (which goes against Asgardian Law)), Sigyn tells the Allfather that she will follow the duties of a loyal wife since she is Loki’s now.

This is when Odin proclaims her to be the Goddess of Fidelity. This was a thing first started by the Marvel Comics.

Sigyn doesn’t have much of an agency in the comics except being a loyal wife to Loki, sometimes going along with his plans or getting on him for it.

I personally haven’t been able to find any evidence of Sigyn’s parents being Iwaldi and Freya in the comics, so I’m not sure if this fact is Fanon or not.

Sigyn has suddenly seemed to vanish from the comics with her last official appearance being in 1996. It has been allueded at that she died or was killed during Ragnarok.

Her relationship with Loki in the comics is...complicated and changes a lot depending on the writer.

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Does not appear or have a reference in the MCU

Narvi/Narfi & Vali - Loki & Sigyn’s Sons

NORSE MYTHOLOGY

Not much is known about Narfi and Vali except for being Loki & Sigyn’s sons with Vali being transformed into a wolf by the gods and killing his brother whose inners are used as a chain to bind Loki in the cave.

Narfi and Vali are referred to in a number of sources. According to the Gylfaginning section of Snorri Sturluson's Prose Edda, he was also called Nari and was killed by his brother Váli, who was transformed into a wolf; in a prose passage at the end of the Eddic poem "Lokasenna", Váli became a wolf and his brother Nari was killed.

Snorri also names "Nari or Narfi" as the son of Loki and his wife Sigyn earlier in Gylfaginning, and lists "father of Nari" as a heiti for Loki in the Skáldskaparmál section of his work.

Narfi’s name could mean “Corpse” in Old Norse, relating to how he was killed by his brother.

There's no mention of what became of Vali after he became a wolf.

MARVEL COMICS (Earth 616)

Narvi never makes an appearance in the comics and is only mentioned in: Free Comics Book Day Vol 2018 Avengers.

There is a Vali in the comics called Vali Halfling. He is the son of loki and a unnamed mortal woman. So, I don’t consider this to be the same Vali that is the son of Loki and Sigyn.

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU)

Does not appear or have a reference in the MCU

_________________________________________________

Thanks for reading everyone. This required a bunch of research, but I hope this helps and has been educational. We only have what we can work with considering the surviving myths, but there is so many stories out there that we don’t know of that aren’t clear because of it.

I tried my best to cover everything I knew about them in Marvel too, but sometimes so many retcons is too much to keep up with. I know there may be some errors in places, but it’s the best I could get this with what we have to work with.

SOURCES:

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Laufey_(Earth-616)

https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Laufey

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laufey

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fárbauti

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Farbauti_(Earth-616)

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Angerboda_(Earth-616)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angrboða

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Hela_(Earth-616)

https://norse-mythology.org/gods-and-creatures/giants/hel/

https://norse-mythology.org/gods-and-creatures/giants/jormungand/

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Jormungand_(Earth-616)

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Sleipnir_(Earth-616)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleipnir

https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Sleipnir

https://norse-mythology.org/gods-and-creatures/giants/fenrir/

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Fenris_Wolf_(Earth-616)

https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Fenris

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sigyn

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Sigyn_(Earth-616)

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Narvi_(Earth-616)

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Vali_Halfling_(Earth-616)

https://norse-mythology.org/gods-and-creatures/the-aesir-gods-and-goddesses/loki/

https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Loki_Laufeyson_(Earth-616)

https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Loki

https://skjalden.com/narfi-and-vali/

https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Hela

#logyn meta #logyn #sigyn #loki #Angrboda #laufey #farbauti #Sleipnir #hel #Jormungandr #Fenrir #narvi #vali #lokakindar #norse mythology #marvel #marvel comics #mcu

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agnes-come-back-challenge · 3 years

Text

Who wants a full comparison of episodes 1, 25, and 111 of Welcome to Night Vale? Because I love comparing these episodes and also I have no impulse control. Let’s go

(Spoilers up to episode 111, obviously. Also, I’ll bold every other segment so that it’s easier to tell which ones I’m comparing)

((This is gonna be an incredibly long post. I’m very sorry))

A friendly desert community, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale. (1)

A friendly desert community, where the sun is still hot, the moon still beautiful, and mysterious lights still pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale. (25)

A friendly desert community, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead, while we lay open eyed, watching it all. Welcome to Night Vale. (111)

Hello listeners. To start things off, I’ve been asked to read this brief notice. The City Council announces the opening of a new Dog Park at the corner of Earl and Summerset, near the Ralphs. They would like to remind everyone that dogs are not allowed in the Dog Park. People are not allowed in the Dog Park. It is possible you will see hooded figures in the Dog Park. do not approach them. Do not approach the Dog Park. The fence is electrified and highly dangerous. Try not to look at the Dog Park and especially do not look for any period of time at the hooded figures. The Dog Park will not harm you. (1)

One single year since two major events in our town’s history. First, the opening of our lovely, state-of-the-art Dog Park, which is forbidden, and which I will not mention again. (25)

The City Council reiterated for the 1,874th consecutive day that the Dog Park is off limits for both dogs and humans. The fence is electrified and highly dangerous etc. Hooded figures and all that. Since its construction we have shied from and feared the Dog Park. The Dog Park is neither a park nor for dogs, and so what does it even mean to call it a dog park? Why do we use language that means one thing to describe something that is entirely else? I don’t know what the word is for that place the City Council calls the dog park, but I do know it’s time to start searching for that word, and once found, to use it boldly. (111)

And now the news. Old Woman Josie, out near the car lot, says the Angels revealed themselves to her. Said they were ten feet tall, radiant, one of them was black. Said they helped her with various household chores. One of them changed a light bulb for her, the porch light. She’s offering to sell the old light bulb, which has been touched by an angel (it was the black angel, if that sweetens the pot for anyone). If you’re interested, contact Old Woman Josie. She’s out near the car lot. (1)

[none] (25)

The angels, who I can now say are angels, and will say are angels, because they are angels, held a memorial for Old Woman Josie in her house. Everyone in town came, overcome with a feeling that finally they could look at these beings and recognize them for what they were. Even the City Council attended the memorial, but refused to make eye contact with anyone. Of course, this positive, concrete identification only led to more mysteries, for if these are angels, then where did they come from? And what does that mean for us? Even now we find that we cannot voice these questions. Not because we are not allowed. But because we cannot find the words to ask. Instead we ate cake and drank coffee in the living room of Old Woman Josie, which was once just that, a place she lived. Now it is only a room. One by one, we laid our hand on the Angels’ hands, and in that moment of contact each of us, in turn, found ourselves weeping. As the party wound down, we all heard a soft pop outside. It was the lightbulb on Old Woman Josie’s porch, burning out. (111)

A new man came in to town today. Who is he? What does he want from us? Why his perfect and beautiful haircut? Why his perfect and beautiful coat? He says he is a scientist. Well, we have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives. But why now? Why here? And just what does he plan to do with all those beakers and humming electrical instruments in that lab he’s renting, the one next to Big Rico’s Pizza. No one does a slice, like Big Rico. No one. (1)

Second, and more important, it is one year since the arrival in Night Vale of our most beloved and singular citizen. (25)

A man who I know very well came into my house today, which is also his house. He laid his head, with its perfect and beautiful hair, upon my shoulder, and crossed his arms over his perfect and beautiful lab coat. I embraced him. We are creatures of touch, humans, and we retrieve so much meaning and happiness from contact. “I have become too complacent,” he said. “When I came here, I understood this town as scientifically fascinating. And then, gradually, it became my day to day life. I could no longer see the strangeness, but only my home.” “We are all guilty of that,” I said. “But I am a scientist,” he said.“Well,” I said. “We have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives.” (111)

Just a reminder to all the parents out there. Let’s talk about safety when taking your children out to play in the scrub lands and the sand wastes. You need to give them plenty of water, make sure there’s a shade tree in the area, and keep an eye on the helicopter colors. Are the unmarked helicopters circling the area black? Probably World Government, not a good area for play that day. Are they blue? That’s the Sheriff’s Secret Police, they’ll keep a good eye on your kids, and hardly ever take one. Are they painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey diving? No one knows what those helicopters are, or what they want. Do not play in the area. Return to your home and lock the doors until a Sheriff’s Secret Policeman leaves a carnation on your porch to indicate that the danger has passed. Cover your ears to blot out the screams. Also, remember: Gatorade is basically soda, so give your kids plain old water and maybe some orange slices when they play. (1)

Parents: Let’s talk about safety when taking your children to play out in the scrub lands and the sand wastes. All children in Night Vale are missing this week, so there’s no current safety issues. Hope we find them! (25)

Just a reminder to all the parents out there. Let’s talk about safety when taking your children out to play in the scrub lands and the sand wastes. You need to give them plenty of water, make sure there’s a shade tree in the area, and keep an eye on the helicopter colors. I asked my best friend and brother, Steve, to talk me through which helicopters belong to which organizations. Obviously the black helicopters belong to the World Government, although I had not realized, until Steve laid it out for me, how closely they are also associated with the Lizard People. The blue ones are Sheriff’s Secret Police, the pink ones are the new Double Secret Police, and the ones painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey diving? Well not even Steve knows what those helicopters are, nor what they want. On Steve’s chart, those are just labeled with the word RUN and then a few hundred exclamation points. (111)

A commercial airliner flying through local airspace disappeared today, only to reappear in the Night Vale Elementary gymnasium during basketball practice, disrupting practice quite badly. The jet roared through the small gym for only a fraction of a second, and before it could strike any players or structure, it vanished again, this time apparently for good. There is no word yet on if or how this will affect the Night Vale Mountain Lion’s game schedule, and also if this could perhaps be the work of their bitter rivals, the Desert Bluffs Cacti. Desert Bluffs is always trying to show us up through fancier uniforms, better pre-game snacks, and quite possibly by transporting a commercial jet into our gymnasium, delaying practice for several minutes at least. For shame, Desert Bluffs. For shame. (1)

In other news, a commercial airliner appeared today inside the home of surprised Night Vale citizen Becky Canterbury, who said she was about to get in the shower when it roared down her hallway and then disappeared, as suddenly as it had arrived. There is no conclusive evidence that this is the same airliner last seen in the Night Vale Elementary gym one year ago, but we have jumped to that conclusion and will defend it against all naysayers, violently and without mercy. Our truths may or may not be true, but they are ours, and we stand by them, even as the experts and skeptics hold aloft clipboards and intone to us about snow and mountains. Becky added that she would like to take that shower now, and that she has no idea how we managed to arrive for an interview mere seconds after the incident occurred. “My doors are locked.” she said. “My windows too. I’ve had my eyes shut for years. How did you get in here?” (25)

A commercial airliner flying through local airspace disappeared today, only to reappear at the fifth hole of the Sagebrook Pines Private Golf Club and Bulk Supplier. This disrupted all golf activities badly, as well as scaring a family of four who were perusing bulk paper towels offered at a discount price in a nearby sandtrap. I feel, for the first time, that I can articulate that this airliner had flown into some other universe, those divisions being particularly thin here in our quaint little community. This also is the cause of things like dead relatives occasionally joining us for breakfast, or the shimmering skyscrapers and crowded cities that appear for flashing moments in the sky. Of course, it also could be the handywork of the East Night Vale Cacti, the basketball team at the new East Night Vale Elementary School. Those scamps are always pulling pranks. Could they transport a large plane through multiple universes? Who am I to say? But probably yes. For shame, East Night Vale. For shame. (111)

The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fundraising week. They sent the station one to get some publicity, and we’re here to serve the community, so I’m happy to let you all know about it. The stickers are made from good, sturdy vinyl, and they read: “Guns don't kill people. It's impossible to be killed by a gun. We are all invincible to bullets and it's a miracle.” Stand outside of your front door and shout “NRA” to order one. (1)

The local chapter of the NRA has begun market testing some possible new slogans. These include: “Guns don't kill people. Blood loss and organ damage does.” “Guns don't kill people. People kill guns.” “A list of things that kill people: 1. Conceivably anything. 2. Not guns.” “Guns don't kill people. We are all immortal souls living temporarily in shelters of earth and meat.” and “If you say guns kill people one more time I will shoot you with a gun and you will, coincidentally, die.” To vote on the new slogan, simply fire a gun at the object or person that best represents your choice. (25)

The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fundraising week. The stickers are made from good, sturdy vinyl and they read “We genuinely do not value human life.” Cute! (111)

Carlos and his team of scientists warn that one of the houses in the new development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school, doesn’t actually exist. “It seems like it exists,” explained Carlos and his perfect hair. “Like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to be there than not” But, he says, they have done experiments and the house is definitely not there. At news time, the scientists are standing in a group on the sidewalk in front of the nonexistent house, daring each other to go knock on the door. (1)

Scientists, and science in general, would like to remind you that some things exist and some things do not. Usually, you can apply the simple test of seeing if it is there. If it is there, it exists. If not, it probably doesn’t, but it might just be currently existing somewhere else. Existence is tricky, the scientists say. Research shows this. For instance, there is that house in the housing development of Desert Creek out back of the elementary school, the house that doesn’t exist. It seems like it exists. Like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to be there than not. But it does not exist. They have proved this with science. The scientists still haven’t gotten up the nerve to ring the doorbell and find out what happens. Do you want to do it? They’ll pay you five dollars if you do. Just ring it once ok. We’ll be watching from back here. You’ll probably be fine. (25)

Carlos and his scientists, like Luisa and Nilanjana, are renewing their investigation into the house in the development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school. The house that doesn’t actually exist. “It seems like it exists,” muttered Carlos. “Like it’s just right there when you look at it, and it’s between two other identical houses so it would make more sense for it to be there than not.” But he says, it is actually a doorway to another world. A world he himself was once stuck in for a year. There seem to be secrets about that year he is keeping to himself. Maybe someday we will learn what they are. (111)

Lights, seen in the sky above the Arby’s. Not the glowing sign of Arby’s. Something higher and beyond that. We know the difference. We’ve caught on to their game. We understand the lights above Arby’s game. Invaders from another world. Ladies and gentlemen the future is here. And it’s about a hundred feet above the Arby’s. (1)

But here, Carlos and I sat on the trunk of that car, his car, looking together at the lights up in the sky above the Arby’s. They were beautiful in the hushed twilight, shimmering in a night sky already coming alive with bits of the universe. [...] We understand the lights. We understand the lights above the Arby’s. We understand so much. But the sky behind those lights, mostly void, partially stars, that sky reminds us: we don’t understand even more. (25)

Lights, seen in the sky above the Arby’s. Not the glowing sign of Arby’s. Something higher and beyond that. One night, years ago, two people, scared and vulnerable and loving and ready, came together for a quiet moment under that sky. And I pretended at the time to understand the lights. But a big part of recognizing the world for what it is, is recognizing when you have no idea. Invaders from another world? Harbingers of future terror? A fragment of another universe, fading into our own above reasonably priced lunch meat? Maybe any. Maybe all. Maybe none. But here is what I do know. The lights are, among other things, a part of my memory, and a part of my marriage, and a part of my love. They are a piece of my past, and I don’t need to understand them to understand that. Ladies and gentlemen the past is here. And it’s about a hundred feet above the Arby’s. (111)

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens, and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is that you should not know anything about this. The structure of heaven and the angelic organizational chart are privileged information, known only to City Council members on a need to know basis. Please to do not speak to or acknowledge any angels that you may come across while shopping at the Ralphs or at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. They only tell lies, and do not exist. Report all angels sightings to the City Council for treatment. (1)

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens, and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is that you still should not know anything about this. The structure of heaven and the angelic organizational chart are still privileged information. Also, angels aren’t real. “I really get tired of having to say this,” a City Council representative said to a group of disgruntled angels. “Angels aren’t real. They just aren’t.” The angels became unruly and were dispersed by a thunderclap from heaven. (25)

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is the Council is grumpy that all of this is not forbidden knowledge, but due to the new laws, they are required to inform you that the angels have made all of that information available. Stop by the house where the angels live if you want to pick up a free packet outlining exactly how all of that is organized. While the packet itself is free, it is likely the angels will ask to borrow five dollars. They tend to do that. (111)

Speaking of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, its owner, Teddy Williams, reports that he has found the entrance to a vast, underground city in the pin retrieval area of lane 5. He said he has not yet ventured into it, merely peered down at its strange spires and broad avenues. He also reports voices of a distant crowd in the depths of that subterranean metropolis. Apparently the entrance was discovered when a bowling ball accidentally rolled into it, clattering down to the city below with sounds that echoed for miles across the impossibly huge cavern. So, you know, whatever population that city has, they know about us now and we might be hearing from them very soon. (1)

Word is in about a disturbance at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. There has been the sound of chanting and machinery from under the pin retrieval area of lane five, and Teddy Williams has changed all the bowlers’ names on the electronic scorecards to “THEY ARE HERE”. This is causing some confusion and has completely ruined Jeremy Godfrey's 50th birthday party, which had rented out a few lanes for the afternoon. Jeremy was last seen drinking a light beer out of a plastic cup, shaking his head sadly as he swished the liquid around and looking out the window at the sky, mostly void, partially stars. Teddy Williams was last seen howling, commanding his militia to surround the pin retrieval area and prepare for an attack. (25)

Over at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, Teddy Williams, its owner, reported the startling news that there is nothing under the pin retrieval area of lane 5. As you may remember, there has been a tiny city of warlike people under the bowling alley for several years now, which has caused some trouble, although not a lot of trouble, because they were very tiny people. But now there is just a hole in the earth under the pin retrieval area, an empty space containing only my own memories of a night that someone I loved almost died before I had a chance to truly love him. So good riddance to whatever that town was. (111)

Carlos, perfect and beautiful, came into our studios during the break earlier but declined to stay for an interview. He had some sort of blinking box in his hand covered with wires and tubes. Said he was testing the place for materials. I don’t know what materials he meant, but that box sure whistled and beeped a lot. When he put it close to the microphone, it sounded like, well, like a bunch of baby birds had just woken up. Really went crazy. Carlos looked nervous. I’ve never seen that kind of look on someone with that strong of a jaw. He left in a hurry. Told us to evacuate the building, but then, who would be here to talk sweetly to all of you out there. (1)

I arrived at the parking lot to find Carlos, perched on the trunk of his car in flannel and jeans, his perfect hair mussed, his perfect teeth hidden. “What is it?” I said. “What danger are we in? What mystery needs to be explored?” He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “After everything that happened...I just wanted to see you.” My heart leapt. My heart soared. My heart, metaphorically, performed a number of aerial activities, and, literally, it began beat hard. (25)

Carlos, perfect and beautiful, came into our studios during the break earlier, and we ate lunch together out of Tupperwares. He had some sort of blinking box in his hand covered with wires and tubes. When he put it close to the microphone, it sounded like, well, like a bunch of baby birds had just woken up. Really went crazy. He asked if I remembered it. He had brought it by on the first day we had met. He had told me that it tested for materials, but he wasn’t actually sure what materials it tested for. He had just wanted an excuse to come by and talk to me. “Anyway,” he said, “I thought it was a nice memento. Back when we were fumbling awkwardly toward this life we share.” “But,” he added, “it’s a real instrument that is detecting some actual materials of some kind, so there is a good chance that everything about this studio is deeply dangerous. Please be careful.” (111)

Settling in to be another clear and pretty evening here in Night Vale. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with, or at least good memories of when you did. Good night, listeners. Good night. (1)

We understand the lights. We understand the lights above the Arby’s. We understand so much. But the sky behind those lights, mostly void, partially stars, that sky reminds us: we don’t understand even more. Good night, Night Vale. Good night. (25)

Settling in to be another clear and pretty evening here in Night Vale, this weird, weird town. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with. I know I do. Good night, listeners. Good night. (111)

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ververa · 4 years

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Like Mothers, Like Daughter

A/N: You have no idea how nervous I am right now, but I said I’ll post the first part, so I’m keeping my word, even though I feel like it’s not good enough. It has been rewritten at least 10 times and this is only some kind of introduction. For now it’s just my precious little Ellie. There’s no Mildred and no Wilhemina yet. But they’ll appear soon, I promise. Just bear with me, please 🙏�� Many thanks to @awildgothappeared!!! Thank you so much for helping me with this series and thank you for convincing me to post this part!!! I’d probably never decide to do it if it hadn’t been for you Stevie <3 This story truly means a lot to me and all three of them - Ellie, Millie and Mina have a special place in my heart. They’re my new holy trinity. I put a lot of effort into this story - that’s why it’s taking me so long.

Anyways, I hope you will all enjoy it!!! And just in case, I am sorry if this is shit, cause I actually sort of feel like it is 🙈 Also if anyone has any thoughts/suggestions/opinions do let me know!

Words count: ~3k

Tag list: @midnight-lestrange, @natasha-danvers, @stopkillinglilyrabe, @welshdragonrawr, @saucy-sapphic, @yang12e, @xixxiixx, @pradababey

Seemingly nothing had changed. Life was going on as it used to before, its usual way. Some governess would wake Ellie up at 7am, it wouldn’t be the same one who was there the previous evening. No, because for some reason the former one wasn’t suitable for the position. None of them were, because it was truly impossible to measure up to Mrs Staple’s expectations. Ellie knew, because she had been trying to ever since she had learned to speak. It didn’t matter how many languages she mastered or how good her grades were or that she became a champion of the fencing team. The woman, she was supposed to call her mother, would never be satisfied, the same as she would never be happy with the work all those governesses did. Some of them were fired, because they truly were useless, others were just unlucky and had a horrible timing - it really was an unpleasant experience to get in a way of annoyed Mrs Staple‒

Ellie stopped getting attached to them a long time ago. Not that she actually had a chance to. In fact, she didn’t even bother to remember their names any more and decided to give them numbers instead. Though sometimes, she did wonder where they find all of them. How many well-qualified governesses could be there in town? Where did they all come from?

That morning, the governess was bearing a name “241”. Quite impressive. Ellie thought as she was brushing her teeth. But it wouldn't last for too long. Perhaps it was only until the evening or maybe afternoon - depending on Lillian’s mood. And then the poor woman would have to leave, quicker than she appeared, just like 240 other women before her. That's how it worked with her mother. The demonic, callous woman really knew no limits.

Ellie was barely twelve, yet she was well aware what motives drove her mother's behavior. Each action had a perfectly explainable reason. The desire for power, the need of being in control. Though, the truth was, Lillian wasn't in a place to be a decision making one. She had never actually had a say and she knew, for a fact, that she would never have. She wasn't even close to it. She wasn't Staple, not by blood. And yet, despite this, she always introduced herself using her husband's family name - being boastful and vain as ever, nearly driving her only child apoplectic each time.

Lillian wanted to matter so badly, even if just for a moment, but still her actions, words, commands meant less than nothing. Even Ellie, though still a child, had more power than the cruel woman. And that's why Lillian hated her. She hated her only daughter, because Ellie was born Staple, she was born to the purple and carried an incredible power within her small body–

And all that appeared to be a good enough reason to terrorize 240 babysitters, who would not be needed at all if Lillian could just bring herself to care about her only child in the first place. But she couldn't and she didn't. She never wanted to have children, definitely not a girl. Maybe a son. Maybe–

If Ellie was a boy… maybe she'd be able to care, to love her child. But even then it wouldn't be the unconditional type of love. It would be yet another transaction, the tying agreement, which would, of course, be in her interest. Just like her marriage and all the relations within the family. But Ellie wasn't a boy and she didn't matter as much as a male successor would and so Lillian didn't care. She did what was expected of her, she gave birth to the next successor, and that was it. All she was willing to do and there was no way she'd put any more effort into it. She gave her husband what he wanted and was the least bit interested in her child's future. Lillian was too selfish to care, too busy fighting for her own position to even think about Elizabeth.

Ellie's father always told her that everyone had a little bit of the light and dark in them. People were complex like a cosmic system, both inside and outside. She liked that comparison.

"None of us are just black or white, or always right and never wrong. We have a universe within ourselves. We all have a little bit of the sun and moon inside. Everyone has good and bad forces working with them, within them and against them"

She believed it, but as much as she tried - she couldn't find any kind of light within her mother. There was nothing, just coldness and hatred - guiding her through life, leaving her blind to everything, but her selfish needs and whims.

"Elizabeth," her teacher's voice would bring her back to reality. And the day would carry on, as usual.

Ellie would participate in her classes and then have lunch downstairs. She would eat alone, as her father would be still at work and Lillian wouldn’t even bother to join the girl, preferring her own company over watching her little defeater, a perfect copy of her husband. Or maybe if they were lucky enough, the governess would keep her company. Though even if she would, even if somehow lady “241” would manage to keep her position and call it a day - Ellie probably wouldn’t decide to talk to her anyways. Why would she, knowing that the woman would soon disappear from her life forever?

But Ellie didn’t mind being on her own at all. She already got used to it. She had been a homeschooler since… always. She had been under lock and key her whole life, because that was their way of keeping her safe. That’s what they told her at least and she accepted it. That was the only way of living Ellie knew and she completely settled into it. She didn't ask, she didn't question their motives. She let it be, because there was nothing she could do. She didn't want to do anything.

She liked her life, well, she thought so leastways. She had nothing to complain about. She was safe, warm, had her books and her piano. Her teacher, constantly-changing governesses and servants provided some kind of company - preventing her from loosening her grip on reality completely. Her life wasn’t all that bad. Yes. It could have been worse after all. And homeschooling wasn’t the end of the world, right? It had both positive and negative sides, as everything - just like her father said. And that’s what Ellie was focused on.

After lunch her lessons would continue. The teacher would ask about some mathematical equations and she would solve all of them, before unerringly answering all subsequent questions. Ellie was a clever child and a fast learner. She was also stubborn and aimed at mastering whatever she wanted to perfection. She had to be good enough, she had to measure up, prove herself. And she was doing her best, steadfastly.

Everyone was foretelling her a bright future. She could do anything she wanted, those who didn’t know certain things were convinced of it. And those who knew the truth, the reality, the true meaning hidden behind the Staple’s name and the family roots - remained silent. Ellie was only a child after all, besides no one wanted to have a problem with her father, or even worse - with her grandfather. But they didn’t need to talk about it. Ellie, as a highly intelligent girl that she undoubtedly was, knew. She knew her future was doomed, because she was a prisoner, just like her father and grandfather, even her mother and the rest of the family. They were all prisoners, shackled with invisible cuffs - the life-long deal their ancestors had made ages before. They were prisoners to the nonreversible decision.

It may seem quite dramatic, sad even to some people, but they didn’t understand it. They never cared enough to comprehend the deep meaning behind the family’s actions, perhaps too ignorant or narrow-minded to decipher it. But they didn’t matter. Their opinions were irrelevant.

Ellie never had a problem with that. She never truly allowed herself to think about the future, but she didn’t need to worry, not just yet. She had her father - her guardian and friend - who was there to keep her safe. He always knew how to make everything better. How to fix what appeared to be unfixable. And he was there at all times. He was there to hold his little girl, the apple of his eye. He was there to teach her and guide her. To grant Ellie the love and approval she couldn’t receive from Lillian. He was there, so that she could have a happy and peaceful childhood. And all that made Ellie feel lucky. Not all kids had what she did. Not all children were able to experience this kind of love. She knew. Elias told her about those children - left on their own, without anyone who would look after them, or love them the way he loved her. Whenever she remembered all those stories something inside her hurt. Her heart - it ached, every time Elias was telling her about that one little girl.

Ellie undeniably was compassionate and sensitive, her soul was still pure and free, untainted. She didn’t have to bear the burden of her decision, she didn’t have to carry it on her own like her father. That’s why she couldn’t understand his breaking down. She couldn’t figure out the reason for his tears, when she gave him one of her teddy bears, saying he should give it to the little girl. Ellie couldn’t know. Not back then.

And then, when her lessons were over, their butler - Leonard would take her to the fencing classes. That was the only time Ellie was out, freed from the thin walls of the castle they lived in. She always cherished every second of it, because every moment of freedom was like an incredible adventure.

She had been training for years, because fencing made her stronger and showed a certain set of thinking skills. The classes would go great, as always. Ellie as a wonderful fencer would win some clash, but she wouldn't even think about it, already engulfed by anticipation of the evening.

Ellie’s favourite part of the day was dinner. No, not the dinner itself - the whole process of it. The anticipation and preparations. Their servants would be preparing everything, putting a lot of effort into details, so as to avoid getting in trouble with Lillian. She was fabled for her choleric nature and no one wanted to be reprimanded. That's why they always did their best, striving to meet Lillian's expectations and avoid unhinging her.

The table had to be polished until it gleamed. Table covers had to be clean and smoothed. Dinnerware and cutlery had to be polished to a high gloss. And napkins… napkins had to have the right colors, because colors couldn't clash. After all those years Ellie learned the process by heart. She remembered everything, every little detail and the order of all those actions.

A plate in the middle. A napkin on the left, then forks - salad fork and dinner fork. The right side was where a dinner knife, dinner spoon and soup spoon were placed. And then glasses - a water glass and wine glass - on the right, above the spoons. It wasn't all that hard to remember. It definitely was far more complicated when it came to the formal dinner place setting, but when it was just the three of them - Ellie and her parents - the servants didn't have to worry about it. Informal setting was enough, unless Lillian decided differently.

By the time the table was set, Ellie would be fully in on her anticipation mood. After all it wasn't about the dinner or setting the table, it was about her father finally coming back home. Elizabeth would wait impatiently - pulled up to comfortably sit on the windowsill of the living room window. She did it every evening. Awaiting her father's car to turn into the driveway. Waiting for him to cross the doorstep and take her into his arms as he always did. She anticipated having dinner with him and then spending hours on talking and listening to his stories.

Ellie waited. One hour passed. Then another. Lillian gave up and ordered someone to bring her dinner upstairs, as she wasn't going to eat with Ellie even under those circumstances. They complied, Lillian got her dinner and finished it, while Ellie kept waiting, not moving from her spot even for a second, so as not to miss the moment of Elias' arrival. She waited, but he didn't come back. She fell asleep eventually and Leonard carefully carried her to her room. His heart was breaking for the girl, because he knew exactly what was happening. He already knew what Ellie didn't or maybe she did. She did, perhaps, but refused to accept it…

She kept waiting. For hours, days, a week. Whenever she heard some car, she would rush to the window, hoping it was Elias. Ellie found it hard to focus on anything else. She barely ate and sleep, she just passed out from exhaustion basically every evening. Each time Leonard would take her upstairs and tuck her in bed. Though in the morning she'd be back downstairs, most likely wearing one of her father's hats or shirts - almost three times too big for her- but it didn't matter. She didn't care. If she could, she'd most likely not only wear his clothes, but also spend every minute of the day in her spot on the windowsill.

Where did he go? Why didn't he come back? Every part of her aching heart couldn't accept it. She needed him… who would protect her now? Who would be there for her? Where did he think he's going and why couldn't he take her with him? He always did. They always did everything together. And then he was gone, just like that–

Honestly, she knew he wouldn't come back. She knew, but she didn't want to let go, not yet. She wasn't ready to do it.

And it was okay. Ellie could say it by the way their servants looked at her - so sympathetically. They hurt too. Perhaps not as much as she did, but they did in their own way. The only person who seemed to remain untouched was Lillian.

Even then, all she could think of was herself. She didn't display any kind of emotions. She wasn't sad or hurt and she didn't even try to pretend that she was.

"Will you finally pull yourself together?" Lillian growled, sipping on her drink, not even looking at Ellie "He won't come back. Ever."

Ellie frowned a little. There were a lot of things she could tell her mother, a lot of mean and hateful things. Though it didn't feel okay. It didn't feel like her, so she didn't. She held it all back, responding with simple "Why do you have to be like that?"

"Like what?" Lillian asked, looking at her manicured nails, acting the least bit interested in what her daughter actually had to say.

"Why can't you at least pretend that you care?"

"Don't be pathetic, Elizabeth."

Ellie sighed. There was no point in continuing the conversation. She wasn't pathetic. It wasn't pathetic. Feeling was a human thing, right?

A few days later a tall man dressed in black suit brought Elias' stuff from his clinic. They packed it all in a box. Over 20 years of his research, his work, his life - were enclosed in just one box. Leonard carried it to Elias' office and Ellie followed. She needed answers that no one wanted to give her, so she hoped she'd actually find something in the box. And she did. Her father left her a note–

Seemingly nothing had changed. Her body was still susceptible to pain, still breakable. It had to eat and breathe air and sleep. It still shuddered, as it had shuddered before. She still had to learn and she did, as she had done before. Life was going on, its usual way. Nothing changed - and yet everything was different. People, manners, course of boundaries. And amid it all her soul traipsed elusively. It disappeared, then came back, drew nearer and moved away from reality. She hurt, she cried. Feeling like an alien - at times certain, at others uncertain of her own existence. Trapped in her own grief and pain.

Ellie had been raised in a box - her father's castle, a perfect world he created just for her. But life was more than that. Life was different and not at all perfect. In truth it seemed to be far more unfriendly and sinister than she may have expected. She found herself lost in the new reality. The reality without her father. The world she knew had been shattered, completely destroyed. And learning to live all over again wasn't all that easy, but she was strong. Elias taught her how to be strong and she knew she could face all the obstacles. She had to - for him.

She was born into this goddamn family and that was the only thing she couldn't change. Though all the rest, everything else depended on her. He hadn't taught her all the things she knew without a reason…

"In life there are only two permanent things - happiness and existential pain. Life likes to gratify and hurt. It's a venom that heals and a rose that pricks. At times it's pretty good, although sometimes it's quite bad. And future matters are unforeseeable…" Elias' note said.

And so despite the pain she still believed there was more good than bad in life. She just had to look hard enough - like her father said.

#ellie staple #dr ellie staple #wilhemina venable x mildred ratched #Mildred Ratched #wilhemina venable #sarah paulson imagine #sarah paulson fic #like mothers like daughter #part 1

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mamsellechosette24601 · 4 years

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In the Green vs the real Hildegard's writings and philosophy

Because of “In the Green”, I started reading a bit about Hildegard and her thinking so as to better explore the themes of the musical. I read the book “Hildegard of Bingen: A Spiritual Reader", by Carmen Acevedo Butcher, which was short and insightful, with lots of excerpts from Hildegard, so I’ll share what I got from it in relation to the musical.

1. The symbolism of the colour green and of the sun

"Hildegard called this vigor viriditas, the “green” energy of agape love pulsing through the entire universe. Over and over in her writings, she chooses viriditas to express God’s vitality and the ways His goodness and love charge the whole world with life, beauty, and renewal—literally, with “greenness.” Her unique, creative use of this Latin word makes it something of a neologism in her work. In Hildegard’s mind, viriditas was first found in the green of the garden of Eden, but it is also the green of whatever twig you or I happen to be looking at in this present moment, whoever we are, wherever we may be. She knew that the natural opposite of this “greening” energy was spiritual desiccation (including what we often call “depression”). But, like God’s mercy, His revitalizing viriditas has no limits. Wherever Hildegard looked, she saw that this “green” force animates every creature and plant on this planet with verdant divine love."

"The patriarchs and prophets who prefigured and predicted Christ were the “roots” of God’s divine tree, on which sprouted the most delicate “bud,” who is God’s Son, and from Him grew the “fruit” of the virtues: Humility, Charity, Divine Love, Patience, and their sisters. This is a favorite metaphor for Hildegard, and in her songs she praises the Virgin Mary as the “twig” or “branch” on which the “bud,” baby Jesus, flowered. By her intelligent selection of this one word, oculus, Hildegard has shown the center of her work—that to see God is to grow."

"In one of this volume’s poems praising Mary, “Grateful for the Unobtrusive Good,” Hildegard’s use of metaphors suggests that she saw no separation between symbol and fact. Metaphors were reality to her. Hildegard’s point in this song is that the divinely made sun giving earth life is also, in a mystical way, the life-giving Son of God who as the Word made creation’s every twig, including Mary, and yet was also Mary’s “Bloom”(…) In this song to Mary, the sun (also God’s Spirit) shines on the Virgin Mary, the “greenest twig.” She is a twig, not even a branch; but she is green with God’s pregnant vitality, and her comparative insignificance (as a woman, and unmarried) prepares her for the greatness of God’s Spirit to grow within her and produce the miraculous “flowering” of God’s divine-human Son. Her weakness is her strength, a recurring theme in Hildegard."

So, when Jutta sings “I can see the last of the light / Reflected in the green / Of everything”and we know what is going to happen, we’re supposed to cry at the distortion of life’s goodness

Sun Song gains a much more religious meaning, when we see everything that the sun and nature meant for Hildegard. In her “Book of Divine Works”, the Holy Spirit says: "I’m the divine flame of life, I burn above the golden fields, I sparkle on water, and I shine like the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Together with the loving, hidden power of the wind, I make everything come alive. Remember that I’m also Reason. I inform the wind of the first Word that created all things. I’m your breath, I’m the breath of all things, and none die because I am that Life." (should I read into In the Green’s “Air leaves my lungs/ I’m lying on my back / I’m staring at the sky / I open up my mouth but the air swallows my cry”? Jutta was forsaken by God, completely).

Death Ceremony, with its translation of “O Viridissima Virga”, introduces us to Jutta’s and Hildegard’s quest away from Eve’s curse and towards the Virgin Mary. The “little green branch” seeks the “branch of freshest green”, instead of rotting.

The idea of strength in weakness, which the Hildegards find in First Verb, appears, together with the aforementioned notions of the “green” and the “bud”, in Hildegard’s “Play of the Virtues”. "The virtues and the souls: 'When the world began, everything pulsed with life and was the tenderest shade of green.Flowers blossomed everywhere. But, after the Fall, everything green faded." The Warrior-of-Truth saw it all and said: 'I see what happened, but my house is not yet full. Look at me instead. I’m the image of your Father. Know my broken body broken for you. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of being made a laughing-stock. It goes straight through me. Even my followers lose heart. But remember this. The original abundance of green did not have to shrivel up, and your faith will see its way to strength, until you know the divinity of my jewel-covered body intimately, a gem in each injury, and each injury a bud. Look, Father! See my wounds? Now, let people everywhere kneel before God the Father, who’ll hand us strength on strength."

2. Hildegard’s “Scivias”, where she first shares her divine visions vs Jutta

In “Scivias” Hildegard writes a metaphor of the sinning soul. Turning away from God and towards sin (the “North”), the soul speaks “I regret that so much now! For I was captured, robbed, blinded, and violated. My garment was torn. I was dragged to a gruesome place and subjected to the worst kind of slavery”.

Then the soul repents, and hides in a cave, like Jutta hid in the Undergound: “After I’d said this, I went down the narrow path and hid from the eyes of the North. I went into a tiny cave and wept because I’d lost my Mother Zion. I wept, too, for all my wounds. I wept for my sadness. I wept and wept. I cried so many tears, they absorbed my pain and bruises. Then I smelled something very sweet. It reminded me of my mother’s soft breath on my cheek. That small comfort made me cry some more. I was so full of joy that I cried until it shook the mountain of my cave." The crying out of joy that will force the soul out of the cave also kind of reminds me of The Ripening, especially in this connection to a mother’s love (“In living I have learned/ to love another as a mother/ And I’ve felt that love inside my wicked flesh”) but I may be reading too much into it.

The soul then is persecuted by her enemies, and we are told “Then I saw poisonous snakes, scorpions, and other hideous reptiles slithering towards me. The snakes were hissing. I screamed, “Mother! Where are you?! Help me!” I heard my mother say, “Run, daughter! The Omnipotent, Unconquerable Provider has given you wings. Fly! Fly over these things blocking your path!” And I did." Compare this to “I’m not going back / I’ll run until I die / And when I can no longer run / I’ll teach myself to fly / I try”. All in all, the world of Hildegard’s visions is far from the reality Jutta faced.

The soul faces self-doubt and recovers remembering it was created by God: “The Devil’s poison arrow is the evil robbing me of my spiritual joy. I don’t want to celebrate people or God. I doubt everything when I feel this way, including my salvation. But when God helps me remember that He created me, then—even in the middle of my depression—I tell the Devil, “I won’t give in to my fragile clay. I’ll fight you!” How? When my inner self decides to rebel against God, I’ll walk with wise patience over the marrow and blood of my body. I’ll be the lion defending himself from a snake, roaring and knocking it back into its hole.” It echoes Jutta’s advice to Hildegard in The Rule, but of course, she is not whole like she claims she is. (“When you are whole, you will be like me / When you are whole, you will move confidently / Through your life / And you will understand how the boulder becomes sand / And you will know how to not become sand / When you are whole, you will never be scared / When you are whole, you will always be prepared / For a dragon's attack! / And you will slay the beast..or scare him away at least / And you will never again be the least”)

3. In “The Play of the Virtues”, Hildegard focuses a lot on clothing, as a metaphor for the “wearing” of salvation, as something we’re born with and must keep clean. This enhances how soul shattering Jutta’s experience was, “His hand pulling at my skirt”.

4. Letter to the Belgian Monk Guibert (1175) and Light Undercover: "My spirit is ever illuminated by what I call the shadow of the living Light. It has no physical limitations whatsoever and is much brighter than a cloud through which the sun shines. I can never predict when or how I’ll see it. As water reflects the sun, the moon, and the stars, this shadow of the living Light reflects God’s Word, sermons, virtues, and the things that humans do. Whatever I see in that Light’s shadow stays in my mind for a long time, stored away. I see and understand, hear and know at the same time. I only know what I see in these visions, because I’m untaught. I record what I see and hear, without adding my own words, and my Latin is unrefined, because that’s how I hear it in my visions. I’ve not been taught to write like a philosopher. Also, my visions are filled with images and sounds that are nothing like words spoken by any human. They’re more like a blazing fire and a cloud floating through a clear sky. I can’t comprehend this Light’s shadow any better than I can look right at the sun. Also, sometimes in that shadow (but not very often) I see another light. This is the living Light I spoke of earlier. I’m even less able to explain what this Light is like in comparison to the other. But I can say that when I look at it, every feeling of sadness disappears, and my every ache leaves me. I’m no longer an old, sick woman. I become young again." “Light is in the dark”, strength is in weakness.

5. The entire play gains a deeper, metalinguistic meaning, when we learn that for Hildegard, “When we sing, we repossess some of the Eden lost when Adam fell”. (Letter to the Prelates at Mainz, 1178).

6. Becoming Whole

Hildegard’s visions in “The Book of Life’s Merits” and Underground"I saw a very tall man. His head and shoulders were above the highest clouds. His torso was in a white cloud below this, while his upper legs were in the earth’s atmosphere. From the knees down, he was planted in the earth, and his feet were rooted in the deepest waters of the abyss, which represent the virtues and their power. They are the antidotes to sin, because they have the might to make anything whole. They do this by cleansing whatever they touch and making it holy. They nurture and sustain the world, and they bear all things. Everything on earth steeps in the moisture of the virtues and is made strong, in the same way that the soul makes the body moist and healthy, regenerating it."

In contrast to Jutta’s teachings about the body, Hildegard finds more balance in her writings, as Butcher puts it “Hildegard understood the symbiotic relationship between body and soul. She knew that when the body and soul are not in sync, a person’s whole world is out of whack. While she believed that the physical body is easily wayward and must be controlled, she did not teach that the body is evil (…) Hildegard’s work also emphasizes taking care of the body, because it is the sacred temple of the Holy Spirit”. Against ideas of duality, Hildegard brings “God’s goodness and the essential wholeness of a divine creation that refuses to be separated into neat-but-useless categories of earth and spirit, body and soul, nature and people”.

#in the green #grace mclean #hildegard von bingen #me doing this instead of studying #good thing I study medieval history anyway

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

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Anonymous asked: I noticed you did post to acknowledge the death of Uderzo, the co-creator of the Asterix comics. I have to ask Tintin or Asterix? Which one do you prefer?

It’s like asking Stones or Beatles? I love both but for different reasons. I would hate to choose between the two.

Both Tintin and Asterix were the two halves of a comic dyad of my childhood. Whether it was India, China, Hong Kong, Japan, or the Middle East the one thing that threads my childhood experience of living in these countries was finding a quiet place in the home to get lost reading Asterix and Tintin.

Even when I was eventually carted off to boarding school back in England I took as many of my Tintin and Asterix comics books with me as I could. They became like underground black market currency to exchange with other girls for other things like food or chocolates sent by parents and other illicit things like alcohol. Having them and reading them was like having familiar friends close by to make you feel less lonely in new surroundings and survive the bear pit of other girls living together.

If you asked my parents - especially my father - he would say Tintin hands down. He has - and continues to have in his library at home - a huge collection of Tintin comic books in as many different language translations as possible. He’s still collecting translations of each of the Tintin books in the most obscure languages he can find. I have both all the Tintin comic books - but only in English and French translations, and the odd Norwegian one - as well as all the Asterix comic books (only in English and French).

Speaking for myself I would be torn to decide between the two. Each have their virtues and I appreciate them for different reasons.

Tintin was truly about adventure that spoke deeply to me. Tintin was always a good detective story that soon turned to a travel adventure. It has it all: technology, politics, science and history. Of course the art is more simpler, but it is also cleaner and translates the wondrous far-off locations beautifully and with a sense of awe that you don’t see in the Asterix books. Indeed Hergé was into film-noir and thriller movies, and the panels are almost like storyboards for The Maltese Falcon or African Queen.

The plot lines of Tintin are intriguing rather than overly clever but the gallery of characters are much deeper, more flawed and morally ambiguous. Take Captain Haddock I loved his pullover, his strangely large feet, his endless swearing and his inability to pass a bottle without emptying it. He combined bravery and helplessness in a manner I found irresistible.

I’ve read that there is a deeply Freudian reading to the Tintin books. I think there is a good case for it. The Secret of the Unicorn and Red Rackham's Treasure are both about Captain Haddock's family. Haddock's ancestor, Sir Francis Haddock, is the illegitimate son of the French Sun King – and this mirrors what happened in Hergé's family, who liked to believe that his father was the illegitimate son of the Belgian king. This theme played out in so many of the books. In The Castafiore Emerald, the opera singer sings the jewel song from Faust, which is about a lowly woman banged up by a nobleman – and she sings it right in front of Sir Francis Haddock, with the captain blocking his ears. It's like the Finnegans Wake of the cartoon. Nothing happens - but everything happens.

Another great part is that the storylines continue on for several albums, allowing them to be more complex, instead of the more simplistic Asterix plot lines which are always wrapped up nicely at the end of each book.

Overall I felt a great affinity with Tintin - his youthful innocence, wanting to solve problems, always resourceful, optimistic, and brave. Above all Tintin gave me wanderlust. Was there a place he and Milou (Snowy) didn’t go to? When they had covered the four corners of the world Tintin and Milou went to the moon for heaven’s sake!

What I loved about Asterix was the style, specifically Uderzo’s visual style. I liked Hergé’s clean style, the ligne claire of his pen, but Asterix was drawn as caricature: the big noses, the huge bellies, often being prodded by sausage-like fingers. This was more appealing to little children because they were more fun to marvel at.

In particular I liked was the way Uderzo’s style progressed with each comic book. The panels of Asterix the Gaul felt rudimentary compared to the later works and by the time Asterix and Cleopatra, the sixth book to be published, came out, you finally felt that this was what they ought to look like. It was an important lesson for a child to learn: that you could get better at what you did over time. Each book seemed to have its own palette and perhaps Uderzo’s best work is in Asterix in Spain.

I also feel Asterix doesn’t get enough credit for being more complex. Once you peel back the initial layers, Asterix has some great literal depth going on - puns and word play, the English translation names are all extremely clever, there are many hidden details in the superb art to explore that you will quite often miss when you initially read it and in a lot of the truly classic albums they are satirising a real life country/group/person/political system, usually in an incredibly clever and humorous way.

What I found especially appealing was that it was also a brilliant microcosm of many classical studies subjects - ancient Egypt, the Romans and Greek art - and is a good first step for young children wanting to explore that stuff before studying it at school.

What I discovered recently was that Uderzo was colour blind which explains why he much preferred the clear line to any hint of shade, and it was that that enabled his drawings to redefine antiquity so distinctively in his own terms. For decades after the death of René Goscinny in 1977, Uderzo provided a living link to the golden age of the greatest series of comic books ever written: Paul McCartney to Goscinny’s John Lennon. Uderzo, as the Asterix illustrator, was better able to continue the series after Goscinny’s death than Goscinny would have been had Uderzo had died first, and yet the later books were, so almost every fan agrees, not a patch on the originals: very much Wings to the Beatles. What elevated the cartoons, brilliant though they were, to the level of genius was the quality of the scripts that inspired them. Again and again, in illustration after illustration, the visual humour depends for its full force on the accompaniment provided by Goscinny’s jokes.

Here below is a great example:

There’s a lot of genius in this. Uderzo copied Theodore Géricault’s iconic ‘Raft of the Medusa’ 1818 painting in ‘Asterix The Legionary’. The painting is generally regarded as an icon of Romanticism. It depicts an event whose human and political aspects greatly interested Géricault: the wreck of a French frigate, Medusa, off the coast of Senegal in 1816, with over 150 soldiers on board. But Anthea Bell’s translation of Goscinny’s text (including the pictorial and verbal pun ‘we’ve been framed, by Jericho’) is really extraordinary and captures the spirit of the Asterix cartoons perfectly.

This captures perfectly my sense of humour as it acknowledges the seriousness of life but finds humour in them through a sly cleverness and always with a open hearted joy. There is no question that if humour was the measuring yard stick then Asterix and not Tintin would win hands down.

It’s also a mistake to think that the world of Asterix was insular in comparison to the amazing countries Tintin had adventures. Asterix’s world is very much Europe.

Every nationality that Asterix encounters is gently satirised. No other post-war artistic duo offered Europeans a more universally popular portrait of themselves, perhaps, than did Goscinny and Uderzo. The stereotypes with which he made such affectionate play in his cartoons – the haughty Spaniard, the chocolate-loving Belgian, the stiff-upper-lipped Briton – seemed to be just what a continent left prostrate by war and nationalism were secretly craving. Many shrewd commentators believe that during the golden age when Goscinny was still alive to pen the scripts, that it was a fantasy on French resistance during occupation by Nazi Germany. Uderzo lived through the occupation and so there is truth in that. Perhaps this is why the Germans are the exceptions as they are treated unsympathetically in Asterix and the Goths, and why quite a few of the books turn on questions of loyalty and treachery.

Even the British are satirised with an affection that borders on love: the worst of the digs are about our appalling cuisine (everything is boiled, and served with mint sauce, and the beer is warm), but everything points to the Gauls’ and the Britons’ closeness. They have the same social structure, even down to having one village still holding out against the Romans; the crucial and extremely generous difference being that the Britons do not have a magic potion to help them fight. Instead they have tea, introduced to them by Getafix, via Asterix, which gives them so much of a psychological boost that it may as well have been the magic potion.

I re-read ‘Asterix in Britain’ (Astérix chez les Bretons) in the light of the 2016 Brexit referendum result and felt despaired that such a playful and respectful portrayal of this country was not reciprocated. Don’t get me wrong I voted for Brexit but I remain a staunch Europhile. It made me violently irritated to see many historically illiterate pro-Brexit oiks who mistakenly believed the EU and Europe were the same thing. They are not. One was originally a sincere band aid to heal and bring together two of the greatest warring powers in continental Europe that grotesquely grew into an unaccountable bureaucratic manager’s utopian wet dream, and the other is a cradle of Western achievement in culture, sciences and the arts that we are all heirs to.

What I loved about Asterix was that it cut across generations. As a young girl I often retreated into my imaginary world of Asterix where our family home had an imaginary timber fence and a dry moat to keep the world (or the Romans) out. I think this was partly because my parents were so busy as many friends and outsiders made demands on their time and they couldn’t say no or they were throwing lavish parties for their guests. Family time was sacred to us all but I felt especially miffed if our time got eaten away. Then, as I grew up, different levels of reading opened up to me apart from the humour in the names, the plays on words, and the illustrations. There is something about the notion of one tiny little village, where everybody knows each other, trying to hold off the dark forces of the rest of the world. Being the underdog, up against everyone, but with a sense of humour and having fun, really resonated with my child's eye view of the world.

The thing about both Asterix and Tintin books is that they are at heart adventure comics with many layers of detail and themes built into them. For children, Asterix books are the clear winner, as they have much better art and are more fantastical. Most of the bad characters in the books are not truly evil either and no-one ever dies, which appeals hugely to children. For older readers, Tintin has danger, deeper characters with deep political themes, bad guys with truly evil motives, and even deaths. It’s more rooted in the real world, so a young reader can visualise themselves as Tintin, travelling to these real life places and being a hero.

As I get older and re-read Asterix and Tintin from time to time I discover new things.

From Asterix, there is something about the notion of one tiny little village, where everybody knows each other, trying to hold off the dark forces of the rest of the world. Being the underdog, up against everyone, but with a sense of humour and having fun, really resonated with my child's eye view of the world. In my adult world it now makes me appreciate the value of family, friends, and community and even national identity. Even as globalisation and the rise of homogenous consumerism threatens to envelope the unique diversity of our cultures, like Asterix, we can defend to the death the cultural values that define us but not through isolation or by diminishing the respect due to other cultures and their cultural achievements.

From Tintin I got wanderlust. This fierce even urgent need to travel and explore the world was in part due to reading the adventures of Tintin. It was by living in such diverse cultures overseas and trying to get under the skin of those cultures by learning their languages and respecting their customs that I realised how much I valued my own heritage and traditions without diminishing anyone else.

So I’m sorry but I can’t choose one over the other, I need both Asterix and Tintin as a dyad to remind me that the importance of home and heritage is best done through travel and adventure elsewhere.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #comics #tintin #asterix #personal #arts #culture

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blixt-the-kuwabaras-admirer · 4 years

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Each parent I have is loving. I’m fortunate.

I know many people who got the short end of the stick.

People whose dads left or beat them.

People who were kicked out at eighteen, rendered useless, slumped in parking lots under the torrid summer sun. Quivering in the wretched Missouri winters, couch hopping and looking for work. Smoking tobacco and drinking vodka to cross off another hour of their lifespan; making their sorrows a haze.

Angelically, my parents are caring.

Demonically, a divorce created many byproducts of inner demons that I was blind to see.

Psychologically, I could never wrap my head around the idea of divorce. Youth compromised my understanding.

I was convinced it wasn’t a big deal. For attention in elementary, I used my parent’s divorce as an excuse. School girls would sympathize when I brought up that little word: divorce.

As I grew, I brushed it off and got more accustomed to the world. Learning about hate crimes. Mental illness. Poverty. Drug abuse. Foriegn problems. Divorce was an ember in comparison to that inferno.

Never did it strike me till late, that I was being too rough on myself. You shouldn't compare your trauma to anyone else's. Nobody is perfect. Each of us experience different forms of pain. It's just best that we feel for eachother even if someone’s pain isn’t as grave as another’s.

I learned that dicorce was no laughing matter.

Divorce is the broken bond between two former loving souls.

Divorce is the polarization of the most powerful force in the universe: love.

My entire family feels like a political spectrum.

There is bias and hate on both sides.

Lobbyists who try to win me over.

Misinformation on both sides. On the subject of my brother’s mentality and his grades.

It’s difficult to decipher what’s reality and what isn’t. Unintentionally, each government official (one more than the other) wanted more power. Imperialization upon the lands of our minds like we were slaves to act upon their bidding.

My brother is currently fighting off a real trauma, surpassing me on the adverse child experience trauma test. Getting better grades on that test than in public school.

He looks up to me like a father, as the real father weeps everyday, suffering from bipolar depression, burning marijuana to escape the haunting words his own son scorched out of deep melancholy: ‘I hate you…’

After the closing of several moons, I jump between states. Hearing each side's biased news.

Stepmother ravages my mom with hurtful words no child should hear. Repudiating that my brother is actually honest or hardworking.

Blemishing half my blood.

I can’t make peace. I can’t argue. I’ve tried, but each time I’m helpless.

I’d like to defend my household, but I can’t negotiate. I’d break the face of anyone that would disregard my mom or brother, but I can’t hit this woman.

To be frank, I want to leave. But I’m bound. Nineteen but tethered to a state surrounded by many clouded citizens that prey on people who share my political and religious beliefs. In truth I can abandon everything. Live my dreams in the colorful Colorado mountains or the rolling hills and urban marvels of California.

Abandoning everything would reduce me to nothing. No insurance. No shelter. No food. Most importantly, I’d be abandoning a sister who needs a friend, a brother who needs a father figure, a father who needs a friend and someone new to talk to besides the woman he regrets marrying. And lastly a mother who needs support.

For the free necessities and the bonds that keep me sane, I stay.

I stay. Unemployed. Staring at a wall. Stressing over college and to cross off each daily goal to administer me closer towards my dreams. Wishing for a female to cross my path. The right girl to stick by my side and remind me that everything is alright. A feminine voice to ward off depression and to act as a stress reliever. Embodying a painkiller.

Recent women who’ve abused my dying wad of cash, my time, my hopes, the soul of my cardiovascular organ, the stash of weed I scrambled, and my Nissan’s gas tank… have evinced my mistrust for people. Reinforcing my standards for the type of person I want by my side.

Girls come and go, wavering. Things have been dry, but every once in a while a woman would take an interest and I’d shoot it down. I’m on a voyage to discover the right puzzle piece to complete my circuit.

But no girl finds any masculinity within a half-depressed writer, with no job, writing musical poems, orchestrating computerized melodies. A scruffy coffee drinker playing jazz on a twenty-four hour loop throughout the crumbling 1930’s home in which he resides. Shoes and socks riddled with holes from skateboarding.

The economy plummets. The president refuses to concede and let the new president elect get early information to start developing fresh policies for the country. Politicians fight for power and money, disregarding the country as it suffers from a plague-turned political debate due to polarizing political parties and lazy idiots who refuse to conduct research through several media sources.

My friends and I exchange with each other our own sob stories.

I feel and weep for the world, but I’m trying to focus on myself. As the government fusses. As the government within my own family contradicts one another till depression and drugs is fostered into all of us.

#writers #writer #writing #writings #poem #poems #poetry #depression #hard times #struggle #broken heart #heartbreak

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basicsofislam · 4 years

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ISLAM 101: Muslim Beliefs: Knowledge of God Almighty: (Essential of Divine Being, Innate, Qualities as Being God)

A person’s or a thing’s pleasure, good and beauty are judged according to those who receive and manifest them, not according to their opposites. For example, generosity is a beautiful and praiseworthy virtue. Generous people receive far greater pleasure from the happiness of those whom they have favored than from their superiority to others in generosity. Caring and compassionate people feel greater pleasure in proportion to the comfort of those for whom they feel compassion. For example, a mother’s compassion for her children causes her to have such a great and strong pleasure in her children’s happiness and well-being that she nearly sacrifices her life for them. The pleasure of such compassion even causes a hen to attack a dog to protect her young.

Thus, since the true pleasure, beauty, and perfection of laudable virtues and praiseworthy qualities are judged according to that with which they are related, not to their likes or opposites, for sure, the beauty of the Mercy of One of Beauty, Grace and Perfection, the All-Living and Self-Subsistent, the All-Kind and Caring, the All-Bounteous and Favoring, the All-Merciful and the All-Compassionate, should be considered in view of those toward whom He has mercy. According to the degree of happiness and well-being of those whom He favors with His mercy, particularly their enjoyment of His bounties in Paradise, the All-Merciful and All-Compassionate One feels what we call sacred love, sacred pleasure, sacred exhilaration, and sacred joy. All of these accord with His Holy, Transcendent Being, and are infinitely greater, as well as more sacred, elevated, and refined, than their counterparts in creation.

You may see one manifestation of this mighty truth’s comprehensive meaning via the following comparison: Suppose a kind, compassionate, and generous man wills to feed some very poor, hungry, and destitute people. So, he prepares a banquet on his fine ship and watches them from above while they eat. You may understand how much their enjoyment of the food in gratitude and their happiness in praise and thankfulness please and exhilarate that noble and generous person.

Similarly, the All-Merciful and All-Compassionate One has spread out a vast food-laden table on the face of the earth, which He causes to travel in the space with all of its inhabitants. He feeds all living beings, primarily including humanity, jinn and animals, from the food on this table and invites his hungry and needy servants to Paradise’s everlasting gardens. He prepares each garden as if it were a magnificent table laid out with all kinds of food and drink , which are of pure pleasure and delight. Consider the pleasure and happiness that the above-mentioned person feels at his guests’ enjoyment, although he is not the true owner of what he offers, and then compare it with the indescribable sacred love and pleasure felt by the All-Merciful One.

Also consider this: A skillful technician invents something like a gramophone which plays without records. If it works and gives the desired results perfectly, how proud its inventor will feel and how pleased he will be. He will but utter, “How beautiful! May God bless this!” The All-Majestic Maker has invented the vast universe (in general) and the earth with each creature in it (in particular), especially our head, as such a Divine gramophone or orchestra that science should be lost in admiration. Each creature displays the expected results to the utmost degree and in a very beautiful way. Their obedience to God’s laws of creation and life, which compromise their worship, glorification, and specific praise and exaltation of Him, as well as the attainment of Divine purposes for their lives, please Him to a degree beyond our comprehension.

Or, say a just judge receives great pleasure from doing and establishing justice, and becomes extremely happy when able to restore the rights of the oppressed. Compare with this the sacred meanings arising from the reality that the Absolutely Just Ruler, the All-Majestic Overwhelming One, gives all creatures the right of existence and protects and maintains their existence and lives against aggression, restores rights in the universe, and acts with justice. Compare with this especially the sacred meanings to arise from the fact that he will judge humanity and jinn in the Hereafter and establish absolute justice.

As in the examples above, each Divine Name contains many sorts or degrees of beauty, grace, and perfection, as well as many levels of love, pride, honor, and grandeur. This is why exacting saintly scholars honored with the manifestation of the Divine Name the All-Loving, have concluded: “The essence of the universe is love. All creatures move with the motive of love. All laws of attraction, rapture,and gravity originate in love.” One of them even said:

The spheres are intoxicated, and so are angels and stars; The heavens, the sun, the moon, and the earth are all intoxicated. Intoxicated are the elements and plants, and trees and human beings. All animate beings are intoxicated, and so are all atoms of creation.

Every creature is intoxicated, according to its capacity, with the “wine” of Divine love. People love those who are kind to them as well as true perfection and transcendent beauty. They also love those who are kind to those whom they love and for whom they have mercy.

Given this, we can understand that the All-Gracious and Beautiful One of Majesty, the All-Loved of Perfection, in each of Whose Names are innumerable treasuries of kindness, Who makes all those whom we love happy with His favors and is the source of countless perfections and levels of beauty and grace, is worthy of infinite love and the creation’s intoxication with His love. This is why some saints who have been honored with the manifestation of the Divine Name the All-Loving have said: “We do not even want Paradise. A gleam of the Divine love is eternally sufficient for us,” and why, as Prophet Muhammad said: “All single minute spent in beholding the Divine Beauty in Paradise excels all the bounties of Paradise.”

So, perfect love and perfections attained through love are possible within the spheres of Divine Unity and Oneness, displayed, respectively, through the universal manifestations of Divine Names on beings as a whole and their particular manifestations on individuals, Any perfections imagined outside those spheres are false.

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risalei-nur · 5 years

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TAFSIR: Risale-i Nur: The Words Collection:The Thirty Third Word .Part 8

EIGHTEENTH WINDOW

Do they never consider the inner dimension of the heavens and the earth and God’s absolute dominion over them? (7:185)

Consider the following comparison explained in The Twenty-second

Word:

A perfect, well-designed and artistic construction like a palace points to a perfect act, that is, an act of construction. A perfect, well-performed act points to a perfect actor, to a skillful master-builder. The title of a skillful master-builder points to a perfect attribute, to an artistic ability. A perfect attribute, a perfect competence in an art points to the existence of a perfect capacity. A prefect capacity or potentiality points to the existence of a noble spirit, an exalted being.

Likewise, the ever-renewed, refreshed, and replaced works filling the earth’s face and the universe show acts of perfect degree. Those acts, occur-ring in an infinitely wise and well-ordered system, show an agent or an actor with perfect titles and names. For it is clear that well-arranged and wise acts must have someone doing them. Infinitely perfect titles point, in turn, to that agent’s infinitely perfect attributes. This is also a rule of gram-mar—according to the (Arabic) grammar, the origins of nouns are adjec-tives. Perfect attributes point to perfect personal potentialities, and perfect potentialities point to the one with a limitless degree of perfection.

Thus, since each work of art and all creatures in the universe are perfect, and since each bears witness to an act, the act to a name, the name to an attribute, the attribute to a potentiality, and the potentiality to a being, then—as well as all of them testifying to a single Maker of Majesty’s neces-sary Existence and Unity to their number—as a whole they constitute a stair-way of knowledge of God, which leads to Him in a form as strong as the chain of creatures, and a proof of truth in series that cannot be doubted.

So, O poor, heedless unbeliever, can you break this proof as strong as the chain of beings? Can you shut up this window that has as many open-ings as the numbers of creatures to show the rays of truth? What veil of heedlessness can you draw across it?

NINETEENTH WINDOW

The seven heavens and the earth and all in them glorify Him. There is nothing but it glorifies Him with His praise. (17:44)

According to the meaning of this verse, the All-Majestic Maker has attached so many instances of wisdom and meanings to heavenly bodies that, as if to express His Majesty and Grace, He has adorned the heavens with suns, moons, and stars. He has also attached such instances of wisdom and meanings to the creatures in the atmosphere as if to make the atmos-phere speak in words like lightning, thunder, and raindrops. He also teach-es the perfection of His Wisdom and the beauty of His Mercy.

Just as He makes the earth speak in meaningful words like plants and animals, and thereby shows His Art’s perfection to the universe, He also shows His Art’s perfection and His Mercy’s beauty by making plants and trees speak in their words of leaves, flowers, and fruits. By making flowers and fruits speak in words of seeds and pollen, He teaches the subtleties of His Art and His Lordship’s perfection to conscious beings. Among these countless words of glorification, we will consider the manner in which a flower or an ear of wheat expresses its glorification and discover how it bears witness:

Each plant and tree shows its Maker in numerous tongues in a way that amazes observers and causes them to say: “All-Glorified is God, how excel-lently it bears witness.” Each plant’s glorifications when it blossoms and grows ears or spikes—the time when it speaks in smiles—are beautiful like itself and evident. For the order or system displaying the wisdom or purpo-siveness expressed in all flowers’ speaking, in the tongues of well-formed spikes or ears, and in the words of well-proportioned seeds and well-made grains, is perfectly measured and balanced, which visibly points to knowl-edge. The balance or measure is in a design of art, which indicates skill in art, and the design of art is in an adornment showing grace and munifi-cence. The adornment is in pleasant fragrances showing mercy and benev-olence. These meaningful states of things, one within the other, form such a tongue of testimony that they define their All-Majestic Maker with His Names, describe Him with His Attributes, exemplify His Names’ manifes-tations, and express His being loved and recognized.

Hearing such a testimony from a flower, if you can hear the voices of all flowers in all of the Lord’s gardens on the earth’s face and how power-fully they announce the All-Majestic Maker’s necessary Existence and Unity, how can you have any remaining questions, doubts, and hesitations?

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whippedfouettelatte · 6 years

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The Beautiful Revolution: Ballet’s Importance in the 21st Century.

For a course at school I was given the choice to write a research paper on any topic of my choice. So i wrote about something near and dear to my heart-- Ballet. This took quite a bit of time and research and I hope you fellow balletomanes will like it! Enjoy!

Smoke fills the scene, a large golden moon hangs over the placid navy lake. From out of the trees, dozens of white swans gently land on the water, sending soft ripples out across the dark. As their white feathers illuminate the night, they turn into beautiful yet haunting maidens glowing like ghosts in the moonlight. One of the swan maidens is adorned with a large silver crown. She is Odette, the Swan Queen. Mourning the loss of her humanity, as she has been turned into a swan by the evil sorcerer Von Rothbart. She dances across the lake, accompanied by her swan maidens. When out from the bushes a man wielding a crossbow seeks to hunt the swans he saw earlier, only to find the maidens. The hunter, Prince Siegfried, immediately falls in love with the Beautiful Odette, swearing to marry her and break her curse.

That vignette is easily recognizable as the story of Swan Lake. This ballet was first premiered at the famous Bolshoi Ballet in Russia on March 4, 1877- nearly 150 years ago. The Bolshoi commissioned this piece from the composer Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. Like many ballets, its initial run was a critical failure. The Critics criticized the music for being too complex and nearly undanceable. This shattered Tchaikovsky, who was extremely passionate about the project; finishing the entire score in one year. Sadly, the ballet would not be revived until 1895; two years after his death.

In modern times, this ballet is arguably one of the most quintessentials ballet. Most people can easily imagine the dancers decorated in white tutus, leaping and bounding across the stage. If one is to go to the ballet in the twenty first century it is probably in order to see Swan Lake in the summer, The Nutcracker in December, or Sleeping Beauty in the spring. Yet, today ballet is seen as an almost archaic art form, only seen or cared about by the elderly season tickets holders or attended as a mandatory Christmas event. This line of thought is damagingly inaccurate. Ballet has historically been more than just an entertaining art form: it has been a medium of protest and political commentary since its birth in the tumultuous court of the Sun King in France during the fifteenth century.

While some find it hard to believe that ballet in its prime was an important piece of the media that almost every active member of society was privy to or invested in. Today, ballet can seem to be an unimportant mode of protest to the ever changing political landscape of modern media. Swan Lake, while still restaged to this day and adapted into hundreds of unique and different storylines in thousands of companies across the world, seems like a story that has been sapped of any political importance-- as many think 150 years of political change and growth can negate the power of a message. This could not be further from the truth. Ballet is politically relevant all throughout history and into the twenty first century.

Many ballets have universal messages that run through the heart of the story; love, forgiveness, and betrayal. Additionally, most have political ideas that reflect the society and the politics of the time. In classical ballets, their political messages are easy to discern. When ballet is looked at through the lense of historical politics and society, it is easy to see what influenced each of the ballet’s elements. Ballet culture has been molded to fit the political landscape of the time. Most new ballets that have been created follow this idea of being a mirror to society, which can be easily seen and tracked through different retellings and restagings of influential or famous classic ballets. When the ballets are changed or modernized, they are always shaped to fit the political landscape of the time. Ballet is one of the few pieces of media that can be molded and adapted. Ballets from one hundred fifty years ago are still being staged. It is a timeless art form that is important and entertaining in every time frame. From its invention all the way to the twenty first century it challenges society and it should not be ignored or pushed to the wayside.

One of the first true classic ballets called Giselle is an influential political product of the nineteenth century. On the 28th of June 1841, it premiered at the Theatre de l'Academie Royale du Musique. This ballet tells the story of a young peasant woman named Giselle. She lives in an idyllic village in the German countryside. She is naive and full of life, she loves to dance though it is dangerous for her weak heart. Giselle falls in love with Albrecht, who she thinks is another peasant, when in reality he is a prince in disguise. Albrecht’s true identity is found out by a game master, Hilarion, who despises Albrecht because he too is in love with Giselle. Later, a group of nobles show up, along with Lady Bathilde-- Albrecht’s fiance-- who upon seeing him confronts him, asking him why he has been away. After seeing Albrecht kiss his fiancee, Giselle goes mad and dances around erratically when suddenly her heart gives out. She dies instantly.

In act two, Hilarion lays flowers on Giselle’s grave in the forest. He is suddenly attacked by Myrtha, Queen of the Willis. Willis are the spirits of women who were scorned or betrayed by men. When they find men, they enchant them and force them to dance to death. Albrecht is about to become a victim of this fate, but Giselle, a new spirit, forgives him for his betrayal and saves his life. The sun rises over the horizon and the spirits fade away. Albrecht is left safe and alone.

Giselle was an instant success because of how unique the plot was. This ballet reflected some of the deepest sensitivities of the time, at this point in history the population of Paris, France was plagued by illness and poverty on a massive scale. In the 1840s, life expectancy was around only forty years old for both men and women (Life Expectancy, Mike Roser). Women died in childbirth at a significant rate. Barely anyone in France during this time could afford suitable living quarters, as the revolution had decimated the government and in turn the economy. Giselle was a heroine that reflected the face of the French people. Instead of being portrayed in a negative and shameful light, Giselle represented hope for the common masses of France by being positive and sweet despite her circumstance in life. She is the hero of her own story and her powers of forgiveness overcome her afflictions. It was a kind of encouragement to the people that despite their circumstances they can rise above their station. This was the message of the revolution, helping to advance the everyday people and provide equality.

In addition, this ballet’s setting is in an almost fairy tale like village in the middle ages in Germany. This was a beautiful escape for the Parisians, as the industrial revolution was in full swing throughout Europe, and came to the cholera ridden streets of unemployed Paris. Many artist were unhappy with the change of morals and beliefs that coincided with the multiple social revolutions and the industrial revolutions, “which these artists and philosophers attributed to the Age of Enlightenment, they yearned for what they imagined to have been a better past. Thus emerged the common use of quasi-medieval settings for Romantic ballets and the supernatural themes that allowed people to escape reality” (Hutchins, 37). Therefore they were disillusioned by the new age of logic, and wanted to harken back to an age of romance and what they considered to be emotion-driven societies.

Furthermore, the analysis deepens when you look at the connections to the government of the time. In the ballet, Duke Albrecht woos Giselle under the guise of a peasant who is just like everyone else. He walks among the other peasants pretending to be one of them when in reality he is royalty. He takes advantage of Giselle and her love for him, and all of his promises are false as he swears to love only her but lies about his true alignment with the nobility. This directly parallels King Louis-Philippe-- the King of France during the time of Giselle’s creation. In France there were two different political parties at the time: The Parti De Resistance (which was mostly populated by the common french people,) and the Parti De Movement (the aristocrats and the wealthy.) Louis-Philippe never vocally sided with a party, but his cabinet was mostly made of the Movement party. Philippe, in order “To Demonstrate his connection and devotion to the French people… called himself the ‘King of the French’ rather than the ‘King of France.’ Early in his reign, Louis-Philippe walked freely and unprotected among his people, holding an umbrella in place of a scepter” (Hutchins, 36) This garnered him the nickname ‘The Citizen King’ before he fell out of favor with the French. Both Albrecht and Louis-Philippe inserted themselves into the culture of the lower class citizens, with disastrous effects. They tried to disguise their true alignment with the nobility under the guise of being like the rest of the citizens. This comparison is no accident; Giselle took a critical look at the political landscape of the time and reflected it in a deep analysis of socio political trends during 1840s France. Making is a influential piece of political relevance.

Giselle was a reflection and analysis of its time period, and in its many updated versions it has continued that legacy. In 1984, the Dance Theatre of Harlem staged an all new production of Giselle. The DTH is a dance company made entirely of African-American dancers. Because of this, Arthur Mitchell the founder and artistic director of DTH decided to mold the ballet to a new setting to allow the dancers to feel at home in a ballet known for its ‘whiteness’. A large problem with ballet in the 1980s was its inherent white race coding, Giselle is a part of a series of classical romantic ballets; including Swan Lake, La Sylphide, and La Bayadere, known as Ballet Blanc, which literally translates to ‘White Ballet’ due to the ballets central plot having white supernatural effeminate beings. Therefore, the DTH was tasked with changing the story to something racially inclusive yet not patronizing to the dancers. As ballet was inherently racist in the 1980s, many pointe shoe makers simply “did not believe that black girls were dancing on pointe” (Caught Dancing: Hybridity, Stability, and Subversion in Dance Theatre of Harlem's Creole "Giselle", 273). Therefore, to adapt Giselle into a modern cultural identity Mitchell moved it out of the medieval german rhineland, into post-civil war Louisiana plantations. Making Giselle a free former slave, while Albrecht is an aristocratic plantation owner posing as a poor farmer. Because of this setting, the ballet has been unofficially deemed Creole Giselle.

The DTH had to strike a balance when creating Creole Giselle, they had “the desire to provet the patent falseness of claims declaring the black body as wrong for ballet and the need to maintain a race-based cultural particularity in the performances of his company” (Gaiser, 273). The ballet, while mostly staying true to the choreography of the original 1841 production, was modified slightly. As many black dancers had not had the chance to prove themselves in a classical ballet setting, this production was their chance, yet if the steps were exactly the same they would run the risk of being called ‘imitative’ or being compared to other classic stagings of Giselle. This production had to be unique to show the dance community that Giselle was a ballet for everyone, while still separating it into a sphere where African-American dancers could show their talent without reprimands. Just like in everyday society, racism was still a large part of everyday life and it was something that wasn't overcome in the 1980s, but various people and movements were starting to repair bonds.

Creole Giselle was one of the first steps in the ballet world to show black dancers were as capable as white ones. Creole Giselle looked at its political landscape and reflected the ideas of respecting the old but welcoming the new into everyday society. In a study titled New Patterns of Racism: the different worlds of 1984 and 1964 we find that when comparing 1984 to 1964 “much has happened since 1964 in American black-white relations, but the changes have been uneven across and within institutions. In each area reviewed- politics, education, housing, occupation, family structure, income, health, and business- there have been conflicting trends. In general, gains are impressive when compared with earlier black conditions; however, they are less than impressive when compared with current white conditions.” Just like society, Creole Giselle looks on the bright side of improving race relations while still not breaking the boundaries it is stuffed into. Having to change things in order to help people find the story and choreography more palatable to their expectations. This version of Giselle carries on the legacy of reflecting the face of modern society.

The updated setting of Creole Giselle isn't where the reflection of society stops. Recently, in 2016 the English National Ballet commissioned Akram Khan to stage a new version of Giselle. This version of Giselle is different than any before. In this retelling, “they have set the ballet among a community of migrant workers, who have been sacked from their jobs at a garment factory and are having to eke out a precarious existence in an impromptu camp. The courtly world of Albrecht is replaced by a privileged group of landlords and factory owners, who live apart from their workers behind a high wall” (Akram Khan's refugee Giselle: 'A real woman in a catastrophic situation' by Judith Mackrell). Khan, who began his work on this new adaptation with the Director of the ENB, Tamara Rojo, chose to set the ballet in a migrant worker factory because of the refugee crisis in Europe. He realized while the ballet can seem naive to modern audiences, some of the strongest themes in the ballet are in the simplicity. The duality between love and betrayal, or reality and the supernatural. Khan kept those elements central to the ballet, while also focusing his attention on Hilarion. While in the original he was just a simple game master who was in love with Giselle but forced her to see the lies Albrecht told, in Khan’s Giselle he has “expanded Hilarion’s role in the ballet into a fixer, a go-between who works with both migrants and capitalist”(Mackrell). This version of Giselle is much grittier and grounded, like the Indian dance style Kathak, which Khan was taught. The second act replaces beautiful ghostly woman in long white dresses dancing across a forest, to women covered in dirt and grime with long ragged hair and clothes in an abandoned factory.

This ballet, while aesthetically different from the original in many different ways, still is recognizable as the classic tale of Giselle. Khan’s Giselle is a perfect commentary on Europe's refugee crisis, showing the everyday people as humans and developed people on the stage through the titular character Giselle. Just like in the 1841 version, yet today people are an eclectic mix of cultures, heritages, and styles just like the Creative team. Khan being born in Britain, yet raised to be in tune with his Bangladeshi heritage. Rojo, from Canada, born to immigrants from Spain. Giselle has changed drastically throughout the years, but in every adaptation it can be used as a critical analysis on the socio political landscape of the time.

Ballet still has a long way to go before it becomes as much of a cultural staple as it was in the 1800s. Yet it increases in popularity everyday, as many dancers have become activists or advocates for equality, feminism, LGBTQ acceptance, and much more. Ballet is moving back into the cultural limelight as its relevance in the political scene is recognized more and more. Many dancers have become household names, like Misty Copeland or Mikhail Baryshnikov. Ballets on stage tackle different social and cultural issues it is hard to ignore the fact that ballet is politically relevant all throughout history and into the 21st century.

#ballet #ballet politics #ballet relevance #ballet essay

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hereticaloracles · 5 years

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TNO Watch: Eris

Helios on Eris– So, somehow in my accounting of the Transneptunians, I managed to overlook the biggest, most prolific of them all (however not the first to be discovered past Pluto!)- Eris! Now I can’t rightly finish off the archive without her, now can I? So without further ado, let me formally welcome back the most controversial dwarf planet back into the party! Gird your loins, y’all

The Astronomy– Eris is the most massive and second-largest (by volume) dwarf planet (and plutoid) known in the Solar System. Eris was discovered in January 2005, and in September 2006 it was named after Eris, the Greek goddess of strife and discord. Eris is the ninth most massive object directly orbiting the Sun, and the 16th most massive overall, because seven moons are more massive than all known dwarf planets. It is also the largest which has not yet been visited by a spacecraft. Eris was measured to be 2,326 ± 12 kilometers (1,445.3 ± 7.5 mi) in diameter. Eris’s mass is about 0.27% of the Earth mass, about 27% more than dwarf planet Pluto, although Pluto is slightly larger by volume.

Eris is a trans-Neptunian object (TNO) and a member of a high-eccentricity population known as the scattered disk. It has one known moon, Dysnomia. As of February 2016, its distance from the Sun was 96.3 astronomical units (1.441×1010 km; 8.95×109 mi), roughly three times that of Pluto. With the exception of some long-period comets, until 2018 VG18 was discovered on December 17, 2018, Eris and Dysnomia were the most distant known natural objects in the Solar System.[

Because Eris appeared to be larger than Pluto, NASA initially described it as the Solar System’s tenth planet. This, along with the prospect of other objects of similar size being discovered in the future, motivated the International Astronomical Union (IAU) to define the term planet for the first time. Under the IAU definition approved on August 24, 2006, Eris is a “dwarf planet”, along with objects such as Pluto, Ceres, Haumea and Makemake thereby reducing the number of known planets in the Solar System to eight, the same as before Pluto’s discovery in 1930. Observations of a stellar occultation by Eris in 2010 showed that its diameter was 2,326 ± 12 kilometers (1,445.3 ± 7.5 mi), very slightly less than Pluto, which was measured by New Horizons in July 2015.

The Myth– Eris is the Greek goddess of strife and discord. The most famous tale of Eris recounts her initiating the Trojan War by causing the Judgement of Paris. The goddesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite had been invited along with the rest of Olympus to the forced wedding of Peleus and Thetis, who would become the parents of Achilles, but Eris had been snubbed because of her troublemaking inclinations.

She, therefore (as mentioned at the Kypria according to Proclus as part of a plan hatched by Zeus and Themis) tossed into the party the Apple of Discord, a golden apple inscribed Ancient Greek: τῇ καλλίστῃ, “For the most beautiful one”, or “To the Fairest One” – provoking the goddesses to begin quarreling about the appropriate recipient. The hapless Paris, Prince of Troy, was appointed to select the fairest by Zeus. The goddesses stripped naked to try to win Paris’s decision and also attempted to bribe him. Hera offered political power; Athena promised infinite wisdom; and Aphrodite tempted him with the most beautiful woman in the world: Helen, wife of Menelaus of Sparta. While Greek culture placed a greater emphasis on prowess and power, Paris chose to award the apple to Aphrodite, thereby dooming his city, which was destroyed in the war that ensued.

Another story of Eris includes Hera and the love of Polytekhnos and Aedon. They claimed to love each other more than Hera and Zeus were in love. This angered Hera, so she sent Eris to wreak discord upon them. Polytekhnos was finishing off a chariot board, and Aedon a web she had been weaving. Eris said to them, “Whosoever finishes thine task last shall have to present the other with a female servant!” Aedon won. But Polytekhnos was not happy by his defeat, so he came to Khelidon, Aedon’s sister, and raped her. He then disguised her as a slave, presenting her to Aedon. When Aedon discovered this was indeed her sister, she chopped up Polytekhnos’s son and fed him to Polytekhnos. The gods were not pleased, so they turned them all into birds.

Eris has been adopted as the patron deity of the modern Discordian religion, which was begun in the late 1950s by Gregory Hill and Kerry Wendell Thornley under the pen names of “Malaclypse the Younger” and “Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst”. The Discordian version of Eris is considerably lighter in comparison to the rather malevolent Graeco-Roman original, wherein she is depicted as a positive (albeit mischievous) force of chaotic creation.

A quote from the Principia Discordia, the first holy book of Discordianism, attempts to clear up the matter: One day Mal-2 consulted his Pineal Gland and asked Eris if She really created all of those terrible things. She told him that She had always liked the Old Greeks, but that they cannot be trusted with historical matters. “They were,” She added, “victims of indigestion, you know.” Suffice it to say that Eris is not hateful or malicious. But she is mischievous and does get a little bitchy at times.

The story of Eris being snubbed and indirectly starting the Trojan War is recorded in the Principia and is referred to as the Original Snub. The Principia Discordia states that her parents may be as described in Greek legend, or that she may be the daughter of Void. She is the Goddess of Disorder and Being, whereas her sister Aneris (called the equivalent of Harmonia by the Mythics of Harmonia) is the goddess of Order and Non-Being. Their brother is Spirituality.

Discordian Eris is looked upon as a foil to the preoccupation of western philosophy in attempting to find order in the chaos of reality, in prescribing order to be synonymous with truth. Discordian Eris teaches us that the only truth is chaos and that order and disorder are simply temporary filters applied to the lenses through which we view the chaos. This is known as the Aneristic Illusion.

Why She Matters– Okay, its no secret that Eris is fantastic and I love her. Yes, Eris is chaos, but you know what? So is life. You can try and plan and make things nice and neat, but then the Universe comes through like a toddler who just learned how to walk, hellbent on getting to the other side of the room- consequences be damned. Eris is that universal action. Make no mistake, she is a destroyer and lives for the battlefield, but she also loves to dance, finding the beat in the deaths of men clamoring to prove that they are right to unseen forces (but most of all, themselves). If Mars ever did drag, she would look like Eris (and you bet your ass there would be death drops and shablams like you’ve never seen before!)

When people (read: hecklers) try to come at me with proof that astrology works (but who don’t have their birth time handy for me to utterly eviscerate them) I point to Eris. I remember when she was discovered, and the excitement that her unveiling brought to all of us. And then I remember, quite vividly, the fallout from the IAU decision after she was named but then relegated to dwarf planet status. It was a repeat of the Judgement of Paris myth! She was snubbed, yet again, by the authority, and Pluto was caught up in the fallout as collateral damage just because she was bigger than him (men and size issues, amirite?). And the authority paid for it in the end! Even total luddites who don’t follow the whirling and twirling of the planets (dwarf or otherwise) have a strong opinion about the decision. It made people care about these crazy space rocks, which brings me great happiness.

We aren’t all running around fighting all the time in this modern age, so how do we look at Eris now? A primal force of chaos doesn’t really mesh with our modern sensibilities- or does it? One of the more enlightening views on Eris comes when we consider her in terms of Justice, especially against any kind of oppressive authority. This can be seen in almost every major social movement to demand better treatment, to deny an oppressive ruling class its ability to exploit those below it- Stonewall, May Day, Ferguson, Rodney King, The Arab Spring…. Hell, even the Boston Tea Party! Eris is that urge we feel to stand our ground and refuse to roll over to the bad guys. Eris is the urge to fight for our rights. Yes, it can get violent- but better short violence that changes things for the better than the long, slow violence of inaction. Far better to live boldly and bravely. More commonly though, Eris spurs us on to fight with our racist uncles on Facebook or send petty gifs in the group chats calling out our friends for being slutty… but like, in an endearing way. In fact you could solidly call Eris the Goddess of Shade. Hey, not every action can be a revolutionary one after all- sometimes you just want to get brunch with your girls.

Eris isnt just Chaos, by the way- she also represents Strife. More specifically, what you are striving for. What do you want out of this life? If you are lost, look to Eris and she can help you find your way when you’ve lost it. Mind you, you’ll be in for a HELL of a trip with her (more Thelma and Louise than Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas- That’s solidly Arawn territory) and you might not survive, but at least you’ll know!

Now, we all have all of these planets and asteroids SOMEWHERE in our chart, so in you is the seed of chaos- even the most holier-than-thou Libra. As with all of the Transneptunians, look at her house placement, not necessarily the sign, to see her effect. To find out where she shows up in your chart, go to astro.com, put in your birth details and in the extended options, all the way at the bottom of the next page, there will be a menu of additional objects. Under that is a blank space where you can enter the number 136199, for Eris. Once you have it entered, generate the chart! Where does Eris affect your life? Let us know in the comments below!

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TNO Watch: Eris was originally published on Heretical Oracles

#asteroid astrology #eris #eris astrology #transneptunian astrology #Transneptunians #astrology #tarot #fuckstrology #bruja #brujeria

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vanilla107 · 6 years

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Smoke and Bullets (Part 3)

Hey everyone!

Okay so a few updates on my life: University is starting for me in a few days and I will need time to adjust to all the new work I will be getting. That being said, the updates won't be as frequent but please know that I will still be writing slowly but surely in the background.

I also used some 1920's slang in this chapter since there is more of an interaction between other people and I wanted to get an authentic feel for the 1920's. Scroll down to the end notes to see the translations! Remember to check out @littleresalu as this is her AU!

Stay healthy! vanilla107 xoxo

Read on AO3

Part 1, Part 2

She Ra Masterlist

************

Catra watched Adora remove the syringe and Mister Jaws began to scream.

“Gag him and put him in the basement. He should be dead in a couple hours from the pain,” Adora said, her eyes devoid of emotion and Bow nodded and unstrapped Mister Jaws.

Glimmer secured his hands with handcuffs and looked at Adora, waiting for her signal. It was a tradition for Adora, as the leader of the gang, to address the rest of the crew downstairs after they had a huge victory.

Adora straightened her suit and turned around to look at Catra, and held out her hand. The feline could see the Adora she knew coming back, her eyes the crystal clear blue she knew and loved.

It scared her sometimes how easily her partner could be so cold...the coldness she never could peg Adora to possess. Catra walked around the desk and accepted the outstretched hand and watched as Bow and Glimmer walked out first, dragging the fallen crime boss.

Adora could hear the sounds of the gang cheering already as Glimmer and Bow walked out of the office.

“Are you okay?” Catra whispered and Adora felt her stomach squeeze.

“Yeah...I’m all good...just jumpy.”

“Hardly the words I’d thought I’d hear after you killed the man who killed your parents, you goof,” Catra teased and Adora smirked.

“We can’t all be poets like Angella,” she replied as they made their way to the door.

“Well Angella is a rich widow and has time to write poetry. She can’t run a gang like you.”

“Technically...she does…”

“Yeah, yeah, but you’re at the front! And doing the dirty work.”

“Angella can’t afford her reputation to be tarnished with blood, which is why she came to me. Without her I never could’ve done this...” the crime boss murmured as she thought back to the day that she had met Angella for the first time.

************************

Adora walked into the cafe and immediately felt self conscious. She hadn’t realized how under-dressed she was in comparison to the other ladies there, in their fancy day dresses with the latest florals and pearls dotting their necks. Her sky blue cotton dress was cute but still not to the quality of the other women. She could already feel the stares of other woman and the whispers seemed to echo. Adora cursed herself and looked around nervously.

“Maybe she isn’t here. Maybe this was a hoax. Why would Angella, the richest woman in Brightmoon, want to see me?” she mumbled to herself.

She was about to turn around and leave when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Adora? Oh my, you’ve grown so much since I last saw you! Come, our table is in the corner,” the gentle voice said from behind her.

Without a word out of her mouth she was lead to the table and she could see that the other women who had previously been judging her, were now looking at her with envy.

The booth was cosy, well-furnished and brushed by the light of the sun that fluttered from the tall window next to them.

“Here, this is my favourite spot. Tea?” the soft voice asked as they sat down.

Adora nodded and heard the voice order a pot of tea, a plate of sugar cookies and a few pastries from the waiter. While the older woman had been ordering, Adora allowed her eyes to fully take in the female that was sitting in front of her.

Angella was the perfect image of an elegant lady. Instead of following the new trends, like bobbed hair and the little black dresses that emerged from Paris, she still donned effortless wavy hair and a white silk tea dress that just hit her calves. Her sheer stockings with white Mary Janes made her legs seem even longer and her cotton gloves was the cherry on top.

Even though Adora had lived in an orphanage her whole life, everyone knew Angella, the richest woman in Brightmoon and a heart of gold. She was known to donate money to charities and Adora could remember when their orphanage had gotten a donation that lasted them a whole year of decent food. Angella was a mystery to Adora and if anything, she sounded like the women out of fairytales that could grant you your every wish.

But it still didn't make sense as to why Angella had invited her to tea.

“Angella…” she breathed in relief but backtracked quickly, her manners slipping temporarily. “Ma’am! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The tall woman smiled and let out a small laugh.

“Adora, please call me Angella. I know that it’s a little…strange especially since you don’t know me that well at this point.”

“Oh...Okay…Angella. I…I came here because you invited me but...I am a little confused as to why you want to see me. I don't know you and...I don't think you know me.”

The elegant woman nodded.

“Straight forward and to the point. I like that,”

She took a deep breath.

“To be truthful...I don’t know how to tell you anything without...without making you sad but there’s no way I can phrase this any differently....”

Adora tensed and her gaze locked with the woman in front of her.

“I knew your parents Adora.”

The blonde was silent as the waiter brought their tea, cookies and pastries. Angella took a sip of tea and looked at the girl intently.

“I know this might be a lot to process and you might need some time-“

“-Tell me.” Adora closed her mouth and felt her face burn in embarrassment at her rude interruption.

“Please…tell me everything about them,” she said a little quieter and tried to keep her breathing under control.

Angella cleared her throat before placing the cup down on its saucer.

“Your father and mother met at school whereas your mother and I were neighbours and friends since we were babies. We grew up together. They were young lovers but broke up when your father had to go away and study. Your father had always shown disinterest at studying far away but shocked your mom when he announced he was leaving to business school in two weeks. Broke your mothers heart but after five years they reunited at a mutual friend’s gala.”

Angella smiled, her eyes lost in memory.

“That gala changed everything. Your father apologized profusely but your mother was never one to give out second chances so easily. She made him work for her favour and after five months she took him back. They dated for three years and decided to get married. The wedding was a grand occasion, both families thrilled for the couple. A year later, your mother gave birth to you.”

Adora clenched her tea cup and decided to set it down before she shattered it.

“You were their sun and moon, Adora. They took you for Sunday walks in the park in your pram, always playing with you and they loved seeing you laugh. It was round about the same time that I gave birth to Glimmer, my daughter. We often organized play dates for the two of you and you got along well with each other.”

Angella’s face few solemn and she clasped her hands in front of her. Adora noticed that she was trembling slightly.

“You were two years old when your parents were killed. I was in the countryside with my husband and Glimmer, visiting my sister for two weeks. We only heard the news a few days later. I…I tried looking for you when I came back. I thought you had been killed but I needed reassurance. I was so relieved when I found out you were still alive that I planned on adopting you.”

Angella grew quiet.

“I…I was scared though. The papers never stated why your parents had been killed. I only ever knew it was a gang murder. I didn’t know if they would come after me and my family but at that point I didn’t care. I wanted you to be safe with me. Word must’ve gotten out and the night before I was supposed to sign the adoption forms...my husband, Micah…was killed too.”

Adora found it hard to swallow, the tea leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

“The police had found him in an alley, stabbed to death. I knew I couldn’t afford to risk losing Glimmer too...even if the murders had been two separate cases. I didn’t want the same people who killed your parents hunting you down so I decided to contact Mr. Francis to relocate you to a smaller, lesser known orphanage on the outskirts of New Brightmoon. I wanted him to keep a close eye on you and be the one to tell you the news about your parents once you were old enough.”

Angella sighed and took long sip of tea before taking out a picture from her handbag. She handed it to Adora and the blonde's eyes widened. It was a black and white picture of two women standing together, both smiling. In one woman's hands was a tiny baby wrapped in a white blanket. It appeared to be a Christening.

“Adora, I am your godmother. Your mom asked me to look out for you when you were born and I never break my promises. I promised I would raise you in the absence of your parents and I tend to fulfill it. I know I haven’t been with you most of your life and you may think of me a coward but…I want you to have a good life. You’ve lost too much already.”

Adora felt tears threatening to escape her eyes and she hiccuped into her tea.

“I will try my very best to guide you and to help you if you let me. You are of legal age but...Mr. Francis has told me about your…plan and even though I don’t necessarily agree with it…it is your choice. I can’t force you to not do what you want to do-” Angella was cut off as Adora stood up and walked around the table to face her.

“Adora? Is everything-?” Angella asked with a confused expression before she felt the blonde wrap her arms around her and breathed heavily to stop the tears from falling.

“Thank you.”

Angella was shocked momentarily but returned the hug, despite the shocked looks they were getting from the other ladies in the café.

“It’s the least I can do. I…I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“No…I...I understand why you did what you did.”

They broke apart and Adora walked back to her normal seat and eyed the sugar cookies.

“Don’t be shy! They are meant to be eaten,” Angella teased and Adora picked up a cookie and grinned.

There was still much she needed to know but Angella...Angella was family. Besides Mr. Francis, Angella knew her parents and had grown up with them.

“One question. Why did you want to meet here?” Adora asked. “I mean, I would’ve been a little cautious if we had met at your house but…you did also make me cry in public.”

“Word spreads fast and in case you haven’t noticed, I am the most influential woman in New Brightmoon. I can make things happen with a snap. So, now that these wonderful women have seen you with me…you will be getting things done a lot easier now...like that sales assistant that refused to sell you that coat you wanted?”

Adora felt her blood boil at the situation that had happened a week ago.

“I have the money! I don’t know why she refused! And...how do you know that?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Adora. I know lots of things that would shock you. But to be blunt, it’s because you don’t look the part. Don’t get me wrong sweetheart, you look very lovely in that dress...but people are shallow, Adora. They take one look at you and decide whether you’re...the cat’s meow or not.”

Adora looked at her dress sadly.

“I know I could afford the clothes you wear…it’s just I… have a plan with the money I’ve inherited and I…I’m still waiting for someone to live with me.”

“Someone? Is this someone…Catra?”

Angella grinned at the fiery red blush on Adora’s cheeks.

“Yes…she’s my best friend back at the orphanage. I left her when I turned 18 and I said I would go back for her when she turns 18 in October. She…she has nothing. No money, no parents whereas…I have money and she…she is my family. She was my only family for 18 years and I can’t lose her. It’s already been torture sleeping alone at night.”

“But didn’t you have separate beds?” Angella asked with a raised eyebrow and a smile hidden behind her cup.

“I…I…I meant that…um-“ Adora stumbled over her words and she groaned.

“For someone who’s planning on forming a gang, you are very easily flustered.”

“I care about her a lot, okay!” Adora yelled and she quietened down when she saw the looks she was getting.

“Sorry…Catra means a lot to me. I can’t leave her when she’s always been there for me.”

Angella smiled as she picked up a beignet.

“I understand that she means a lot to you but please know…some people will not understand. Just be careful.”

Adora swallowed and nodded. She could pick up the hidden message in the widow’s words.

Please be careful of your relationship with Catra and how people will be with her skin colour.

She had always feared the blatant racism from people especially with regards to Catra. The topic always had been sensitive and there had been nights when Adora could hear Catra crying because of the treatment she got from the other kids as well as the caretakers. The bullying was harsh and even though Catra could handle it like a pro as she got older, it still stung.

Adora was sure that their relationship something more than…friendly. Being in a romantic relationship with another woman was unheard of in New Brightmoon and Adora had heard horror stories about couples like her and Catra, who had been killed because of it. Which was why Adora was so driven to make sure Catra lived with her and experience the life she was living.

The life where she could eat whatever she wanted. The life where she could afford clothes she never thought she could. The life where people would talk about them behind their backs because they loved each other but dared to never say anything because of their weathly status.

She wanted that for Catra.

Which is why starting the gang could kill two birds with one stone. They’d find her parents killers and be the most feared couple in New Brightmoon that no one would lay a hand on.

Catra with her determination and willingness to get her hands dirty and Adora’s strategy skills and wealth…they would be unstoppable.

*************************

Catra snuggled up to Adora’s arm and sighed bringing Adora back to the present. The blonde looked at her with ‘the pleading eyes’ and Catra groaned in annoyance.

“I hate it when you do that. Stupid eyes that make me melt,” she mumbled.

The brunette released Adora from her grasp and Adora noticed the slight pout on Catra’s face.

“I promise I’ll give you all the attention you need when we get home,” Adora said as she gave the feline a quick kiss on the cheek.

Catra huffed but Adora could see the small grin on her girlfriend’s face. The cheering was deafening when they walked out and Adora gazed down at the sea of faces from the banister. There was roughly a couple hundred people in her gang and she was proud of how many people they had recruited over the past seven years. Catra watched Adora lean against the banister and smile, her leadership skills starting to show.

“Everyone! Tonight is a night that will go down in history for the Alliance!”

The crowd cheered louder and Catra lowered her ears in sensitivity.

“Tonight, the Alliance is now the number one gang in New Brightmoon. We have taken down the Sinners! And as you can see, Mister Jaws is having a hard time functioning…” Adora smirked as the crowd laughed as she looked at him, his mouth frothing.

“But what I am trying to say is, we could not have gotten far without every single person in this room. Yes, Johnny I’m looking at you, I promise your bathroom cleaning duties helped us all.”

The crowd laughed again and Catra smiled.

She loved seeing Adora happy.

“I know all of you in this room. And every single one of you made a difference tonight. Sure, we’ve had spies before but we dealt with them. We’ve had missions go to shit but we always managed to claw our way out. Most of you know that I lost my parents to the Sinners years ago, and now I can be at peace, knowing my parents are finally at rest. I want you to all appreciate the life you have. It may not be the most...legal one…”

There were a few laughs and Adora chuckled.

“But you have a family and people who would be willing to take a bullet for you. Never forget that.”

Bow started chanting, “The Alliance!” and everyone followed suit.

“The Alliance! The Alliance! The Alliance!” the crowd repeated and Adora blinked back tears of happiness.

“Which is why tonight we celebrate as one. That being said, drinks on me at Salineas!” she announced.

Catra was sure that there would’ve been a riot if Adora hadn’t raised her hands to silence them.

“Just remember to look out for each other tonight. The heat got nothing on us but they wouldn’t hesitate to leave one of us dead. Other than that, enjoy your time! We have a big shipment coming in within the next week so I want everyone to be bright eyed and bushy tailed!”

Catra looked at her partner in crime and felt her heart stop.

Adora was glowing.

Her smile was genuine and she was sure that she had never seen Adora so happy. She couldn’t help but slip her hand in her girlfriends and Adora turned to look at her. She grinned and pulled Catra in for a kiss, catching the feline completely off guard but she reciprocated nonetheless. Catra could hear the whistles and whoops from down below and she laughed as she pulled away.

“What happened to being a good example Ms. Perfect?”

“Screw it,” Adora grinned and kissed her again.

“C’mon everyone! Let’s go to Salineas!” a voice said and the crowd walked out of various exits in the building and soon, it was deserted.

Bow and Glimmer dragged Mister Jaw to the basement while Adora started into the eyes of her loving girlfriend.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” she murmured as she kissed Catra again.

“Yeah...feels odd,” Catra sighed and she could taste the smoke on Adora’s lips.

Most people would be revolted by that but to Catra, it felt like home. They stood like that for a while in each other’s arms until Glimmer and Bow came back from the basement.

“Mister Jaws is in the basement,” Glimmer announced and Adora nodded.

“Glimmer, Bow, you two are the bees knees. Thank you for everything,” the blonde said as she hugged them. As she pulled away she gave Glimmer a concerned look.

“Are you okay? You didn’t look too good earlier.”

“Adora, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you torturing people but don’t worry! Everything’s jake! Let’s go to Salineas.”

Catra smiled and Adora wrapped her arm around her waist and leaned her head on her shoulder.

“Let’s go, Glimmer.”

***********************

The cat's meow/The bees knees - The best/the greatest

The heat- the police

Everything's jake! - Everything's fine!

#catradora #vanilla107writes #adora #catra #spop #spop 2018 #shera #she ra #she-ra #bow #glimmer

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master-sass-blast · 6 years

Text

The Dark Night, the Dawn’s Light, the Deep Fall, and the Cold.

Hey, look at me! Just on time to be belated!

A very Happy Belated Birthday to @muse-of-mbaku! I hope the next year has many great adventures and happiness in store for you!

Rating: T for mentions of death.

Pairings: M’Baku x Reader.

“Only in darkness can you see the stars.” -Martin Luther King Jr.

You’ve never been scared of the dark. Even in the blackest nights in the depths of winter, you’ve never flinched at some strange sound concealed by shadows or refused to walk into an unlit room.

The truth of darkness has been obvious to you since you were a small girl. Darkness, like nearly everything, is transient. It may settle for a bit, but it’s always easily chased away by a light or the early twinklings of dawn. With the stars glowing in the sky and the moon as your friend, you’ve always walked with confidence wherever you go.

Unfortunately, as you learn while you grow up, darkness isn’t always literal.

***

Just before the dregs of dawn, during the end of summer, the Chief breathes his last.

You stand by M’Baku’s side while the priestesses perform the last rites and cleanse the body, and again when his father’s buried under one of the many trees in the valley forest.

There’s darkness in M’Baku’s eyes and heaviness in his shoulders. It stays there no matter how brightly the sun shines, no matter what stories or jokes are told, and only grows heavier as he sits on his father’s --no, now it’s his--throne for the first time and is named the new Chief of the tribe.

You’re not unfamiliar with the concept of grief, of depression. You know it’s a natural reaction to a tragedy like this, and you only feel sorrow for your friend, your lover, as you stand by his side and hold his hand.

However, unlike the countless dark nights you’ve experienced, the shadows inside M’Baku’s eyes scare you like nothing else ever will.

***

The other reason you don’t fear the depths of night is the protector that shares your bed. There aren’t many things in the world that could face down a Jabari warrior in his prime, let alone the chief of the tribe.

Nights are synonymous with M’Baku’s embrace, the press of his lips against your skin, the span of his hands on your body, and the murmurs of his voice in your ear.

Nights are synonymous with his arms around you as you slumber, with the soft croon of his snores in the background, with his chest flush against your back.

With all that to look forward to, what reason would you possibly have to fear the dark?

“Each morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most.” --Buddha.

As a Jabari, you learn to love winter. There’s no real way to survive the stark, icy mountains if you don’t.

You learn to love winter --but it still pales in comparison to spring.

You bask in the warmth of the sun, smile as you inhale the sweet air. You adorn nearly every room in the Great Lodge with vases heaped with floors --and when M’Baku asks why, you merely shrug, smile, and say “I like them.”

He smiles back and kisses your cheek.

***

You count the days, then count them again. Then once more, just to be sure.

You’re not mistaken.

You smile, and go to the priestesses in secret. They know how to handle things with discretion.

They confirm what you already suspected --then again, just to be sure--and congratulate you before performing the ritual prayers.

That night, when M’Baku walks into your shared bedroom, you greet him with an excited smile. “I’m pregnant.”

The darkness in his eyes --the darkness that’s been there since his father’s death--lifts.

***

You kneel before the altar of Hanuman, head bowed in prayer.

It’s been over twenty-four hours since M’Baku gathered his troops and marched down to the valley.

You’d talked to him before he’d left, upset that he’d venture down to fight a battle that wasn’t the Jabari’s to begin with, yet proud all the same that he’d gone anyway.

You’d always known your husband was --is--a man of honor, and that honor sometimes entailed doing things that one didn’t want to do.

“Oh Great Gorilla,” you murmur, eyes squeezed shut as you try to hold back tears of fear. “Please let my husband be alright. Let him be victorious in his battle, and let him come back to me in one piece.”

“No need to pray to me when I’m right here, usana.”

You jerk up with a gasp, quickly latching on your husband standing behind you.

He’s tired and a little bruised, but in one piece.

And giving you his trademark shit-eating grin.

You run to him anyway, simply happy to have him back home.

“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” --Confucius.

The Jabari lands are a place of mountains. A place where the sky kisses the earth. The range that makes up the home of Hanuman’s tribe is easily visible from any point in Wakanda, resolute and forbidding.

However, less visible are the plummeting gorges and valleys the line the region. They’re a basic feature of life for the Jabari, as constant as the mountains.

You learn how to safely navigate the winding paths the crisscross the territory before you learn how to walk.

Stay close to the mountain wall, don’t walk fast if you’re not sure of your footing, don’t horseplay on the paths or anywhere remotely near an edge, don’t look down--

Everyone looks down at some point. It’s inevitable.

***

You met M’Baku in your late teens. You were the daughter of one of the village elders, he was the son of the Chief.

You weren’t exempt from crushing on the future leader of the tribe, even then. Like countless others, you were charmed by his physique, his confidence (arrogance, then, confidence now), his sense of humor.

He hadn’t noticed you at first; back then, he’d been caught up in himself, in the arrogance and hubris and wiles of youth.

Understandable, if not a bit obnoxious.

And then, one day --after a few years had passed and he’d grown up a bit, a lot--he saw you and it hit him upside the head. He felt like --as he retold the story to you later--he was seeing you for the first time all over again, really seeing you.

Now, years later, and you’re still falling in love with him. Each day you drop deeper and deeper, immersed in your love for each other and with your feet planted firmly on the ground.

It’s thrilling, if a bit terrifying, and you never want to reach the bottom.

You smile and kiss him when he tells you he feels the same way.

***

You’re there when T’Challa’s pulled from the river.

The King of Wakanda hardly looks like a man capable of defeating M’Baku, fragile and as close to death as he appears now.

The fishermen look up at you, well aware of your status as M’Baku’s wife and closest confidant. “What should we do with him, my lady?”

You make the decision quickly, mostly because you don’t have the luxury of time. “I’ll take him to the Great Lodge with me. The Chief can decide his fate from there.”

You walk behind the cart carrying T’Challa, careful to keep a constant eye on the King as you make the trek back to the Lodge. Even though he looks half dead, you still aren’t sure if this is a wily trick the Black Panther’s trying to play on the Jabari. You’ve heard countless tales about the Heart-Shaped herb, enough to know that if the King has any in his system, he’s a definite threat.

M’Baku greets you with a shocked expression and raised eyebrows.

“We found him in the river. I thought it best that he was brought here.”

After a moment of silence, your husband nods his agreement. “Take him to the healing snows.”

“To appreciate the beauty of a snowflake it is necessary to stand out in the cold.” --Aristotle.

As the Jabari tribe reintegrates with Wakanda, many ponder --comment on, complain--how all the people living in the territory can stand the harsh colds and blankets of snow.

You know it’s acclimation, which is how the valley-dwellers can stand the heat, but you stay silent as everyone makes the same jokes about the fierce colds of the Jabari lands.

You know they mean well, but their attitude towards the Jabari lifestyle almost seems like one of deliberate ignorance at times. It’s almost like their eyes glaze over the furs worn by every member of the tribe, the raging fires in every fireplace, and the thick blankets that adorn nearly every piece of furniture.

How do the Jabari survive the cold? Simple. They take a practical approach to things and use what they need to in order to stay warm.

Obviously.

***

You’re walking through one of the many gardens near the lodge, talking to one of M’Baku’s advisors and trying not to think about the battle your husband is helping fight down in the valley. You turn to face them--

And then they dissolve into a pile of ashes, right before your eyes.

Once the shock passes, you sprint back into the lodge. You can hear the sounds of screaming and crying, and there are piles of ash everywhere.

Ice runs through your veins as you realize, as much as you can, what’s happened. That some mystic force had reached into the fabric of the universe and ripped part of it away.

You force yourself to push down your growing fear for your husband and walk, resolute, towards the throne room.

There’s a job to be done, and you’re going to see it through.

***

The slam of the door echoes in your mind, reverberating over and over as you stare out the window.

You’re not a child anymore. You know that relationships come with their fair share of fights, and that two adults who love and respect each other can find ways to work through any obstacles that crop up. You know this is a temporary thing, much like the nights and the winters.

Despite all that, you still feel chilled in the wake of M’Baku’s ire. Your hands feeling unsatisfyingly empty without his hands holding them, and you feel cold without his arms around you --even though you’re sitting in bed, tucked under blankets and furs.

It’s the same story with the two of you. A small disagreement had flared into a roiling argument. He’d started making jokes to lighten the mood, you’d gotten offended and uptight, he’d gotten frustrated, and the two of you had exploded at each other.

You close your eyes, breathing deeply as the fight replays over and over in your head, and try to still your mind as best as you can. Obsessing over the past won’t help the present or the future.

The door creaks open, and the bed dips as M’Baku sits next to you. His lips press against your temple. “I’m sorry, usana.”

You smile and lean against him, warmth flowing through you once more.

#sass writes #black panther fanfiction #m'baku x reader #birthday fic #wakanda forever

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