#a goddess and the star child she accidentally made in her image | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fvaleraye · 3 years

Text

Scintillam God List(Subject to Change as I Think(tm))

Hi I received One(1) Encouragement on Discord, so y’all are getting the list ASDLFKJN

under a read more bc, while it is not as long as i thought, it’s still long as shit

The Church Pantheon

Aurelius - The Dragon King/The Creator/The Golden Serpent: The creator from the church's creation myth. They were the first Dragon God- the first dragon to ascend from immortality to outright divinity- and parent of the light goddess, Sol. They forged the stars and planets alongside their dragon compatriots. But they were a cruel god, for dragons were a cruel people, favoring their dragon brethren above their daughter and their human grandchildren, which led to them being killed by their daughter and the death of the dragons. Aurelius was the god of stars and the cycle of destruction and creation.

Sol - The Lady of Light/The Dawn Mother/The Sunlit Serpent: The daughter of Aurelius. Sol is the mother of humanity and the one to, according to myth, lead a rebellion against her creator and the other dragon gods. She created humanity, a soft, small race, supposedly in her image, to be foils to dragonkind, a titanic, scaled race. Eventually her children were enslaved by the dragons, which angered her, starting the rebellion. Sol is the goddess of the sun, light, order, peace, and family.

Luna - The Maiden of Moonlight/The Night Mother/The Silver Serpent: Luna was a small, scaleless dragon in life, whose skin shined like diamond under the right light, and, supposedly, was given godhood when Sol recognized her great generosity, a rare trait in dragons. Her scalelessness helped provide inspiration for the creation of humankind. The two grew very close, which angered Aurelius. They cast a curse on the two sky gods, forcing them as far apart as they could manage, creating the cycle of day and night. They say that eclipses are the two goddesses returning to each others side, for just a brief moment. Luna is the goddess of the moon, faith, sorcery, light in the darkness, and dragons.

The Outsiders Pantheon

The Traveler - The Outsider/The Changeling God/The Faceless One: The original Outsider, and the creator of the creation myth held by the worshippers of the Outsiders. The Traveler is a being outside time and space, who appears as a hooded, purple skinned man bearing a large pack and cane, dressed in rags, without a face or name, and five arms: three on his left, two on his right. He is the father of the Changeling race, granting them his gift of facelessness, and the forefather of black magic. He created the world as a place to rest as he walked the stars, the months commemorating his travels, and the Changeling Moon supposedly marking his passing through our world again. The Traveler is the god of journeys, change, fate, and cycles. His holy number is 5.

The Wyrm - The Black Serpent/The Great Devourer: The second Outsider, and the destroyer god of the Outsiders. The Wyrm is supposedly the accidental creation of The Traveler as he perfected his magic. An endlessly large, black and purple serpent-like creature, with a mouth larger than the heavens, lined with more teeth than any being can comprehend, and billions of trillions of legs. In the Church of Light's writings, it was killed by Sol during a crusade against darkness, while the Order of the Outsiders claims that it was simply sealed by the Outsider, and chases him across the stars. They claim that each eclipse marks another moment where the Wyrm begins to catch up to its creator, and that, when it catches him, it will devour him, and all of existence, finally ending the Traveler's cycle. It is the god of serpents, destruction, darkness, corruption, and endings. Its holy number is 9.

The False Priest - The Betrayer/The Punished: The third Outsider. The Priest was once a man in service to the Traveler, who supposedly founded a series of "teachings" that he demanded all followers of the Traveler abide by. These teachings were never spoken by the Traveler, for he did not lead anyone, he simply let them think for themselves. Nevertheless, this man insisted that he knew the Traveler's plans for them all, and made sacrifice of five "lambs". The first was a man, who was made a willing sacrifice. The second was a woman, who practiced magic that the Traveler did not create, deeming her a heretic. The third was a lord, who he hated for, in his eyes, wrongfully claiming to be favored by the Traveler. The fourth was the lord's prized beast, whose name, master, home, pride, and heart were taken. The fifth, and final, were his followers, who, in his paranoia, he saw corruption in. The Traveler cast him down, cursing him to an existence where, for his hubris, he would be eternally punished by the Fourth Lamb, whose sacrifice the Traveler saw as his greatest transgression. He is the god betrayal, paranoia, dogmatism, and deceit. His holy number is 4.

The Fourth Lamb - The Wronged One/The Broken/The One Who Shall Never Forgive: The fourth Outsider. The Lamb was once a creature of a long forgotten race, loved and created by the Traveler, and a proud pet of a lord, favored by the Traveler. After the creation of the Wyrm, her race was wiped out, leaving her the only survivor. The Traveler bestowed her on a kind Changeling lord, and told her that she would be with their family for eternity. However, the False Priest, in his evil took from her five sacrifices: her master, her name, her home, her pride, and, finally, her heart. Her death cry echoed throughout the cosmos, and a cry of rage from her creator sounded out in response. The Traveler arrived to see the last of his beasts broken on the ground. He restored her life, but he could not restore her body, not completely, for she was so broken. Now, as the Fourth Lamb, she endlessly chases the Priest through the stars, the sounds of her pained cries and cracking of her bones screaming through the void as she gives chase. She catches him every Lord's Moon, where he is ripped to shreds and devoured in a most painful and sadistic manner that lasts all thirty-one moons of the month. Then, on the beginning of the Dragon Moon, just as death takes him, the Priest is resurrected, and the chase begins anew, never to end, until the Lamb forgives him, which she never will. She is the goddess of beasts, loss, revenge, punishments, and death. Her holy number is 3.

The Unburnt Pantheon

The Unburnt Pilgrim - The Wanderer: The first of the Unburnt. The Pilgrim wandered the void, and he created the world as a place for his fellows to live and rest. His hands shaped the lands, his steps made the mountains and canyons, and his breath created the wind. He still wanders the void, creating more worlds, to make a masterpiece. He is the god of voyages, hermits, selflessness, and creation.

The Unburnt Father - The Lawmaker: The second of the Unburnt. The Father envisioned the designs of the physical forms of all life. He gave life laws, and kept them from savagery. He punished those who break his laws, and answers the prayers of men who demand justice. He is the god of laws, order, justice, and kings.

The Unburnt Mother - The Caretaker. The third of the Unburnt. The Mother gave birth to the designs of the Father. She gave life love, and generosity. She keeps all life humble, and loves all equally, even the Uncharred. She cries for the Son, and her tears gave way to oceans, which helps give life to the Uncharred. She is the goddess of love, family, compassion, queens, and motherhood.

The Unburnt Son - The Fool: The fourth of the Unburnt. The Son was the first child of the Mother and the Father. He, in his ignorance, led the children of the Unburnt astray, misinterpreting his Father's words, and leading the Children of the Unburnt to ruin. He was chained to a mountain, where the rays of the Unburnt Sun burn him eternally as punishment, so that all life may know to never repeat his mistakes. He is the god of fools, prisoners, and princes.

The Unburnt Scholar - The Mind: The fifth of the Unburnt. The Scholar give life a mind to think, and understand the laws of the Father. The Scholar's ways and wills are unknowable and unfathomable, even to the Father. They are the god of thought, understanding, and schemes.

The Unburnt Prophet - The Priest: The sixth of the Unburnt. The Prophet gave life language, and the ability to share the Father's word with those who it could not reach. His mind gave life the Primordial Flame, which burned brighter than any after it, but only briefly. With it, the knowledge to create flame. He is the god of faith, flame, and language.

The Unburnt Smith - The Craftsman: The seventh of the Unburnt. The Smith gave life metal and ore, which may be made into arms and armor by the flame of the Prophet. His veins run through the crust of the earth, from where he may be bled for ore. He made the weapons and armor of the Warrior, and helps him to wage his eternal war. He is the god of metal, smithing, mining, and craftsmanship.

The Unburnt Warrior - The Warmaster: The eighth of the Unburnt. The Warrior gave life emotion, and strength. He wages a war on the Neverburnt, which lasts eternal. His blood gives life to the Red Flame, the flame of rage and righteousness. He is the god of war, fury, strength, blood, and vengeance.

The Unburnt Sun - The Judge: The Ninth of the Unburnt. The Sun gave light to the world, so that it would not be shrouded in darkness. It punishes the Son with its rays, and it is only by its mercy that all life is not simply burned from the face of the world. It is the god of life, death, judgement, punishment, and mercy.

The Ocean Gods

The Silent Titan - The Destroyer: The patron god of the Deep Sirens. The Titan was sealed beneath the waves by the work of the ocean, in the Tomb of Titans. It is said to be unknowable, unnamable, and that it will one day escape, killing all other gods in revenge, and flooding the world with its black, tainted waters, killing all life. It is the god of silence and destruction.

Judex - The Tallyman of the Tides/The Gaoler of the Damned: The divine servant of Anguis. Judex keeps note of all debts, all tolls, all tithes. Every year, the sea monster hunters of the Free Lands are to be pay him with the seven hearts of a Deep Titan, brought and gutted from the depths. Every crew who will go out to hunt that year must pay one. Those crews who hunt without paying the tithe are visited by him, where he must be payed with a heart, or he will sink ship and crew, dragging them to the depths with his great chains, where they shall be damned, imprisoned, and punished for eternity. He is the god of tithes and prisoners.

Anguis - The Mother of Monsters: The holy mother of all ocean life. Anguis lives in the depths of the ocean, where she gives birth to ever greater sea monsters. She loves and cares for her children, but allows the land dwellers to hunt them if they provide her with the seven hearts of a Deep Titan, a spawn of her nemesis, the Silent Titan. Judex is her divine servant, whom she sends to collect the tolls and bring them to her. If she is angered, the oceans will storm for months. She is the god of monsters, mothers, and the fury of the ocean.

#Valerie Rambles #Scintillam #i'm so sorry if the read more doesn't work ASDFLKJN #anyway #i had a lot of fun thinking about this...#so y'all get this #hope u enjoy the worldbuilding

2 notes · View notes

rocksandrobots · 4 years

Text

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 4 - The First Day: Shopping Spree (part 2)

The ‘mall’ was a massive indoor marketplace. It was three stories tall with an open courtyard in the center and a sky-lighted roof above. On each level were open walkways and connecting stairs with rooms off to the side serving as individual shops. Stalls lined the center of the walkways selling even more wares and entrances to larger stores were at the ends of each of the three branching corridors that lead off from the courtyard.

Varian was easily overwhelmed by the enormity of the place. He stood still in awe for a few moments just drinking in the sight. After his initial surprise began to fade, he took off, excited to explore every nook and cranny he could find, dragging Ruddiger along on a leash. He wanted to see it all; every store, stall, and vendor.

The first store he came across was one that sold musical instruments. Inside a window display stood a setup of wires and black boxes all connected to what looked like a guitar. Another customer was testing the instrument out and from the boxes emitted a loud strumming noise as he played. Varian ran into the shop with a wide grin, eager to inspect the new invention for himself.

The rest of his new friends followed close behind him, bemused by his curiosity. As soon as the other customer was done testing out the instrument, Varian took the guitar from him and told the others, “this is so much more successful than my own attempts to amplify a guitar’s sound. I just attached a horn to the base of mine.”

He then experimentally began to play an old folk song that he knew. It was just like playing a regular guitar, only it produced a slightly metallic sounding dissonance at the end of each strum. Once he was done, Honey Lemon burst into a round of applause.

youtube

“Oooh, that’s so good!” She enthusiastically cheered and the rest of the group also started to clap. Varian blushed, not used to receiving praise nor ever thinking his musical talents were of anything worth writing home about.

“Man, I would love to have this in my own world.” he said as he placed the guitar back onto its display stand.

“You’ll need electricity to make it work.” Wasabi informed him. “Come on, let’s get you the clothes we came for and then you can check out the rest of the shops.”

With that, they all filed out of the music store and walked over to the first clothing outlet.

As soon as they entered, Honey Lemon gasped in joy and ran over to a bunch of racks where articles of clothing hung and a big yellow ‘sale’ sign stood on top.

“Yay! They have bikinis on sale!” She exclaimed and pulled one of the suits of clothes off the rack and bounded away to the other end of the shop where a couple of enclosures stood. Presumably to try on the aforementioned, ‘bikini’, whatever that was.

“Oh that reminds me,” Hiro said,” we’re going to the beach next weekend. You should come along if you’re still here by then.”

“Yeah, we’ll make sure to buy you a bathing suit on top of the other stuff you need.” Wasabi agreed.

“Bathing suit?” Varian echoed in confusion.

“Yeah, for swimming in. You.. you do know how to swim don’t you?” Wasabi asked.

“Of course I know how to swim.” Varian said indignantly. He had grown up next to a river his whole life, and the ocean itself was in walking distance of his village. Though it was a full day’s worth of travel to get there and back. However, swimming as a leisure activity was one that was normally done by one’s self. It just wouldn’t do to be caught running around in wet under-drawers in public. “I just never heard of needing special clothes to swim in.” Varian continued to explain.

Just then their conversation was interrupted by Honey Lemon calling to them. “Hey guys, what do you think of this one?” She flung open the door to the fitting room and that was when Varian found out what exactly a bikini was.

She was dressed in a rather revealing two piece orange swimsuit. The gang called out compliments to her as she gave a little twirl to show off the piece of clothing in full. All but Varian, who stared at her with bated breath. He had never seen anyone wear so little before in person and in that moment she reminded him of images of Greek goddesses he once saw in a book.

Fortunately, only Gogo noticed his flustration.

"You've never seen a bikini before, have you?" She said.

Varian numbly shook his head no, his gaze never leaving Honey Lemon.

"Well, don't stare then." She advised.

Varian snapped out his stupefied state as it dawned on him that he was being inappropriate. "Oh, sorry." He said as he quickly threw his hand over his eyes.

Gogo just rolled her own eyes. "No, you can look," she said as she gently lowered his arm, "just don't stare. It's just a bikini."

She explained to him that this was what girls normally wore to go swimming in and Varian was reminded once again how out of place he was in this world. That he wasn’t just in a new country with new inventions, but one with its own culture and societal standards.

Ears burning, he turned his attention to the rest of the clothing racks hoping to focus on something else and avoid embarrassing himself any further. He was just grateful that Honey Lemon herself hadn’t seen his faux pas. She had been nothing but nice to him and he would have hated to have accidentally offended her.

However nothing more came from the incident. Honey Lemon went back to the changing room to put on her regular clothes again and Varian, along with the others help, chose some outfits to buy.

He picked out some long sleeved buttoned shirts. One was a dark burgundy and made of a light cotton material. The second one was light blue and made of a sturdier material called denim. It also had pockets on the front and Varian figured it’d make for a good work shirt.

He also found a white linen collared shirt. This one had a single pocket on one side. Such shirts were usually reserved for special occasions in his world and he had never owned anything so fine in his life.

Finally, he found on sale something called a ‘flannel’ shirt. It was made of a thick wool like material and was checkered with crossing red and green stripes. Varian had never seen such a dyed pattern before and personally found it impressive looking, though the others were more non-pulsed by it. He was told it was ‘out of season’, hence it being on sale, but he didn’t care, he was planning on keeping these clothes for longer than just a season after all.

Next he picked out some pants. He found two pairs made of the same denim as the previous shirt. One had a darker blue tint and hung loosely around his ankles. The sign above it said ‘boot cut’ and Varian figured it would do well to have something that went with his Saporian boots. The other was of a lighter blue and was more form fitting. The sign above it said ‘slim cut’.

He also found a pair of light brown pants with several large pockets. Hiro called them cargo pants. They were a little baggy but the idea of having all those pockets on hand while working was enough for Varian to get them. At Wasabi’s insistence he also bought two pairs of ‘dress pants’. They were pressed and straight cut and he got one in black and another pair in a light tan color called khaki.

Satisfied with his selection, they made their way to the counter where Fred generously paid for everything. Varian offered to pay him back as soon as he could earn some money of his own but the older teen just shrugged it off and told him not to worry about it.

Apparently Fred came from a wealthy family and had more than enough money to spare. All he asked for in return was that Varian and the others would stop at his favorite store while here.

It was called a comic shop and it sold games, toys, and various small books full of illustrations. In fact they were made of nothing but illustrations. There were no words on the page save for the occasional line of dialogue and the drawings themselves told the story.

Varian thought them to be young children’s picture books at first glance and couldn’t see the fuss. But Fred was practically bursting with excitement as he ran around the store.

“Now my young protégé, welcome to a whole new world of wonder, excitement, and adventure! Here you shall embark upon your first quest into geekdom..” Fred exclaimed in all seriousness before gathering up various comics for Varian to try.

“Protégé?” Varian questioningly whispered to Wasabi while the other boy was busy.

“Don’t think too much about it. Once you get to know Fred long enough you tend to learn when to tune him out.” Wasabi whispered back.

Just then Fred dumped a stack of comics into Varian’s arms and he had to quickly readjust his stance so as not to drop their collective weight. He struggled to peer over the top of the pile as Fred launched into a frantic explanation about the story of the comic he himself was currently holding. Varian though was struggling to keep up.

Fortunately, Gogo came to his rescue again.

“Seriously, Fred, he doesn’t need you to buy him the whole store.” She admonished the blonde haired boy. “Look, just get him one. Let him try it out and see if he likes it.” With that she picked up one of the comics off the top of the stack, indicating that it should be the one that Varian got.

“Aww but, he needs to read at least one from each of the big two; IC and Wonder comics!” Fred whined in return and held the comic he was currently holding up in a pleading manner.

Gogo rolled her eyes and relented. “Fine, but only two, now put the rest of these back where they go.” She took the comic Fred was holding from him and then gave the stack Varian was holding back to Fred. She then proceeded to watch Fred as he put all the comics back in their place; like a mother making sure her small child was cleaning up his room.

Once everything was back in its place, Fred paid for the two books and handed them to Varian. One was titled ‘Miracle Maiden’ and had a drawing of a woman, dressed in red and blue star-studded armor, wielding a spear and leading an army to victory on the cover. The other was called ‘The Avenger’ and on the front was the picture of a man dressed all in black standing on top of a tower in the rain with a cityscape sprawling behind him. He held in his hand a skull, as if he was reciting Hamlet’s famous soliloquy.

Varian had to admit that the covers looked intriguing, but there was little time to read through them as they we’re off to the next store.

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

The next shop was one that sold electronics. Varian starred in wonder at the various inventions. Fascinated, he went to poke and prod each new device; bubbling over with questions about each one. His friends patiently answered him in kind.

While there, it was decided that Varian would need something called a ‘cellphone’ for the duration of his stay. The phone was the same black box he had seen Wasabi use earlier that day. Apparently the device was for long range communication. One could talk to another person miles away so long as they also had a similar device.

The trick, however, was one required the services of an outside source to connect the two devices. So you had to pay another company for 'minutes’ on a regular basis. Since no one knew how long Varian would be stuck in this world the gang collectively decided to buy him a cheap 'prepaid’ phone. You simply bought a new card whenever you ran out of minutes instead of paying a monthly fee and Varian hoped that if he was here for longer than a month he’d be able to earn the money to buy that himself. He was already feeling guilty that everyone was going so much out of their way for him. But everyone kept insisting that it was no big deal and that they were happy to help.

“I’ll help you set the phone up when we get back to the dormitory.” Wasabi told him. “Get you everyone’s phone numbers so you call any of us if you need something."

“Also don’t worry about the money,” Gogo reassured him. “No one expects you to have it all together given the circumstances. If you see something that you would like just let us know.”

And ‘find something' Varian did. He spotted in a display window a shirt with alchemy symbols printed on the front and excitedly ran inside. To his disappointment the establishment was not in fact an alchemy store, but rather a novelty shop that sold various clothing and accessories. However, setting that aside, there were still quite a few things that caught Varian’s interest. Including the aforementioned shirt. It was black, with short sleeves, and in gold print were various triangular images lined down its front.

“What’s with the triangles?” Wasabi asked when Varian showed off his find.

“They’re alchemy symbols. Each one is a different element; water, fire, earth, and air.” Varian explained while pointing out each ideogram.

Wasabi nodded along as if he understood, but he didn’t fully comprehend the significance of what Varian was saying.

“And that’s important because…?”

“Because, I’m an alchemist.” Varian replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I had hoped this store would be selling like ingredients for alchemical potions or something, but it looks like this shirt is all they have.”

“Yeeeah, no one’s seriously practiced alchemy in like hundreds of years.” Hiro interjected.

“But you still have chemistry and engineering?” Varian responded, confused by how the two most important applications of his field could be around but not the science itself.

“That’s because they’re considered their own separate fields of study.” Hiro explained.

“Chemistry kind of replaced alchemy in this world,” Honey Lemon carefully interceded. “Now we use the periodic table instead of symbols. Oh, like this one.” She cheerfully held up another shirt that she had found. On it was printed a graph with various colored squares and upon closer inspection Varian noticed that each box corresponded to an element.

“Wow. Look how many new chemical elements have been discovered,” Varian breathed in wonder.

“I know right!?” Honey Lemon exclaimed. “Ooooh, we should get matching tee-shirts. We could be chemistry buddies!” She leaned in towards him as she said this, her face a mere foot away from his own. She had a wild gleam in her eye and a smile so wide that it threatened to split her face in two.

Varian had never seen someone so excited by chemistry before. Well, no one but himself that was, and he found himself agreeing to her proposal in a dizzy haze. The enthusiasm with which the girl threw herself into everything made Varian feel off-kilter. She hardly seemed real; no one was ever this nice, this genuine, this…earnest all the time. Or maybe they were. Maybe his time as a criminal had him so disillusioned that he had forgotten what real people were actually like.

She handed to him the shirt that she was holding and picked out a new one for herself. It was exactly the same as his own, light material and short sleeved, but instead of grey her’s was a bright sky blue.

From there, Varian found other things within the shop that also intrigued him. First was a lighter jacket, called a ‘hoodie’. It was shorter than the great frock coat he currently wore and made of a less heavier material, with a hood attached and a large pocket in the center. He didn’t want to admit it to Wasabi but he did indeed find himself getting overly hot in the bright heat of the day. Apparently, San Fansokyo had a warmer climate than he was used to. The hoodie was red with the image of a raccoon printed on the front with the word RENEGADE underneath in bold white letters. Both he and Ruddiger found it amusing.

He also bought a couple of belts, and a new pair of suspenders. These had a fanciful black and white diamond design woven into the material and were clearly meant to be worn on the outside unlike the leather straps he currently wore under his vest. Both of the belts were in black, though one had silver studs across it and came with a matching necklace that, to Varian, looked kind of like a collar.

He was also lucky enough to come across a wallet with more alchemy symbols imprinted onto the leather. It was the philosopher’s stone diagram and the whole thing came with a chain and clip to attach to his belt.

Wasabi suggested that Varian should also pick out a backpack to carry some of his new stuff in while they were there. He chose one made from a dark green canvas. It had lots of pockets with leather buckled straps and was big enough to hold most of the new clothes he had bought.

Just when he was about ready to check out, he noticed the two girls perusing over a stand filled with tiny brightly colored bottles. Curious he walked over to join them.

“What about this color?” He overheard Honey Lemon ask Gogo as she held up a bottle that was a bright shade of pink.

“Eh, not my style but it should look good on you.” Gogo replied.

“What is it?” Varian interrupted.

“Nail polish, you use it to paint your fingernails.” Gogo answered.

Varian picked up one of the bottles to inspect it. The bottles were made of clear glass and he could see that the various colors he had first noticed were in fact thick colorful liquids contained within each. The one he held in his hand was a black color with a shimmering sheen that glinted when he curiously swirled the bottle around.

“Only it’s not like oil paint. It’s made of synthetic polymers.” Honey Lemon explained further. “Like a type of plastic.”

Varian didn’t know what ‘plastic’ was but he did know a lot about polymers. Polymer was a Greek word meaning ‘part’ and in alchemy was used to refer to organic compounds whose structures were composed of multiple repeating units. He had never heard of a man made polymer though.

“Fascinating” Varian whispered as he continued to hypnotically stare at the bottle as he held it up to the light.

Unbeknownst to him, the two girls shared bemused looks between each other while he was distracted. They found his curiosity over simple ordinary things both simultaneously amusing and endearing.

“Do you want to try some out?” Gogo prompted.

“Yeah,” Varian absently said all while still looking at the liquid trying to decipher its chemical makeup from sight alone.

“Yay! We can have a makeup party! I can help you put it on!’ Honey Lemon cheered, “Which color do you want?”

“This one will do.” Varian said, still barely focusing on what the other two girls were saying. He turned to carry the bottle and the rest of his items to the counter, still never fully taking his eyes off the liquid. Until he was stopped by Honey Lemon that is.

“Oh you’ll need this too.” She pulled a larger bottle off the top of the shelf and handed it to him. It was filled with a clear liquid and the words ‘nail polish remover’ was printed on a label on the front. “It’s acetone, “ She explained “It’ll dissolve the paint once it’s dried.”

“Ahh” Varian nodded his head in realization. Acetone had a lot of alchemical usages; so he was already familiar with the substance. With all that settled they finally went to check out. Once everything was paid for the gang decided that it was time for lunch.

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

The food court in the center of the mall was a veritable feast of sights, smells, and tastes. Eateries of all sorts were tucked into every nook and cranny. Food stalls were scattered here and there, in amongst tables and chairs for guests to sit and eat at. Vendors sold delicacies from all over the globe and some specialized in serving rare treats like coffee, chocolates, or teas.

Varian was bombarded with the scents of various spices, sweets, and meats being prepared a hundred different ways. And everywhere he turned he spied mouth watering dishes being severed to crowds of people.

Wasabi gave him a slip of the green paper that served as currency in this world. On its surface was printed the number twenty with the image of a woman Varian did not recognize on one side and a picture of a large stately manor on the opposite.

He was told to pick out whatever he liked, while everyone else shuffled off to their own choice of cuisine. However this proved to be easier said than done. There were far too many options to choose from and Varian didn’t know where to start.

Some of the merchants stood to the side and offered free samples to the passing customers. Which Varian figured might be helpful in making a decision, if it wasn’t for Ruddiger.

His pet was all stomach and far too eager to try the tasty morsels to mind any manners. It was all Varian could do to keep the raccoon from climbing on to the poor waiters and stealing pawfulls of the treats. Once he had managed to stop him from assaulting the servers, the animal was off to bother the guests sitting at the tables.

"Sorry,” he apologetically mumbled as he grabbed Ruddiger and pulled him away from another customer’s tray of food.

He held his pet tightly in his arms as the critter struggled to get away. Things were starting to get out of hand and Varian needed to make a decision fast before Ruddiger caused even more of a scene. That was when he spotted Hiro and Honey Lemon standing in line to order food from one of the establishments and he figured it was as good as any other place so he walked over to join them.

The restaurant was one that served meals from the island of Japan and their specialty was a soup that was called ramen. The stew consisted of noodles in a clear broth and from there customers could choose what toppings to be added to the dish. Varian didn’t even recognize half of the options on the menu so he stuck to only things he knew; pork slices, boiled egg, mustard greens, and slices of green onion.

He then joined his friends at a nearby table. He sat Ruddiger down between himself and Honey Lemon in a special enclosed chair predominantly meant for small children and then tied his leash to the back of the chair’s legs. That way even if his pet escaped he still couldn’t run off to bug anyone else.

Though he doubted it would be necessary, as Honey Lemon was already feeding Ruddiger pieces of food from her own meal. The raccoon greedily gulped down the bits of egg and noodle given to him while the tall girl cooed words of encouragement as if he was a small baby and not a wild animal.

“Don’t feed that thing with your bare hands.” Wasabi admonished her as he came to over join them. “It hasn’t had its shots yet. I gotta take him to the vet on Monday."

"Oh good, he’ll need a checkup.” Honey Lemon agreed, all the while continuing to pet Ruddiger as she fed him, completely ignoring Wasabi’s advice.

Varian had to chuckle at the irony of that as he sat down to eat himself. Then he noticed the utensils they had given him.

“What’s this?” Varian asked as he held up two wooden sticks.

“Chopsticks,” Hiro explained. “ You hold the two pieces in your hand, like this, and use them to pick up the food.” He then proceeded to demonstrate how to do just that.

“Who eats soup with sticks?” Varian asked in disbelief. The practice seemed totally impractical to Varian, but he gave it a try anyways, mimicking the other boy’s actions, and promptly failing at it.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get his hands to hold the chopsticks correctly and the food kept sliding out from between them. Finally he just angrily impaled the dish with the two wooden dowels, attempting to utilize them like you would a fork, but this too proved to be unsuccessful.

He gave up in frustration and was about ready to just drink from the bowl directly, when Wasabi took pity on him and brought him a spoon that he acquired from another vendor.

The soup had a savory, salty taste not unlike a consommé. It was however the combination of noodles and toppings that made the dish stand out to Varian, giving the stew a unique texture. He also made sure to give Ruggider some so that Honey Lemon wouldn’t have to give the raccoon all of her food.

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

After lunch Honey Lemon wanted to stop in a store that sold candles, soaps, and perfumes. The combined scents of flowers, herbs, fruits, and pastries wafting through the air was nearly overpowering. Any one of the fragrances might have been nice on their own but all combined together was too much. Fortunately, Varian wasn’t the only one with this opinion and the rest of the guys in the group went into a separate but connected side of the store that sold toiletries for men.

Once there, the other boys helped Varian pick out some soap, shampoo, cologne, and something called deodorant, which was meant to help stop sweating. Wasabi also bought him a shaving kit that included some disposable razors. They looked far safer than the steel blades men had to use in his world. In truth he didn’t really need to shave yet, but he wasn’t going to tell the other teens that. He was already sixteen, and the fact that he hadn’t grown a single hair on his face was a source of some shame for Varian. Better to let them think he was clean shaven then risk having his manliness questioned.

Afterwards they met back up with the girls and continued to explore the mall. There were stores of every kind selling anything you could think of. Jewelry, more clothing outlets, games, athletic gear for sports, shoes, music, sweets and candies, furniture, novelty knickknacks, decorative items for rooms such as rugs and lampshades, kitchen supplies, barber shops and nail salons, a spa, a ‘magic’ store that sold crystal balls and healing stones, (something Varian turned his nose up at), more electronics, and even a second hand store that sold anything as long as it was used. The last one Gogo stopped into real quick and reemerged carrying an old, beat up, guitar that she gave to Varian. It wasn’t electric and it needed tuning and some new strings but Varian was very grateful for her thoughtfulness.

However, out of all the wondrous shops and stalls he had seen that day, his favorite by far was the book store; walls and shelves lined with nothing but novels, magazines, and thick research books. Everything was divided up into categories and genres and he made a beeline to the section labeled ‘Action/Adventure’. He scanned the titles and covers hoping to find something familiar or at least interesting to read.

Reading was one of his favorite activities. He loved being transported away on grand adventures through the words on the page. It was a relief to a lonely farm boy, to pretend he was some hero in a far off land, befriended and admired, where the dangers weren’t real and you could come home again whenever. Sadly, he was no hero and the dangers he had faced were very real. Because of them, he hadn’t had the chance to just curl up and read a good story in nearly a year and a half.

“Do you have any Flynn Rider stories in this world?” Varian asked Hiro, who had walked over to join him.

“No, I don’t think so. What’s it about?”

“Flynn Rider is an amazing ne’er-do-well swashbuckling adventurer. He rides around exploring various far off lands, tricking villains, finding treasures, and saving people from nefarious evil doers.” Varian explained all while thrusting his arm out in a mock display of sword fighting.

Hiro gave a little laugh at the other boy’s antics. “No never hear of him, but there’s lots of other adventure books you may like; Robin Hood, Treasure Island… oh and this one. It’s one of my favorites.”

Hiro picked up a book from off the shelf and gave it to Varian. It was a small novel titled, ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer’, and on the cover was the image of a boy wearing a straw hat and painting a white picket fence. Varian though couldn’t fathom what was ‘adventurous’ about doing such a menial chore.

“It’s about a boy growing up on the Mississippi river and he and his best friend witness a murder while hunting for buried treasure.” Hiro explained.

Varian had to admit that the description provided was certainly a lot more interesting than the cover would initially suggest.

“My brother, Tadashi, used to read it to me when I was younger.” he said with a more hesitant and somber tone to his voice.

“Tadashi?” Varian queried. He hadn’t met anyone by that name yet and wondered why he wasn’t at breakfast this morning if he was supposed to be Hiro’s family.

“Uh, yeah, he passed away last year.” Hiro said with a little crack to his voice.

Varian’s heart dropped. He had been so caught up in his own problems, and the brief respite from them that this world provided, that it never occurred to him that anyone else was suffering. He felt foolish now for being so oblivious.

“Sorry, I.. I didn’t mean to...I” He tried to stumble out an apology for his lack of tact, but the other teen interrupted him.

“It’s ok. You didn’t know.”

A brief moment of silence passed, where neither boy wanted to meet the other’s gaze, and then Hiro continued on, trying to awkwardly change the subject.

“Uh, if you want to give it a read, I could buy it for you” He said pointing to the book Varian still held in his hand.

“You, sure?” Varian asked, “It wouldn’t be too much?”

“Naw, it’s only five bucks.” Hiro laughed.

Varian didn’t know what a ‘buck’ was nor if five was a substantial amount or not, but he appreciated the offer and made an agreement to read the story the first chance he got.

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

The last shop they visited for the day was one of the larger department stores attached to the mall. There they gathered up the remaining items that he needed. A couple of undershirts, a pack of underwear, and some socks. Two new pairs of shoes, one pair was white and made for running and were called ‘tennis shoes’, and the other was a pair of brown work boots. Varian didn’t want to mess up his nicer Saporian boots while experimenting, so he figured having them on hand would be prudent.

He also bought a pair of thick brown overalls for working in as well, since leather aprons weren’t common, along with a short sleeved collared shirt in teal green that Wasabi called a ‘polo shirt’. In addition to the work clothes, Varian bought two pairs of shorter britches in case the warmer weather proved to be too much for trousers. One pair was grey and called ‘jogger shorts’ and made of the same light material as the hoodie he had bought previously and the other was dark green ‘cargo shorts’ that held several pockets just like the cargo pants.

To round things off, he also got a pair of swimming trunks, a sleeveless shirt called a ‘tank top’ to go with it, and a pair of pajamas to sleep in. That, along with the clothes Wasabi had given him the night before, brought his total number of outfits to twelve. He still couldn’t believe how much he had been given. Anyone else in his world would be envious of such a vast wardrobe, but here it was deemed comparably small. It was still enough though, that Wasabi thought to buy some cheap plastic drawers for Varian to store his new clothes in. There would be just enough room to place them next to the couch.

Wasabi also bought him some basics that he might need, while there. Toothbrush, toothpaste, washcloth, towel, sheets and his own blanket, a pillow, and a notebook and pencils to work with. He was asked if he would like a hat as well, but Varian rarely took off his goggles so he declined. He did however take notice of several small timepieces that were on display nearby. They were called watches and were like tiny clocks you wore on your wrist. They came in all shapes and sizes and colors, some rustic looking and others more high-tech. Varian went with one that displayed the inner brass gears through the glass and came attached to a leather band.

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

Finally the day came to a close and they all convened out in the vast parking lot as the sun was setting. Fred had called his manservant to come pick him and Hiro up, and the rest of the gang was waiting for him to arrive. They hung around just simply talking and laughing and Varian thought to himself just how much fun he was having and how much fun the day itself had been. He hadn’t had fun in a good long while. Longer than he cared to admit to himself and he really couldn’t even remember the last time he had enjoyed the company of other people close to his age.

“Oh, there’s Heathcliff” Fred exclaimed as a long black car pulled into the lot. Apparently it was called a ‘limo’ and was quite an expensive vehicle. Though, Fred himself made no big deal about his social status.

“Bye guys, see ya later! Oh, and tell me what you think of the comics as soon as you get the change to read them, ok!” Fred told Varian.

Varian promised he would and waved the blonde boy goodbye as he got into the car.

“I texted Professor Granville. She said she’ll meet us on campus on Monday at nine in the morning. That’s in two days, so I’ll see you then.” Hiro said to him with a parting smile and got into the limo with Fred.

“We better be off as well.” Gogo said. She put on a helmet and sat upon a two-wheeled vehicle called a motorbike that she and Honey Lemon had ridden there.

“I hope you had a great time on your first day here.” Honey Lemon said with a sweet smile and then gave Varian a quick hug before bounding away and hopping on to the bike behind Gogo. That was certainly not something he had been expecting to happen and once again he felt knocked for a loop by the pretty girl. All he could do was dumbly wave back at her as she and Gogo sped away on the bike.

“So did you?” Wasabi asked as he leaned against his own car with a bemused smile upon his face. “Did you have a good time today?” He clarified when Varian looked back at him in confusion.

“Oh yeah, yeah. Loads of fun. This world is amazing.” Varian answered back.

“Well good. I’m glad your first day went well. Let’s head home. I’ll pick us up some tacos for dinner on the way.”

“What are tacos?” Varian asked as he entered the car, while unbeknownst to him, off in the distance, a pair of eyes watched as he and the green vehicle departed.

“Soon.” A voice said to no one in particular. “The time is coming soon.”

#tangled the series #BH6 the series #tangled #big hero 6 #varian #Hiro Hamada #rapunzel's tangled adventure #Wasabi #Honey lemon #fred frederickson iv #gogo #ruddiger

45 notes · View notes

monroetalks · 3 years

Text

The Woman Who Will Not Die: an essay about Marilyn Monroe by Gloria Steinem

It has been nearly a quarter of a century since the death of a minor American actress named Marilyn Monroe. There is no reason for her to be a part of my consciousness as I walk down a midtown New York street frilled with color and action and life.

In a shop window display of white summer dresses, I see several huge photographs – a life-size cutout of Marilyn standing in a white halter dress, some close-ups of her vulnerable, please-love-me smile – but they don’t look dated. Oddly, Marilyn seems to be just as much a part of this street scene as the neighboring images of models who could now be her daughters – even her granddaughters. I walk another block and pass a record store featuring the hit albums of a rock star named Madonna. She has imitated Marilyn Monroe’s hair, style, and clothes, but subtracted her vulnerability. Instead of using seduction to offer men whatever they want, Madonna uses it to get what she wants – a 1980’s difference that has made her the idol of teenage girls. Nevertheless, her international symbols of femaleness are pure Marilyn.

A few doors away, a bookstore displays two volumes on Marilyn Monroe in its well-stocked window. The first is nothing but random photographs, one of many such collections that have been published over the years. The second is one of several recent exposes on the circumstances surrounding Monroe’s 1962 death from an accidental or purposeful overdose of sleeping pills. Could organized crime, Jimmy Hoffa in particular, have planned to use her friendship with the Kennedys and her suicide – could Hoffa and his friends even have caused that suicide – in order to embarrass or blackmail Robert Kennedy, who was definitely a mafia enemy and probably her lover? Only a few months ago, Marilyn Monroe’s name made international headlines again when a British television documentary on this conspiracy theory was shown and a network documentary made in the United States was suppressed, with potential pressure from crime-controlled unions or the late Robert Kennedy’s family as rumored reasons.

I knew I belonged to the public and to the world, not because I was talented or even beautiful but because I had never belonged to anything or anyone else. — From the Unfinished Biography of Marilyn Monroe

As I turn the corner into my neighborhood, I pass a newsstand where the face of one more young Marilyn Monroe look-alike stares up at me from a glossy magazine cover. She is Kate Mailer, Norman Mailer’s daughter, who was born the year that Marilyn Monroe died. Now she is starring in “Strawhead,” a “memory play” about Monroe written by Norman Mailer, who is so obsessed with this long-dead sex goddess that he had written one long biography and another work – half fact, half fiction – about her, even before casting his daughter in this part.

The next morning, I turn on the television and see a promotion for a show on film director Billy Wilder. The only clip chosen to attract viewers and represent Wilder’s entire career is one of Marilyn Monroe singing a few breathless bars in Some Like It Hot, one of two films they made together.

These are everyday signs of a unique longevity. If you add her years of movie stardom to the years since her death, Marilyn Monroe has been a part of our lives and imaginations for nearly four decades. That’s a very long time for one celebrity to survive in a throwaway culture.

In the 1930’s, when English critic Cyril Connolly proposed a definition of posterity to measure whether a writer’s work had stood the test of time, he suggested that posterity should be limited to 10 years. The form and content of popular culture were changing too fast, he explained, to make any artist accountable for more than a decade.

Since then, the pace of change has been accelerated even more. Everything from the communications revolution to multinational entertainment has altered the form of culture. Its content has been transformed by civil rights, feminism, an end to film censorship, and much more. Nonetheless, Monroe’s personal and intimate ability to inhabit our fantasies has gone right on. As I write this, she is still better known than most living movie stars, most world leaders, and most television personalities. The surprise is that she rarely has been taken seriously enough fur us to ask why that is so.

One simple reason for her life story’s endurance is the premature end of it. Personalities and narratives projected onto the screen of our imaginations are far more haunting – and far more likely to be the stuff of conspiracies and conjuncture – if they have not been allowed to play themselves out to their logical or illogical ends. James Dean’s brief life is the subject of a cult, but the completed lives of such “outsiders” as Gary Cooper or Henry Fonda are not. Each day in the brief Camelot of John Kennedy inspires as much speculation as each year in the long New Deal of Franklin Roosevelt. The few years of Charlie “Bird” Parker’s music inspire graffiti (“Bird Lives”), but the many musical years of Duke Ellington do not.

When the past dies there is mourning, but when the future dies, our imaginations are compelled to carry it on.

Would Marilyn Monroe have become the serious actress she aspired to be? Could she have survived the transition from sex goddess to mortal woman that aging would impose? Could she had stopped her disastrous marriages to men whose images she wanted to absorb (Beloved American DiMaggio, Serious Intellectual Miller), and found a partner who loved and understood her as she really was? Could she have kicked the life-wasting habits of addiction and procrastination? Would she have had or adopted children? Found support in the growing strength of women or been threatened by it? Entered the world of learning or continued to be ridiculed for trying? Survived and even enjoyed the age of 60 she now would be?

Most important, would she finally have escaped her lifetime combination of two parts talent, one part victim, and one part joke? Would she have been “taken seriously,” as she so badly wanted to be?

We will never know. Every question is as haunting as any of its possible answers.

But the poignancy of this incompleteness is not enough to explain Marilyn Monroe’s enduring power. Even among brief public lives, few become parables. Those that endure seem to hook into our deepest emotions of hope or fear, dream or nightmare, of what our own fates might be. Successful leaders also fall into one group or the other: those who invoke a threatening future and promise disaster unless we obey, and those who conjure up a hopeful future and promise reward if we will follow. It’s this power of either fear or hope that makes a personal legend survive, from the fearsome extreme of Adolph Hitler (Did he really escape? Might he have lived on in the jungles of South America?) to the hopeful myth of Zapata waiting in the hills of Mexico to rescue his people. The same is true for the enduring fictions of popular culture, from the frightening villain to the hopeful hero, each of whom is reincarnated again and again.

In an intimate way during her brief life, Marilyn Monroe hooked into both those extremes of emotion. She personified many of the secret hopes of men and many secret fears of women.

To men, wrote Norman Mailer, her image was “gorgeous, forgiving, humorous, compliant and tender… she would ask no price.” She was the child-woman who offered pleasure without adult challenge; a lover who neither judged nor asked anything in return. Both the roles she played and her own public image embodied a masculine hope for a woman who is innocent and sensuously experienced at the same time. “In fact,” as Marilyn said toward the end of her career, “my popularity seems almost entirely a masculine phenomenon.”

Since most men have experienced female power only in their childhoods, they associate it with a time when they themselves were powerless. This will continue as long as children are raised almost totally by women, and rarely see women in authority outside the home. That’s why male adults, and some females too, experience the presence of a strong woman as a dangerous regression to a time of their own vulnerability and dependence. For men, especially, who are trained to measure manhood and maturity by their distance from the world of women, being forced back to that world for female companionship may be very threatening indeed. A compliant child-woman like Monroe solves this dilemma by offering sex WITHOUT the power of an adult woman, much less of an equal. As a child herself, she allows men to feel both conquering and protective; to be both dominating and admirable at the same time.

For women, Monroe embodies kinds of fear that were just as basic as the hope she offered men: the fear of a sexual competitor who could take away men on whom women’s identities and even livelihoods might depend; the fear of having to meet her impossible standard of always giving – and asking nothing in return; the nagging fear that we might share her feminine fate of being vulnerable, unserious, constantly in danger of becoming a victim.

Aside from her beautiful face, which women envied, she was nothing like the female stars that women moviegoers have made popular. Those stars offered at the least the illusion of being in control of their fates – and perhaps having an effect on the world. Stars of the classic “women’s movies” were actresses like Bette Davis, who made her impact by sheer force of emotion; or Katherine Hepburn, who was always intelligent and never victimized for long; or even Doris Day, who charmed the world into conforming to her own virginal standards. Their figures were admirable and neat, but without the vulnerability of the big-breasted woman in a society that regresses men and keeps them obsessed with the maternal symbols of breasts and hips. Watching Monroe was quite different: women were forced to worry for her vulnerability – and thus their own. They might feel like a black moviegoer watching a black actor play a role that was too passive, too obedient, or a Jew watching a Jewish character who was selfish and avaricious. In spite of some extra magic, some face-saving sincerity and humor, Marilyn Monroe was still close to the humiliating stereotype of a dumb blonde: depersonalized, sexual, even a joke. Yet few women yet had the self-respect to object on behalf of their sex, as one would object on behalf of a race or religion, they still might be left feeling a little humiliated – or threatened – without knowing why.

“I have always had a talent for irritating women since I was fourteen,” Marilyn wrote in her unfinished auto-biography. “Sometimes I’ve been to a party where no one spoke to me for a whole evening. The men, frightened by their wives or sweeties, would give me a wide berth. And the ladies would gang up in a corner to discuss my dangerous character.”

But all that was before her death and the revelations surrounding it. The moment she was gone, Monroe’s vulnerability was no longer just a turn-on for many men and an embarrassment for many women. It was a tragedy. Whether that final overdose was suicide or not, both men and women were forced to recognize the insecurity and private terrors that had caused her to attempt suicide several times before.

Men who had never known her wondered if their love and protection might have saved her. Women who had never known her wondered if their empathy and friendship might have done the same. For both women and men, the ghost of Marilyn came to embody a particularly powerful form of hope: the rescue fantasy. Not only did we imagine a happier ending for the parable of Marilyn Monroe’s life, but we also fantasized ourselves as saviors who could have brought it about.

Still, women didn’t seem quite as comfortable about going public with their rescue fantasies as men did. It meant admitting an identity with a woman who always had been a little embarrassing, and who had now turned out to be doomed as well. Nearly all of the journalistic eulogies that followed Monroe’s death were written by men. So are almost all of the nearly 40 books that have been published about Monroe.

Bias in the minds of editors played a role, too. Consciously or not, they seemed to assume that only male journalists should write about a sex goddess. Margaret Parton, a reporter from the Ladies’ Home Journal and one of the few women assigned to profile Marilyn during her lifetime, wrote an article that was rejected because it was too favorable. She had reported Marilyn’s ambitious hope of playing Sadie Thompson, under the guidance of Lee Strasberg, in a television version of RAIN, based on a short story by Somerset Maugham. (Sadie Thompson was “a girl who knew how to be gay, even when she was sad,” a fragile Marilyn had explained, “and that’s important – you know?”) Parton also reported her own “sense of having met a sick little canary instead of a peacock. Only when you pick it up in your hand to comfort it … beneath the sickness, the weakness and the innocence, you find a strong bone structure, and a heart beating. You RECOGNIZE sickness, and you FIND strength.”

Bruce and Beatrice Gould, editors of the Ladies’ Home Journal, told Parton she must have been “mesmerized” to write something so uncritical. “If you were a man,” Mr. Gould told her, “I’d wonder what went on that afternoon in Marilyn’s apartment.” Fred Guiles, one of Marilyn Monroe’s more fair-minded biographers, counted the suppression of this sensitive article as one proof that many editors were interested in portraying Monroe, at least in those later years, as “crazy, a home wrecker.”

Just after Monroe’s death, one of the few women to write with empathy was Diana Trilling, an author confident enough not to worry about being trivialized by association – and respected enough to get published. Trilling regretted the public’s “mockery of [Marilyn’s] wish to be educated,” and her dependence on sexual artifice that must have left “a great emptiness where a true sexuality would have supplied her with a sense of herself as a person.” She mourned Marilyn’s lack of friends, “especially women, to whose protectiveness her extreme vulnerability spoke so directly.”

“But we were the friends,” as Trilling said sadly, “of whom she knew nothing.”

In fact, the contagion of feminism that followed Monroe’s death by less than a decade may be the newest and most powerful reason for the continuing strength of her legend. As women began to be honest in public, and to discover that many of our experiences were more societal than individual, we also realized that we could benefit more by acting together than by deserting each other. We were less likely to blame or be the victim, whether Marilyn or ourselves, and more likely to rescue ourselves and each other.

In 1972, the tenth anniversary of her death and the birth year of MS., the first magazine to be published by and for women, Harriet Lyons, one of its early editors, suggested that MS. do a cover story on Marilyn called “the woman who died too soon.” As the writer of this brief essay about women’s new hope of reclaiming Marilyn, I was astounded by the response to the article. It was like tapping an underground river of interest. For instance:

Marilyn had talked about being sexually assaulted as a child, though many of her biographers had not believed her. Women wrote in to tell their similar stories. It was my first intimation of what since has become a documented statistic: one in six adult women has been sexually assaulted in childhood by a family member. The long-lasting effects – for instance, feeling one has no value except a sexual one – seemed shared by these women and Marilyn. Yet most were made to feel guilty and alone, and many were as disbelieved by the grown-ups around them as Marilyn had been.

Physicians had been more likely to prescribe sleeping pills and tranquilizers than to look for the cause of Monroe’s sleeplessness and anxiety. They had continued to do so even after she attempted suicide several times. Women responded with their own stories of being over-medicated, and of doctors who assumed women’s physical symptoms were all in their “minds.” It was my first understanding that women are more likely to be given chemical and other arm’s-length treatment, and to suffer from the assumption that they can be chemically calmed or sedated with less penalty because they are doing only “women’s work.” Then, ads in medical journals blatantly recommended tranquilizers for depressed housewives, and even now the majority of all tranquilizer prescriptions are written for women. Acting, modeling, making a living more from external appearance than from internal identity – these had been Marilyn’s lifelines out of poverty and obscurity. Other women who had suppressed their internal selves to become interchangeable “pretty girls” – and as a result were struggling with both lack of identity and terror of aging – wrote to tell their stories.

To gain the seriousness and respect that was largely denied her, and to gain the fatherly protection she had been completely denied, Marilyn married a beloved American folk hero and then a respected intellectual. Other women who had tried to marry for protection or for identity, as women are often encouraged to do, wrote to say how impossible and childlike this had been for them, and how impossible for their husbands who were expected to provide their wives’ identities. But Marilyn did not live long enough to see a time in which women sought their own identities, not just derived ones.

During her marriage to Arthur Miller, Marilyn had tried to have a child – but suffered an ectopic pregnancy, a miscarriage – and could not. Letters poured in from women who also suffered from this inability and from a definition of womanhood so tied to the accident of the physical ability to bear a child – preferably a son, as Marilyn often said, though later she also talked of a daughter – that their whole sense of self had been undermined. “Manhood means many things,” as one reader explained, “but womanhood means only one.” And where is the self-respect of a woman who wants to give birth only to a male child, someone different from herself?

Most of all, women readers mourned that Marilyn had lived in an era when there were so few ways for her to know that these experiences were shared with other women, that she was not alone.

Now women and men bring the last quarter century of change and understanding to these poignant photographs taken in the days just before her death. It makes them all the more haunting. [Editor’s Note: this chapter originally appeared with photographs, which are not present here.]

I still see the self-consciousness with which she posed for a camera. It makes me remember my own teenage discomfort at seeing her on the screen, mincing and whispering and simply hoping her way into love and approval. By holding a mirror to the exaggerated ways in which female human beings are trained to act, she could be as embarrassing – and as sad and revealing – as a female impersonator. Yet now I also see the why of it, and the woman behind the mask that her self-consciousness creates.

I still feel worried about her, just as I did then. There is something especially vulnerable about big-breasted women in this world concerned with such bodies, but unconcerned with the real person within. We may envy these women a little, yet we feel protective of them, too.

But in these photographs, the body emphasis seems more the habit of some former self. It’s her face we look at. Now that we know the end of the story, it’s the real woman we hope to find – looking out of the eyes of Marilyn.

In the last interview before her death, close to the time of these photographs, Patricia Newcomb, her friend and press secretary, remembers that Marilyn pleaded unsuccessfully with the reporter to end his article like this:

What I really want to say: That what the world really needs is a real feeling of kinship. Everybody: stars, laborers, Negroes, Jews, Arabs. We are all brothers. Please don’t make me a joke. End the interview with what I believe.

Published in 1986 and written by Gloria Steinem.

#gloria steinem #marilyn monroe #articles

4 notes · View notes

theprattlp · 6 years

Photo

I do some fan-fac short stories from time to time. Wrote this a LONG WHILE ago to address something that before the #Rogue & #Gambit mini had not even been brought up before. References stuff from the last arc of Chris Claremont’s X-Treme X-Men. In it, Gambit and Storm made out. It was random and pretty provocative and came out of left field. All the times that several years after that Rogue had gained control of her powers and began borrowing abilities from those around her on a regular basis. What if after one of these instances accidentally took too much from #Storm and got whiff of that kiss? Let me know what you think.

TOTAL RECALL

It’d been weeks since she’d spent more than a few hours at the mansion. Being an Avenger had taken over her life so much, it barely felt like home anymore. She’d been aimlessly wandering the halls for hours. Rogue wasn’t lost, per say, she was trying to make sense of some images in her mind. Not too long ago she was forced to absorb Storm’s powers, but the situation was so frantic she didn’t have the presence of mind to not take anything else. Something, other than the Weather Witch’s powers, had come along for the ride. A single memory of her closest friend and debatably the love of her life, passionately kissing by a waterfall while said friend lacked any bit of clothing. It didn’t compute to her. There wasn’t a timeframe in which she could place it happening that she and Remy or Ororo and T’Challa weren’t together in some fashion or another.

Lost in thought, she snapped back to her senses in time to see she was about to cross paths with Gambit in the hallway. Every fiber of her being wanted to corner him and drag the truth out. But she hesitated. They’d barely spoken in weeks and he’d been so involved in his own world it felt out of place to go at him in a hostile manner over something that could have happened years ago… or last week. Besides, she thought, he’d probably charm and snake his way out of it, probably calm me down in the process. She didn’t want that. Rogue wanted to preserve the rawness of it all. This first had to be between Storm and herself before anyone else, even Gambit. It was late though and she thought it best to address it come the morning. So she decided to get a quick bite and then hit the sheets.

As she turned the corner into the mansion’s obnoxiously large kitchen she quickly realized fate had other plans of how she’d spend the remainder of her evening. Storm sat alone at the breakfast nook’s table nursing a cup of tea. The beautiful Nubian X-Man ran her hand through her wild, white, Mohawk and nonchalantly turned toward the kitchen’s threshold as Rogue sauntered in.

“Good evening, child…” Storm sang in the calming way she’s known for.

“Ro…” Rogue responded almost curtly. She couldn’t believe how hard it was to be angry at Storm, but she still found herself sizing the woman up.

“I see you are having as much difficulty finding sleep as I am” she assumed, as she casually crossed her legs. She then pulled the string of a soggy tea bag from her cup and laid it on a small saucer that rested underneath.

“Ah guess so…” Rogue walked across the room and sat in the nook’s window seat and starred out of the window into the night sky.

Storm knew her friend all too well and had become accustomed to picking up on Rogue’s mannerisms when something was bothering her. Her body language was stiff, but the fact that she chose to sit away from her and avoid eye contact threw her for a loop. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear they weren’t talking to one another.

“Is something bothering you, Anna?” Storm asked cautiously, just slightly cocking her head to the side as she studied her fellow X-Man.

For the second time that night, Rogue hesitated. She wanted to get right down to it, but in a way, she also didn’t want to know.

“If ah’ asked yah a question…” Rogue paused. “Even it’s crazy, or perhaps none of mah business… would yah answer me straight, Storm?” Rogue turned and looked her friend straight in the eye.

Storm immediately felt her guard go up. She didn’t do it consciously, but she definitely felt backed into a corner, and this was just a lead in question. She figured it was of a personal nature, perhaps about her divorce from ‘Challa, or goddess forbid, having to do with Rogue’s “Ex”, Magneto. Reluctantly, Storm took a long silent breath and smiled. “If it would help put whatever is bothering so to rest… yes, Rogue, I would… I will”

Rogue almost regretted hearing those truthful, painfully sincere words. She swallowed and hugged herself in a way she hadn’t in a long time. Not since she’d been in control of her powers. She felt her throat tighten and her eyes burn just slightly as her resolve began to crumble, but before that happened she thought it best to spit it out.

“A couple days ago, when ah’ absorbed yah powers… Ro’ ah’ took something else with them. A memory, maybe a dream, Ah don’t know how old it is but...”

Storm involuntarily raised a single brow. She couldn’t think of anything that could disturb Rogue like she was seeing. She wasn’t the saint most people make her out to be, she knew that, but there were only a few issues that could shake a woman that had fought and beaten gods.

“Ah-Ah took a really vivid image of yah and Remy… kissing”

And that was one of those issues.

If it were a button, it was a big red one that had the words “DO NOT PUSH” printed in bold letters across it. What made it all the worse was she knew exactly what kiss she was referring to. She and Remy had kissed plenty of times in the past but that was one that if they weren’t interrupted, may have turned into something more, perhaps much more. Her feelings for Remy weren’t inherently sexual or wholly romantic. It was a relationship of familiarity. She felt as comfortable kissing him as she would her husband, but Storm held him in the esteem of her most trusted confidant. Their relationship was platonic, but always held a spark of ‘what if ‘ within it.

Storm’s posture changed from concerned to flattened to ashamed in a matter of seconds. The back of her neck was burning and her throat had all but dried. She unconsciously took a sip of her tea, almost afraid to break eye contact with the other young woman. “Anna…”

“Ah mean really kissing… kissing yah, like he’d kiss me.” Rogue continued, almost mechanically. “Yah was near a waterfall, ah think?”

She wasn’t a fool by any measure. Rogue noticed the shift in Storm’s demeanor and through that knew what she was saying held some kind of validity. This made her a bit more desperate, and oddly enough wanted to deal with it even less. What if more happened? What if it just wasn’t a kiss? The sheer idea of it horrified and terrified both at the same time. “Can ya, help me understand it, Ro’… this was before me and him, right? Ah’m overreacting, aren’t ah?”

Storm looked downright sheepish. She knew how to lie, but how do you mislead someone that you knew, knew the truth and even had proof. Even worse, she owned it. If they shared the same memory, then Rogue had seen the whole thing through a first-person view, her view no less. No. She wasn’t going to lie to her friend.

“Rogue… it was not- it did not mean anything”

“Yah were naked…” Rogue leaned forward with her hands placed on her knees for support as she looked at Storm with suspiciously narrowed green eyes. “Ya were naked as a wet bullfrog on a log in the middle of summer, sugah… and as for it not meanin’ nothin’ for yah, ah’m rememberin’ a whole lottah emotion from yah but indifference wasn’ once of em’, hun. Concern? Maybe” she leaned back with her arms crossed across her chest. “But more excitement, enough to override any unease, at least.”

Storm had recovered from the initial shock of it all while Rogue spoke. She had the time to regroup her emotions and she found that she wasn’t in the mood to explain herself to Rogue on the matter of Remy, especially with the track record she’d had with him as of late.

“Rogue, I apologize for it happening, but it was some time ago.” Storm began as she moved her eyes up to meet her friend’s own. “However, I do wholeheartedly regret it happened while the two of you were still together…”

“While we were together?!” Rogue exclaimed. “Just when do-… yah mean when me an’ Remy had lost our powers an’ the two of yah met up while he was away?” Rogue started putting the pieces together. Mostly due to the nature of her powers and the way they worked in terms of recalling foreign memories. The more Storm spoke, the clearer the memory got for her. Rogue closed her eyes and grasped her head. More and more of the moment began to flood into the forefront of her mind.

Concerned, Storm stood up and stepped toward Rogue placing her hands on her shoulders “My friend, do not torture yourself with-”

“Shut up!” Rogue snapped, pushing Storm away. A long time ago, that same reaction would have put Storm through a wall and in the ICU for weeks, if not killed her outright. “Ya betrayed me! Ah- Ah know how ya felt when ya kissed’em, don’t try n’dance around it, Storm”

Storm kept her composure and her distance from Rogue. She understood that Rogue had grown and matured since her younger years, but she also knew her well enough to realize that this could escalate into more than a war of words if not handled cautiously.

“I betrayed you? Child, not to sound insensitive-… no, I will if it is necessary.” Storm took a step forward and calmly crossed her arms in front of her. “You aren’t the impertinent child I once knew. It’s far past time someone spoke to you without fear of hurting your feelings”

“About what exactly?” Rogue asked with a sarcastic smirk and matched her friend’s demeanor.

“Magneto.” Storm spat. “I did not think that would be much of a surprise, to be honest.” Storm took another step forward.

“What are yah- No! That’s none of ya damn business, Storm!” Rogue shouted and stood. She then cautiously scanned the room. She didn’t realize how loud her voice had gotten. The last thing she wanted was to have her personal life become ‘the talk of the town’, again. “Mah personal life, is mine, yah got that?”

“Not when that personal life includes one of our oldest, tried and truest foes, child.” Storm curtly retorted, emphasizing on the word ‘child’. “I understand why he was on Utopia with us. We needed his might, his name. But I cannot for the life of me comprehend why you chose to be with him. Did you ever stop to think what that would mean to us, to the X-Men, or for that matter, to Remy?”

The mention of his name made Rogue break eye contact with Storm. Out of all the reasons she named, that was the only one that held real weight with her. Of course, she thought about Remy and but she rationalized that away with the need to think about what her heart wanted… or was it more what Legacy wanted? “And what does it matter any? Erik and ah’ are over, Storm... Don’t try tah change the subject!”

“And what is the subject exactly, Rogue?” Storm asked with an arched brow, shifting her weight onto her heels. “Your precious feelings?”

“Feelings? An’ what exactly do you know about feelings as o’late, Ro? You've been colder than Bobby since you and T’Challa separated…” Rogue snarled. “But since you ask me about Remy, let me ask you a question … Since he came back to the X-Men, have you once talked to him about what happened with Apocalypse? Or were you too busy running around ya’ palace, and ruling ya’ country with your king?”

That stung. She hadn’t spoken her ex-husband’s name aloud to many people since the annulment. Storm looked past Rogue into the darkened heavens and then with an uncharacteristically malicious smirk she responded;

“My marriage was probably as distracting for myself as much as the view of Magneto’s room's ceiling was for you…”

Rogue didn’t expect something so coarse from Storm. But nothing as of late had been overly typical of Storm’s behavior. She had a bitterness to her that Rogue had never seen in her before. But truth be told, Rogue didn’t mind going tit for tat.

“Ouch, Stormy. Didn’t think ya had it in yah…” Rogue said with an exaggerated ‘hurt’ facial expression and her right hand faintly land upon her chest “Did Logan teach you that during pillow-talk, or was he too busy-” Rogue’s comeback was interrupted by Storm’s fist striking her jaw.

The young woman stumbled back against the wall paneling that separated the breakfast nook window another large pane of glass and slide down it, stunned. Rogue was genuinely surprised. She’s heard villains, racists, bigots and everything in between say and do far worse without her losing her composure. In a way, it made the strike hurt even more… but not so much as to let it go unanswered.

Rogue blinked looking up at the Amazon. Storm’s eyes were on fire and at the same time in pain. Rogue swallowed and wiped a tiny trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Then all in one motion she sneered, turned onto her side and swept Storm clean off of her feet. She fell to kitchen’s warm wood paneled floor with a “thud”. Before Storm could gather herself, Rogue had scrambled back onto her feet and dove onto her teammate. Once she pinned Storm’s left arm down with her leg, Rogue delivered solid blow across her once perfectly smooth cheek.

A flash of blood and saliva escaped Storm’s mouth as her head snapped to the right. Years of combat training allowed the weather-witch to respond near instinctively. With her free arm, she pushed Rogue back and then contorted her body enough to reach forward with both of her legs and wrapped them around Rogue’s head. Then like a rubber band, slung the younger woman backward and off of her. By time Rogue had been able to look up, Storm was already in an all-fours crouch, a manner that reminded her of the Black Panther. With speed Rogue could compare the same to, Storm landed a stiff kick across her teammate’s face sending her careening into the table where she once sat.

With a loud crash, the table flipped over sending everything upon it into the adjacent wall and shelving. Rogue lay shaken amongst the rubble of broken wood for quick a moment, then launched her into the air with a roar. Storm matched her howl as they collided and fell to the ground once more, both with hands firmly clasped around the other’s throat. They exchanged wide-eyed, enraged glares with one another just before either realized what they were doing. At that moment, both women seemed to experience an epiphany. Grips loosened. Breathing resumed. Tension plummeted.

“WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!” The outraged shriek of Kitty Pryde echoed throughout the room. The combatants broke their gaze on each other to notice Kitty, half their teammates, and even several of the students were standing awestruck in the kitchen doorway, among them, the topic of the night, Gambit, who was as confused as anyone.

“Wouldn’t we get detention for this?” Quentin Quire rhetorically questioned. “The hypocrisy…”

The two women then looked at one another again and then broke out in hearty laughter that frightened and confused the crowd even more. They helped each other up, shared a long hug and strolled out of the kitchen together arm in arm. Rogue broke her laughter long enough to glare at Gambit just for a second as she bumped past him. The stare was long enough and the bump hard enough for Wolverine, who was amongst the gathering, to pick up on. He jabbed Gambit in the ribs with his elbow.

“What the hell did you do this time, Cajun?” Logan probed. Gambit, however, responded with a simple shrug.

“Dunno…”

*The story references happenings of X-Treme X-Men.

#Gambit #X-Men #Rogue #Storm #Wolverine #Black Panther #mr. and mrs. x #claremont

4 notes · View notes

simplyoriginalcharacters · 6 years

Text

Kit Imane

Audience: Teenagers, specifically those who are into fantasy/adventure stories

Setting: Macalgia, a parallel world of Earth where Pangaea did not break apart, magic exists, and humanity is one of six intellectual species. Thanks to five deities using their powers to immobilize Macalgia’s tectonic plates, the dimensional barrier between Earth and Macalgia have weaken. This has allowed humans in Macalgia to discover Earth a few decades before the start of the main story. Although the knowledge of Earth have been kept from the public, certain inhabitants of Macalgia used magic to take objects, such as computers, that did not exist in their world. As such, people on Macalgia can communicate with people on Earth through the Internet.

Hi! This is D with your profile review. Kit's full profile and review are under the cut.

A civil war is threatening to break apart the only “human” country. A large number of people have lost faith in the royal family. United under the Cursed Lord, the Rebel Army needs a plan to overthrow the current king. In order to gain new ideas and technology, the Rebel Army decides to summon inhabitants of Earth. They ended up with five teenage girls, thanks to ignoring a myth of their world’s Pied Piper. (130 children from a foreign world were once summoned by the oldest goddess of Macalgia. She hoped to eventually integrate both worlds, but was eventually forced to send back the children after a year. These children kept the language, and resistance to Macalgian diseases, granted by the goddess.) This OC is one of the five foreign humans, all of whom were parts of the 130 children.

Purpose: A protagonist of an original story (that will hopefully be morally gray)

Additional Details: I am sorry if this is too long, I tried to shorten it to the basics without creating plot holes. I cut the things that are not as relevant to Kit’s central development (or to understanding the setting), so some things like the “beast pill” may sound odd. Their origin and purpose matter more to other main characters’ background/storyline, so I did not include it. Do you think that Kit is relatable/developed enough to be a main character? Also, based on Kit’s storyline, would you ever be interested in reading the story/the rest of this universe? Thank you

Content:

Appearance: Kit is a 5’ teenager (12 at the beginning, 16 by the end of this story line) with dark brown eyes and long hair that reaches her waist. She is normally seen wearing a over-sized hoodie or coat with black dress pants. Like most people in Macalgia, Kit also carries around a weapon of choice (two swords in her case, although Kit is below-average in swordsmanship). After accepting a “beast pill,” orange and brown-striped cat ears sprout from her messy, light brown hair. Her unnaturally long, thin striped tail is usually curls like a snake around her right leg.

Personality: Kit is well-mannered, shy, and quiet, although she is not as passive as she tries to be. Given her sensitive and clingy personality, Kit is extremely attached to her friends and the people she finds interesting. She treats them the way she (subconsciously and consciously) wants to be treated, which involves being overprotected and doted on, making some feel that Kit believes they cannot protect themselves. While polite to most, Kit is also critical and distrustful of strangers, especially when they are friends of her friends due to jealousy and fear of getting tossed aside. She has really high expectations for people, particularly herself, which makes her prone to escapism, manipulation, and lying.

With her head often in the clouds, Kit is imaginative and artistically inclined. She is also very unathletic due to laziness (which partly stems from a desire to balance out her athletic best friend). Naturally playful – with a subconscious desire to unique and special – Kit tries to be unpredictable and amusing (often by imitating her favorite characters or tropes) around her friends, which often makes her come off as plain weird or geeky/nerdy.

Kit avoids looking into people’s eyes, so she keeps her head down or looks at something else while talking to other people (including friends she idolizes). She does not speak until a cue is given, whether it is silence or a command. She also tends to flinch away from strangers while staring at them with a bewildered or wary expression (a territorial glare in Kit’s mind).

Background/Story line: Kit is an undocumented immigrant who moved to the U.S. when she was a child. She loved fantasy/adventure anime and games, especially when it involves the “trapped in another world” trope. Kit wanted to be special like main characters, so she decided to change herself after feeling left out by her group of friends (which she thought only formed around her best and only friend). Her desire was to belong like everyone else. However, in an attempt to dye her hair, Kit accidentally spilled hair dye bleach onto said best friend– turning her hair white. In guilt and shame, Kit stopped instigating any conversation with all four of her friends, but was dismayed when her friends did not try hard to involve her in their conversations or activities. She wished upon a star for an adventure which could fix all of her friendships like in anime, and ended up getting one.

Trapped in Macalgia with the four friends, Kit tried to impress her friends by being genre-savvy (in both anime and undocumented immigration) but soon felt overshadowed by the couple who took all of them in (when the wife figured out they came from Earth). The couple had provided for all of their needs, and even enrolled them in a 2-year training academy to prepare them for their new world. Yet, when the whole town was killed by the Cursed Lord’s army, Kit was more bothered by her friends’ tears than the couple’s death. To her shame, Kit also knew she was even more bothered by the fact that the holy sword (which had been protected by the couple and the goal of the attack on the town) chose her best friend, not her.

In order to accept that she can never be as talented or popular as her friends even in this world, Kit praised and tried her best to support her friends at every opportunity. In order to avoid potential resentment, she also denied or downplayed any compliments to her skills in image summoning (a type of magic that materializes the summoner’s conscious thoughts as long as he/she can project and control the image in his/her mind). She hoped they would recognize and appreciate her loyalty and efforts, but when the group starts to fall apart due to conflicting goals, Kit slowly began to favor her summons because they are completely in her control.

Unwilling to give up on her friendships and ideals, however, Kit entered all of them into a fighting tournament. She convinced them with a speech about how they needed to raise funds for their goal, whether it end up being revenge for the couple or returning to Earth. While she chose the tournament because the mysterious egg prize interested her, Kit also made sure to form two teams: she and her friends on one team, her friends’ friends on the other team. When questioned, she explained that she divided them based on experiences and skill sets.

Out of everything she considered, Kit did not expect to meet up with what she believed to be her group’s arch-enemies: Cursed Lord, who turned out to be a teenager like them. Since her friends hated him at first sight, due to having caused the massacre of the town, Kit tried to feel the same way. She ended up getting lured to his side. In addition to telling her that she was special and that he wanted to become her friend, he gave her a rare “beast pill.” Lured by the promise of gaining cat ears and tail, in addition to power, Kit accepted and fell into a coma wrapped in cocoon. When she finally emerged three days later, Kit found out that her team lost an important battle through disqualification (insufficient members). She caused them to lose the first place they deserved.

Furious with herself (since she fell for the lie about the pill’s time requirement), Kit volunteered to participate in the battle royale which would determine second place. Taunted by an opponent, who told her to grow up when he noticed that she gave personalities to her image summons, Kit lost control of her new physical strengths. Drunk on the feeling of superiority, she almost killed the comrade of her opponent (who is a stranger to everyone she knew, unlike the opponent who charmed one of her friends a few days ago). Due to winning the battle royale, Kit’s team won second place, earning the egg and some funds.

When Kit found that her friends were indeed horrified with her new self, Kit thought about becoming a “solo player.” She decided against it because of the egg. It would be better if the creature could be raised and protected by her friends too. However, due to plans Kit could not agree with (handing over the egg to someone who wanted to destroy it because Kit almost killed him), she decided to escape with the egg. Since she had nowhere else to go, Kit ended up as a puppet/pet of the Cursed Lord.

After a few months in which she could only interact with her summons and the Cursed Lord, Kit decided she was fine with that – as long as she was his only “beloved pet.” Though Kit claimed she had enough of one-sided friendships, she used her summons to keep tracts of her Earthling friends. Kit was able to do this because her subconscious maintained those summons out of strong emotions (curiosity, jealousy, and/or concerns for her friends’ safety).

When the civil war finally started a year after she joined the rebels’ army, Kit submissively followed the Cursed Lord’s orders, which ranged from researching online information to slaughtering towns with summoned monsters. Soon, Kit became indifferent to the orders – retreating faraway by imagining that it was only a game, and that she would be forgiven like all those main characters in fiction. It took a in-person confrontation with one of her friends (as well as insults by said friend’s new boyfriend) to remind Kit that she is just running away from reality. Frustrated with the world to the point she could not concentrate enough to summon anything, Kit took the egg out of its incubator and hugged it to sleep. She woke up to a baby chimera licking away her tears, before biting her shoulder.

Through raising the chimera, Kit learned to accept that every creature has their flaws and virtues. As Kit became less self-centered, she started to appreciate people and relationships for what they are. She stopped idealizing the Cursed Lord as the “hero antagonist,” and stopped hoping that her friends would grow to become the “keys to ending the war.” Kit then decided to help everyone she had grown to love without choosing a side. She decided to protect all the places in which she could belong, even if it meant secretly betraying all of them.

To her delight and guilt, Kit’s complete submission and obedience had given her the Cursed Lord’s trust. With access to classified information and strings to pull, Kit decided to become a double agent. Aiding all three fractions involved in the civil war from the shadows, Kit sacrificed hundreds of strangers in order to keep all of her loved ones (now including her friends’ loved ones) alive by the end of the war.

Although she originally did not care whether the Cursed Lord live or die by the end of the war, Kit changed her mind once she found out that he was one of her online friends. Her text conversations with him caused the Cursed Lord to summon them to Macalgia. Grateful for that, Kit came to see the Cursed Lord as a friend she must protect as well.

At the end of the war, the Cursed Lord died. He was killed because of the plan Kit had ignored until she realized she cared. Although she experienced grief and a sense of failure, Kit tried to focus on being grateful that everyone else (the people she knew, even if some of them no longer desire her friendship after learning what she did for “their sake”) made it out alive. She was grateful for peace and missed her parents, but did not want to go back to Earth (where she would be powerless and unwanted by the government anyways). Kit also felt she had fought and sacrificed too much to simply give up her place in Macalgia– even when commanded to do so by its deities. Since Kit could not speak out against the deities or her friends, the most of whom wanted to return to Earth, Kit chose to secretly secure a way back to Macalgia.

Performing a forbidden magic (which she first used for another character near the beginning of the story), Kit summoned the Cursed Lord’s soul. Believing that it would play out like the classic “sharing a body” trope, with the added benefit of being able to use the Cursed Lord’s legendary weapon (which he had used to bring them to Macalgia), Kit did not realize that she would eventually lose her sense of self as her soul merges with the Cursed Lord’s in accordance to universal laws.

Although Kit had been communicating with them regularly through emails (a privilege granted by her position in the Rebel Army), Kit found herself crying as she was embraced by her parents and younger siblings – one of whom was born while she lived in Macalgia. Realizing that she missed four years worth of peace and familial memories (all in exchange for a violent, bittersweet adventure) a small part of Kit wondered if it was truly worth it.

Sidenote: I left out Kit’s impact on the other characters (both positive and negative ones) and some consequences of her actions (e.g. the impact Kit’s animal features have on her school and social life on Earth, the consequences of having a sword in a house with little kids, the strain of keeping a lot of secrets while having to live 24/7 with a male spirit, etc) since those deal more with the post-story or extra materials I might draw.

First things first, Kit's profile could benefit from some significant restructuring. There's a lot of information crammed into not a lot of categories (especially the Background/Story Line section) which makes the profile feel disorganized and meandering. Having more sections with specific coverage would make things easier to read and refer to later, as well as help the explanations and details stick in reader's minds. The SOC blog has a profile temple that provides all of the categories we usually recommend in an established order, if you'd like to reformat Kit's profile using that.

Moving on to the actual substance of the profile, I think Kit will need some serious retooling. As written she comes across as far too passive and self-defeating. She's not very proactive, and the moments of agency she does have all end up turning back on her in some unforeseen failure. While I understand the inspiration from anime-themed tropes and story choices, they don't really pan out in a way that creates much investment. Kit's over obsession with archetypes takes away any realistic perception of the circumstances she's in, and the overall reliance on them for the plot is either too simple or too convoluted to offer much interest. Even for a protagonist as young as Kit it seems very contrived. I'd suggest trimming down the reliance on tropes overall, but especially for Kit herself. Build her up as a more active character, one that is allowed to have some successes surrounding and integrated with her hardships. If all she does in the story is fail and mope about her place in-life, that doesn't really build much for the reader to get invested in (either for Kit herself or the story).

Something that I think would help in that direction is that if Kit were given something she is objectively good at. As written the only thing that Kit is particularly noteworthy at is summons and even that blows up in her face with the Curse Lord. The only other particular mention in the profile was that she carries around swords, but isn't actually skilled at using them. I don't understand why she would carry around weapons she isn't good at using – it just isn't practical. Giving Kit something in-particular that she is good at (and allowing her to use that to earn actual successes) will show that there are stakes and consequences for her actions. In addition to just making Kit's arc and progression more enjoyable and meaningful, it leaves the reader unsure of what the outcome will be (rather than assuming Kit will screw up just like all the other times she has).

On the same token, give Kit something she's competent at socially as well. As written she's an extremely passive character who doesn't really seem like a protagonist. To give an example, the first instance of Kit's social skills shown in the profile is when she accidentally spills dye on one of her friends' hair and turns it white. Her response is to shut down completely and effectively alienate herself from her group of friends over what is at best a temporary mistake (and it's not even mentioned that the other child was upset or how much it even bothered them to begin with). That trend of exceptional overreaction continues through the majority of Kit's other social instances, to the point where the anxiety and self-guilt aspects of her personality overshadow just about everything else about her. Cutting these aspects back to more reasonable levels would make Kit's presentation much more balanced, rather than frustrating and one-note. Play up her playfulness and allow Kit to actually be funny, rather than coming off as 'weird' to her friends (besides, if all they do is consider her odd/strange, why does she hang out with them in the first place?). Let other aspects of Kit's personality shine through more and show how her friends relate to them.

Speaking of Kit's friends, a Relationship section would do a lot to improve this area of the profile as well. As is, the vast majority of the mention of Kit's friends are how they either ignore her, mistrust her, or see her as a freak (due to the beast pill) or a failure (due to her mistakes). None of these are positive relationships, and does very little to making a convincing argument that Kit should sacrifice so much for people who care so little about her. Honestly, her friends come across as more vehement antagonists than the actual plot antagonist does. Give them actual relationships, likes and dislikes, and show why Kit is actually friends with these people (and why they are friends with Kit in-turn). Give them names and a bit of identity to show how they interconnect. Kit's profile should be about her primarily, but a person's relationships help define and show what kind of person they are (in addition to giving the reader more to get invested in). The same goes for Kit's family – show how Kit is connected to them, and how her parents' influence has helped shape her into the person that she is. Did they encourage her artistic side? Do they not understand her hobbies but want her to be happy with them nonetheless? Do they put a lot of expectations on her, or just let Kit do whatever she wants? There's a lot to explore here that would round out Kit's personality and make her connection to other characters more significant, it just needs to be included.

Back to the topic of Kit herself, given the nature of the story and your target audience, I'd suggest aging her and her friends up. Having her be sixteen or so and become an adult as the plot progresses would make all of the increasingly hard choices and more dire circumstances of the novel better reflect her growth. As written, Kit starting the story at twelve doesn't really give room to even expect her to succeed at any of the things she's supposed to be trying. Her age makes the failures unsurprising and the successes implausible, which curtails a lot of potential impact the story has on the reader (and gives them less room to get attached to any impact is has on Kit). Magical alternate dimension or not, Kit would still be a kid and should still have the mentality of one. That's not to say that Kit should be portrayed as unintelligent or unobservant, but it does naturally limit the things she should be able to understand, articulate, and accomplish to the point that it makes some of the other proposed aspects seem somewhat absurd. Making Kit an older teenager at the start would curtail all of these issues and give her an innate expectation of being 'more capable,' in addition to making her adaptation to Macalgia more understandable (as well as make her reactions to the events around her more tangible and nuanced, given that she'd be able to process them better).

Regarding Kit's Background/Story Line, to start off I don't think the story line should be included. It's a good thing that you've considered it and put so much work into it, but in the context of a character profile all that does is give away what's going to happen to Kit and how she'll change as the plot progresses. A profile should be 'This is who my character is' as opposed to 'This is who my character is, who they will be, and why they'll become that person.' At that point it's moved beyond the character themselves to summarizing the entire story. Cut out the story line and focus more on Kit's Background. This section doesn't have to be exhaustive, and given Kit's age (either her current age or my suggested older one) there shouldn't be all that much to it anyway. Cover any major personality shaping events, give an overview of Kit's life, and leave the background to end at where Kit starts off at the beginning of the story. That keeps the focus on her identity, doesn't give away any spoilers, trims down the length of the profile considerably, and gives readers a more solid latching on point to continue with.

All in all, while there are some neat ideas in Kit's profile I don't think she makes a very effective protagonist as is. Too much of her personality is buried under over-exaggerated negative aspects, the over-reliance on tropes negates a lot of potential for characterization/critical thinking on Kit's part (and thus actual agency in the plot), and her current progression is mostly moving from one bad decision to the next. That isn't to say that Kit can't start out her story as an imbalanced person who makes mistakes – that's actually a pretty effective character arc. Just that it shouldn't be as so extreme (and that she should learn from it, eventually). Balance out her identity, let her friends actually be her friends, and show how Kit learns from her actions rather than being forced to continually blame herself for them and I think you'll have a much more effective protagonist.

I hope this helps!

-D

#SOC Critique #OC Critique #Backstory Help #Development Help #General Help #submission

2 notes · View notes