My First Sexual Experience

I was thinking about my sexual experiences.  I'm not terribly sexual, and I've had sexual experiences with 6 people, all men, and only one of those experiences was enjoyable for me.  4 of my sexual experiences happened before I was in high school, before I was 13, and they continue to shape me today.

I should also make a point that I never felt violated or abused, maybe I should have in a few cases, but I didn't at the time.

I was planning on including all of my sexual experiences, but just my first one was very long, so I may hold off and do the others later.  I might not do them at all, but I definitely needed to get this out, and I always somehow manage to talk myself out of getting out thoughts once I've had them.

*~*~*~*~*

When I was 6 or 7, my mother gave my brother and I the "no-no" zones talk.  She said we were old enough to wash ourselves, so noone could touch us in these places, not even mom and dad.  Our crotches were no-no zones, and for me, so was my chest.  I think this lecture roughly coincided with me having to wear clothes around the house, rather than being able to run around in my panties, so I was annoyed, and the discussion was boring, anyway.  I don't know if she meant to expand on the discussion later and forgot, or if that was all she planned.

When I was 8, there was a family who lived down the street from me.  We saw a lot of them because their house was right next to the bus stop, and the mother had apparently babysat my brother and I when we were younger.  I don't remember that bit.  I do remember they had an obnoxious number of kids, like 5 or 7, most or all boys.  My brother was friends with some of them, I was indifferent.

Now, my parents left for work before my brother and I got up, and we came home before they got home from work.  We weren't allowed to be out of the house when they weren't around, and I would frequently forget my house key inside, especially when it was approaching summer and our house would get hot and stuffy, because we weren't allowed to open the windows, either.  In hindsight, I probably just wanted an hour or so outside, free of parental supervision, and was just fooling myself.  I never intentionally left my key at home, but.

On one particular day where we were locked out, one of the older boys from the house down the street, Evan, called out to me.  He was 11 at the time, and he was usually mean enough to me that I had no great love for him.  But he gestured me down the street, and I had nothing better to do, so I went.  Rather than wanting me to come in the front door, he wanted me to come through the back gate into the backyard.

Now, their backyard was sorely neglected, with plants of all kinds growing up over the fence, so it was kinda gross, but I was curious.  Evan asked me if I wanted to go down to the basement with him.  My answer was no, and I remember wondering why I would want to go down there.  My house had a basement, it wasn't interesting, and I couldn't see how his could be interesting.

I know we had small conversation for a bit, where he tried to convince me his basement was cooler than the hot outside, maybe had a place to sit, something along those lines.  Then he stepped forward and kissed my cheek.  In that moment, I don't know how I knew, but I knew he wanted to do something sexual with me, and I didn't know what he wanted.

I had no idea if I could give him what he wanted, but I knew I didn't have long before my mom came home, so I wouldn't really have time to find out.  I also knew that if I was in the basement with him when mom came home, I would get in trouble for not being near the house.  I can't remember if I was scared at all, but I know that everything froze and shifted for me.  I remember thinking that this meant he liked me, and wondering why he'd been so mean to me if he liked me.

More than that, I knew this was going to have something to do with my no-no zones, which I knew was a bad thing, but I didn't know why it was a bad thing, just that it was, and I still didn't know what he wanted.  So I started asking him questions.  What if your mom comes down to do laundry?  She won't.  What if your other siblings come down.  Daniel will watch out.

Now, his younger brother, Daniel, had been prowling around the yard most of the time Evan and I had been talking, interjecting annoying things, but not really part of the conversation.  At some point during the conversation, he had gotten up on the roof and began throwing roof tiles at us while we were talking.  I remember being annoyed, but keeping an eye on him and the tiles he was throwing.  I think I got closer to the house so that there was less chance of him hitting me.  This was who Evan was saying would be the lookout.

I knew Evan wanted something from me, but I also knew that I didn't know enough to know if I could give it to him.  So I kept stalling, with his brother throwing roofing tiles at us.  Even to this day, not knowing stuff scares me, because I never want to be in another situation where I'm being asked for something I don't know enough to know if I could provide.

I was running out of ways to refuse Evan's invitation when I heard my mother's voice, calling out to me from down the street.  I told Evan my mother was home, and I ran past him, out of his backyard and down the street.  I have never run so fast before in my life.

When I got home, I was embarrassed and ashamed.  I didn't get in trouble for not being near the house, but I felt like I couldn't tell my mother what had happened.  I felt like I had done something wrong, and I didn't want her to tell me what I'd done wrong.  I didn't want her to know I'd done anything wrong.

I didn't even understand what had happened, and I was sure I'd somehow get in trouble if I did tell her.  I just didn't know enough to know if it was worth telling or not, and there was no need, in my mind, to bring her attention back to the fact that I'd been down the street when I should have been at home.

I told my father about it when I was 11, and I didn't tell my mother until I was 15.  I only told my father because I had somehow managed to come to the conclusion that I hadn't done anything wrong with Evan.  That was a hard-won conclusion, though.

Empty Spaces

There is a hole in my soul

Where you cannot see

It bleeds and it aches

It hurts and it burns

I do not want this hole in my soul

But if it stops existing, so do I

The one where I whine a lot

I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but I am currently living with my aunt.  She is not my aunt by blood, she is chosen family, and she is white.  As I'm sure you can understand, this has made things complicated, because she has a variety of issues that aren't mine to share, but she is prone to shouting when she's upset, which distresses me, because yelling distresses me.

She makes me anxious, but I keep wanting her to be loving and supportive towards me, and even if she wants to, and she does, she is not mentally capable of offering me the emotional support I need, even though she is very generous about financial support, I've been living in her home rent-free for several months.

Now, I've known about some of her issues since before moving in, and others I learned after, but I will admit that I have fallen prey to dismissing a lot of her stuff, making her the bad guy in my personal narrative, just because I feel like I have no power over my life, and at least if I know who the enemy is, I have that much more control.  It's not right of me, and it's not fair, but that's what I've been doing.

Recently, I've been hearing more about issues that pertain to my aunt, but not me, and it makes me uncomfortable.  It frustrates me and it angers me and I wish it weren't so.  Because if I think of my aunt as human, I can't think of her as the bad guy anymore.  And if she's not the bad guy, does that mean I am?

Obviously, I know that there aren't really people who are purely bad or purely good and I have privileges just as she does, but I knew it academically before, in my head knowledge.  Now it's emotional knowledge that I really don't want to have.  The old adage of ignorance is bliss really holds true.

I have to reassess my perception of myself and my privilege as it pertains to her and to other people.  I just have to keep in mind that I am responsible for growing, noone is responsible for making me feel comfortable in my privilege.

So the long and short of this post is "I don't WANNA!"  With a temper tantrum for good measure.  As long as I do it anyway, I can pout in my head and just a little on my blog, I think.

Merry Christmas From the End of the World

This is a $25 commission and criminally late, but I just started work this week, and I'm still getting used to it.

*~*~*~*~*

The world ended in May.  Well, that wasn't completely accurate.  There were still people, the world still existed, so it was much more accurate to say that western civilization ended in May.  For three days, people kept trying to go to work and school, kept trying to live their life as if the world hadn't changed.  After a week, the looting began, everyone stealing everything from local stores, even stuff they couldn't used anymore, like computers and televisions.

Then came the parties.  For weeks, every corner smelled like food cooking, over gas generators and handmade fires, barbecue grills, anything anyone could cook anything on, they did.  Everyone ate and drank, shared, fucked, fought, and while there were a few people advocating restraint, everyone agreed that cooked meat would probably keep better than raw meat, that unrefrigerated fruits and vegetables would go bad if they weren't eaten or somehow preserved in jams, pickled, that sort of thing.

People who knew how to do that sort of thing stepped forth to offer their services, taught anyone who wanted to learn.  People who knew how to make jerky, they did the same.  People who could hunt scoured the nearby bastions of wilderness for more food, because eventually the bounty of the mall would wear out.

After two months, people began to run out of prescription medicines.  Many were violently ill, became depressed or suicidal or violent.  Others were re-exposed to pain that medicine had been protecting them from, sometimes after years of not feeling it, and some people just got annoying.  Some survived, others didn't.  The deaths sobered everyone, as people realized that civilization as they knew it was really over.  They had to make a new one.

Adeidra was blessed to find herself turned to as one of the leaders.  She was wheelchair-bound, and some clever bastard had attached solar panels to her chair to charge the battery, as well as rigging it so that it charged itself a bit as it moved.  The young woman had sheepishly confessed to Adeidra that it had taken a lot of tries to get it right.

Adeidra was shocked how much people came together, how the boys came together to run interference on that one kid who was off his medicine and kept muttering at the girls about re-population, how teens and people with adult children watched the babies, to give the parents time to breathe, sleep, mourn, whatever they needed to do.

Yeah, there were the kids who went off into abandoned movie theaters to fuck, the adults too, and people who menaced others with weaponry, guns and knives, over stale popcorn and old ramen, people who tried to turn everything into a competition it didn't need to be, but everyone just left those people to their own devices.  They'd figure it out or they wouldn't, but either way, they didn't need those people.

She'd feared it would turn out like every zombie movie, her twin daughters making nervous Walking Dead jokes, but people came together.  Humans were social animals, and there were many lonely people who just didn't want to be alone, everyone gathering at churches, school gymnasiums, the middle of picked-clean stores, anywhere there was space to be, to talk, bond, learn.  Everyone had a theory about what had happened, where they were all going from there, but noone knew.  Not really.

But it was getting cold.  Adeidra had Roshona and Samantha prepare to leave.  They wouldn't be able to manage in a Chicago winter.  They were city women, born and bred, and it was just easier to travel south, where it would be warmer and there would be more plants and animals to find and hunt.  Adeidra wasn't the only one, and she'd actually gotten the idea from other women.  She hadn't been difficult to convince.  Most people weren't.

They got news from the south.  South Carolina, to be precise.  They were doing things down there.  California, too, and Florida and Texas.  Most of the southern states with access to water were doing things, people were gathering and making civilization.  People thrived and worked.  Noone wanted to suffer and die.

There were something like a thousand people left where Adeidra and her girls were, most of the others having fled to other states, other family and friends earlier in the year.  And the ones who died.  But Adeidra tried not to think of those ones so hard.  Everyone began packing up, doing what they could, and soon everyone was ready to migrate.  They lost people as they went, some people choosing to go to Florida, California, Texas, for pretty much the same reason Adeidra pointed her family at South Carolina.  They had family there.

They also gained people as they traveled, also migrating south for the winter, or because they'd heard there was civilization, or simply because a huge group of people was passing through, and they didn't want to be left alone.

Adeidra had no idea how many of the group from Chicago made it to South Carolina, but she and her girls made it, along with Rudy, their dog, worth his weight in food for being able to brighten their moods, even if he wasn't precisely the best guard dog in the world.  They had just crossed the North Carolina-South Carolina, camped for the night, when a young woman, about Roshona and Samantha's age, began moving through the group, pushing a grocery cart full of leaves wrapped in red ribbon.

Adeidra had no idea what the gal was doing, but she kept showing people her wrist.  As she came closer, it became clear she had a watch.  It hadn't even been a year since civilization ended, of course watches would still work.  When she reached the Jenkins family, she passed out small sprigs of what smelled like mint, wrapped in red ribbon.  Mint was so nice, it tasted good, and it made water taste cooler.

Then she wished the quartet a Merry Christmas, to their mutual bemusement.  A quick check of the woman's watch revealed that yes, it was December 24.  Christmas Eve, but still.  It was startling, thinking of life only a year before.  But she had her daughters, who were alive and well enough, and a shining future ahead of them.  She couldn't complain.

About

There's something mysterious and sweet

About the way you move your feet

About the crimson in your sheet

About the massive moving beat

About the things that come and creep

About the way you make me weep

About the joy you help me reap

And I would never be the same without you

Feelers

I think it's been a bit since I've just sort of told you what's going on with me and my life.  Part of the reason for that is that I feel like this blog should be my super serious, super professional place to Do Stuff, and that's not even what I wanted this to be.

I mean, yes, I do want this blog to be known and respected, but I want it to be known and respected for everything that it is, everything that I am, and I am so much.  Besides anxious and incapable of putting forth a full, dedicated effort for fear of failing and falling and looking foolish, I am a writer, a poet, I am so much and so many things.

Today, I am afraid.

This is really not a surprise, I have anxiety, I don't sleep or eat well, so that exacerbates my anxiety, and my aunt is prone to yelling when stressed, which, naturally, helps nothing.

I have to admit that I'm afraid of putting in effort, like really and truly trying to make things work, because what if I try and try and try some more, and I still can't do it?  What if I do it, but badly, and everyone laughs at me and judges me?

I don't fucking know.

What I do know is that I have a job, a way to be gainfully employed, even though it's over the internet, and that terrifies me beyond all reason.  What if I don't make enough money? What if I get stuck writing terrible articles about things I don't care about or even hate for the rest of my life?

So basically, the usual things I always get bogged down in when I've been awake too long or had too little to eat.

There is candy in the house, I can earn money, my phone bill is paid for at least another month, I know how much it'll cost to repair my laptop, I know how to find out how much I'll have to pay in taxes for what I'll be earning, my commission post has been redone and is queued, I know how the Champion series is going, and there is c h o c o l a t e in the house.

I need to take two deep breaths and go.  The fuck.  To sleep.

On an unrelated note, earlier, I was feeling really crummy, and I remembered something I read in a Christian book, one of the few Christian books I ever read, but it's called the Shack, and there's one scene where the main character is talking to a representation of an aspect of God, and she tells him something to the effect of, "If you knew you had to fail 99 times before you succeeded, wouldn't you be excited to fail the 90th time?"

I don't remember what his answer was, but I remember that he generally agreed with her.  I told you that to tell you that earlier, when I was feeling shitty, I reminded myself that I didn't know how many times I had to fail before I could succeed, so I just had to keep trucking.

Also, my aunt got really upset today when she was cooking for a going-away party for a friend, because the sauce she was making came out catastrophically wrong in ways it usually never does, and she's prone to running around and yelling when she's upset, but I was really proud of myself, because rather than also freaking out, or freezing when she got upset, I was able to stay centered and mostly calm, so I'm really proud of myself for that!

This post sort of ended in a completely different place than it began, but that's probably because I took a bit to finish working through my panic before continuing, so that may contribute.  I don't know if this is going to be one of my best posts, but it's real and it's me, and I said I was going to make a mistake, so I'm going to make it hard.

Champion 3

First Chapter
Previous Chapter

*~*~*~*

When you wanted information, the best place in any kingdom to find it was the library in the holy academy.  When you didn't have a disciple of Yorn to escort you through a library large enough to contain a copy of every book that had ever been written, the second best place was the royal library.

This was where Lillian was, deeply ensconced in the Elyia Royal Library, poring over medical texts from the last three centuries, written by disciples of Clio and disciples of Yorn alike.  Only in the medical field were texts written by disciples of Yorn more interesting than texts written by disciples of either Lady or any of the Sisters.  Lillian's eyes were swimming, and her head ached.

Unfortunately, she'd yet to find what she was looking for.  Well, that wasn't completely accurate.  There was a lot of information about religious accidents.  Most were the normal sort: a disciple not noticing, or ignoring the fact that she no longer bore her tattoos of office and suffering injury for it, misuse of religious magic, and anything caused by the mixing of secular and religious magic.

But the recent trend was nothing like that.  She had green-wristed disciples of Runal with vegetables growing through them and somehow mesmerizing people, disciples of Yorn getting hurt, disciples of Clio dying of illness and injury.  This was not normal, and it was frightening, not only for the disciples who could no longer depend on their magic, but for the general populace, who could not come to the disciples in times of trouble.

The only thing Lillian could think was that there had to be some sort of precedence for this, maybe during the Great War, but she couldn't find any understandable answer.  Signs seemed to point to a time in history when the Ladies and Sisters abandoned humanity, but that made no sense.  They depended on humanity.  Collective faith gave them their power, and their power ensured faith.  That was how it worked.

Lillian naturally pursued that line anyway, just in case it lead her anywhere, but all she could find was a fairytale derived from an atrociously-mutilated journal detailing the battle of unnamed women known only as the "Disciple" and the "Champion" against a villain known as the "Untouched."  Everyone knew the fairytale about the untouched, whose impossible birth set them against the holy women who looked over the planet of Johse.

The journal revealed that the untouched supposedly had a much closer relationship with the disciple and champion than the fairytale intimated, but the condition of the tale, with large chunks missing at critical junctures, was the reason the personal journals making up a large portion of the holy library were in a constant state of being copied and recopied.  Lillian very seriously considered throwing the book.  It would do absolutely no good, but it would make her feel better about having discovered nothing usable.

She didn't do that, but she did slam the book shut, roughly grabbing the other books scattered over the table she'd been sitting at all morning, and all day the last five days.  She needed a break, she decided as she found herself slamming books into ever-growing piles.  She would give a lot to have the white line across her forehead that would allow her access to the holy library, or at least someone who had the line, but anyone who might escort her was either at the Hilean ceremony, providing their protection and assistance, or too far from the royal palace to be much immediate help.

"Wow, it's not even midday and you're already angry at the books.  What did they do to you?"

Lillian looked up at the sound of Maya's incredulous voice, and her day was already better, if a bit more confusing.  Lillian and Maya, in spite of both working on the royal grounds, rarely saw each other during the day, and even when they did, Maya was always in her armor, because taking it off and putting it back on again was far too much of a hassle.

Seeing Maya in a plain shirt and serviceable pants, sword belt rakishly thrown over her shoulder, was an unexpected delight for Lillian.

"Maya!  What are you doing here?  Don't you have trainees to terrorize?"  There was a book on the other side of the table, just beyond Lillian's fingertips, and Maya pushed the heavy tome closer with a fond chuckle.

"Not for the rest of the day.  Ritual, remember?"

Oh, the Hileans were working up some magic outside, weren't they?  Breathing on the training grounds probably felt like breathing oatmeal.  But then again, Maya was a bit more resilient than Lillian, and Jettas' disciples had to be tougher in general, so Lillian's brow furrowed, "I figured you'd just work through it."

Maya shrugged, "I can handle it, but the girls were having a lot of trouble.  Besides, aren't you at all curious what they're up to over there?"

"Not particularly."

Maya arched a brow at Lillian and smirked, "You are lying."

Lillian was nosy by nature, curious about most things, and yes, she was totally lying.  She laughed in response to Maya's declaration, making neat piles of her books, "I am completely lying, being that I am terribly jealous you get to go and I don't."

"Who says you don't get to go?"

Lillian paused midmotion, then squinted at Maya, "What did you do?"

"Besides scaring Shannon into growing flowers?"

"Dammit, Denice told her that spell wasn't going to come out right, no matter how she mixed it."

"That's roughly what Denice told me, too."

If Maya had been to the medical wing in search of Lillian, and spoken to Denice, Denice might have given Lillian leave to go see the ritual.  Lillian pushed the table away from her heavy, comfortable chair and slid her finger up her belt as she got up, moving closer to the gleeful Maya.

"...what else did Denice tell you?"

"That you were investigating the recent rash of religious accidents?"

"Maya!"

Maya laughed and threw an arm about Lillian's shoulder, pulling her along, "She said she wants you to take notes."  Lillian groaned deeply, flopping into the still-laughing Maya.  The only thing Lillian hated more than reading notes written by those who served her Sister were writing them herself.  So much detail.  Down to color, every subtle move.  She'd barely get to watch the ceremony for writing.

"I hate you both."

"That's a lie."

"It is not!"

"That's a lie, too."

By the time the pair reached the library doors, Lillian was throwing her arms everywhere, dramatically flopping all over Maya as the smaller woman laughingly pulled her along, "Yes, it's lies!  Lies, lies, all of it!  I don't hate you or Denice, but oh my god, note-taking!  Mayaaa!"

Ok, she was whining now, but Maya was laughing at her, only half sympathetically, "I know, I know, notes are terrible and distressing and frustrating."

"And I don't wanna!"

"And you don't wanna," sniggered Maya, still pulling Lillian down the halls, heading for the amphitheater where the Hileans were bound to be working their magic.

"You don't sound very sympathetic," complained Lillian, opening the door so that Maya could pull her through it.

"I am very sympathetic to your made-up problem and overdramatic whining."  Lillian didn't even have to see Maya's blue hair go muddy, like dye washing away, to know that Maya was lying through her laughing teeth.

"Liiiiiiar."

"That was definitely a lie."

"Urgh."  They'd made it out of the palace, and the air was thicker than Lillian had expected, even coming in that morning, the sun high and hot, adding to the oppressive atmosphere.  It really did feel like trying to breathe oatmeal, and she was already exhausted.  She definitely didn't want to be clinging to Maya, who'd already had a hard morning of training in this.

"It wasn't this bad when I came in," Maya assured Lillian, leading the way along the path, people parting for the blue hair, now restored to its vibrant glory by confessing her joking lie, "Or I would have canceled training today.  This is bad."

Lillian felt jittery and tingly, like she wanted to escape her skin in a very intense way.  She hoped the ritual didn't take very long, or she was going to have a panic attack, and she probably wouldn't be the only one.

"Lillian."

Lillian almost crashed into Maya's back as Maya stopped, and she easily sidled around Maya, uneasy smile on her face, "Sorry, I'm with you.  It's getting to me."

"Should we get something to eat?"

Lillian shook her head, "We're already not going to have the greatest view, let's just get in there."

Maya offered her hand, and Lillian took it, squeezing tightly as they continued into the amphitheater, which was a sea of golden robes.  Lillian didn't know why Hileans liked uniforms so much.  They had their marks of office, like every other disciple, Hileans' marks being yellow handprints on their arms, halfway between the wrist and elbow.  The robes covered that.

She could see other disciples, purple-necked disciples of Clio and red-lipped Loliens, armored disciples of Jettas playing guard, their blue hair vividly bright in a sea of darker colors, most serious-faced, a few joking with one another.

There were even some members of the general populace, but they were few and far between, simply due to the sheer density of the air.  They were smart and went away from places where it was difficult to breathe.  But that was neither here nor there.  The important thing was that the royal Hileans were in the center of the room on a dias around a mirror, one which flickered, like a light rod at the end of its existence, and there were a lot of people in a small space.

Maya managed to get them seats close to the dias, on the side where the light flickered.  It looked like Lady Torina, was the focal person for this spell, all the other Hileans would concern themselves with funneling energy to her, and her vision would bring forth....whatever.

Lillian gathered her skirt behind her knees and slowly slid her finger down her belt, making sure to position herself over her seat properly before letting herself drop into it.  And she was to Maya's right.  Yes.  She wanted to be able to keep holding Maya's hand, after all, and she leaned closer to Maya, "Do you really think they'll be able to summon the champion of lore?"

"I think they're going to try."

Lillian tried to elbow Maya in the arm and got pushed off with a laugh, "I don't know, Lillian, what  do you want me to say?  Noone thought the queen would ever be a man, but he is.  They have enough energy to make a lot of things happen.  Why not the champion?"

"But what if it's not the real champion?  How will anyone know?  What if the champion is peacefully dead and resents them bringing her forth?  What if they summon a berserker whose only concern is subjugating us all to her will?  Or a clever demon with similar aims?"

"For one," chuckled Maya, "Demons don't exist anymore.  And for two, there's lots of us here.  Do you see the sea of blue hair?  All the white foreheads?  We'll help deal with anything that arises.  Now shush, I think she's ready."

Sure enough, the image of the High Lady was on the face of the mirror, and Torina spoke, her voice booming throughout the room, with the assistance of a bit of magic, "And now we begin."

The golden-robed Hileans all began muttering their prayer, chanting Torina's name to focus energy towards, and the air began to feel less oppressive as the gathered energy was poured towards Torina, who was already beginning to sweat and turn coppery in the face, the mirror glowing a bright, distinct yellow.

Lillian had no idea how long they all watched and listened to the swelling voices, overlapping and intertwining.  To Lillian's astonishment, a hand came out of the mirror, fingers curiously reaching, followed by a very human arm farther and farther, almost up to the shoulder.  A startled murmur rippled from the people close enough to see it, spreading up the crowd and disrupting the Hileans, as even they stopped chanting to marvel at the sight.

The mirror's light dimmed, and the arm hastily retreated, prompting the closest Hileans to resume chanting, but louder, the rest taking their cue and diving back in.  For a small eternity, nothing happened.  A bare foot stepped out, onto the lower edge of the mirror, causing it to wobble precariously before the owner of that foot thought better and hesitantly slid their foot down, clearly feeling for the floor.

Lillian was breathless, Maya's hand tight in hers.  The foot was followed by a leg, a hip, a hand and arm coming out to hold the mirror, higher up, then a body, nude, a head, hair, and a bewildered face.  They had done it.  They had actually done it.  They had summoned the champion.

There was a moment of breathless silence before Torina whirled, triumphantly thrusting her hands into the air and howling, "The champion has arrived!"  The silence broke like a dam overflowing, and everyone cheered, even Lillian, watching as everyone leapt to their feet around her.  Apparently the champion hadn't realized how many people were there, because they looked up, visibly stunned by the roaring noise and raucous cheering.  Lillian would feel bad for them later.  Now was the time to celebrate.

Alone

Spinning sparkling

Diving, writhing

Life exists and moves and breathes

And you

Little speck

Careless on the breeze

You are fearsome and feared

Passionate and impassioned

The world over

And completely alone

Not the lonely of one who yearns

Not the fearful of the one who burns

Not the safe, sad, pitying alone

But the true alone

Powerful

Fearsome

A unit unto yourself

Cut off from the rest

Dependent as necessary

But with no illusions of being part of a greater whole

For what is the greater whole

But a messy mass of

Sadness

Fear

Desperation

Anxiety

And all the things

That cling to one another

In the desperate darkness

At the end of the universe?

Commissions Are Open!

I'm opening up writing commissions.  It's basically going to be like art commissions, you pay me for what you want, I write something, and then I give it to you.  With your permission, I might also post it around, but that's up to you.

*~*~*

For $5, I will write you a haiku or a limerick with one word from you to define the content, anything from love, trees, and life, to Sherlock, Godoka, and Sourin:

Haiku
Five, seven, and five
This is what makes a haiku
Nothing more or less

Limerick
The syllables in this poem don't matter
Put in as many as you'd like to splatter
Voltaire used this format I think
For a rhyme I'll add in a sink
And examples do it no justice

*~*~*

For $10, I'll write you a short poem on the topic of your choice.

Example Here

And again, it can be about something abstract like love, social justicey, or it can be fandom stuff, too.

*~*~*

For $25, you'll get a longer story-style poem, or a ficlet.  Your poem can be fandom-related, and your ficlet can be a non-fandom piece, if you want.

Poem Example Here

Ficlet Example Here

*~*~*

Finally, for $50, you'll get a more in-depth story, with actual plot and direction, and it can be fandom or original, SFW, NSFW, whatever you like.

Fandom Example

Original Example

*~*~*

So, if you'd like to commission a piece from me, please email me at PFGurl4Life2005@yahoo.com, and we can get started

Champion 2

Previous Chapter

*~*~*~*

Maya swung her arm hard, catching her opponent in the chest and throwing the girl flat on her back, the dull thunk of her helmet hitting the hard-packed dirt floor barely audible over the clatter of weaponry against armor, the shouts and cries of battle and pain that always filled the training grounds this time of day.  That was the third time today, and it wasn't yet midday.

"Leticia!  What have I told you?"

Leticia slowly levered herself into a sitting position, her voice strained as she dutifully recited, "Watch both arms, pay attention, do not underestimate your opponent."  Leticia paused to wheeze for breath, then got to her feet before miserably adding, "But the air is so thick, I'm having trouble breathing!"

"You think it won't be this thick in battle?  This is what Hileans are good at, what they excel at--they summon so much energy that anyone but them chokes on it.  You will be a follower of Jettas, if you finish your training!  You will be at the head, the front of the battle, and it will be thicker and deeper than this, do you hear me, Leticia?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Maya could see the way Leticia's mouth twisted under her helmet, though not the bulk of her face, and she understood the girl's ire, remembered her own teacher yelling the same things at her while she wore the same expression, but that did not make it any less true.

Disciples of the High Lady, Hileans, had access to a great deal more magic than disciples of any of the four sisters, and almost more than disciples of the Low Lady, Loliens, and while there was much Hileans could not do with their powers, overwhelming others was something they could do.

Unfortunately for Maya, Leticia was right.  The air was very thick, and she knew why.  The Royal Hiliens were preparing for some ritual, had been for days, and midday was a very auspicious time for the spell to begin.  The disciples-in-training were all sluggish from the heaviness of the air, though they gamely attempted to continue.

Maya sheathed her sword and gave Leticia's shoulder a rough clap, "Round up the little ones, and get them some water."  Leticia ducked her head and ran off, while Maya raised her voice to be heard above the din, "Everyone stop what you're doing!  Cheryl, I mean you, too!"

Cheryl lifted her helmet to give Maya a cheeky grin, and didn't even have the good grace to wilt in defeat when Maya glared at her.  Maya shook her head at Cheryl and took off her helmet, tipping her head back as ropes of vividly blue hair fell into her face.  Stupid long hair.  She used her helmet to gesture the other women closer, and they followed Maya's example, removing their own helmets, and trying to avoid creaking or clanking too much as they moved.

"Alright, as I'm sure you all have noticed, the royal Hileans are doing some ritual, and I'm sure a few of you have even heard rumors of what it's supposed to do."  A few women nodded, some looked sheepish or giggled to each other before being hastily shushed by their comrades as Maya continued.  "I was going to keep you all going until the spell's climax, but even I have to confess there is a lot of energy in the air, and for the most part, you all have been doing well.  So you've got the afternoon off."

That prompted an immediate cheer, a rolling rumble of chit-chatty voices, and Maya waited for the excitement to die down before she continued, "I won't say that you must go to the ritual, but I will say that I strongly advise it.  Though the magic makes it difficult to breathe, it is actually quite beneficial, and additionally, there is power and value in knowing how those of other faiths perform their spells, understand?"

There was a generalized mumble of assent, and Maya sent everyone off with another wave of her helmet.  Once she was sure Leticia had the younger girls hydrated, she followed the other recruits to the armory, discarding her armor and weaponry in a small bubble of relative silence.  She pretended to not notice.

As a disciple of Jettas, Maya held a heavy burden.  Jettas was the lady of death, of course, and justice as well, so Maya was authorized to kill, as necessary, and an arbiter of justice.  But more importantly, Jettas was the lady of truth, honesty.  As her disciple, not only was Maya forbidden from lying, she was obligated to confront any lie she heard, even one said in jest.  She was allowed leeway for confrontation, as her own conscience allowed.  But Maya's conscience only allowed her to know three lies before she was forced to confront the liars, or confess her reasoning for not confronting them to Jettas, and risk losing her status as a disciple.

Maya finished changing out of her armor and looped her sword belt over her shoulder, then took her bubble of silence out of the armory and into the palace halls.  The funny thing about lying, Maya reflected, was that a person had to know they were doing it to get caught out.  If someone knew they were lying, it polluted their auras in ways only disciples of Jettas could see.  Being wrong wasn't the same, and that was what tripped people up around her.

Maya carried her bubble of silence into the medical wing.  She certainly intended to attend the Hilean ceremony, but first, she had to find her housemate.  Lillian was her housemate and best friend, and had been for many years.  As a follower of Clio, Lillian should have been amongst those tending secular and religious magical accidents, and certain non-magical accidents as well.  "Should have been" being the operative words.

Maya made a quick search of the medical wing, carefully avoiding masked disciples of Clio, because if they were sick, it was something that Maya very definitely didn't want to catch.  Unfortunately, there was no sign of Lillian, and the patients were beginning to get antsy and anxious from Maya's presence.  Maya moved into the medical lab, which was off the medical wing, in hopes of finding Lillian there.

When Maya entered the medical lab, she found a young disciple mixing a beaker of something purple and something green.  At the sight of Maya, she fumbled the beaker of muddy liquid that was the result, before dropping it on the floor, swearing as it shattered.  Everything the liquid touched began to grow flowers, including the disciple's hand.  Maya decided to end her search of the lab there and beat a hasty retreat.

Fortunately, she was able to find the head disciple, Denice, who was instructing a disciple-in-training over a wriggling patient's rash, "Uh...Denice?"

"What broke in the lab?"

"Just a beaker, but it's growing flowers."

Denice heaved a sigh and sent off the young woman she was speaking with, "Probably Shannon again.  Lilly said she thought there was an abnormal number of religious accidents, and last I heard, she was headed to the library."

Maya gave a sheepish laugh, embarrassed to be so transparent that Denice didn't even bother to ask her purpose.  Well, it wasn't like Maya was hurt very often, even as a trainer of recruits, and the only people who ever had any business in a medical lab were disciples of Clio, and the occasional disciple of Yorn, so it made sense that Maya would be searching for Lillian, whose skills were best displayed in the lab.

"Thank you, Denice.  Do you think Shannon will be able to recover from that spell?"

"Based on what I saw her doing, she should be able to.  It might require a bit of secular magic, but I've been telling her that spell's not going to work the way she wants it to for a month, and she has persisted, regardless.  It was bound to happen, eventually."  Maya nodded and made to head off, but was stopped by Denice, "Are you taking Lilly to the ritual?"

"I was planning to."

"Well, tell her I said to take notes for the rest of us."

Maya could almost hear Lillian's frustrated groan.  Though Denice's directive meant that Lillian was free to go, disciple's of Clio tended the injured and ill, which meant they always needed to know exactly what looked like what, what smelled like what, and Maya had seen three-page reports written on a bruise.  The ritual would surely fill a book, but she couldn't help but grin, appreciatively ducking her head, "Thank you, Denice."

Denice made a shooing gesture before heading towards the lab, while Maya left the medical wing to head for the royal library, where Lillian was bound to be.  It was her favorite place to be, anyway, after the medical lab.  She really should have been one of Yorn's disciples, but she had her reasons for choosing Clio.

*~*~*~*

Next Chapter

Wingless

I love myself

The curl of my hair and the curve of my jowls

I love myself

The flap of my arms and the bulge of my belly

I love myself

The round of my hips and the thick of my thighs

I love myself

The color of my skin and the heft of my ass

I love myself

And that is revolutionary

Incendiary

Caring

Apocathery

Turning lead into gold

Has nothing on turning

Hatred to love

Ridicule to rejoycing

Countless messages

Be thin

Be professional

Hate what you are

It's uncouth

Unclean

Unworthy

You further me

With your hatred

I have one hater today

I need five tomorrow

And I have so many

But I'm strong like that

I spit back the koolaid

Not everyone can

It's difficult

It's terrifying

It's a step out into an unseen void with no net below you

It's forgetting you have wings because everyone has magic you don't

And then you step off the ledge

Plunge into the unknown

Someone screams at you to flap

And you do

You have wings

Wings amongst the wingless

Who have magic that propels them

And they miss the hidden places

Noone screams at them to flap

And you learn how to flap

How to ride the wind

Watching those winged ones

Because what do the wingless know of updrafts and gliding?

Nothing.

And the strain is hard

Your muscles doing unfamiliar work

But it gets easier

When you see aerial acrobatics

Pirouettes and dives

And the wingless could do it

They have magic

It could work

But it is nothing like the exhilaration

Of catching the wind at the last moment

Of using your body to soar higher and farther

And the risk is greater

If your body fails you

You've nothing left

But there are hidden nets

Hidden places

Where somebody bumping along

Because their wings are exhausted and their mind is frayed

Those hidden places are refuge

And in the refuge

The winged gather.

Be Better

So, there's a new discussion coming up in the asexual community, one that says that the typical asexual refrain of "I don't have any physical issues that interfere with having sex, I haven't been abused, I'm not mentally ill, and I don't think sex is gross" is problematic.

This is completely true.

As someone who can say the above line, I naturally missed how problematic it was, but the fact is that some asexual-spectrum people are mentally ill, or have physical problems that get in the way of sex, or have been abused, or are sex-repulsed.

Asexual-spectrum people are people.  Some people are mentally ill, or have physical issues, or have been abused, or think sex is a whole lot of nothing they ever want any part of.  And some people who fall into any of those categories are asexual.

Asexual-spectrum folks who can say "I don't have any physical issues that interfere with having sex, I haven't been abused, I'm not mentally ill, and I don't think sex is gross," we have a duty to asexuals who can't say that.  We can not throw them under the bus so people don't think we're weird or broken, because they deserve to not feel weird or broken as much as we do.

To that end, I've made an action plan.  I might have to change it, because it could be problematic, but until I hear otherwise, if someone asks if there's something physically wrong with me, or if I've been abused, am I mentally ill or why do I think sex is gross, then what I'm going to say is, "The answer to that question does not change the fact that I am asexual, no matter how much you want it to, and frankly, if you don't already know the answer to the question, there is a reason."

The long and short of it is that noone is ace-spectrum "for a reason," just as noone is any other sexuality for a reason.  Which means that none of the cases we're refuting can invalidate someone's asexuality or demisexuality or gray-asexuality.  You cannot claim something caused a sexuality, it's a fucking moldy walnut thing to try and do, and anyone trying to do it is a moldy fucking walnut.

Additionally, it's not your goddamned business what people are going through.  If they have a medical condition, if sex grosses them out, if they're mentally ill, or have been physically or sexually abused, that is for them to know, and that is for them to say, or not say at their own fucking discretion.  They don't need to prove themselves to anyone, not allosexuals, not other asexuals, not anyone, and if they're gonna tell you this kind of shit, it's going to be because they want you to know.

And if you're using that kind of shit to invalidate their sexuality, then I say you sure as hell don't deserve to know, but that's just me.

Ace-spectrum folks who can say "I don't have any physical issues that interfere with having sex, I haven't been abused, I'm not mentally ill, and I don't think sex is gross," it's time to pull up your big kid underwear and step the fuck up.  Do not be like the cishet guy who throws a temper tantrum because he can't fuck a lesbian.

Just avoiding saying problematic shit is not enough, we've created a hostile environment, we have to take steps to create a safer one.  Call each other out.  Call yourself out.  Remember that life experiences do not invalidate sexuality.

Champion

Sorry for the lack of poetry this week, as well as the late story, but in exchange for your patience, I give you the first chapter in a new novel I am writing.  Enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

"Dylan, you're home!"

Dylan's landlord was an older woman, white, a bit scrawny, with a scratchy kind of high-pitched voice.  Dylan had really been hoping to avoid her, but she was sweeping up dead leaves out front, and the only approach to to the house from the bus stop was visible from where she was.  Dylan couldn't, in good conscience, just walk by without responding to her.  "Yeah, I'm just getting back from work."

It was fall, but the day had been hot, and Dylan's backpack was heavy, digging into their shoulders and making Dylan's back sweat.  "I was just raking some leaves," replied the landlord, rather unnecessarily, "Doing some chores around the house."

"Oh.  That's good."

"Yeah, I've been raking leaves and I mowed the lawn earlier, my back is killing me."

"I can see how that could be a pain."  The lawn was huge, wrapping around the already-large house and extending back quite a ways.  Dylan sure as hell didn't want to do it, but that was why Dylan was renting, rather than owning their own home.  Also it was cheaper, but that was beside the point.

"Yeah, I've still got to get the gutters, all these leaves have probably clogged that up, it's gonna be a real hassle to clean up."

She paused for a moment, not quite looking at Dylan, and not quite not looking at Dylan while they struggled to find an answer.  Dylan had never cleaned gutters, and wasn't sure why the landlady was talking about it.  Maybe she was trying for sympathy?  Or just trying to connect?  Dylan had had a long, trying day at work and just couldn't muster up much emotional anything.

"I'm sorry to hear that.  I hope it goes well.  I'm...gonna head on inside."  Dylan slowly took first one, then another step towards the front door, not wanting to be rude, but more than ready to be done with this conversation.

The landlady lifted her hand in farewell, "You have a good evening."

"You, too."

Dylan went inside, where they breathed a sigh of relief.  That was over.  And noone was in the kitchen, which meant Dylan didn't have to try awkwardly navigating around other renters to do things in the tiny space.

Dylan washed the day's lunch dishes, prepared breakfast and lunch for the next day, then sat down to eat a dinner of cheese, sweet bread, and mango, with seasoned microwave beef strips from a bag, because that was what Dylan had been craving for dinner when they went shopping for the week.  It was all delicious and quite filling, and that was really all that mattered, even if, while cutting the mango, Dylan couldn't help thinking about how sharp the knife was, how quickly it would stab through flesh, how the blood wouldn't be too difficult to clean from the tile.  Then the microwave beeped, and Dylan retrieved the beef strips, so that dinner would be complete.

Dylan was just discarding their trash when another renter came into the kitchen.  The fisherman.  He was nice, and he was willing to let there be silence, which Dylan appreciated.  Dylan gave the man a nod of acknowledgement, receiving one in return as the pair traded places in the kitchen, Dylan leaving, and the man entering.

A quick trip down the stairs later and it was shower time.  Dylan showered, briefly used the swiffers to clean the shower and the rest of the bathroom, wiped down the sink real quick, washed their hands and retreated to their bedroom, still completely nude, and grateful, not for the first time, that they had a private bathroom across from the bedroom, even if it was the size of a closet, and awkward for Dylan's bulky figure to maneuver around in.

Done with the annoying parts of the return home, Dylan took a few minutes to masturbate, as a personal reward for showering and cleaning the bathroom, which they'd planned to do every day, and thus far, had managed.  Once done with that, Dylan decided a little shuteye before hopping online would be nice, and after setting the alarm timer to half an hour, so the short nap didn't turn into sleeping all night, Dylan closed their eyes, took deep breaths, and intentionally relaxed, allowing themselves to fall into a meditative state.

There were women.  Two of them in front.  Four in back.  All of them glowing in different colors.  Just out of earshot of Dylan.

The women in front looked human.  Both were round and soft, one with brown skin with red undertones, the other a much darker, truer brown, not quite model-black, but close.  The lighter woman glowed a sunny yellow and, combined with her huge, gorgeous afro, seemed to have a halo.  The darker woman glowed blue and had long locs pulled up into an elaborate style, whispering with her companion.  From the way they kept looking over, it was clear they were discussing Dylan.

Behind them was a huge woman who appeared to be made of grey boulders, a full, green bush with far-reaching roots serving as her hair.  Though she was about the same shape as the more human women in front, she was scaled about twice as large, and rather resembled a mobile mountain.  She was hunched over in deference to the black hand on her shoulder, the red glow surrounding it pushing oddly at the green glow surrounding her.

The bald woman whom the red glow surrounded wasn't model-black, but a true, light-sucking black, with the notable exception of her bone-white pubes and eyebrows.  Whatever she was saying to the rock woman, it had her full attention, because she didn't seem to notice the excited-looking little woman who was crawling her way up the rock woman's other side.

The climber had bronze-brown skin with glitter under it, glowing purple on top of it, her half-braided, half pressed hair tripping her up as she climbed.  When she reached the rock woman's head and startled the bald woman, her long hair was used to pull her, prompting her to scramble behind the meager defense the fourth woman offered.

The last woman looked like a life-sized painting, cut out of the frame, glowing white and almost human-looking, like the others.  She had a frizzy ponytail, smoothed down around the edges by smears of dried paint, and she moved like a stopmotion film, in awkward starts and stops.  When the glitter-skinned woman hid behind her, she spread her arms wide, even as she disapprovingly glared over her shoulder, while the rock woman gently held back the enraged bald one.

Dylan decided this was probably the most interesting thing they'd seen in months, and stepped forward, with the intent to engage the foreign women in conversation.  They ran into what felt like syrup, catching the attention of the woman glowing yellow, whose head popped up in alarm as she waved an arm at Dylan, urging Dylan back.  But it was already too late, and the women disappeared before Dylan could retreat.  There was a distant yellow light, however, illuminating the surrounding darkness, and the sound of voices, raised in either song or prayer.

The light washed out everything, the only thing that Dylan could see, so Dylan continued walking forward.  The voices resolved themselves into chanting that grew louder the closer Dylan got, the light resolving itself into a doorway, or perhaps a window, too bright to see beyond, and a few inches off the ground.  A tentative hand through the center of the light met with no resistance, though as Dylan extended more of their arm through, the chanting faltered, causing the light to dim.

Dylan sharply withdrew their arm, not wanting to lose it if the window suddenly closed, but the chanting picked up again, and the light brightened.  Dylan tried to step up on the bottom edge of the window of light, as if it were a true step.  It wobbled precariously, so Dylan grabbed the edges to keep it from falling.  Once Dylan was certain it wasn't going anywhere, they poked their foot out, finding solid ground on the other side, at about the same level as it was on Dylan's side, and quickly stepped through.

Dylan turned out to be climbing out of a mirror into the center of a circle of women wearing matching yellow robes.  All of the robed women glowed lemony yellow, with the exception of the gray-haired older woman facing the mirror, whose yellow glow was tinted black close to her skin.  She looked stunned at the sight of Dylan coming out of her mirror, completely nude, and she paused for a long moment before suddenly turning, thrusting her arms into the air with a triumphant cry.

"The champion has arrived!"

A roaring cheer rose up around them, and Dylan suddenly realized that the circle of women surrounding the mirror was, in turn, surrounded by an enormous stadium full of people.  Dylan wasn't sure if this was an elaborate dream, or hallucinations caused by bad...something, but as Dylan looked around, they realized that maybe this hadn't been the best idea they'd ever had.

Next Chapter

Not Gonna Wreck Anything

So, I recently had a realization, one my aunt helped me to, even though she was upset and less trying to help me and more trying to have me stop hurting her, but still.  I had a realization, and I learned something about myself that I didn't realize.

My aunt told me that it seemed to her like I was just doing the bare minimum to not get kicked out, as I am living with her for free, on her and my uncle's generosity.  My first thought when she said that was, "Well, yeah," and my second thought was, "Wait, I can't say that, or she'll really think I'm using her."

It is not my intent to use her, because I don't like using people.  It's cruel and unfair.  I realized that I do simply do the bare minimum to exist, and then I stop.  I'll do what I need to in order to maintain that bare minimum, but I won't actively try to make anything more than that happen.

It's not that I don't know there is more to life than merely existing, because I do, I really, really do, but I have never known, never had the thought, that I can work to make my life BETTER.  Not just livable, but BETTER.  I don't know where I got the idea, where it came from, but there has always been something in the back of my head, telling me that if I do enough to subsist, if I have enough to survive, then the rest will be given to me for doing what I'm doing as hard as I can.

So I do whatever I'm doing as hard as I can, and nothing more.  It never even occurs to me that I CAN do more, that I should go out and find more, because surely my efforts will be recognized if I exist and don't do terrible for long enough, right?

I will confess that it's always been hard for me to do more than one thing in a day, it's something I've known about myself, but it never occurred to me that that was a microcosm of the way I think, "I am doing this right now.  I can't ALSO do that.  I just have to do this, and then I'll wait for the rewards to come to me."

When I was thinking about this, before I put it down as text, I was thinking it was a beaten-down thing, fat, woman, black, something like that.  But now that I'm typing it out, seeing my thoughts on the page, it is probably an entitlement thing, a class thing, maybe internalized classism, but definitely entitlement.

Now that I know I think this way, I can combat it, I can begin taking more and better steps towards having the life I want.

Long story short, if you are subsisting, with food more often than not, and shelter that's good enough, and bills mostly paid, you don't have to ONLY do that.  So if you aren't content with where you live, looking at other places won't make the place you already live any less of a place you are.  If you aren't content with your job, looking into what would make you hireable at a job you want, and honing those skills, won't mean you'll lose your current job.

I know there's not much energy to spare for extra stuff at the end of a long day of work, especially if you take the bus and/or walk, and everything that's not relaxation is frustrating and undesirable to deal with, but it won't wreck what you're already doing if you look at something else, it won't take away from what you're already doing.

I didn't know that before, so I'm sharing it with you.

Two Knives

This story prominently features somewhat graphic mentions of suicide and murder, so if you are triggered by either, please proceed with caution, or avoid this tale entirely.

*~*~*~*

She could go either way.  She had a plan for either contingency.

In the first, she was in the bathroom, with the light on and the door closed, maybe with the shower raining down over her.  The wrists were too sketchy, too uncertain, the inside of each elbow was a much better shot, a much better chance, especially if she went one, two, and got both.  She'd have enough muscle control for that, as long as she moved quickly, and she could.

She'd leave her cellphone on the sink, set to her memos, with a note detailing where to go to find her post-death instructions, and apologies to whoever found her, apologies for the mess, for the waste of water, for the smell, whatever needed apologizing for.

On her laptop, exactly where she said in her memo the information would be, she would have a detailed list of information, what she wanted to happen, who she wanted to notify.

The second plan was a lot riskier, involved waiting for him to fall asleep, and praying she got the cut just right, so he didn't struggle and make a bigger mess than was necessary.  The other woman, not her, but his wife, she wasn't the most attentive, and if she'd had a long day, she'd never notice.

No, night was better, wait until they were asleep, together, and again, one, two, taking off before anyone found them, living high on their hogs until she could get away.  Far away.  Never to return.  Probably would end in a jail sentence, but it wasn't like her life couldn't benefit from three meals a day and a consistent place to sleep.

She sighed, looking at the knives, sharp, if a bit small, and put them in the knife block where they belonged, shaking off morbid fantasies for the reality of emptying the dishwasher, shaking water from clean dishes and putting them where they belonged, moving dirty dishes from the sink to the dishwasher.

She wouldn't do anything, she knew that, but sometimes, the fantasy kept her sane, for just one more day, gave her something to think about that wasn't what she was already worried about.  It continued to be enough.

The Fighter

In the dark of night he comes

A victimizer cloaked in black

To whisper secret sufferings in your ear

And teach you your strengths are what you lack

Every night and every day

You must fight him off, fight him away

And though you try to escape his grasp

You'll soon again feel his painful wrath

But you keep fighting and working

You've no better choice

Because if you surrender and fall

You'll leave others alone with his voice

But there are others

Few and far between

You only know some

By the sounds of their screams

You find each other

By effort and careful planning

You flee when he drops into the middle

Disrupting your cautious scanning

But you try and try and try

And then you try again

And before you know what's happened

You've made yourself a friend

And together you both fight

Sometimes together you fall

But when they are strong and you are weak

They'll often answer your call

For help and support

A little bit of praise

Someone who knows the fight

And how difficult the malaise

You are never permanently victorious

There is no such thing as ultimate win

But every once in a while

You feel purged clean of all sin

25th Post!

So, I'm writing this post in advance, because it's giving me something to shoot for, but this is my 25th post, which will mean I'll have been at this for something like two months, consistently posting one blog post, one poem, and one story every week for eight weeks.  I probably won't even be a fraction of the way through my 365 days of posting, with eight poems, eight stories, and eight blog posts, and that is ok!  Past Lin is proud of you, future Lin, keep up the good work, even though it's hard and scary sometimes!

*~*~*~*~*

I expected to be somewhere different by this point in time, maybe more successful, I don't know.  I've certainly grown and changed a bit, and I've had a few personal revelations, but I dunno, I guess I feel like I don't deserve the praise my past self heaped on me, even though, logically, I know I do.  My brain's weird.

Queen's Peace

Tori looked up when Daxia escorted the queen in through the door of the room the rebels had claimed as command central in their attempts to overthrow the queen and establish a new government, one that properly accommodated for all of its people.

She had expected the queen would come, because after kidnapping the king, they'd demanded the queen's presence.  She hadn't expected the queen to come in full regalia, an ocean of petticoats, a crown of pearls to hold back her halo of curls, a gem-encrusted corset to make an elegant curve of her waist, while simultaneously highlighting the soft roundness of her arms, bared underneath with wisps of fabric trailing over top.

Tori and the others, Rhia, the fae, barely as tall as Tori's face, and sitting on a small chair on the table Tori was at because of it, her wings slowly fluttering, Daxia, the dwarf, shifting her heavy mithril hammer away from the queen and the rest of the party, and Elie, the elf, next to the captured, tied and gagged king, gesturing at Rhia with his legs, were all in pants and plain, simple garb, assuming the queen wouldn't take them seriously, even though they had her king in custody.

Rhia stood, her wings whirring as she began to take flight, then she stopped and dropped back to the table, her wings slowing as she folded her arms and observed the approaching human.  Daxia hovered at the door, her hammer lightly thumping as she rested it on the floor, and Elie put the king's legs back on the table, well away from him, taking care not to chip the expensive porcelain.  The queen had come to them as if they were foreign dignitaries, rather than treasonous subjects making noises of secession and threats of overthrowing her rule, and they were all just a bit embarrassed by this unexpected fact.

She took a long moment to look at each of their faces, even turning back for a look at Daxia, who averted her eyes and pretended to be very busy with the handle of her hammer, before dropping into a low curtsy, so far down that her hair entirely obscured her head for a moment, again surprising the gathered rebel leaders.

When she arose, her expression and demeanor were serious, her voice calm and collected, "I apologize.  I have sorely neglected the Hridale Province, which is the crossroads of so many species, and unfairly under human control.  I incorrectly assumed that, if I avoided interfering, Hridale would prosper.  Please forgive me for my oversight and allow me to begin making amends."

So this was the queen who negotiated alone with hungry dragons and came out the better for it.  Tori could suddenly see why.  The queen radiated sincerity and earnestness, her voice calm enough to not make a fuss, but passionate enough to convey deep emotion.  Tori was no match for her, she already knew.

Elie, however, apparently had no such compunctions, because she brandished the king's legs at the queen, causing them to rattle threateningly as she used them to punctuate her points, "Why should we?  For years, not months or weeks or days, years, you have left us, abandoned us, failed to protect us, failed to protect our rights, and turned a blind eye to our trials and suffering!  We want absolutely no more to do with you!"

Daxia gave Elie an anxious look, "It....Elie, it doesn't have to be like tha--"

"But it should be!"

"I agree," murmured Rhia, her voice quietly resonant.  Elie smugly subsided, to await Rhia's next words, and Daxia turned her anxious stare to Rhia.  Tori remained silent.  As a human in Hridale Province, she'd been the recipient of very little discrimination, though as an innkeeper, she'd seen plenty of it.  She was here because she wanted to help her friends, but it was not her place to say what they needed.

Rhia remained on the table, forcing the queen to come down to her level, rather than flying up to the queen's level, her voice just as cool and sincere, "As you yourself said, we have been sorely neglected, but not just in Hridale, all throughout Coris, and you, in your unwillingness to make changes that would help us, are directly to blame.  We want a government with no monarchy, and equal representation of all species in Coris, including fae, including elves, including dwarves, humans, trolls, giants, all of us.  We have an action plan, ready to implement, and we will hold your king until you implement the first step of it."

"Surely," countered the queen, "You can appreciate why I might wish for my king back and how difficult it is to enact any such policy change over the whole of the kingdom."

"I do, but you have no choice.  Tori, if you would?"

The plan was sized for humans, elves, and dwarves, as Rhia had decided that since she was giving it to a human, it needed to be that large.  Unfortunately, this meant that Rhia could not physically lift it, as it was almost as big as her, so Tori picked up the documents, and stood, handing them to the queen, who began to look through them, her expression remaining static as she did so.

"You may take your time with those, look them over carefully.  Daxia?"

Daxia hefted her hammer again and moved to the queen's side, careful not to touch the queen's superlative garb, and trying to look smaller than head and shoulder's shorter than the queen, "I-If you could...?"  The queen looked frustrated for a brief moment, but she schooled her face before allowing herself to be led out.

"Do you think she'll really do it?" asked Elie, poking at the magical sensors in the king's legs, making them twitch and move.

"Stop that," scolded Rhia.  She'd already been uncomfortable about taking the king's legs as is, but Elie and Daxia only had his spare pair, the ones he was currently wearing weighted with magic-killing iron.  "And no, I don't think she will.  You know humans."

Tori felt a familiar stab, but she brushed it off.  She knew that Rhia wasn't speaking of her specifically, but it still hurt, still ached, to hear that sort of thing, and to know she could do no more to make it so that Rhia wouldn't have reason to say it.  She held her silence as Elie shrugged, "Yeah, but we DO have her king.  He's got to be worth something to her.  She came in full regalia."

"Intimidation tactic," replied Rhia, her voice decisive as she went back to her seat, "To remind us just how much power she has, and how much we don't."

Daxia came in just as Rhia said that, and she mumbled, "I...I think she was just...trying to give us full respect, you know?"

"I'm with Rhia," said Elie, pointing at the fae in question, "She was just trying to intimidate us into backing down."

"Well, I'm definitely intimidated," said Tori, with a light laugh, "It's amazing she could even reach the door in all of that."

Daxia grinned, "She couldn't."

Tori glanced at the king, who seemed to have resigned himself to his fate, while he watched the four women talk and interact.  He noticed her watching him watching the rest of them, and he shrugged.  Tori felt for him, but justice had to be done.  For all the species humans oppressed.

Morning Conversations

Trigger warnings for depression, discussion of suicide, and bullying, if the voice in your head counts as a bully.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I am weak

I am afraid

And I know it.

You claim you know so that you don’t have to admit

That you’re powerless

Hopeless

And no one wants to help you.

People love me.

They want what you can do.

People care about me.

You’re a nuisance.

Don’t bother them.

Don’t tell them how tempting it is

To look over the fence

And into the abyss.

They’ll be sad if I die.

They’ll judge you if you survive.

I have homework to do.

What’s the point of that?

You can’t do it right.

It doesn’t help you with anything

You’ll never get a job on your degree

And you’re going to fail this class.

I haven’t failed before.

You mean you haven’t failed yet.

I am strong.

You just said you were weak.

What a hypocrite.

I can be weak and strong at the same time.

In different ways.

Lying liar!

Hypocrite!

False!

Fat!

Ugly!

Forever alone mouthbreather.

That’s why no one likes you.

I don’t have to listen to you.

I can wait until you will.

When your roleplaying partner rejects spending time with you

And no one is posting on Tumblr

And you have three neglected assignments that will each be five hours of work and ten percent of your grade looming over your head.

I can wait until then.

I can wait until the winter comes

When it’s dark

And you’re low

And you can’t even bring yourself to get out of bed

Much less shower and dress for school.

But you have to go to class

So you go unwashed

And avoid sitting too close to anyone

And pretend not to notice the smell of unwashed ass that wafts from your chair when you stand.

I can wait until then.

I can wait until you haven’t eaten more than a thousand calories a day for four days

And you’ve only had three hours of sleep a night for five

And you feel like you’re going to pass out every time you stand

And you don’t QUITE sleep through all of your classes

And your fingers are stupid with exhaustion and cold from hunger

And you really should be doing homework, but you have an hour before work and you’re so TIRED.

I can wait until then.

I hate you.

I am you.

I hate me.

Learn the Lingo

"I don't understand feminist language."

This is something I'm starting to see, more and more, as I move through feminist spheres.  And I don't like it.  Now, I get that there are a lot of things to talk about a learn, especially if you're going to do feminism correctly, where you support trans women and women of color and asexual women and disabled women and neurodivergent women and sex workers and teenagers and homosexual women and polyamorous women and any combination of the above and more.

Y'know, actual feminism, where you support ALL women?

There's a lot of lingo, cis, dfab, dmab, biromantic, alltistic, I could go on for pages, I really, really could.  And I understand that learning it takes time and effort, but I should point out that it takes time.  And effort.  I learned the vast majority of what I know from Tumblr over the course of a year or more, and though I'm still learning, because there is always something new to know, I was able to learn it.  It involved reading a lot, and a lot of time, which I had when I was getting into Tumblr, as well as an internet connection.

I understand that not everyone has internet access or a lot of time to read everything, or even the ability to read at all.  That is not what's grinding my gears at ALL, like what kind of asshole would I be to get upset about that?  A huge one, that's what kind.  I have a lot of privilege, I know that.

What gets me is people, on the internet, talking about articles they read.  On the internet.  Google exists, friend.  Hell, use Bing or AskJeeves or even the virus Groovario if you like, there are search engines out there.  If you have the ability to read articles online, you have the ability to search for words you don't understand, and you know what you do if your search turns up contradictory results?  You search more, and you read more.  That's how it works.

I can understand, if you're new to things, that you might not be able to understand why Men's Rights Activists, or MRAs, are so reviled, because it would seem, on the surface, that they are just men trying to help other men escape the backlash of misogyny, by saying things like "Men can be raped, too" and "Men can wear dresses, if they like."  It takes reading and time to see that MRAs are actually men dedicated to forcing discussions about misogyny to focus on how men are hurt by it, rather than on how men can stop using misogyny to stop hurting women.  And men.

Now, I'm not saying there isn't a place for discussions of men being raped, but that place is not in the middle of a conversation about how rape culture crushes women.  And that is what MRA's always talk about.  That, and alimony, which comes about because our society devalues women, even ones working in the same field as men.  MRAs don't seem interested in gay rights, transgender issues, or presentation, and they remain remarkably silent on those issues.

And that is the tip of the iceberg on things that can be confusing and misunderstood, such as dfab, or "designated female at birth," versus afab and "assigned female at birth."  People make mistakes, there's always something new to learn, which can be both frustrating and exciting, depending on your personality type and mood.

But something I've also noticed is that the people most commonly complaining about not understanding feminist jargon are white, cishet people.  For anyone who might want to complain about not understanding any of those terms, I don't care.  This entire article is about my frustration with people who don't take the time to search for themselves.

I even understand that some people need examples to understand something, rather than straight-forward definitions, need to comprehend it in practice, rather than pure theory, but I really don't think that's the problem here.  It seems to me that the problem here is that white cishet people don't want to think about their privilege, but they also know that not "being a feminist" is also something that will get them slammed, so they say, "I'm totally a feminist, I just don't get all that jargon, make it easier for me," putting the onus of their education on the oppressed, rather than taking up the mantle themselves.

Now, I won't deny that it's not just white cishet people doing this, people of all manner of privilege, able-bodied, alltistic, neurotypical, college educated, people who don't live with food insecurity, there are people in all of these groups of privilege, and more, who will put the onus of their education on those oppressed by their privilege, but you know who I hear the most?  White cishet folks.  Because they are at a crucial intersection of powerful privilege, and feel entitled to speak the most, speak the loudest, and argue the longest.

Of course, if you're reading this, chances are that you already know this, you already understand that this is a truism of our world, but I'm saying something about it because I am frustrated by it, and because I'm hoping to give words to someone who doesn't know why it's so frustrating when someone on the internet, or even offline, says "I'm totally this thing, I just don't understand the language used," when it's blatantly obvious they are not what they claim to be.

Having words to describe my experiences and frustrations has always helped me, so when someone says "I don't understand the language used here," it always sounds to me like, "I don't need to care enough about this language to learn what it means," and when I hear that, I just want that person to stop claiming to be standing with me.  You don't even care enough to learn how to talk about what is important to me.  How can you possibly be on my side?

How They Do It

In Summer Shelton's opinion, the effects of sugar water on Martian bacteria, after only three days, were astonishing.  Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she marked her observations in the system log book, as well as measurements of how much it had grown, consulting the notes on her handheld data pad, modeled after modern tablet computers, and optimized for use in space, including a rubber case to protect it from bumps, and to make it easier to handle.

The bacterial growth rate was incredible, though Summer wasn't sure if it was the refined sugar or the filtered water encouraging that growth.  She tapped open the monitor sidebar with her finger to add a note to harvest more of the bacteria for testing both of those separately, when something caught the corner of her eye, off to the left, where the icon representing her should have been a eight year-old picture of her in an afro, smiling for her ID photo.  She'd since gotten her hair twisted into locs, because they were easier for her to maintain, and they didn't shed nearly as much, an important thing when one wanted to be an astronaut.

Instead of the old photo of her in the little box, there was a picture of a fried chicken leg.

The ship had a crew of five, astonishingly large for a trip to Mars, even after the affectionately-nicknamed "impossible" EmDrive engine that got them there in a matter of weeks, rather than months, and without all the fuel usually necessary, but all members of the crew had been deemed necessary for the work being done.

Summer herself was a PH.D-level lab technician who'd been discovered when she'd made a crucial connection in something sent to the head of the lab, Meghashyam Parikh.  She'd been managing his inbox while he was away on a presentation tour, when he'd been sent something from NASA.

After taking a look at what was wanted, and remembering that missives from NASA took priority, she'd fulfilled the expectations of the request, sending them back to the team that had requested the information, and copying Meghashyam on what she'd done, so that he would know what she had sent out on his behalf, though the missive had clearly been marked.

She'd received a call at eleven that night, when Meghashyam frantically called to figure out how she had made that connection, because NASA thought it was him, wanting him to accompany a mission to Mars, and he had no idea what she'd done.  After months of hounding, he'd convinced her to go along, and convinced NASA they wanted her for the trip.  She still wasn't sure she appreciated that.

Besides Summer and Meghashyam, there was Sherwin Valencia, a genius aeronautical engineer who'd been angry to realize his changes to how NASA shuttles used human waste had been revolutionary, Bena Morton, a world-renowned geneticist who could actually make Meghashyam and Sherwin work together, and Erik House, who'd wanted a team put together, but had been unpleasantly surprised when him not putting the team together himself resulted in him being the only white person on it.

Summer knew that Erik was responsible for the change to her icon, just like when Meghashyam got a cow for his icon, Sherwin got a pineapple, or Bena got a dreamcatcher, it was always Erik.  He claimed he was joking, that it was in good fun, but it upset Summer.  Bena, too, but Meghashyam thought it was funny, and Sherwin tended to extract his revenge by means of shorting Erik's communicator, so it never really got addressed, though Summer was definitely beginning to reach the end of her patience with it.

She changed her icon back, sent Bena a frustrated message of complaint, and finished her notes.

By the time she was done, Bena had finished whatever work she'd been doing and come to join Summer, her long hair pulled back into its usual braided bun as she leaned against the console next to Summer, the sympathetic expression on her lined face going a long way towards soothing Summer's frustration.

She spent the next several minutes listening to Bena talk about her own work, because it was an excellent distraction, but their peace was eventually disturbed by Meghashyam and Erik, hooting about whatever they'd found, and Summer went to go find Sherwin, as he was bound to be seething about whatever had been inflicted on him as a result of the other men's findings.

In the quiet between the trio she'd left behind, and where she was heading, Summer heard the voice.  She'd heard voices before, usually the others over the comms, calling her to one place or another on the ship, but this voice was different.  Softer.  It reminded her of visiting her grandmother when it wasn't a holiday, and the house was empty, a weak voice that used to be strong, that still expected obedience when it commanded, but preferred using gentleness.  And it felt like the quiet spot in grandma's house during the holidays.

Naturally, Summer scrambled away from that foreign voice, futilely clutching her head and willing it away, as it assured her it meant no harm, and it was endangered, please help.  Voices should not have been in her head, she didn't want them, no.  Then the ship's alarms went off, collision alert, and for a bit, everything went crazy as everyone tried to figure out where the collision was coming from,how to get away with it, where was mission control, and more.

By the time the metaphorical dust cleared, the five humans, ship and all, were aboard another, larger ship the size of a state, surrounding by multicolored alien horses with sharp hooves and sharper teeth, trying their best to handle their new circumstances, and failing pretty spectacularly.  There were aliens, they could read minds, and the didn't like what they were learning about their galactic neighbors.