That time when I became a fangirl...and found a family

Several months ago I wrote this in a note to myself for a future blog.

           Guys, I think I'm in love.

           Well, nerd love anyway.

           Fangirling, ok? I'm a fangirl. A rotten, filthy, shipping fangirl.

Like countless others, I am consumed by the story of Vox Machina. For those who don't know, this exceptional group of actors/voice over artists/awesomely cool people have a long running Dungeons and Dragons campaign that streams weekly on Geek and Sundry's Twitch channel. I started watching because so many admirable, knowledgeable people in the Nerdrealm were complimenting the wonderful story telling, and exceptional improv acting of the group. As it happens, I have been a fan of D&D for many years, but have not had the opportunity to play for quite a while. This seemed to be a fun way to watch some really lovely actors have fun with one of my favorite games.

Oh boy, was I ever wrong.

It is so very, very much more.

There's a community... no, there is a FAMILY... of people who call themselves Critters. They are in Switzerland, Australia, Germany, South Africa, England, America, and in so many other parts of the world. They tune in from around the globe to watch the continuing saga of this group of friends that most of us have never actually met.

It's the story, you see. The story connects us all. We are all part of Tal'dorei. We are all under the threat of the dragons of the Chroma Conclave. For those few hours each week, we are all whoever we imagine ourselves to be on this plane of existence . And we all know the legends that are spreading about the group of heroes called Vox Machina. We hear them in the shops and in the taverns. We spread the latest news to our friends. We ask, "Is there any word from Emon? Any information from Draconia? What of Whitestone?" We cling to tiny particles of information - a name, a place, rumors, someone's fevered dreams or an oracle's predictions. We share them quietly with those within our immediate area, and toss them out into the void to be spread across the planes. We hunger for news of our heroes. They are the embodiment of things that are still good and right and true in our world. They show us that no matter how dark the times, the tales of people trying to make the world better and safer can inspire others to extraordinary deeds. Our heroes make the hard choices, push themselves further than we common folk ever dare. They accept the burden and the cost of heroic tasks, because to do otherwise would strand this world in a consuming darkness. We have hope, because we believe this is true. We share their stories. As they are bound to each other, so are we bound to this network of extended family, spread far and wide.

In our real lives, away from the game, away from the story, many within this family have seriously challenging circumstances to negotiate. We all have difficulties and sadness. We have hurts, and disappointments, and tragedies, as well as brilliant successes and immense happiness. We have shared all of these situations across the miles, through social media, through art, through words on a digital page. We share our own lives just as we share the tales of the band of adventurers we have come to admire. So when we experience a loss, it hurts. We have a collective, visceral response. "How dare the story betray us!"  "It's not supposed to be this way!" Our reactions are swift cries of pain and hurt and outrage into the ether. It is the rejoinder of the hive-mind, thousands of voices crying out as one against the dagger-thrust to our soul.

But we know, even as we seethe with anger and weep with loss, that there is always good to balance the bad, light to counter the dark, rapturous joy to banish the utter despair. We are not seers, we cannot predict where our collective story - for we are a part of the tales now - will go. We are bound to the story, and like the heroes of legend, must see it through to its end. We know, in our innermost selves, that our heroes are as hurt and damaged as we are. We have already suffered the loss of one of our greatest champions, and the near-loss of others. We do not know where our story will go, but we will bear witness...because we must continue to tell the tales of mighty valor and supreme courage, of the deepest bonds of friendship and love, of this small group of friends who, when faced with the destruction of their home, stood as one to face down the evil. Who took up the search for vestiges of power, when they could have stayed within their home, helping others to survive the terror that commands the Cloudtop. Who manage to find moments of love, laughter, joy, and silliness, even when the world stands on the edge of chaos, reminding us that even in the darkest times, the connection of our spirits grants light.

The story has enveloped us all. We are their Greek Chorus - the comment makers - the ideal spectators. We have the responsibility to show the right emotions at the right time, and to aid in furthering the journey of the characters. We are not individuals in this regard, we serve the story as one voice.

One singular voice.

From one exceptional family.

Tiny anarchists

I have a revolving group of tiny versions of me living in my head.

Don't laugh too much, I've been building this explanation of the female brain for a long time. In my head, there's the Nerdy Scientist, the Flirt, the Serious Writer, the Child, the Lonely Chick, the Teller of Bad Jokes, the Outgoing Socio-Political Type, the Grown Up Woman, the Fixer Of Things, and many more.

Today, the Anarchist Punk is dominating everything. I like her a lot. She is a tiny thing who survives on a diet of caffeine, painkillers, and angst, wears giant combat boots with her black hoodie sweatshirt and grungy jeans, and paints her conversations with a stream of profanity that would make Miley Cyrus say "Woah, that's just unnecessary". She doesn't like anyone. At all. She knows that they don't like her either and she's just fine with that. Anarchist Punk stomps around a lot and makes a lot of noise, and she really doesn't like it when I make her bite her tongue.

My little Punk would like it very much if there weren't quite so many rules because she's fairly sure she knows how to function without every single moment of her life being dictated by someone else. She really dislikes people who feel the need to overshare their personal lives. She would like to eat cheesy poofs and oreos and drink Mt Dew for almost every meal, and she doesn't much care for hardcore diet and exercise freaks that can't just enjoy a greasy burger with extra fries and gravy. She loves loud music, hates overprotective parents, and often contemplates the best way to dispose of the bodies of her true enemies.

I absolutely adore her.

Then again, that's true for every one of the versions of 'me' in my brain. There are many flavors to a personality, and this is how I picture all of mine.