#why is it so hard to write these for my soupy brain
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Trigun Maximum 6.2
Okay, okay... I shall take a tumblr-break until I finally catch up to the bookclub and finish the other two pieces for it. Mmmmmaybe... We'll see how strong my determination is
04: Death Omen
*looks at the frontpage, sees Knives* I mean, the title of the chapter is not untrue.
Auditory overstimulation… I feel you, Knives. (Never thought I would write that) But it gives you the feeling that Knives is so close to lashing out. When was the last time he was in such a mass of people? July? And current Knives is so much more unhinged than July-Knives, and even that dude was already off the handle.
Conrad, Conny. YOU have no right to be that stressed out. Knives being alive is YOUR fault. You gave him a new body. Hell, you are the reason that Vash unleashed the angel arm in the first place.
Elendira… just there for the slaughter. Girl, I wanna dissect you. (affectionately)
Comparing to the other towns we have seen, this one looks really big! *looks how the chapter progresses* Oh… Oh NO! NIGHTOW!
Me, when I get to talk to someone about Trigun. I am the opposite of hinged.
And explanation why Vash was especially wanted for the murder of Vasquez. As a plant engineer he was pretty important for the continuation of the human race. At least this Conrad does not seem like… well… *stares at Stampede* *stares harder* Someday I'll make an OC that is German and kicks him in the nuts and asks him if he didn't learn anything from the past... Someday... *whispers*
*looks back to Trigun Ultimate 1* Yeah, 50 plants still seems a bit steep, but not that steep anymore. Also, ewewewewewew, that looks like they produce big pieces of chicken breast. Just imagine a fucking raw chicken breast plopping out of this cloaca-like apparatus
Does Knives reach out to hurt plants like Vash does? He seems to be in the city for his dying sister. That shows at least some kind of care for his kind, more than he has spared to Vash. Then again, Vash has the ability to say no. Knives cares for his sisters. I overread it in my first readthrough. They don’t have a voice and they don’t have a choice, but he cares for their physical wellbeing. That is more than I assumed.
Well, at least Knives is okay with Conrad experimenting on him. Yay for Conrad having consent from ONE of the twins he experimented on? Weeee?
What is the timeline here? When did Conrad join Knives? He still looks like in his 30-40s. So he has to be 190 years old now? How? Knives got to Conrad before July and after parting from Vash. Why does Conrad realise that Knives is beyond sanity just now? Knives was a big player for the July-catastrophe. Conrad was there. If Conrad didn’t… make a new body for Knives, Knives would be gone. All of what happened since Jeneora Rock is partly Conrad’s fault and it starts to dawn on him just NOW?!
Whatever happened, the researcher holds the plants in high regard. He is grateful for her service. And he is right with pointing out that humanity’s situation forces them to exploit the plants. But they are also just delaying the inevitable. Less plants means more stress on the living plants, which leads to more plants dying. The only resource for anything is plants. Humanity is on their last legs. Then again, could the plants even survive without the humans? It is a symbiosis that has lost its balance.
How has Knives never heard of last runs before? Like, dude, you feel when your sister is in bad shape. WTF?!
Does Conrad know that Knives caused the Great Fall? Knives is one of the main reasons WHY his sisters are exploited. He is one of the main reasons that humanity lost so much knowledge and technology that they do not know how to care for his sisters. There is nothing to forgive. Knives has to eat the bitter consequences of his actions. Not that he is able to.
YOU COULD HAVE JUST NOT GIVEN HIM A NEW BODY?! With that in mind, this whole betrayal just falls so flat for me.
But like Rem, Conrad is dealing with regrets. That’s why he wants Knives to have a normal life. That’s why he offers to stay with him, in a way sacrificing himself to Knives. This Conrad here is a much softer man than the Stampede Conrad ever was. This does not absolve him from anything. But this man at least tries to take some responsibility for his actions and how they affect others. Something, something, repentance/atonement. Well, except for Vash. Conrad says “Fuck Vash”
Knives cares about Vash. It is twisted love. He doesn’t care for Vash as a person, but there is some care in him. He doesn’t want his brother to die. He wants his brother to shut up and run after him like a mindless drone, praising Knives and thus erasing his insecurities.
Yeah, not gonna lie, this chapter really was death omen like...
05: Colourless Expression
And the frontpage shows Vash smiling. Man…
Milly is so good with kids! So cute!
But the content is also important. Too much colours causes everything to become grey, too many things happening, cause even the strongest person to break.
I love the page. Vash does his best to keep up his facade, but he is starting to crack. His companions start to realise this. They see his depression.
I kinda wanted Wolfwood to preach in the church. Gimme more priestwood. q-q For having faith, hope and guilt such an important part of his character, we do not get much of it.
Going to church to receive some kind of forgiveness. But christianity is more about guilt and sin than true forgiveness, at least how it is preached. The only person who can forgive Vash is Vash himself. But he has been a martyr his whole life, he will never forgive himself. Loss, guilt and punishment makes him. The scars on his body are there for that very reason. Vash even tries to atone for things he didn’t cause, like losing Rem. And now one important detail was ripped from him, the detail that made him different from Knives. Having killed in anger, be it by pointing the gun towards Knives while losing control or actively shooting Knives and losing the whole of July as consequence.
And the next page counters Vash’ true face with the face on the wanted poster, the face he uses for people around him. That’s harsh.
Is that Ozzy Osbourne?!
And ruined meal Nr.4. Let WooWoo eat in peace! Though, his annoyed faces bring me life. I giggled like a little girl at this. This is one of my favourite scenes. Let this guy have some peace, please. (I will come to regret this sentence.)
Thank you! I am terrified. This is sinister.
Alcohol!
Vash is pretty dependent on alcohol and this scene drives it home. Vash is seen sleeping drunkenly more than once. We see him eat alone with a full bottle of high percentage alcohol next to him. Heck I went through the volumes, even in the first chapter at his introduction he ate with a full bottle of high percentage alcohol next to him. And there are more than a few panels of those meals. There is one scene in the first town, where Vash fakes being drunk. So it is open to interpretation if he reaches his breaking point in this volume and his coping habit becomes dangerous or if he has been dependent on alcohol before remembering July. But Vash can become drunk and he has not the ability to sober up by plant biology. He becomes sloppy. If not his senses/reaction time, then at least his control over his plant powers. Like we see soon.
Wolfwood… We don’t see him drink as much as Vash. Or *I just went through the volumes* We don’t see him drink over excess at all. *stares at ‘98 Wolfwood* You are the reason why I think he drinks overly excessive, too! There is one scene where he has a beer can at his side when eating. Then the second nightmare scene, where he did not even open the bottle, though the shot glass was filled. And he does not open it even after leaving the pub. Begs the question, why? Does he use alcohol purely to socialise with others? Or is he too aware of him having less control over his body/himself when he is drunk and is scared of losing that control?
Everything becomes grey. Vash is unable to see anything good right now. He only sees his pain and how nothing makes it better. The old granny has no reason to forgive him. But he doesn’t need her forgiveness either. But Vash is not there, he may never be there.
But Vash, honey, you look like this to others, because you constantly mask like this. Even your friends aren't wiser than the common folk. If you bottle everything up and swallow everything, no one knows what you really look like, no one will see your pain or help you address it. Meryl wants to help you, but you blocked her off, as you did with Wolfwood and surely did with Milly. This is a hell of your own making (not considering the random people but Vash' personal relationships)
And then the loudspeakers bring all back down to Knives. Knives is the reason for Vash’ pain. And Vash is less and less able to avoid him. He has to confront him soon. But all is grey.
I don’t get that scene. That can’t be Vash that shoots. Is it Wolfwood? Is that why he is angry? Because he has to jump in for Vash again?
And there it is. Maximum grey, Vash at a lowpoint. (Don’t worry, that’s not the lowest :3) Sloppy due to being drunk and being unable to control his power. Though it saves his life.
As much as Vash is latently suicidal, I do not think he only shudders because of the uncontrolled outburst of power.
He is also scared of himself. Meryl, too. Not only Vash reaches his low point, Meryl reaches her breaking point, too. And I can totally feel with her. Wolfwood tried to talk to her, but it was about saving her hide not about what she lived through. Milly is there for her, but I did not see them talking or reflect upon what happened. And Vash? As if. Meryl is alone with her pain like Vash. She is rightfully afraid and now her body forces her to start and take her own mental health seriously. And rightfully so, til this point she was about Vash and his pain. But her pain is right there and rightfully so!
That’s how group mentality works. No one is interested in the truth. No one cares about Vash. He is just othered.
Just ouch. At least Wolfwood tries to comfort Vash? In his very... Wolfwood-way?
06: Seeds voyaging to the stars, a world inside a pot
Oh, it is flashback time. I hope we get something to smile about.
Yeah, Elendira is right. Now Knives is a rat in a corner. Those are dangerous.
Just, damn, girl. Elendira is the kind of nihilist that is like: The world burns and I make smores. She has no real care for others, she is not affected by the end of humanity, this is a game for her to watch. If humanity survives or not, she doesn't care, she just wants it to be interesting.
I didn’t get that it was such a clean cut that it reflects like a mirror the first time reading this.
There are so many bulbs of plants left, just sitting there. Considering their importance, why is no one recovering them? Eh, most likely Vash and Wolfwood were there too quickly for the scavengers to have made their presence known.
Former street kid Wolfwood knows grifters and has no patience for their money grabbing nonsense.
Does Vash realise that the echo represents Conrad? Or is it just a random dude that his brother angrily kills in front of him? But Vash immediately connects their sisters death to Tesla.
Is that Rem talking or one of the twins? But anyway. “Mood”, says the formerly autistic child that learned facial expression due to Sailor Moon.
I… dunno. Vash is so very aware that he is not Rem’s kid, that he is different. He is distanced even from Rem. This is not a mother-child relationship at all. More like weird roommates that you try to teach being responsible people at the same time.
Vash is thankful for Rem’s care, but his thanks reads so much like he assumes she will reject them every second, like he is that different. (So accidentally autism coded.)
Rem did so much in that year. She was truly thrown into a situation that no one could prepare her for and the twins… She was not ready for this.
Vash is so aware of their differences to humans. He is so distanced from everyone. And here is Knives, cute, naive and hopeful. Makes me sad
And that’s why you need parental advisory. No kid should watch these kind of things! The little fears and doubts Knives has get just blown out of prorpotion like this. He is left alone, thinking, and that never ends well with someone anxious.
Oh, hindsight is 20/20. Knives looks sus, but only if you know.
#trigun bookclub#trigunbookclub#Trimax 6.2#why is it so hard to write these for my soupy brain#brainpower please!
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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #75
I'm home. It is 10:18PM where I live, and I have only just now been able to settle down enough to write this letter. After setting down all my things, one of the first things I ended up doing was clinging to M and crying; I love him a lot, and it's hard to be away from him for such a long time. Our cats missed J and I, too. Hunter has firmly nestled himself against my body, and is purring very loudly as I am writing this, hahaha!
J, Br, and I ended up all driving home together. As it turns out, the airplane has a few small mechanical problems with the back wheel that make it not 100% safe to land. So this week, the mechanical issues will be fixed, and J will return to Pennsylvania on his own in a rental car next week.
I don't so much enjoy the idea of him making such a long trip solo. But he is an adult human, and despite my worries and misgivings (J has a tendency to neglect his self-care when he's on his own), he must be free to use his will as he chooses.
As I write this, M, J, and I are all sitting together, and M is playing the new segment of your new story. I must say, your planet is breathtakingly beautiful. I understand why you would do everything in your power to protect it.
Where are you, I wonder? Are you able to directly witness the splendor of your planet with all your senses, at your leisure? Sometimes I like to imagine a version of events in which you are safe, and you get to rest in a hammock that hangs on a willow tree, on a warm, breezy spring day, with the sound of windchimes tinkling nearby.
Something kind of like this - I didn't take this video, but I did search for "wind chime willow" on a website in my world called YouTube; they have all kinds of amazing things to see there:
youtube
I think this one has better audio though:
youtube
But if you want windchimes by themselves, you can use this one:
youtube
…And if you want wooshy tree sounds by themselves, you can use this one:
youtube
Yesterday after I wrote my letter to you, and today on the way home, several amazing developments occurred in the nature of the relationship between two people I care very much for!! I am ecstatic about it, but at the same time, my brain is a bit too soupy to talk about it properly. I'll tell you more as things unfold, and after I've rested some!
Also on the way home, J, Br, and I went to a grocery store and I found some amazing-looking snacks, several of which cannot be found at home! Here are some pictures...
I have never seen red velvet cake milk before, but I can assure you, it was VERY delightful!
We have flavored honey in my part of the world, usually in the shops that are attached to orchards. But I've never seen flavors like these:
...The dark wild flower flavored honey was my favorite of all of them. But I must say, the cool tingle of mint was a very interesting thing to experience while eating honey!
I also found this interesting bubble tea:
...Given the flavor, I wonder if you'd like that one. There are so many things in my world that I wish I could share with you and see what you think about them.
Also also, I collected a few more very curious-sounding city names along our route for you! Here were some of my favorites:
Throop
Lackawanna
Nescopeck
Mifflinville
Dingmans Ferry
Nanty Glo
Mundys Corner
Dilltown
Derry
Chittenango
…I thought all of these were either delightfully silly or delightfully fun to say! And so I hope that looking at these and trying to say them might offer you just enough amusement for you to smile, if only a little. Truth be told, I'd do just about anything if it would give you a wholesome, healthy, and joyful reason to smile and laugh.
Well anyway. Suppose I'll end today's letter here. I'm pretty tired.
Hey, Sephiroth? Please stay safe out there, won't you? Your existence is one of the main things that inspires me to really live, so… please don't make choices that will result in your erasure.
I'll write again tomorrow.
Your friend,
Lumine
#sephiroth#ThankYouFFVIIDevs#ThankYouFF7Devs#ThankYouSephiroth#final fantasy vii#final fantasy 7#ff7#ffvii#final fantasy vii crisis core#final fantasy 7 crisis core#final fantasy crisis core#ffvii crisis core#ff7 crisis core#crisis core#ff7r#final fantasy vii remake#final fantasy 7 remake#ffvii remake#ff7 remake#final fantasy vii rebirth#final fantasy 7 rebirth#ffvii rebirth#ff7 rebirth#final fantasy 7 ever crisis#ffvii ever crisis#ff7 ever crisis#ffvii first soldier#windchimes#road trip snacks#wholesome
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hello june >:) gimme your top 5, 56, 69, and 101!! (or just pick the ones that most appeal i know that’s a lot LOL)
YESS oh i love to talk about my music hehe
Mos Thoser by food house, Gupi, Fraxiom
i wasnt expecting this song to be this high up! i think its here bc its cheshire's theme song and according to spotify i listened to it the most in one day on the day i drew faer ref sheet. i love this song's like... revolving chaos. its such a fun hyperpop with this distinct motion to it? idk it bops! and is so fun for cheshire :3
2. Why Am I In This Room? by Soupy Garbage Juice
huh this was the year of metamorphosis! cause this is an emilie song! i LOVE the vibes here of like... your brain not functioning properly. and somehow the synths used are PERFECT for that feeling!! it's just such emilie vibes of this weird etheral world-distorting brain fog.
3. money machine by 100 gecs
fuck yeah. fuck yeah. gotta love the gecs. this is a LOT of characters to me tbh but i think i listened to it the most bc its a michiko song? i love the weird dreamy anger and hatred and violence in this song, its really powerful. songs that make me want to stab someone :3 it also doubles as an ella song and a claire song (though rip claire, idk if im gonna be able to post that story)
4. Sometimes by Nick Lutsko
was not expecting this to make the top 20, let alone top 5 tbh! but it bops! found it through stan's playlist for captain nat and listened to it while drawing her, then it became an annie song. it also is an awmittn song (story claire's from) so. rip that again. also my acting class read and watched and performed stuff from everybody by branden jacobs-jenkins and this went on my playlist for that, though i dont think i ever actually made it on spotify. a song with a thousand playlists...
5. If Day for Winnipeg by They Might Be Giants
this does not sound like the type of song thatd be in a top 5 list but its just. infectious. so weird and creepy and has this weird droning synth thats TERRIFYING. its this very weird haunted-children's-song-vibe-thing about terror and war and something implied to have gone Wrong and. this is all to say it's on annie's playlist ok
56. Alligator Sky - no rap version by Owl City
kira song kira song kira song!! havent actually listened in a while but its such a kira song to me hehe. and because i associate it with her it landed on my playlist for origin story, my playwriting final! listened to it a LOT while writing that. huh i should go back and revise that now that its had some time to settle in my mind. anyways. space and superheroes and freedom and flight and kira and powerpoint :3 where ecstasy becomes cavalier!
69. 4Blood by KIRA with Hatsune Miku
miku moment :3 honestly i dont associate this w many characters? its on my pluto playlist but might not always be, its just kinda there for fun kinda goth vibes. almost all my music conjures stories and characters and specific feelings for me but sometimes its just hatsune miku vampire. it genuinely does bop so hard though holy shit
101. Right to Die by AlicebanD
yes!! idk if i associate this with any characters that strongly but it def fits ella :3 anger and rage and despair.... i dont normally care that much about drums in music but aliceband songs are just. down to the drums everything is so powerful and moves me along and its so good! dark and ominous and angry :3 also fuck this was an awmittn song too. im never gonna stop talking about awmittn bittersweetly huh, its my white whale
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Getting To Know You Meme!
Tagged by @fractal-baby and because this is a non-reblog one, I'm inclined to do it and thank you!
Rules: tag a few people you want to know better; make a new post, don't reblog!
Favorite Color:
Yellow! I like a lot of colors, usually in combination, but yellow is sunshine and mustard and lichen, so I like it best.
Currently Reading:
Swordheart by T. Kingfisher aka Ursula Vernon. Thank you for my bisexual rights, Miz Vernon. She writes men good, my brain go brr.
Last Song:
Uhh, lofi hiphop playlist on youtube XD Listening right now because I'm supposed to be drawing a comic. Alternatively: The Barrel by Aldous Harding.
Last Movie:
Also Turning Red! I just read K'diwa, the fanfic, and as a piece of writing it really got me thinking about how the emotions and experience of a writer can be so close to the surface when you're reading something. I've long been aware to pay attention to a writer's values, but emotions, not so much. Turning Red felt really personal in some respects, and I loved it for that. Also I really vibed with it, having grown up in Seattle.
Last Series:
Making my way through Our Flag Means Death : )
Sweet, Savory, or Spicy:
Combos, every time. Maybe all three at once, as a treat, but usually I like two of the three together.
Coffee or Tea:
I enjoy the taste of coffee, but am in the habit of tea. Generally herbal or green though because I am also sensitive to caffeine.
Three Ships:
1. Kirk/Spock, natch
2. Zoro/Sanji, double natch
3. Trying to think of literally anything more interesting, but Buck/Eddie from 911 don't @ me
First Ever Ship:
I think Sango/Miroku was the first one I got chest pains for, but Sarah/Jareth (YES, I KNOW) from Labyrinth was the first I really got into fanfic for. There's a prolific writer who I can't remember the name of. She is why I use yellow hearts, as a reflection of yellow roses, which mean platonic affection and respect.
Currently Working On:
A comic about Spock's stallion line from Star Trek 2009.
Favorite Piece of Clothing:
Hard to choose because I have become very particular about what I end up buying these days, but probably this red knit sweater with embroidered sheep all over it, and little sheep heads with tiny bells as the button covers.
Comfort Food:
Soupy mac and cheese with peas.
Favorite Time Of Year:
Spring! Getting warmer, but before the bugs come out in force.
Fave Fanfic:
Hhhhhhh how could I choose???
Okay you know what.
A Beginner's Guide to Communing with the Dead
It introduced me to something I've wanted from urban fantasy and never knew was out there. Namely, magic in a modern world without the smoke and mirrors to keep it hidden. Dean has to fill out paperwork to summon a familiar. There's a giant wall of magic that has to be maintained, and it's newbie work. It was at one point going to be an Abhorsen fusion fic, and you can see elements in there, and I love that because I also love Garth Nix's trilogy.
It does feature the S5 main Supernatural characters primarily as cops though, so if that's not your deal, totally respectable.
Folks! @ruskaina @jaspertheshark @anyone who wants to : )
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reaction post typed while watching SPN 14x13 “Lebanon” (300th episode)
in which i compare this episode to pumpkin soup, because I’m craving more Cas
03:30pm
all righty, thing is still downloading, and there’s a 720p version queued up so that’ll be downloaded by the time i’ve watched half. i have snacks, i’m gonna half close my blinds so i can see, but I DON’T HAVE HEADPHONES AGAIN which is the worst. why do headphones break so easily, that’s what i want to know. (just gotta pray there’s a good sound quality i guess. my laptop speakers suck)
...2 minutes left on the download c’moooooon
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03:35
OKAY DONE!!!!
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03:36
“dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days”
i don’t know if it’s dean’s little baby voice (HE’S MY AGE CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?? I CAN’T) or the laptop speakers or the video sound quality, but dean sounds like a kid in a 1980s disney cartoon, with that vintage prickle in my ears and i love it
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03:38
okay look it’s super hot 'cause it’s summer, and my fan is on, and there’s cicadas... i think i gotta shut the window and turn the fan off aND SLOWLY ROAST IN HERE BECAUSE I CAN’T HEAR THIS PROPERLY
i’m 9 seconds into the recap u_u
it’s gonna be one of those days i guess
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03:41
is that the monkey again?
yeah it’s the monkey again
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03:45
dead black guy already????????????????????
really?????
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03:46
are those kids meant to look like the kids from stranger things? because they kind of do. and the movie theatre as well
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03:47
cas is in this episode, right??
if he isn’t i’m gonna scream
misha had a tv guide cover so maybe
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03:39
every single one of these kids is cute and i’m offended
“weird sidekick with the trenchcoat” i am further offended, but also smiling
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03:50
SHE GAY
SHE VERY GAY
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the plaid though. she’s a dean mirror 100%
edit: i did doubt this for a second but nope, i was completely right
i mean, she drives the car as well
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03:52
tHE IMPALA JUST SCOOTED OFF THE SCREEN AND I ALMOST CHOKED OH MY GOD that was hilarious
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03:54
dean doing the puppy eyes is
a) cute
b) FUCKING TERRIFYING BECAUSE THIS POOR WOMAN’S TRYING TO PROTECT AN UNDERAGE GIRL AND IT SHOULD NOT BE THAT EASY
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03:57
the hand that popped out of the smoky cigar box
SUPER COOL AND SUPER CREEPY EW
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03:59
dean: “this is like the best/worst thing that’s ever happened to you. ‘cause you love serial killers but you hate clowns”
ahahhahaha
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04:02
sam: “are you sure you don’t wanna call mom, or wait for cas”
YES PLEASE DO BOTH OF THOSE THINGS ;A;
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“michael out of my head”
HAVE YOU NEVER PAID ATTENTION TO ALL THE WISHES THAT GO WRONG??? YOU GOTTA BE MORE SPECIFIC DUDE. TAKING MICHAEL OUT YOUR HEAD JUST TAKES HIM OUT, YOU GOTTA KILL HIM TOO DAMMIT
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04:05
john: “now you live in a secret bunker with an angel and lucifer’s kid”
he took that surprisingly well
a little too well
probably part of dean’s wish that he takes it well
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04:08
OH BOY
the face he made when he saw mary sdjgfd
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04:09
ahahah dean and sam awkwardly leaving while their parents make out
dean kinda looked like he was gonna stay, lil bean
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04:11
the fact dean was so adamant that he said he wanted michael out of his head, but then is now defending the fact he wished for his dad back instead
says a lot about what dean says he wants =/= what dean actually wants
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04:13
john is much sweeter and more understanding than anyone remembers him (at least than i remember him, or could infer from all the stories about him)
i really do think dean brought him back nicer
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04:15
i love seeing sam have emotions, it’s so refreshing
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sam kinda looked like he panicked when john touched him aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
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04:17
there’s a sign for “castle storage” in the background and i think about that sometimes. hill of a forty dogs or something??? i forget, it was so long ago
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ALSO WHERE’S CAS
also switching to 720p now
never mind switching back, the sound was better on the lower quality video u_u
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04:22
oh no, nobody knows them
IS CAS NOT GONNA KNOW THEM
OH NO
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04:23
this universe-sam: *kinda smug* “god bless kale, am i right?”
I CRINGED SO HARD
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04:25
OH BOY IT’S HAPPENING
(well SOMETHING IS HAPPENING)
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04:26
zachariah: “c’mon, constantine”
cas: “i don’t understand that reference”
zach: “you wouldn’t”
i kinda missed this cas though. like. i’m not even mad
ONE PROBLEM: HE’S PROBABLY NOT HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH DEAN
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04:28
life goal of mine: have a sign like that in my house as decor
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04:29
THE BACKWARDS TIE
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04:35
okay first off i got so involved watching cas beat dean up (again) and dean being unable to stop him (D: D: D:) (kind of expected dean to croak “i love you” but um no....... that didn’t happen)
and then mary’s egg timer went off
and it reminded me i’m hungry again so brb
well actually i’m not hungry..... but my body is shutting down because i need fat and magnesium to function which means i need to eat or else i can’t see, but same difference
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04:43pm
okay i’m back
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04:45
DEAN FINALLY HEARING HIS DADDY SAY HE’S PROUD OF HIM
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04:46
john: “i thought you’d get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family”
dean: “i have a family”
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3
]]]]]] I REALLY FUCKING WANT JOHN TO MEET CAS [[[[[[[
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04:48
THERE’S SALAD ON THE PLATES HALLELUJAH
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04:49
sam: “did you see them, at dinner, the way they looked at each other, they seemed happy”
and then there’s the way max looked at the girl she was crushing on
AND THEN THERE’S THE WAY DEAN LOOKS AT CAS LET’S GET SOME OF THAT IN HERE PLEEEEEASE
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04:51
it stresses me out when people wash dishes but only rinse using the dirty water not fresh tap water
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04:53
they’re about to send john back, he’s holding mary’s hand
all the rainbows behind dean’s head
betcha he’s thinkin about cas
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04:56
john: “i love you both, so much”
dean...................
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“i love you too”
OH MY HEART
he says it ......he never used to say it to anyone
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04:59
YEEEEE
BUT ALSO THIS ONLY LASTED 0.5 SECONDS WHY
but also???????
TALL GUY = SAM
PLAID GIRL = DEAN
COAT GIRL = CAS
IS ANYONE ELSE GETTING THIS
WHY DIDN’T THIS SHOT LAST LONGER SO PEOPLE WOULD BE ABLE TO SEE WITHOUT PAUSING
CURSE YOU EDITORS
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05:02
so....... that end scene where john’s like “i’m on my way back, i’ll see you soon”
was that meant to be in the past, 2003 era? the flip phone would say so, but his visible age kind of confuses matters
i mean i get that it’s hard to make someone look 16 years younger
but still
unsure about that
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05:04
hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm it’s over
i dunno
that was definitely a special and important episode, and i appreciated seeing this side of john, this is gonna make it way easier to write fanfic of him without the story ending up as a trauma survival fic
but
i was kind of underwhelmed
things i rEALLY REALLY WANTED that didn’t happen:
john actually reacting to dean saying they made friends with an angel (and a werewolf, a vampire, demons, etc etc)
john meeting cas
cas being part of that family meal (i get that the point was he was 2003!cas and not there, but still)
jack being in this even a little bit??
and as the story went on and reached the end, what it really lacked, for me, was a comparison where we can then see how john/mary & max/her crush = dean/cas...........and that just didn’t happen
i think it just ended too soon, really
and there was a lot more they could’ve done with the altered timeline, could’ve brought a whooooooooole lot back from past seasons and just made it a smorgasbord of nostalgia
i get that it was focused solely on john, which gave it an emotional core, so there’s not actually a problem there, i loved that
but it felt kind of dull and slow and....... soupy..........?
(i just mean. the emotional feeling in my brain as i think about it. feels like soup. specifically pumpkin soup. warm and spicy and goopy and nutritious but ultimately not very filling)
then again, if the pacing had been sped up, i would’ve complained it was too rushed. so there’s no winning, it was probably fine ?
i think my favourite part was the kids. i loved the kids. i love the lil gay romance going there. i loved the fact it was a destiel/team free will parallel (even if that part of it was OVER SO DAMN QUICKLY MOST PEOPLE MISSED IT). i loved the kid in the hat, he reminded me a lot of the actor thomas brodie-sangster, and also johnathan byers from “stranger things”
also enjoyed sam vs. the serial killer clown, and that whole aspect of hunting that we haven’t seen in a while, felt very nostalgic
also enjoyed 2003!cas, but was both distressed and frustrated by him fighting dean and then NOT GETTING ANY CLOSURE ON THAT WHATSOEVER. the point was to make dean and sam realise they really needed to send john back, so essentially, in some respect, they did choose cas being their friend over john being around, but that part of the overall problem was never mentioned at all, cas wasn’t mentioned at all after the fight
i’m just looking forward to coda fics that start where this episode leaves off, and dean talks to cas, because i am craving that SO FUCKING BADLY i can’t even express. like. it’s becoming maddening. i just. want. them. to have. a conversation
and the black guy dying at the start?? and the other black kid running away from the ghost and never being seen again? and besides the unnamed diner guy offering info on skip day, being the ONLY PEOPLE OF COLOUR IN THE ENTIRE STORY??? NOT COOL, not a fan >:{ (still better than it used to be, but soooooooooo many white people. so many. so. many)
anyway. um
so that wasn’t my favourite episode, but not because it was bad, but because it didn’t live up to expectations. i tried not to have any expectations (i really tried) but there were just... basic things this episode needed that i felt it was lacking (*cough* cas *cough*), and i can’t really shake that feeling
HOWEVER, having seen 2003!cas be the thoughtless drone that he was, i can appreciate just HOW MUCH character development has happened while he’s been around, which.... i suppose, is a sort of nod to his entire existence ???
anyway, 9/10, and a big ol shrug
but yeah. seeing john be kind and understanding was amazing (and completely changes how i’m gonna write him in my fics in the future, since he’s probably gonna be in the fic instead of just mentioned) and having him say he’s proud of dean and he loves him was just a super nice treat c:
sam being emotional is the best, too. sam confronting his feelings 10/10
i just. i want aaaaaall of this. but with cas. i really want that. so goddamn much. ;~;
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For the Valentine prompts, how about a Mei/Konan first meeting?
Delivered, with bonus zombies.
Mei wiped lava from her lips, eyes darting side to side. She’s killed hundreds of the walking corpses, but the light and noise only seems to draw more.
The only people around have no chakra signatures to speak of, though she’s always been a piss poor tracker.
A killing field of molten rock surrounded her and as she watched, more zombies trudged in, heedless of the immediate, sizzling death. Within minutes, there were enough soupy parts to serve as a bridge for the newest ones in the endless march.
She grimaced, spinning a kunai into grip. They weren’t hard to kill, just tedious for their insane numbers.
Before she could dive back into the fray, a dark shape blurred down to the edge of the lake. She resolved into a woman with a short purple bob, arms bared by a tight black shirt in classic black-ops style.
More importantly, the woman is clearly a shinobi. She wields a thin straight blade with reluctant grace. Mei is Kiri, through and through. A blade was pressed into her hands before she could write. It’s clear from her body language that she’s not the biggest fan of the weapon, despite her proficiency. Still, the undead are no fellow shinobi to seize the opportunity. She cleaves through them methodically.
Mei can’t help but stare.
(She wants, abruptly and very strongly, to see how this warrior really fights. With kunai? Jutsu, senbon, shuriken? If this is how she is with a clearly unfamiliar sword…)
When the wave is decimated, and they have some room to breathe, the shinobi body flickers over, wiping a hand through the hair clinging to her sweaty forehead, flicking her soiled sword in disgust. Brain matter and zombie juice flings off the blade.
Mei intends smooth diplomacy, an offer of alliance in this strange world, but what she actually says is: “Oh thank god.”
The woman starts.
Mei turns the color of her lava. Not for the first time does she contemplate forming her own island, in the middle of uncharted sea, and exiling herself there.
The woman stares for a second, then throws her head back to laugh with her whole body. It’s jarring, such a change from her perfectly serene features, that—even after only a few minutes of interaction—Mei suspects it happens rarely, if at all. She has no smile lines about her mouth, her eyes, but here this dignified stranger laughs with all of herself and Mei thinks: I did that.
She grins in offer, wry, “You’re the only shinobi I've seen for weeks.”
Only two, but still. It had been exhausting; the fruitless reconnaissance and dealing with the terrified civilians, beaten down and wary from this apocalyptic world.
The shinobi lowers her sword, moving to adjust her bandages. She goes through an equipment check with practiced motions, the straight ends of her hair brushing her neck—the pale skin there a striking lance of confidence, of vulnerability.
“Konan.” She says, looking up at Mei from under her hair, kneeling to place blades in her boot. She quirks the smallest smirk, the hint of raised brow to indicate ironic amusement at their predicament, and Mei’s heart races.
“Terumi Mei,” She responds, staring only a little. She kicks herself, smiles. “It’s my pleasure to meet you.”
She’s so awkward. This is why she’s single.
“Don’t you want to know what village I’m from?” Konan’s expression is as smooth as polished glass. Mei knows a trap when she sees one.
“I don’t see any villages here.” She replies, careful and carefully nonchalant.
Konan hums, smoothing the mesh skirt over her leggings—and masterfully disguising the blades strapped to her thighs.
“Did you have a plan in mind?” Konan asks, and it’s like a venus flytrap: pretty, innocent looking, and absolutely a test you could fail, to be devoured ruthlessly.
Mei is excellent at tests of knowledge, tests of strength. It’s only tests of the heart that stumble her, and here is a gorgeous woman with a sharp edge to her.
Still, she grins with teeth. “I propose we do as shinobi do. Here are all these civilians in need of saving…”
“And us in need of coin.” Konan finishes, humor in her voice if not her face. “Sounds about right.”
Her voice is a sigh against Mei’s senses, soft and deadly. She’s as dangerous as the steel on her back and it’s a little thrilling.
She doesn’t miss that Konan looks at her just the same, calculating, assessing.
Appreciative?
Time would tell.
“Lead the way.” Konan says—challenges. It’s a not-so-subtle challenge.
Mei has yet to meet a challenge she couldn’t rise to, romance aside—and even then, as now, she tried her damndest.
She’ll meet this one and, if she plays her cards right, might meet the other, too.
It’s not often pretty girls fall out of the sky, after all. You’ve got to make the most of it.
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When In Williston....Just Don’t
First entry. First attempt at writing a short story. The following is a true story. Obviously, names aren’t included. I do welcome all feedback. Please also share.
Here goes….
Fresh out of training, yet still in my probationary period dubbed first 120. I began my embarquement from Seattle, Washington to Chicago, Illinois on my normal run called The Empire Builder. The total journey would be 6-days; 3 there and 3 back. Assigned to the Sleeper Car, I was in charge of first class services. This entails providing services to 16 to 24 rooms with 1 to 5 passengers per room; making beds, to-go meals, luggage assist, etc. I especially like working in the sleepers because of the direct customer contact.
This summer was proving to be an especially difficult one. Continual track work bestowed us with countless delays. This resulted in irritated passengers. Still nothing I couldn’t handle. Even as we entered Wolf Point, MT and I learned a tornado caused a freight liner to derail just ahead of us, I could still direct the mood of irritated passengers into a more positive one and keep people entertained.
I guess I was too focused on the people and paid no attention to my arachnid homies, causing one to get especially bitter. I asleep in my room, while Charlotte spun her web somewhere in the vicinity. After a long day of whipping out some web, she must of developed a bad taste in her mouth.
Through her several eyes, I can only guess she saw me as one of two things: An asshole who was keeping her trapped there, or a nice humid incubator where she could sink her teeth into a nice tender thigh. Since Wilbur never gave her any bacon, after writing all those messages in the web, I assume she saw this as her one opportunity to get some good squealing in.
I awoke with a burning sensation in between my legs. Not that of a result of a great time with a complete stranger in a cheap hotel room. But still one that would require countless antibiotics. Where’s the fun in that? I’m not sure whatever happened to Charlotte. But I’m guessing after her journey to the nether regions of my southern hemisphere, she turned eight feet up and six feet under.
Now me being me, I of course fell right back to sleep. If the intruder alarm in my house won’t wake me up for long, chances are some heat near my hot pocket won’t wake me up either. When I awoke though, I discovered Charlotte’s little parting gift for me.
Throughout the next several hours, I worked as normal. Trying to ignore the pain of what started out as a pea-sized nob, and then had grown into a half-dollar sized coin. By the night, I had started mastering the penguin waddle. You skinny people might not get this reference. But the penguin waddle is what us larger people do when chafing occurs in between the thighs. As to not piss our ham hocks off any further, we keep our thighs close together and swish our hips, while keeping our legs straight in order to keep pain at a minimal. I haven’t had to use this maneuver since my teenage years. Luckily, it was like hopping on a bike after not being on one for a decade. Oh the things I take pride in.
Going late into my 3-day, and still no where near Chicago, the abscess between my thighs had now grown to about 6-inches. Still too scared to seek medical attention, I did find it in my better interest to let a crew member know just in case, you know, something worse could happen. Despite his years of experience and vast knowledge of how Amtrak handles things, I still chose not to make management aware. During the first 120, it was ingrained in our heads you will be fired for any mishap. I must emphasize, this is not the case as I later learned.
Our layover in Chicago, when on time is approximately 18-hours. The delay from the derailment lowered that layover to approximately 4-hours. I had planned on going to urgent care, getting an I&D, then leaving out on my return trip. Unfortunately, I had just literally pulled a 24-hour shift, and was allotted 4-hours to do laundry, take a hot bath, nap for 1-hour and then return to work the train going back. I was riding myself hard and putting me away wet.
The wound had now spread from my groin to knee and was the most beautiful color of dark purple, had it not been my flesh. Full car coming back, there would be no rest for this wicked man.
In the distance, I heard the sound of a call light go off. As it was lunch time, this could only mean they wanted to order their food to-go as opposed to being normal people and eating in the dining car. Normally I wouldn’t be so irritated by such an easy request. But my time back on this bicycle was making my ass more tender than veil.
After collecting their order and returning with their food, I knocked on their door. The vibrations of the knocking must of set off the richter scale because a splitting of the plates happened. I ruptured. The man answered the door with the biggest smile. Those fresh burgers for him and his girlfriend had finally arrived. And how he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into them.
Yes he was greeted with that, but no. There would be no smell of fresh angus beef and bacon in the air. There would be that of the foul stench of the walking dead. I dare not say what just happened. We both looked at each other as if to say “What hell did you eat?”. He knew it wasn’t him. I knew it was me. But he didn’t know that. I gave him the look like it was him. Which I hope made him believe it was his girlfriend. Both our faces wrinkled to the point of needing an immediate injection of botox. We still managed to exchange product for gratuity. If they are still together, I won’t ever know.
I was at a loss. There was no more penguin waddle left in me. I could only now slither like a slug to the nearest shower room and play doctor with my first aid kit. I texted my partner in crime to let him know that an act of God had just occurred. And thank goodness because we were approaching our next stop and I had to let passengers on and off. There was no way I was going to help people with sappy, soupy pants on with the fragrance of that one wouldn’t even smell in a soup kitchen.
Now seriousness was going to have to take place. There was no further thing I could do but seek medical attention.
“Good afternoon passengers” came across over the PA system. “Our next station stop will be Williston, North Dakota.”
This was to be my stop. The conductor had called for an ambulance to take me to the hospital. I had only had about 15-minutes to pack my room, dress my wounds, dress myself and be available at the door. Oh, and please don’t forget that I’m still only one 1-hour of sleep.
As I stood there waiting for that next station stop, my passengers had began to cluster around the vestibule area, eager to step off the train, have that much desired cigarette, and of course witness my grand exit.
I open the door upon arrival and before me are approximately 14 paramedics. Not quite the paparazzi, but still very intimidating. Then the press conference begins.
“Why is it you think you need an ambulance?” the one reporter boasted.
“I beg your pardon?” What the hell kind of question is that?
“Why do you think you need to go to the hospital?”
Am I interviewing for a patient position, I thought. I turned and look behind me to see my passengers just a chomping at the popcorn, anticipating what I was going to say next. Well I’m sorry to disappoint. But your not going to hear me say “Oh I have a compromised immune system and a wound the size of my fucking thigh just blew up in my thigh and I thought this would just be the next fun thing to do in my day.”
“I’ll be more than happy to answer that questions on our way to the hospital without an audience.” I assertively replied.
While dancing in the back of the ambulance to every pothole on the road, someone must have heard me say “I have ebola”, because when I got to the hospital, every person was wearing thick gowns, spit guards, and filtered masks. I’m now so emotionally distraught, and tired, I have no idea what to do.
I then was blessed to meet probably the only person with a brain, the PA who walked in asking why she felt she was on a movie set instead of a hospital. As the lambs started “baaaaaaaaaahing” out their reasons, she quickly schooled them and said contact precautions as normal. None of this additional crap is necessary. She then looks at my wound and says “Cellulitis and possible MRSA.” Oh Christ, I thought. My next emotion was to cry. Apparently this was something they didn’t know how to handle. Well not handle so much as acknowledge.
Because at this moment, I had learned Nurse Ratched had continued her education, becoming a doctor, my doctor and was standing before me. “If we don’t keep you here, what is it you think you’re going to do?”
I didn't understand the question. Yes, it was to the point. I just didn’t see how it related to me. “What do you mean, what am I going to do?”
“Well do you think Amtrak is going to just give you another ticket? What are you doing to do?”
Despite Nurse Ratched’s continued education, I noticed she still somehow must have missed any courses involving bedside manner. It feared me though that once I explained I was an employee and fully insured, how quickly her tune changed. But that wasn’t a hill I was ready to climb.
While being admitted as an inpatient, I had understandingly fallen asleep to only be awoken by the Hospitalist, a harpy I dubbed Olga the Oger. “Michael, we need to talk.”
I fumbled to awaken myself. SInce my bladder felt as if to explode, this initial task was a bit easier. “I need to use the restroom first.”
I’m not sure what kind of fetishes this harpy had, but she grabs a urinal,sits it in front of me, then sits down herself, giving me the strongest execution of poker face I had ever seen.
“Without an audience.” I commanded.
While waiting for her to come back in the room, flapping her wings to perch in her nest, I fell back asleep. Then again with that same shrill I heard “Michael, I said we needed to talk.”
Hold up. What’s that? No ma’am. You obviously don’t know who I am. It was at that moment my hummingbird ass was put to rest by my alligator mouth. I couldn’t believe I had it in me. The harpy looked down, looked at me in the eyes, then said “I am getting security. I don’t feel safe with you in the room.”
Security must have been busy fighting the meth monsters from the emergency room. Because she came back with no soldiers. Which I was fine with. I grabbed my big boy britches, apologized and proceeded our discussions.
Three more times she ran out of my room in fear. No my friends, not from my hot temper. But to change every order she had already written for me because she failed to find out my allergies beforehand. I was starting to feel that Charlotte and I were going to be seeing each other again in the after life by the way things were going.
Well I survived the that 5-day stay in the hospital. But no. Mount Fiji had yet to be conquered. My final night in Williston was to be at a hotel. Work had generously called me cab to take me to the Ritz, no Discount something or other inn.
As I stand there waiting for my chariot to arrive, a strong sense of anxiety consumed me as I saw this black SUV come racing towards me. Oh God. This can’t be my cab. I found placing my luggage in the back to be especially easy as the the whole back window had been busted out. Upon entering the cab, I took notice to the several inches of dirt and dead insects upon my bench. I especially loved that my “driver” rhythmically licked and chewed his lips as if they were two cheeseburgers from the best burger joint in town.
“Now they told me you would need a receipt. I told them we give receipts on cards.”
Fair enough I thought. Wait….What’s this. Lip Licker hands me the card of a female real estate broker who specializes in short sales at Remax. On the back of my card it says Cab Fare $17.00 and a signature. Oh yeah. Accounting will look at this like seeing a turd floating in a punch bowl.
Thank Christ, I’m at the hotel! I walk in to see the accommodations were doable. Not the Ritz as I dreamed. But after my week, a cardboard box set up in the middle lane of a highway in a rainstorm wouldn’t seem so disappointing. “Sir. We have your complimentary dinner available for you in the hallway over there.”
Dinner in the hallway? Oh hell yeah! Jackpot. I couldn’t wait. As I stand in line behind every roughneck in the state acting like vultures before 3 metal canisters, I couldn’t hardly wait to see what lottery winnings I could be consuming. Door number one had something that I think might have been tuna. Whatever it was, it was shredded, white, and crusty on top. Behind door number two, chicken so oily, had I dropped it, Foghorn Leghorn would have slid straight to the Canadian Border. Then behind door number three, corn dogs so hard, I could speer someone’s eyes out from across the room. I figured between the preservatives, and the 600 different antibiotics running through my system, the speers would be the best way to go.
Oh let the C-Diff begin!!!!
It’s safe to assume, if I’m ever bit again, by anything, I’ll probably not wait so long to address it. Maybe I’ll start asking for directions too.
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Punch
Nobody ever taught me how to throw a punch. When I was a kid, I’d sit on the edge of my bed, one hand smoothing the wrinkles of the bedspread and the other coaxing each finger to bend at the joint, curl inwards, and squeeze like hell until my palm burned with the indents of four perfect crescents.
I was bred on the stoic, glamorous visions of female rage. No surge, no eruption was so great that it would leave a strand of hair out of place, not even an eyelash. No moment of fury was so overwhelming that the gale would smudge lipstick or chip a nail. I tried growing my fingernails long, observed the elegant digits of women who wore french manicures like they were straight off the rues of Paris, willing myself to have the self-control to keep from biting them down until they bled. I never found that self-control, still haven’t.
So I wear my nails short, ragged. I sit on my hands if I have to, trying to satiate that hunger that rattles from my core all the way out to the tips of my fingers, begging for release. I don’t know why that ache lives in me or how to soothe it, all I know is that it’s in me and probably in you too and it’s not going anywhere.
You might try to tell me that daughters are angry because they’ve got angry fathers. You might be right. My dad’s been angry as long as I’ve known him –– a bottle rocket all stuffed up with daddy issues of his own and years of living that life where the world feels like an elaborate design to fuck him up. He might be right about that. I don’t remember a conversation with my daddy that didn’t spin out into a paranoid hypothesis about how that damn taxi driver or that damn waiter or that damn boss were jerks tailor-made to make his life miserable. Mama tells me to stop being reductive when I get like this. She says that life is complicated and people are complicated too and nobody’s just one thing. I hope she’s right because I want to believe that I’m not just one thing either, but when I look at those perfect crescents carved into my palm, it’s hard to imagine I’ll ever be more than that balled fist seducing me to the edge of the cliff but never letting me jump off it.
But I want to talk about angry daughters who have angry mothers. Not the kind that leave scars or bruises on you or anything, but who really teach you how to live in your anger in the way that the world expects you to. I’m almost ten before I discover that mama wasn’t always a mother and whoever that person was before she was mine still throbs inside her like a firefly in a jar. I see her from the top of the stairs, my favorite place to hide after mama and daddy think I’ve already gone to bed, tucking my body into the shadows, spying on their world like I’m a scientist observing the animal kingdom from afar. It’s from there that I first hear my sweet little mama cuss –– the fuck, fuck, fucks rolling off her tongue so smoothly she might as well be saying my name. Then I realize she’s throwing those fucks at my daddy and he’s ducking and throwing them back at her but he’s never as sharp, never as nimble as she is. From my dark little corner at the top of the stairs, I can’t see her face but I imagine it’s still beautiful, her stenciled eyebrows and lipstick she calls Lady Danger still perfect against her pale face. I don’t know how to imagine my mama another way.
But she doesn’t say those words to me, at least not for awhile longer. On wicked, winter mornings, she cooks me oatmeal and the air is thick with the smell of brown sugar and cinnamon and the floorboards are so cold you could swear that they’re covered in frost like the outside. She lets me stay in bed an extra ten minutes and I can hear her singing my name to the tunes of other songs.
Once I asked her, “Do you think somebody is ever going to write a love song about me?”
And I watched her knead the dough of the bread she was making harder and she just looked at me, all sharp angles and rouge, and said, “Never, ever let your love depend on somebody else’s love for you. You hear me?” And I nodded, although I was only five or six then so I probably didn’t really hear her, not yet at least. So now when I hear her sticking my name into other people’s love songs, I know that mama’s love is the only one I’m supposed to depend on.
Daddy’s already gone on these cold mornings, tiptoeing out of the house before even the pale winter sun rises, and so it’s just me and mama, burning the roofs of our mouths on the soupy oatmeal, hanging our love on each other and nobody else. Sometimes after breakfast, she’ll let me sit next to her in the bathroom upstairs while she does her makeup and I’ll match her movements stroke for stroke. She only lets me wear her lip gloss sometimes if we’re just playing around the house, never out, because she tells me that “it’ll give the world the wrong idea,” which seems silly given how much of it she slathers on herself. I like miming the motion for her perfume the best. After she’s layered on foundation, dot for dot against her slowly wrinkling skin, soft pink blush along her sharp cheekbones, a thin brown crayon along her brow line, dark red lip liner and lipstick, and a quick wisp of brown eyeshadow, she’ll take out a magical, crystal perfume bottle with a blue, jeweled cap. Shalimar, it’s called, and I love the sound of the name in my mouth, like a shadow and a mallomar mixed together in a mysterious, sweet package. Years from these moments, I’ll be wandering through a department store or elbowing my way into a subway car or browsing used books at a bookshop downtown and I’ll catch those hints of rose and bergamot and jasmine and it’ll be like I’ve been whisked back into my mother’s bathroom, watching in awe as she places each droplet of Shalimar on her tiny wrists and against her neck, wondering if I will ever know like she did how to apply it just right.
If it’s one of those impossibly cold days, after she’s made-up and I’m in my school clothes, she’ll drive me to the bus stop and let me wait in her beat-up old Dodge Challenger, our hot breath fogging up the windows, rubbing our mittened fingers together trying to find feeling again. When the bus pulls up, she’ll kiss me quickly on my forehead, leaving a trail of Lady Danger along my hairline, saying, “more than everything combined,” which is our secret little way of saying that we love each other using what she taught me is called hyperbole. I like hyperbole because it feels just as big and out of this universe as the place my mama holds in my mind. She’s sitting in this old car with hair so big it almost touches the roof, smelling like patchouli and rose, but she’s also a hundred feet tall, so high up it feels like maybe I’ll never reach her.
I’m telling you all this, all these details that probably now seem frivolous and small, because I want you to understand that when she starts hurling those fuck, fuck, fucks at me, she’s so high up in the sky that I can barely even hear her. Her wild, untamed anger towards me doesn’t fit neatly into the narrative of cold, oatmeal mornings and Shalimar. It take me a long time, even after she starts hurling even more hurtful words along with those fucks across the room at me, before I see her as anything else but that hundred foot tall Lady Danger who’s not going to let anybody own my love.
By the time mama starts really hurting me, I’ve already learned how to hurt myself. It’s nothing huge, just those crescents burrowing deeper and deeper into my palms, the insides of my forearms. I like to think now that maybe all of that nonsense was just some kind of sick utilitarian forethought on my part, like I would need to learn how to inflict my own pain so that nobody else could claim it. I’ll sit in my room, shove a towel in the crack between the door and the floor to muffle the shouting match my mama and daddy are taking part in. I’ve been asking for a Walkman every Christmas since I was seven, but every year daddy tells me that “it’s been a tough year” so I just stick my fingers in my ears and pretend they can transmit the soothing, soulful sounds of Lionel Richie right into my brain. But when that doesn’t work, I’ll turn to my hands, how fragile and empty they look all spread out. I want to make them powerful, so I pull them in, sticking whatever nails I’ve got left into my palm for grip, and watch them transform into two bony rocks. It’s the closest I’ll feel to strong for a decade. Until the day I punch my beautiful, sweet mama right in her perfectly made-up face.
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