#I did not have to walk through the desert repenting
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Wild
Supercorptober 2023
"You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves."
Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
----
She was supposed to go to Metropolis. She was supposed to go and tell them what to keep and what to sell and what to give away. Kara's gentle arms and quiet words are the only thing that stop her before she tells them just to burn it to the ground instead.
But the ground she steps out onto is not unforgiving pavement— it is soft peat and loose stone.
The heavy oak door creaks open as she steps inside, the light following behind her as the floorboards give under her feet. She wanders through the front room, collecting fragments of her past along with the dust that falls from the air onto her shoulders. She lets her fingers trace the faded wallpaper and pauses at the kitchen door, eyes finding the four lines etched into its surface, each just a little higher than the next. She pictures her mother there, kneeling down to make each one. She kneels down too, her hand hovering over the surface. She counts the lines one by one. Four short marks. Four short years. She rubs her thumb back and forth over the last like she could somehow etch it back into the wood or back into herself — whatever would be easier.
But time doesn't work like that. It moves forward, even when we ask it to stop. Stops when we ask it for even just a second more.
She stands up and turns away from the door, stumbles out onto the small path of land, gulping in the damp air. Her breath comes in short gasps, the air heavy as it settles in her lungs. She walks until the stone beneath her feet becomes a meadow, becomes heath, becomes a blanket of tall grass. It's wild and overgrown and whips at her legs. The world in all its urgency to turn did not stop, did not end here the way the marks on the door had. So she keeps moving, keeps walking until the house is no longer there at all — until the two of them feel like nothing more than two small dark shapes on opposite ends of the earth again.
"Lena?"
She turns slowly back towards the house. Her feet slipping over the uneven ground and muddied earth.
"Lena, wait."
Kara is a few feet away, her blonde hair darker than it should be, her coat damp with more than morning mist. Lena realizes then that it was raining, feels her clothes starting to stick to her skin.
"You're here?" Lena asks, confused, like maybe she had really willed herself across the world somehow.
"I am." She pauses. "I'm sorry."
"You came." She says again, stepping forward, her feet heavy with the weight of the grass and dirt clinging to them.
Kara was in front of her in what felt like only one step, arms catching her as she fell into them.
"I did." Kara murmurs, "I'm sorry," her breath a warm contrast to the cool air, "I didn't want you to be alone. I'm sorry."
Lena doesn't say anything, just holds onto her tighter. The rain starts to come down harder, and Kara gently brushes a strand of hair from her cheek. Lena lets her head fall onto her shoulder, the ghosts of her past weaving their way between them. Kara lets them in willingly.
----
Kara's hand feels warm and steady on Lena's back as she guides her through the front door again. She shivers as they enter the kitchen. Feels all the places the damp earth has seeped into her clothes.
"Do you have anything here? Something warm?"
Lena shakes her head, thinking of the hotel across town where all her things still sit neatly packed away.
"That's okay — you're okay."
She hears the shuffle of something near the door, the sound of a zipper opening and closing, along with the soft muttering of Kara behind her.
Soft wool makes its way into her hands shortly after. She notices the sweater is hers, a deep forest green that matches the forest outside.
Kara holds a change of clothes of her own.
"Why don't we get warm, and then we can go from there. The rain is already done."
Lena nods, grateful for the distraction, for the change of pace.
When she emerges from the room, Kara is waiting for her back in the kitchen, a cup of tea in her hands and another on the table she got from somewhere that isn't here.
"Better?"
"Better," she says quietly, "thank you." She takes the cup of tea, "for this," glances at the marks on the doorframe again, "for coming."
Lena hopes it is enough to make Kara stop apologizing for doing nothing wrong.
"Always." Kara watches her, blue eyes gentle and soft.
It seems to.
"Look how little you were," Kara murmurs.
Lena's throat tightens. Four short years, four tiny marks in the wood."
"I wish..." Lena begins, but the words fade away.
Kara takes her hand. "I know," she says softly.
"Come here," Kara pushes herself away from the counter, pulling Lena with her, leading them both towards the wall.
Lena turns in her arms as her hands settle on her waist, and Kara pulls a pencil from her pocket.
"You ready?"
Lena nods. Closes her eyes as she hears the scrap of the pencil above her head, focusing on the feeling of Kara's soft kiss against her temple instead.
"All done."
Lena turns in her arms. Five short marks. The weight of all the years between them.
Lena takes the pencil from her and reaches out for Kara's waist. She can feel the way she lets herself be moved, the way she gives under the gentle pressure of her hands.
She lifts up onto her toes, and lets out a small huff of effort as Kara keeps her steady. The pencil marking out one more line.
She settles back down on her feet.
Kara takes a step back, so she's right beside her.
The lines sit off-center from each other, and hers is just a few inches shorter. But it's an odd comfort to see them together all the same.
And for a second, she thinks maybe it was selfish to ask Kara to be a witness to this part of her in such a way. To force this part of her to catch up with the wild landscape outside that has already moved on — moved forward. But then Kara's hand finds its way into hers, fingers threading together, solid and real. She leads them back outside, back through the heath, back through the tall grass, until they reach a small patch of ground that the rain seems to have spared. Kara lays her jacket on the grass, and together, they lay down, disappearing into the wild green sea around them and approaching night above them.
Lena turns her head, strands of dark hair spilling across Kara's chest and the crushed stems beneath them. She lets out a shuddering breath and feels as all the regret and sorrow that drew her back here slips away into the indifference of nature and Kara's love.
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follow along here or on Ao3
#sg prompts#supercorp#supergirl#supercorptober#supercorptober2023#mary oliver#heaviness disguised as softness#softness disguised as heaviness#always room for hope at the end#each one of these is going to be inspired by a piece of poetry or prose#going to do by best to do all 31
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to my star 2, minato's laundromat, and moonlight chicken — when mary oliver wrote "you do not have to be good. you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. tell me about your despair, and i will tell you mine." shows that are about characters who are riddled with guilt and shame, who feel that somewhere along the way they did something wrong, who feel that they do not deserve goodness or love or understanding, who are always trying their best to make up for their lack. and then someone looks that character in the eyes, holds them close, and says "i love you. you are not a wrong thing. you are worth loving as you are."
#to my star#to my star 2#moonlight chicken#minato's laundromat#minato shouji coin laundry#mint talks#have something from my notes app ~~#*#these are all shows i adore and hold close to my heart
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it's been a few years since i've tried teaching wild geese by mary oliver. the first time i did so, it was such a flop -- students were giving me absolutely nothing and i worried that perhaps the poem was too transparent, too direct, for them to find close reading it worthwhile.
today, i taught the poem to two of my classes and the conversation flowed so beautifully; my morning class especially has really warmed up to disclosing about themselves as they relate and bring meaning to the poetry. at first, i was nervous about that: nervous that by making a space for bringing in the personal, students would either feel compelled to share when they didn't want to or would feel that personal experience was utterly besides the point. i always worry they think the class is a waste of time. but a student told me today that she loves when people start sharing about themselves, that these past few weeks have been her favorites of the semester.
what a gift! and what a poem!! what a privilege to sit with a room full of people and read aloud "you do not have to be good, you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting, you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves"
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mary oliver was right, i did not have to walk on my knees / for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. i only had to let the soft animal of my body / love what it loves. to me, this is one of the sweetest joys of being trans
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Daily Fic Highlight: Incarnation
The winner of the kudos email today is:
Incarnation is a SkekGra/UrGoh longfic about their early days in exile at the Circle of the Suns as they start to understand each other better, work out their skeksis and mystic baggage, and slowly fall in love. It's from SkekGra's point of view, and when I say he pines I mean he could be a whole Christmas tree farm. Slow burn--but it does burn. 152,469 words, E, M/M (for whatever values of "M" two different aliens who used to be one alien have).
In other posts I've made about this I usually quote "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver to convey what Incarnation is about, and now I'm going to do it again:
"You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves."
I jumped into The Dark Crystal fandom with this, and it was so much fun to write I feel like it restored all my powers.
Sample:
“UrGoh, maybe—maybe this—” Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, SkekGra thought he wanted to say. But the words didn’t come out. Because even if it wasn’t such a good idea, he still wanted UrGoh to touch him. He still wanted to touch UrGoh.
“I know I haven’t done this before,” said UrGoh, “but I’ll be careful. I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m never worried about you hurting me,” SkekGra said.
UrGoh reached out and lifted SkekGra’s left hand from the warm water with his right hands. And, as it always had before, with UrGoh’s other touches, the bond changed. The longing didn’t go away. SkekGra was almost sure that it wouldn’t, as long as he and UrGoh were separate. If anything, that longing might be even more acute, now that they were touching skin-to-skin. But it felt like—it felt like a longing for something attainable, something within their reach, within their powers. When they weren’t touching, there was an element of strangeness to the bond that seemed to indicate the underlying truth of their connection—that no one had ever been meant to feel this way. When they touched, the pull SkekGra felt between them seemed as natural as breathing. Though the tension was undiminished, when touch was added to the bond, he found himself worried less about GraGoh and what it would be like to be GraGoh, feeling only that he was more connected with UrGoh, and believed he could be more connected with UrGoh, and that was a good thing. Very, very good.
And did UrGoh also feel this, as he gently manipulated SkekGra’s hand, searching for the best angle for what he wanted to do? Would it show in his face? Did SkekGra’s own face show something of what he was feeling? It seemed wrong for UrGoh to not know what SkekGra was feeling now, it was too big, maybe something big enough that it would affect UrGoh’s decisions to touch him at all.
#actually it was a comment this time#skekgra#urgoh#gragoh#the dark crystal#the dark crystal: age of resistance#daily fic highlight
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I really need to stop listening to Malevolent in the mornings because it is Too Much to have such intense feelings about sad detective and eldritch hitchhiker before work!! But can I wait until after work? Also no.
This episode had the range, damn. Arthur completely off his rocker consumed with thoughts of revenge, John pleading with him to see reason, remember his humanity. Such a good role reversal.
One of the things I love about this podcast is how good the audio production is. In addition to Arthur's blindness being a clever conceit as a vehicle for (literal) description, And the music is part of this. There's not a lot of variation in what's used: Faroe's song, "You Call It Madness", maybe something else. And when you hear something else, that's like a big screeching siren that you need to pay attention. I don't even know what that discordant sound that plays when Arthur and John are having their argument about whether Arthur's intended actions are justified. Maybe something scraping over piano strings?
The pacing is also impeccable--just enough time for the building dread and concern for this character (who we've spent so much time with and rooted for) to coalesce before it all goes to shit. Arthur dropping the knife. Stabbing the empty bed. And then, a literal repeat of what Arthur and Yellow did to get into Uncle's room. The music box was a nice touch, in a real fucked-up way. I respect that.
I'm also so fucking mad the way "bedrock" is used in this episode. At first I thought it was John not getting the idiom quite correct. But the way it comes up again with Peter, it's also a base. Something with stability that you can use to build on, climb up from. I don't think we've ever gotten any information canonically about what Arthur and Peter's relationship was like until now. And he's absolutely cast in the same position as John: the constant, the one good thing. I have no way of knowing if Arthur included Parker in "Because I can't lose another person!" but I'd like to think so. (And oh, to be so intimate with the being who took somebody that dear and important away from you. There's a story there that I wish somebody would tell.)
(Also, there is something to be said about how all the important people in Arthur's life are ghosts by the time we get to know them.)
The thing about fictional characters(') suffering is that it is, ultimately, selfish. They're not real, so it doesn't matter if they hurt. Which is not to say that it can't be done poorly or gratuitously, but it is for us, the creators and the consumers of said work to tell us things we need to hear. You do not need to walk a hundred miles in the desert on your knees, repenting. A terrible mistake does not mean you are unforgivable. The discovery of your humanity can help you transcend the wrongs you did for eons. You are not a monster. And even if you are, it doesn't matter. Somebody will love you anyways.
The last part of the episode is satisfying on a level that some people might call fan service. But that particular term, I think, implies an unearned indulgence. Nothing about what happens is unearned. John pulling Arthur back from the brink with his steadying belief in Arthur's conviction, reflecting that humanity Arthur taught him. John reciting Robert Frost to Arthur!! I was ugly crying on my rowing machine! I have never had any emotional attachment to "Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening" or "Invictus" but I sure as heck do now!
And the apple! The beautiful crisp sound of it! (Somebody in the tag said it had to be an apple because it's the only fruit that makes a pleasing sound, which is also true. But apples are also the only fruit that could really survive through winter before the advent of modern transportation, and there's some symbolism in that.) wildehack made a comment on my fic about how Arthur is so spare in all the time we've known him: not just thin, but starved, and John fits himself into those spaces. And to see Arthur feel pleasure, enjoyment, expansive with hope? It was earned, and good.
ALSO HE PROMISED DATE NIGHT!
[edit:] I forgot about Faroe's music box! I thought Arthur would take it, but he doesn't need it anymore. And that's not a loss, that's closure, and I am so glad for him.
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I'm worried this site is going to be hell when Priscilla comes out because everyone will watch it for the aesthetic and come out with the worst opinions :/
i am saying this as gently as possible, so please read it that way - i feel like everyone is worrying about this more than necessary and causing themselves undue anxiety. there's nothing you, nor i, nor anyone, can do about other random people's perceptions or responses to this film. it exists already and it will be whatever it will be. but their life has been their life since 1959. it hardly matters what the peanut gallery online thinks, it doesn't affect anything in the end. he's been gone for 46 years, a single independent film isn't changing any reality or complicated situation or humanity or legacy. over four decades of other things haven't. it's going to be okay.
thinking about this quote the official account posted today, which strikes me every time i see it:
he didn't only have this outlook and philosophy professionally, he carried it personally too. he knew he wasn't perfect and that he made mistakes, he tried to do better, he did his best to act with humility and kindness, and to make amends and offer forgiveness whenever possible. i just don't entirely see the reason to litigate some of this and tear apart his choices (good, bad, or otherwise) this many years later rather than finding the grace and light that existed.
i feel like i've said this, but it's forever that steinbeck quote: "now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good." or it's even mary oliver's wild geese: "you do not have to be good. you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves." he was a person. so are we. we don't have to agree with everything, we don't have to endlessly dissect everything. we can accept the multifaceted whole, embrace the beautiful gifts and miracle of music that was shared, and love what we love. we understand that. if someone else doesn't, that's not on us to carry. the soul of it all that connects him to us is what matters.
#i know you're all worried but you deserve to let your minds rest#anonymous#letterbox#elvis presley#i was a dreamer
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PAUSE, REFLECT, WHAT AM I DOING?
1 Kings 19:9 - "Then he came there to a cave and lodged there; and behold, the word of the LORD came to him, and He said to him, 'What are you doing here, Elijah?'”
So the word of the Lord came to him “what are you doing here Elijah”. This is one of the most important questions God will ever ask us. His questions probes the reality of our spiritual state. He is asking “how did your service to me become dry and desolate?” He wants us to know that when we fail to esteem Him as our first love, we will always find that a desert awaits us.
God never intended for religion. He intended to have a people called by His name to steward, be productive, advancing His Kingdom and bearing fruit that remains through our Christ calling, to the nations.
QUESTIONS TO ASK MYSELF
Does sitting in a church service each week hearing a good message and worshipping together give me all of what I need?
Am I living my experience of being part of the Church through two hours on Sunday and maybe a home cell group on Wednesday evening ie. is this the only thing that defines my spiritual development in the Kingdom?
Am I active in my thoughts and communications with the Father in my everyday life?
Have I come to understand my Christ identity so I will be effective in moving His Kingdom forward?
Am I "asking, knocking, and seeking" to discover my callling in Christ?
Am I personally discipling others to equip them for discipling new Christians in the Church body?
Do I believe that I can change the world?
Luke 16:16 - "The law and the prophets were until John: since that time the kingdom of God is preached, and every man presseth into it."
This realm of God’s Spirit does not come without “pressing” – without contending. The first thing about pressing is seeking. Pressing into it means there is a passionate pursuit of God in prayer. The word “to seek” (Matthew 7:7) means to diligently look for and search out earnestly until the object of the search is located. It is as crying out and hungering for a revelation of God’s purpose for my life ( God’s will for my life) so I can be a recipient of God’s continual favor.
AFFIRMATIONS:
God is about to bring my life and ministry to others to a new beginning.
I press into and lay hold of the kingdom of heaven in an aggressive way.
I have a burning heart of fiery witness and passion when it comes to exhorting others in their walk with God.
I repent from trying to do God's will without abiding in His presence.
ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY
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It's always about acceptance, isn't it. It's "I see and understand you, even if nobody else gets it" it's "even when I don't get the action I'll understand the reason", it's"I don't want you to change what makes you you", it's "you don't have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting", it's "tell me every terrible thing you ever did and let me love you anyway ", it's the acceptance
#evelyn stuff#i think im tired of trying so hard all the time#how more refreshing would it be if i just were
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So it’s both “Mermaids” release day and the day I can finally unwrap my “Daffodil” tattoo.
I’m staying up until midnight to hear this last Dance Fever song, so I’ve spent a large part of today thinking about the whole album.
I’ve worked through a lot of it academically this year, but I haven’t really let myself sit down and think about what it means to me personally. I saw someone write that the build up of “Mermaids” feels like a scream waiting to be released (@veronicaofosea), and that’s so close to how Dance Fever as a whole feels to me. Listening to it has felt like letting out multiple screams that have been building up in my body since girlhood.
Florence isn’t close to the first artist to remind women that we don’t have to be good, seek approval, be desirable, and keep the peace. Within my own pantheon of favorite artists/musicians/poets, I have heard it so often. Mary Oliver has told us (“You do not have to be good / you do not have to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles through the desert repenting”). Tori Amos has told us again and again in more ways than I have room to write down (“She’s been everybody else’s girl/ Maybe one day she’ll be her own”). Each instance has felt like a small revelation to me. An idea I could intellectually know to be true, but couldn’t feel in my body when needing to go out into the world to assert myself. My voice is always quieter than I mean it to be. I apologize for myself when I don’t want to. I have a really hard time making eye contact. Dance Fever marked the first time that I could fully hear this truth. Right now. In my late thirties.
I don’t know what did it, exactly. I think part of it was lockdown and being on my own so much. Probably having the space to retreat into myself, being responsible only to myself and my partner. Having very few external expectations placed on us. And then coming out of that, Dance Fever was the first piece of art to shatter my grief-induced numbness.
“Oh bring your salt, bring your cigarette. Draw me a circle and I’ll protect…” The ferocity of the circle drawn in “Heaven is Here.” The dark magic and intentional monstrosity of it. How it made a protected space for our rage and mourning and reclamation of self.
The tender, funny anger of “Girls Against God.” (Which actually made me feel conflicted at first. Growing up going to an Orthodox Hebrew school, we didn’t write God’s name on anything that wasn’t sacred and meant to last, even in English. Writing down that title was literally the first time I spelled out “God” which was scary but also powerful.) The permission of being able to own our anger, even if it’s just us, in our pajamas, alone in our bedrooms.
And it took me a while to notice what was being sung during the “Dream Girl Evil” bridge, but once I figured out that it was a reversal of Yeats’ “The Second Coming,” I couldn’t stop thinking about it. What does it mean to look at our world on the verge of collapse and respond-- at least for a moment-- by essentially saying well fine, this wasn’t a world built for us. If it’s dependent on women being the world’s angels and dream girls, just let it all burn. “I am nobody’s moral center / it cannot hold.” Again, this intense permission to claim our rage and independence.
The part of the album that has probably made me cry the most is a lyric I still don’t fully understand. It’s toward the end of “Choreomania,” when the music slows down a little and Florence sings, “And do they speak to you? Because they speak to me, too. The pressure and the panic you push your body through.” I’m not sure who “they” are for her, but there is something so comforting in how the fourth wall breaks down here, how she sings “they speak to me, too.” The vulnerable confession that we all carry unwanted voices with us born of mental illness, or intergenerational trauma, or gendered social expectation, and the recognition of what those voices do to us and our bodies. The anxiety and the panic attacks.
This album feels like a release of those voices or an attempt to live with them in a way that allows us to fully reclaim ourselves.
Even just posting this feels like something I wouldn’t have done before. I would have checked with multiple people to make sure it wasn’t too much, or too pointless, or too intense, but I think of “Restraint” and post it anyway. “And have I learned restraint? Am I quiet enough for you yet?” Saying “yes, but I’m unlearning it” feels like a source of power.
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Nat is Buffy coded and Misty is spike coded. Nat is just a girl trying to do the best she can, and Misty is the monster that would do anything for her. Every time Nat rejects Misty she is reminded of the monster she is. Every time Nat accepts her, Misty feels like maybe she isn’t a monster after all. Thinking about them for too long makes me want to cry
STOP IT RIGHT NOW. ok bc literally the spuffy mistynat continuum is about being freak4freak . i also think it's about monstrosity from nat's side of things too. nat is the one of the survivors who is the Most realistic about what happened she's kind of the only one having a normal response to what they did. to what she specifically did. nat as the hunter. nat understanding herself to be a monster and it's not that she doesnt think she's one it's just that the crushing reality of that is too much for her. but misty is so matter of fact about everything misty is free of shame. like misty has self hatred but she doesnt have shame. and nat embracing the monster in misty is her also saying well maybe i dont have to feel awful all the time maybe i can just be. literally you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting!!!!!!!! you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
which is also what it is for buffy!!!!!!!!! buffy's shame at being the slayer buffy's shame at being made of the same thing as monsters of being like monsters. and then you have spike and faith as narrative parallels who are both like no being this specific kind of monster is my favorite thing to be. this is a good thing to be. you can be a good thing to be. buffy's shame at caring for, loving, wanting spike being about what it says about her. buffy accepting that she loves spike, wants spike, directly correlating to moments where she is allowing herself to live more easily in the world. buffy telling spike: "i do want you" when she's breaking up with him. she is accepting the want and she's also saying i need to find a way to be alive. i deserve to want to be alive. buffy telling spike "i love you" as they destroy the hellmouth as they change the slayer cycle, as she refuses to die again, instead makes the world a place where she can keep living, where she says okay a body like mine gets to live. a person like me gets to live.
misty spending all season trying to keep natalie alive. helping her find travis because she knows nat needs it to feel whole and she wants to keep her safe as she does it. leading nat away from travis' body before theyre arrested. snorting the coke for her. kidnapping jessica to keep her friends safe and we know natalie is the person she means most by that.
spike saving buffy's life again and again. trying to. "i did save you. not when it counted of course but after that. every night after that. every night i save you." catching her in once more with feeling. "life's not a song. life isnt bliss life is just this it's living . you have to go on living. so one of us is living." buffy telling spike that being with him makes things easier. spike trying to get buffy to accept her darkness and her desire because he thinks she genuinely needs to, that it will make her happy, that it will set her free. buffy seeking out spike when she wants to feel okay. "i can be alone with you here" . the flooded back porch scene. "the only person i can stand to be around is a neutered vampire who cheats at kitten poker." "i just wanna feel." buffy going to his crypt again and again. sun sets and she appears.
natalie seeking out misty. natalie being suspicious of misty so she stalks her and breaks into her house, but when misty gives her the first bit of proof that it wasnt her, nat just sticks around. nat trusts her. nat seeks misty out and stays with her again and again and again. nat complains about spending time with misty and then keeps seeking out misty to spend more time with her and she always seems so happy when they do. do you see. DO YOU SEE.
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“Wild Geese”
For the end of 007 Fest 2022
Nights are the hardest.
For James Bond, the nightmares never really bothered him. He simply accepted them as his due, a reward for being MI6’s best spy. He’d been everywhere, seen everything, done everything and (most) everyone. He had a list of kills longer than most in the business, and not all of them had been dispatched with a bullet. Sometimes, Bond would wake, body alert and mind racing, convinced he’d felt hands around his throat again, or the crushing weight of water, or his shoulder exploding in pain. Other times he would wake and have to check that he wasn’t still holding his gun.
When Bond and Vesper had been together, he’d still been so green as an agent; there had been some trauma, but nothing some Scotch and a good fuck couldn’t handle. Her death still hurt, but the dull ache of an old scar, and the nightmare of her drowning almost never happened anymore.
But when he started sleeping with Q? When the lanky boffin with a sharp tongue and a voice that always brought Bond home had found his way into Bond’s bed? When Bond had to finally begin to acknowledge to himself that he did, indeed, care for Q and was finding it harder and harder to understand what Q saw in him?
One particularly sleepless night found Bond standing near one of the windows in his flat, wrapped in his dressing gown. Snow was falling softly outside, blanketing the streets and muffling the sounds of a sleeping London. Bond took another mouthful of Scotch, the liquor burning with a pleasant familiarity as it went down.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Q walked up softly beside him, though not quite with the cat-like tread of a double-oh.
Bond glanced at him and then back out the window. “You should be sleeping.”
“As should you.” Q’s lips twitched slightly. “There, now we’ve both said something incredibly obvious.” He reached out and gently laid his hand on Bond’s shoulder. “You got up a while ago.”
“I thought you were sleeping,” Bond replied, taking another sip.
Q shrugged. “The bed’s colder alone.” They stood in silence for a moment, before Q spoke again. “But really, James, why are you up?”
The silence stretched for a long time before Bond finally sighed. “Why are you here, Q? Why are you here- with me?” He didn’t look at Q, just continued to stare out the window and sip his drink.
Squeezing Bond’s arm gently, Q said, “Because I want to be.”
Bond chuckled darkly. “You make it sound so simple, like it’s easy for you to be around someone like me.”
“You mean a spy?” Q asked.
“I mean a killer, Q.” The words hang in the air for a moment, finally said, and Bond drains his glass.
Q is silent for a moment, and if Bond had looked at his face, he’d have seen Q thinking. But when Q speaks, it’s not at all the response Bond expects.
“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.”
Squeezing Bond’s arm gently again, Q presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I didn’t write that, but I meant every word. I chose this, James, and I still choose to be here. No matter your past, I’m here. Now, come back to bed.”
The nightmares don’t ever end for a double-oh, but finding someone to share the burden with makes them easier to endure.
Author’s note: the poem quoted in the story is “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver (hence the title)
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HYUMJIM TUNBLR WRAPPED JUST DROPPED……
I posted 10,708 times in 2022
1,658 posts created (15%)
9,050 posts reblogged (85%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@americanhellkmart
@hyumjim
@brianbangs
@rosie37q
@shaperofdreams
I tagged 5,389 of my posts in 2022
Only 50% of my posts had no tags
#skz - 1,056 posts
#hyune - 280 posts
#lee lino - 247 posts
#chicken little - 199 posts
#malicious gay faggotry - 143 posts
#music - 123 posts
#camp counselor chris - 91 posts
#hanji - 91 posts
#bts - 67 posts
#loona - 63 posts
Longest Tag: 140 characters
#of course i don’t really wish that i love her beautiful personality. i want to kill her though ❤️ but if anything ever happens to her i will
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
849 notes - Posted December 5, 2022
#4
HOW THE FUCK DO YOU ACCIDENTALLY COME OUT AS BISEXUAL
893 notes - Posted April 25, 2022
#3
Every time a verdict is handed down on some horrible killer a bunch of armchair jurors flip out about how he deserved the death penalty. Wait til I tell u that the death penalty should be abolished entirely because the state does not have the right to kill people, ever, no matter who they are. People do not have the right to kill other people and the death penalty grants state officials this right based purely on power. Anyway, ask yourself who benefits from the death penalty. When a person has caused grievous harm there is no way to undo that harm. Their death doesn’t undo it— that is what is so tragic about hurting other people. No amount of suffering they experience will change what they did. The families of the victims will grieve no matter what. If it’s for their benefit, ask yourself: if someone badly harms me or someone I love, does that give me the right to see them die? At what point do I get to decide who lives and who dies?
2,898 notes - Posted November 5, 2022
#2
3,073 notes - Posted November 27, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
If u are an anxiety stricken young person reading my blog right now and worrying about your media consumption I would like to tell you that You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. And that is from Wild Geese by Mary Oliver. Delete your twitter account now
18,241 notes - Posted June 21, 2022
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I think I have a different opinion about this than most people, in that I don’t think it’s fundamentally offensive that the show has made multiple characters less problematic over the course of the show. I don’t always think it’s great writing, because it can be inconsistent and not terribly interesting, but I rarely think it’s a matter of “the show wants you to think this character did nothing wrong when they did!” I think it’s a matter of the show becoming more popular than anticipated and gaining a younger, more mainstream, and (sorry not sorry) less sophisticated audience, and shifting the characterization accordingly. That’s just the nature of many serialized works.
That being said: the show absolutely has retroactively softened Steve’s past bullying and bigotry. Robin initially dislikes him for being a popular straight guy while she had to suffer in the closet (which is sympathetic on her part but doesn’t really reflect badly on Steve). Eddie says he wrongly assumed that Steve was going to be a douche because he was a rich popular guy (which comes across as understandable envy from an outcast with an incarcerated dad living in a trailer park, but doesn’t really reflect badly on Steve). Nancy leaves him (or, rather, declines to be available to make up with him) because she disagrees about how to handle the Barb situation and is in love with Jonathan (not because Steve deliberately fucked with her reputation in S1 or even left her blackout drunk at a party in S2–again, nothing she does is supposed to reflect badly on him). Since the beginning of S2, Jonathan has alternated between vague sympathy and vague annoyance towards Steve (nothing suggesting that he holds a serious grudge). You don’t get scenes of Robin being anxious that Steve will respond to her rejection by angrily spreading her secrets all over town, or Eddie asking why Steve cares about helping him when he treated the disappearance of a missing little kid like a joke because he wasn’t from the right kind of family, or Jonathan worrying about Steve being homophobic to Will. The closest you get is Robin acknowledging to Keith (a minor character known mostly for his skeeviness) that Steve made their lives “hell” in high school, but even this is part of a sales pitch, and Keith seems more concerned that Steve can barely name three movies he likes. It’s all pretty lighthearted.
Which isn’t bad. Steve’s not a real guy. He’s not getting away with anything. And I don’t have some depressing Catholic urge to see him walk on his knees through the desert for a hundred miles, repenting. I’d much rather the show drop the “redemption arc” entirely and just let him be a young guy trying to find his way in life. It’s just dispiriting to see so many people come away from this framing and say “wow, Steve’s the only really good character, and anyone who has a problem with him is mean and petty and wrongly thinks they’re better than him. They’re the real bullies.”
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32
why is this so large LOL
32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?
✧ i listed a handful of quotes here ! so i will list something different ! the first thing that comes to mind for me, poem-wise, is wild geese by mary oliver, and it's specifically this first half:
✧ You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on.
✧ i plan to get a little goose tattoo for it specifically ! idk, i think — in the last handful of years, i've made a serious attempt at changing the way i think about and view myself. i'm an — unbelievably insecure human bean, and i'm really trying to come to terms with who i am, simply because this is who i am. something about this part has always struck a chord with me: you do not have to be good; you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. something about being allowed to be imperfect is so freeing, idk. and the despair: i've faced a lot of unexpected and horrible grief lately in my life and, maybe this sounds strange, but something about knowing that i have felt this and others have felt this and we will all continue to feel this is comforting to me. like it's not the end of the world, because we've survived it before and we will survive it again; tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. meanwhile the world goes on. sometimes being small and similar in a sea of others is okay.
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I’m kind of an odd one out in the anti-dieting world, because I’ve never dieted.
I started looking into HAES and IE a few years back — uh, six years back — because I’d been having my weight creep up for a few years at that point, then suddenly with the onset of my CFS it zoomed up over just a few months. Which I found kind of concerning. So I figured I should do something about it. But I was pretty resistant to going on a diet, even a “sensible” diet like WW, because I figured that stuff was all tangled up with attractiveness standards and I didn’t want to touch the concept of trying to “look good” with a ten foot pole.
So I was like, ok, I can work on paying more attention to my hunger and fullness cues, this and that, so that’s what I focused on, and
Oh my goodness there’s a cat on my altar sorry it’s kind of hard to focus on fat politics right now. Cat.
Anyways, hanging out in the movement at all means hearing a ton of horror stories. And then you hang out with other people and you get people either talking loudly about their diets or quietly hoping you don’t notice that they’re not dieting any more. Life is short, food is tasty, you do not have to be good, you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting, you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Some people think self-denial is good for its own sake and self-indulgence is bad for its own sake, regardless of the material outcomes. And gluttony, like lust and pride, is a sin.
Anyways, I was worried that my weight would keep going up without bound if I didn’t do something, but it did in fact level off on its own and has hung out in a five pound range ever since. Bodies do that apparently. I eat as much chocolate and ice cream and gummy bears and you know, all that stuff, as I want. My weight has (whenever I’ve measured it, generally at the doctor’s) stayed within five pounds over the past five years. This is a true thing.
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