#humans invented them and we can fucking un-invent them too
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Yeah if you need an entire board of doctors and advocates to tell the difference between two things, then the distinctions between said things are not "obvious". If they were, you'd be able to tell the difference on your own, regardless of your knowledge base, as that is sort of what "obvious" means :/
#''there's an obvious distinction between disabled people who need benefits and able-bodied people who are lazy''#''but we'd need a board of doctors and disability advocates to tell the difference between those two things''#yeah you might just be stupid and super ableist actually :/#like my lactose intolerance is *obvious*#regardless of my lack of a medical degree I don't need a doctor to tell me I can't tolerate dairy#I figured that out pretty quick when I get gassy and sick every time I drink milk#''lazy'' vs. disabled is simply not something you can tell visually#hell a non-insignificant chunk of *doctors* can't even fucking tell half the time#how about if someone doesn't wanna piss away their limited amount of time on Earth making someone else rich#we fucking let them just not do that?#capitalist pigs#people who don't understand how we'd be able to survive without money *baffle* me#how do you think we did it *before* money?#How do you think literally every other species on the planet survives without money?#any ''rules'' are made up#humans invented them and we can fucking un-invent them too#I may be a Communist#we're not gonna get into it
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im so fucking tired of reading the insane nazi arguments ppl are using to go against lula. "oh you cant really draw a parallel between gaza and nazism bc its not really happening in the same way" who fucking cares abt the semantics u fucking sadist freak fuck. genocide wasnt invented by adolf hitler u waste of fucking air. what the fuck do u even want. so unless a country conducts a genocide exactly in the same shape and form as nazis did with jews (not only jews btw but who gives a fuck abt all the other groups that were and continued to be persecuted right???) we cant call it genocide?? we cant make comparisons to perhaps try abd make ppl comprehend the dimension of the devastation and atrocities in place??? do netanyahu and his gang need to have a funny mustache too?
many groups of ppl go through their own holocausts at the hands of the powerful. they did before and they did after 1945 germany. genocide is not an exclusive one-time event. the whole idea of "never again" is that NOBODY will go through ANY FORM of genocide again, not just the model of genocide that took place in 1945 germany
but the worst part is that Lula's declaration lacked one more parallel. not only is the destruction of palestine one of the most atrocious and evil crimes against humanity in recorded history, as it was when hitler started his crusade against the jews and other minorities, but it is also being ignored and/or supported by most of the international community, EXACTLY as it was in ww2
every world leader back then knew what was happening in germany and the immense majority of them either didnt care or actively supported it, exactly as it is now, and then when the soviets defeated nazism they took the credit and ran with it abd they've spent every moment since trying to erase from history the fact that they were also perpetrators in the holocaust. and theyll do this again if we let them. when the occupation ends and palestine is freed, which will soon happen, they'll try to steal the narrative, place themselves as white saviors, and in a couple of years they'll say they are the ones that can adequately dictate the language we can use around what happened in Palestine from 1948 onwards. they'll support another hitler, another netanyahu, more coups, more wars, more genocides, and then attack us when we draw parallels between their new crimes abd their old crimes, saying its offensive to compare any atrocity to gaza bc gaza was simply the worst ever
NEVER AGAIN NEEDS TO MEAN NEVER AGAIN IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM FOR NOBODY EVER EVER EVER AGAIN WHAT THE FUCK IS SO HARD TO GRASP
WHILE PPL ARE ATTACKING THE ONE WORLD LEADER THAT REPEATEDLY CALLS FOR PEACE IN EVERY SINGLE FUCKING WAR GOING ON RIGHT NOW, ZIONISTS JUST BOMBED ANOTHR REFUGEE CAMP AND ANOTHER UN AID TRUCK
WHILE PPL ARE WORRIED ABT LANGUAGE AND SEMANTICS 1 IN EVERY 100 PPL IN GAZA HAS BEEN MURDERED
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If you had God's powers for one hour, what would you do?
"I'm gonna need a list for this..." Satan says, snapping his fingers and summoning an imp scribe. He dips his quill, ready to record the Sin's nonsensical rantings and ravings.
"First thing I'd do with the Big Man's powers: teleport every Hellborn to Heaven while also simultaneously teleporting every Angel in Heaven to Hell, then slam the metaphysical door on them---no takebacksies, motherfuckers! Let's see how YOU like spending 300 millennia in the giant hole we dump our trash into!"
"Second thing I'd do with the Big Man's powers: restore the polar icecaps. This should be self-explanatory by now..."
"Third thing: ominously levitate over St. Peter's Basilica, then dab, turning all the water in Rome into goat's blood. That'll spook the shit outta the Christ-stans---especially those Catholics."
"Fourth thing: confiscate everybody's nuclear stockpiles. Mankind can't be trusted with the big boom-booms and they'll probably start launching them after I've successfully meme'd on the Church. Humans can have them back once they learn some responsibility."
"Fifth thing: switch the positions of the United States with Australia and New Zealand. Mexico and Canada get kangaroos while America sits in time-out. They know why..."
"Sixth thing: crash the stock market---by which, I mean, lift Wall Street, Silicon Valley and those other big corporate investment places off the ground and launch them at Earth's moon."
"Seventh thing: fill all those dry and draining lakes and seas back to their pre-industrial levels. This should also be self-explanatory."
"Eighth thing: bring back all those animal species that went extinct at any point after Year 0. Sorry, woolly mammoth fans, but it's just too warm for them now."
"Ninth thing: put all those invasive species causing trouble in foreign ecosystems back where they came from. This should explain itself."
"Tenth thing: give Jesús a whip and let him fucking go to town on all those assholes who somehow turned 'Love thy neighbor' into 'Hate everyone not exactly like you'---like he did to the money-changers that one time. He deserves it."
"Eleventh thing: bring my all-star team of historical figures back to life to un-fuck human society. Who these people are, I'll talk about later..."
"Twelfth thing: upgrade humanity. I'll go in detail about that later..."
"Thirteenth thing: invent the hyperdrive for humanity. You're welcome, NASA."
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Hello! S P O for the fandoms asks please!
OOH I LOVE THESE! Thank you so much for asking!
I'm on standby this week, so send me an ask and I'll answer it!
S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged).
I have a couple that I really like, that I don't think are too out of the realm of possibility. 1 is that I think TK is a BIG fan of classic movies. I'm talking Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant, Ava Gardner etc. movies and I like to think that he got that from his mom. Maybe they spent a lot of time watching things together. In a previous sneak preview of my WIP, I have TK quoting Casablanca as a tease. Not to give too much away, but one of their date nights in my fic involves them watching it together because Carlos hasn't seen it and TK takes that personally.
The other headcanon I have that I've probably seen somewhere is that Carlos is still a little shell shocked over his near death experiences (including when they broke up!). So every chance he gets he's always reminding himself that he's present and TK is okay when they are together. When they are watching something on the couch, Carlos is always holding TK or being held by TK in a way where he can always feel his heartbeat or pulse point. The latter of which helps keep him grounded, especially when his anxiety kicks in. Ugh they're so cute in this headcanon and it makes me jealous.
P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we aways need more ideas)
Buckle the fuck up folks, because I've been thinking about this one for a while.
One of my favorite shows of all time is The Expanse. It's a sci-fi show set several hundred years in the future where Humanity has colonized Earth, Mars, and the various other asteroid belts and moons. It's like part detective mystery, part political drama, part everything and its SOOO GOOOD. My friend told me to watch it because he thought I would really like it and I ended up binging the entire first season in one day, and then watching the entire show in like 2 weeks.
The AU I have is another sort of rivals to lovers/forbidden lovers type gambit where (and bear with me here, if you haven't seen the show you'll get a little confused). Carlos is the son of a prominent UN diplomatic family from Earth and is following his parents footsteps. TK on the other hand, is the son of a proud Martian Navy commander who doesn't really know what he wants to do. For some reason, the two of them end up having to work together to stop a nefarious plot to drive Earth and Mars to war. I don't have the idea for the particular story fully fleshed out but I really want a Tarlos fic set in Space so bad! A true Space Opera.
O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?
This maybe a cliché but Elvis' "Can't Help Falling in Love" is such a good Tarlos song IMHO. I think the idea of Carlos falling first, but TK falling harder has been talked about a bit, and the song reminds me of something like ignoring a cautionary tale about falling too hard. You can't help but fall in love with that person, and even if Season 1 TK was trying not to, it was inevitable. He couldn't help it.
Side-note: I think the version of that song from the Red White and Royal Blue movie and from Crazy Rich Asians are my favorite versions of all time. You should listen to them here if you haven't.
Red White and Royal Blue Version
Crazy Rich Asians Version
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“Texts on Post-Truth, Violence, Anger” by Dorian Sari: Review
I'm writing this review in French, because I have met Dorian and we spoke in French.
C'est un magnifique ouvrage sur la violence et la colère que le monde peut engendrer. Dorian est un artiste remarquable. J'aimerais avoir la possibilité d'être capable d'écrire comme lui, mais parfois / souvent, je n'ai pas envie de me rappeler des moments douloureux. Donc j'ai tendance à oublier tout simplement.
Bonsoir.
Addendum - 24.11.2022
I really liked his passage about Switzerland (page 48-49); it's so genuine. "The wall of silence and passivity." And the chapter, called "I sell Guns, and I call Myself Neutral" (page 56 to 73) and yes, the first political party in Switzerland is the extreme right one.
Honestly, my least favourite chapter was the one called "The future is genderless" (page 105 to 119) too long, too repetitive and maybe too excluding. The weakest chapter of the book. No enough people can relate to the problem.
It's weird that he used to call the women wearing all black scarf included "cockroach", because in my family we called them raven (aka les corbeaux/karga).
All he says about Erdogan and the AKP's party is true. They have killed the country forever, "Today nobody belongs to that country except Erdogan" (page 134).
Nice quotes:
- Page 36: "I have a hyperactive and depressive nature."
- Page 41: "But by experience, it has been proven that my escapes were only illusions."
- Page 50: "Thought is subversive, revolutionary, destructive, and fearful. Thought tramples against privilege, rigid tradition, and all pleasure habits. Thought is anarchic and illegal, never gives a fuck about authority. Thought considers those scared humans who pretend to be the ruler of the universe, like little black-holes surrounded with endless silence. Thought is gigantic, fast, and free. It is the light of the world and the biggest step one takes. I told them that we are the mind of the future. What we think, what we believe now, will be alive in the future."
- Page 69: "The art world that we want to romantically believe it may not really exist. There are humorless problems in the art world, as much as in any other field."
- Page 81: "When someone comes to an exhibition with an expectation or preconditioned mindset, it ends most of the time with deception."
- Page 89: "Shaping to love and manipulating to care."
- Page 91: "I was bombarded enough by a certain type of image, so as to fantasize life more than what I could invent by myself; with my own imagination."
- Page 92: "At that age, most movies were having a happy ending. They were telling me that if I dreamed and believed, then my dreams could come true."
- Page 93: "The absence of basic reality calls into question what the reality is and if it even exists."
- Page 94: "But we shouldn't forget that USA will always put the USA first."
- Page 100: "Patriarchy's main central body is made of domination and then violence. And money is the measurement for almost everything in this selfishness."
- Page 125: "with my polyamorous heartbreaks."
ps: I love the piece of art that comes with the book, nicely done.
#dorian sari#texts on post-truth#texts on post-truth violence#texts on post-truth violence anger#livre#book#book lover#bibliophile#book therapy#book addict#book community#book worm#goodreads
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Dream SMP Recap (June 24-25/2021) - Cow Quackity / S.U.S. Toll Company
After Quackity turns into a cow and Wilbur eats him on Bad’s chill stream, the two make a hit song together.
Later, George joins in and things become even more chaotic.
The next day, while working on “L’Wallburg” to compete with Bad’s apartment in the same area, Foolish has the idea to join forces with Bad instead of competing all the time. The two get together with Ponk to create their new tollbooth company:
Super Umbrella Scheme
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VOD LINKS:
Ponk
Foolish
BadBoyHalo
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Foolish
Captain Puffy
[Foolish’s second VOD was deleted]
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JUNE 24
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- Ponk, dressed up as Robin, notices Sam AFK by the bank. They try to get some Pillagers to attack Sam, but it doesn’t work
- Instead, Ponk pushes Sam into the spider spawner, then releases the spiders and watches Sam get eaten alive
- With Sam dead, Ponk puts his things in a chest and takes the Netherite set, leaving everything else. He goes to hide it
- Later, Ponk meets Foolish at the Community House as Robin and Batman. They go down into the basement to discuss. They may need new identities. Their crime-fighting days are over
- Ponk tells him that they are going to be Sherlock Holmes and Watson. That’s the extent of the report, so the two of them part ways
- Back at the valley, Ponk puts up a giant Foolsamponk picture and a photo of a rice cooker
- Bad and Wilbur log on. Bad notices a new structure built where the L’Sandburg tollgate used to be and wonders who’s behind it. Bad has been building up L’Sandburg’s walls in the meantime
- As Bad searches around for Wilbur in Las Nevadas, Quackity joins VC and gets a cow as a stand-in. Bad spots Wilbur nearby
- Bad tells Wilbur that the cow is Quackity and puts a leash on him, explaining that a witch turned him into one similar to how George was turned into a pig
- Wilbur asks where he can find food around here, and Bad tells him he can kill the cows in the pen. Bad tries to explain to Quackity how he is a cow. Wilbur asks Bad to tell Quackity that Wilbur wants to eat him
- Wilbur sets Quackity on fire, but Bad puts him out with water. Wilbur says Quackity looks tasty. Bad throws him bread and steak, but Wilbur refuses
Wilbur: not as succulent as him
- Bad leads Quackity over to the Eiffel Tower away from Wilbur. Wilbur opens Bad’s stream to find them
- Wilbur joins VC and Quackity asks if it’s true that Wilbur wants to eat him. They start discussing lactose intolerance
- Wilbur sets off TNT, then lights cow Quackity on fire. Bad is unable to save him and the Quackity cow drops a piece of steak. Wilbur asks for the meat
- Meanwhile, Quackity as a human has come over to Las Nevadas. They set off more TNT
- Wilbur holds a piece of steak and munches on it, telling Quackity that it’s his meat. Quackity asks how he tastes and Wilbur begins describing it in great detail
- Quackity asks him to describe the texture and Wilbur does, again, in great detail. (I'm not going to transcribe this)
- Wilbur then walks over to DogChamp, saying he would kill the dog for another bite. They quickly stop him. Wilbur tells Bad to get him more Quackity meat. He then turns to Quackity and tells him to turn into a cow so that Wilbur can cook him up and eat his meat
- Quackity goes over to the cow pen to be with the other cows so that he can become one and starts mooing
- Wilbur kills another cow. Quackity has taken off his clothes and continues mooing
- Wilbur takes the initiative to end the bit
- They swim over to Eret’s pyramid with Wilbur repeating everything Quackity says in an American accent. They discuss what animal Wilbur would be. Perhaps a sheep. Bad finds a cod in the ocean and decides on that
- They go up to Ponk’s base and look at the photos. They notice that Sam is crossed out in one of them but don’t know why
Quackity: “Do you wanna have sex in this room?”
- Bad goes to tell him “language” and Quackity scolds him for walking in on them. Wilbur considers it, then mines the floor out from under Quackity, who falls to his death
Quackity: “Is that a yes?”
Wilbur: “I like a man who can take kinetic energy.”
- Bad gets a crossbow. Quackity has an announcement: the wine stream is still happening!
- Quackity gets back to the pyramid and falls to his death again. While they retrieve his items, they chat about fan interactions
- Quackity wants to adopt the dog that played Beethoven in the Beethoven movie and Wilbur breaks the news to him that the dog is probably dead. Quackity doesn’t want Tom Arnold on a leash, and they find out that during the filming the filmmakers apparently used a “mechanical dog-dog suit”
- Wilbur explores the Beethoven fandom Wiki
- They talk about music they’ve been working on. Bad says if Quackity keeps swearing, he will “break out the hammer”
- Quackity shows his recent project. Wilbur says it’s “bloody-muffin-fucking great”
- Wilbur and Quackity work on the song together. The sound is...beyond words
- When they are finished, Quackity says that he thinks Wilbur is giving him too much credit, and he should instead be on the feature list. He wants Wilbur to have this song
- Wilbur declines, saying he would be honored if Quackity didn’t put Wilbur’s name on the song
- Quackity thinks Wilbur should feature it as a Lovejoy song. Wilbur has joined a new band to release the song called “Placeholder,” after which he will immediately disband the band
- Quackity tells him that the song is Wilbur’s baby and he really wants Wilbur to have it. Wilbur tells Quackity that he loves him and that Quackity should have the song. Quackity says he would die for Wilbur, and that Wilbur should have the song
- Wilbur says he will name his firstborn "Quackity,” and he thinks Quackity should have the song. Quackity says he will name all his future family members “Wilbur Soot” (pronounced ‘suit’)
- Wilbur then says he will kill endangered animals for Quackity
Bad: “That’s not something you should do!”
Wilbur: “I will do it for love.”
- Bad asks if he can have the song. Quackity doesn’t say his next bit aloud
- Wilbur understands that Quackity would do that, but he would physically drown for Quackity to have the song
- Quackity says that he will get an astrophysics license, fly a rocket into the moon to get in a national story so that when they find the notepad on his phone, Quackity’s one will would be for Wilbur to have the song and release it under his name without any credit to Quackity
- Wilbur understands this, but says that he would invent a Doomsday device the likes of which the world has never seen and will never see again with which he would hold the world hostage with one message: to tell the world that this song is written solely by Quackity
Wilbur: “That’s what I’d do for you.”
Quackity: “...Okay!”
Wilbur: “Cool, alright, now we’re settled. Hey, Bad, how’re you doing man.”
Bad: “Hi! I’m so perplexed.”
Wilbur: “I’ve got a Doomsday device to make.”
- Bad befriends a pig and names it George. He leads the pig and the red sheep away from Las Nevadas. They continue chatting for a while at the Punzo Chunk
- Later on, George, “master of lore,” joins in
- Bad shows them the heads he got from DreamXD and offers to trade Karl’s to get Ant’s, Sam’s and Puffy’s from Foolish. Wilbur asks how one gets heads, and Bad tells the story of DreamXD logging on
- Bad gives George his own head and George logs off. Bad offers Karl’s head and George returns, so Bad kills him and gets his head back. George drops a stack of nametags, a stack of TNT and a stack of levers
- Bad repeatedly murders George and sees a squid that flies
- George chases after Quackity trying to kill him with a bone. Quackity runs, setting everything on fire behind him. Bad follows and tries to put everything out. George eventually kills Quackity, then Bad kills George
- Bad accuses George of abusing his op powers to get Netherite armor as George chases him down
- Wilbur sings the Drake and Josh theme song in an American accent while George attempts to murder Bad in a pit
- George accuses Bad of turning the server off, but Bad says it’s a scheduled restart
- George kicks them from the server and un-whitelists them both
- Quackity gets back on and slays George
- The three of them continue to spar some more for fun
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JUNE 25
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- While Foolish works on building a room by the Punzo Chunk to compete with Bad’s, Bad logs on and drops by
- Bad tells him he’s building in Bad’s apartment. Foolish tells him he’s just making L’Wallburg
- Bad says he will charge Foolish rent to live here, but Foolish declines
- They argue back and forth about whose place it is as they work on the walls
- Foolish has the idea to join forces
Foolish: Bad what if we are landlords together
Bad: o_o
Foolish: we have been fighting for afar too long
Foolish: What if we put are talkents togerth
Bad: o_o
- Bad says he’s charging rent. Foolish asks what if he charges Bad rent. They argue about charging rent on each other
- Bad charges Foolish 850 diamonds. Foolish tells him that Bad has been on his property for five minutes, which means he must pay 9,000 diamonds
- Again, Foolish suggests they instead work together. Bad brings up the idea of taking over a central location like the community Nether portal that they can charge people for. Foolish likes the idea
- They work on the apartment some more and start bickering over who’s caused more problems in their rivalry. Foolish attempts to explain it metaphorically
Foolish: “There was once a shiny rock, okay? And this shiny rock was just trying to go to the ocean and have a good time and lay there in peace. But then, this crusty old seaweed came along to the seashore and just got up all in the shiny rock’s business. And then the shiny rock became a little more dull with the weight of death looming, Bad.”
- Bad takes offense to this and also claims that he made Foolish’s build much better by adding a tollgate to it
- They negotiate percentages of the profits and head off to the Nether portal. Foolish asks if Bad has a suit. Bad replies that not only does he look very dashing already, but the last time he wore a suit, he tried to kill a lot of people
- Foolish suggests they call it the Ratgate. They wall off the portal
- While visiting the summer home, Foolish finds out about the new building on the path. The two suspect a third party may be at play
- Foolish tells Bad about how they have a tollgate set up in Las Nevadas. Bad is offended that Foolish made him take down his tollgate but set one up elsewhere. They start arguing again over who had rightful claim to the path
- They admire their work on the new tollbooth. If people don’t pay the toll, they die
- They rehearse it. Foolish switches personas and becomes a L’manburg Llama who asks Bad where L’manburg is -- he heard they needed his help a few months ago
- Foolish critiques Bad’s performance, as Bad didn’t ask for the toll. Bad said he still got something out of it -- a nice compliment
- They rehearse it a second time, this time with Foolish as Palpatine. It ends with Bad attempting to kill him
- As they discuss how the second rehearsal went, Ponk logs on and walks through the portal while they’re distracted
- They go through after him to seek him down. If they let him get away, they would be the laughing stock of the tolling community. Foolish wonders if they’re dealing with Ponk or Robin
- They find her at the summer home. Ponk runs into his shack and they knock on the door
- Ponk comes out of the shack and they tell him that they’re vacuum salesmen. Once inside the shack, they confront him about the toll
- Ponk doesn’t buy their claims and they go back to the tollbooth. They tell them to pay with compliments
- Ponk retrieves a book from his Ender Chest and goes up one of the tollbooth towers to place a piece of TNT. He tells them that he has claimed the tower
- Ponk starts running, placing TNT all over while the two chase after to attack
- After “the Battle of the Nether Portal” subsides, Ponk gives them the compliments
Ponk: “Bad, is your nickname ‘Google?’ Because you’re all I’m searching for.”
...
Ponk: “Did you get your suit at Dollar General, Foolish?”
- Because Foolish takes some offense to this, Ponk throws him some Netherite ingots. Bad wants that compliment
- Ponk and Bad go up into Ponk’s tower to whisper amongst themselves. Ponk is going to record this and use it as part of the lore suit against Bad. Bad already has ten lawyers
- They go back down and Ponk tells Foolish that Bad said the toll doesn’t have to be paid. Bad is confused, and Foolish pulls Bad aside for a meeting behind a wall of TNT to whisper amongst themselves
- Foolish points out that they could use a third person for the tolling business, and Ponk’s the most trustworthy person Foolish knows
- They go back to Ponk with the business proposal. Foolish says if Ponk makes enough money, they’ll give Ponk a Supreme car at the end of the year
- Ponk becomes sad at this, because Bad destroyed the Supreme Fridge and that’s why Ponk is suing him and Puffy
- Bad says that Foolish allowed them to demolish it. Foolish quickly denies this, but Bad claims he has a written document signed by Foolish. Upset, Ponk asks if this is true. Bad says Puffy has it
- Ponk isn’t sure who to believe anymore
- After they spot Bad lurking beneath the rainbow, they hold him at knifepoint asking for his pot of gold
- Foolish suggests the three of them forget everything that’s happened and just run their tollbooth together. Ponk proposes they tear down Bad’s house instead
- As they explain a potential plot to toll everyone further, though, Ponk starts to come around to the idea. Foolish wonders if they should toll the prison. Bad says they should toll everything
- The next place they decide to toll is the Community House, and they start setting up gateways there. Foolish asks Bad who he would hypothetically be in an alternate Batman universe. Bad would be Alfred
- They decide on a name for their tollbooth company:
“Super Umbrella Scheme,” or S.U.S.
- They do another rehearsal at the Community House gate. It goes very well
- They go to the spider spawner. Bad has to leave, and Ponk speaks with Foolish one-on-one, leading him down the tunnel to the Eggpire cloak room to search through the chests. Foolish hesitantly peeks around the corner into the Egg Room...
- Ponk tells him they’ve got their next disguises as Watson and Holmes. Sam has mentioned that he’s missing a sword and wants to hire them to find it
- With that said, they say their goodbyes and leave
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Upcoming events remain the same.
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popping in to say i'm sorry to hear that and also your writing is so, so good. i get chills every time i read your work. got any excerpts or tidbits you'd like to share? anything you're especially proud of in past or current works?
wahh thank you so much anon! <3 <3
right now i'm kind of pleased over this little bit in the big bang fic - dean can't say "i love you" to cas, so instead, he asks him if he's ever been to the grand canyon.
Cas’s mouth tilts up sleepily, would be a smile if half of it wasn’t squashed against the pillow. He’d say it now, if he could, the thing that Cas deserves to hear, the thing Dean has never told anybody in his adult life.
Instead, he asks, “Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon?”
also i started writing this like 15k pwp (the plot is basically that dean and cas keep having sex in dreams, aka put up your dukes but not as good) but i feel like it'll be ages before i actually finish it so here are the first two scenes (mostly under the cut bc its like 1600 words lmao):
The few times Castiel has been put under by a djinn, he hasn’t felt particularly disturbed by it. Dean flinches when djinn are mentioned. Sam is deeply distressed when the possibility of unreality is discussed. But Castiel is not so committed to this distinction as the Winchesters are.
Yes, undoubtedly, there are things that are real, and things that are, well, unreal. He likes the prefix un-. It implies a sense of reversal; undoing. Something is real, and then made fiction. Fiction, of the Latin fingo: to make. To invent. To create.
Things are, or they are not. If they are not, then they’re nothing — unless they’re something, in which case, they are. So on and so forth. This is to say, a djinn dream must be as real as Dean’s smile: both created and natural at once. Nature, creation, it is. I am that I am. We are.
This must surely be why Castiel is satisfied with being, when it comes to his love for Dean. Isn’t it enough to create? To speak, and to therefore move from nothing to something? From unformed feeling to articulated truth, Castiel has heaved himself down to Earth from out of the sun more times than he can remember. Dean is his lodestone, and Castiel dreams of him often. It is enough.
Sam’s the one to ask him, in the end. Castiel supposes that makes sense. Dean’s always aimed his comfort at Castiel’s shoulders and his stomach, offering back pats and warm meals, as if even his hands can’t meet Castiel’s gaze.
Sam invites Castiel out to the roof of the bunker to look at the sunset, while Dean is out buying supplies for his tune-ups from the 24 hour mechanic shop he likes to visit when the usual customers aren’t around. Castiel knows this because Dean once told him, once said that he liked to go when the guys were just “shootin’ the shit,” so to speak, liked to roll up with Baby and have them look her over and tell him he’s done a good job. Castiel knows he likes the camaraderie of it, likes having men touch his shoulders and slap his ass the way men do, the way Castiel does not.
So Castiel and Sam are on the roof. “It’s beautiful,” Castiel says.
“It’s real,” Sam says, as if in reply.
“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “It’s that, too.”
Sam sighs. His cheek twitches, and he looks at Castiel. His body is so big— that’s what Castiel thinks, whenever he looks at Sam Winchester. So much goodness, in that broad and wiry body— how could anyone beat him down? Castiel’s heart clenches with love for his brother, because that’s what Sam is to him. “You know— you know this is real, right?” Sam asks. “You know it’s not— you’re not— you’re not in the djinn— in the dream anymore.”
“I know.” Perhaps it’s some angelic power, which makes Castiel so certain of his place. “I know where I am.”
“Good. That’s good.” Sam sits back in his chair, then. “Do you— do you wanna talk about what you saw?”
It’s kind of Sam to phrase it that way. Dean would’ve asked him directly. He would’ve said, What did you see? And Castiel would’ve had to tell him.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t ask. In any case, Castiel says, “I’m happy to tell you if you’re curious.”
Sam huffs out a laugh. “Damn,” he says, “you’re well-adjusted.”
Castiel smiles, too. “I don’t have much to hide from you, Sam,” he says. And he thinks of Dean, who surely must know— who must feel the weight of Castiel’s desire every day. Dean sees how careful Castiel is. He sees Castiel’s hesitance to touch him, sees Castiel’s eyes shining when Dean makes dinner for him, and knows the depth of Castiel’s feeling. The depth of Castiel’s feeling drives Dean to the 24 hour mechanic shop whose men can give Dean what Castiel can’t.
But Dean comes home to Castiel, too.
“Okay,” Sam says, “sure. If you’re really okay with it, then yeah, I’d— I’d love to know what an angel dreams about.”
Castiel wonders how to say it. “We had a house,” Castiel starts, “me and Dean.”
It was a small house. Castiel remembers that vividly. It was tall enough to feel comfortable, but with only a single floor. Two bedrooms— their room, and a guest room. Roof access. It was the kind of house where you could bump shoulders with someone in the kitchen easily, the kind of house that built intimacy. Castiel remembers Dean standing in the back door with his coffee, face turned up to the sun, as he did every morning. He was so beautiful. He’d had a smile on his face, an easy and gentle smile. He’d taken a sip of his coffee, and said, glad we started shellin’ out for the good stuff, Cas, because he knew Castiel was behind him. After so long together, Dean could trust that Castiel would always want to watch him in the morning sunlight, freckles coming in across the bridge of his nose. Some days, Castiel would kiss his shoulder, and say, You are who I cherish most in my life. Do you know that? and every time, Dean would say, Yes, sweetheart. I know.
“We were so happy,” Castiel whispers. It’s all he can think to say. He looks at the sunset. Dean will come home in an hour with new parts for the ‘58 in the garage and a spring in his step, and Castiel will say, Welcome home, Dean, and Dean will say, Thanks, man. They will sleep in separate rooms. Dean has no need for the kind of love Castiel dreams of. Dean is already as happy as he will ever be. In his own way, in the way Dean has outlined with his words and his body, Dean has delineated what it is that he wants and what it is he finds unnecessary. Castiel is honored to fit almost entirely into what Dean wants. The only thing he wishes is that he could jettison the remains.
“Did you— did you know you were in a dream?”
“The whole time.”
“And you—” Sam cuts himself off. “Jesus. That’s— wow. Did it, uh… I mean, what did you feel?”
Castiel considers the question. “I think a better way to phrase it is that I knew it… I knew it wasn’t material. That what I was experiencing was a construction. But it’s not… that distinction isn’t meaningful to me, the way it likely is to humans.”
“No shit,” Sam barks, too aggressive to be a laugh. Castiel looks at him. He’s hunched over, knee wiggling. “It’s— it’s important to me to— to— to know what’s real. That means something to me. Being certain about what the truth is.”
“I understand.”
“But I can’t know,” Sam says, and he looks at Castiel. Half-chuckling still, he says, “I think about it every day, but I can’t know. And you do know, but you don’t care. How fucked is that?”
Castiel’s mouth twitches, but he isn’t happy. He knows Sam isn’t either. “I wish I could give you my certainty,” he says, and Sam looks away. “All I can say is that you are real. I see you. I sense you, in all ways.”
Sam nods. He breathes, deeply, and asks, “Do you miss it?”
Castiel doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Does he miss his house with Dean, the warm sunlight through the bay windows, the way Dean’s hands would slide over Castiel’s thighs in the front of the Impala? “No,” he says, because he thinks also of Dean’s bunker kitchen chili, and his unfettered delight at cowboy movies. “No, I don’t think so. Once — you remember, with God — once Dean asked me what about all this was real.”
“Yeah. I had the same question.”
“I told him we are.”
Sam exhales. “Oh.”
“Maybe that’s why it doesn’t matter to me,” Castiel realizes. “I know that Dean and I are real, that our friendship is— is a truth which has shaped our paths, in all ways. Whether it’s a djinn dream or a material place, I know the truth.”
Sam nods, considers it. Eventually, he asks, “What made you wake up?”
“I tried the moment I first realized,” Castiel says. “And again, a few— what I perceived as a few weeks later. That was when you found me. The first time I was too weak to escape on my own, and the djinn captured me again.”
“Shit, Cas,” Sam breathes. “You— you— you did it twice?”
“I’ve killed more often for less,” Castiel says. “Killing myself was easy.”
Sam doesn’t ask. Perhaps they’ve all tallied each other’s body counts. Castiel wonders if Sam keeps a list of all the people Castiel has killed.
Instead, Sam says, “Well. Here’s a— okay. The distinction between dreams and real life doesn’t matter to you. I get that. My question is, is it right to say that the material world has— that it’s primary, I guess?”
It’s interesting, to attempt to apply dialectical materialism to an angel. But perhaps faithful to God’s original purpose. “You’ve seen Heaven,” Castiel says, working it out as he says it. “It’s nothing but memories. Consciousness. You’ve seen Hell, too.”
“Yeah.”
“The only way to describe these places is through metaphor. A hallway. A cage. Ripping, tearing. I think that tells us that Earth is where true creation happens. No matter what Chuck says or does, you create your own destiny. Here.”
“Shit.” Sam shakes his head. The sun has gone down; now, Sam and Castiel are accompanied by twilight mosquitoes, by stars coming in up above. “We make our own choices, huh.”
“We have to.” That’s perhaps what was wrong with the djinn dream, the reason why Castiel couldn’t stay there. It had nothing to do with whether it was real or not. It was about choice. That Dean in that back doorway of that sunlit house must have had no choice — because this Dean, his Dean, would’ve chosen otherwise.
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2020-2021 Animation Watch(ed)list
I haven’t posted about animation in a while that I remember, and I know a lot of my followers are into it as much as me so I decided to make a list of the animated movies and series I watched on the past year or so, coupled with my short, spoilerless take on them. Enjoy!
Organized by
Things I saw for the first time
Things I rewatched
Under a cut for the sake of your dashboards! PS: I have not added any images yet. If you are interested in knowing more about the visuals of these movies, I might make an old fashion ask-prompted imageset list.
Part One: Things I saw for the first time
The Bear’s Famous Invasion of Sicily
Movie, 2019, Italian/French
9/10, a delightful little movie with amazing visuals. It feels like an animated picture book.
One of those “plot is in the title” media! I had never heard of this before but was heavily recommended it by my family members, who all loved it! It’s a sweet story, nothing groundbreaking but the unique colorful visual style alone makes it worth it.
The Castle of Cagliostro
Movie, 1979, Japanese
10/10. Reminded me of all the books i loved reading as a child
I assume its because it’s so old and the art style and themes are so different that it gets little to no love compared to other Ghibli movies, which is a shame! It’s fun with an endearing cast and as always, great animation and music
Mushishi
Series, 2006, Japanese
10/10 three episodes in I knew it was going to be my favorite series ever
One of the few things I’ve seen I’ll describe as life-changing. It’s absolutely lovely but never toots its own horn about it. Humble, calming, emotional and surprisingly mature. It’s pretty impossible to binge due to how intense the experience is. I just want to walk in the forest now...
FMA: Brotherhood
Series, 2009, Japanese
6/10 Dissapointing adaptation of a classic story
I read the manga for this when I was in middle school and remembered loving it. The animated version does an ok job of presenting the characters and worldbuilding and has some nice action scenes but overall looks really damn cheap and just. Not very good. Seeing I already knew most of the plot I did not have the element of discovery that made me marvel so much reading the original. It’s still a nice series but I really recommend reading it instead.
Code Lyoko (s1+2)
Series, 2003, french
3/10. 1.5 being for the opening song alone
This show sucks ass if I hadn’t been watching this with my bestie I would have dropped it two episodes in. The art style is ugly the stories are always the same and the first season has a (later removed thank fucking god) LITERAL “erase any consequences” button as a plot device in every episode. If you watch it for one thing let it be the nostalgia factor of early 00s Vidya Game Plot
The Legend of Hei
Movie, 2019, Chinese
7/10. Impressive visuals and a poor story
I finally watched this, peer pressured by the load of gifsets on my dashboard! It’s a sweet movie with really impressive animation, sometimes a bit too flashy for my taste (the action sequences go so ham they become not very readable...) but the story was just ok? The setting is barely explained and you are instead bombarded with vague epicspeech about powers and stuff that made me fondly remember Kingdom Hearts lol but that asides it’s a really good time! I need to watch more Chinese movies the few I know are just delightfully off the shits in how they approach action and I love that
Hunter x Hunter
Series, 1999, Japanese
9/10. Superior to the recent one!
I first got introduced to the series via the 2011 one. Comparatively, the 99 series focuses way less on action and way more on the characters, which I love because that fits my personal preferences! Despite mediocre filler episodes and some weird slight pointless plot changes, what it changes from the original manga doesn’t have much of an impact on the characters. The animation quality isn’t always consistent including a huge art style change for an arc (???) but it’s overall pretty nice. The series really shines in the last arc it adapts.
Oban Star-racers
Series, 2006, Japanese/french
9/10 a lovely surprise
This series is completly obscure despite having been created by people famous for their other series (Cowboy Bebop, Code Lyoko that i can name) and it’s a crime! It’s a kids show but without being stupid about it who tells the story of an inter-planetary race. If you liked that one scene in the star wars prequels you know what I mean. It’s got surprisingly nice animation for a TV series, and some truly great character design. The art style is a bit unique in a not for everyone sense, but I didn’t mind it much. It’s also THE most offensively 2000s series i’ve seen in terms of visuals. y2k kids assemble
The Little Prince and the Eight-Headed Dragon
Movie, 1963, japanese
8/10. Classic fairytale format with incredible visuals
Watched this for the art style because I know it inspired Samurai Jack, and it delievered! I dont’ have much to say about this one, it’s a very simply film but it’s sweet. For my pirates out there if you want to find it in good quality with english subtitles it’s VERY hard to find. If you just want to see the looks of it, it’s on Youtube with portugese subs.
We now enter the Gobelins Shorts Zone....!
My Friend Who Glows In The Dark
10/10 makes me cry each time
Pure delight...great animation writing everything. A little short about death and friendship but not in the way you imagine!
Colza
9/10
Visual treat...homely and nice :) not far from a 10 but a 9 because nothing about it is that groundbreaking
Sundown
9/10
If you’ve ever been ten minutes from failing a group project because of a single dude you will REALLY enjoy this. Loved the colors and personality
T’as vendu mes rollers?
10/10
It’s SUCH a sweet little short I loved that one so much
Dix-huit kilomètres trois
10/10
Surprisingly well written dialog. Visuals are great but the humanity of the characters carries this to another level
Un diable dans la poche
9/10
Amazing visuals and the most tense/creepy of Gobelin shorts i’ve ever seen. Chilling
La bestia
8/10
I had some issues with the pacing. Interesting story and visuals choices but I was not fond of the art style
Goodbye Robin
5/10
Confusing but predictable. Both at once??? Yes!
Le retour des vagues
6/10
Cool animation stuff but felt pretty pointless
***
Part Two: Things I rewatched
Ruben Brandt: Collector
Movie, 2018, Hungarian
10/10. Underrated as hell
Watched this fully blind for the first time in an animated festival and rewatched it with friends. It’s a crime I never see anyone talking about it given the amount of whining I see about the lack of both adult animation and 2D movies? This film is a unique love letter to art in the form of a weird mix of charming crime story and psychological horror with amazing visuals. I recommend watching it blind and also buying it to show appreciation for how nice it is!!! WATCH THIS MOVIE...
Mononoke
Series, 2007, Japanese
10/10 Visual/storytelling masterpiece in the weird shit departement
If you can stomach intense stuff watch this. The visuals are incredibly unique and beautiful and under the jewel tones and art direction high takes it’s a really cool horror series. My only obstacle to enjoying it the first time I saw it was how dense it is - simply put, it’s so...culturally Japanese it’s not very accessible to me who doesn’t know anything about the culture? Watching it for the second time helped understanding the stories more!
Corto Maltese in Siberia
Movie, 2002, french
9/10 but really close to ten. A great adaptation!
I’m a huge fan of the original comic so I entered this a biiiittttt suspicious it would suck but it was a really pleasant surprise! It has all the wonder and charm of the original and the animation was surprisingly good for the little budget. If you’re not familiar with the series, it’s a sort of geopolitical action/adventure movie but with it’s own really poetic vibe to it. It’s almost impossible to find online but happens to be fully on YouTube so go ham I guess?
Redline
Movie, 2009, Japanese
10/10 cinema was invented for this, actually
Every review of this movie i’ve seen gives it five stars and starts by talking about how immensly stupid it is. I’m no different. It’s a masterpiece of escalating energy with the depth of a puddle and it fucking rules. It’s free on YouTube too so there really is no excuse to not watch it. Watched it for the first time on a huge cinema screen and despite this my second rewatch on my small laptop was as/even more enjoyable. If you watch this stoned with friends you might travel to another dimension
Spirited Away
Movie, 2001, Japan
10/10 deserves the love it gets
I watched this a single time as a kid and had little memory of it! I mean it’s Ghibli you know it’s going to be good as hell but this one rly shines in how colorful and detailed it is and in it’s world! It made me remember I had a huge crush on the dragonboy as a kid. I’m gay now
Kung-fu Panda (1&2)
Movie, Usa
10/10. KFP fucking rules
Honestly my favorite franchise of the whole disney/dreamworks/pixar hydra. It’s fun as hell, doesn’t skip a single beat and has amazing animation and character designs. If something is a good time I will not care if it’s deep or not and boy I fucking love these movies
Sinbad, Legend of the Seven Seas
Movie, 2003, Usa
5/10 Some great some really bad and overall generic
I tend to hate american cinema and this includes that era of animation I have no nostalgia for. Sinbad is in a weird place because I love adventure stories and the visuals of the movie absolutely deliver but it’s very predictable and TANKED by the addition of the female character, pushed in your face as “look we have woman!!!” despite her writing being misogynistic as hell lol. The evil goddess rules tho. This movie would have been a solid 9 if instead of the girl the two dudes had kissed
#j#animation#if you want links to these ill provide but not for the indie ones that arent free#i have no remorse p*rating disney or a movie thats over 50 but if its recent and underrated just legally get it!!!
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pinky and the brain - s1e6: brainania
i’m running on like the barest dregs of energy let’s fucking do this leeroy jenkins
episode summary: brain needs to build a Very Big Tumbly Drier. he needs a lot of money to build a Very Big Tumbly Drier. he decides the best way to do this is to.... invent a country and scam the us out of a foreign aid cheque.
hm.
the rundown:
it’s acme labs!
there it is.
as we zoom in a little, we hear pinky laughing maniacally at the very mention of tom ruegger, while a couple of women are dead on the floor.
hm.
SPEAK TO ME, PHYLLIS, SPEAK. as it turns out, things aren’t quite as dire as previously thought, as pinky affirms that brain looks “simply fetching.”
narf.
“these are the only garments i could obtain. and besides, you are no helen of troy yourself.”
ignoring the fact that he chose to wear the hat and the gloves as well, brain moves onto explaining his latest plan--
but not before giving pinky a static-y poke for his crimes.
“to generate global static cling, we shall construct a massive clothes dryer.”
BEHOLD.
THE TITANOCYCLE FOUR THOUSAND, WITH THREE SPEEDS AND AUTOMATIC WRINKLEGUARD. this will surely allow brain to.... trap everyone in their clothes via static cling and. uh. allow him to seize power...... somehow......... by putting everyone in a really big tumbledryer?????
it costs fourteen billion dollars.
“oh, i have it!”
“we build a huge tooth, leave it under a huge pillow, and then fairies will leave us lots of money!”
brain tells pinky to stop eating paint chips. it’s a well deserved response to pinky’s insane, bullshit idea, not nearly as dignified and scientific as Everyone Goes In The Big Tumbly Dryer By Brain Age Two And A Half.
as he heads off to ponder an Equally Sensible idea to get a lot of money, pinky assures brain that he will not “be a bother.”
“brain.”
“if i ate a hundred jelly rolls, would i explode?”
i don’t know why pinky is sticking his ass out. maybe that’s where the jelly rolls go, in the sense that whenever i used to eat cakes around my dad he’d often say something like “a minute on the lips is a lifetime on the hips”. (also? pinky is british, so what he actually means is jelly rolls, and that sounds disgusting.)
so anyway brain gives him a piece of paper and tells him to try origami.
BUT WAIT.
“pinky! are you pondering what i’m pondering?” “i think so brain, but why the bitch stacey foreign aid office is giving chad all the money while i’ve always been a nice guy and showed her a basic level of human respect is beyond me. narf.”
no i’m sorry. he didn’t say that. pinky respects women. also apologies to the residents of the actual country of chad. big ups to all of you. lol. (he actually says “but pantyhose are so uncomfortable in the summertime”, which is wild, considering this episode was aired in november.)
brain doesn’t want to wear the pantyhose.
well, maybe he does, but not right now. instead, he suggests that they form a bogus nation and demand reparations from the united states, which is, of course, easier, saner, and far less work than Really Big Tooth. as he folds the Chad Newspaper into a vague key shape (the Virgin Tabloid never had a chance) pinky points out that, uh
you can’t just invent a country, brain. “won’t people know we’re not a real country?”
“the average american’s grasp of geography is pitiful. they’ll think we’re part of the former soviet union.”
“or canada.”
so they pick a random, tiny island on the label of a Science Chemical and set off on the boat to Being A Coloniser Town.
a long sea voyage awaits us! and at the end, we shall found a nation! and that nation shall be called!
BRAINANIA.
“can’t we call it pinkyland? or eric?”
“don’t vex me, pinky, or i shall turn on you.”
so they get on the S.S FATTY LUMPKIN and bugger off to Island X.
“i haven’t seen anybody yet, brain. i guess we’re alone here.”
“excellent, pinky. it’s time to flesh out the terrain.”
“that volcano will be mount brain.”*
“this clearing will be brain flats,”
“and that water over there--”
“very well.”
“the fjord of pinky.”
and they hoist their adorable, homemade flag, while pinky doots them a little themetune.
(*perhaps when they’re not in the middle of the jungle.)
how lovely!
less lovely.
significantly less lovely. still, it got brain to make the little O:O face, so it’s not all bad.
as the mice are scooped up onto a sphere and presented in front of this presumably-maori gentleman, brain decides to put his White Gay From Los Angeles skills to the test, and reassures pinky that he will communicate with them in the Primitive Argot Of The South Seas.
ME NUMBER ONE FELLA. OTHER FELLA NUMBER TEN. CATCHY ALL SAME SAME. YOU SAVVY?
“good day, mate. d’you speak english?”
hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
anyway apparently this has happened often enough that these guys learnt english. from all the times it happened. and then they ate the guy they learnt english from and shrunk his head, but to be honest, i don’t blame them.
this is alan. “hello, alan.” says pinky.
“i would be pinky! and this is prime minister brain.”
“who is IN CHARGE OF THIS ISLAND AND EVERYTHING YOU SEEEE.”
“narf.”
sneaky bastard knows what he’s doing.
alan isn’t too happy with that, because the island belongs to the volcano god, whanganui,
WHO PROTECTS US FROM EVIL AND HAAARM AND WHAT ALL ELSE.
(i can find no evidence that whanganui is actually a god, as opposed to just A Bit Of New Zealand. if they are, i’m more than happy to go back and edit this as would be religiously considerate.)
this is the face of a man who knows he has fucked up.
still, brain decides yet again that his pride comes before any kind of rational decision, so he decides to tell them that whanganui sent him to the island to rule over them,
as proven by his fire powers.
(ETA: i missed this last time. why is brain carrying a lighter around? that episode isn’t for a good few more seasons yet.)
alan is unimpressed.
I CAN TRAP YOUR SOULS INSIDE THIS GLASS
“i can make bubbles with my spit!”
apparently this is a real talent on the island. who’d have thought. (they do not believe it to be a sign of god. it’s just really cool.)
so brain gets a hand building brainania.
it has everything one could possibly need.
actually pretty much as soon as the airport and the gift shop are built, brain heads to washington, so evidently he holds the strong opinion that this is everything a country could possibly need. odd. still, maybe he plans on adding stuff once he becomes world ruler, or whatever.
so with that established, The Most Exalted ned limpopo gets out of the car. hassan lembeck is also here. he is attempting to make an origami bird out of a newspaper.
no bird for you, mr lembeck. no bird for you.
they wander off to go and see mr bisck, who is currently playing with a little toy plane.
he reacts to the news that the prime minister of brainania is here to see him with “oh great, more moochers,”
and does not seem to take kindly to having tiny mice on his desk, even if they are reasonably exalted.
though a quick database search tells him said mice have no record of financial trouble, or, indeed, a credit rating, so. he tells them to go away.
“go away.”
okay. hassan doesn’t take this well.
as Exalted Ned Limpopo gently tries to persuade mr bisck that he could “harm negotations” between brainania and the us (a lot more politely than he usually explains things to people, may i add) hassan chimes in with a haven’t you people ever heard of bold claim that brainania, if slighted, will INVADE YOUR LANDS
GO BOOM BOOM BOOM
AND MAKE YOU ALL OUR PATHETIC SLAAAAAAAAAAAAVES.
mr bisck does not like this idea, it seems.
as he rushes off to tell the UN, brain informs pinky that he has
“just created an international incident.”
“oh, thank you, brain.”
“in the words of the immortal yogi bear, this is dejavu all over again.”
so the boys turn up on PUNCHLINE, WITH FRED FLUBBLE.
there he is. “perhaps you gentlemen would care to climb up on the desk?”
they make it, just about.
and sing a fun little song about brainania’s war victories, i guess.
WE WILL FIGHT AND NEVER QUIT
FIND ME A ROOFTOP AND I WILL SPIT. NARF
this is not well recieved by the us military.
unfortunately, as the US press secretary points out, the us cannot go to war with a country it can’t find,
(wuss.)
so instead the mice are invited to dinner at the white house.
“in a few short hours, pinky, we shall have our foreign aid loan, and then the world!”
“birdy birdy birdy! narf!”
“i sense much of this historic moment is lost on you.”
at the white house, a very bored looking individual introduces The Most Exalted Ned Limpopo (feat. hassan lembeck), and bill clinton shakes his hand.
“me number one fella. other fellas number ten. catchy all same same. you savvy?”
“i speak fluent english.”
“eyyyy. haha. sure you do.”
“all brainania ever wanted from the US was friendship. friendship, and fourteen billion dollars and fifty nine cents. the friendship i will treasure. the money i will spend on polo ponies and cruise missiles.”
brain has a brief discussion with hilary clinton over the advantages of strontium ninety versus uranium two-thirty-eight,
bill clinton pulls this face and tells them it Sounds Smart,
and the mice bounce merrily back to mr bisck to get their foreign aid check.
“you better not lose it, buster!!! i just erased your records!! you won’t get another one from me!!!!”
HA.
“one should be enough. thanks and farewell, “
“you niggling bureaucrat.”
conclusion:
upon returning back to brainania, The Most Exalted Ned Limpopo finds a letter from alan addressed to him. it’s also mouse sized, which is adorable. apparently, whanganui,
WHO PROTECTS US FROM EVIL AND WHAT ALL ELSE
is “blinking mad”, and the volcano is going to explode.
brain, obviously, does not believe in whanganui, and is mostly just mad that he’s lost his workforce. still, as pinky points out,
“at least we've still got brainania!”
“i sense life has taken another sardonic twist.”
still, they do, barely, have enough time to reach the shoreline and start swimming away from the imminently exploding volcano. perhaps it should have been, yknow, a pretty decent sign that the natives cleared out. historically, people who live in these places tend to know about them, but what of that when brain is number one guy same same you savvy.
🙄
anyway the karmatic response to all of that previous racism is that a tidal wave sweeps them back onto the volcano,
which then blasts them into space.
(okay not literally space. but they do end up on a little raft in the middle of the ocean. don’t ask me where the raft came from. i have no idea.)
oof.
“mother nature has slammed her unmerciful fist on our fair isle, pinky.”
“do you know what this means?”
“birdy birdy birdy!!!!”
brain does not appreciate Birdy Birdy Birdy.
“blast it, pinky!”
“i said, do you know what this means!!”
“it means you just ripped up our foreign aid cheque.”
one should be enough, huh?
brain: 7
pinky: 7
outside influence: 13
like, i don’t know. maybe pinky shouldn’t have been making oragami birds out of the foreign aid cheque. but, while silly, it’s not like it did any harm. brain.... brain just needs to chill.
“well, aren’t you the tiniest foreigners i’ve had in here all morning. i’m mr appleby, can i help you?”
“yes. we would like to have relations with you. and steal some milk duds.”
“we wish to establish diplomatic relations with the us. i am the prime minister, and this is my minister of finance.”
“brainania--? oh, i remember you. you used to be a.... suburb of prague.”
“can you prove you’re a nation?”
“yes! we have postcards.”
“that’s the fjord of pinky.”
“you foreign folk sure have your own.... queer little ways.”
#patb#pinky and the brain#i did not like this episose much but. i suppose it was like thirty years ago#bizarrely it's actually more respectful to the natives than a lot of cartoons at the time were which is#even worse actually.
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One Monstrous Miracle (Part Four)
Hey guys! I’d meant to get this out earlier today, but I’d also meant for it to be about 3,000 words shorter, so there we are. As always, give this chapter a cheeky little vibe check, and let me know if you find any mistakes! I love you all, enjoy, all those good things. Yay, melatonin! (Pssst! Also, if you’d rather read on Ao3 instead, here it is).
Previous-Next-First
Pairing: Aziraphale/Human!reader
Summary: Tender ANGST. Very angsty, might make you cry, i dunno.
Warnings: Aziraphale says a word that Microsoft Word told me may offend my readers, but other than that, I think we’re good. Let me know if I missed something!
Word Count: A WHOPPING 5295!! They’re getting loooooooonger.
This day, like many days, started off deceptively the same as always. Aziraphale had gotten up on the right side of the bed, the weather was not particularly noteworthy, and there was no string of minor accidents that would lead anyone to believe that this was going to be a Very Bad Day Indeed. Nevertheless, unbeknownst to most parties involved, this day was, in fact, going to be a Very Bad Day Indeed, possibly even The Worst Day Ever.
Aziraphale had been feeling happier than he could remember ever having been in his whole life. After you had shown up in his shop after weeks of not speaking to him, the two of you had spent very little time apart. You had resumed your habit of stopping by after work, much to Aziraphale’s great relief. He had missed you dearly, and he was enormously grateful that you had found it in your heart to forgive him. He shuddered when he thought of that night, remembering how terrified you had looked. Aziraphale had truly never felt quite as angry as he had when Crowley had insulted you, and it brought him right back to his younger days as a fiery agent of the Lord, smiting all who dared to cross Her. He had locked that part of him away, and until that fight with Crowley, he had all but forgotten about it. He’d decided very firmly that you would never again see him like that.
Today, Crowley had demanded that Aziraphale come over to his flat to make what he called an “Apocalypse Plan”. Things were getting rather sticky lately, and their search for the true Antichrist seemed fruitless. It was time, Crowley said, to bring out the “big guns”. What those guns were Aziraphale had no idea, but he could only hope that it wasn’t anything too drastic. He had just bought his new coat, after all. He’d made a quick call to you before closing his shop and heading over to Crowley’s.
“I’m terribly sorry my dear, but I’m afraid I don’t know when I’ll be home. Crowley is rather—”
“Difficult. I know, Azi, it’s okay. Take your time.”
Warmth bloomed over Aziraphale, and he couldn’t help the tender smile that worked its way across his face. You were so full of understanding, something that he’d had precious few encounters with during his time on Earth. As much as he loved humans and all their little quirks and flaws, it sometimes bothered him that for most of his life, he had been completely alone. Sure, there was Crowley, and he was absolutely infuriating but somehow endearing, but he was a demon, after all. There were fundamental things that they just would never understand about each other, no matter how long they’d been friends. You were different. You accepted Aziraphale, never questioning him or teasing him (of course you teased him, but never about his weight, or his obsession with books, or how the noises he made when eating sushi) or making him feel the way that the other angels invariably did. It was one of the many reasons he’d found he loved you for.
“Thank you, Y/N. I will call you if I get back earlier than I expect.”
“Thanks, Aziraphale. Have fun with Crowley! Give him my love.”
That was another thing. Aziraphale had been terrified that after such a disastrous first meeting, you would hate Crowley. Somehow, the exact opposite had happened, and after the two of you had gotten used to each other’s presence, you’d become fast friends. Aziraphale hadn’t realized how close the two of you had gotten until Crowley had yanked him into the back room of his shop one night and given him the sternest dressing-down the demon could probably muster, and promised that Aziraphale would regret ever having been created if he hurt you again. “Aren’t you meant to be on my side, dear boy?” Aziraphale had asked bemusedly, feeling very wrongfooted. “Oh, I am. I’ve already talked to her, she’s good. I just need to make sure that you don’t fuck this up, Angel.” Aziraphale had, through his tears, assured him that he had no intention of intentionally hurting you as long as you would have him (as a friend, of course).
“I will. See you soon, my dear.”
“See you. Bye!”
Aziraphale hung up, already missing the sound of your voice. He shut the lights off and headed out of the shop, locking the door behind him. Although he was a celestial being, and most definitely could make himself appear at Crowley’s door with little more than a thought, he found he enjoyed taking public transport. It was blessedly slower than riding in Crowley’s car, and it allowed him time to sit and watch the people around him. Aziraphale found himself strangely emotional as he looked around him at all the advances humans had made over the thousands of years he had walked among them. All the subtleties, the headphones in a young man’s ears, a little girl reading a book half the size of her head, a woman applying hand sanitizer. All these things made his heart ache with admiration. Yes, despite all the atrocities that humanity had perpetuated, Aziraphale knew that the vast majority of them were worth saving. He shifted in his seat, waiting for his stop.
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Aziraphale hadn’t expected the absolute destruction that awaited him when Crowley opened his door twenty minutes later. Papers were littered everywhere, plastered on the wall, hanging from bits of string from the ceiling, and covering nearly every surface in the flat, including much of the floor. Aziraphale tilted his head, surveying the inexplicable damage.
“Are you…quite alright, dear boy?” Aziraphale inquired as Crowley shut the door behind him. Crowley came to stand beside him, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to look his friend over.
Crowley had always been obsessed with his appearance, even in the early days when self-grooming hadn’t quite been invented yet. Crowley was even worse than Aziraphale himself was at times, which was truly frightening. Today, however, seemed to be rather a large exception to the rule. Not one item on the demon’s body matched, even down to his feet, the left of which sported a thick, woolly sock, while the other was covered with bright green fabric with miniature snakes all over. “At least he’s wearing trousers,” Aziraphale thought gratefully. Crowley turned his wild and un-sunglassed eyes towards Aziraphale, and he quickly retracted his gratefulness. The day was not over yet.
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m perfectly fine, nothing to worry about. Shall we sit?”
Aziraphale stared, feeling the gears turning almost painfully in his head. What on Earth had happened to Crowley? He had never acted this way, even during the chaos of the witch trials of the 16th and 17th centuries. He seemed…unhinged. As most people are no doubt aware, and if not, they can at the very least assume, an unhinged demon is a very dangerous demon. Aziraphale could do nothing but watch his friend as he pranced over to the desk at the center of the room, trying desperately to think of his next course of action. Crowley gestured impatiently at him and Aziraphale had no choice but to acquiesce. He was nearly to the desk when he was distracted by the sound of rustling leaves in the next room. He tilted his head, listening. His lips pursed in response to what he heard.
“Crowley, I’ve told you before that you simply must take better care of these creatures!” Aziraphale gasped, forgetting everything else. Crowley clicked his forked tongue dismissively.
“They’re just plants, Angel, I don’t understand why you’re always so concerned about them. And I don’t see any problems with them, anyway. Look at how green they are!” Aziraphale could tell that he had directed that last part to the plants, because they all gave a collective, terrified shudder. Aziraphale sighed in resignation and turned to the poor things, cooing and soothing their frayed nerves.
“Don’t mind him, my dears. You’re all lovely, no matter what the evil demon says—”
“I can hear you!”
Aziraphale ignored Crowley in favor of sending cool, calming thoughts to the plants. He didn’t leave them until their leaves stopped trembling. Feeling very satisfied with himself, Aziraphale turned back to the desk. He strode over and sat at one of the (significantly less ornate than Crowley’s own “throne”) chairs, shifting uncomfortably. He waited for Crowley to start explaining himself.
“As you know, the Antichrist is…missing—”
“You could, possibly, skip that bit seeing as we both know this part of the problem,” Aziraphale interjected. He was the very epitome of patience at the best of times, but this was decidedly not the best of times, and he was quite eager to fix this mistake that was all Crowley’s fault and had absolutely no connection to Aziraphale whatsoever. The fate of the world as we know it was at stake, after all. Crowley huffed, clearly upset that Aziraphale had cut off his carefully practiced speech, but Aziraphale really couldn’t find it in him to care (This was a lie: Aziraphale cared a great deal).
“Fine.” Crowley hissed. He opened his mouth to say more, but he was interrupted by insistent knocking at the door.
Silence. Neither of them moved a muscle, staring wide-eyed at each other. Nothing happened for a moment, but then the knocks came again, louder than before. Aziraphale barely kept himself from letting out a pathetic whimper, earning him a deathly glare. Aziraphale started bouncing his leg, trying to resist the urge to open the door. As an angel, it was just not in his character to ignore someone, no matter the context. Crowley knew this about him and was trying to ease his anxiety.
“C’mon angel, leave it be. They’ll leave. It’s probably some teenager trying to sell magazine subscriptions.” Crowley thought at the angel. He knew immediately that he had used the wrong words because Aziraphale’s expression turned into one he knew well—it was the exact one he wore when complaining about how Crowley treated his plants. Aziraphale’s eyes were so full of compassion it nearly made the demon gag with its intensity.
“The poor child! They’re probably selling to provide for their family, or the like. Oh, Crowley, you know I can’t leave them out there!”
Before Crowley could stop him, Aziraphale had jumped up from his chair and was rushing towards the door. A feeling of growing doom washed over him as Aziraphale disappeared behind the wall separating the front door from the rest of the flat. Something was horribly wrong.
Perhaps because he hadn’t been paying enough attention, or because his mind had been so preoccupied with the vision of the poor, snotty-nosed, raggedy youth swimming in his mind, but whatever it was, Aziraphale hadn’t picked up on the same ominous feeling as his demonic counterpart. Guileless, Aziraphale turned the doorknob and swung open the door. The sight that greeted him turned his stomach to lead and set his heart beating faster than it had the right to even think about working. He schooled his features into his usual, easy going smile, all the while thinking desperately at Crowley from across the flat.
“It’s angels. Stay quiet.”
“Michael! And Uriel.” There was a flash of diamond-studded teeth, and Aziraphale felt his throat constrict. “And, ah, Sandalphon. What a surprise! W-What brings you here, exactly?”
“We could ask you the same thing, Aziraphale,” Michael responded, a terrifying glint in their eyes. “It is rather odd to find you here, of all places.” Aziraphale had no idea what to do. He had been caught out, finally, after all these millennia, and he was going to be discorporated, or worse, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was finished. He would never eat sushi again, never dance the gavotte, never see Y/N—
“Here? Whatever do you mean?” Aziraphale inquired, trying to look as innocent as a very clearly guilty person could. Sandalphon snarled but Michael silenced him with a look.
“Here as in the known residence of the demon Crowley, the very same Crowley that you have been providing reports on for last 200,000 years. How very interesting that we would find you here, in his home.” Uriel had always had such a knack for quiet intimidation, and she used it now. Aziraphale gulped, shifting from one foot to the other. He had to think of something, and quickly. Sandalphon broke from the group and moved closer to Aziraphale, so close that Aziraphale nearly went cross-eyed looking down his nose at the shorter being. The angel sniffed at his coat, taking one of the worn lapels and rubbing it in between his clawed fingers.
“Hmm. Smells evil.” He stepped back into rank, glaring at Aziraphale. Aziraphale swallowed hard, praying for strength.
“Well, ah, that would be because…” He trailed off, wracking his brain for anything, literally anything, to tell them. As they were essentially Gabriel’s innermost circle of confidantes in Heaven, Aziraphale knew that if he let them leave this place thinking that he had been working with the enemy instead of against, that would be the end of everything.
“What’s going on?” He heard Crowley thinking at him.
“Shut up! And stay that way.” He could feel Crowley’s indignation, but he obeyed.
“’Because’ what, Aziraphale?” Michael demanded. Aziraphale looked between the three angels, and suddenly, out of nowhere, the words flooded into his mind.
“Because I was doing surveillance!” Aziraphale blurted before he’d had the chance to think about it. The angels frowned, skeptical.
“Surveillance?” Uriel repeated, sharing a look with Michael. Aziraphale nodded, feeling his heartrate slow as his anxiety left him.
“Surveillance, my friends. I have been monitoring Crowley’s actions more closely since the birth of the Antichrist. I decided to have a bit of a peek around here to see if he had any…”
“Information?” Sandalphon supplied.
“That’s the ticket! Information. Unfortunately, you arrived not long after I did, so I haven’t been able to find anything of note just yet—”
“Well, then, let us help you, Aziraphale!” Michael interrupted, moving to push past him into the flat. Aziraphale grabbed their arm, keeping them from moving any further. “What in—”
“Crowley can’t sense my presence, with me being but lowly principality in comparison to you. You, being an Archangel, I can imagine that even Crowley would be able to tell if you’d been in his flat. Your imminence.” Aziraphale saw the slight blush that appeared on Michael’s face at his words. They had always been a bit of a narcissist, and the fastest way into their good spirits would always be cheap and simply flattery. They stepped back, straightening their blazer and clearing their throat.
“That is true. Even so low a demon as Crowley would be able to sense my power. Very well, then, Aziraphale, I’ll leave you to it. But know that we” they gestured to their companions. Uriel smirked at him while Sandalphon grinned, showing off his sparkling, sharpened teeth. “are watching you.”
With that, the three of them vanished. Aziraphale was left in corridor alone, still trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Slowly he realized that the taste of miracles lingered in his mouth, dancing on the tip of his tongue. This was no ordinary miracle, however. This miracle tasted of mana, of saltwater taffy and just a hint of last week’s winning lottery numbers. How odd. Aziraphale spun around and raced back into the flat to relay everything to Crowley.
“So your people are onto us. Of course it would happen now, of all times. We’ve just gotta be more careful…Angel? What’s wrong?” Crowley had caught sight of the expression on Aziraphale’s face; one of complete and utter despair, like all his dreams had come crashing down around him all at once. Alarmed, the demon pushed out of his chair and came closer to his friend. “Hey, it’s not that bad, we’ve prepared for this—”
“Y/N.” Aziraphale lifted his head to look Crowley in the eye. “She’s in danger. If they’ve been watching me, then they know about her and if they don’t already, they will know soon enough.” Crowley slumped, knowing it was true. He also knew what Aziraphale was about to do next.
“I can’t see her anymore.” If Crowley had had a heart, it would have broken into a million tiny pieces at the raw despair in the Angel’s voice. He knew how you both felt about each other, and how, after spending all that time apart, having to break off your growing relationship off once again would destroy both of you. He said nothing. “They will kill her, Crowley.”
“I know.” Neither of them said anything after that. Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath, opened his mouth as if to talk, but then shut it again. Crowley put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“But I also know that if you push her away like this, after what happened before, she might not come back,” When Aziraphale met his eyes, he knew that that didn’t matter to the Angel. He loved you so much that keeping you safe meant more to him than being near you. Crowley gave his friend’s shoulder a squeeze and nodded.
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You were running late, not that it truly mattered. Aziraphale had called you an hour ago to tell you that he had, in fact, gotten home from Crowley’s earlier than expected and that you could come over for a spot of cocoa if you wished. You had spent almost 45 minutes trying to get dressed. For whatever reason, you’d decided to try and look nice for a change, rather than your usual scrubs or wrinkled work clothes. A random idea had popped into your head, making you wonder how Aziraphale would react to seeing you in make up for the first time. So, wearing one of your nicest blouses and skirts with your least favorite pair of achy heels, you were speed walking down Aziraphale’s street. The familiar feeling of butterflies in your belly increased in intensity the closer you got to the shop. Maybe today was the day you would finally tell him how you truly felt about him. Then again, maybe it wasn’t.
You weren’t expecting to see Aziraphale standing in the middle of the main room of the shop. Usually he was off in the back or upstairs even, but it was rare to see him out front. Especially when he wasn’t shelving books, which he definitely wasn’t. You frowned, closing the door behind you and moving to stand in front of him. There was something…off about the man today, something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but you knew it was there regardless.
“Azi, wha—”
“Hello, Y/N. May I get you some of that cocoa?” Aziraphale started, as though you’d never opened your mouth. You could tell that something was well and truly wrong now—Aziraphale didn’t have an impolite bone in his body. He would never cut you off when you were trying to speak. Your frown deepened as you tried to look him in the eyes, but he stared resolutely at a point just above your head.
“No, Aziraphale, what’s the matter?” He tilted his head to the side, eyebrows scrunched together as he looked down at you.
“’The matter’? Nothing’s the matter. Everything is fine, my dear.” He paused. You watched as his expression, already more shuttered that you had ever seen it, darken even further, making his face go blank. You were shocked. You had never seen Aziraphale like this, and you had no idea what had happened to make him so…angry? You couldn’t tell. All you could do was wait for him to continue.
A war was raging inside of Aziraphale, as it had been for the last few hours. A million possibilities floated around his mind, each one more ludicrous than the last. He could tell you that he was going on holiday and that you would see him in oooh…never because the world was doomed to end within the year. He could tell you that an old relation had passed away and that he needed to go home to Wales to settle the…whatever it was that humans settled when a loved one died. He could tell you the truth, that he loved you too much to keep you, that he was of the second-highest choir of angels and that some very bad angels were hunting for his golden blood as you spoke. Or he could say nothing, invite you upstairs for some telly and cuddling and continue living in this little bubble that the two of you have lovingly and tenderly created for yourselves. You could go on living in happiness…until, of course, Gabriel found out and smote you quite dead. The thought sent a trail of ice racing down his spine. He shook his head violently. Crowley’s lie it was, then.
“Actually, there is something that I need to speak with you about.” On instinct, your had shot out and reached for his but he pulled his hand back out of your reach. Hurt, you stared at him in shock. What the hell was happening? Was he breaking up with you? Not that the two of you were in a real relationship just yet, but after your talk, after everything, was this the end? Before it had even started? You refused to believe that your Azi could be so cruel.
“I…I can’t. I can’t do this.” Came the harsh nail in the coffin of your dreams. Tears sprang to your eyes but you held them back valiantly. Aziraphale could see them, trembling on your bottom eyelid, threatening to fall and to ruin this whole thing. His next words came out in a hurry, as though he was afraid if he didn’t say them quickly, he wouldn’t say them at all. Perhaps that was true.
“This. Us.” He gestured between the two of you. “Its…superfluous. I’m done with it and I am done with you. You were convenient, naieve and willing at a time when I was bored and lonely. That’s over now, and so is this. You can’t come to the shop anymore. Don’t call me because I won’t answer the phone. We’re done.”
Now, it is important that you know that angels don’t need to breathe. Well, perhaps that is a bit extreme. They do breathe, they have working cardiorespiratory systems that pump their golden blood throughout their bodies, just not with the same frequency as other life forms. In fact, an angel can hold their breath for years, which you may take anyway you wish. But in this moment, Aziraphale struggled to draw breath. As he watched the tears fall down your cheeks, ruining the liner and mascara that you had no doubt spent a great deal of time perfecting, he knew that there was no coming back from this. You would leave him, you would grow to hate him, if you didn’t already. He would never see you again.
But at least he knew you would be safe.
Aziraphale turned, unable to torture himself any further by watching you cry in front of him and not doing anything about it. His fingers itched to take you into his arms and hold you, to take back everything he had just said, but he restrained himself. This was how it had to be. He squared his shoulders, speaking without turning back,
“I’m sure you can show yourself out.” That was it. The last time he would ever lay eyes on you and he couldn’t even bring himself to look you in the eye. Gabriel was right, he had always been right. God had made some terrible mistake, appointing him a Principality. “Angel of the Eastern Gate” his divine bollocks. More like sniveling, fat coward who fails at everything and—
Aziraphale looked down to see your hand, smaller and softer than his own, covering his. He frowned at it, his grief-addled brain taking longer than normal to come up with an explanation. Surely you had stormed out of the shop in angry tears, vowing to hate the thought of him forever. How could your hand be here, slipping its fingers through his and intertwining themselves together as though they belonged that way? He turned his head, seeing that your hand was, in fact, connected to your arm, which was, surprise upon surprise, connected to you. You were still there, blotchy faced and bright-eyed, but still there, standing in his shop, stubbornly refusing to leave even after he had said all those terrible things to you. He raised an eyebrow at you, feeling faint headed.
“Do you hate me?” You asked, feeling very brace. Aziraphale turned around to face you fully, unable to believe what you had just asked him.
“No! Not—”
“Did I do something to offend you? Or to make you angry with me?” Aziraphale shook his head. He had to force you to leave him, but he found that he couldn’t let you leave thinking that he felt those awful things about you.
“Then why are you doing this to me? Is someone forcing you for whatever reason. Just tell me the truth, Azi,” At this, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I will try to understand.”
And it was then, that Aziraphale finally understood. Of course you would . You were kind, and patient, and the most forgiving soul he had ever met on Earth. Of course you would see through his veneer and into his true self, the one that called out to you even as he tried to push you away. He didn’t say anything at first, trying to filter his words and find the right things to say. Being as perfect as you always were, you stood there, eagerly waiting but not pushing. He did not deserve you in his life. He stepped forwards, bringing his free hand to grasp your other hand. He brought them up to his chest, resting over his heart.
“Alright. Alright, I am going to tell you something, but I cannot explain, and I cannot tell you anything more than what I am about to say. You must promise me that you won’t ask any questions until I tell you to.”
“When will that be?” Aziraphale cracked a small smile, but it melted away as soon as it had appeared.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, my dear. But you must trust me. Please.” He could see the familiar fire of defiance in your eyes as you hesitated to respond. But once again, he stood in awe as you nodded.
“Yes. Of course I trust you, Azi. Tell me what’s wrong.” He was not able to stop himself from bending his neck to press a grateful kiss to your hands. You gasped quietly but said nothing. He began.
“Thank you. You’ve no idea how much that means to me. I’ll get straight to it: being with me puts you in a very real, very serious sort of danger. Know that I wouldn’t dream of putting you through all of this unless it was so serious. I cannot bear the thought that your life may be in danger because of me.” He paused, watching your face, trying to figure out what you were thinking. He could read your mind, of course, but that would be terribly improper. Instead, he had to deal with this the hard way—difficult conversation.
“So…my life is in danger?”
“When you are with me, yes. I am truly sorry, Y/N. I wish things were different. I find that I…” He trailed off, caught in your beloved gaze, and he found that he could no longer hold back. Not when this was the last time he would be with you. It was now or never, and never was certainly not a legitimate option. “I find that I have fallen in love with you. Yes. I…I love you, Y/N, and that is exactly why I must keep you as far away from me as I can. I need you to be safe, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”
Your face did the most extraordinary thing. For a second, you stared at Aziraphale, understandably overwhelmed with all of this new information he had thrown at you. He waited, as courteous as ever, for you to piece it all together. When you did, your face bloomed into the most radiant smile Aziraphale had ever seen. His heart leapt in his chest at the sight, so wholly unprepared for something so beautiful.
“I understand. I really do understand, Aziraphale.” You said, inexplicably. Aziraphale felt on the verge of tears as he looked at you and saw that you were telling the truth. Hope flooded him, fierce and intense, and for the first time in hours, he thought that maybe he didn’t have to lose you forever. Maybe this wasn’t goodbye. You kept going. “I can’t say that this doesn’t hurt, because it does. Because…I love you too. I have done for months and I’ve always been too afraid to tell you. But I might as well tell you now, so you don’t go moping around without me.” You both chuckled at that. You stayed still for a few moments, drinking in this last bit of time together for the foreseeable future. You knew it couldn’t last, however much you wanted it to, and so eventually, you pulled your hands gently out of his and took a step back.
“So this is goodbye, I suppose?” You asked, already missing his warmth. He nodded, feeling much the same way.
You stood and watched each other, trying to commit the other’s face to memory. Neither of you knew when you would be seeing each other again. Impulsively, you sprung forwards, startling Aziraphale with your sudden movement towards him. He wasn’t sure what you were up to, but he found out almost instantaneously, as he felt your soft lips press a small kiss against his cheeks. Heat rushed through his body, but he was able to control himself—barely. He blinked stupidly as you pulled away, smiling mischievously at him. You were still very close to him, so close that he could see the flecks of gold in your eyes that he adored so much. You fidgeted with his coat, and Aziraphale had to keep himself from wincing at the thought that you were fingering the same place that Sandalphon had earlier. He let you continue, content to watch and wait. You eventually did what you had set out to do, which was straighten his lapels and collar, and you patted his chest in satisfaction. You sighed and looked up at him.
“Come back to me, Azi, okay?” Aziraphale’s hands came up, entirely of their own volition, to grip tightly around her waist in response.
“Of course I will! I promise, my love, I will come back to you once all of this…kerfuffle is over.”
A little while later, you were leaving, turning, walking out of the bookshop and away from Aziraphale.
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“There she is!”
“Hush, you’ll get us caught!”
“Sorry, I’m just so…”
“I know. One my mark…now!”
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“Authorities are asking for anyone who has any information about the possible whereabouts of the missing person to please call 999. Can you repeat that information for our listeners, Bob?”
“Of course, Janet. Her name is Y/N L/N, and she is believed to have been kidnapped on her way home late last night. Please, keep both her and her family and friends in your prayers tonight.”
“Thank you, Bob. Now on to the weather. Sue?”
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The Case of the Murdered Witch Doctors | Chapter 4
Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10
The Charm of Lost Things (Oneshot Follow-up)
Creative Process Note
Commissioned Art Piece
Pairing: Ride or Die | Ellie x Colt
Summary:
“Women are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting.”
- Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Word Count: 2k+
Warnings: PG-16
@rodappreciationweek @lovehugsandcandy
~*~
“Un-hoooooly shit!” Toby exclaims as he circles around Ellie with his nose uncomfortably in her personal space. Her nose wrinkles lightly when she smells the heavy Fern Flower smoke smell on him. “Nothing! Literally nothing! I’ve never smelled anything like it! Xi, you gotta smell this!”
“I’m sorry about him sweetie,” Ximena sighs as shakes her head and places a hand on her hip. “I would be lying if I say he isn’t usually like this. My name’s Ximena and that guy there is Toby.”
“I’m Ellie. And it’s cool. I get it a lot,” Ellie grimaces a little when she feels the tip of Toby’s nose touch her cheek and she pushes his face away from her. “Although not usually this close. Is his nose broken or something?”
“It will be if he doesn’t take a step back,” Colt replies from somewhere behind her as he closes the door behind his office and stands next to Ellie. He looks at Ximena and Toby and gives them a nod. “Both of you leave for the nightclub. I have a guest tonight.”
Colt sends her a smirk and Ellie rolls her eyes before she waves goodbye to Ximena and Toby. The moment the shop’s doors close behind them, Colt turns to Ellie with a smug smile as he leans back to look at her from head to toe. Taking careful note of the red leather jacket and short black shirt she’s wearing.
“I like that you’re curious,” Colt smiles as he looks back up at her face and subtly licks his lips. “Although self-preservation doesn’t seem to be your best trait.”
Ellie scoffs and pushes past him to enter his office. “I could take you on Colt. I haven’t used my magic the entire day.”
“Aw, saving yourself up for me? I’m touched,” Colt snickers as he follows her and closes the door behind him with a click of the lock.
Ellie immediately drops herself on the couch with a heavy sigh as she leans back and tilts her head to the ceiling. Colt raises an eyebrow at her, wanting to ask about the sigh, but he stops himself when he realizes that he’ll need alcohol first if he’s going to be talking to her about anything.
“Anything new to share to the class?” Colt asks as opens the mini fridge and throws her a bottle of beer. Ellie catches it and eyes the bottle suspiciously. Colt scoffs as he takes a seat next to her, peels off bottle cap like a sticker and tosses it on the coffee table in front of them. “Do you really think I’m gonna make you drink blood?”
“Mm,” Ellie agrees as she gathers her magic between her middle finger and thumb and flicks open the bottle cap which causes a loud pop to fill the room and the bottle cap to shoot up and embed itself on his office ceiling.
Colt frowns as he looks up at the bottle cap’s round indent on the ceiling. “You witches really need to understand spatial awareness beyond your magical bubble.”
“Oh we understand. We just don’t care,” Ellie smiles smugly as she drinks her beer. Colt rolls his eyes but he can’t help the small smile that tugs on his lips. Ellie drinks about half of it and places it down on the coffee table before she uses her magic and flicks her wrist to bring up a projected investigation board of the Kilat murder. Colt leans in, still absolutely at awe at how crisp and clear the image’s she projects, as his eyes glow with gold while he quickly takes in the information in front of him.
“This is what I’ve gathered so far. I looked into why a vampire or magical creature could possibly want from albularyo blood since that’s the only thing missing as of now but so far I haven’t found anything. It doesn’t give them any extra powers or anything so this murder is personally, not magically, motivated.”
“Yeah, we usually avoid drinking from magical creatures,” Colt scrunches his nose a little. “The blood tastes like metal. It’s gross,” Colt furrows his eyebrows at the look she gives him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Ellie opens her mouth, ready to explain to him what human blood tastes like but decides that it’s a losing battle and just shakes her head.
“Anyway, there was no forced entry in any of the doors, windows and portals. This is why I wasn’t so sure it was a vampire. Maybe a ghoul or a magical creature that can walk through solid objects? But Mr. Ernesto doesn’t mention any of those kinds of creatures as customers in his book.”
“Let me see the book.”
Ellie flicks her wrist and brings up a page the book. “Those crossed out are either dead, not currently in the country, or have been abducted by the fae. The rest I’ve interviewed and cleared of motive or had solid alibis during the time of the murder. I only have two left to question. Jason Shaw and a vampire named Tobias. Do you know anyone with that name? I’m having difficulties tracking them down.”
“No,” Colt replies. “But I’ll get my crew to ask around, it shouldn’t be that difficult.”
Ellie nods, a little relieved that that part of the investigation is handled by someone else. She’s already gotten a lot of heat and shit for stretching out this investigation into its second month. Mona, the head witch of her department, is being constantly pressured by the higher ups to hex the case as quickly as possible. Although Mona tries her best to keep them from interfering too much with Ellie’s work, she knows that it’s only going to be a matter of time before they forcefully stop the investigation.
“So you did all of this? In the last month?”
“Huh?” Ellie pulls herself out of her thoughts and turns to look at Colt who looks back at her with awe and disbelief. She shifts on her seat, suddenly feeling a little shy under his golden gaze, before she waves away the projected investigation board. “Uh yeah. It’s my first case after all. I need to show them that I can do this, even on my own. Nobody wanted to partner up with a half-witch.”
“This is your first case?” Colt whistles appreciatively as he leans back on the couch. “And you managed to rope me in, a Primordial, to help you. I’m impressed.”
“That was the easy part,” Ellie teases as she leans back on the couch next to him, her body suddenly feeling tired and achy. “It helps that my dad is a detective too. I got it from him.”
“Your…mortal dad?” Colt says cautiously, not really sure how to approach the conversation without insulting her for being a half-witch, but Ellie merely shrugs as if she’s heard the question a million times.
“Yeah. My mother was the witch,” She smiles fondly. “A great one too.”
Colt frowns. “Was?”
“Abducted by the fae five years ago.”
Colt grimaces a little, not really wanting to venture into his thoughts of what it’s like to be abducted by the fae. “She must’ve done something pretty shitty to anger the fae.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Ellie says as she turns to look at him, her eyes boring into his. “The Coven disowned my mother when she married my dad. The Agency was advised by the Coven not to investigate since she was not, lineage-wise, a witch anymore. So they didn’t.”
“Ah,” Colt says in realization. “So this is why you’re so stubborn about this case.”
She smirks as her eyes shine with mischief. “I’m a cliché after all.”
Colt nods, his body unconsciously leaning closer to hers. “Never thought about investigating it yourself?”
“I want to but can’t,” She shrugs and uses her magic to raise and swirl the rest of her beer on the coffee table. “I promised my dad I wouldn’t do it. That’s the only condition he had when I said I wanted to join the Agency. He investigated my mother’s abduction himself for two years—nearly drove him mad.”
“Ever want to just burn it down?” Colt says as his eyes glow with a golden fire, his voice tight and pained. “The whole of the Agency, right down to its foundation. Maybe then the creatures that deserved justice will finally get it.”
“And what about future cases like Ana’s?” Ellie sighs as she crosses her arms in front of her and the bottle of beer lands on the coffee table with a thump. “I hate it as much as you do and let me tell you, there’s a lot that needs to change in the Agency but there are good people fighting inside too. For people like Ana, me…you. That’s why I chose to stay, why I choose to fight. For now, at least.”
“You are so fucking annoying,” Colt says as he leans into her, his body magnetized to hers. “But I’m starting to realize that I like that.”
Ellie smirks as she leans her face closer to his. “Like I said, one of my better qualities.”
She doesn’t know who closed the gap—him or her—but it’s definitely as fiery and explosive as the kiss they shared in the nightclub nights before.
Ellie swings her legs over his lap, her lips glued to his, as Colt drops the bottle of beer with a thud on the floor in favor of gripping her hips tight in his hands. He pulls her down to his lap, her hips pressed against his, and she slips past a small moan against his lips and he easily pushes his tongue in to taste her.
She hurriedly pushes his jacket off of his shoulders and he moves his hand underneath her skirt to grip her thighs tight in his hand, his nails digging into skin.
“Fuck I want to taste you,” Colt groans as he fits his face into the side of her neck, his fangs lightly scraping her unblemished skin. “I’m curious. What does the blood of a half-witch taste like?”
Ellie lets out a small moan and delves her hands into his hair, gripping tight, before she grinds her hips against his. “Don’t know. Never had reviews.”
Colt chuckles at the tail end of a moan, his eyes lighting up in dark gold as he presses his lips on her racing pulse point. “Should I do the honors?”
Ellie smiles, opening her mouth to accept his invention, when the shrill sound of her ringtone breaks her out of his spell. She quickly untangles her limbs from his, her red lipstick smeared on her lips and her skirt pulled up her legs. She looks at Colt sitting on the couch, a smug and satisfied look on his face. He brings up his thumb and swipes the red lipstick she’s left on him as he bares his fangs in delight, his golden eyes never leaving her blues.
Ellie blushes, her face heating up at the image, as she clumsily digs through her red leather jacket to fish out her phone. “Uh yeah. Ellie—Detective Wheeler speaking. Yeah, Ingrid. No, I’m not busy. Just give me a sec,” She turns to look at Colt and holds the phone to her chest to cover the receiver. “I need to go.”
Colt frowns but recovers quickly and flicks his wrist to the door, his voice teasing and playful. “See you in four days, Miss Half a Witch.”
Ellie quickly exits the office door, pulling her skirt down as she walks, and makes her way out of the shop with her heart thumping hard and fast in her chest. She brings up the phone back to her ear and immediately pulls it away when she hears Ingrid’s loud voice.
“—can’t be serious! Was that Colt’s voice?!” Ingrid gushes, her voice shrill and high. “Ellie Wheeler you did not just sleep with a Primordial vampire!”
“I didn’t sleep with him!” Ellie defends as she hurriedly makes it to her car, buckles in her seatbelt and starts the engine before she drops her head on the steering wheel. “Just…tell me what you found Ingrid.”
“Nuh-uh you’re not getting away that easily. I expect all the dirty projections later!” Ingrid cackles as Ellie groans in exasperation before Ingrid’s voice drops to something serious. “Anyway, we finally got the approval to conduct an autopsy on the Kilat bodies and guess what we found?”
“Ingrid I literally wouldn’t be able to even if I tried, that’s your job.”
“What? Are you always this cranky after sex or is it just reserved for hot but rude vampires?” Ingrid laughs and Ellie glares at nothing. “Fine, anyway. So we found a huge cut to their femoral artery, that’s the vein behind your thigh. If a creature gets injured there—mortal or otherwise—you best expect to die of blood loss if left untreated. Not even a vampire’s saliva can stop blood loss that bad.”
“But wait,” Ellie scrunches her eyebrows and lifts her head off of the steering wheel. “You said there was no injury on the bodies.”
“Yeah, that’s the strange thing. The way the femoral artery was cut up should indicate a visible and pretty nasty injury—but we found nothing. I’ve asked around and no one has seen anything like this. It’s really weird.”
Ellie sighs as she kneads away the oncoming headache. “Thanks Ingrid, I’ll look into it more.”
“Yeah no problem,” Ingrid confirms before her voice lifts into something teasing and playful. “Now back to Colt. Was he like, you know? Hu—”
“Goodbye Ingrid,” Ellie cuts her off and tosses the phone on the passenger seat. She lets out a big sigh as she leans her head back on the seat. The possibilities swim in her head at the new information Ingrid has just presented her.
If the Kilat’s blood was drained by the femoral artery, what was with the vampire bite? And what would a creature do with close to ten liters of albularyo blood? Or did they just dump it out after the murders had been committed? If the end goal truly was just the murder, why go through all the trouble?
Ellie frowns. The possibility of the blood being dumped is there which means she’ll need a werewolf to help sniff out where the blood could’ve gone to. She could always ask Logan but she knows how iffy he is with blood and she certainly doesn’t want to push him to do things he doesn’t want to do. Logan’s already done enough for her for this case since he practically got her access to the Vault he’s supposed to be guarding.
Ellie sighs and starts her drive back to her apartment. For now, she’ll just follow the two leads she has. Maybe after a bottle of wine and a nice bubble bath, she’ll have a clearer head in four days when she’ll meet the next vampire on her list.
Jason Shaw.
A terrifying Primordial vampire with the power to see the memories of the creatures he feeds on.
#rodaw#choices rod#colt x ellie#colt kaneko#vampire au#detective au#witch au#murder mystery#cw: magic-drug#cw: blood#cw: police#my writing
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Fine, humans, fly your “starship”
I knew that having to start my stardate-order journey with Enterprise*, which I had never made it more than 20 minutes into before, would be a challenge. But my first foray into 22nd-century Starfleet is leaving me with more questions than answers.
To recap
Earth has a ship capable of Warp 5, but the Vulcans have told them they can’t use it yet. Our hero Jonathan Archer’s dad invented it, but died before he could see it put into use. The Enterprise NX-01 has been collecting dust for 50 years. But when a farmer shoots a stray Klingon, humans finally have the right excuse to ask their Space Daddies for a hall pass!!!!!
The humans of 22nd-century Earth, at least the high-ranking space boys we observe, are cavalier and impulsive, really into some cowboy shit. While it makes sense the Vulcans wouldn’t want Earthlings drunkenly stomping through the galaxy fresh off world unification, it’s pretty surprising that none of these fuckers went rogue and zoomed off into space. But instead they seem to mostly throw tantrums and then ultimately fall in line.
But this time, they throw the correct tantrum! The Vulcans want to kill the unconscious Klingon so he dies with honor, even though he has some kind of message to deliver to his people. They also want to delay a planned launch of the Enterprise over the incident. Archer has had enough and demands that not only are they NOT allowed to kill the Klingon, they have to let him, specifically him, return him to Kronos in the ship nobody has flown yet.
Daddy Vulcan says “ok, but come STRAIGHT home after dropping off the Klingon.” (Spoiler: They don’t!!!!!!)
Charming!
It is literally the first time launching this advanced Warp 5 ship and they’re doing it early, but nothing really goes wrong, hardware-wise, despite what appears to be a reckless lack of testing. Most of the adjustments they’re making are like, adjusting the TV and calibrating weapons arrays.
Everyone seems way too chill with this idea of going extremely fast out in the middle of space where no humans have gone yet. Except Hoshi Sato, Bless you, Hoshi, our queen of having normal feelings.
Up until this point, humans have only been hitting Warp 2, or eight times the speed of light. They’ve also been in contact with the Vulcans for almost a century. Some space travel is in service of colonization (e.g., settling on Mars). But the biggest, longest trips are on freighters, spending sometimes literally years on trade routes within 90 light years of Earth (more than 11 human years away!). As a Warp 5 ship sits docked in Earth’s orbit, children are born and raised on trade routes. (These kids are called “boomers”! I thought they just meant extremely old people or time travelers the first time they said it!)
Still, people are pretty used to being in space and visiting other planets, and have been for 50 years or so. But the Vulcans are maybe the only society present in this sector that have any mobility beyond that—so they’re holding everyone’s hand, handing out learner’s permits, basically doing a very gentle imperialism. This is a foreign policy I will from here on out call the Daddy Doctrine.
Also, the Big Bad this season appears to be... Zordon?
Meet the Spacepeople
Our captain this time around is Jonathan Archer, and everyone definitely knows who his daddy is. He invented the ship! When Starfleet finally launches said ship, some admiral praises the Starfleet nepotism that led to this grown child being in charge of an infinite number of first contacts, despite him losing his cool in front of the Space Daddies.
They’re going to have to talk to Klingons, so Archer taps Hoshi Sato, a genius human linguist and the only human to speak Klingon. She teaches other people to speak Klingon! But she has trouble translating some Klingon word salad almost immediately. Oh well! That said, Sato is one of two characters I can confidently say I like at this point. She has very normal human emotions about stuff like “being very deep in space on an untested ship.”
T’Pol is a hot lady Vulcan who was part of the deal for the humans to take the car keys, but she says she’s not there to babysit. She never really babysits, but people seem surprised when she doesn’t babysit, anyway. She first appears onscreen as the youngest member of the Vulcan Daddy Cabal by a long shot.
Charles “Trip” Tucker III is Archer’s best friend and seems kinda fratty, the kind of guy that really seems like someone you’d call Trip.
Our zany character on this starship is Phlox, a Denobulan doctor who loves animal testing. Denobulans are from the planet Surplus Cardassian Prosthetics.
Travis Mayweather is a Boomer and I think I like him. His confidence is earned. As an experienced spaceman, he knows that setting the ship to .8 g makes for a pretty pleasant environment, and that does sound nice.
I know Star Trek doesn’t like to acknowledge any cultural accomplishments between the year 1930 and 2100, but I feel like Malcolm Reed is a They Might Be Giants fan. Also, he’s British.
Porthos is a beagle. He smells. I like him.
This is on my desktop as “space beagle.jpg” and someday I will delight in finding this again
This Fucking Ship
When crewmembers are reboarding, they have to pass through a decontamination chamber, which is fully a hostile work environment. The decontamination chamber forces crewmembers in a room together, where they are forced to spread goo on each other under ultraviolet light like a sexually aggressive sunscreen.
We see the decontamination chamber in the first episode, and it’s basically an excuse to show some HBO After Dark shit under some expository dialogue. Tucker—that’s the guy named TRIP—takes the liberty of applying gel underneath the waist of T’Pol’s underpants for her. It is gross. (And how does the gel even work if you leave your underwear parts un-gelled???)
To be fair, Trip’s chest gets a lot of focus, too. The whole scene is shot like a Bodman Fragrance Spray commercial.
youtube
I don’t intend for these to always be this long, or episode by episode, but I just started and I have A LOT OF FEELINGS. And I didn’t even GET INTO the hot shapeshifting lady that lived for about five minutes, long enough to kiss Archer because that’s how she “senses trust.” Some real TOS shit.
*I was thinking of doing a watch order that included two watches of First Contact, but I have made my bed and now I need to lie in it for 200 years.
**Special thanks to my Star Trek chos for helping me work through some fundamental lore stuff.
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Silver x Idia (The Molten Charcoal) chapter 5
Sorry for the long delay www
I... got out a bit. Even if I had this test and... was proud of it? Somehow... I mean, sure I was proud of it, especially the fact Trey listened to me and didn't look at me like I was some kind of creep because of my hair or name or eyes or lips or fingers or heavy breathing... I didn't even... suffocate once... He was really nice, yep. He really listened to me... so many times. Sure... there was the Wishes event when he kind of sided with Deuce but... At last he's not fucking dumb like Deuce... Even if Deuce isn't probably absolutely dumb... Well, at least he could praise me so... I don't know? And people didn't doubt the fact I was the one that invented this strategy...! So I was... happy, I think. Or at least feeling a bit less weird than "usual". These flames had almost started to look like clouds around me. Blue clouds... These clouds would drive away for sure. But they would not spread an unwanted arson, a fake arson, a superficial blaze. Of course talking with people like this could transform them into cumulus, but a single trouble would turn them into hot steam before anointing him with the fake will-o'-the-wisp again. I had walked through the corridors, hiding my hair with... my hood. Somehow it finally became mine and stop slipping through my fingers as any stream would. The black, gray and blue outfit was... no more drenched in... my blood's light. I should stop saying "blood" stuff, tho. It's so stupid... I stopped and leaned some seconds in a corridor's shade for sure. I... clasped my hands. Of course they weren't frozen nor cold. But they were... neither dry nor hot with sweat. I grabbed one with the other... No, I grabbed the other thanks to the one. They felt somehow slim, perhaps skinny compared to other people, and my fingers were still shaking but not as much as before, for sure... This was my skin. I could see pearls of sweat... Even if it was ugly or unsightly, this was still some "water". Not that I would drink or lick it, thanks. But these tall slender, spectral... hands were of alabaster now... They could resist fire and water alike. I probably stood a while like this... After all, everyone was supposed to be either in lessons or being tested... So I wasn't supposed to be found out. Maybe I should have moved before? Because that was a very normal situation, I should maybe have been even more cautious... There's no way normal would articulate itself around me, after all... Tho NRC is probably another kind of normal, but that's something else. I leaned stroking my hands like that... for probably some seconds at least, but probably not minutes? Even for me, it would have been weird. Yet, I should have gone back to the den before. Because nothing good was supposed to occur to my surroundings...
And thus the epitome of water, or ice, had come. His smile was indeed that of a sun, burning down every last remnant of my confidence. Everything about himself was so shiny and dazzling, and yet he just made me burn as if he were made of the same hair as I was. But he was more likely an aqua-elemental. Perhaps more of a djinn since I wasn't of the same area as he was... Well I wasn't of the "same" area anyway. He told me he was happy to see me... That it was weird to see me... Sure thing it was weird, I usually don't go outside, that's pretty obvious...? Why was his supposed standard, normal, usual, water hurting me? Why did he seem made of lava in front of me? His red eyes never tried to harm me intentionally... I hate how shiny he is... I hate so much when he gets close to me. I suffocate SUFF SUFF SUFFSUFFSUFFSUFFSUFFNO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY I'M A WEIRDO. No, I should try to think of better things... Like how Trey worked perfectly with me and never mocked me. He didn't seem like he was lying either. He really seemed amused in some way, but not because of my stupidity. Some people probably respected me... respect me, here. And not for my rank... Not for my rank... He asked me if I was alright since I was sweaty and clutching the hood around my hair. Did I look alright? Of course I'm not. OF COURSE I'M NOT SUFFSUFFSUFFSUFFSUFFSUFFSUFF SUFFO SUFFOCATESUFF SUFFO SUFFO SUFFSUFFSUFFIt's not his fault, RIGHT? He wasn't doing it on purpose, was he? WAS HE? That's okay... That's okay, I just... had to tell him I wasn't feeling good so I told him I felt hot, but that it wasn't because of some weird illness because he could have been dumb enough to tell others to bring me to the nurse's office... He told me he could make rain happen if I was feeling too hot. That his unique magic was changing the weather into raining. WHY? WHY IS HE THE ONE WITH THIS POWER? I don't understand. SUFFOCATE SUFF SUFFO NO. NO I SHOULDN'T HAVE... I'm sorry Ortho. I'm still jealous and afraid of everyone but... I want a power that seems as useless as his... I want to be able to summon water and touch it like everyone... I just ran away and went straight (lol) back to Ignihyde... my room. It was suffocating. Everything was just suffocating. I was suffocating. Suffocation was strangulating me. Every stiff sound my computer made sounded like suffocation. I just stretched my back while sitting trying to grasp some air. I could do it! I can do it! I couldn't. No matter how I breathe in, I can't breathe properly. Only a part allows me to breathe... I can put this cursed hair away, air won't come in. I can raise my hands and body to the only sky I am allowed to see by myself, air will curl back to any other place than myself. One. Two. Three.
I cannot breathe properly again. Was I too fast? No... I'm just doomed, right? I'm just so fucking stupid, I probably even don't know how to breathe, I'm sorry Ortho, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm neither a fucking adult like they are, nor I'm like the other students, I'm just a fucking weirdo, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... NO! I should try to breathe again. Let's breathe properly... I can do it! I saved Ortho... No, Ortho believed in me... I have to do this.
One.
Two.
Three...
IT DOESN'T WORK. NO MATTER HOW MUCH I COUNT I JUST... I JUST SUFFSUFFSUFFSUFFSUFFSUFFI'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'm sorry... I have to yawn to breathe... Just because I was happy to stretch my hands... Just because I was glad not to feel squirm today... What am I doing wrong...? I should sleep... Crying is worthless for someone like me... My tears just feel hot and disappear again. I'm tired...
[Started Recording at : 10:00 am : Seventh? Day]
-BIG BROOOOO! OPEN THE DOOR! IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO GET OUT TO MEET. YOUR. LOVED. ONE.
-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH?! BUT IT HAS ONLY BEEN... FOUR DAYS? RIGHT?! RIIIIIGHT?!
-Actually, you have slept two days after the exam, so I have all recordings ready whenever you feel the need to learn things for future exams.
-H-huh? Two days? But...
-Well, another day has passed since you've awoken only hours ago but you've spent these hours on videogames... Or have I misunderstood something? :(
-N-no! Of course not, O-ortho! But... are you sure... I can't have slept for two days in a row... I'm not a-a princess or something like this...
-Well, anxiety can lead to disrupted behaviors, so it is not that weird you actually have slept for two days, especially with your bad habits when it comes to slumber.
-Y-yeah but two days... I'm not that much...
-Well, whatever! Let's go!
The room opened among its unique blue fire. Had the heat peaked or lessens? No one was used to this temperature swinging and lurking through the whole room, barely restrained by such weak walls. Ashes or obsidian walking away would probably be decided sooner or later. The hellish trail of cursed un-will-o'-the-wisps seemed to have expanded... It was time to wash all of this gloomy blue out of this body stuck to such blazing ideals, lit with yet another kind of light. The doll's arm reached out to the human yet separated one.
-Let's go, Big Bro!
-Y-yeah...
-I'm going to walk a bit with you and then I will let go to the tree where you met with Silver so that I can check no one gets between you two, okay?
-The tree where we met...? Is i-it a shojo stereotype supposed to cheer me up...?
The supposed doll closed the door, sealed this heat away, even if it would have means to escape if anything was to fail on this day. The burning One was lurking and scratching Idia from the inside, after all. Wind blew from Ignihyde's far end. Freshness and magic were still running the place at the moment. The light steps barely echoed on the soft floor, or perhaps Ortho's ones were the louder. He extracted pride from these very legs, after all. His steps were noisy, even if he had been maximized. Ignihyde dorm was not dingy, neither dark. Only lit to a certain extent. Sunshine was painful for most of them, and so had become the whole dorm. At least Dire Crowley never asked for the whole dorm to change its way of thinking nor lighting.
-Okay, we're going in Night Raven College's main building. Are you ready, Big Bro?
-Y-yeah... I've taken some walks before, it s-s-s-s-hould be alright...
The mirror teleported them as it was supposed to be, no matter the heat and fake sun. How far his power went was something they had not calculated yet, after all.
-Haha! This is as fast as usual, this is nice. Do you think the mirror might need an update sometime, Big Bro? :o
-An... update? Pfffffhehe... That would be fun... That would be really fun, yeah.
The temperature was now stuck between ocean and magma. The dorm's crossroads was not a source of anxiety for Idia, after all. And thus, not at all for Ortho. No parasite nor virus could invade him as long as this area was 200% safe for his... big brother, after all. Others were probably between 0% and 100%, Ignihyde being rather 75% because of the throng of students sometimes walking between each rooms to ask for plugs or volatile memory they might have burned because of modding too much some of their games or an infinity of problems-solutions only Ignihyde truly come up with. And Idia's room was only 150% safe since people online could start insulting him, even though he would beat them up or hack them if they were trying anything, and sometimes he could hear him crying because of the heat or things he could not entirely make sense of. Ortho checked his proto-hand, though it was probably not a prototype anymore. The Shroud son had worked on it for a long time, as little as long could mean. Well, sure Ortho would not mind knowing such a great amount of "time". Not knowing was something quite problematic in his condition, after all. Touching his fellow's head would be troublesome, in the end.
-We will soon reach the court... In less than 5 minutes, Silver will arrive if he is not already there. Are you ready, Big Bro? I'm sure you can do this!
-T-thanks but you're the one...
-Yes? :D
-N-n-n-n-o, nothing... Thanks for making this true... We'll see if everything proceeds smoothly...
-I'm sure it will, you're the best!
The boy hit his hair, aiming his back, above his back. His mouth tried to swallow some air, as softly as he could among the buzzing atmosphere, as much as air was running away from him. A little hand blessed him enough to breathe again, petting his back for a few seconds, enough to shatter the curse which he could have brought, willingly or not. He spread his self in the body he was born with, and took a step. He lead his feet as far as they could, watching them whatever could happen around him. He could not touch water, after all. Thus, he should not be worried about it... If people were afraid of him, then he should not be afraid of them. And the other way around. But where was Silver? Where was he among the Earth's debates? The tree was stopping the sunshine, and would do the same with rain. And above all with mist, thunder, hail... Thus, their beings would be in this shadow of a tree and not under the tree itself. Or would it be under the shadow itself? Only a few more steps and he would be entering the shadow layer. How billions of shades were in it? Calculating the mirror's power would be far easier, in the end. And thus, as many solutions were dripping from the tree's twigs hindering the sun.
[Ended Recording at : 10:15 am : Seventh? Day]
I didn't expect to find him asleep, tbh. Well... I kind of. I found him sleeping the first time so it wouldn't be that weird for the second time... But wasn't I supposed to be earlier than expected? Or was he the kind of person to be in front of a classroom even earlier?! Or was it the other way around... which is, he was here maybe BECAUSE I make him miss a lecture?! Or perhaps... he was on his way and he fell asleep... No, it didn't seem so at first. Because I remember his bag was not next to him, and his wand wasn't in his hand either... He was simply... slumbering. A squirrel came forward and rubbed his head on his soft-looking, attached by a same mind, fingers. He probably dozed off earlier... but not that earlier. More animals would have gathered if it were to be the case, especially since no it hadn't been raining on this very morning. So he had just... arrived before I did. This wasn't like the last time for sure. No animals, no unexpected meeting, no ceremony robe. (Not that he wasn't cute in his ceremony robe but-). Maybe the shadow was blessing me in the end, lol. There were not enough things in common with the last time to hinder me... Well, I was already anxious as hell, but that wasn't that shocking, lol. But that was like last time for a thing at least... Was I supposed to wake him up? I mean, he didn't judge me for watching him sleeping last time so... Not that I enjoyed it, though?! I just... didn't know... Was it more awkward to wake him up or let him sleep? He could have been angry... He seemed to be in such a deep and sweet slumber I just couldn't awake him... And he didn't seem to be that angry... So letting him asleep was probably the good choice to reach a good end? But what if he hadn't sleep and... what if he didn't want to sleep?! Maybe he was narcoleptic?! (well he likely still is but-). But if I had been to awaken him not on purpose, maybe I could avoid the bad end and reach the best end instead of the neutral end I thought to be the good one?! Then I needed to sit... but not in a normal way (if I could sit in a normal way among all of these elements which weren't mine). Of course I needed to sit as cautiously as possible and not hurt Silver on purpose... Did I dare to write this?! I can't think of hurting him. Well, I probably can under a certain point of view but it's not mine. It's not mine... I was supposed to sit as slowly as possible and break something, like a twig put on purpose under my foot or something like this. Then it wouldn't be my fault for sure, right? But wasn't I lying to him... My legs just betrayed me and I fell down because of how much the rest of my body was shaking.
Of course I had semi-planned this one... I mean that was something I was very likely to do but... It was the first time it came in handy?! This was also the most cliche one but... the fact he rolled to the right to catch me wasn't absolutely one, I guess? Why would he had rolled if he could have straightly (lol) caught me? And I wouldn't have felt AWKWARD AS HELL BECAUSE HE CAUGHT ME IN HIS ARMS AND UGFGKFKGFKREOIGIGKFGK?! Even if I try to write only to put some order in my brain, it just gets more chaotic... But I just... can't think of this day without crying and all... His indigo eyes were wide open, especially for him. They sure looked like a calm lake but... they didn't feel as if they were made of water either. A pale purple gauze opposed all of the ocean from swallowing this "prince" into his blue hue. Yet, none of them were a prisoner. His blue and His purple were, simply, together. His black uniform wasn't that different from our shades, it seems... And all of the leather strips looked like a complex armor, I cannot think otherwise. Sure... it wasn't a thief's outfit, nor that of a killer nor... Well, it could be seen as such because of the black and green hue... I guess some people would find it ominous.
-So you have arrived, Shroud. I'm sorry, I fell asleep once again... I just can't control myself on this point, this is quite the bother.
I tried to gather my hands, legs, thighs, chest, head, knees, ankles, arms to move. Two barely shook out of the body I was supposed to have. There was nothing to escape for sure but... There may have been something to escape, actually. Whatever it might have been. His hands wrapped by a serene, quiet black had touched my forehead, each of his fingers dancing far from my cursed, hated, despicable, despised, hateful, ugly, heinous hair.
-Are you... ill, Shroud?
-H—h-h-huh? S-s-sure I'm not, S-S-ilver... IsitokayifIcallyouSilverthough...?!
-Well, yes? I don't have a second name, so yes... Please do, I don't mind. You just felt hotter than usual... Hmm, probably more like warmer. Sorry, didn't mean to be mean.
What did he mean by warmer or hotter, though? I guess my... hair was truly invading. Not that much a surprise... Even if he was in mid-water... It was probably too much to handle for anyone who was closer to normality than I was. And yet he was kind...
-I... I'm sorry if my hair is weird and if you're feeling hyper hot a-and sweating all over the place and I should have cancelled the date, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you're probably losing a precious time right now, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm...
-Oh no, I like your hair.
Well, of course I didn't expect this one in 99% of the roads. There was still a percent in which Silver was indeed a true Prince Charming. I guess I... wasn't wrong so far. Well either way I wouldn't have been wrong anyway. I did plan everything, after all, and the keikaku... Yeah. But that he truly liked my hair was still such a tiny percent... Miracle could occur, I would have guessed. But that wasn't a miracle, for sure. Miracles didn't truly exist. People sure tend to believe for some reason or hate the concept of miracles by cynism but... I just want to be in-between... It's who I am anyway... I just... can't be normal, can I? Well, I'm probably better in most fields anyway... right? Silver isn't a miracle that exist for me... I will probably even be a burden for him.
-M-my hair?
-Yes. It looks... peaceful? I don't really know how to tell you that and I don't want to offend you in any way but... It just looks like a chimney fire I could sleep to. For a long time. Even if I would like to avoid falling asleep out of nowhere...
-P-peaceful? Are... we... t-t-t-talking about the same thing...? I mean, I don't mean to insult you either, you're really nice but I just cc—c-cc-an't understand why would someone think my hair is p-p-pretty or something like this...
-It feels warm and... saudade to me.
-Sau...?!
-Yes... I would like to touch them, but would it harm you if I did? Or me?
-I... I don't know... I'm sure it will. My hair isn't as warm as you think... You're just... just different from everyone... But it won't be enough... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...
-That's alright. If you don't want me to touch your hair or even your hand, I would understand. You're quite the soft type, Shroud.
-H-huh?
-Lil... My Old Man was the one who sent me here earlier, but I was kind of... happy to see you wanted to talk to me. We discussed this "type" things earlier but I didn't really understand anything. Oh, yes what did you want to tell me, Shroud? I am sorry if I'm too blunt or something like this. I'm kind of lost, too.
The True Prince had arrived. If he had been to guess what was to happen, then he would have been a Perfect Prince, which I didn't want. Because he would have been... too much. I guess I have some stupid fears but... I can't have too much... I'll just end up breaking everything... If he was dense, and not dense on purpose, thus not manipulative and not ending up a Villain Prince, which was another path... Then we could be equal in some ways. Of course... There was still a lot of crossroads before I could... reach this potential happy ending. If he was a True Prince but yet wasn't in love with me, then it would be a Neutral End at most. If he was a True Prince but ended up hollow even after I love him, it would be a Bad End, probably. If he was to hate me... it would be another Bad End. At least there was a possible Good End... I wasn't in Drakenkard 3 lol. ... I didn't even know how to sing in a wonderful way, probably.
-I... Huh... Is it okay if I talk for a while? O-o-o-only if it doesn't bother you, o-of course... I... just want to be as clear... as... understandable as possible... I-I don't mean that you won't understand o-o-o-of course! It's just that I... need to explain... a lot...
One of his definitely lead hand approached the other one he handled so easily. He took of his left or right glove, whatever actually. His barely long fingers made the black clothing disappear from the alabaster hand which could have been protected so far from the crown of flames piercing my soul. The awakened limb rubbed each of his eye surrounded by the soft veil of maskara, darkening his face, tho maybe not to my level lol. One time. Two times. Three times.
-I've rubbed my eyes. I should be awakened for a while. I hope. Please start. I want to listen to you, Shroud.
I... just needed to do what I usually did in my fanfictions... and all that kind of stuff, right?
-W-w-well... I... really like you? I can't tell you if it's affection, deep affection, crush, squish, love, love at first sight... I just can't tell what's going inside my brain but... I... just love everything about your appearance, that's true. Your eyes look so different, so dreamy. I feel like there's... a whole castle inside? I'm sorry, this is weird, right? I'm sorry but... Your hair looks like messy snow, like the purest snow, that no human has ever tried to play or make profit of... Your skin looks so soft and delicate, and yet I... I've seen you sometimes in your sport outfit and you got... these arms... and your face just looks like the old prince stories... Yeah. That's it. You look so much like a Prince who could save me. I'm just sorry, it's pathetic, I know... But you won't make fun of me... will you? I love you... You look so much like a prince... I feel like you can fulfill any of my dream as long as I'm with you... You're... You... You were so nice... w-w-when we first met... You didn't judge me... You just... YOU JUST... you just asked me things... and answered... You didn't laugh... even if you had lied... you didn't laugh... You just... You just... kept your composure... You didn't call me a weirdo... You didn't want my inheritance either.. You just... You. You... I love your lips too. They look soft and sweet and not a bunch of skin ready to spit poison and lies... And your ears look so round... so human-like... And your nose doesn't look like the kind to hurt when two foreheads lay upon e-each other and... your height comforts me... Your voice is serious but never shouting... you don't stress me... You... I just... can't believe someone as good as you exist... I'm sorry... We, teenagers shouldn't think like this but... Thanks for... thanks for existing... Love doesn't mean anything for someone like me, I just don't understand it... I guess... Thanks for.. making fairies flying into my veins?
How could someone answer something like this? Fairies were probably running through my head, and they were probably fireflies I thought made of water.
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also hey, with the State of the Sanderson just coming out I’d like to inform everyone that JMS, who is collabing on Dark One, is my favorite author besides Brandon.
You may know him from Sense8! You may know him from his work in comics (doing Spider-man, Thor, Superman, etc) or even his cameo in the Thor movie!
But here’s what I’d like to suggest to you all to help tide you over until SA4:
I’d like to suggest you watch his magnum opus, the show that invented the modern tv landscape: Babylon Five
The plot structure will seem familiar to you. To cite TVTropes:
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/WhamEpisode
The term was coined by J. Michael Straczynski, creator of Babylon 5, which is very liberally sprinkled with them.
(In other words, instead of one Sanderlanche per book? TVTropes lists three or four a season.)
This is the show that invented tv shows having a single long plot. This is the show that invented creators having a fandom presence. And now, let me actually summarize it:
High fantasy (IN SPACE) plus space politics (WITH FANTASY!)
In the aftermath of a war with space elves in which humanity nearly went extinct, humans decide we need a Space UN. Fortunate for them, as the ancient evils are returning. What follows includes
A tragedy of space antivaxxers
The first officer bluffs Clthulu and wins
Two men pretend to be fake married in the 90s and the only issue is that one of them won’t stop singing The Major General’s Song
A teddy bear is thrown into space
Green must fight purple. Purple must fight green.
“Trapped in an elevator together!” featuring the creepiest song about a fish you’ll ever hear
A righteous beatdown to gospel music
King Arthur
imperialism!
earth falling to fascism!
telepaths as an oppressed class enslaved by the government or Worse!
aliens being deeply confused by the Hokey Pokey
an alien elf princess saying ‘butt’ a lot
onscreen tentacle dicks I am not exaggerating a lot of these are veiled to avoid spoilers but there are tentacles, they are dicks, and they are onscreen
STARRING:
Traumatized war hero who says fuck fascism, go unions
All-American man who’s beauty, he’s grace, he punches fascists in the face
Susan Ivanova, Death Incarnate, Russian Jewish bisexual who can kick anyone’s ass, can kick your dog’s ass, can kick her own ass. She is very tired
Asshole cop who you’ll root for anyway
An imperialist bastard you’ll root for anyway
Space Dalinar (+Slutty)
An elf princess who turns into a butterfly
a doctor who’s just a little too passionate about his job
Perky Aragorn
Sofd boy attaches + one Angery Gorl attache
Kosh.
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Quarantine Mental Health Musings
Apparently this quarantine is just me vacillating between crippling depression and giant leaps and bounds of uncovering Great Mental Health Truths about myself. Well then.
The following is upon Emotional Intimacy and how I apparently trained myself to assume I’m supposed to live without it.
Let’s see if I can put this in any sense of order...
So like. I know that all I really ever wanted out of any sort of “partner” was someone whom I can walk up to and be like “I feel like shit” and they would give me a hug. That’s...that’s really it? Just someone who will take a moment, put stuff on pause for like 30 seconds, and give me a fucking hug. (I’m legit tearing up rn at how bad I want that). If they chose to be like...hey, can I do anything for you? that would just be a massive bonus. If they actually like...just did something? Holy shit that’s like the Jackpot Of All Wonderous Things.
But somewhere along the line, I’ve convinced myself that all of that--even just a hug-- was too much to ask. I’ve convinced myself that even requesting affection is too much. That even saying “i’m having a shit day” is too much. And that *gasp* saying “I’m having a shit day” in the hopes that someone will notice and give me affection? That’s straight up manipulative bullshit.
I’m not....exactly sure where I got all of that? I think partly from the fact that men aren’t taught to be emotionally responsive, so Straight Me was legit trying to teach myself not to rely on a Male Partner for emotional responses (wow, fucked up a bit???).
I think also from the fact that any sort of negative emotional display in my family is frowned upon? Don’t whine, don’t complain, think positive, etc. Not in an intentionally abusive manner, but in a way which ended up being extremely unhealthy for me--someone who struggles to process emotions to begin with. I’ve developed this idea that negative emotions (sadness, anger, frustration) are Bad and should Not Be Expressed. (Absolutely lovely when I am a Depressed Bitch.)
Like I...literally cannot cry in front of anyone? I just. Won’t. I cannot let other people know that I am sad because that would be asking for attention and that is Bad. (If there’s one thing I teach my students it’s to cry for God’s sake.) I will 100% smile at you while dying on the inside. I was smiling and laughing while talking to my mom on the way to the ER three days ago, despite legit wanting to die from pain. It’s what I do. (And it’s something I’m working on a lot, believe me.)
I think part of this also came from me trying to comprehend my emotional dysregulation as a child. My moods swung so drastically due to the ADHD and bipolar, so I tried to not “pin my hopes” on like...everything. This morphed into me teaching myself that I “can’t depend on people to make me happy”. This probably came from the fact that my best friend? Made me super happy. I loved hanging out with her, she brightened my day, she just made life better. When she would ignore me, or something would happen, I would get sad. Somehow I decided that was Emotional Neediness and I needed to Stop.
I don’t know that anyone ever said any of this. I just...invented it and never said it out loud.
I needed to be strong, independent, and not rely on anyone to make me happy.
It has recently occurred to me that this might be, in fact, extremely unhealthy. I am not yet convinced of this fact, because 27 years of that bullshit is hard to change.
What has potentially changed my mind?
Tumblr.
No joke, y’all.
I come on here and depression-post because I’m trying to teach myself to be honest with people. I’m trying to learn that I need to admit that I’m feeling like shit--not so that I can get any attention (because that’s still Bad) but so that I can go self care in private. It’s easier for me to be honest when I know everyone will just ignore me, as they should.
Except y’all don’t?! Like. Y’all. People in the fandom. Mutuals whom I haven’t really talked to. IRL friends who see my posts and text me. Like. You just. Reach out? And go “hey we love you”. Without like....without telling me to shut up, stop whining? I just.
What is this?!
Within the last 24 hours I realized that I just might have an issue with understanding how human beings are supposed to work. Like. Are we, perhaps, made to actually give and receive emotional intimacy and I somehow missed that memo?
Did I legit manage to un-invent the basics of human interaction in my own mind?
It should be noted that none of this holds true in reverse. I 100% expect and want people to come to me and tell me when they are upset. I love comforting people--students, friends, anyone--and I would legit die if I couldn’t give people hugs or listen to them or try to make them smile.
Is that how most people are? Did I just... miss the memo on what actual relationships are supposed to look like?
I think I did?!?!
Anyhow. If you read the whole way through this, thanks! I would 100% take any advice on this because this is a deeply ingrained Thing in my mind and I’m not...really sure what counts as being “clingy” and “needy” and what counts as normal...emotional expectations????? Very not joking here.
Also, if you read this far and you’re one of those people who’ve reached out to me--whether we know each other IRL, whether we’ve chatted a lot in the fandom, or whether we just reblog stuff from each other-- please know that means so much more to me than you know. That you took the time to answer my vague, unformed “someone care please” posts? Yeah, that means a lot.
I’ma go hide under a blanket now, since my brain is telling me that this whole post is Too Much Emotions and I’m once again Asking For Attention. Brain. Take a rest.
#mental health#long post#emotional intimacy#tl;dr: tumblr teaches local human that its okay to ask for a hug#tl:dr: local human is still not convinced that its okay to ask for a hug#tl;dr: you all are awesome
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(ESSAY) “One hasn’t caught a poem” – joining Alice Notley For the Ride, by Colin Herd
In this essay, Colin Herd writes from the side of dogs and car alarms and the everyday detritus of living in these ‘soupy’ times, where language draws us endlessly towards the possibility and withholding of more knowledge, more prediction, more answers and meaning. Exploring the rich, knotty and exhilarating poetics of Alice Notley’s recent book For the Ride (Penguin, 2020), Herd takes us on a jaunt through the ‘imaginative space of non-being’, zooming through windows and many portals of a rippling language, leading us into the shapeshifting realm of love, rebellion, tyranny, repeat and willowing new forms of (un)knowing.
“mebbe we’re just birds, orphic ones means, articuli of the blank” (92)
> This is an aside before I’ve even started but in my neighbourhood dogs are barking all the freaking time right now. Maybe it’s always like this and I just don’t notice because I’m usually at work during the day, or maybe it’s that they realise that stuff is screwed and weird right now… but wow… all these dogs wildly poeticise all day all night every day/night. Plus car alarms and house alarms which are of course dog-poets too as everyone knows, attuned to bewilderment as much as the next being.
> When things are trippy and scary, why not read something that’s even more so? And in the current Covid-19 crisis, I’ve been drawn to reading those poems that demonstrate an uncanny ability to know more always, to predict, to bring things into being, to foreshadow and foretell. I’ve been reading works that disrupt and destabilise, not to provide comfort in the disruption and instabilities of the present moment but to find ways of thinking disruptedly and divergently. One of those texts, a kind of prototext for that kind of thinking, is ‘On Notbeing’, one of those great lost works of presocratic philosophy that reminds us the best things in life are partial, basically unknowable & fragmented. In what we have available of ‘On Notbeing’, the poet-critic Gorgias zones out into the following elusive statements in a shadow-text, unpicking Parmenides’ ‘On Being’:
“Nothing exists; Even if something exists, nothing can be known about it; and even if something can be known about it, knowledge about it can't be communicated to others. Even if it can be communicated, it cannot be understood.”
As Barbara Cassin puts it, these statements “knot together” being and saying – existence and language – constructing politics and society in poeisis; but it isn’t just being and saying that are linked, it’s also being and non-being. Gorgias constructs the “city as an ongoing creation of language” by thinking logically through to a point where it’s impossible to imagine any stable “being”, that isn’t artificially constructed in the soupy language through which we experience it. Gorgias is on the side of the dogs and car alarms signalling their objection to any stable objective being, the “articuli of the blank”: sheer barking poetic insistence. It’s almost time for us to clap again.
> This imaginative space of non-being, this thinking-through of what it would be like not to exist, is exactly the space that Alice Notley’s new book For the Ride takes the reader, carefully lowering us down like a figure being dropped from a great height into a game, but the game is what feels like a live unfolding Zoom transcript of ghost-Gorgias-as-babysitter-to-zoom-bombing-baby-ghost-Derridas caught in self-isolation with endless versions of themselves. And Gorgias seems to be asking how many Zoom windows it is possible to open up at once to short-circuit the tech. And how exhilarating is this poem which takes poetry to breaking point! It’s a roughshod exploration of languages rippling and ripening around the questions: what might language be like if humans don’t exist? What worlds would language create if we weren’t around to limit, define them? Is posthuman talking / narrativizing / language possible?
> The actual agon / arena for these questions in For the Ride is “the glyph of chaos with willows”:
Oh but One’s not in time, what’s One in? Chaos, beautiful chaos –
But, too, One’s in glyph and it’s hard; learning a new way to go,
that is, Talk? proceeding on through… oh this might be round,
rounded. (1)
Notley’s poem creates spaces for us to imagine coming-to language. It’s a plant-like willowy coming-to language: “There are transversals, blurry poles—no they are lines” (1). The speaking here is plant-like in the way that Cassin reminds us Aristotle categorieses poets, those who speak nonsense: “Strage plants really, since like animals they make sounds with their mouths. Homoios phutoi, you are like a plant if you speak without meaning” (68). Notley’s text grows, abundantly. And reproduces almost magically – little branches of language falling – even upside down – and generating new growth. Notley’s is a coming-to language that might open up alternative spaces for being that don’t require us to situate ourselves and our egos in the same ways we’re accustomed to. Or, as it’s exquisitely put elsewhere: ”No way to evolve without pre-existence, assholes!”
> Oh just absorb us all with poetry like that! What else is poetry for but to swallow us up and then expel us somewhere we could never have been. This is a disorienting book, spinning the reader into all these different rooms of language, orienting us around characters – One, Wideset, France, Shaker etc – characters that are also spatial. In Queer Phenomenology: Orientations, Objects, Others, Sara Ahmed asks “How is it possible, with all that is possible, that the same form is repeated again and again? How does the openness of the future get closed down into so little in the present?” Notley’s poem lets us glimpse “the openness of the future”:
By changing this here langue. Whut evir’s done’s now diffirint words to. (117)
Yes it will come to you, is already maybe seeping into.
It’s like you do and more. No vocal cords? All’s a big vocal cord. (104)
And Notley’s poetry takes new shapes: calligrams of coyotes, arks, stars, bodies. This is such shaky & jittery poetry, more beautiful than I can swallow, such ground-shaking, tremulous, trembling, aquiver poetry. This is love poetry. Of course it’s fucking love poetry!... “loving it the langue” (48) … it’s love poetry because of the love that courses through every weird-ass overflowing sentence, “Step into this poem-scene, O one!” (105) It’s a love poem because it is so seeped in pleasure and because it rattles us in the s&m cords of its vocalities.
> Gorgias and Notley are scary and chilling and thrilling because they think past kill-joy-ing and administrations of bureaucratic humanity to glyphic hauntology, logocentricity, to language, to “someghost of langue” (102). Would language exist if humans weren’t around to think they made its rules up and got to police it? Maybe it would, maybe language branches would do their willow-thing. This is a poem that you want to bathe in – by cutting it out line by line and mulching them or something and wearing it around town like a mummy in a world you don’t exist in any more.
> This feeling isn’t that unfamiliar to those who are already in love with all the things a word can do when Alice Notley’s driving. And when I say driving I mean writing the most spooky, epic, eery poetry everwritten. The poet who takes us to places like this:
Where we except for those in charge are drained from giving ourselves to each other until there’s nothing left. (In the Pines)
You, dreaming about crazies, fearful of becoming one. What if
your yellow enraged aspect gets activated again,
screaming out your anger in a world that’s bizarre enough
to have invented it. (Culture of One)
I thought of words breaking open in the mouth but
also as jewels
of old sexless poets, of the dead dessicated
except for those emeralds or topazes
I still get a thrill when I say, emeralds and topazes. (Mysteries of Small Houses)
No world is intact
and no one cares about you.
I leaned down over
don’t care about, I care about
you
I leaned down over the
world in portrayal of carefulness, answering
something you couldn’t say. (Songs and Stories of the Ghouls)
Anything that comes into my mouth
is what I say. From where?
I scream for you
what you don’t dare know. Saying
I’ll know it for you
even though you don’t want me to (Negativity’s kiss)
“shifted” “& changed” “to spell Poverty” “instead of Presence” “He didn’t need” “to ride the train” “He’d made us poor” “in an instant” “They walk by”
“& make you poor” “They look at you & make you poor” “Surreptitiously I
began” “to remove my” “bits of jewelry” “my earrings” (The Descent of Alette)
as warriors take position
thousands of them
as leaves and flowers appear in their season
hearts burning to break them
singers without memory (Alice ordered me to be made)
Why does poetry that makes you want to ball your eyes out make you want to ball your eyes out?
> Alice Notley’s poetics always feels like what she wrote about in ‘The Poetics of Disobedience’ as “an immense act of rebellion against dominant social forces”, because her books are always so attuned to what those dominant social forces do and how they operate to delimit and reproduce the same-old same-old with all its deep political inadequacies. For the Ride feels like as well as pointing to dominant social forces also posits ways to imagine ourselves outside of them, even within the language-worlds of poems. In an interview with Shoshana Olidort in 2016 in the LA Review of Books, Alice Notley said:
“In The Descent of Alette, the tyrant is us. The tyrant is what enslaves us to our forms. The tyrant is the form of our life, the form of our politics, the form of our universities, the form of our knowledge, our thinking we know something. All of that is the tyrant. The tyrant is a liberal. The tyrant isn’t Trump. He can be part of it, but this tyrant is an extremely accomplished man who can do anything. Alette’s about the liberation of women, but it’s also about the liberation of everyone. If you keep half of humankind down, then everybody is oppressed.”
Can poetry actually be the willowlike language that grows all around and over the tyrant? Tonight (after a day of running classes and conducting meetings and participating in discussions) I joined my street clapping NHS workers. And in doing so I did the same thing that Boris Johnson is doing in Chequers. And all these weird Military-Parade like things just suddenly got started around the ritual. Police etc joined in with their gruesome show of “we got this”. I got an email from a new friend recently: “why is Britain so in love with the second world war”. This act of clapping - I should have just made car alarm noises and barking noises and so on. Or beeping noises. Or whatever noises my grandmother is making in her carehome right now where she’s not at all well. I’ll just do barking noises. Reading those statements, “the form of our politics, the form of our universities, the form of our knowledge, our thinking we can know something” basically makes me want to cry, which I know is soppy. We need to change all of these things but not in the ways that are being posited in this new Zoom Hell we’re careering towards. This by the way is also what the sophists, including Gorgias, were up to: destabilising all the certainties when we think we know things so as to suggest alternative forms of knowing and unknowing.
> Famously, Frank O’Hara poem-berated Marino Marini for not picking the rider as carefully as the horse. In this book Alice Notley suggests maybe they both got it mixed up and it’s the ride we should all be hung up on: “O ride it! Whut’s writin? Usin tentacle wavelets to scrawl these”. Maybe it’s whatever that ride is that might enable us to find willow forms of our knowledge, willow universities, willow forms of our thinking we know something. It’s not a horse we’re being asked to ride though but a ton of floating signifiers, floating poems within the poem-scene. And a harness would be a hindrance.
~
Cassin, Barbara, Jacques the Sophist: Lacan, Logos and Psychoanalysis (Fordham University Press, 2012)
Cassin, Barbara, Sophistical Practice: Towards a Consistent Relativism (Fordham University Press, 2014)
Dillon, John, The Greek Sophists (Penguin, 2003)
Notley, Alice, For the Ride (Penguin Poets, 2019)
Notley, Alice, Songs and Stories of the Ghouls (Wesleyan, 2011)
Notley, Alice, Negativity’s Kiss (Purh, 2014)
Notley, Alice, Alice ordered me to be made (Yellow Press, 1975)
Notley Alice, Descent of Alette (Penguin Poets, 1992)
Notley, Alice, Mysteries of Small Houses (Penguin Poets, 1998)
Notley, Alice, Culture of One (Penguin Poets, 2011)
Notley, Alice, In the Pines (Penguin Poets, 2007)
Notley, Alice, ‘The Poetics Of Disobedience’ | Poetry Foundation: <https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/69479/the-poetics-of-disobedience> (2010)
Olidort, Shoshana, ‘Between The Living And The Dead: An Interview With Alice Notley’ - Los Angeles Review Of Books <https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/between-the-living-and-the-dead-an-interview-with-alice-notley/> (2016)
For the Ride is out now and available to purchase via Penguin Random House.
~
Text: Colin Herd
Published: 24/4/20
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