#it's convoluted and long and probably could be broken into like 3 different metas but

[torturedpoetemotions]

The reason SPN is both quintessentially queer and quintessentially homophobic is because it's a straight man's fanfiction of a queer text. That’s really it. It's a straight man seeing the isolation and liminality and impermanence of queer life in the mid-20th century as told in On The Road and romanticizing it, and wanting to claim it for himself.

Which of course doesn't work, because in positioning his main characters as protectors of the middle American heterosexual nuclear family, he has already fundamentally misunderstood them. Their very existence is something middle America views as a threat, and middle America is to these characters a trap, a prison, a slow death rather than a quick one for which they nevertheless yearn because we are all taught to do so. (Perhaps what they truly yearn for is to want that life, but I digress.)

The American road story, the drifter’s story, is (among other things) a queer story. It is not compatible with the white picket fence, in fact the white picket fence's primary purpose is to shut it out. The white picket fence is a symbol of stability, comfort, prosperity (conformity, stagnation). The road, on the other hand, is a symbol of upset, disquiet, transience (freedom, transformation). Adventure and uncertainty are the cornerstones of the road story. It simply makes no goddamn sense to take characters from the road story and position them as protectors of the middle American nuclear family behind their white picket fences when these characters' very existence is positioned as a threat within the cultural context of middle America.

This plays out in the show, over and over again! Who are hunters? Well, they used to be “regular people.” They used to be part of the American Dream, the nuclear family, the white picket fence. Until a monster came along, came in from the road, and destroyed not only that state of existence, but all possibility of its return in the future. Hunters are what Reagan-era scaremongering rhetoric thinks about queer people.

Over and over, the show hammers home that hunters are never children, or are “broken” as children, hunters don’t get to retire, hunters don’t get happiness, hunters can’t just quit. Hunters die horribly, and they die young. Even those who try to leave, try to be “normal” are drawn back into it, one way or another, always, until it kills them.

Despite their humanity and their uh, particular aesthetics and their (predominant) whiteness and all the other things that seek to mark them out as belonging to a particular vision of middle America, hunters are also positioned in the narrative as Other, as monsters themselves. Hunters become the things they hunt eventually, literally or figuratively. They become unsuited to “civilian life.” They become incapable of living peacefully with “regular people.” They become the threat.

This happens with many hunters, but we need look no further than the Winchesters themselves. John, Dean, Sam, and even Mary destroy lives by mere proximity, despite good intentions, over and over. Sometimes they simply follow the trouble into town, but sometimes--and increasingly more often as the show goes on--they lead it there. Their presence is always a threat to the families they seek to help, so much so that the audience learns fairly early on not to get attached to the latter. Even the boys themselves accept it as somewhat inevitable.

And Castiel, the third lead of the show and the boys’ longest-lived ally, is possibly the most blatant example of this acceptance, not to mention another particularly egregious example of the show being both super queer and super homophobic.

Castiel is, for the first two seasons he appears in, possessing a man named Jimmy Novak (and the implications of that for his relationship with the Winchesters is something that needs a lot of unpacking but I’m gonna play the Mulaney card for now and move on).

Jimmy is the idealized version of a Midwestern family man. He’s a cis, heterosexual white man, a devoted father and husband and a Christian. He has a steady white collar job and lives in a nice house. He’s doing everything right, by a certain standard.

Then Castiel comes into his life, commandeers his body, and takes it to perform his holy duties (duties he eventually abdicates in favor of, you know, being gay and doing crimes, as you should). But one of the first things he does, before going to meet Dean Winchester face to face for the first time? He removes Jimmy’s wedding ring. He removes the symbol of Jimmy’s heterosexual marriage, tells Jimmy’s daughter “I’m not your father,” and then embarks on the simultaneously queerest, best, most homophobic, and worst love story of all time.

Let me just...restate that for you. The decade-plus-long queer love story starts with--no, actually necessitates--the dissolution of the American nuclear family.

That’s. That’s some extra spicy homophobia.

Then there’s the fact that Claire, Jimmy’s daughter, grows up to be--you guessed it--a hunter. A hunter, which is an inevitable metaphor for queerness given the show’s inspiration and despite Eric Kripke’s worst efforts. She’s subtextually queer and also canonically, textually queer. She falls in love with a woman named Kaia who can dreamwalk to alternate realities.

Something something preying on our children and turning them gay. Because there are always going to be people who see queerness and go looking for some traumatic source, because to them queerness is inextricably linked to trauma (hm, wonder who’s to blame for that).

Ahem. Like I said. Extra spicy homophobia.

Then there’s the way Castiel literally steals a child heavily hinted to be a savior figure from the Devil and his Republican mom (in all fairness, she was on board with the kidnapping) and raises him in a queerplatonic household of hunters, demons, and the occasional monster.

Because by this point in the story, the line between hunters and “monsters” has blurred so much for Sam and Dean that they readily count many of the latter as their allies, friends, and family. At final count their circle includes (or has included at some point) a family of werewolves, the Queen of Hell, the King of Hell (RIP), a ghost, a former ghost, a dreamwalker, an archangel (RIP), a witch and his resurrected sister, a seer, a former vampire, a former werewolf, an undead former Man of Letters, another archangel who’s wearing/cohabitating with their half-brother, and like...God’s actual sister. And tbh I’m probably forgetting someone.

They have not only accepted, but embraced their place as the Other. They’ve even found power and heroism in that identity. And again, it’s not perfect. It’s messy and inconsistent and self-contradictory, because predominantly straight people are writing a story that’s meant to be queer. They’re trying to write about finding yourself outside of your blood origins when those origins reject you and forming communities and support networks through shared adversity when they don’t have any idea what that fucking means.

Sam and Dean will mourn the death of a demon or hug it out with their friend the werewolf and then kill a couple of vampires that were drinking from blood bags and tell their abusive shitty father he did his best! And they grapple with zero cognitive dissonance for this, because the writers fundamentally do not understand the material they’re working with. The presence of one or two gay men doing their damnedest is not enough to fix it! If anything, it unfortunately just serves to make the homophobic parts of the show worse by making their queer subtext more adamant.

Finally, there’s the fact that for several seasons now, Sam and Dean’s story has been less about saving the world in and of itself, and more about just...healing. Fixing their own mistakes, overcoming past traumas. Defining a life for themselves outside the expectations and demands of their parents. Coming to understand their parents as flawed people who didn’t hold all the answers. Healing from the trauma and violence of their childhood indoctrination into a very on-the-nose metaphor for Christian fundamentalism (hey, more mess! Hunting functions as a metaphor for queerness but also John raising them as hunters functions as a metaphor for fundy Christianity because *pats Eric Kripke on the head* this baby can fit so many contradictions).

And in a well-written story, crafted by someone who understood the themes they were playing with, the resolution for all these threads is obvious: the only harmonious, satisfying resolution to Sam and Dean’s story is the one where they achieve self-actualization, where they accept not only themselves but that the people they are and the lives they want don’t quite look like what their parents might have imagined for them, or what they’ve been conditioned to want.

For Sam, it’s a life as a hunter that actually integrates who he is as a person (studious, a bit supernatural himself) rather than making him feel like a freak. It’s using knowledge and information and organization and leadership to build community among hunters and make hunting a less dangerously isolated and isolating way of life. It quite possibly also means seeking to find solutions to supernatural problems that don’t go straight to murder and bloodshed. A hunting that admits and embraces the similarities between “monster” and “hunter” and seeks harmony and cooperation between the two wherever possible.

And a relationship, not necessarily marriage, with a Deaf woman who is also a hunter, who understands his life and his past, and embraces both without reservation because in many ways they reflect her own. Sam’s childhood of isolation, Othering, being infantilized by his father and brother is turned on its head, traded for a life of community, inclusivity, and becoming not only an individual in his own right, but leader others can look up to.

For Dean? His perfect ending looks like settling down into a domestic life and a romantic relationship with an angel (current or former) who is also a man. No more world-saving. No more putting his own happiness on the back burner for the sake of everyone else around him. No more denying who he is, no more subtext. No longer a soldier or an instrument, just...a man, who gets to be in love with another man and be loved back, and who gets to live.

The parts of himself that he’s always felt were liminal, dangerous, Other...seamlessly integrated into a version of happiness he never thought he could have. If we wanted to get into nitty gritty details, this would probably also include an occupation or hobby/ies that centered around creating and nurturing, rather than killing and harming. More inversions of the things he was taught he was made for.

Both their endings the opposite of what they expected, what they were conditioned to want or chase or be. Neither of them what their father intended, nor quite what their mother hoped for, and definitely nothing God had planned.

Neither of them typical “straight” endings, either (whatever some dumbass on Twitter might think, two men falling in love is simply not straight), which makes perfect sense because their stories aren’t straight stories.

And that’s not only why the ending falls so flat, it’s also why the show never quite works even in the best of times. Because the heart of it, something that’s interesting and important and revolutionary, the story of queer people seeking and finding fulfillment and happiness in a world that wants to kill us, is constantly being pushed and pulled and overshadowed by the fact that the show is written predominantly by straight men who refuse to accept that the story they’re trying to claim for themselves is a queer one.

So you get the main characters disrupting and destroying the American nuclear family, dirtying the white picket fence, queering the straight Midwestern dad, stealing children from abusive parents, breaking free from the burden of parents’ expectations, building a found family, defying God’s plan...and being called heroes over and over even as their actions are somehow also painted in a horrifying light, spattered with blood, and hurtling toward an apocalypse over and over again. They’re being hailed as the protagonists and God’s favorites, but simultaneously being punished textually and subtextually by the narrative just for being who they are. Always. Constantly. For fifteen seasons.

Because they are both hero and villain. Man and monster. Savior and bringer of damnation. Dean, Sam, and Castiel. All three of them embody this duality in different ways, and more strongly at different points in the story, but they all embody it. And they are all punished and killed for it with an ending that undercuts everything that came before and insults the intelligence of every viewer who was paying the slightest bit of attention. The final message of the show seems to be “defy God/the status quo and die pointlessly,” which is...an interesting choice for a show that’s ostensibly been about humanity and free will and romanticizing the American road story from the get.

The real mindfuck is that if you’re a queer viewer a lot of this is still weirdly empowering! Watching the heroes create chaos in middle America and create home in the midst of chaos is empowering! Because where the SPN writers or “general audience” may see dissolution, predator, threat, we see freedom, possibility, hope...room for different types of people and families and existence. Because that white picket fence is a symbol of oppression, that nuclear family is where many of us suffered horrific abuse. That apple pie life is a trap, and it comes at the sacrifice of us, and it’s not freakin’ worth it.

There’s just this constant tension between the two stories: the one the writers are trying to tell/think they’re telling, and the one they’re stealing from/actually telling. The queer origins and experiences and themes stubbornly shine through even when covered in layers of toxic masculinity and homophobia. There will be all of these rare, shining moments where the story understands itself and what it is before being dragged back down to what some unimaginative little straight man wants it to be. And both the queerness and the homophobia only serve to drive more attention to each other in a seemingly endless cycle of revelation and obfuscation.

And it’s so frustrating.

#supernatural #spn meta #on the road #fuck the finale #appropriating queer stories #lizawords #i don't even know what else to tag this #it's convoluted and long and probably could be broken into like 3 different metas but #i'm not doing that #25notes #50notes #100notes #250notes #500notes #1knotes

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Even If the Waters Rise 3/5 (*cough*)

Shadowrun inspired Mermay part 3 out of *now* 5 - it’s a monster. In this edition: Drama, drama, and once again, relationship drama.

Also, warnings for the whole planned thing: blood, gore, and violence; cannibalism (human on metahuman); questionable jokes and questionable totem choices; ambiguous relationships; referenced limb loss/cybernetics/etc; mating cycles.

*

Give or take a few days, Jesse turns up three weeks later, lacking fangs or a sun allergy, albeit with a certain pallor to his skin and aversion to the light, but that's easily explainable by the obvious hangover he's sporting, the kind that comes with a days-long drinking binge.

"Broke up already?" Jack pours himself a drink and then slides Jesse the bottle with about half of its contents remaining. He obviously needs it more than Jack.

"Don't want to talk 'bout it."

"Good. Because I'm not interested."

He ends up with all the sordid details, anyway.

It takes over two hours for Jesse to explain that his perpetual stalker vampire ex dumped him two nights past the club incident due to him supposedly smelling like a wet dog that also found and rolled in some prime ripe carrion. Jack's not going to comment on that. To him, Jesse reeks of his cigars first and foremost, and maybe under this odor hides a note of wet canine fur, mangy and full of dust - reminiscent of petrichor but more acidic and scratching the throat if inhaled too deeply or closely. Now, it's also alcohol sweat. But those two hours are enough for Jesse to get himself back into the drunken stupor.

Jack relocates him to the couch and orders take out - settling for some suspicious pizza as the safer option out of the available, even if he has trouble deciphering the ingredients. Someone out there probably knows what exactly 'sea chicken baby' is.

To his morbid astonishment, the 'Chicken of the Sea' turns out to be a sea cucumber, bland as fuck if not for the cheese and the sauce - and he's comfortably sure it would taste better raw than baked. He eats two slices and leaves the rest out on the counter for Jesse - and the state Jesse's in, he would probably be happy with a trashcan left out in some alleyway to pick through.

By the looks of him, that's a fair assumption to make, and not at all mean or undeserved.

But the question of how Jesse tracked him down remains. Their hidey-holes over the whole coastal area number in closer to a hundred than a fifty, so it's either an incredible draw of the luck (including the dang spirit dog) or someone had pointed him in Jack's direction. He brings it up during the check-in with Sombra, sure to vent his general disposition at both Jesse's intrusion, and the required daily contact.

"I think some responsibility would do you good," she brushes him off, "so take care of the puppy instead of moping by yourself for days."

"Maybe, just maybe, I do have a reason to mope," Jack snaps at her, "ever thought about that one?"

Sombra sighs.

"I don't know what had happened between you and Gabe, but..."

"Oh, you could, just load it up."

He immediately regrets going off on her, it's not her fault. Only it is her fault, in an illogical and convoluted way - because right now, he needs someone to blame and that someone will not be him.

"I'd never do that unless you want to show me."

Fuck this shit. He's tired and emotionally drained - he didn't even think it was possible.

"Listen, Jack," Sombra continues after he fails to answer her, "you have no idea what ice I had to get through just to send him a message, and the moment he got it, he just dropped everything and walked out of the meeting."

"Yeah, his asset was malfunctioning."

"Whatever happened, you're taking it hard, and you need something to occupy your time because sitting around is doing you no favors to your state of mind."

"Then find me something to do that doesn't include babysitting the human disaster all broken up over my couch."

"The fleet." Sombra mulls something over and Jack, elbows leaning on the windowsill as he finishes his drink, looks over the almost empty street below. "I'm running into walls and I'll need help with some more traditional intel gathering."

"You need hired muscle."

"The gist of it, yes, I need someone to beat some people up so they cough their contacts up, but I'm still pursuing some other venues right now."

"Tell me when you actually have people to rough up, the downtime's killing me, and this place's a total shithole."

"I know. I'll have tickets for you and the puppy tomorrow, and I need you to keep him on a leash because you're going to Yakuza-land for the foreseeable future." He can feel her smile trying to be reassuring pressed against his thoughts. "And you have a meeting scheduled."

"Yeah, about that, one, the only thing I know is 'shakuhachi shite' and 'arigato'," Sombra laughs muttering 'oh god', "and two, he can send them again through the proxy."

"Listen, you don't really want that. And that wasn't even 'fuck off'. That was dirty talk, Jack."

"Figures. I'm..." Jack sighs, massaging his temples. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Earlier, I mean."

"I know."

"I'm just, I don't know, angry? Not with you, you did what you had to, but... It's too much, all of it, and I'm sorry."

"I know. You'll work it out. It's okay."

"Fuck. Thanks, I guess. I'm not thanking for dropping the mongrel on my unsuspecting lap, though."

"You're welcome." She signs off and Jack pulls the plug out.

Even the mere prospect of meeting up with Gabriel after the incident gives him what he can describe only as anxiety. At least, that's what Jack decides to peg it as, something jumbled and all tied up in knots, and self-hating, and making him feel useless.

Nibbling on the third slice of the pizza and watching the sun go down, he knows what it really is, but refuses to give it the proper name. Calling it anything else lets him pretend it's nothing important and go about his life like nothing's different, even if it is - threatening to topple over and crush him under.

When Jesse starts moving, Jack forces him under the shower and his clothes into a washing machine. The thing is done with its load before Jesse is, and he dumps the debatably cleaner garments on the couch - the coyote is looking at him with an expression on its snout that's far too intelligent for his liking, half-mocking, and half-challenging. Jack turns the serape the other way. The coyote, apparently, takes a short hike all around the fabric to end up facing him again, and he could probably get into a trial of persistence with it but has a sneaking suspicion he would lose.

Fuck it. It can stare at him through the back of the couch as he undresses.

Jesse, predictably, ambles out to the shower and straight to the counter to assault the leftover pizza with the zeal of a person starving for days.

"Switch your SIN," Jack instructs him after he catches Jesse's attention with a tactical application of a ballistic shoe.

"What? Why?" Jesse mutters between the mouthfuls.

"We're flying to Japan tomorrow, would be best not to have Yakuza waiting on the ground for you when we get off."

"Why the fuck JIS?"

"Yakuza's probably involved with the fleet Som's tracking."

"They are. Fucking racists."

"You know that?"

"If anything has to do with harm to metas in the region, that's a safe bet it's them." Jesse wipes the oil from his mouth with the back of his hand, and the hand on his stomach. Of-fucking-course. "Say, we gonna be anywhere close to Hanamura?"

Jack sits on the bed, taking off his pants.

"Nowhere close. Everyone knows you there, and you're too recognizable." He stares at Jesse with contempt. "You just broke up with your main ex, you're not getting into another mess with another ex of yours. Don't make me tie you down."

"Nah, that about other business." Jesse stretches and walks around the counter in all his naked glory, stopping when Jack points with definite distaste on his face to the couch.

"You're still wet, the bed's mine, and the dog was giving me attitude."

"Whatever you say, pardner."

Jack cannot blame the sleepless night on Jesse, not directly - he doesn't snore, but maybe his presence has something to do with it. Regardless, his ensuing horrid morning disposition makes Jack snap at Jesse more than once, which Jesse completely ignores, or is simply oblivious to.

After he sends Jesse out with the trash and to wait for the car, Jack gives the flat the last once-over, making sure nothing personal is left lying around - unlikely they'll ever use the safehouse again, but good practice is good practice, and it's best not to tempt the fate.

The trip to the airport is relatively short and eventless, he only has to remind Jesse to switch his SIN once before they board. Jack pushes his bag into the overhead compartment and shuts it with a bang, taking his time before he sits and buckles into the seat.

The moment the plane rolls down the tarmac before takeoff he has to quash down his instincts screaming at him to get up and run. The lurch of wheels losing the contact with the ground below has Jack hunched and holding his head between his hands. Twitching at every suspect sound and tremor of the hull, he has nothing to distract himself with on the flight as his mind runs circles around images of a fiery inferno.

"Dude, have you tried taking something for it?" Jesse tries to start a conversation.

Jack shoots him down with a muttered 'fuck off' before returning to fighting to keep his stomach where it usually is and not in the vicinity of his throat where it battles for space with his now frantic heart. Two hours stretch into an imperceptible eternity of pure torture. Jesse waits for him to regain control of his shaking hands when the plane lands. They disembark among the last of the passengers.

The airport is a reconstructed dream of a crazy architect who, faced with a substantial lack of land, built it floating on water. Jack navigates them through the terminals to the water tram while keeping one eye out for anyone trying to latch onto their trail, hoping they look both intimidating and luckless enough to not attract the attention of any lookouts. It's not his first time in JIS, and, ironically, their best bet is using public transport. Some three years ago, the situation would be different, with the welcoming committee already waiting to bus him to his destination. Now, those bridges were burnt, and the goodwill was gone.

"What's the first rule?"

Jesse scoffs, sprawled on the seat, taking up two spaces realistically, legs kicked up to rest on the back of the seats in front of him to the distaste of the attendant.

"Not gonna risk Yakuza ink, even I'm not that stupid."

Jack stares at him with doubt.

"Except that one time."

"That one was different."

"I'm at loss for words," Jack rolls his eyes. "The second rule?"

"Don't antagonize the local racist shitbags?"

"Yeah, that. And the third?"

"Don't fuck with Yakuza."

"Good one."

"Nah, dude, not gonna go to Hanamura and fuck around, I need to go north later, check out something," Jesse shrugs. "Find someone to talk about that bear spirit because that shit was bad, man, real awful shit."

"I suspect you'll have time to do that. We can go together."

"Nah, no hard feelings, dude, but bear people don't trust that easy."

"Suit yourself," Jack rolls his eyes and nudges Jesse to get up as the tram lines up with the embankment. The taxi that drives them to the hotel rips them off, counting the normal rate several times over. Being foreigners, they are expected to pay more than locals for the same services, and making a scene would only add to the expenses - there's either some notation in the contract that would render any complaint null and void, or the local arm of the law would dismiss it anyway after they had at least ticketed them for creating a disturbance - if not outright put them under arrest on some bullshit charge. Well, Jack's not going to bother with it, it's not his money.

The hotel is one of those ridiculously posh ones, and he and Jesse draw curious glances as they pick up keycards from the reception area.

"Man, that's what I call life," Jesse announces after opening the alcohol cabinet, the first destination he chooses after walking into their shared room. Jack glances at the clock and just like that his heart is back to hammering against his ribs. He leaves his bag on the table.

"I'll be back tomorrow, do nothing stupid while I’m gone."

"Nah, jus’ gonna get stupid drunk and watch some holos."

Jack shrugs and heads out, leaving Jesse to his own devices, hoping he will stay true to his own words and not wander outside, especially not when drunk.

Gabriel's apartment is several floors up and Jack opts for stairs this time. The flight was enough excitement for the day, and the thought of forcing himself into the elevator fills him with revulsion on the spot. Halfway up, he realizes he’s only delaying the inevitable.

The heavy thing settled in his stomach is dread - and maybe, for the first time in his life, his instincts work as they should - screaming at him to run away, no matter where, just away, as he presses the card against the reader and keys in the code. Little late for that, huh? He pushes the door open, wincing at the breach of protocol: so wrapped earlier in his own thoughts he forgot about sending the text. The pad lies in the bag left with Jesse.

"I'm here," Jack announces to the room. His voice falls flat, even to his own ears. Gabriel looks over his shoulder while the screens in front of him flicker off one by one. Fucking dramatic, as usual.

"I can see it."

"I hate flying," Jack scrambles for an excuse - he doesn't need to, but it feels like he does - shrugs noncommittally, holding Gabriel's gaze. The mounting tension in the room seemingly affects only him - some misplaced power struggle Jack loses before it even began - and he breaks away the eye contact, turning away and stepping deeper into the suite. "There has to be a different method to get around."

"It is the most effective one."

The voice sounds too close, following Jack as he sheds his clothes.

"Maybe one that hits the orbit, I heard weightlessness is somewhat like swimming." He can at least give his honest opinion if they're on the subject.

"If the need arises for one."

Yeah, probably any launch of the type is conspicuous and more likely monitored, from the utilitarian point of view only reasonable if the speed is the key. Fuck that.

Jack loses the rest of his garments with the skin on the nape of his neck prickling under the scrutiny. Whether it's imagined or not doesn't matter, it's wrecking his nerves either way.

It's his turn to look over his shoulder, at Gabriel standing some distance away - shifting finally and coming closer to the bed.

"I wasn't aware flight provokes such high levels of stress for you."

Jack bites back the obvious answer - that unless he's bothered to know there's a lot Gabriel doesn't know about him - and the only time he cares to know is when it interferes with the operations. Won't lie to himself about the malice hidden under the thought.

"Now you know."

"Noted."

With Gabriel's thumb raising his chin up and the red and black eyes boring into his own, Jack falls back into the sheets. The sex is great, amazing even - it always is - but there is a certain measure of detachment that prevents him from losing himself in the act.

There's an invisible wall between him and Gabriel, one that wasn't there before, and the more Jack thinks about it curled up on his side, the more he realizes the fault lies with him, and him alone. Things have changed - he has changed - not Gabriel, and neither the arrangement. It's just a business transaction.

Trying to untangle the jumbled knot inside is like picking at an itching scab, only to discover there's pus underneath and nothing's healing. And it won't heal, not when Jack cannot pretend anymore he doesn't care, no matter how much he wants to. If that's what love is, it's a fucking miserable thing he wouldn't wish on anyone; he wonders if his past self also felt the same and he's merely stuck in following a preset rut. After all, the world is a cycle, isn't it?

Wanting Gabriel gone to let him sleep alone is a new one. So he can wallow in misery and self-pity in peace without the subject of his one-sided affection at his back.

Yeah. Love's an absolute utter bullshit, that's what Jack tells himself, staring at his own reflection in the still surface of the lake, fingers trailing in the water. The weathered wooden planks, blackened with tar, are far from the most pleasant to lie on - but the sun bearing down on his skin feels good and allays the discomfort.

The ripples born from his hand idly moving distort his reflection until Jack cannot recognize it anymore as his. And it isn't his, it's something else looking back at him from below the surface. Before he has time to react clawed fingers wrap around his wrist. The shining scales fading in and out of the skin glitter in the light with each minute shift.

It yanks him down with surprising strength

His skin scrapes on the wood - the water is cold - so cold - his lungs hurt with the lack of oxygen when he frees himself from the grip pulling him down - but the safety is far away - too far - and hungry mouths filled with sharp teeth latch onto his flesh.

He drowns.

The ending is the same, it's the rest of the dream that changes.

Lying cradled against Gabriel's side, with the arm wrapped around his waist and the palm resting on his stomach, Jack remains still, trying to wrest his thundering heart under control. Why he even bothers to remains a mystery because there is no viable way Gabriel isn't aware he's wide awake. What's left for Jack is to enjoy the rare closeness, something he's hard-pressed to; the satisfaction eludes him nonetheless while he watches Gabriel work. The screens close and reappear, once or twice prompted by the hand gesturing at them.

Jack tries to focus on the simple sensations: the warmth of the skin, the smell of the ocean, the lingering touch, but soon, it becomes unbearable, this picking at the open aching wound.

He moves away - the arm around his waist slackens and lets him go - and he sits up, disentangling himself from the sheets. Gabriel's attention remains focused on the screens, and Jack struggles for something to say.

"I'm going to take a shower," he mutters in the end, sliding off the bed.

The oppressive feeling of being observed and considered fades after the bathroom door closes behind him.

Of course, the whole room is done in subdued pink - salmon? - with elaborate cherry motifs running unbroken all around the walls with slight hints of darker colors. It's probably pretty and charming, and not at all tacky and lacking any real character or individual touch. Hotels always were like that.

The bathtub looks inviting, and Jack knows he could stay here for days by himself, but the reasons he's loath to are twofold. Jesse definitely constitutes one, the other one being the place that will make him think about Gabriel, and Gabriel only, the distractions available superficial.

Jack steps into the shower and, standing under the rain of warm water, he presses his forehead to the cold tiles. The voice inside his head provides him with an incessant background chant of 'you broke it' until he can't bear it anymore and punches the wall in frustration. The tiles crack.

He has no idea how long he's been in the bathroom - but Gabriel is gone when he walks out.

The pillbox lies on the pillow almost like an afterthought. Jack puts it in his pocket after gathering all his things.

He opts for the stairs again.

What he's not prepared for is Jesse scrambling to look at him over the back of the chair as he enters their room. Jack raises eyebrows at him.

"Shit! Dude. You're, like, glowing, but look like a kicked dog, but seriously," Jesse blindly reaches back behind himself for the open can of beer sitting on the small table, "you're bending the whole flow around you!"

"The what?" Jack notes the smell of cigars in the air, laced with something else, acrid and heady.

"Mana." Jesse sips from the can. "You got a fuckton of magic on you, like, a lot."

"Great. There's to hoping it won't kill me." Jack throws the jacket on the couch, sits in the other chair next to Jesse, and helps himself to the unopened can standing in the middle of empty ones.

"Don't think so, if it's bad, you'd be, like, dead ten times over, what with the potency. No spirit, for sure."

"Great. I feel nothing."

At least now, he had the explanation for Gabriel's clothes trick. Jack opens the can and downs half of it in one go.

"Offense meant, dude, but you got the sensitivity of a low-flying brick, and that means the only sensitivity you got is in the poor dude you're gonna brain."

"Thanks, I guess." Jack chuckles, toasting Jesse with a flourish. "Tell me," he vaguely points at himself, "if it does something weird."

"Will do. Wanna anything stronger with that?"

"That's what stinks in here?"

Jesse looks at him with his eyes pinched.

"Maybe."

"Pass, don't want to fuck up my lungs any more than they already are."

"Dude. You can breathe water, lil bit of smoke not gonna fuck them up."

"Still a pass." Jack finishes the beer and finds another can. "As long as it's not something you can be busted for, go ahead yourself."

Jesse snorts, apparently amused by his comment.

"It's all natural. Like, herbs and shrooms." To illustrate, he picks up a small baggie containing flaky brown fragments. "I smoke 'em, but go as well on the tongue."

This is a terrible idea. And Jack's tempted.

"No," he answers with a delay. "Especially if that's what gave you the mutt, might be contagious."

"Suit yourself." Jesse pulls out a cigar from his pocket and lights it, puffs on it lightly. Jack leaves it without a comment while flipping through the channels on the holo. They're both left with nothing to do for the foreseeable time. Jesse is more than content to spend the days idling: doing nothing but smoking, drinking, and watching tv, but Jack ventures out twice. He gives up on the whole idea of spending time outside of the hotel room soon.

He had forgotten how bland and hostile the whole of the JIS is to him despite the colors and the flashing lights, the music, and the chatter that never stops, or the cities that never sleep. It's a sea of humans only, maybe one or two occasional elves, almost no other metas, which serves to remind Jack that outside of the metropolis it's even worse.

Finding a place to drink and eat he's let in, not to mention not being faced with outright disdain when it becomes obvious he doesn't speak a speck of the language, is too bothersome.

Being confined to the hotel is not the worst thing in the world, Jack decides, not with his surprisingly stable mood, and the fact he's not fixating on the whole situation with Gabriel - only sometimes - and earthly mundane distractions are forthcoming. The majority of it, he thinks, is easily attributed to whatever Jesse's smoking the copious amounts of, and he himself is probably getting high on the fumes by the virtue of widely understood osmosis. Or ingestion. Call it what you will, it works wonders.

The idyll of the carefree quiescence ends with a dream in equal measure disturbingly different, and uncomfortably concordant. His feet are in the water - the waves wash up to his knees. He can feel every grain of sand on his skin: pressing in, irritating, ignored.

Pleasant warmth spills deep to his core, radiates from the bodies pressed to his sides - there's one hand slung over his chest - another carelessly pushes the elbow into his stomach - Jack shifts to remove the discomfort, and as he does so, he senses everyone else moving too. Like dominoes, every change of position prompts a chain reaction following down the line.

Lulled into half-sleep, this strange place in-between lucidity and unconsciousness, his eyes remain closed even with a familiar weight pressing down into almost the entire length of his body.

Something cold tickles his face and Jack finally looks up, at the silhouette cut starkly in the expanse of the pale blue sky, Gabriel's long wet hair brushing against his nose and cheeks, droplets of cool water splashing on heated skin giving him goosebumps.

Jack lifts his arms up. His fingers lock behind Gabriel's neck as he's spread open on the sand, a strange kind of pride bursting in his chest with each bite that draws blood from his skin. Nothing else exists or bears any importance but this one singular snapshot of time dredged from god knows where.

Jack freezes with his eyes wide open, his fingers almost breaking the surface of the water. The sensations - all so very specific and precise, unlike the vague suggestions of the usual dreamscapes - the sand scratching his arms and legs, and the back, the irritation lingering even now. The synthskin, even the kind slapped on his limbs, is never good enough to allow for the definition of the input and the interpretation on the level of the natural skin.

Dredged up. His own thought.

There's a sinking feeling, a frightening idea, that it's a memory. And it's not his. Jack schools his breathing; the jealousy at the effortless intimacy mixed with the shame of being an unwilling observer of someone else's intimate life swirl under his tongue. Or it's all jealousy. And spite. He grips the edges of the bathtub and pulls himself upright.

At the clinking and shuffling from the side, Jack turns his head to see Jesse tucking himself into his pants and buckling his belt.

"Christ, dude, you scared the piss outta me, like, for real."

Jack shows him the finger.

"How does your skin stay on, anyway?"

"It's just what it does? It's only fingers that do this dehydration thing."

"I don't mean that, and don't do this 'rise from the watery grave' shtick when I'm trying to take a leak," Jesse rolls his eyes, a gesture he's so fond of. "Almost pissed all over the wall."

"That's a 'you' problem, not a 'me' problem," Jack mutters, heaving himself upright and snatching a towel off the rack. He wraps it around himself while stepping out of the bathtub.

"Would be a 'you' problem if I'd turned around when you did the 'I live' routine."

Jack snorts, giving Jesse an appraising look supposed to convey his opinion on the subject matter, and moves to the main room - dripping water everywhere - where he sinks into his usual chair.

"By the way, I got my stuff arranged, so I'll be splitting in the evening later."

Jack acknowledges it with a grunt. With Jesse gone, he will probably be about ready to climb walls with the dearth of things left to do. Or return to drinking alone, which, arguably, is far from anything approximating a healthy coping mechanism.

"And you forgot toes. And the soles."

"Hm?"

"The prune looking thing, the feet do that too." Jesse drops back to the couch and plays with the remote. "That's stuff from the time we were all water monkeys, and so we could grab stuff better in water."

"No bullshit?"

"Nah, real stuff, that's why we like water that much. Some of us, at least, that's, like, where we should be most of the time."

"Cool."

"You're still a freak, though," Jesse salutes before opening a beer he has grabbed earlier from the cooler. "No hard feelings, right?"

"None. But, with the world as it is, isn't the whole evolution argument kind of moot? No-one accounted for the magic, did they?" Jack picks the plate with the remnants of yesterday's late-night snack up from the table and tries to discern if anything on it looks poisonous yet. Fried shrimps appear acceptable, to be honest, though the oil probably is a bit stale, Jack decides.

"Now, here, my dude, my friend, is the heart of the matter all those dudes who say a big man, or a big woman, or whatever in the sky did it don't get they get wrong."

"And that is?"

"And that is that even if that's all a fart of some higher power in the sky, it's still a creation, see? Someone sneezed, stuff crawled outta that sneeze, and the world began, it's still their word, ya know?"

Jack nibbles on the shrimp, deep in thought.

"Let's call that 'the great primordial snot theory' and never mention it again, deal?"

"Deal. Sounded better in my head."

"No," Jack lets out a defeated sigh, "you're onto something, but I'm definitely not going into the ramifications of a sneeze being the breath of life."

"But it has a nice ring to it."

"Yeah." Jack focuses on the shrimps, paying only nominal attention to both the show playing in the background and Jesse's mutterings while he slowly gathers his belongings that spread all over the rooms they've shared so far. Later, Jack escorts Jesse to the cab waiting for him, grips his hand for longer than needed when they shake.

"What's the main rule?"

"Don't get inked. Dude, who do you take me for?" Jesse snorts, trying to look offended and failing.

"A moron."

"Fair. Take care."

"You too."

Jesse ducks into his seat in the back of the cab and Jack shuts the door behind him - staying for a moment to see the car speed away from him before he returns to the hotel and for the first time considers the relative wasteland of devastation the room has become. After he pushes everything from the coffee table into a trash bin, he returns to the chair and checks in with Sombra.

"Feeling maudlin, are we?"

Jack shakes his head.

"What gave you the idea? Anyway, you still in Frisco?"

"Yes. Better access points to JIS networks."

"Right. Didn't cross my mind this might be the reason."

"There's good news too. When you get back from your meeting, I'll have a package waiting for you."

The meeting. He's on the last three doses remaining. Anxiety surges up in a sudden spike at the realization. He's been avoiding dwelling on the matter so well he pushed it almost entirely out of his mind.

"A package?"

"Some additional gear we will need to start digging, how to say it, organically."

"Beat people up, you mean."

"Yes," Sombra trails off slowly, a question in the air.

"Go on," Jack urges her, and after a lengthy pause, she continues.

"You never told me you only have nightmares."

"I have other dreams too." He's pretty sure of it, especially after the last one.

"Jack. Every time you enter the REM phase, you have repetitive patterns of stress. Listen," Sombra sighs, probably reading his silence the wrong way, "I wasn't... keen on sifting through all your data, I don't like infringing on your privacy more than I have to, but Gabe insisted on it, and it could've been avoided if you had talked about having problems."

"They're not really problems, though."

He can almost hear her mentally counting down.

"You consistently downplay your pain levels, you don't dream save for reliving the trauma you'd suffered, and, Jack, I tried simulating your brain activity, I clocked out after three minutes."

"I'm used to it."

"That's the thing, you shouldn't be used to it, it's not normal," Sombra huffs, and Jack's sure she's throwing things right now wherever she's physically at by now. "I'm angry with you, we'll talk tomorrow when you get the package, and I'll be less angry."

She disconnects without prior warning, leaving him alone. But that's the thing about pain, you become numb to some of it, Jack thinks, until it becomes just the background radiation of your life.

He takes a quick shower and finds a clean set of clothes to change into.

This time, Jack remembers about keeping the pad on his person, and sends the text as he climbs the stairs yet again, somewhat amazed at how three whole weeks have passed unnoticeably with Jesse there to keep him occupied - he's not going to lie, he's going to miss the bugger. Not the conversations, per se, but rather, the general awareness of his presence. Even if everyone is living their own separate lives outside of the operations, getting together is not so bad, after all.

Jack stops at the doors to the same suite as before. The code is unchanged. A few calming breaths and he walks in.

That's the thing about the constant pain, it doesn't disappear, it just numbs you down - it's a sort of resigned weary acceptance to his situation that leaves a dull ache in its wake, nothing earth-shattering anymore, but it's still there. The half-smile Jack musters at the sight of Gabriel observing him is surprisingly genuine, even to him himself. He can, and will, deal with it. His problem, not anyone else's.

"Long time no see," Jack quips at the inquisitive rise of Gabriel's eyebrow. "Hi, and all that jazz."

He doesn't expect an answer. There is none, save for Gabriel stepping closer, and Jack throws his hands around his neck while his heart flips in his chest - constricts into a singular point of fear and doubt - the touch on his hip giving him something - anything - to grab onto. Grounding, as is the finger raising his chin.

The red and black eyes regard him with moderate interest - observe and scrutinize - pass the judgment on him; Jack leans in against the instinct telling him for once to run and hide from the apex predator before him. But, has he ever listened to it when it urged him to do anything but fight? Not that he can recall such an incident.

In a small act of defiance, Jack catches Gabriel's lip between his teeth, scrapes the tip of a canine on the fragile skin on the inside, hard enough to draw blood. He waits with the bated breath for the reaction, taken aback by a sparkle of what could be amusement in Gabriel's posture, and the kiss, now tinged with the metallic aftertaste, deepening, becoming more forceful, his body pulled flush against Gabriel's, a hand on the nape of his neck.

Jack stumbles over his own feet while being led to the bedroom, lost in the kiss until the backs of his shins hit the edge of the bed, and with a gasp of surprise he lies on the covers - almost falling but also held and lowered - peeled out of his garments, and out of control. Having Gabriel's attention focused on him - and only him - makes Jack's head spin each and every time, regardless of the circumstances; a near-religious experience if he ever had to put a name to it, not unlike the moment the drifting dragon gazed at him - and through him.

He wanders back to the dream - the memory - of the beach, of the coarse sand biting into his skin; Gabriel's locks that have slipped from the low ponytail tickle his cheeks and nose as his fingers dig into Gabriel's shoulders, trying to find a way to bring him even closer. Maybe even to leave a mark - a sign of permanence - something that cannot be denied sunk beneath Gabriel's skin in a desperate attempt to put his claim on him before Jack dissolves in the smell and the taste of the ocean rushing over him, the whirling current pulling him down.

But this is what Jack knows: he is not willing to give this up, this bittersweet torture. It doesn't come as a sudden realization, more like a long-standing knowledge now unburied and close to the surface, driven home with the weight of the moisture hanging on his eyelashes. He reaches out and finds Gabriel's palm, twines their fingers together - always amazed at the contrast and the faint dark red lines following intricate patterns melting into the color of Gabriel's skin - pulls it close to his chest, its back pressing against his heart. Covers both their palms with his other hand and curls around it.

No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it will hurt, he's not going to give this up because the alternative is far worse, it's being abandoned and empty, and lost, and having nothing but that deep-seated ache.

Like this, he can at least pretend, Jack muses, slowly drifting off.

The first time he wakes up, it is to the darkness of the night and fingers combing slowly through his hair, Gabriel's hand still held close.

The next time he opens his eyes, it's morning, and he's alone in the suite – the pillbox waits on the pillow.

#sometimes I write #r76 #reaper76 #mermay #shadowrun mermaids and stuff #that's too much plot put some of it back please

[yellowshibe]

epilogue reaction rant

i am SURE this has been said but from the pov of a long long term hs fan seeing people angry about the epilogues and saying homestuck is cancelled etc is so fucking obvious to me that a good 90% of this fandom sees homestuck as a comfort, not an actual piece of content (more under the cut.)

its just crazy to me that people are legitimately telling hussie/v/jenna/etc that they’ve destroyed the comic, the characters, the fandom is wild rn with people saying the epilogue doesn’t exist...etc. its just so telling of how yall view homestuck as a whole, itself, even the comic. ESPECIALLY the comic.

homestuck, rereading it now as an adult, is a piece of media so intensely entrenched in PAIN, trauma, young/teen confusion petaining to relationships both romantic and parental, abuse, literal death and gore, meta universe bullshit, like guys. its about 13 year old children being saddled with the responsibility of not only each others lives and the fate of their and others universes, but also so much death. so much death! everyone they know dies - family, and every human, every species on their homeworld. and they are 13.

when i was 13, my bangs, my clothes, instagram were stressful for me. i am neurodivergent and left school in 8th grade. i found homestuck thru a childhood friend right before - and reading it the first time, i skimmed, i barely read any pesterlogs till act 5. it took me 3 years thru to act 6. (i think). and i never actually finished it. i never saw the last flash, i never paid attention to upd8s. i was a kid busy being fucked up and out of school and bed bound. but now im 20, and im rereading it with my girlfriend. its such, such a different piece of work than 13-15 year old me experienced. homestuck, essentially, is a story of stories. it’s over 150 (?) characters OWN lives and arcs and plots and deaths tangled up in each others. like literally, it is about where you came from, who you came from. how you were raised and how that effects you. how your lineage and your OWN timeline can fuck you up. both of them! how you are just a kid and its hard and NOBODY understands. it encapsulates such an intense feeling of middle/highschool depression and GROWTH - thru trauma and pain and wanting love and the love being offered not being enough or its weird and whatever else inner workings 13 to 16 year olds have. THAT I HAD. 

and on the other hand, homestuck is a tragedy. its as long as ulysses. it’s so so painful. so many characters, side or beloved, die, tragically and bloodily and painfully and sometimes only as a semi plot device. a lot of the time the death is meaningless in the moment - if the character is lucky, it matters later on. but something i see hussie put across so often is the set up of tropes in characters or situations only to destroy it. remember in like 2013 when an upd8 would drop and people would make wild predictions with just the most obscene random bullshit, because we all knew hussie was FUCKING CRAZY and would fuck shit up just to fuck shit up? that was probably my favorite aspect of the fandom back then - people wildly spewing ideas and theories and us all waiting with baited breath for the next installment and to see who was right about how fucking crazy huss is and also how well we knew our characters and our assumptions of plot and LORE. where is that mentality now? where are people saying holy shit. this is so intense. this is SO GOOD.

when i started reading the epilogues i went in with the assumption the people who created it could FUCK us up, and over. i honestly expected WORSE - that huss/etc would create and insanely twisted (plot wise) convoluted not satisfying or real ending. but they chose to make it TOO real. to comment on the characters humanity. the entrapment of characters and huss himself imo in fanon. how people’s interpretations of his/their work was becoming so warped post end of hs. and yall really outdid yourselves! you all chose to see this work, tragic and fucked up and HUMAN as it is, and say. oh well you didn’t write it HAPPY, so i don’t like it. you, hussie, the creator, chose to end this work with pain and trauma and more death, and even though that was in the comic, since i see everyone i like from hs as happy go luck comfort characters, i am removing myself from something i love denying canon and denying hussie his autonomy as a creator because I WANTED IT TO MAKE ME FEEL GOOD..????????

please i implore you go reread the comic. it is JUST as fucked up as the epilogue - but thru the eyes of 13 year old kids, not thoroughly traumatized and broken and angry 23 year olds who hate each other but only HAVE each other, interacting w fascism and transphobia and unwillingness to confron one another because this is it, this is all we get. as a freshly new adult tm. i fucking loved it. it touches on so many interpersonal and PERSONAL fucked up things about being an adult in the wake of the destruction of your childhood and sense of reality. its such a relatable and painful thing but its NOT bad - they chose to make it this way, they also chose to warn us, to tag triggers, to say take your time, its 700,000 words and its painful . and yall are ignoring that bc your fucking fav character isnt happy, like jesus. homestuck as a work grew up. so should we.

#blah blah blah #homestuck #homestuck epilogue #homestuck spoilers #tw #trigger warning #these r my thoughts u dont have to agree dont climb into my inbox w hate bc we disaree thanks

[dillydedalus]

what i read in july

THAT’S MORE LIKE IT aka i’m finally out of the (relative) reading slump for good & my bro james joyce was there

men explain things to me, rebecca solnit the original mansplaining essay is great, and still scarily relevant; the others in this collection (most on feminist issues) are also quite good; some aspects are a bit dated & problematic so be aware of that. 2.5/5

erschlagt die armen!, shumona sinha (tr. from french, not available in english) short but very impactful novella about a young french woman, originally from india, who works as an interpreter in the asylum system and becomes more & more broken by this system of inhumane bureaucracy and suffering, until she snaps and hits a migrant over the head with a wine bottle. full of alienation and misery and beautiful but disturbing language - the title translates to ‘beat the poor to death’ so like. yeah. 3.5/5

fire & blood: a history of the targaryen family I, george r r martin look, it’s a 700-page-long fake history book about a fictional ruling dynasty in a fictional world, and i’m just That Obsessed & Desperate about asoiaf (and i don’t even care about the targs That Much). anyway, now i know more about the targs than any ruling family from, you know, real history, which is like, whatever. this is pretty enjoyable if you are That Obsessed, although i will say that some bits are much better than others (there are some dry dull years even in everyone’s fav overly dramatic dragon-riding incest-loving family) and the misogyny really is. a lot. too much. way too much. BUT i did really like Good Best Queen Alysanne (her husband king joe harris is alright too i guess) and i found my new westerosi otp, cregan stark/aly blackwood, who both have Big Dick Energy off the fucking charts. 3.5/5 (+0.5 points for cregan and aly’s combined BDE)

the old drift, namwali serpell hugely ambitious sprawling postcolonial nation-building novel about zambia, told thru three generations of three families, as well as a chorus of mosquitoes (consistently the best & smartest parts). there is A LOT going on, in terms of characters, of plot points, of references to history (the zambian space programme) and literature (finally my knowledge of heart of darkness paid off) and thematically, and honestly it was a bit too much, a bit too tangled & fragmented & drifty, and in the end i probably admire this book more than i liked it, but serpell’s writing is incredibly smart and funny and full of electrical sparks 3.5/5

a severed head, iris murdoch the original love dodecahedron (not that i counted). iris murdoch is fucking WILD and i love her for it. this is a strange darkly funny little farce about some rich well-educated londoners and their bizarre & rather convoluted love lives. not as grandiosely wild as the sea the sea, but fun nevertheless. 3/5

midnight in chernobyl, adam higginbotham jumping on the hype bandwagon caused by the hbo series (very weird to call the current fascination with chernobyl a hype bandwagon but you know). interesting & well-written & accessible (tho the science is still totally beyond me) & gets you to care about the people involved. lots of human failure, lots of human greatness, set against the background of the almost eldritch threat of radioactivity (look up the elephant foot & see if you don’t get chills), and acute radiation syndrome which is THE MOST TERRIFYING THING ON EARTH . 3.5/5

normal people, sally rooney honestly this is incredibly engrossing & absorbing once you get used to how rooney completely ignores ‘show don’t tell’ (it works!), i pretty much read the whole thing in one slow workday (boss makes a dollar, i make a dime so i read books on my phone on company time, also i genuinely had nothing to do). i also think rooney is really good at precisely capturing the ~millenial experience in a way that feels very true, especially the transition from school to uni. BUT i really disliked the ending, the book never engages with the political themes it introduces (esp. class and gender) as deeply as it could and the bdsm stuff never really gets TIED UP LOL. so overall idk: 3.5/5

störfall: nachrichten eines tages, christa wolf quiet reflective undramatic little book narrated by a woman waiting to hear about the outcome of her brother’s brain surgery on the day of the catastrophe at chernobyl - throughout the day she puts down her thoughts about her brother and the events unfolding at chernobyl, as well as the double uncertainty she is trying to cope with. really interesting to read such an immediate reaction to chernobyl (the book came out less than a year after chernobyl). 2.5/5

the man in the high castle, philip k dick it was fine? quick & entertaining alternative history where the axis powers win the war, some interesting bits of worldbuilding (like the draining of the mediterranean which was apparently a real idea in the early 20th century?) but overall it’s just felt a bit disjointed & unsatisfying to me. 2.5/5

fugitive pieces, anne michaels very poetic & thoughtful novel about the holocaust, grief, remembrance & the difference between history and memory, intergenerational trauma, love, geology and the weather. i’m not sure how much this comes together as a novel, but it is absolutely beautifully written (the author is a poet as well) and very affective. 3.5/5

american innovations, rivka galchen short collection of bizarre & often funny short stories about neurotic women whose furniture flies away, or who grow an extra breast, or who are maybe too occupied with financial details. very vague & very precise at once, which seems to be the thing with these sort of collections. 3/5

fool’s assassin (fitz & the fool #1), robin hobb YAASS i’m back in the realm of the elderlings!!! i thought this was one of the weaker installments in the series - i still enjoyed it a lot, and Feelings were had, but it just doesn’t quite fit together pacing-wise & some of the characterisation struck me as off (can i get some nuance for shun & lant please?) and tbh fitz is at peak Selfcentred Dumbass Levels & it drove me up the fucking wall. molly, nettle & bee deserve better. still, completely HYPE for the rest of the trilogy. 3.5/5

JAMES JOYCE JULY

note: i decided not to read dubliners bc it’s my least fav of joyce’s major works & too bleak & repetitive for my mood right now AND while i planned not to reread finnegans wake bc……. it’s finnegans wake…. i kinda do want to read it now (but i also. really don’t.) so idk yet.

a portrait of the artist as a young man, james joyce y’all. i read this book at least once a year between the ages of 15 and 19, it’s beyond formative, it is burnt into my brain, and reading it now several years later it is still everything, soaring and searing (that searing clarity of truth, thanks burgess) and poetic and dirty, and stephen is baby, and a pretentious self-important little prick and i love him & i am him (or was him as only a pretentious self-important teenage girl reading joyce can be him - because this truly is a book that should be read in your late teens when you feel everything as intensely and world-endingly and severely as my boy stephen does and every new experience feels like the world changing). anyway i love this book & i love stephen dedalus, bird-like, hawk-like, knife-blade, aloof, alienated, severe and stern, a poet-priest-prophet if he could ever get over himself, baby baby baby. 5/5

exiles, james joyce well. there’s a reason joyce is known as a novelist. this is….. a failed experiment, maybe. a fairly boring play about an adulterous love-square and uh… love beyond morality and possession maybe??? about how much it would suck for joyce to return to ireland??? and tbh it’s not terribly interesting. 2/5

travesties, tom stoppard a wild funny irreverent & smart antic comedy inspired by the fact that during ww1, james joyce, lenin, and dadaist tristan tzara were all in neutral zurich, more or less simultaneously; they probably never met, but in this play they do, as dadaist poetry, socialist art critique, and a james joyce high on his own genius & in desperate need of some cash while writing ulysses, AND the importance of being earnest (joyce is putting on a production of it) all collide in the memories of henry carr, who played algernon & later sued joyce over money (tru facts). not my fav stoppard (that’s arcadia) but it’s funny & fizzy & smart & combines many many things that i love. 4/5 

ulysses, james joyce look i’m not really going to tell y’all anything new about ulysses, but it really has everything, it’s warm & human(e) & cerebral & difficult & funny & sad & healing & i always get a lot out of it even tho there’s bits (a lot of them) i’ll never wrap my head around. ultimate affirmation of humanity or whatever. also stephen dedalus is baby. 5/5

dedalus, chris mccabe the fact that this book (sequel to ulysses about what stephen dedalus might have done the next day) exists and was published ON MY BIRTHDAY is proof that the universe loves me. 

anyway this is very very good, very very clever, extremely good at stephen (less good at bloom but his parts are still good), engages w/ ulysses, portrait & hamlet (& others) very cleverly & does some cool meta and experimental shit. y’all it has stephen talking to a contemporary therapist about how he’s stuck in joyce’s text which is all about joyce & very little about whoever stephen is when he’s not joyce’s alter ego/affectionate but slightly amused look at younger self and ithaca is an interview w/ the author about how his relationship to his dad influenced his response to ulysses and I’M INTO IT. the oxen of the sun chapter replaces the whole ‘gestation of english prose’ w/ just slightly rewriting the first pages of about 10 novels published between ulysses and now & it does lolita w/ “bloom, thorn of stephen’s sleep, light in his eyes. his sire, his son’ and i lit. screamed. anyway i don’t want to give this 5 stars (yet) bc i think some of the experimental stuff ended up a bit gimmicky & didn’t add that much to the text but fuck. that’s my boy & i want to reread it right now. 4.5/5 ALSO it’s a crime no literary weirdo woman has written ‘a portrait of the artist’s sister’ about delia ‘dilly’ dedalus, shadow of stephen’s mind, quick far & daring, teaching herself french from a 3rd hand primer while her father drinks the nonexistent family fortune away and her older brother is getting drunk on a beach & starting fights w/ soldiers bc he’s a smartarse

#the books i read #long post

[puclpodcast]

PDL Week 4 Recap

PDL Week 4 Recap

This is the final week before the first bye week and teams are giving it all they have got before a well deserved week of rest.

DEP vs. BAL: 2-0

NWN vs. AUK: 0-4

HEH vs. MIN: 0-3

VAV vs. DCC: 0-4

TOT vs. MIL: 0-3

BFS vs. MID: 0-3

COG vs. ITA: 6-0

SHS vs. LOL: 6-0

SLC vs. JAX: 3-0

NJJ vs. HFW: 0-5

BEN vs. PIP: 3-0

NYY vs. BLP: 3-0

This week the Corsola Cola Division played off against the Rhyhorn Steakhouse and lets just say that Corsola Cola can’t overpower the flavor form the Rhyhorn Steakhouse. With 5 out of the 6 games going in favor of the Rhyhorn Steakhouse division. The same  outcome happened between the Green Tauros division and the Toxapepsi Division. The hooves from Green Tauros stopped the Merciless flavors of Toxapepsi in almost every match. The past 3 weeks have pinned division vs division and those matches overall were closer with the Rhyhorn Steakhouse coming out with the most wins of all the divisions thus far. Is this telling of how things will look for playoffs or is this just week 4 madness stretching across the conference. I guess we will find out soon enough. 

I have to mention how impressed I am with how well teams are adapting to this format and improving already. A bunch of team got their first win, or made strides towards the top of the standings, with now only 3 teams left undefeated. What’s becoming more and more apparent is that the teams that do good prep usually come out on top. There is one match in particular that highlights how useful prep can be when your opponents don’t expect something. That would be the AUK vs NWN game. Sparky! Coached his team through a difficult match up and showed why he is a force to be reckoned with this season. (If you want to see Vileplume, tied for #3 on the MVP leaderboard, sweep a team I recommend checking out the HFW vs. NJJ game.)

AUK Side: DG6G-WWWW-WWWL-B2AY

NWN Side:  AEJG-WWWW-WWWL-R29W

Pick’ems

These are becoming tougher and tougher to pick correctly with the majority of teams this week with only 7 correct. However no one got a perfect week so they do not get mentioned here. The reason for that is because of the 4 Pick ‘em upsets. Despite COG being 3-0 ,at the top of the standings and a previous UUTC winner, the majority of picks 9 went in favor of ITA the most current UUTC winner. While this is not a traditional upset it is one in terms a pick ‘ems. The second one comes at SHS taking down LOL with the same margin 9-4. NYY gets their first win over BLP who came off an upset win last week. Those picks were 10-3 in favor of BLP. Finally there was one person who called the BEN upset over PIP this week. Clearly and match no one saw coming.

Trades

Here are the Trades from week 4 that will be live week 5 after the bye

DCC Tyranitar T1 Free Agent Reuniclus DCC Hitmontop T4 Free Agent Aerodactyl NYY Azumarill T1 Free Agent Tyranitar VAV Rotom-W T1 Free Agent Azumarill VAV Gardevoir T3 Free Agent Meloetta VAV Altaria T5 Free Agent Servine

  DCC after a rough start made some necessary changes to help improve their matchups in weeks to come by adding Aerodactyl and Reuniclus to their roster. Some fancy mon dropping in free agency allowed NYY to drop Azumarill to pick up the Tyranitar that DCC dropped and VAV picked up the Azumarill. VAV also added Meloetta dn servine to their roster which is bound to bring in new energy to the team.

Interview with Hydra

This week I’m joined by (In my opinion, one of the better battlers in PUCL) Hydra.

C9: Thank you Hydra for taking the time to answer these questions for the fans. Being randomly selected for first pick of the draft, how did you feel about?

Hydra: Whenever I see I’ve gotten first pick in a league, there’s always a rush of excitement due to all the options it gives for starting a draft. So, I was definitely happy that I could build a plan that didn’t have to factor being sniped in round 1.

C9: How do you think that impacted your draft, if at all?

Hydra: Due to the way PDL does S-tier picks, there’s a cost associated with picking the usual draft format no-brainers like Tapu Koko or Celesteela, and you can’t just jump on one of those round 1 without consequences. Additionally, the mons I ended up desiring weren’t ones I usually see taken quickly in draft format. As a result, I don’t think it ultimately influenced my draft much.

C9: What are your goals for this season of PDL?

Hydra: I’d ideally like to use all of my Pokemon to their full potential, and with a wider variety of sets. Last season I was using pokemon with more straightforward roles (also there were some Free Agency trades over an awkwardly long period of time,) and as a result there just wasn’t as much variety week to week.

C9: Who are most looking forward to battling this season?  

Hydra: Geo for sure. Going off his record he seems like a strong battler, and we may or may not have had disagreements in the past involving a flying prehistoric pokemon with facial hair.

C9: Is there anyone you are glad you don’t have to face in the regular season?

Hydra: I’d say Thatch. I faced him twice last season, and although I can’t recall if it was bad plays, prep, or just an unfortunate draft matchup, I lost to him both times. So, it’s nice to not have to worry about a third match (at least until a potential comeback in season 3!)

C9: I know I’m not looking forward to our match, week 7, but either way it should be a fun battle.

Hydra: I’m flattered by your dread! But as long as we’re not going to fight twice in a row like we had to in the UUTC, it should be fun. Back-to-back battles aren’t usually a great time, but maybe that’s just me.

C9: Why did you choose the team name, The Norwalk Nosepass?

Hydra: I’m glad you asked- it’s the violently creative combination of my hometown, Norwalk, and a pokemon that possesses my favorite type, Nosepass. Despite both this Connecticut town and gen 3 Pokemon lacking any noteworthy characteristics I can discern, I’ve got a fondness for both of them.

C9: Were there any secret techs that you brought for your matchups that you didn’t get to showcase?

Hydra: There’s surprisingly already been a few. Though I did get to show off Shattered Psyche Serperior (EM Mirror Coat being the base) as a finishing move, it didn’t prove to be the surprise game winner I thought it would be as my opponent didn’t bring the Pokemon it was meant to break through, Amoonguss. I feel like I might end up bringing the other wacky techs again sometime soon, so I’ll keep quiet on those.

C9: Who would you say is the mon you are most excited to use on your team this year?

Hydra: Surprisingly, it’s proven to be Miltank. I wasn’t terribly excited about using it at first, and simply picked it to add some bulk to my draft. But it’s been a very effective and versatile Pokemon, so much so that every week so far I’ve had reason to breed a new set on it. Makes sense considering usable stats for several roles, an expansive movepool, and three good abilities to pick from.

C9: Let’s learn about you as a pokemon Fan. When did you start listening to PUCL?

Hydra: I was really into the VGC15 meta, especially post worlds, and at the time was also expanding the amount of different podcasts I listened to quite a bit. PUCL was the only one I could find that covered the format and competitive battling overall in any meaningful sense, and I’ve been a listener since.

C9: What pokemon generation did you start with?

Hydra: For me, it started back- I mean, right around gen 4. No particularly interesting story to tell, unfortunately. I’d been obsessed with the cards or anime from time to time, and eventually got Pearl upon hearing about from my older brother (but not yet understanding) the wonders this franchise had to offer in video game form.

C9: What is your favorite region?

Hydra: I’d probably go with Hoenn. As far as I remember it has the most diverse locations (and did a lot of them first,) featuring volcanoes, forests, deserts, pillars that touch the sky, and just the right amount of water. Now that I think about it, Alola is probably just as diverse in terms of locations, but it needed multiple islands to get that done so I’ll stick with Hoenn.

C9: Who is your favorite pokemon?

Hydra: Hydreigon! Ever since I first saw it and its incomparably cool typing browsing Serebii while waiting for BW’s American Release, it’s been my favorite. Worth even the absolutely ridiculous grind for level 64 and a 4x weakness resulting from it being too broken in gen 5. Snorlax and Psyduck would be my honorable mentions.

C9: If you had to pick: Attack or Special Attack?

Hydra: I’d go with Special Attack. Intimidate is gross, and moves like Psyshock or Secret Sword mean you can get the best of both worlds going with Special sometimes.

C9: What is your battle style:  Stall/Hyper Offense/Bulky Offense/Balance?

Hydra: I generally lean Hyper Offense, simply because it’s quicker/easier to build for and battle with, which of course means more time for more battles!

C9: Do you prefer Speed or Trick Room?

Hydra: The answer’s probably obvious to anyone who battled me in the UUTC this year, but Trick Room. The setup is convoluted of course and means that you’re often better off going for straight speed in singles, but the payoff is immense when it works. It’s usually my default strategy when trying to figure out a new VGC format as well.

C9: What is your favorite Weather; Hail/Sand/Rain or Sun?

Hydra: Definitely Hail, partly due to it being the underdog of weather conditions for so long and me being a New Englander who doesn’t mind the cold weather. Hail was my favorite playstyle in the previously mentioned VGC15, as Blizzard would largely tear apart CHALK type teams if you had Heatran covered. The new tools it got in gen 7 finally put it on par with the other weather conditions too, so it’s less of an uphill battle to use it now.

C9: Electric/Misty/Grassy or Psychic Terrain?

Hydra: Grassy Terrain! I like Bulu a whole lot, and the effects of Grassy terrain lend themselves better than the other terrains to building defensive cores. Heatran’s another Pokemon I really like, and it can form an impeccable core with Bulu thanks to the three effects of Grassy Terrain that all benefit it.

C9: Favorite status to inflict: Sleep/Freeze/Paralysis/Burn or Poison?

Hydra: Paralysis for me. Even though it only cuts speed by 50% now, that’s still enough to make most things slower than even a lot of your walls, and that 25% chance of total immobility can mean you pulling of all kinds of things you otherwise couldn’t. And of course, I thought that the animation for it looked really neat in Diamond and Pearl.

C9: Have you watched the Pokemon anime? If yes, what is your favorite Theme song?

Hydra: I unfortunately haven’t watched the anime in quite some time, so it’s hard to say. But, I’ve heard that a Patrat goes for a high five but gets left hanging in one of the Black and White theme songs, and that sounds fantastic to me, so I’ll go with that.

C9: Thank you Hydra, for joining us today! We will be back in 2 weeks after the week 5 matches. See ya soon

from PDL Week 4 Recap

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