narkito

[narkito]

again while we're on the topic:

it always bears repeating to everyone who will listen that several years ago when i unfortunately caught covid from a roommate, i had mild cold symptoms for several days and was not allowed to take off work without a positive covid test.

i used a rapid test every day for five days. i tested positive on the fifth test on the fifth day of symptoms. i was contagious that entire time.

none of my coworkers wore masks, but i wore a well-fitted N95 every day. i protected them, and none of them got sick. i wish that the same care and courtesy were extended to me, as the immunodeficient member of their team, but i was glad, regardless, that the spread stopped with me (barring asymptomatic infections, which is always a possibility).

i tell a lot of stories about the times i've narrowly escaped covid after high-risk exposures, protected by my mask, but here's an example of my masking protecting others.

masking is community support. masking is mutual aid. masking is disability allyship. masking is class consciousness.

[narkito]

have some promask propaganda on this fine day! i luv masking at concerts and doing bold/dramatic eye looks!!! i don’t always have access to an N95 but wear what I have!

[narkito]

Made this a while back and never posted it, but I figured I should now that I actually started T!!!

(Not a self portrait, this is just some guy)

[narkito]

scene from the dream where the spiral came and ate up all of the stars and there was nothing you could do about any of it so you stood at the window and you watched until there was no light left to see

[narkito]

Hearts of (Fallen) Angels?

So apparently, in the books, Magnus is able to activate witchlights since Asmodeus is not only a Greater Demon, but happens to be a Fallen Angel as well.

Therefore, it seems that part of that angelic nature also affects him to some degree compared to other warlocks.

I mean, they never got down to exploring that aspect of Magnus' heritage in the show (it sadly got cancelled too quickly), but...

... ever wonder what that might say about Magnus' heart?

I seem to recall that, though he's loved and lost several partners over the years, never has he loved someone that made him feel "home" the way Alec does.

That he's always had a "wandering heart" that found it hard to fully settle with anyone...

And, whenever he seemed about ready to risk it, his partner at the time either found him too intense or too fickle, and no one's ever really been ready / willing to make the same type of commitment he'd been looking for and ready to offer...

But Nephilim are known to ever trully fall in love once - fiercely - right?

And Alec - a Nephilim that seems to make especially strong and fierce emotional attachments with those he loves - is the very first Shadowhunter Magnus has ever been with...

He's very intense in his affections, especially towards Magnus and his parabatai ("I can't live without him", "he is my world", "I love you more than anyone in the world", "without him, I'm nothing", etc. ), and every time he says stuff like that around Magnus, he has a look that says he "gets it", while at the same time always looking a bit shocked and even heartbreakingly hopeful that anyone would feel that way about him.

Sooo... has anyone else ever stopped to wonder if Magnus might have inherited more from his connection to the Angels than his ability to use witchlights?

And Nephilim—we tend to love very overwhelmingly. To fall in love only once, to die of grief over love—my old tutor used to say that the hearts of the Nephilim were like hearts of angels: They felt every human pain, and never healed.

Ever wonder if, perhaps, Magnus Bane has a more intimate understanding of the way Nephilim love than Andrew Underhill could have guessed, given his father was once an Angel before he fell.

Maybe he'd locked away that part of himself because every single relationship kept reminding him that he seemed to love differently - struggling with finding the right balance with his partners - but could never understand why.

Until he found in Alexander; someone with the ability to love as he does - offer him as much of himself as he's able go give - without being afraid of being "too much" for his partner to handle.

[narkito]

I see a lot of ‘cis’ women say they wish they were androgynous in the way men were or they wish they were pretty in the way men were. This is your sign to go try to do that. You may find you enjoy being an androgynous woman. You may find you no longer identify as a woman. You may find you don’t like androgyny. You will not know until you try. Cut your hair if you’ve always wanted to but have been afraid to. Shop in the men’s section if you’ve been too nervous to. Wear clothing with an androgynous  silhouette. Experiment with binding, take baby steps with compression bras if you want. Wear unisex scents. Live life. Try things you want to try. A lot of cis women do not understand the joys of mens pants and mens deodorant. I think everyone should try both of those things.

[narkito]

when your stomach is really mad at you and you're not sure which one of your fourteen unhealthy lifestyle choices is causing it

[narkito]

The human body's response to HRT is actually admirable in the sheer indifference. Just pure I Don't Give A Shit, I Just Fucking Work Here compliance to the new instructions. You can get testosterone injected straight into your body and it doesn't even question where that shit came from, coming back from a coffee break and just going

"Okay, everything seems to be in ord- oh fuck now what? Oh huh. Alright fine. New orders came in, cancel the menstrual cycle. Dig up the genetic balding patterns from somewhere, I don't fucking know they're buried somewhere in the dna. I'm greenlighting the growing-hair-on-your-toes thing. Yeah just cancel the ongoing maintenance processes, new orders came in so this is apparently what we're doing now."

[narkito]

Let's be a mural with mama

[narkito]

Magnus is Alec's life and Alec is Magnus's death

One minor post to dive into this new theory I have. We know there are a lot of parallels and symmetries between malec: angel/demon, moon/sun, introvert/extrovert, silver/gold, etc Then I start thinking deeper into this tendency of their dynamic to push and pull each other, and come to this

1. Magnus is Alec's life

City of Bones

In the sense that Magnus has helped save Alec's life countless times, it was established in their small breadcrumbs in one of their earliest interaction, when he saved Alec from the demon poison. One can say this quite literally set the foundation of their relationship, as Alec asked Magnus out while visiting Magnus to say thank you for saving his life

City of Heavenly Fire

He also saved Alec again during the gang's journey to Edom, even though Magnus wasn't present. Alec's hallucination, caused by the demons, includes a lot of people, yet Magnus is the one who snaps him out of it, insisting that life is worth living more than fantasy.

The Red Scrolls of Magic

Magnus also brings life to Alec in a metaphorical sense, "breathing a new life" into him. Opening his eyes to new beauties, chances, and people, letting Alec know that yes, he is built for storybook moments too

Queen of Air and Darkness

Magnus is his biggest muse, inspiration. Magnus makes him strive every day to make the world a better place. Alec wants to be better for Magnus, for their family, he loves him so much, he will bend and break the narrative for the future in which Magnus can be happy

2. Alec is Magnus's death

The Red Scrolls of Magic

City of Heavenly Fire

City of Heavenly Fire

On many occasions, when Magnus has a near encounter with death, he remembers or thinks about Alec. Is it because somehow Magnus got the worst luck in existence and keeps kissing death every two months and stressing his friends and family out? Maybe. But this kind of proves Alec is present a lot during Magnus' perceived final hour

The Red Scrolls of Magic

Many times, people have told Magnus Alec will be "the death of him", referencing how his angelic blood and family will make him eventually choose his shadowhunter community above all else, and abandoning Magnus (not featured pictures, cause honestly there are like a lot). I kind of find it interesting how it ties up to Magnus's perception of himself, and eventually of Alec, like when he's kind of implying Alec should prioritize his life over Magnus's here

City of Heavenly Fire

Magnus's letter to Alec

Death, of course, can translate to other things, not just a physical one. The death of one's old self, a transformation, aligning with how Magnus is describing Alec's presence in his life here

3. We Have to Talk About The Black and White Impermanence

The Lost Book of The White

For the sake of my argument, let's theorize White Impermanence as "life" and Black Impermanence as "death."

The Lost Book of The White

Alec eventually succeeds in his trial, and he is able to give "death" to Magnus. And we also know this is true because-

Queen of Air and Darkness

In Thule, Alec did kill Magnus after he turned into a demon. And after Alec's "life" is gone, he is gone too

The Lost Book of The White

I don't see people talk about this a lot, but from the way I interpret it, Magnus, too, has his own trial with the sword in The Lost Book of the White, and he passes it. He gives "mercy" to Alec, making Shiyun spares Alec's life. By submitting to Sammael, he literally gives "life" to Alec, while Alec brings "death" to him via death of the self, because Magnus's biggest fear is becoming a demon (stated he would rather be killed than that)

tag list: @magnus-the-maqnificent @literallytypogod @hoezier-than-thou @sociallyineptbibliophile @queenlilith43

@khaleesiofalicante @wandererbyheart @raziyekroos @onetimetwotimesthreetimess @alexandergideonslightwood

@noah-herondale-lightwood @elettralightwood @dustandducks @deliciousdetectivestranger @delightfullyterrible

@letsgofortacos

@kita-no @thelightofthebane @secrettryst @goldendreams3 @cityofdownwardspirals

@stupidfuckindinosaur

@i-have-not-slept @rinadragomir @potato-jem @kasper-tag

@banesapothecary @culiehua @fatiguedcoffee

[narkito]

[narkito]

Capitalism kills.

Republicans deregulating kills.

Anti-prevention reactionary ignorance kills.

[narkito]

[narkito]

I enjoy a joke about fucked up German fairy tales as much as the next nerd, but it's genuinely striking how often the source for the really fucked up stuff turns out to be "yeah, this is only in the Brothers Grimm version and doesn't appear in any extant oral tradition, and we're like 80% sure they added it themselves". To a large extent it's not German fairy tales that are fucked up, it's two specific German dudes.

[narkito]

Happy freedom weekend to all who celebrate!

[narkito]

[narkito]

The Hummingbird

The Story of my Father’s Very Brief military career.

Content Warnings: Military, guns, hummingbirds, Profanity, Lots of Profanity, spectacular incompotence, catholicism mention, alcohol mention.

As usual, all names have been changed or redacted to protect people’s privacy.

In the fall of 1969, my Dad was hit by a car and suffered a serious concussion, causing him to miss midterms and put his grade in a hole he wouldn’t be able to recover from, as this was the days before a lot of professorial accountability.  Like a sensible person, he decided to Withdraw for the semester and focus on recovering and maybe take a part-time job to pay for spring tuition, because you could do that back then.

“Son,” My grandfather asked, sitting on the couch with Dad shortly after he was discharged from the hospital. “What about your college deferment? I’m worried about you getting drafted.”

“Dad,” Dad said, filling in job applications. “I’m legally blind without my glasses!  I’d be a danger to anyone around me with a gun.  Even if I get drafted there’s no way in hell I’d pass the medical exam.”

“Don’t swear in my house.” Said Grandpa, under the entirely mistaken impression that the US Military was run with any sort of competence.

Literally a week later my Dad’s draft papers came in, and he reported to his local draft board, driver’s license and doctor’s note in hand to prove He Is Legally Blind Without His Glasses, only to be waved through without so much as a sideways glance by anyone resembling a doctor.

“They must be desperate.”  My dad concluded when he got home that night to pack.

The news was devastating to the family, as both his parents had siblings to WWII.  Grandpa was ready to beg, bribe and otherwise compromise his intensely catholic morals to get Dad out, and Grandma prayed to any available saint that would save her son from the fate of her brothers.  She had quite the collection of saints in her sewing room, some forty figurines and dozens more candles and images, along with some stained glass she’d made herself of saints, landscapes and animals, including a large hummingbird that lived on the sewing room window since they’d moved into the house.

Dad pleaded with them to not do anything they’d regret, and returned to the base for basic training.

Dad’s drill sergeant was a man whose real name was “Ross” but insisted on being called “Bulldog” or “SIR!” by everyone depending on rank.  Dad supposed this might have been a defense mechanism as Bulldog had an intensely jowled and acne-scarred face that did greatly resemble a fighting dog well past their prime.  The image was not helped by the fact that he was constantly smoking rose-flavored tobacco in a pipe that had seen better centuries, and consequently smelled like a terrible combination of trailer park and the women’s perfume counter at Macy’s.

Bulldog was also… not great about following protocol, which is a terrible failing in a Drill sergeant, but Dad supposed at that point in the war Bulldog had become horribly depressed by the sheer numbers of young men he was sending to their deaths and had kind of stopped giving a fuck about their safety and his own.

Which lead to an incident about three weeks into Dad’s training camp when in the middle of a Weapons Qualification lesson, Bulldog pulled Dad’s glasses off and bellowed “YOU WON’T HAVE THOSE COKE BOTTLES WHEN THOSE [incorrect slurs, because there’s no such thing as an informed bigot] BLAST YOUR ASS TO KINGDOM COME.” before stomping off to go change the paper targets, leaving Dad standing there with an M-1, squinting in what he hoped was the general direction of the targets.

To give you an idea of HOW bad my dad’s vision is, I once asked him at what distance things got blurry, and he responded by taking off his glasses, putting his hand up to his face, and slowly moving it back.  He stopped about eight inches from his face and nodded.  

“So I can see my hand from here but I can’t distinguish my fingers.  I think that green blob over there is your mother.”

“I’m in the living room.” called mom. “You’re looking at the blender.”

So it should come as no surprise that as soon as Dad heard someone shouting “Ready! Aim! Fire!” He did precisely that.

Hummingbirds are often mistakenly characterized as Delicate Little Rainbows that are a gift Direct from Heaven when the truth is they’re really Vicious Little Bastards thrown out of Hell for being too Nasty.  

You would be too if you could eat nothing but frappuccinos and the occasional chicken nugget, everything around you was at least the size of a pickup truck and regarded you as a tasty snack, and you were forced to defend your fridge from not only equally vicious rivals but goddamn insects that are bigger than you are.  

Being a hummingbird is awful under normal circumstances, and now there are maniacs with loud machines and projecties as big as you are stomping around and yelling and well-

At that exact moment, one of the nesting hummingbirds, having grown progressively more exasperated with the activity on the base, dive-bombed my father, hurling it’s tiny body directly into his ear and slicing the lobe up, and making him jerk slightly as he fired.

He missed Sergeant Bulldog by mere inches. Dad still isn’t sure if the Hummingbird caused him to miss or put him closer to accidental manslaughter, but it mattered little as Bulldog grabbed him by the head, shrieking in spittle-flying fury-

“ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?”  He roared.

“YES!!” screamed my father, also hysterical. “SIR THAT’S WHAT THOSE ‘COKE BOTTLES’ ARE FOR SIR!”

Bulldog stopped, suddenly and uncomfortably confronted with the nature of causality.  He only let it stymie him for a moment.  “GET YOUR IDIOT ASS TO THE MEDIC, I’LL DEAL WITH YOU LATER!”

At the medical center, an extremely befuddled doctor dilated Dad’s eyes, took pictures because Dad had the worst case of myopia he’d ever seen and wanted to put him in a medical journal, and asked him:

“What the HELL are you doing here?”

“Very nearly shooting people sir.”

“Well, we can’t have you shooting people while you’re in the army!  I’ll get your medical discharge started.”

Dad decided not to comment on that statement, thanked the doctor, and wandered blindly back to his bunk.

It took them a full thirty days to process Dad’s discharge, perhaps largely due to the fact that actually FINDING the captain was a task for hercules- The man had an almost phobic aversion to his office and a tremendous love of whiskey so actually locating the man and early enough in the day that he was still sober enough to sign anything was a race against time and a battle against the wits of a man determined to get out of work, which is when humanity is at its peak intelligence.

In the meantime, it simply wouldn’t do to let dad bike the five miles back to his home and come back for the paperwork, nor let him sit quietly and not accidentally maim anyone, so he was put on garden duty.  

Supervised by recently-suspended-from-instruction Sergeant “Bulldog” Ross.

By the second day Bulldog had mostly run out of steam, perhaps out of a sense of really, whose fault was that? So He would mostly stand in Dad’s general vicinity, waxing philosophical on the nature of war, government and whatever else he could be crotchety about that day while continuously smoking his rose-flavored tobacco in his pipe.  Dad planted a frankly absurd number of flowers, trying to make a planted display that would spell out the name of the base in eight-foot letters, just in case someone has managed to miss all 824,594,359 signs beforehand.

On day five, perhaps attracted by the bright colors or the stench of artificial rose, the Hummingbirds found the new garden.

At first, it was timid little trips to the edge farthest from Dad and Bulldog, testing this new territory for both risk and bounty, but upon finding it full of sugary goodness, they became bold, getting closer and closer to Dad, zipping in as soon as he got up to get the next flat of flowers, then not waiting for him to finish planting them before they were up in his face, squeaking angrily for him to get out of the way of their lunch.

One male objected to Dad and Bulldog’s presence particularly strongly, dive-bombing and buzzing angrily at them, an ounce and a half of glittery impotent rage.  After a month, he’d gotten quite aggressive, and one day flew directly up to Bulldog’s face to chitter curses at him eye-to-eye, only for Bulldog to take out his pipe and blow a cloud of smoke at him, laughing as the bird tumbled over backwards in midair.

Agitated with the sudden noxious cloud, or perhaps merely a violent psychopath in its own right, the bird flew back, then straight up into the air for a good fifty feet before going into a dive, aimed directly at Bulldog’s face.

Dad doesn’t recall actually moving, only a sense that he ought to do something, and launched himself out of the dirt, arms outstretched to clap and force it off course-

“SHIT! What the hell was that for?”  Demanded Bulldog.

“Well, the hummingbird looked like it was going to attack you, Sir.  So I stopped it.”

“How noble.  What are you standing there like an idiot for?”

“…I think I caught it sir.”  Said Dad, staring at the tiny bill poking out from between his gloves.  The two of them leaned in close as dad very slowly opened his gloves and peered inside.

The hummingbird immediately forced it’s tiny head out to peep furious profanities at them both.

“How is it,”  Bulldog wondered aloud as the hummer continued to curse the both of them for the next seven generations. “That you can’t see to hit the broad side of a barn but can pull a shitty little bird right out of the air?”

“I’m wearing my glasses, Sir.”

Bulldog looked up at him, glaring with such intensity his face ceased to be a face at all and transformed into a dali-esque collection of wrinkles.

“Fuck you. Now go take that damn thing to the other side of the base so it doesn’t come back.”

“Yes sir.”  Dad nodded, nearly saluting out of reflex before remembering that he was holding a live and very angry bird.  It took him several hours to get to the other side of the base, with literally everyone stopping to ask him what the hell he was doing, well I have this bird sir and I was told to release it on the other side of the base- how in hell did your blind ass catch a hummingbird, well I had my glasses on- Fuck you, go ditch that thing already.

At three o'clock on the dot the very next morning, two MPs woke up my dad and told him he needed to report to the front office right away, no time to get dressed, right away right now.

They marched him directly to the main office, barefoot and in his Pajamas to be greeted by not only Sergeant “Bulldog” ross, but nearly every officer on the base, including the lieutenant and the Captain, all of whom were… attempting to stand at attention with varying degrees of success, most weaving slightly, some snorting with poorly-concealed laughter, and the entire room reeking of booze.

“GENTLEMEN!”  hiccuped the lieutenant, before shaking himself and continuing, “WE ARE GATHERED HERE TODAY TO HONOR OUR ‘COMRADE’ -snort, giggle- IN ARMS -louder derisive laughter- FOR HIS BRAVERY AND SERVICE IN THE FACE OF EXTREME DANGER-”

“IN THE BEAK OF EXTREME DANGER!” Howled one of the assembled officers.  

“-AND FOR HIS SERVICE IN DEFENDING AN OFFICER OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY.  I AM ~SO~ PLEASED THAT WE HAVE CAPTAIN [REDACTED] HERE WITH US TO PRESENT THIS MEDAL.”

He turned to the Captain, who took out a small box and motioned Dad forward.  Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a chocolate box from See’s Candies.

“[REDACTED], in honor of your brave and frankly improbable service in the defense of Euge- sorry, Sergeant Ross, and the capture of a dangerous wild animal, we award you this medal-  The Flying Purple Bastard.”

He opened the chocolate box to reveal this*:

(Image Description: A piece of cardboard cut out approximately in the silhouette of a hummingbird, by someone with only a passing familiarity with what hummingbirds look like.  The cardboard has been haphazardly covered in tinfoil and cartoon eyes drawn on.  It’s attached to a scrap of ribbon and a safety Pin.)

Which was then pinned crookedly to Dad’s nightshirt, after accidentally stabbing him a bit, saluted him as someone attempted to play the bugle but made a rather melodious farting noise instead, then slapped Dad in the face with a manilla folder full of papers and shouted. “DISMISSED!”

“Dismissed, sir?”

“Those are your discharge papers.” Said Bulldog. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Yes, Sir!”

At which point Dad biked home in the rain, and thus ends my father’s military career.

*Pictured here is actually The Flying Purple Bastard 2.0, as the original was destroyed when partially eaten and fully regurgitated by one of the cats.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Paypal, as due to health concerns, telling funny stories on the internet is my ONLY means of income.  Thank you!