[image id: a four-page comic. it is titled "immortality” after the poem by clare harner (more popularly known as “do not stand at my grave and weep”). the first page shows paleontologists digging up fossils at a dig. it reads, “do not stand at my grave and weep. i am not there. i do not sleep.” page two features several prehistoric creatures living in the wild. not featured but notable, each have modern descendants: horses, cetaceans, horsetail plants, and crocodilians. it reads, “i am a thousand winds that blow. i am the diamond glints on snow. i am the sunlight on ripened grain. i am the gentle autumn rain.” the third page shows archaeopteryx in the treetops and the skies, then a modern museum-goer reading the placard on a fossil display. it reads, “when you awaken in the morning’s hush, i am the swift uplifting rush, of quiet birds in circled flight. i am the soft stars that shine at night. do not stand at my grave and cry.” the fourth page shows a chicken in a field. it reads, “i am not there. i did not die” / end id]
a comic i made in about 15 hours for my school’s comic anthology. the theme was “evolution”
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MASTERLIST
Sukuna is pissed.
The reason? You moved away from him in your sleep when he wanted to hold you close.
In your own subtle ways, you've always complained about how unaffectionate he is. You didn't explicitly say it, but he did notice how your mood would shift, your pretty little smiles barely masking your disappointment when he would do or say anything remotely cold or mean. And now that he was giving you what you wanted, you just roll away from him, depriving him of your warmth and the affection he expects you to reward him.
How you even managed to escape four of his arms to find your own corner of the bed was a big puzzle to him. You've always slept peacefully pressed to his side on most nights, and you didn't really move much once he had two of his arms wrapped around your frail form. Perhaps you were doing it on purpose after he had evidently upset you during supper by dismissing you when you asked about his day. There was nothing to tell, and though he understands that your concerns came from a good place, he still refused to tell you of the horrors of the world he found himself so deeply embroiled in.
Sukuna, however, brushed off the idea. You wouldn't dare. Or would you? He was just protecting you. Why would you hold that against him?
He chose not to entertain the thought, thinking it was just you moving in your sleep. And so, he reached for you, gently placing his arms over and underneath you to pull you closer. But it hadn't even been a minute of him holding you when you started letting out these seemingly irritated noises and shortly after, you were turning your back on him.
"What –" He stopped himself when you breathed in deeply, half expecting to hear sobs if you were truly upset with him, but then, your breathing rhythm returned to normal. You were still fast asleep.
Sukuna shrugged, already feeling his temper rising at the thought that you could sleep just fine without him. The thought of it annoyed him, and that was an understatement. He decided to move closer to you then, but as soon as he did, pressing your back on his bare chest, you started squirming, a dissatisfied groan leaving your lips.
At that, he rose slightly on his elbow, taking offense. "Woman, what is your problem?" he demanded, making you lie down flat on your back, startling you. "Is something ailing you?" This time, he spoke gently, watching as you slowly blinked up at his frowning face like you haven't got a clue what he's talking about. And then you closed your eyes before favoring your left side, going back to sleep.
"You –"
"What?" you whined without facing him, annoyed that your sleep was being disturbed.
Sukuna scoffed. You've really done it this time. Nobody dared speak to him that way. "What now? You don't want me anymore? I thought you wanted –"
In one swift movement, he found himself being tackled onto the bed as you turned around and threw yourself against him, immediately finding your spot in the crook of his neck. His two left arms instinctively wrapped around you, keeping you cradled in them as you snuggled closer, planting a kiss under his collarbone as if to appease him before you were falling back asleep.
"You could have just stayed like this –"
"Shh."
Did you just shush him? And as if to punctuate it, you raised your hand, your fingers blindly yet tenderly brushing his lips and staying there.
"Wife, you are aware I have two mouths, aren't you?" he spoke against your fingers, fighting a smile.
You moved your head back to smirk at him as you threw a leg over his abdomen right where his other mouth was, your thigh preventing it from saying anything.
"There. Problem solved."
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changes and trends in horror-genre films are linked to the anxieties of the culture in its time and place. Vampires are the manifestation of grappling with sexuality; aliens, of foreign influence. Horror from the Cold War is about apathy and annihilation; classic Japanese horror is characterised by “nature’s revenge”; psychological horror plays with anxieties that absorbed its audience, like pregnancy/abortion, mental illness, femininity. Some horror presses on the bruise of being trapped in a situation with upsetting tasks to complete, especially ones that compromise you as a person - reflecting the horrors and anxieties of capitalism etc etc etc. Cosmic horror is slightly out of fashion because our culture is more comfortable with, even wistful for, “the unknown.” Monster horror now has to be aware of itself, as a contingent of people now live in the freedom and comfort of saying “I would willingly, gladly, even preferentially fuck that monster.” But I don’t know much about films or genres: that ground has been covered by cleverer people.
I don’t actually like horror or movies. What interests me at the moment is how horror of the 2020s has an element of perception and paying attention.
Multiple movies in one year discussed monsters that killed you if you perceived them. There are monsters you can’t look at; monsters that kill you instantly if you get their attention. Monsters where you have to be silent, look down, hold still: pray that they pass over you. M Zombies have changed from a hand-waved virus that covers extras in splashy gore, to insidious spores. A disaster film is called Don’t Look Up, a horror film is called Nope. Even trashy nun horror sets up strange premises of keeping your eyes fixed on something as the devil GETS you.
No idea if this is anything. (I haven’t seen any of these things because, unfortunately, I hate them.) Someone who understands better than me could say something clever here, and I hope they do.
But the thing I’m thinking about is what this will look like to the future, as the Victorian sex vampires and Cold War anxieties look to us. I think they’ll have a little sympathy, but they probably won’t. You poor little prey animals, the kids will say, you were awfully afraid of facing up to things, weren’t you?
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probably time for this story i guess but when i was a kid there was a summer that my brother was really into making smoothies and milkshakes. part of this was that we didn't have AC and couldn't afford to run fans all day so it was kind of important to get good at making Cool Down Concoctions.
we also had a patch of mint, and he had two impressionable little sisters who had the attitude of "fuck it, might as well."
at one point, for fun, this 16 year old boy with a dream in his eye and scientific fervor in heart just wanted to see how far one could push the idea of "vanilla mint smoothie". how much vanilla extract and how much mint can go into a blender before it truly is inedible.
the answer is 3 cups of vanilla extract, 1/2 cup milk alternative, and about 50 sprigs (not leaves, whole spring) of mint. add ice and the courage of a child. idk, it was summer and we were bored.
the word i would use to describe the feeling of drinking it would maybe be "violent" or perhaps, like. "triangular." my nose felt pristine. inhaling following the first sip was like trying to sculpt a new face. i was ensconced in a mesh of horror. it was something beyond taste. for years after, i assumed those commercials that said "this is how it feels to chew five gum" were referencing the exact experience of this singular viscous smoothie.
what's worse is that we knew our mother would hate that we wasted so much vanilla extract. so we had to make it worth it. we had to actually finish the drink. it wasn't "wasting" it if we actually drank it, right? we huddled around outside in the blistering sun, gagging and passing around a single green potion, shivering with disgust. each sip was transcendent, but in a sort of non-euclidean way. i think this is where i lost my binary gender. it eroded certain parts of me in an acidic gut ecology collapse.
here's the thing about love and trust: the next day my brother made a different shake, and i drank it without complaint. it's been like 15 years. he's now a genuinely skilled cook. sometimes one of the three of us will fuck up in the kitchen or find something horrible or make a terrible smoothie mistake and then we pass it to each other, single potion bottle, and we say try it it's delicious. it always smells disgusting. and then, cerimonious, we drink it together. because that's what family does.
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