#World War Z is a good book so far but I’m not sure how it will go further I go

[symbiote-siblings]

Teddy: I feel like Tara is up to something suspicious, don’t you think Rav?”

Ravage: she is always up to something suspicious Teddy, now I would like sleepy time now, it’s almost midnight.

Teddy: But don’t you wanna know what happens next in the new book we got, World War Z?

Ravage: You’re right, I wanna know if the zombie kid bites this doctor.

[thelittleboyfromloveactually]

Two Shorten the Road

part 1

joel dawson x reader

warnings: cussing? idk, bad writing.....fluff, cuteness, monsters(is this a warning), mentions of death, SPOILERS

word count: 2154

prompt: when your best friend decides to leave your colony to go find the love of his life, you decide to join him on his journey even if you aren’t so happy about where this journey is going

Welp I did it, I took it into my own hands. I am writing a joel dawson series. Because we👏need 👏more👏joel👏fics👏 it’s basically the movie, almost the same script but obviously slightly different…ENJOY! <3

No one in my generation or later had a typical upbringing, I mean some of us did but then the world ended. This type of thing sounds straight out of some apocalyptic movie, but we basically live in one now. Agatha 616, an asteroid heading straight for earth, I know, so original. So we all came together and did what we do best, blow things up. Yup, we blew up teh asteroid, and humanity was saved! We thought. But here’s the thing about rockets, they are made of a bunch of chemical compounds which eventually rained back down on earth. Suddenly there were these Aileen creatures that mutated and started eating us. Ants, lizards, roaches, crocodiles, you name it. Our president was even killed by a giant moth. Ya….not so original now huh? We suddenly need tanks to kill ants, oh man I remember the good old days when a shoe would do just fine. Sometimes even the tanks didn’t work. Eventually the really big ones and our military took each other out and we lost 95% of the human population in a year! Those of us who survived hid, bunkers, caves, panic rooms, all around the world. So for the last seven years I’ve been hiding in an underground bunker. It’s really not as bad as it sounds, and it’s better than getting eaten alive. It’s a great group of people and we all love each other.

“Are you sure they’re asleep?”

“Who?”

“Y/N and joel!”

“Oh ya I’m sure”

“Joel? Y/n?”

“He’s asleep”

Actually we are both awake. Me and my best friend joel have kinda mastered faking being asleep. Our beds are right across from each other so we normally just lie there and make stupid faces at each other. We are the only two single people in our bunker. Nice huh? Joel is my best friend. I met him when I joined the colony. He’s the sweetest. It’s funny cause everyone thinks we should just have sex already because that’s literally all everyone else does. But we are way above that. Anyway, joel is in love with his girlfriend from before the colony, her name is Aimee. With one “I” and two “e”s. He loves to talk about her, he writes her letters. So in reality, I am the only one who is not in love in this bunker. I’ve never had a boyfriend, ever, even before the world ended.

We don’t really get any sleep. The moaning kinda keeps us awake. I got up and out of my bed and headed for the kitchen. I heard Joel’s bed creak and then his footsteps as he followed behind me. Another annoying thing about being down here is that to get to the kitchen from my room, you have to walk though other people’s bedrooms. Oh shit, they are busy, why would they leave their door open. Me and Joel stopped.

“Oh” joel and I said in unison

“Hey Y/N! Hey Joel!” Ava said

“Oh hey Ava” Joel said, we didn’t dare look over to our left.

“Y/N how’s it going?” Tim asked

“T-totally good tim, h-how are you doing” I asked

“Yeah, good” he responded

“I uh we couldn’t sleep” said Joel looking at the ceiling

“Ya we know the feeling” Ava said with a laugh

“Yeah probably not for the…..same reasons” joel said looking straight ahead

“Your guyses door was open, did you…did you know that?” I asked

“Yeah we know” they said

I shook my head and knitted my eyebrows together

“Okay” joel trailed off

Ever since Tim’s parents were eaten by a swarm of termites he and Ava have gotten really close, in every way.

“Okay, goodnight” joel said as we walked

Basically everyone is coupled up down here, a baby was born last winter! Welcome to the apocalypse kid. Ok if we ever get out of this, that would be an awesome story to tell your kids. “Oh ya I was born in an underground bunker doing a monster apocalypse” “yes exactly like World War Z but with bugs bigger than a 5 story building”. I mean come on.

So your probably wonder how the hell we get food, we’ll we have a cow. Gurdy. Gurdy is great. We also have a hunting party that brings back whatever they can from the surface. It’s gotten harder and harder, cause we ran out of bullets. And facing one of those things with a handmade weapon is just as hard as it sounds. It’s very very difficult. I go with them….sometimes. I still get scared. But I’ve been out quite a lot, especially compared to my man joel over here. I’ve been out maybe 30 times, he’s been out…maybe once, or not even. He’s the chef of the bunker. He makes super good Minestrone.

Me and joel like to hang out with Mavis. A robot. Yup. Not much for conversation, her batter is shot. Just like every other mavis I would imagine. When I’m not hunting we hang out with her. But sometimes I just go read. Reading and joel keep me sane. I mean sometimes joel drives me insane but I still love him. I have quite the collection of books too! I’ve got Emma by Jane Austen, a couple random ones that we found, all the hunger games and Harry Potter books, some mysteries that stopped being mysteries after a while, and then of course some smutty romance books for personal entertainment.

Joel likes to say that his thing is target practice. He has never hit the target but ya know, gotta entertain yourself. I think his thing is drawing though, he has this book that he draws in from Aimee. It’s really cool actually. He’s really good.

I sat watching Joel as he tried to hit the target, laughing a little every time he missed. It was cute how hard he tried.

“Shut up” he said shaking his laugh away

I laughed again, but then suddenly the lights started flickering. You could hear screeches and creeks echoing through the bunker. Joel turned to look at me. Worry and determination in his eyes. We both scrambled out of the room and into the kitchen where everyone was preparing.

“Hustle, hustle people we’ve gotta move”

I turned to look at Joel but then realized that he wasn’t next to me. Where did he go? Worry flooded through me. Suddenly the clanking of our weapon started behind me.

“Hey guys!” Joel said as he rammed into the railing, I shook my head. “Guys! I’ve got the weapons” he smiled at me

A few people walked over to him taking them out of his hands

“Stay” said Tim

“W-what?” Joel asked looking around in confusion

Everyone was talking and barking orders “grab what you need and let’s go! Y/N you coming?”

My eyes shot open “yes! Yup!” I jumped up and grabbed the bow and arrow from Joel.

“W-what's happening?” He asked innocently “what’s going on?”

“There’s a breach” said Tim

“What do you mean? Like inside the bunker breach?!” He asked

“Yes joel! Now come on!” I told him, patting him on the pack as I followed the others

He followed me and watched the plan get arranged

“Anna, Y/N and I will engage. Anderson and Tom plank him”

“Plank him, ya ok where do you guys need me? You want me to uh come through the rear or..?” Joel asked eagerly

“I don’t think your going to pass this joel” I told him

“Pass what? You guys need help, let me help” said clutching his crossbow

“You gonna make me say it?” said Sam

“Say what?!” God he was so adorably clueless

“You can’t handle it joel, your shook” said Sam, we all began getting into positions

“Ya ok, yes so you guys don’t get scared..ever?” He asked still getting ready to fight

“We get scared, we all get scared joel, but you get really scared” said Sam

“They are trying to make you feel bad joel” I said sweetly, trying to calm him down

“We love you joel”

“But your a liability”

“Ok why did that speech feel so rehearsed? And what about Y/N? She’s like…ya know?” He said bobbing his head

“Joel-“ suddenly the bunker shook and the lights flicked again

“Ok 30 meters out! Let’s move!” And we were off

Leaving joel and some others behind. You could hear the growling of whatever we were up against

I followed the others and listened carefully. I was freaking shaking. Don’t ask how I got sucked into becoming one the the hunters. Kinda just happened and I was just-

“OH SHIT!” I heard someone yell, it was too dark to see. Someone was gone, that thing took them. I couldn’t even see it. Oh fuck my life. Everyone began scattering, running away from the monster. I stopped running to take a breath, when I realized I was alone. Nicely done Y/N. The lights kept flickering. I heard something blow up in the distance.

“Conned? Conner?” I heard a whisper, one I knew all too well. Shit, joel. I ran toward the sound, and had no idea I was also running toward certain death. I stopped running. There it was, that thing. I’d never seen this before. I didn’t recognize it. I stayed silent, not moving at all. It slowly crawled over a shower curtain. Oh fuck. He was going toward joel! I quickly grabbed my bow and arrow and shot it. Right though the face. Next to its….eye I guess you could call it. Joel stood there, frozen.

I slowly walked over to him “Joel, hey are you ok?” I asked as I slipped my hand into his. He was trembling. Tears ran down his cheeks. He has a bad freezing problem, so I've been helping him work on it.

About an hour later I sat with Joel, still holding his hand as he stared out into space. We could hear everyone talking. How could this have happened?

“It ripped through steal”

“Anderson and I resealed the Breach point, nothings getting in that way again”

“But why did it happen?”

I tried to toon it out, and I hoped Joel did too.

“Joel, do you wanna talk about it?” I asked squeezing his hand, he looked so sad, which just crushed me

He shook his head

“Ok….” I nodded, I leaned into hug him but was interrupted by his voice

“How far away is Aimee's colony?” He asked

I pulled back, looking at him confused. The talking stopped and everyone look at him

“What?” Tim asked

“Aimee’s colony, how far away is it?” He repeated

“About 85 miles” he said as he furrowed his brows

“How long will it take to get there?”

“What do you mean joel?” I asked leaning closer to him

“Just humor me, how long?” He insisted

“7 days” said Tim

“Someone who’s armed and trained would hardly last 50miles, but you…joel” Ava said, I felt bad for him, he really didn’t deserve any of this

“Alright” Tim continued “now I need volunteers”

“I’m gonna go” joel said

No one said anything, they just stared

“It’s an impossible journey joel” said Tim, crossing his arms

Joel stood up, moving around my chair. “No im serious…I love you guys but there’s only one person in this world who ever truly made me happy and she’s only 85 miles away” he said strongly “I’m gonna go see her” I could see his mind was made up

God he was such a romantic, how could you not love this guy? Sure it hurts when your best friend tells you that you didn’t make him truly happy. Especially when you maybe sorta kinda have a crush on him.

He let out a breath “woah, that felt awesome” he said as he walked off to start packing

I stood there for a second processing and thinking, but then suddenly my mouth took over and well….

“I’m coming with you!” I said, he froze “I mean you can’t leave me here with these middle aged people, and your my best friend so” I shrugged

“I’ll come back for you I promise” he walked over to me “I can’t let you put yourself in even more danger” he said grabbing my arms

“I can’t let you put yourself in danger knowing that I could have helped protect you” I said, he stared blankly at me

I smiled “o-ohK…then I guess…” he trailed off

“Cool I’ll go pack” I skipped past him. Was I scared? Hell yes. But like I said, I needed to help joel and protect him in every way I can. And sure I wasn’t so happy that he was returning to his long lost love but if it made him happy then I would live. And anyway, two do shorten the road.

[maxwell-grant]

Your Top Five Pulp Heroes that you wish were better known? By Pulp Hero fans, I mean. Since pretty much all of them except Conan and Tarzan are fairly unknown.

It’s actually quite hard for me to narrow it down to just five, because I’m having to choose between characters that are my favorites that I wish were more well-known and appreciated (which is all of them), and characters that aren’t quite my favorites but I very much think should have achieved great popularity for a myriad of reasons. So instead I’m going to pick some of each. These are not necessarily ranked by their importance or my personal taste, just 5 characters I felt like highlighting in particular. 

Honorable mentions goes to characters I already talked about prior and don’t want to repeat myself on. These aren’t “lesser” picks, just ones that I already talked about: Imaro (who in particular definitely feels like he could, and should be, a pop culture superstar if he was only more well-known), Kapitan Mors (who’s got a lot in common with one of my favorite fictional characters, Captain Nemo, but also has a lot of interesting things going on for him as his own character). Sar Dubnotal (a character that appeals a lot to me and I think should be included much more often in pulp hero team-ups). The Golden Amazon (again, definitely a character that feels like it’s just begging to have a pop culture breakout, even comic books rarely if ever have female supervillains this ruthless and over-the-top), The Mexican Fantomas (who absolutely deserves a better name than what I’m calling him here, because he’s incredibly awesome and leagues ahead of just being a knock-off). And of course my homeboy, The Grey Claw, whom I would consider Number One of the list if it wasn’t for the fact that his obscurity has left him untouched by copyright and I got plans of my own for the character that wouldn’t be possible if he was more well-known, so I guess I’m ultimately glad he’s obscure (even if I’m still bothered by how little he’s known). 

Allright let’s go:

Number 5: Sheridan Doome

Sheridan Doome appeared in fifty-four stories and three novels from 1935 to 1943. As chief detective for U.S. Naval Intelligence, Lieutenant Commander Sheridan Doome’s job was a grim one. Whenever an extraordinary mystery or crime occurred in the fleet, on a naval base, or anywhere the navy worked to protect American interests, Doome was immediately dispatched to investigate it. Fear and dread would always precede Doome’s arrival in his special black airplane. For, in an explosion during WWI, he had been monstrously disfigured. 

He was six feet two inches tall; had a chalk-white face and head. It appeared as though it had once been seared or burned. For eyes, he had only black blotches; glittering optics, that looked like small chunks of coal. His nose was long, the end of it squared off rudely. He had no lips, just a slit that was his mouth. His neck was long, as white and as bony as his face…. Sheridan Doome looked more like a robot than a human being. He was tall and ghastly; his uniform fitted him in a loose manner. Long arms hung at his sides; his face was a perfect blank. He had no control of his facial muscles; consequently, his countenance was always without expression, chalky and bony.

But behind the ugliness was a brilliant mind. Sheridan Doome always got his man. Before Sheridan Doome became a staple in the pages of The Shadow magazine, two Doome hardcover mysteries were written in the mid-1930’s by acclaimed hard-boiled author Steve Fisher (I Wake Up Screaming) and edited by his wife Edythe Seims (Dime Detective, G-8 and His Battle Aces). Age of Aces now brings you both books in one huge double novel, presented in a retro “flip book” style. This book is currently Out of Print.

I sadly don’t have any more information on the character other than this. The book is unavailable for me to acquire in any capacity, and the text above is taken from the Age of Aces website as well as Jess Nevins’s personal profile for the character. I’m not even sure if any of those 54 stories even exist anymore, since although he was published as a backup in Shadow Magazine, there doesn’t seem to be reprints of them anywhere, at least as far as I can find, and the original Shadow magazines have largely turned to dust by now. 

A character who combines aspects of The Phantom of the Opera and The Shadow, whose adventures are set in a backdrop that can easily lead to ocean adventures? That’s like, what, three of my favorite things in the world combined. I really, really wish I could at least read the stories this character stars in, but as is, this description is all I can provide. Again, time really has been cruel to the pulp heroes. 

Number 4: Harlan Dyce

This is another character I’ve only been able to learn about through Jess Nevins’s archives and have not been able to attain any further information on, which is sadly the case with a lot of pulp heroes that nowadays only seem to exist as footnotes in his Encyclopedia or records in libraries. I don’t post more about these characters because I really would just be copying the stuff he wrote without much to justify me quoting him verbatim, and I hate the idea of doing that.

I especially hate that in Harlan Dyce’s case though. Here’s his description

“Dyce had brains, taste, money, ambition, and a total lack of physical or spiritual fear. But—

“Dyce was thirty-three inches tall and weighed sixty pounds.

“That was all the world could ever hold against him. That was what had made the world, most of it, in all the countries of the world, stare at Harlan Dyce, billed in the big show as “General Midge.””

Harlan Dyce is a misanthropic and venomous private detective. He has an “amazingly handsome face,” and the aforementioned brains. But all anyone sees is his stature, and he hates that and turns his cold eyes and acid tongue on them. 

The only person Dyce likes and gets along with (besides his dwarf wife, a former client) is his assistant, Nick Melchem, a six-foot tall former p.i.’s assistant with bleak eyes and a strong body. Melchem ignores Dyce’s stature and treats Dyce normally, which Dyce responds warmly to.

Dwarfs may be the single most maligned group of people depicted in pulp magazines, even more so than the Japanese in the war years or the Chinese during the peak of the Yellow Peril’s popularity. Evil dwarfs, murderous dwarfs, sexually depraved dwarfs, they are all loathsome, ugly cliches that are, sadly, the only instances you see of dwarf characters being represented at all, with the only ones who are awarded any measure of sympathy are doomed henchmen or tragic villains.  Even outside of the pulps, the only other examples of heroic, protagonist dwarfs I can think off the top of my head are Puck from Marvel Comics and Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones.

I’m not gonna say Harlan Dyce is great representation because I’m not a little person and can never make that kind of claim for a group I’m not a part of, but Harlan Dyce may be the first time I’ve ever seen a dwarf character in pulp fiction who was not a villain or a murderous goon or a victim, but an actual person and a heroic protagonist, and that definitely counts for something. I’m not sure how popular this character was or could be if someone picked up the concept and ran with it (and I’m pretty sure he’s public domain), but I definitely think this is a character that should exist and should be popular. 

Hell, this character has Peter Dinklage written all over it, give it to him. Maybe then he will get to play a smart, fearless, cynical, misanthropic but good-natured and heroic character in something where he actually gets to keep these traits until the show ends.

Number 3: Audaz, O Demolidor

Audaz is a Brazilian character who was created and published by Gazetinha, the same publishers of Grey Claw as well as properties exported from elsewhere like Superman and Popeye, and much like The Grey Claw, he is also completely unknown even here. I’ll get to Audaz more in-depth sometime but here I’m going to provide a quick summary: 

Audaz, The Demolisher is a gigantic crime-fighting robot controlled and piloted by the brilliant scientist Dr. Blum, his close friend Gregor and the child prodigy Jacques Ennes, who pilot the giant robot from a massive laboratory inside it's head rather than a cockpit. He takes on a variety of ordinary human criminals, mad scientists, supervillains and invading armies, towering over skyscrapers and grappling with jets.

Audaz was created in 1939 by illustrator Messias de Melo, a year before Quality Comics's Bozo the Iron Man and 5 years before Ryuichi Yokoyama's Kagaku Senshi, and decades before the debut of Mazinger Z. Although he is not the first giant robot of science fiction, he is the first heroic giant robot piloted by human pilots, and thus the first true example of "mecha" fiction.

Number 2: Emilia the Ragdoll

This is another Brazilian character, although nowhere near as obscure as Audaz as even a cursory Google search can show. Although Brazil did not have a “pulp era” in the same way the US had, we’ve long gotten past the point of sticking to it as a definitive rule, and I’m including Emilia as a pulp hero because she’s a 1920s fantasy literature character who was created under a publishing company that released pulp stories, because she doesn’t quite belong in the mold of fantasy literature characters she takes after, and because I like her and if I was putting a bunch of pulp heroes together in the same story, I would definitely include Emilia in it. It’s not like she really has anywhere else to go, now that she’s public domain and she’s outlasted her franchise.

As you can tell by the above image, Emilia’s had a lot of variations over the years and that’s because the work she was created for, Sítio do Picapau Amarelo (Yellow Woodpecker Ranch/Farm), has become a major bedrock of Brazilian fantasy literature, one of the only works created here that you can find substantial information about in English if you go looking for it. Here’s some descriptions of Emilia’s character:

Emília is a rag doll described as "clumsy" or "ugly", resembling a "witch" that was handmade by Aunt Nastácia, the ranch's cook, for the little girl Lúcia, out of an old skirt. After Lucia takes her on an adventure and the doll is given a dose of magic pills, Emília suddenly started talking, and would never stop henceforth.

Emilia has a rough, antagonistic personality, and an independent, free-spirited and anarchist behaviour. She is rogue, rebellious, stubborn, rough and intensely determined at anything she sets her mind on, eager to take off on just about any adventure. She is often immature and behaves like a curious and arrogant child, always wanting to be the center of attention.

She is extremely opinionated even when she constantly and confidently mispronounces words and expressions. Her attitude often gets her into trouble, and she very often has to fight against the villains who attack her home on the Yellow Woodpecker Farm and mistreat her friends.

In the stories, Emilia often takes the role of a heroine who travels through different realms and dimensions, as the books include not only figures from Brazilian and worldwide folklore, but also several characters both real and fictional, such as Hercules, King Arthur, Don Quixote, Thumbelina, Da Vinci, Shirley Temple, Captain Hook, Santos Dumont and Baron von Munchausen.

She's fought scorpions and martians and nymph hordes, her arch-enemy is an alligator witch, she rescued an angel from the Milky Way and tried to teach it how to become a human, and once shrunk the entire population of Earth to try and talk the president of the United States into ending war forever.

To little surprise, she has become the most popular character and the series’s mascot.

It’s a little strange to consider Emilia underrated considering she is one of the most famous original characters of Brazilian literature, but hardly anyone outside of Brazil even knows who she is, and regardless of the quality of the original stories (and Monteiro Lobato’s views on race that tar much of his reputation), Emilia definitely feels to me like a character that should be a lot more popular globally. 

She is the only character from Yellow Woodpecker Ranch that has transcended the original stories, since she was always the most popular character and there’s been a couple of stories written about her that usually separate her from the ranch and just set her out on the world by herself. The latest story about this character has been a series called The Return of Emilia, that’s about her stepping out of the books in 2050 and discovering a Brazil that’s been ruined by social and ecological devastation, and traveling back in time via a flying scooter in order to try and prevent this calamity. 

Now that she’s public domain, I definitely think there’s some great stories that can be told with the character that just about anyone could get to, and I definitely think she’s a character that deserves more appreciation. Anything goes in stories starring her and it’s that kind of free-for-all freedom that I think can benefit future takes on pulp heroes. I would be very happy to place Emilia among them.

Oh yeah, and there was one time she kicked Popeye's ass by tricking him with a can of mouldy cabbage instead of spinach, making him sick and then beating him, which possibly puts her as one of the all-time badasses of fiction, except she would be pissed at not being number one and likely embark on a quest to beat everyone else just to prove she could, because that’s how Emilia rolls.

Number 1: Luna Bartendale, from The Undying Monster (1922)

Not necessarily my favorite of the bunch, but one who sort of epitomizes what you asked, a character who is both incredibly obscure and incredibly underrated in every sense. Despite the book being somewhat known, mainly thanks to the movie, the character is so obscure that I don’t even have an illustration of her to display here, not even fan art, just one of the book’s covers that I think best conveys it. Luckily, the book is also available freely online, so you can all go check it out here. The movie adaptation does not feature the character of Luna Bartendale which makes it pointless to talk about.

To not spoil it too much, The Undying Monster is a very fascinating book, ahead of it’s time in quite a few ways. You expect it to just be a detective story centered around a werewolf cursed, except the subtitle of the book is “The Fifth Dimension” and then it goes to talk about dimensions of thought and post-WWI trauma and love and hypnotic regression that travels through time and ancient runes and Norse mythology. It’s not exactly an easy book to get through in one setting, but I’d recommend it much the same if only because it’s got supersensitive psychic sleuth Luna Bartendale, literature’s first female occult detective, and she’s an incredible character who absolutely feels like she should have become a literary icon. 

She lives in London but is world-renowned for her many good deeds. She is a small, pretty woman, with curly blonde hair, dark eyebrows and a high-bridged nose, and a slight build. She has a voice described as a light soprano that "does not make much noise but carries a long way". 

Petite, bedimpled and golden curled, Luna is completely in charge of events, dominating every scene that she appears in with her welcoming disposition and cleverness. 

Bartendale has various psychic powers, including mind reading. She is well-versed in psychic and occult lore, is a “supersensitive” psychic, and has a “Sixth Sense” which allows her to trace things and people through both the Fourth and the Fifth Dimension. (The Fifth Dimension is “the Dimension that surrounds and pervades the Fourth–known as the Supernatural”).

Her extensive knowledge of occult rites and practices puts John Silence, Carnacki and Miles Pennoyer to shame, and she beats them all with her "super-sensitive" gift of being able to psychically connect with troubled souls and hypnotize them.

She uses a divining rod for various tasks, including psychic detection and tracking, and distinguishing between benevolent and malevolent forces. She has various (undefined) powerful psychic defenses, can carry on seances, and can even cure a person of “wehrwolfism.” And she can always rely on her massive, intelligent dog Roska for help.

Luna sadly doesn’t show up in the book as often as I’d hoped, but everything about this character is so delightful. In a lot od ways she hardly feels like a pulp hero, at least the ones I usually talk about. She feels like a lost protagonist from an incredibly successful kid’s adventure series where a kind and eccentric detective witch and her giant dog go around solving occult mysteries and encountering all sorts of weird supernatural beings while counseling and helping people, like Ms Frizzle meets Hilda. Like this character is just waiting for Cartoon Saloon to make a film about her.

Its not so much “this character should/could be popular but it’s clear why that didn’t pan out”, it’s more me being confused as “why the hell isn’t she super popular? This character should have had a franchise ages ago, holy shit put her in everything””

[fidespeaks]

About Fides: An Introduction

Hello, my name is Fides!  It’s very nice to meet you and, however you’ve fond your way onto this blog, I’m happy that you have.  In this post, I hope to cover a few important things before getting started with the meat and potatoes of this blog: namely I’d like to introduce myself and, in the name of transparency, give you as many details about myself and my background as possible while still maintaining relative anonymity.  Some things have been left intentionally vague (i mean. kinda LOL), this is to protect myself.  I hope you’ll understand. 

SO!  Let’s start with the basics...

My name is Fides.  I am in my late twenties and the only information I’ll give regarding my location is that I am currently in the PST timezone and I live on the American west coast.  I currently work as a retail associate, but I have experience in food service & professional animal care as well.  I am currently pursuing an undergraduate degree in forensic psychology with a minor in philosophy.  I have an avid interest in clinical psychology, criminology / behavioral analysis, social psychology, sociology, anthropology, political sciences, race relations, gender studies, and a lot of other stuff that I spend the majority of my time studying (reading books on the subjects, listening to podcasts, ect).  I have been roleplaying on this hellsite since 2010 and I have seen my share of bullshit, believe me.

As far as gender goes, I an AFAB genderfluid enby.  I prefer they/them pronouns, but I won’t be miffed over she/her or he/him or anything else that you would like to (respectfully) refer to me as.  I don’t mind gendered slang (queen, king, dude, girl, babe, boss bitch, etc) but I ask that you not refer to me as any derogatory sexual terminology typically associated with women (slut, hoe, thot, skank, etc).  I have been out as nonbinary for a little more than a year but have been actively surrounded by enby friends for over a decade.  

Sexuality / orientation wise I am demisexual, biromantic, and polyamorous.  I have been identifying as bi since my early teens and am out to everyone in my life.  I often refer to myself as a lesbian because I am in a lesbian relationship (so if you have issues with enby lesbians, you’re just gonna have to leave or get over it).  I am married & my wife is a trans woman who has been out for a little less than a year and has a masters degree in post civil war reconstruction & the race relations of the time.  We have a child who is around three and told me this morning that their gender is “zombie”.  So... do with that as you will.

I am not neurotypical.  I was professionally diagnosed with ADHD sometime in kindergarten and I have spent long periods of my life both medicated and unmedicated (I am currently medicated).  I also have been diagnosed with C-PTSD and am currently undergoing EMDR treatment with a licensed therapist.  I am a CSA survivor & I display a good number of the symptoms of BPD although I haven’t been officially diagnosed with it.  

As stated above, I am American.  My mother’s side of the family is white as fuck my father’s side of the family is latinx & native american.  I am extremely white passing and was raised by my conservative christian mother & step-father, so while I do consider myself of color, I also am hyper aware of the fact that to the outside world I always have been and always will be white as fuck.  I try to use this to the best of my abilities to fight against racism and implicit bias when I see it and am, as I said, fully aware of my privilege. I will always concede to BIPOC when it comes to matters of race, but I also do not pretend that that voice and group are a monolith and I always do my best to make sure I have collected a multitude of opinions regarding a subject before formulating my own.  Plus, I think that white saviorism is one of the worst behaviors any sort of leftist or progressive white or white passing person can engage in and part of this blog (as you will see) will def touch upon that.  

Uh... what else?  I consider myself pretty far left.  I grew up christian (lutheran) and am now some weird flavor of agnostic existentialist.  I believe that capitalism is cultivating a hellish apocalyptic landscape and needs to be stopped at all costs (I’m a socialist ig lol).  I think that everyone suffers from implicit biases that cause them to act poorly and while they need to be educated the way that we do it currently in the rpc and the community at large are disgusting, counter productive, largely a waste of time, and extremely unhealthy.  I dislike both antishippers and proshippers equally and.... uh. 

That pretty much lays out most of my background and both my privileges and lack thereof.  Next time (ON DRAGON BALL Z) I will think I’m gonna talk about and discuss privilege and ladders of it and how it stacks and the like because I think that’s pretty important to why I made this post beyond just introducing myself.  Or... first I’m going to make a post about what I kind of want to do with this blog and why I’ve made it and THEN I’ll start talking about the interesting stuff to lay the groundwork for what I really want to do and talk about here so...

Thank you to everyone who basically read this really boring summary of myself and my life!  I look forward to talking more with y’all. <3

[radramblog]

Rating the letters of the alphabet

I feel like part of my style of comedy is just rambling about shit and making loose connections between things as part of an overall bit. I think. I’m no expert on myself, unfortunately.

The inspiration for the following absolute load of shite is trying to search Tiermaker for nothing. Like, no characters in the search bar. Didn’t come up with anything. Did a search for just a space. No dice. What about just a? Surely that’ll bring up everything with an A in the title. But it didn’t, and I was somewhat disappointed.

Then my head started writing bits about letters and that’s how we got here. This is probably really stupid, but maybe it’ll at least be fun. Wordplay is cool, though maybe not my strong suit? Anyway.

A: A is one of the two letters that’s also just a word, as you’ve just seen, giving it a necessary promotion in rank. Not a lot of things get to double up like that, though with the “an” ligature maybe it’s actually a double or nothing. But because of the confusing common connection crossing contexts for the character, it gets somewhat awkward to talk about the letter in conversation. An A, in my opinion, A does not get. 4/5.

B: B is also just a word letter but unlike A when you write it out you have to stick a few extra letters on to make it work, making it not as good. But B’s association with bees isn’t enough, because in the year of our lord, like, 2019 or something, it would become inextrixably linked with shite memes as the B emoji became king. And I just don’t respect that. It’s otherwise a fine letter, dragged down by its company. 2/5.

C: Oh come on now, the word doesn’t even have a C in it anymore! You can sea the see without any of our tertiary letter’s involvement whatsoever. Not to mention how its two main sounds are just copies from other letters wholesale. C must be confusing to non-english speakers, I’d imagine. C as a grade gets what C as a grade typically entails for many a schoolchild. 3/5.

D: It would be remiss of me not to give a sterling grade to the D. Why, none of us would be here without it. While many a youth may find the D to be quite a humourous subject, I assure you I’m taking it with the gravest of sincerity when I say the D has got to be one of the best letters of all.

And by D I mean deity, of course. Wait, what did you think I meant? 5/5.

E: The absolute absurdity that is the E meme elevates E efficiently enough to excel beyond many another vowel. However, it is also the single most common letter in the English language, going so far as to open the damn name. It’s to the point where someone made a point of writing an entire book without using it, and I think Gadsby is cool but mayhaps avoiding fifth uncial was a bit showy. I can’t help but mark it down for the sake of hipster cred. 3/5.

F: F is for Fuck. I like the word Fuck. F is for paying respects. I think the military-industrial complex has poisoned our cultural landscape to the point that a reference to one of its most prized productions’ awkward moments has become one of the most colloquially used meme letters in existence, And That’s Terrible. 3/5, I’m conflicted.

G: Man literally who the fuck cares about G. What is it even good for. Just an absolute waste of a letter, total shithouse. It’s NATO equivalent is Golf, the Worst Sport, too. Who asked for any of this? Just use a J instead, it’s cooler. 1/5.

H: I’ve seen “Hhh” used enough times in written forms of pornography to not consider it a Horny Letter. That and it, being short for Hentai, is often used to denote adult material in Japan. Basically what im saying is, I think this gets worse the less sex-positive you are. 6/9.

I: I think I’ve said enough about letter words already, but I is another high-tier one because like A I is just it’s own thing. It can also, however, be a bit confusing, looking just like an l a lot of the time, and having to constantly capitalise it is a pain in the ass. I also don’t have a particularly high opinion of myself, so a high opinion of I seems disingenuous. 3/5.

J: Clearly the best letter, hands down. I’m definitely not biased. There are so few letters as underappreciated by J- a fact many a person who’s had to do that “assign yourself an alliterative adjective” icebreaker game has had to reckon with. Because it appears to be a lot more popular with names than with words, and that just kind of sucks. 6/5.

K: K has in some circles managed to bump off its partner to become yet another letter word, though in a very informal abbreviated sense. However, when you’re looking into scientific fields, eventually said partner returns, having lost some weight on the trip down to absolute zero. This all makes complete sense in my head, and I’m sure is a lot less funny to anyone who doesn’t live there. 4/5.

L: I’d argue that L doesn’t cop its namesake. It’s a really useful letter, loads of words use it, especially in pairs, and my ADHD-brain thought it was fun to just say LLLLLLLLLLL for a bit while I was thinking about this so I guess that’s staying in now. Put me down as an L Lobbyist. 4/5.

M: Mmmmmm. M&Ms. But also it’s kind of a pain to write. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. 3/5.

N: I’d like to fight whoever decided we should have two letters that sound so similar right bloody next to each other in the alphabet. Actually, who the fuck even decided the alphabet’s order to begin with? Maybe it should go M to N, that’ll bloody show you. 2/5.

O: Our fourth vowel, and perhaps one of the underappreciated ones. O is similarly a letter word, but a much more common one considering its use as an interjection. It’s also one half of a very powerful letter combo, as we’ll see. 4/5.

P: There’s the other half. Many a joke involves OP as a phrase, whether it mean overpowered or original poster, and the letters’ adjacency is a lovely bit of serendipity. Whenever I say P out loud, on its own, I have to resist the urge to do some incredibly shitty beatboxing, which may or may not be a good sign. 4/5.

Q: I was going to write some very harsh words about Q, and its dependency on U, but then I realised that that is probably hate speech against the disabled. It still sucks, though. 0/5.

R: R is the one I am most struggling to think of things to say about. R is another letter that’s just kinda there. I’m sure the Roberts and Rachels of the world would disagree with me, though. It’s also the name of a program that I know has traumatised a lot of young biologist wannabes, slapping us with a whole pile of maths and statistics when we just wanted to look at cool plants and shit. Or in my case, cool cells and shit. 2/5.

S: The most overrated consonant, but also the thing that makes plurals not a pain in the ass. However I’m going to lean towards giving S a positive rating, if only because it’s associated with snakesssss (and serpentine characters who can talk) and I like those. 3/5.

T: I don’t think T gets enough credit as one of the pillars of the English language. A lot of very common words feature it, and yet it feels like it never gets the same level of credit as big shots like S or half of the vowels. T is like the character actor of the alphabet, is basically what I’m saying. 4/5.

U: Ah, the letter Americans hate for some reason. I think this is actually commentary on the history of American politics. Because throughout history, America has been extremely selfish and self-centered, while attempting to present a positive image that people are finally seeing past. They only entered WWI and WWII when it was convenient for them, they started wars and initiated coups in even their allies for petty ideological reasons, and they’ve gone to war with several countries and funded wars with several others seeming just for shits and giggles. Because apparently if you’re not an American, then you’re not one of them, and that means they hate U. 4/5.

V: I actually think V is underrated. It’s a fun sound. That’s it, no joke here. It’s neat, I like it. 4/5.

W: This may come as a shock to you, but double-u over here is actually two Vs! unless you’re writing in cursive, but fuck cursive. The French actually have it right on this one, naming it double-v (pronounced doobleh-vay). Add in the fact that it’s literally just M upside down, and you’ve got a pretty shite letter. 1/5.

X: There’s a reason literally every “A is for Apple” thing you see made for kids uses Xylophone for X, and that’s because there are no commonly used words that start with it. Seriously, it’s all just scientific terms- I’d argue X-Ray is more common than Xylophone in common parlance, but also, who wants to explain imaging to a kid. It doesn’t even get a second page of words on Dictionary.com. X also has implications as a letter word, that I’d rather avoid at the moment. 2/5.

Y: Ah, Ygreck, everyone’s favourite “what the fuck, France?” moment. Between that and being sorta kinda not really a vowel, Y prompts its own question more often than I’d care to admit. 2/5.

Z: As a (technical) member of the generation associated with this letter- on the one hand, I’m sorry, on the other, y’all have it coming. The final letter of the alphabet, one of the other ones worth 10 in scrabble (and yet X isn’t???), and one we probably got pretty sick of in the early 00s when it was everywhere- ironically, when most of the generation was getting born. 2/5.

And that’s the lot of them. I hope this didn’t alienate any non-English speakers too hard. It’s probably fine.

Join me for more bullshit next time I have another stupid idea. I mean, tomorrow.

[kny111]

Apocalyptic novelist Max Brooks is something of an expert on planning for pandemics and other disasters. The author, whose books include World War Z, Germ Warfare and the forthcoming Devolution, has toured the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and has reviewed government response plans related to various emergency situations — all in the course of research.

"We have a network in place that we as taxpayers have been funding to get us ready for something just like this," Brooks says of the U.S. response to the COVID-19 pandemic. But, he adds, "we have been disastrously slow and disorganized from Day 1."

Brooks says the notion that the U.S. government was blindsided by the pandemic is "an onion of layered lies."

"What could have happened when this virus exploded — even when Wuhan was locked down — is we could have put the word out," he says. "The government could have put the word out to ramp up emergency supplies to get them ready and then have an information strategy in place."

Instead, Brooks says, President Trump was slow to acknowledge the virus as a real threat. And thus far, the president has resisted using the Defense Production Act to force private companies to manufacture masks, gloves and other essential supplies in the fight against the coronavirus. Many government task forces that plan for disasters have yet to be activated in this crisis.

White House Not Using Defense Powers To Boost Medical Supplies

"One of the biggest problems we're facing now is panic. You see it in the stock market. You see it in panic buying," he says. "All of this panic could have been prevented. ... If the president had been working since January to get the organs of government ready for this, we as citizens could have been calmed down knowing that the people that we trust to protect us are doing that."

Interview highlights

On the task forces that plan for situations like this

Max Brooks has researched disaster preparedness for his novels and has lectured on the subject at the U.S. Naval War College. He has also been a nonresident fellow at the Modern War Institute at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. His new book, Devolution, will be published May 2020. Michelle Kholos/Penguin Random House

I can tell you that the federal government has multiple layers of disaster preparedness who are always training, always planning, always preparing, regardless of how much their budget gets cut. I have toured the CDC, and I've seen all their plans. I have witnessed what was called a "vibrant response." This is the homeland nuclear attack scenario, which was a coordination of FEMA, the Army, the National Guard, state and local officials, all working together in a massive war game to prepare us for a nuke. I have also witnessed what was called a "hurricane rehearsal of concept drill," where not only did the same players come in, but also bringing in our allies from Canada and Mexico. So I have seen that we have countless dedicated professionals who think about this constantly and they're ready to go. And they have not been activated.

On why these task forces haven't been activated yet

There is no excuse not to mobilize the full forces of the federal government right now and to centralize the response.

This all has to come from the federal government. This is why we have big government. Politically, you can argue about the role of big government in everyday society, but this is not every day. This is an emergency. The entire reason that we have these networks is when the bells start ringing — and they have not been activated. I don't know. I'm not sitting in the White House. I don't know whether the president is being lied to, whether he is holding onto a political ideology. I honestly don't know. But there is no excuse not to mobilize the full forces of the federal government right now and to centralize the response.

On how the Defense Production Act works when mobilized properly

What is supposed to happen is the federal government has to activate the Defense Production Act immediately. Now, what Defense Production Act does is it allows the federal government to step in and aggressively force the private sector to produce what we need. And what is so critical in this is timing. Because you can't simply build factories from scratch; what you can do is identify a supply chain in order to make it work.

Novelist Max Brooks On Doomsday, Dyslexia And Growing Up With Hollywood Parents

For example, if New York needs rubber gloves, New York cannot simply build rubber glove factories overnight. However, there might be a rubber glove factory in Ohio that could produce it, but they might not have the latex. So therefore, the Defense Production Act allows the federal government to go to the condom factory in Missouri and say, "Listen, you have barrels of latex we need. We are requisitioning those. We are giving them to the rubber glove factory in Ohio. And then we are transporting the finished rubber gloves to New York." That's how it is supposed to work.

On how Trump warns about nationalizing private industry — but that's not how it works

President Trump is spinning some sort of tale about, I don't know, the federal government — black helicopters coming in and taking over factories. That's not how it works at all. What happens is the federal government has the network to identify where the production chain is and how to help the private sector work through this, because the private sector doesn't know.

And as an example, I have a World War II rifle made by the Smith Corona typewriter company. Smith Corona worked with the federal government to then partner up with the Winchester company, to then share resources and to share tools and talent to then produce the rifles that we needed. That's how it works. It's not some sort of KGB coming in and taking over everything. It is guidance and streamlining. And only the federal government has the experience to know how to do that.

On what the U.S. military would do in a pandemic

I can tell you that the military has a vast transportation network here in the United States that is ready to go. We don't have to put truck drivers or private individuals at risk, because the military is already trained to do this. And I've watched them do this. The military spent years working out the legal framework of how to transport goods from one place to another around this country, because it's not like Afghanistan, where the army builds a road and then they own the road. The army has had to go through a tremendous amount of training and adaptation to work within state and local governments to make sure everything is done legally and safe without infringing on our rights. And they have done this. The Army's logistics corps can deliver anything that we need anywhere in this country within a matter of hours or days.

When it comes to sheer massive might, getting stuff done, getting stuff produced and getting stuff moved from Point A to Point B, there is no greater organ in the world than the United States military. We did it in World War II. We've done it all over the world. We can do this now. This is the thing the military is good at, and we need to let them do that.

On how the pandemic is revealing flaws in our social structure

I think there are massive gaps in our systems that are being exposed right now, which, by the way, this is not news to the experts. Anybody who works in these fields could have told you years ago that we were vulnerable to this. It's going to rip through our prisons. It's going to rip through our homeless population. God willing, it doesn't rip through our nursing homes. But what no one is talking about, what terrifies me, what keeps me up at night are the secondary casualties that will occur because of hospital overflow. What I mean is we're only talking about now how many people are going to die if the coronavirus really rips through our country. What is not being talked about enough or what needs to be talked about are the people who are still going to die of cancer, of accidents, of other diseases, because they simply can't get into the hospitals because the hospitals are choked with coronavirus patients.

On how we share some of the blame for this mismanagement as voters in a democracy

In China, every single death will be laid directly at the feet of the Chinese Communist Party. They have all the power; therefore, they take all the responsibility. When we look back at this, we — all of us individual citizens — are going to have to take a measure of personal responsibility, because we are the government. If we don't like our leaders, we shouldn't have put them there. And as much as we would love to blame this historically incompetent captain of our ship of state, we have allowed the ship to rust underneath us. It's not just President Trump's fault that institutions like the CDC have been defunded for years. It's not just President Trump's fault that we have allowed anti-vaxxers to spread misinformation throughout this country. It's not just President Trump's fault that we are continuing to build a society in support of a tech world that is based on comfort and not on resilience. We as voters and we as taxpayers must accept our share of the blame.

There is a massive amount of blame that will be laid at the feet of Donald Trump and his enablers. And when this is all over, when the dead are buried and the sick are healed, there will be a reckoning. But there were systemic issues way before Donald Trump. When Donald Trump was a carnival barker on a reality show, we as a people, as a nation, were dismantling the systems that were put in place to keep us safe. And we need to look at that damage, because the one thing we don't want to do is assume that when Donald Trump goes away, that the problems will go with him.

On the difference between panic and preparation

Panic never helps. Panic implies that you lose your mind, and that in a war — even a war against a microscopic enemy — gives aid and comfort to the enemy. When you panic, you don't think rationally, and in times of crisis, rational thought is the greatest weapon you could possibly have. So preparing, No. 1, means clearing your mind and thinking about what you have to do. It means making a list of what you need to buy, prioritizing what needs to come first, thinking about how you're going to take care of the people around you. That is preparing. Panicking is freaking out and getting in a fistfight in the grocery store over bottled water when you don't even need the water, when the tap is already running. That's panic.

I think right now we have to be so careful about who we listen to, because panic can spread much faster than a virus. And I think in addition to social distancing, we have to practice good fact hygiene. What I mean is we have to be careful what we listen to, what we take in — just as if it were a virus. And we have to be careful also what we put back out, as if we were spreading the virus. So we cannot pass along rumors. We cannot pass along misinformation. We must be critically careful not to scare people into doing irrational and dangerous things. So we need to listen to experts, the CDC, Dr. Fauci [director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases], the World Health Organization, our local public health officials. These are the front-line soldiers that are doing everything to keep us safe and are literally putting their lives on the line. These are the people we need to listen to. What we cannot listen to is random facts on the Internet supposedly, things that people are passing along to us, conspiracy theories. And I'm very sorry to say this, but I think that everything our president says at this point must be fact-checked.

[purplesurveys]

1131

survey by lilprincess

Approx. Time you began this survey: 6:46 on a Wednesday evening.

Describe your mood right now: Erm, a bit exhausted because I just ended a work shift; but content for the same reason. Right now I’m simply looking forward to dinner and crashing on the couch or my bed, wherever I feel like sleeping tonight.

Spell your first name without vowels: Rbn. Let’s just also remove y for this one.

Age you will be on your next birthday: 23.

Zodiac Sign: Taurus.

Do you believe what your horoscope says about your sign? I do not believe in astrology whatsoever.

What state/region do you live in? Somewhere in the Philippines somewhere close to Metro Manila.

Height: Like 5′1″ ish. I had a massive growth spurt in 4th grade that also ended in 4th grade, which will always be a funny story to tell people lmao. I went from being placed at the back of the class line to the front really quickly.

Do you smoke? Super occasionally. My last cigarette was like...all the way back in February last year. It was easier to hide the smell around my family before, but because my parents and siblings have mostly been staying at home in the last year it would be so easy to weed out the smell. I never feel like smoking anyway since I vape, so there’s been no reason to seek it out.

Do you drink? Yeah, sometimes socially and sometimes on my own if I wanna unwind and feel a lil buzz come through.

What's your ethnic background? Southeast Asian, specifically Filipino.

What's your religious background? Technically my ~background~ would be Catholic since I was born and baptized in that faith, but I’ve long let go of this. Excluding one very brief period in high school, religion was something I never held much belief and faith in, even if I've been taken to literally every Sunday mass for the last 23 years and even if I was enrolled in Catholic school from preschool to high school.

What's your natural hair color? Black.

What;s your natural eye color? Dark brown, almost black.

Do you have any bad habits you want to break? I do overtime work a lot but used to seldom file it on our company shift log sheet because I get shy that they must think I’m doing it just to be paid more, lol. I’m starting to file them every time I do OT though because fuck it, pay me.

Name a few of your positive habits. I like that I always find a way to meet deadlines. I like that I’m selfless, even though some would see it as a flaw. I’d rather do too much than say I never did anything at all.

Have you ever lived in a foreign country? No, the most I’ve done was travel to one for a week.

Did you vote in the Nov. 6 2012 presidential election? No because I am not American -___- The last election that took place before I was eligible was in 2010, and had I been able to vote then, I would’ve given mine to Gibo Teodoro, who I believe was the most qualified at the time.

Are you even eligible to vote? Yeah, I’ve been for the last 5 years. I’ve voted twice - once for the presidential elections back in 2016, and the next was for the senatorial elections in 2019.

Are you right handed or left handed? Right-handed.

When you write, is your penmanship usually neat or do you tend to scribble? It starts off neat for the most part, but it gradually gets messy and becomes more like a scribble if we’re talking about writing several essays in one sitting, which was usually the case in my exams in college.

Have you ever experienced an accident? (of any type): Sure, I’ve been in car accidents before. I’ve also been shocked once.

Do you have/want children? They would be nice to have, yeah. 

Are you environmentally conscious? For the most part, yeah. But there are some things that can’t be helped, like me driving. Unless the government does something about the shitty public transport system that we have and have had for decades, I refuse to take it.

What's your favorite mode of transportation? Like I said, my own car. If I’m traveling, by plane.

Do you prefer 80's - 90's music compared to today's music? Eh, not at all. I prefer music produced these days.

Are you more of an introvert (quiet/shy), or extrovert (social butterfly)? I’ve been more of an extrovert in the last few years but I will always be shy at first upon meeting new people, like that will never change. I warm up a lot quickly now, though.

What's your favorite emoticon? :)

Do you miss the good old days of hand-written letters? I caught the super super super last part of this era, so I didn’t even get to experience it. I know snail mail was still kind of a thing when I was a kid, but at the same time that was happening my mom was also already using email to keep in touch with my dad, so.

Nowadays, though, when I do write letters to loved ones, I will still prefer to make handwritten ones, especially for a significant other or best friend. I don’t think I’ve ever sent out a computerized long letter.

Do you enjoy receiving or giving more? Giving, but it’s nice to be treated too sometimes.

Are you good at keeping secrets? Sure.

Do you take or give advice more often? I don’t usually get into situations wherein I’d have to do either, but I think I’ve been asking for advice more, especially over the last few months.

Do you have your driver's license? “I got my driver’s license last week, just like we always talked about...” Haha this question made me sing a bit. Anyway, yeah, I got it shortly after I turned 18 since I needed to quickly learn before college started.

Would you rather be poor & happy or rich but miserable? Rich but miserable. Soz but I’d solve 4854983594857 of my problems if I never had to worry about money.

Have you ever had a pregnancy scare? Never.

Have you ever blocked someone on Facebook? Probably not blocked, but I’ve unfollowed some current Facebook friends and unfriended others entirely.

Do you think recreational marijuana should be nationally legalized? Idk much about the topic since it’s taboo enough where I live, but sure, I guess?I haven’t heard one bad word about the effects of marijuana.

Describe your perfect first date. I’ve never really had a first date, but I imagine an ideal one would be pretty lowkey, just a stroll around a nice city and maybe have fancyish dinner somewhere.

Have you ever been high? Nope.

Have you ever watched a NC-17 rated film? Sure. A good handful of Kubrick films pass for NC-17, right? I’d be surprised if they weren’t, lol. I’ve been scarred by some of them for sure.

If you ever become reincarnated as an animal, what would you want it to be? A dog.

Do you remember where you were/what you were doing on September 11, 2001? No; I was 2 years old. I did ask my parents where they were in those moments, and my mom understandably missed most of it since the entire thing unfolded in the late evening in the Philippines. The only thing she can recall was being insanely worried for my dad, who had just started to work in the US back then.

Do you ever wish you were of a different nationality/religion? Yeah, to a certain extent, just because the political and socioeconomic situation here is very messy and it doesn’t really give us the nicest reputation in front of the world. I’m proud of my Filipino culture and heritage though.

Are you more of a junk food addict or health nut? Health nut is the last thing anyone should be calling me. But I’m not so much a junk food addict either? I do like spoiling myself with food, but I still monitor my intake.

Do you believe Antarctica should be considered the 7th world continent? Isn’t it already though?? We’ve always been taught there were 7 continents and Antarctica is one of them lol.

Describe your own sense of humor in 1 word: Gen-Z, if that counts as one word.

Have you ever quoted the Bible (or any other Holy Book)? If I ever did it was probably meant to be sarcasm.

Have you ever completed a Sudoku puzzle? No. Never figured out how to play it either.

Would you rather be a nuclear physicist or marine biologist? Marine biologist. That’s one step closer to one of my loves, biology. Plus I was never any good with physics, so.

Do you have a deep, dark secret you're hiding from every one? I guess.

Would you rather be able to soar like an eagle or swim like a dolphin? I’d make my childhood self happy and go with flight.

If you wanted to learn a foreign language, what would it be? Korean so I can finally stop reading subs, hahah.

Are you bi-curious? No.

Did you watch the Disney Channel or Nickelodeon more as a kid? The Nickelodeon cartoons were far more interesting to me. I think I only got into Disney when I got a little bit older, once I was able to appreciate the more mature content in shows like The Suite Life, That’s So Raven, etc. But for the most part our TV was always tuned into Nick Jr., Spongebob, Jimmy Neutron and the other Nick shows.

Name 5 films that were made the year you were born: American History X (great watch), The Truman Show, Mulan, La Vita e Bella if I’m not mistaken (one of my faves, no matter how gut-wrenching it is), and Shakespeare in Love.

Did you have a lot of friends in high school? Yes, eventually I did.

Do you rely more on the newspaper, Internet or TV as your news source? Social media these days since I find that online writers are far more discerning in their reporting than TV anchors, who stay neutral at best.

True or false: Bigger is better. Very vaguely put, but not always, I guess.

Do you think religion is the primary cause of war? No? There’ve been plenty other reasons for war.

What's your favorite pizza topping? ...Cheese.

Think of your wardrobe. What color do you wear the most? It’s still black, I think.

Have you ever been to a planetarium? Just once, on a middle school field trip. I’d love to come back, though.

Do you feel like you connect more with animals or other people? I don’t get to be with animals a lot other than my dogs, so I’ll go with people.

Do you feel like sometimes you have to lie in order to protect yourself? Wow so dramatically put haha but yeah, I suppose it does feel that way sometimes.

How often do you exercise? Literally never. I’ve stopped working out this year since I didn’t see the point, and I’ve stopped feeling like I had to ‘get back’ at my ex just by getting a more toned figure. I’m totally at peace with how my body looks, plus I never want to give up on my favorite foods and snacks lol so there’s that.

Can you swear in a different language? Putangina mong bobo kang gago ka. That’s three for ya.

Do you think teachers/doctors deserve to get paid more than pro athletes? Everyone deserves to be paid fairly to the point that no comparison should be necessary, period.

From a scale of 1- 5, you would rate this survey: Erm, a 4.5. I had to delete some questions I didn’t feel comfortable answering or that I found a little meh, but the rest I fairly enjoyed.

Do you think most of these questions were more original or more ordinary? It’s a bit in between.

Approx. time you completed this survey: Hahahahah 10:38 PM. I took a million breaks.

[the-fiction-witch]

Lovely Tag officer Thanisson

A - Affection [How affectionate are they with you?]

He is affectionate once the doors to your quarters close, you barely even look up at each other during the day due to first order regulations but he makes uo for it and cuddles you close the moment the door closes and he won't let you go till your back to work the next day.

B - Butter [How much do they coddle you, and how?]

He does his best to coddle you, he would always tell you the full truth about something to protect you, you both grew up in the first orders training programs so he couldn't hide you from some things but he does his best not to shield you from unpleasant things he knows might upset you.

C - Confide [How easily do they confide to you?]

He is an open book with you and a bank vault to the rest of the world, he has told you everything, his training, what he remembers about his home world and his family, and even little things like secrets about where he takes secret breaks at work, he'll tell you anything you ask.

D - Defensive [How protective are they over you?]

He can be very protective, on shore leave he barely let's you out of his sight as he knows the sorts of things people would trade and do for a patoxin girl so he makes sure to keep you safe and sound as much as possible.

E - Exhausted [How do they take care of you when you're tired or feeling low?]

He can sense your feeling low, or had a bad day at work the moment you step in the door, he'll fix you a hot cup of relan tea and run you a nice bubble bath, then he'll sit and massage your back and braid your hair for you as you explain the ins and outs of your day, unless you don't want to talk then he'll tell you a funny story about his day.

F - Fluffy [How sappily sweet can they get?]

It's not to much a sappy sweetness all though he can be sometimes when he wants to treat you special. It's more a cute sweetness like when you aww at a puppy growling to protect something but instead of a puppy it's thanisson and it's equally adorable.

G - Game [How much do they play around, and are they a tease?]

He doesn't much like to tease unless it's tickles because if you start that... You start a war. And you must be prepared for that.

H - Happy [What's their favourite thing to do with you, that makes them happy?]

He loves taking a bath with you, not in a Sexual way, he just likes to lay in the water with you and wash your hair for you while you lay on his chest and he likes to braid your hair for you even though you should do it he still likes to help you.

I - Initiate [Do they make the first move?]

Not really he likes to wait for you

J - Jealousy [How jealous can they get and how do they show it?]

He can get very very jealous! A trooper once patted you in the butt an by God he was so angry he looked like he could have manifested a lightsaber and cut his arm off.

L - Love [How do they react to you giving them affection?]

He blushes and gives you equal if not more back, so if you kiss his nose he'll kiss your nose or your lips, you kiss his hand he'll kiss your hand or you head.

M - Married [What's it like to be married to them?]

Magical, he treats you like a princess and it was fun to see how long it would take your freinds to realize you got married in shore leave

N - Newborn [How are they with having kids, and how would they be as a parent?]

He was so overjoyed when he got you pregnant! He basically carried you around the finalizer holding your stomach like a trophy! But when they where born and you found out it was twins he kinda... Freaked out! He was a manic father with this hurricane that just arrived in his life that be was not at all prepped for, he would stand over there crib watching them sleep for weeks, he tried to be strict with them but ended up spoiling them, he was so nervous and sacred of messing up with them, you both were being first time parents, and so young, still newlyweds, and with twins, but he loves them both dearly and can't wait for more

O - Outdoors [How are they with you in public?]

Due to the first order rules when aboard the finalizer doing your duties you are to ignore each other like your strangers so public is a strange situation, but when off the ship he's protective and snuggly and always holds your hand.

P - Propose [How would they propose, and when would that be?]

It was sa very small moment, he took you to dinner a little picnic on the hill while on shore leave and he handed you a rose with a beautiful ring at the bottom, and you where married not a few days later behind the waterfall.

Q - Quarrel [How are they after a fight, and will they try to make amends right after?]

He will buy you flowers and chocolates and bubble bath just to see you smile, he gates to fight and wishes you never thought about anything at all and he'll make sure the fight never goes too far

R - Romantic [How much of a hopeless romantic are they, and how do they show it?]

He is a romantic you can see it in his blushes, in his smile when you kiss him, the way he looks at you of an evening.

S - Snuggles [Do they like to cuddle, and how do they do it?]

He loves to cuddle, he loves you on his chest so he can play with your hair.

T - Touchy [How touch starved are they, and would they show it?]

You can tell he's missed you and if getting touched starved because he won't leave you alone, he'll get home of you and never been let you go kissing and cuddling and complimenting all day.

U - Urchin [What's one negative trait about them that hurts you?]

He can be a little overprotective sometimes, and his attention span is a little short sometimes so it's hard to keep his attention for too long.

V - Vibe [What energy do they give off when you're with them?]

Pure joy and happiness

W- Wedding [What are they like at their wedding?]

He smiled wider then you had ever seen, it was only a small wedding just you two, a official and two of your friends from the ship he cried when he saw you and he took your hand and never let you go for a moment

"I'm yours and your mine, and I don't ever wanna leave you for a moment"

X - Xtreme [What lengths would they go to for you?]

Anything you could ask him to walk from here to jupiter and he would, you could ask him to dye his hair neon green and he'd do it, just to see you smile for him

Y - Yogurt [What's their ideal place for a date?]

He likes the holodeck because it can be anything, but he loves a good picnic.

Z - Zipper [What clothes do they like seeing you in?]

He loves seeing you in your uniform but, he loves your little nighties because your so soft and cuddly.

[irandrura]

Terra Ignota

Over the last few weeks, I read Terra Ignota. I read all of the three published books so far: Too Like the Lightning, Seven Surrenders, and The Will to Battle.

Every review of Terra Ignota I have ever read is wrong. Or rather, every review of Terra Ignota I have ever read takes an extremely different perspective to my own, to the extent that I genuinely don’t understand how the author could have concluded that.

So as not to keep anyone in suspense, my perspective on Terra Ignota is that they are surprisingly trashy books, in a world that doesn’t make very much sense, but that doesn’t matter because the heart and soul of these texts is over-the-top soap opera drama. I think they are probably bad, and they outright offended me at several points, but nonetheless they drew me in enough that I wanted to keep reading. There is merit in that.

 If you’re the sort of person who cares about spoilers, this is your only warning.

As I said, I don’t understand most of the reviews I have read of these books. I simply don’t.

 I don’t understand the view that the writing itself is poetic and beautiful. Palmer has some good phrases from time to time, but overall I don’t find the prose particularly amazing. This is a very subjective point, so I won’t belabour it.

 I don’t understand the view that the books are a masterful triumph of worldbuilding. From my perspective, the worldbuilding is actually kind of half-assed, and more importantly, Palmer does not seem to actually care about worldbuilding that much. It isn’t her priority. Reading the books I found myself constantly asking “How does X actually work?” or “Y sounds totally insane, could you explain how it makes sense to me?” or “Z seems like it clashes with X, please resolve this contradiction for me?”, and Palmer never answers those questions for you. If I want some more explanation for why, say, a global transportation system serving billions of people is run without oversight, from a single private residence, looked after by a man well-known to be suicidally depressed… nope, I’m not getting that. If I want some context for how hive-switching works, or how it interacts with crime, not happening. Even minor questions: in The Will to Battle, our heroes talk to a band of criminals involved in human trafficking, and I immediately wanted to know what human trafficking means in a world where borders have been abolished, geographic nations have been abolished, and every place on Earth is just a short taxi ride from every other place. This is the sort of question Palmer does not answer or even acknowledge.

 And I don’t actually buy that she’s interested in the questions that I see raised when the books are spruiked to me. Are you intrigued by the question of what the world would look like if every individual could choose their own government, their own law code, unconstrained by geography? I’m intrigued by that. It sounds interesting. But this is not a question that Terra Ignota is actually interested in. It seems like it should be interested in it, and I read enough breathless expositions of how cool the hive system is that I expected Terra Ignota to be interested in it… but it’s not. If you’re interested in, say, the question of whether a permanent exit option would make absolute dictatorship more humane, as in the Masons, then I agree that’s interesting – but it is not a question that the text of Terra Ignota takes any interest in. The big worldbuilding questions raised by the hives are all window dressing.

 I don’t understand the idea that Terra Ignota is a brilliant depiction of utopia. I want to acknowledge straight off the bat that I may have a bias here, because Terra Ignota’s world is premised on the, well, genocide of people like me, or at least the forcible suppression and exile of people like me, but I don’t think it’s only the fact that I’m openly in defiance of the First Black Law. Rather, I note two things here. Firstly, it’s hard to see whether Terra Ignota’s society is actually utopian because we spend so little time in it. We do not see how ordinary people live in this world, or what makes it wonderful. What Terra Ignota spends most of its time on is the scheming and backstabbing of the dozen most powerful people in the world, and everyone outside that little circle barely exists in the text. (Abigail Nussbaum noted in her review that Terra Ignota’s world never really feels like it has more than a few hundred people in it, and I agree.) It’s hard to convincingly argue Terra Ignota is a utopia or a dystopia, because we never meet the whole population. We meet a small handful of amoral nobility as they play out a space opera Game of Thrones. That’s certainly entertaining, and I give Palmer credit for making it fun to read, but it’s not really an investigation of utopia. Secondly, where we do see glimpses of the world outside the parlours of the ruthless rich, it…honestly seems rather conventional, and rather like the 21st century. People work fewer hours a week, taxis are much more efficient, movies have smelltracks as well as soundtracks, they go to the Olympics, apparently the Oscars endured the collapse of all nations and religions… but there is little in this world that seems radically different to our own. It’s all minor, incremental bits of technological progress. They’ve eliminated poverty, which is good, but I usually expect something more radical from utopia than that. What do people actually do in Terra Ignota that’s different to what any upper-middle class American might do today? Other, of course, than not go to church, call everyone singular they, and wear tracking devices.

 I don’t understand the idea that these books deal with deep philosophical or theological themes. Like the hives themselves, it’s all window dressing. The narrator Mycroft is obsessed with the 18th century, and so is a bizarre anachronistic brothel that somehow every major world leader attends (cf. worldbuilding being weak, the world only feeling like it has a few hundred people in it), but they don’t do very much with this. Mycroft imagines Thomas Hobbes occasionally butting in, but his imaginary Hobbes has little to say beyond "Hi, I’m the guy who wrote Leviathan!” The characters reference Diderot and de Sade and Voltaire, but usually only on the surface level, and when they do try to go deeper, they often get the references wrong. The same for the theology. My point is not that Terra Ignota is bad: just that it isn’t really that interested in the political philosophy or the theology. It uses 18th century thought as an aesthetic. Deism, miracles, proof of God’s existence, how gods might communicate, etc., are not the questions that occupy the text. Ada Palmer is not a theologian.

 But all that said, I enjoyed Terra Ignota.

 I want to emphasise that. I enjoyed Terra Ignota! I am not saying that it’s bad! I’m just saying that it was not what everyone told me it would be.

 Terra Ignota is a book about a bunch of very powerful, very horrible people, who all apparently go to the same brothel and are interested in the same wacky theories about human nature and God and so on, lying to and betraying each other. I think Palmer is really interested in the characters. Mycroft, our pretentious narrator who by the end of book three is genuinely losing his grip on reality and writing hallucinations. Jedd Mason, the madman who believes he’s God, but is probably just the delusional product of a radical set-set experiment. Caesar, the iron-proud absolute dictator seeking to do his duty by his ambitious, power-obsessed hive. Dominic, the sadistic sexual predator who nonetheless worships Jedd with fanatical devotion. Carlyle, the kind and compassionate philosopher-in-residence who inevitably gets tortured and abused. Ojiro Sniper, the freaky sex doll who nonetheless seeks to become the Brutus to Jedd’s Caesar. Apollo Mojave, the dead-but-still-influential space wizard who sought to cause a world war for stupid reasons. And so on. The characters are generally well-drawn and interesting enough that I want to see what happens to them.

 I should emphasise Palmer’s achievement in making me want to know what happens to these people, especially because they’re all so unsympathetic. Carlyle and Bridger stand out as the most truly sympathetic characters in the novels, but by book three, the former has been captured, tortured, and now limps along, dead-eyed and broken-spirited, in the train of one of the resident sadists, and the latter has quite reasonably gone “Screw this” and used his immense psychic powers to delete himself from the book. But most of the core characters in this drama – Mycroft, Saladin, Jedd, Sniper, Ganymede and Danae, Madame d’Arouet, etc. – are mad, evil, both, or otherwise extremely unsympathetic. It is to Palmer’s credit that I want to know what happens in the war anyway. The most sympathetic of the political leaders in the text, Vivien Ancelet and Bryar Kosala, spend most of their time fruitlessly begging for peace. While they, perhaps alone of the leaders, have genuinely laudable intentions, it has been clear from the first book that neither will be permitted to achieve anything notable. The only people to barrack for, in Terra Ignota, are those noble if compromised few who seek to avoid a war – and who we all know will fail.

 Book four, it seems, will finally be about the war that the first three books have been setting up, and even though I frankly want all three sides to lose – the Jedd faction, the Sniper faction, and Utopia are all deeply unpleasant, albeit in different ways – I am sure I will find it extremely entertaining to see how this all collapses.

 Do I recommend Terra Ignota? I don’t know. If you want detailed, thorough worldbuilding, sincere contemplation of deep philosophical questions about theodicy, politics, and human nature, or a stirring vision of a possible utopia… no. Do not read it for those things. It does not have those things in it.

 But it does have a scene where the prime minister of Europe body-tackles the Olympic president through a plate glass window and they land in a pile of people having sex mid-orgy, while the media broadcasts it worldwide.

 And that’s excellent.

[garyrennell]

FLUFF ALPHABET — GARY RENNELL🧸

hi beautiful people💕 i’m doing the fluff alphabet challenge by @ravena-dottir, in collab with awesome @mrsgaryrennell✨ we really took our time to analyze crane boi’s personality here, to give the most accurate responses posible💖 aaaand this is a long one, as everything i write😂 i hope you like it.

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

physically, he is drawn to a girl’s eyes and smile, as he compliments MC for those in the game. he also is a butt and thigh guy👀 personality wise, he appreciates curiosity, intellectuality and overall kindness.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

absolutely YES. he wants to have children of his own to take care of and to prove himself that he can be the best dad ever, the father he never had. he dreams of taking his little boy to football practice and teach him mechanics💙 you bet he’ll be there for this children whenever they need him and will be extra protective and such a cool dad🥺 and if he finds a girl with the same love and care inside of her, there’s no doubt he’d be eager to start a family asap.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

in canon, he’s always giving cuddles or asking for them, so crane boi here is a cuddle fan💖 @mrsgaryrennell and i came to the conclusion that Gary’s love language is mainly physical, because cuddling is his type of intimacy and his way to show affection, rather than words for example. he likes bed cuddles with his girl lying on his chest and his bigs arms around her, especially in the morning. even if his girl is not close, he’ll pull her into a cozy cuddle or simply ask for one✨

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

he prefers very casual dates and if he gets to plan it, he’ll put thought into it. for example, he plans a simple picnic date and makes sure he brings good food and takes his girl to a nice place; or a movie date and makes sure to buy popcorn and get really good seats. overall, Gary transforms simple dates into something especial without going over the top💕 during the date, expect a “top quality banter and an absolute gent” lmao, especially the gent part because he’s basically proud of his nan educating him like that.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

he’ll probably turn this phrase into a joke because he doesn’t like being a melt😂 it would ruin his lad image. in joking mode, he’d say something along the lines of “you’re the loaf of my life” while holding a piece of bread lmao, but in a serious occasion he’d say “you’re my happiness” or “you’re my favourite”.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

in the game, we think he realized he had fallen for MC while the girls were away in CA. he found himself missing her big time and thinking about her all the goddamn time, wishing she was there with him. also the idea of having a domestic life with MC is what made him sure that she was the one💖

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

gentle is basically Gary’s middle name lmao, that boi is full of gentleness. he’s gentle when he holds his girl, when he kisses her, in his wording even when he’s not very good at expressing himself with words. everything he does, he makes sure he does it with care and tenderness🙈

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

as most of his way to show affection is through physical contact, he often reaches for his girl’s hand. Gary is a simple guy, so he doesn’t really care if he’s holding the back of her hand, her palm, if his fingers are intertwined or not— he doesn’t really care as long as their hands are together💕 he’s also the type to caress the back of her hand with his thumb in a soothing manner.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

oh boy oh boy, when it comes to first impressions, Gary comes across as handsome, confident, cheeky and flirty, which can result into him looking like a laddy lad type of guy💪🏻 it’s not far fetched lol but in the first impression of him you miss a lot of the depth of his character and personality.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

not👏🏻at👏🏻all. he doesn’t mind if a guy approaches his girl and flirts a little, because he likes to see that others appreciate her too. when he would definitely get jealous is when the person hitting on his girl is really bold and obvious. Gary is a “silent jealous”, which means that he will not be confrontational about it but will throw deadly glances, frown and mutter under his breath. he will just stand at one side trying not to look bothered, arms crossed and grumbling to himself lmao. and then, when asked, he’ll deny to death that he’s jealous💀

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

we all know the guy has experience, so he is definitely an expert kisser. he really enjoys slow kisses and likes to take his time, he doesn’t rush and is also very gentle. basically, he knows what to do, when to do it and how to do it😉 he likes playful and sneaky kisses too, everything that comes along with some cheekiness. in the game, MC always initiates the kisses, so there’s that🤷🏻‍♀️ but it fits his personality more for him to be the one initiating the kisses.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

him, and it’s canon. Gary is an open book, so as soon as he is sure that he’s in love, he’ll try to let his girl know in the most intimate way posible. he’ll say it in private and will make sure he picks the right moment.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

in the game, the final date, when he asks MC to be his girlfriend. outside of the Villa, definitely the shipyard date, because it’s the first time a girl accepts to go watch the lights of the cranes with him🥺💕

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

crane boi doesn’t spoil, less with expensive things🤷🏻‍♀️ but, he will treat his girl with everyday, simple and casual details. she likes a certain type of tea? he will make sure to buy it whenever he can. she likes chocolate? he’ll buy some whenever he goes grocery shopping. maybe will even buy her a flower if he wants to come home with a surprise. in general, he buys small, meaningful things that will come to usage for her.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

for MC, he reminds her of navy blue and the color red. the first one is partially influenced by his eyes and the second is because of his cozy flannel💕

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

in canon, he uses “love, babe, cutie, darling and poppet” when referring to MC. he also uses “mate” as kind of a pet name too😂 we recently noticed that Gary is all down for melty pet names and even makes them up himself, so he surely will have a personalized and creative nickname for his girl💕

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

he likes old and vintage appliances, especially ones that are broken so he can fix them. @mrsgaryrennell has a cute headcanon in which Gary likes to fix old stuff (e.g radios) for elderly people or for donating them to charity😢💙

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Gary loves rainy days, it’s canon. he either is down to go dancing in the rain or to spend it at home, cuddling next to a window with his head lying on his girl’s lap as she plays with his hair💖 and drinking a warm cuppa, of course.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

this is a heavy one. we all know Gary’s struggles with mental health, so even after his therapy his first option is going to the gym. he thinks it helps with sadness when it doesn’t, but at least he feels less stressed out afterwards. after that, if he is really down, he’ll go talk to his nan about it🥺 to find comfort and support in her.

when cheering others up, he is all about company and being reassuring. he tries to get people to talk about their feelings because, through therapy, he has learned that it works. when the other person is well enough, he will try to make a joke to lighten the mood✨ as my girl @mrsgaryrennell said: even though he’s a little broken himself, he still tries to make others feel better.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

cRAnEs🏗 aND hiS nAn👵🏻😂 he’s a Star Wars fan, so he would be very chatty about it, or about science in general. he also likes to share funny stories lol.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

again, the gym thing, sadly😔 but apart from that, he likes to fix broken stuff when he is stressed, or build things for other people.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

his killer pecs and huge arms💪🏻😂 crane boi is very proud of who he is, so he mostly shows off his thicc body. we also have this headcanon in where Gary likes to show off his girl, to let the world know how amazing she is. he never shuts up about her💕🙈

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

he would propose after a 3-4 year relationship, to make sure the time is right, and wouldn’t do it without talking about the idea of marriage with his girl first. he would propose in a very intimate and private way, just the two of them in a especial place for both💙

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys and Stone by Jaymes Young🎶

Y = You the ___ to my ___ (e.g the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese)

he’d say “you’re the levers to my crane” lmao or “you’re the safety to my worksite”💀

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

he wants a big, energetic dog (just like him lol) so probably he would own a fluffy golden retriever🐾

[ruensroad]

warm me up (I’m far too cold)

Wanted a challenge and @this-solaris-life delivered! New Jinyi AU based on the enemies-to-lover’s troupe, as well as jealousy. Also tossed in arranged marriage, because it’s me.

Inspired by the book Hawksong, by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes.

Translation key: Shé - serpent shifter. Bào - snow leopard shifter. Lù - deer shifter. Tùzĭ - rabbit shifter. Zhangfu - husband. 

---

Jingyi hadn’t felt this terrible since the war. Black, coiling cold in his chest; a simmering, helpless anger. It had been so much easier when he’d had pointless battles to be furious about, all the death and destruction. And even though he’d never imagined that he himself would be what stopped centuries of bloodshed, it’d nonetheless been an easy role to take, even when it came through marriage to his once enemy.

It was different for the Shé, who carried their emotions freely on their sleeves and said what was on their mind. His husband, as such, was temperamental and cutting, with a sweetness hidden under layers of bravado. If Jingyi was not the worst Bào to ever be and gave back what Jin Ling threw at him instead of the serene silence of his kind, he didn’t know how they’d ever work.

Sometimes, despite their somewhat stilted progress, he still wasn’t sure.

Logically, he understood his place. He was first zhangfu and the most important. But that didn’t mean there couldn’t be a second, or third, or even tenth. Jin Ling’s grandfather alone had had seventeen wives, and that still hadn’t been enough for him. One day, it would be expected of Jin Ling to take another spouse, preferably a wife to make him heirs, and Jingyi would have to deal with it, even if it went against everything he knew himself.

He’d been taught to fear these people, but still respect their very strange ways. And he’d thought he could do it, and gladly too.

To feel that resolve shaken apart already, so completely, so easily, Jingyi wondered how he ever thought he could possibly be expected to share. Jin Ling was a brat, but he was his brat. All these weeks of trying so hard to find common ground, to be someone Jin Ling could count as friend and confidant, to be a good husband, and for what?

One smile from Ouyang Zizhen and that cold bitterness swelled inside him. One laugh, and he had to set down his cup in fear of breaking the fine porcelain.

It was ridiculous. Jin Ling was allowed to have friends. He was glad Jin Ling had such a friend, and that made it all worse. He could be reasonable about this, he could. Childhood friends held that ability to get smiles and relaxed laughter. So what if Jingyi had to struggle so hard for the same? Jin Ling was forced to put up with him. Of course it wasn’t interchangeable.

That didn’t stop the feeling whatsoever. Made it worse, really.

Because Ouyang Zizhen was warm and friendly and if Jingyi wasn’t such a petty wretch he’d want the easygoing Lù as a friend too.

It was already hard enough that Sizhui liked him, laughed with him, welcomed him into their small group, and that Jingyi was hard pressed to argue the decision. He liked Ouyang Zizhen, all things considered, liked his charm and dramatic tales of love scorned.

The bitterness was not there because Ouyang Zizhen smiled at Sizhui the way Sizhui was meant to be smiled at, or smiled at Jingyi for that matter. It was because he smiled at Jin Ling, and that Jin Ling grinned right back, eyes flashing in mischief and more lively and animated than Jingyi had ever managed to get.

And that… stung.

Still, he managed a near hour with the trio before having to retreat, citing a need to get cool from the ever present warmth and sunlight of the Shé capital. Thankfully, it hadn’t even been a lie; he was meant for snow and cold, not the heat the others thrived in.

He just wished the small alcove could cool his temper as well as his skin.

A whisper of the curtain behind him let him know he’d been followed and he found himself hoping it was Sizhui. They’d only met the day of his wedding, but already he was like a brother long lost. His soothing nature was a balm, most days, when the strain of it all became too much, and Jingyi turned willingly, needing that comfort.

But it was not the sweet Tùzĭ standing there, lit by a back-glow of sunlight. It was Jin Ling, dark eyes shimmering with serpent gold and princely brow furrowed. If it wasn’t such a surprise to see him, Jingyi wondered if it would have been relief filling his heart to see his husband now, or if the sight would have only served to make the coldness in his stomach worse.

They stared at each other for a beat too long, because Jin Ling would never admit to doing something kind and Jingyi was still rocked by his presence. Finally, his husband looked off to the left, muttering to the wall, and it was sweet enough he felt something tense inside him start to release. “I was told to check on you. Are you alright?”

Jingyi hated the fondness that filled him hearing that. If only Jin Ling wasn’t prone to blushing, he could believe what he was saying face value. It would be so easy to bicker and send him off in a huff, if that were the case.

But it wasn’t, and even his jealous heart could soften to it. “And when do you follow orders so easily?” he asked, crossing his arms. He tried for amusement, but only felt tired as that bitterness started to drain. “I’m fine.”

“I thought the Bào were forbidden from lying,” Jin Ling said and locked their gazes with a frustrated noise. “You’ve been acting weird all morning. Yesterday too.”

It was true enough and Jingyi found he was the one glaring at the wall now. Had he truly let such horrid feelings plague him so long? No wonder he was so bitter. Ashamed, he sighed and forced the feeling to leave as best he could, but it persisted, having rooted hard in his chest.

His silence had Jin Ling stepping forward, a surprise. “If I’ve done something -”

“No,” Jingyi assured him, because in all honestly Jin Ling hadn’t done anything except enjoy a friend. It wasn’t his fault Jingyi was apparently so selfish. He wilted in guilt just thinking about it. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just…”

He shook his head and did his best to smile as he waved that off. “Don’t worry, I’ll get over it. Just need to work through something. Go back and have fun. I’ll be along in a minute.”

Of course, telling Jin Ling to do something just made him all the more stubborn not to do it. Jin Ling crossed his arms and shifted on his feet, a fighting stance, because he was ridiculous. “Or you can tell me what’s wrong and we can both go back.”

There was a time, not even three months ago, that he would’ve been tasked to kill this man, or have to worry about being killed instead. It was a sudden grief, knowing what could have been, that he could have never known Jin Ling’s true heart, that such a bright fire could have been forced out of the world. War had separated them for so long, had robbed them of a more proper meeting, proper courtship, proper marriage. Was he really going to let something else rob them of more?

No, he resolved. He was not.

“Laugh if you want, but I’m feeling inadequate,” he said, laying it all bare and refusing to be sorry for it. “I feel like i have to fight for even an inch with you, yet Master Ouyang can get it all in an instant.”

Jin Ling blinked at that, surprise plain, and his brow furrowed so hard his vermilion mark disappeared in the folds of skin. “You’re jealous of Zizhen?”

“And I feel stupid about it,” Jingyi agreed, feeling his face burn. “I get you’re friends, but it’s hard -”

“You realize he sent me in here after you, right?” Jin Ling cut across, oddly blushing harder now too. “And that he’s sweet on Sizhui?”

Jingyi took that in with no small amount of shock. “He is?” he asked, dumbly. “He did?”

“He wanted me to take the chance to show I’m a good listener, or something,” Jin Ling huffed and it was clear then just why his flush was so hot. “That… I’m a good husband.”

Jingyi smiled, that cold coil breaking as a warmth overtook his heart. Embarrassed, but pleased, he reached for Jin Ling’s hands, felt their sun-kissed heat, and pressed his lips to each knuckle, until his husband was nearly as red as the dot between his brows.

“You are,” Jingyi murmured. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I did say i was being stupid.”

“Yeah, well, just stop it and come back,” Jin Ling managed, all flustered authority, and Jingyi couldn’t help but laugh to see it.

“If you want me there, just say so,” Jingyi teased, dared, but it came out a little too soft. Too wanting.

Jin Ling huffed at him like it was nothing. Easy, so easy, and Jingyi’s heart was flying. “Of course I want you there. Now come. If I have to sit through those idiots trying to court without knowing it, so do you.”

A held out hand followed that, as well as a determined pout, and Jingyi knew he’d follow this man anywhere as long as he continued to look at him like he was worth the effort. And he told himself he would be worth it, would be better, and worthy of his place in Jin Ling’s life.

One day, perhaps, he’d find a place in his heart, too, and even jealousy would not be able to touch him. He could only hope for such a day and pray it came.

For now, he took Jin Ling’s hand and followed him back out into the sun.

[dungeondivebar]

Dungeon Dive Bar Crawl - The Slithering (and more!)

As we announced previously, we’ll be running a 24 hour stream for Extra Life on November 6 and 7! Check out that link for some more information on the stream and how to tune in.

Each Friday until the event itself, we’ll be publishing an interview with the GM of one of the adventures along with other material to get everybody super jazzed for the stream. This week, we’ve also interviewed two of our other cast members as a bonus!

--- What's your name? Sam

How long have you played Pathfinder and Starfinder? About... five years now.

What is your favorite thing about TTRPGs? I like the fun of hanging out with my friends and getting to participate in a classic good vs. evil dichotomy. As a player I like the variety of the games as well, being able to do so many things that I can't do in real life (such as use magic) and to see real change occur as a result of my actions. I like getting to delve into new classes and combinations, even if I end up defaulting to what I know the best in them. It's why I tend to be the last person to build my PC in a party, to see if I can build a character to shore up the party's weak points or a necessary role. As a GM I enjoy creating stories for my friends and making sure they all enjoy it (and in the case of Dungeon Dive Bar, the listeners too)!

What is your favorite class to play? I prefer mixed martial casters such as the magus or warpriest, especially since they make heavy and practical use of the rarely consumed swift action. As far as 2e goes I've only gotten to play a Warpriest Medic, who does a lot of fun work, and I'm excited to try out something more martial for The Slithering (unless I have to use my backup).

What are you most excited for during the Dungeon Dive Bar Crawl? Mostly seeing if I survive it! In all seriousness I'm looking forward to getting to play Starfinder for the first time and do my absolute best to entertain people and raise money for the kids.

Tell us a bit about one of your characters for the stream. My character for David's Homebrew Into the Crystal Realm is a fetchling shadow oracle named Locus Umbral. His backstory is a long gag as he believes he was granted these powers by Sarenrae after being hurled from the Shadow Plane to the Material Plane in a gout of fire, granting him magical powers and cursing him to have burnt, withered, arms. He's basically an isekai character.

---

What is your name? Alex Pedersen 

What is your favorite class to play? Asking the hard questions... I’d like to say Paladin because the oath is so interesting as a character feature, but I haven’t played one properly yet. I keep going back to Rogues or Operatives. Getting to do some real damage as well as supporting the team on and off the battlefield is a lot of fun.

How long have you played TTRPGs in general? How did you get into the hobby? About 8 years. My neighbors in junior high wanted to play, but didn’t know the rules. My brother and I checked out the 4e D&D books from the library and read them cover to cover. The game fell apart because we still didn’t know what we were doing. Later, I convinced Megan to GM in college, and we’ve been playing regularly since then.

How long have you played Pathfinder and Starfinder in particular? I picked up Pathfinder after playing with 5e for a bit, but have only been playing regularly for about 2 years. Starfinder, I remember getting at the launch and jumping right in with some friends in college. Megan has always been my GM save for the two Starfinder Society scenarios I played.

What is your favorite thing about TTRPGs overall? I love the chance to play someone different from myself. I try to get into their head when I am at my best. That moment when what my character wants to do is at odds with what I want to do is what I am looking for.

What is your favorite part about playing TTRPGs? I love the rules and combat. I’m a mathy guy, and understanding the probability and systems going into the game is a fun way for me to explore the world and the story. 

What are you most excited for during the Dungeon Dive Bar Crawl? One-offs are a great chance to try other builds, or more ridiculous characters I wouldn’t want to commit to for a long campaign. I’m also willing to be swayed into enjoying 2e by Garrett in the Slithering.

Tell us a bit about one of your characters for the stream. David gave the go ahead on Path of War, a 3rd party system for martial characters from Dreamscarred Press. I have created a Mystic, who uses a bardiche and teleports around the battlefield shooting lightning. Wait, you meant the character? Oh, He is an old aasimar who has been called to serve the Black Butterfly. He is a patient, kind person, but has been working alone for a long time.

---

What's your name? Garrett

How long have you played Pathfinder and Starfinder? About 10 years for Pathfinder and a bit of Starfinder when it came out.

What is your favorite thing about TTRPGs overall? I appreciate the ability to truly play your character, as opposed to video game RPGs where even in the best written of them you’re constrained by someone else’s imagination. 

Have you ever been the GM of a campaign or module before? Yup. I’ve run a bunch of different APs and modules in several different game systems including 5e, Call of Cthulhu, and Shadowrun to name a few.

What do you like the most about the Pathfinder 2e system? I like the modularity of all the classes and that there are fewer trap options.

Do you prefer to run homebrew or published adventures? Published.

What is your favorite part of being a GM? My favorite part is seeing what all the players come up with

What will you be running for the Dungeon Dive Bar Crawl? Can you tell us a bit about it? I’ll be running The Slithering; A Pathfinder 2e module.

In the cosmopolitan trading city of Kibwe, at the edge of the Mwangi Expanse, innocent people struck by a terrible curse known as the slithering are melting into malevolent oozes. The heroes are at the epicenter of this slimy curse and might be the only ones capable of recovering the ancient magic required to break it. Tracking the course of the slithering through Kibwe's colorful markets and shrines, the heroes must untangle the curse's origin and discover the role the nefarious Aspis Consortium plays in the unfolding conspiracy. The mysteries the heroes uncover might usher in a new era of plenty and prosperity for Kibwe, if the heroes can survive the slithering to experience it!

What are you most excited about The Slithering? O O Z E

What do you think players are the most excited about? O O Z E

What do you think the players will enjoy the most? O O Z E

What do you think our viewers will enjoy the most? O O Z E

And that’s it for this week’s interview! Tune in starting at 9PM Central on Friday November 6 for the stream and in the meantime, join us at the bar for new Dungeon Dive Bar episodes every Monday at midnight Central!

[kkintle]

Map: Collected and Last Poems by Wisława Szymborska; Quotes

Dreams flickered on white canvas.

The future—who can guess it. The past—who’s got it right.

Trite Rhymes     A great joy: flower upon flower, the branches stretch in pristine blue, but there’s a greater: today’s Tuesday, tomorrow will bring mail from you, and still greater: the letter trembles, strange reading it in spots of sun, and still greater: just a week now, now just four days, now it’s begun, and still greater: I kneel on top and make the suitcase lid shut tight, and still greater: the train at seven, just one ticket, thanks, that’s right, and still greater: rushing windows, with view on view on view on view, and still greater: dark and darker, by nighttime I will be with you, and still greater: the door opens, and still greater: past the door, and still greater: flower on flower. —Ohhh, who are all these roses for?

Do you open each human fate like a book, seeking feelings not in fonts or formats? Are you sure you decipher people completely?

Are people really so simple as far as people go?

Lovers     In this quiet we can still hear what they were singing yesterday about the high road and the low road . . . We hear—but we don’t believe it.   Our smile doesn’t mask our sorrow, and goodness needs no sacrifice. The pity we give to nonlovers is even more than they deserve.   We’re so astonished at ourselves, what’s left to astonish us? Not a rainbow in the night. Not a butterfly in snow.   And when we sleep we dream of parting. But it’s a good dream, it’s a good dream, since we wake up from it.

Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice.

One day, perhaps, some idle tongue mentions your name by accident: I feel as if a rose were flung into the room, all hue and scent.

Why do we treat the fleeting day with so much needless fear and sorrow? It’s in its nature not to stay: today is always gone tomorrow.   With smiles and kisses, we prefer to seek accord beneath our star, although we’re different (we concur) just as two drops of water are.

If we haven’t had enough of despair, grief, all that stuff, lofty words will kill us off.   Then we’ll stand up, take our bows: hope that you’ve enjoyed our show. Every patron with his spouse will applaud, get up, and go.   They’ll reenter their lives’ cages, where love’s tiger sometimes rages, but the beast’s too tame to bite.

I TEACH silence in all languages

FOR PROMISES made by my spouse, who’s tricked so many with his sweet colors and fragrances and sounds— dogs barking, guitars in the street— into believing that they still might conquer loneliness and fright, I cannot be responsible. Mr. Day’s widow, Mrs. Night.

We know ourselves only as far as we’ve been tested. I tell you this from my unknown heart

An Effort     Alack and woe, oh song: you’re mocking me; try as I may, I’ll never be your red, red rose. A rose is a rose is a rose. And you know it.   I worked to sprout leaves. I tried to take root. I held my breath to speed things up, and waited for the petals to enclose me.   Merciless song, you leave me with my lone, nonconvertible, unmetamorphic body: I’m one-time-only to the marrow of my bones.

Leave me, leave, but not by land. Swim off, swim, but not by sea. Fly off, fly away, my dear, but don’t go near the air.   Let’s see each other through closed eyes. Let’s talk together through closed mouths. Let’s hold each other through a thick wall.

Since eternity was out of stock, ten thousand aging things have been amassed instead.

Everything’s mine but just on loan, nothing for the memory to hold, though mine as long as I look.

One day the answer came before the question. Another night they guessed their eyes’ expression by the type of silence in the dark.   Gender fades, mysteries molder, distinctions meet in all-resemblance just as all colors coincide in white.

Sunny. Green. A forest close at hand, with wood to chew on, drops beneath the bark to drink— a view served round the clock, until you go blind.

Parable     Some fishermen pulled a bottle from the deep. It held a piece of paper, with these words: “Somebody save me! I’m here. The ocean cast me on this desert island. I am standing on the shore waiting for help. Hurry! I’m here!” “There’s no date. I bet it’s already too late anyway. It could have been floating for years,” the first fisherman said. “And he doesn’t say where. It’s not even clear which ocean,” the second fisherman said. “It’s not too late, or too far. The island Here is everywhere,” the third fisherman said. They all felt awkward. No one spoke. That’s how it goes with universal truths

Ballad     Hear the ballad “Murdered Woman Suddenly Gets Up from Chair.”   It’s an honest ballad, penned neither to shock nor to offend.   The thing happened fair and square, with curtains open, lamps all lit:   passersby could stop and stare.   When the door had shut behind him and the killer ran downstairs, she stood up, just like the living startled by the sudden silence.   She gets up, she moves her head, and she looks around with eyes harder than they were before.   No, she doesn’t float through air: she steps on the ordinary, wooden, slightly creaky floor.   In the oven she burns traces that the killer’s left behind: here a picture, there shoelaces, everything that she can find.   It’s obvious that she’s not strangled. It’s obvious that she’s not shot. She’s been killed invisibly.   She may still show signs of life, cry for sundry silly reasons, shriek in horror at the sight of a mouse.                      Ridiculous traits are so predictable that they aren’t hard to fake.   She got up like you and me.   She walks just as people do.   And she sings and combs her hair, which still grows.

I let myself be invented, modeled on my own reflection in his eyes. I dance, dance, dance in the stir of sudden wings.

Exiled by style. Only their ribs stood out. With birdlike feet and palms, they strove to take wing on their jutting shoulder blades.   The thirteenth century would have given them golden halos. The twentieth, silver screens. The seventeenth, alas, holds nothing for the unvoluptuous.   For even the sky bulges here with pudgy angels and a chubby god— thick-whiskered Phoebus, on a sweaty steed, riding straight into the seething bedchamber

He grew rozes with a “z.

(...) the rest of your life? Old age is a precipice, (...)

I am too close for him to dream of me.

Silence—this word also rustles across the page and parts the boughs that have sprouted from the word “woods.”

Funny little thing How could she know that even despair can work for you if you’re lucky enough to outlive it.

The Railroad Station     My nonarrival in the city of N. took place on the dot.   You’d been alerted in my unmailed letter.   You were able not to be there at the agreed-upon time.   The train pulled up at Platform 3. A lot of people got out.   My absence joined the throng as it made its way toward the exit.   Several women rushed to take my place in all that rush.   Somebody ran up to one of them. I didn’t know him, but she recognized him immediately.   While they kissed with not our lips, a suitcase disappeared, not mine.   The railroad station in the city of N. passed its exam in objective existence with flying colors.   The whole remained in place. Particulars scurried along the designated tracks.   Even a rendezvous took place as planned.   Beyond the reach of our presence.   In the paradise lost of probability.   Somewhere else. Somewhere else. How these little words ring. Alive     These days we just hold him

But this is ancient history. I can’t dwell on it forever or keep asking endlessly, what’s next, what’s next.   Day to day I trust in permanence, in history’s prospects. I can’t gnaw apples in a constant state of terror.

Arduous ease, watchful agility, and calculated inspiration.

Old Folks’ Home     Here comes Her Highness—well, you know who I mean, our Helen the snooty—now who made her queen! With her lipstick and wig on, as if we could care, like her three sons in heaven can see her from there!   “I wouldn’t be here if they’d lived through the war. I’d spend winter with one son, summer with another.” What makes her so sure? I’d be dead too now, with her for a mother.   And she keeps on asking (“I don’t mean to pry”) why from your sons and daughters there’s never a word even though they weren’t killed. “If my boys were alive, I’d spend all my holidays home with the third.”   Right, and in his gold carriage he’d come and get her, drawn by a swan or a lily-white dove, to show all of us that he’ll never forget her and how much he owes to her motherly love.   Even Jane herself, the nurse, can’t help but grin when our Helen starts singing this old song again— even though Jane’s job is commiseration Monday through Friday, with two weeks’ vacation.

Sell me your soul. There are no other takers.   There is no other devil anymore.

I’m bound to pass by all these poppies and pansies. What a loss when you think how much effort was spent perfecting this petal, this pistil, this scent for the one-time appearance, which is all they’re allowed, so aloofly precise and so fragilely proud.

The abyss doesn’t divide us. The abyss surrounds us.

In Praise of Dreams     In my dreams I paint like Vermeer van Delft.   I speak fluent Greek and not just with the living.   I drive a car that does what I want it to.   I am gifted and write mighty epics.   I hear voices as clearly as any venerable saint.   My brilliance as a pianist would stun you.   I fly the way we ought to, i.e., on my own.   Falling from the roof, I tumble gently to the grass.   I’ve got no problem breathing under water.   I can’t complain: I’ve been able to locate Atlantis.   It’s gratifying that I can always wake up before dying.   As soon as war breaks out, I roll over on my other side.   I’m a child of my age, but I don’t have to be.   A few years ago I saw two suns.   And the night before last a penguin, clear as day.

True love. Is it normal, is it serious, is it practical? What does the world get from two people who exist in a world of their own?

Let the people who never find true love keep saying that there’s no such thing.   Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.

And it so happened that I’m here with you. And I really see nothing usual in that. 

Under One Small Star     My apologies to chance for calling it necessity. My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken, after all. Please, don’t be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due. May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade. My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second. My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first. Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home. Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger. I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths. I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five A.M. Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time. Pardon me, deserts, that I don’t rush to you bearing a spoonful of water. And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage, your gaze always fixed on the same point in space, forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed. My apologies to the felled tree for the table’s four legs. My apologies to great questions for small answers. Truth, please don’t pay me much attention. Dignity, please be magnanimous. Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.   Soul, don’t take offense that I’ve only got you now and then. My apologies to everything that I can’t be everywhere at once. My apologies to everyone that I can’t be each woman and each man. I know I won’t be justified as long as I live, since I myself stand in my own way. Don’t bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words, then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

Non omnis moriar—a premature worry.

Thank-You Note     I owe so much to those I don’t love.   The relief as I agree that someone else needs them more.   The happiness that I’m not the wolf to their sheep.   The peace I feel with them, the freedom— love can neither give nor take that.   I don’t wait for them, as in window-to-door-and-back. Almost as patient as a sundial, I understand what love can’t, and forgive as love never would.   From a rendezvous to a letter is just a few days or weeks, not an eternity.   Trips with them always go smoothly, concerts are heard, cathedrals visited, scenery is seen.   And when seven hills and rivers come between us, the hills and rivers can be found on any map.   They deserve the credit if I live in three dimensions, in nonlyrical and nonrhetorical space with a genuine, shifting horizon.   They themselves don’t realize how much they hold in their empty hands.   “I don’t owe them a thing” would be love’s answer to this open question.

Dentistry turned to diplomatic skill promises us a Golden Age tomorrow. The going’s rough, and so we need the laugh of bright incisors, molars of goodwill. Our times are still not safe and sane enough for faces to show ordinary sorrow.

Our solitary existence exacerbates our sense of obligation, and raises the inevitable question, How are we to live et cetera? since “we can’t avoid the void.

No way out? But what about the door? No prospects? The window had other views.

You think at least the note must tell us something. But what if I say there was no note— and he had so many friends, but all of us fit neatly inside the empty envelope propped up against a cup.

(...) to linger longer, not to go home again. Since only prisoners want to go home.

In Praise of Feeling Bad about Yourself     The buzzard never says it is to blame. The panther wouldn’t know what scruples mean. When the piranha strikes, it feels no shame. If snakes had hands, they’d claim their hands were clean.   A jackal doesn’t understand remorse. Lions and lice don’t waver in their course. Why should they, when they know they’re right?   Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton, in every other way they’re light.   On this third planet of the sun among the signs of bestiality a clear conscience is number one.

I know nothing of the role I play. I only know it’s mine, I can’t exchange it.   I have to guess on the spot just what this play’s all about

The star is large and distant, so distant that it’s small, even smaller than others much smaller than it.

Small wonder, then, if we were struck with wonder; as we would be if only we had the time.

God was finally going to believe in a man both good and strong, but good and strong are still two different men.

“How should we live?” someone asked me in a letter. I had meant to ask him the same question.   Again, and as ever, as may be seen above, the most pressing questions are naïve ones.

Whatever you say reverberates, whatever you don’t say speaks for itself. So either way you’re talking politics.

Who knows you matters more than whom you know. Trips only if taken abroad. Memberships in what but without why. Honors, but not how they were earned. (...) Price, not worth, and title, not what’s inside. His shoe size, not where he’s off to, that one you pass off as yourself.

Nothing’s sacred for those who think. Calling things brazenly by name, risqué analyses, salacious syntheses, frenzied, rakish chases after the bare facts, the filthy fingering of touchy subjects, discussion in heat—it’s music to their ears.

During these trysts of theirs, the only thing that’s steamy is the tea.

May delivery be easy, may our child grow and be well. Let him be happy from time to time and leap over abysses. Let his heart have strength to endure and his mind be awake and reach far.   But not so far that it sees into the future. Spare him that one gift, O heavenly powers.

For the sake of the children that we still are, fairy tales have happy endings. That’s the only finale that will do here, too. The rain will stop, the waves will subside, the clouds will part in the cleared-up sky, and they’ll be once more what clouds overhead ought to be: lofty and rather lighthearted in their likeness to things drying in the sun— isles of bliss, lambs, cauliflowers, diapers.

I prefer, where love’s concerned, nonspecific anniversaries that can be celebrated every day.

A miracle, just take a look around: the inescapable earth.   An extra miracle, extra and ordinary: the unthinkable can be thought.

When I see such things, I’m no longer sure that what’s important is more important than what’s not.

Hatred is a master of contrast— between explosions and dead quiet, red blood and white snow.

Perhaps all fields are battlefields, those we remember and those that are forgotten: (...)

Without us dreams couldn’t exist. The one on whom the real world depends is still unknown, and the products of his insomnia are available to anyone who wakes up.

Every beginning is only a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through.

We agreed to death, but not to every kind. Love attracted us, of course, but only love that keeps its word.

We were besieged by doubts. Does knowing everything beforehand really mean knowing everything.   Is a decision made in advance really any kind of choice.

We’re extremely fortunate not to know precisely the kind of world we live in.

I am who I am. A coincidence no less unthinkable than any other.

They aren’t obliged to vanish when we’re gone. They don’t have to be seen while sailing on.

The Three Oddest Words     When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past.   When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it.   When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no nonbeing can hold.

But how to answer unasked questions, while being furthermore a being so totally a nobody to you.

Talking with you is essential and impossible. Urgent in this hurried life and postponed to never.

Understanding came only later: not all misadventures fit within the world’s laws and even if they wanted to, they couldn’t happen.

And what can you say about one day of life, a minute, a second: darkness, a lightbulb’s flash, then dark again?   KOSMOS MAKROS CHRONOS PARADOKSOS Only stony Greek has words for that.

There must be an exit somewhere, that’s more than certain. But you don’t look for it, it looks for you, it’s been stalking you from the start, and this labyrinth is none other than than your, for the duration, your, until not your, flight, flight— (...)

Life on Earth is quite a bargain. Dreams, for one, don’t charge admission. Illusions are costly only when lost. The body has its own installment plan.   And as an extra, added feature, you spin on the planets’ carousel for free, and with it you hitch a ride on the intergalactic blizzard, with times so dizzying that nothing here on Earth can even tremble.

At times I get fed up with her. I suggest a separation. From now to eternity. Then she smiles at me with pity, since she knows it would be the end of me too. 

Assassins     They think for days on end, how to kill so as to kill, and how many killed will be many. Apart from this they eat their meals with gusto, pray, wash their feet, feed the birds, make phone calls while scratching their armpits, stanch blood when they cut a finger, if they’re women they buy sanitary napkins, eye shadow, flowers for vases, they make jokes on their good days, drink citrus juice from the fridge, watch the moon and stars at night, place headphones with soft music on their ears and sleep sweetly till the crack of dawn —unless what they’re thinking needs doing at night.

It’s good you came. Sit here beside me. He really was supposed to get back Thursday. But we’ve got so many Thursdays left this year.

Page after page at a snail’s pace. But we’re still going in fifth gear and, knock on wood, never better.

We eat another life so as to live. A corpse of pork with departed cabbage. Every menu is an obituary.   Even the kindest of souls must consume, digest something killed so that their warm hearts won’t stop beating.

In the end I stopped knowing what I’d been looking for so long.   I woke up. Looked at my watch. The dream took not quite two and a half minutes.   Such are the tricks to which time resorts ever since it started stumbling on sleeping heads.

[nightofthewerehunty]

So I’ve forgotten how to use tumblr on my iPad and I can’t do the cut for a read more. Sorry, guys. But here’s my Peaky Blinders fanfiction on the relationship between Thomas and Ada. I’ve given the link to AO3 above so use that if you’d like to comment. Cheers!

Rot

When she’s feeling unkind towards herself, she thinks there’s a rot somewhere hidden, festering and spreading through her veins. Soon it’ll reach her heart. Or maybe that’s where it was hidden. Where it started, her black heart. Ada would know if she ever payed attention to that particular organ. Kidneys? Sure, have a look. Liver? Yes please, she needs it to drink. But her heart? Well, does it matter where the rot came from once it gets there? Ada doesn’t think so. And she feels it, burning and burning and burning away inside her chest until its all she can do not to cut out the charred organ herself. She thinks of Freddie, not out of love which may seem cruel, but out of curiosity. Would the infection have spread if he was alive? If she was a romantic, which she’s not, she’d have said that she doesn’t have a heart to infect. Buried it long ago with her husband, and then again with her morals, and then again with Grace so maybe Freddie’s death started something but it was something that would have happened even if he lived. Taken a little longer, maybe, but happened all the same. When she’s feeling kind towards herself, she gives the rot a name; she calls it Thomas.

Ada spends her life reading the moods of Thomas Michael Shelby and she’s perfected it after the war. She’s learned to hear the unspoken in his words. The threats behind his whims. It’s business, Ada. That’s what she tells herself and that’s what he says. It’s all just business. Legal. Illegal. On the books or off. It doesn’t matter. It’s just business. But that was before Grace, before the Russians. Tom’s different now and all her hard work of understanding him is thrown to fucking shit. How can she hear his unspoken words if he doesn’t fucking talk anymore? It’s all just lists now. Pieces of paper she has to burn when she’s through and it takes everything inside her not to chuck Tommy into the flames with his small written words. Did you get my list, Ada? Did you make your list, Ada? Have Arthur and John got their fucking lists, Ada? And Pol says he’s grieving, to give him time and he’ll be back. Back with the family where he belongs and Ada thinks while Polly drinks that Tom’s never belonged anywhere. At least, not after France. Not after the mud and the blood and the fucking bleak midwinter that the brothers always reference as if she doesn’t know what it means. As if it was something far removed from her. As if she wouldn’t be losing her entire fucking family if the bleak midwinter where to rear its bloodied, muddied head.

Ada knows about grief. She’s studied it her whole life. First with her mother and then with her father. Then Freddie and that took more than she cares to remember to make it out the other side. But she had Karl and that was important. Tommy has Charles and that’s good, but what Tommy needed was Grace. Ada won’t speak to love on another’s behalf, but if she was forced to, she’d say that Tommy belonged with Grace. And if she was drunk, like proper drunk and asked, she may even say it was Grace who lifted Tom out of the mud and the tunnels and the blood. Then Polly would roll her eyes while sipping her whiskey and Ada would remind her that she’d already said she didn’t want to talk about love while she fills her glass back to the top again. Back to the top, Ada thinks and swirls the contents of her glass. Tommy’s always trying to get back to the top. Top of the business. Top of the family. Top of the earth and tunnels and mud and fucking everything else he was before he was buried in France.

“What if you don’t get back?” She finds herself asking him one evening after too much wine and too many cigarettes and then a few more whiskeys to remind herself why the wine was too much.

“Back where?” He says after a pause to light his cigarette and he stares. His eyes catch the light of his flame and the gold of his whiskey, and for one moment, for one short, tiny, little fucking moment, he appears as a man. Just a man with his vices.

“I don’t know, Tommy. Wherever it is you need to get back to.”

Thomas puts out his cigarette with force; it’s his favorite thing to do when he doesn’t like the direction of a conversation. When it feels out of his control. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Thorne,” he says and his contempt rolls off his tongue into her ears. She’s not Ada tonight. She’s a stranger sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. And if she wasn’t so angry at being shut out, she might revel in the idea that she understands him again. That he’s back to speaking words and not writing them.

“What I mean is, Mr. Shelby,” she spits, “will it be worth it? All this? All you’ve done?” Ada watches the questions roll off Tommy’s face as he reaches for his cigarettes again. He slips one between his lips with an upward tilt of his mouth; it’s the sorta expression he wears when he finds things funny.

“I don’t know, Ms. Shelby.” So she’s back to being a Shelby now. Tommy always did like it when she fought back. That’s our Ada, he’d say when she’d come home with her bloody lips from her scraps by the cut. What poor soul crossed you today, he’d joke as if he didn’t know the reason for her bruises. As if they could pretend in that one childish moment that they weren’t scum. The lowest of the low. Poor and Gypsy and fatherless and motherless. Our Ada, he’d say as if they didn’t all spend every fucking second of their lives outside their home fighting because the world picked the fight first. “Is it worth it?” Tommy muses while he lights the tip of his smoke and stands. “You tell me,” he says and walks to the cabinet to pour himself another drink. “Those furs, that wine, your home in London. Is it worth it, Ada?”

“I’m not talking about me, Thomas,” she says angrily while sloshing some whiskey from her glass. She wasn’t expecting him to ease back into his gentle threats as soon as he began speaking again. But that’s her fault. Tommy’s a cornered beast. She knows that. Grief can make an animal still but it’ll never defang it.

“And what are you talking about, eh?” He asks louder than her outburst without turning away from his liquor cabinet. “You talking about business?”

“Fuck the business, Tom! For fucks sake!” She yells. “When was the last time you saw Charlie? You spend ten minutes with him every morning and night, that’s it,” Ada takes a pause to sigh and sip her drink. Tommy won’t look at her. He sinks his head down to rest by his glass. “He asks for you, Tom. And that’s so important right now, that he’s asking for you.” He raises his head to down his whiskey. She’s pissed him off; she can tell by the slam of his glass and the jerky motion of him refilling it. She’s too close to saying what Tommy won’t allow to be said. Grace may be dead, but God help you if you acknowledge it.

“And what does it matter to you? Eh?” He stalks towards her and points, his full glass held in front of him as if it were a bayonet at the end of his loaded words. “What is it you fucking want, Ada?” The hardness of his face makes her tense more than his volume. And then she understands his words and they pierce her skin like little needles all over. The words travel up her veins and through her blood. There it is, she thinks. The fucking rot. That he really believes this to be a transaction. That Ada would ever use his pain like that. “Please fucking tell me,” he continues, “so’s I can give it to you and you can get out of my FUCKING HOUSE.”

“I’m here because you asked me to watch your son while you were away, you fucking asshole!” She’s had too much whiskey to handle Tommy unhinged. She’ll just make it worse, she knows that. She should stop talking, go to bed, but she’s so angry and it’s that fucking infection. That rot spreading out through her heart. Tommy’s a curse, she thinks. “I tell you there’s a child up there asking for his father and the first thing you think is ‘what’s my angle?’ It’s love, Tommy. And children need it.”

“Don’t fucking tell me how to raise my son, Ada.” He lowers himself down with his words and she finds herself inches from Tommy’s wide-eyed rage. “I love him,” he says, “And I would do fucking anything for him so don’t fuckin’ talk to me about love.”

Now she needs to be quiet. Tom’s one of those wire-trapped rooms he talks about from France. And right now, in this exact moment, he’s handed her the wire cutters. Ada knows to stay still in these situations but the whiskey, or maybe it’s the wine, makes her clumsy.

“She’d want you to spend time with him,” she says and she can see the explosion in his eyes before he turns and throws his glass at the wall. She found the fucking grenade alright. Tripped right over it. He grabs her chin with his now free hand and Ada thinks about the days when he just wrote fucking lists. How could she be so naive as to think talking with him was better?

“She’d want a lot of things, Ada, so many fucking things. And the first thing she’d want would be to not be fuckin’ dead.” She’s aware of the pressure from Tom’s fingers but it doesn’t bother her as much as the difference between Tommy’s face and his voice. He’s so pale and still with his wet and red-rimmed eyes. He barely moves his lips while speaking and he looks hollow. Looks dead. But his voice shakes over every word, every syllable. She can feel the grief and anger settle between the centimeters that separate their faces. He’s losing to it. Or maybe he lost long ago and she never wanted to admit it. Tommy tightens his grip on her. “So don’t sit in my fuckin’ house, drinking my fuckin’ whiskey and tell me what Grace would want.” The second he spits out the words, he pushes her face back and lets go of her chin, but it takes days for Ada to forgot the feeling of his fingers digging into her jaw.

There’s so much to do in London and Ada needs to feel alive. Being surround by death her whole life, she thinks she deserves it. And todays version of life is in a pub with a man and lots and lots of gin. He’s a foreigner, an American, which is better for her since he doesn’t know what her last name means.

“Your drink, Ms. Shelby,” the barkeep says while setting her gin and tonic in front of her. He spares the American a nod and moves on.

“He didn’t ask you to pay,” notes the yet unnamed man.

“Got a tab,” Ada shrugs. “But more importantly, have you got a room?” The American returns her flirtatious smile.

“Of course,” he says,”Would you like to see it?”

The act is enjoyable enough and the American, named Frank she’d learned, is a generous lover, but once it’s done, she just wants to be home. Take a bath, have some tea, maybe read a little and then go to bed. She tells herself it’s late, and it is, but she knows that’s not why she wants to go. Poor Ada, she thinks. Wants so bad to feel alive but gets tired of it after only four hours.

“I’m here until Thursday,” says Frank. “Will I see you again?”

“Doubt it,” Ada says while fixing her stockings, “But you’re a good man. You’ll be alright.”

She turns the key to her door and steps into her home already warmed by a fire. She hadn’t done that. Cautious now and wishing she’d let Arthur give her that gun Monday, she sets her purse on the table near the door. For’s protection, he’d tried to tell her. Just in case, but ya don’t need to worry, Ada. We got men out there, he’d said, we’ll keep ya safe. Safe, she thinks now as she creeps down her hallway. She’ll never be fucking safe, not with family like hers. Not with her last name - either of them.

“Whose there?” She calls out before she gets closer to the drawing room.

“Hello to you too, Ada,” comes Tom’s reply. He stands by the fireplace, a glass of Ada’s whiskey already in his hands and a smoke hanging from his stern-set lips.

“Fucking Christ, Tommy,” she snaps while pulling off her gloves and tossing them onto the chair. “I locked the door. You said there weren’t anymore spare keys.”

“I lied,” he says, “Where’s Karl?”

“With Pol, but you already knew that seeing as how you know everything.” She hasn’t spoken to Tommy since she set off the bomb back at his place. That was almost three weeks ago.

“I know you wouldn’t take the gun from Arthur,” he says after a sip of his drink. Ada walks over to pour one for herself and snatches the offered cigarette from Tommy’s outstretched hand. “It makes me uneasy, Ada,” he continues, “You out there, unarmed.” He motions towards the outside with his drink.

“He says you’ve got men watching the house.” She stops to drink and smoke.

“We do,” he agrees and clears his throat, “But it still makes me uneasy.”

“Imagine that,” she scoffs, “Thomas fuckin’ Shelby, uneasy.” She turns from him to sit on the couch. She’s too tired for this. To decipher the meaning behind his words.

“Yeah,” he nods, “It makes me uneasy. You walking around unarmed, meeting with foreigners, going back to their hotels.” So that’s what this is, she thinks. He’s not uneasy. He’s mad. But Ada’s mad too. Fucking enraged, actually. The audacity of Tommy, thinking he can come into her home and wait up for her like she’s some fucking child who snuck out the house.

“Why don’t you just say what it is you want to say, Tommy,” she says. “Because if it wasn’t a foreigner, it be some man from London, or some poor soul from Birmingham. Or maybe it’s that I was out at pub? You think that improper now, is that it?”

“You usually stay out this late, Ada?” He asks without answering any of her questions.

“No,” she bites out. He nods and turns from the fireplace to sit in the chair across from her. He sets his drink on the table between them and leans back in his seat. So self assured. So fucking full of himself in her home at two in the fuckin’ morning. She hates him and with that hatred she feels the heat of that festering rot closing in around her heart, making its beats wild and bucking like a untamed stallion chained in her chest.

“That’s good,” he says. “Good it’s not a habit for you to be stepping out with American men named Frank until two in the morning.”

“Oh my god,” she sighs while she hangs her head low into her hands. “He’s not important, Tom. He’s here on holiday. He doesn’t know shit.”

“I know,” he says after a pause and sip. “I know a lot about Frank as it is. I know he arrived Sunday. He’s leaving Thursday. And he’s got a room down at the Richmond.” He stops to clear his throat and put out his cigarette. “He’s a banker,” he continues, “Works with Fryman’s Investors. Divorced. His ex-wife lives in Vienna with her bohemian lover. The bohemian’s a painter.” She can feel him watching her. Seeing if she’ll react to his words. She doesn’t want to look up. To see the smug expression he’s wearing. She’s so fucking tired, so fucking tired of this. And of him.

“I can do what I want, Tom,” she says, “I can see who I want, and I can fuck who I want.”

“Can you?”

She jerks her head up at his question. “Yeah, I fuckin’ can,” she says while staring into his cloudy blue eyes. If their not clear, his eyes that is, it means he’s drunker than he acts. Damn the Shelby men and their fucking alcohol tolerance. How long had he been drinking her whiskey waiting for her to get home? “So is that it, then? Are we done now? Can I go to bed like I wanted to when I got back to my fucking house?” She finishes her words with the last of the whiskey in her in glass. Tommy shifts in his seat to bring out his cigarette holder and lighter before he stands and grabs the whiskey off the mantle. He fills his glass, then Ada’s, and he sits back down while straightening out his jacket like a fucking king.

“No, we’re not done,” he says and lights up a smoke. “There’s some business.”

“I don’t give a fuck about business, Tom!” She snaps. “I want to go to bed.”

“There’s some business that you need to know about,” he continues as if she never spoke. “It’ll affect the family, and that includes you, no matter how much you fight it.” He points at her with his cigarette. “So from now, stay away from London pubs. Stay away from foreigners. And get back home before ten.”

“I’m not a child, Tommy.”

“Yeah?” He says sharply as he leans forward, “Then stop fuckin’ acting like one.”

She wants to cry. Not because what he says hurts; that doesn’t matter anymore. Ada wants to cry because she’s not allowed to have anything. Her home? That’s Tommy’s and the endless supply of spare keys he seems to have is proof enough of that. Her whiskey? Paid for by the Shelby Brothers Limited. Her time? Well, there’s a curfew in effect for that and watchdogs to enforce it. And now, her body. The last bit of herself she foolishly thought she owned. Tommy’ll decide who she can give it to, and if she’s being honest with herself, although honesty has always hurt Ada, she’s never really believed it belonged to her anyway. His grip on her heart tightens and tightens and tightens until the stallion bucking away inside her breaks under his slip lead. Tommy’s always had a way with horses and apparently that extends to the fucking metaphorical one she invented to justify the wild beats in her chest.

“It’s not fair,” she says, “It’s not right. You can’t control people like this, Tom. You just can’t.”

“Everyone else is following the same rules, Ada.” He breathes out smoke with his words. “And they don’t seem to have a problem following them.”

“Because who can say no to Thomas Shelby?” She shakes her head, and downs her whiskey, and reaches for another cigarette. She needs something in her hands or she’ll be tempted to lay them on Tommy. To make him feel every blow to her ego he’s ever dealt.

“No, because when I tell them to do something,” he says, “They know it’s for their own good. They know it’s for a good fucking reason.” He leans over to fill her glass again. From her bottle. Sitting in her chair and still ruling over every aspect of her small, little life.

“A good reason? Yeah, I bet you’re just fuckin’ full of them, Tommy.”

“Ada.”

“Fuck off, Tom!” She says loudly and drunkenly. If he keeps pushing her, she’ll let go. Just let the gin and the whiskey do the talking. God, how she wishes she would. Someone has too. Someone has to fucking stop him before he breaks everything. Before he breaks her. “I have to be up early,” She says, “I have to get Karl from Polly in the morning. Just let me go to bed, Tommy, please.” It’s the alcohol in her that lets slip the please. She’d never beg sober.

“Alright,” he says as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s alright, Ada. We’ll talk again. Soon.” She doesn’t follow him to the door. She just waits to her the click of the lock before she lets loose her tears.

II.

The restrictions are lifted soon enough when the business is resolved, but Ada can’t stop thinking about it; the chokehold she felt that night. She can’t stay here. She’ll go raving fuckin’ mad. She tries to remember herself. The woman who fell in love with Freddie Thorne. The woman who stood in no-man’s land between two of the stupidest groups of men she’d ever witnessed. Where’d she gone? Ada begins looking for her. In her lipsticks. In her perfumes. In her silk robes. Where could she be, the old Ada? She doesn’t allow herself to consider the worst; that the old Ada died. Succumbed to the infection called Thomas Shelby. She hears Karl waking in the other room and she stands from her kitchen table, silk flowing behind her as she walks through the cold hall towards her son. Sometimes, she feels afraid to love him. Karl’s all she has that’s rightfully hers. And if she acknowledges it, if she makes her claim, she knows Tommy’ll make his. He’s part of the family, Ada, she can already hear him saying it. Ada opens the door to Karl’s bedroom, and her son turns his beautiful, little face towards his mother.

“Good morning, my love,” she says softly and crosses the room to sit on his bed. She smoothes the soft hairs of his head and leans in to kiss his temple. Thomas will never have her son, she thinks with her lips pressed against Karl’s skin. She pulls back and smiles with wet eyes. “Let’s get you some breakfast, yeah?” she says while prodding the boy from his bed. Her son’s a Thorne, not a fucking Shelby, and if Tom ever tries to take Karl from her then God help him. She’ll take his fucking eyes. And it’s with that thought she realizes she knows where to look for the old Ada.

Of course, she still lets Karl see his cousins. It’d be cruel to deny the children like that. Kids are kept far away from the business anyway and that’s all the interaction Tommy gives Ada nowadays. So she gets confused when Tom stays sitting after she gives the name of the Bolshevik agitator. Then he mentions the position in Boston and while he describes it, she knows that he knows how fucking scared she is. And being the gracious man he is, he offers a different continent and a whole fucking ocean to protect her son from him. She knows it’s the closest she’ll ever get to a promise from Tom. Her son’s a Thorne, would say the ocean separating them from him. It’s also the closest she’ll get to acknowledgment from Tommy about his treatment towards her. It means he knows about the slip lead, the infection, and the fucking rot she’s tried so hard to keep hidden. Thomas fucking Shelby knows everything and still nothing matters to him.

She gets closer to Lizzie then she ever thought she would. Ada tries hard to not judge others, but Lizzie’s reputation had stood between them so long that she forgot. And it’s not until late one evening at the Shelby Brothers Limited almost four hours after close that Ada realizes she thinks of Lizzie as a friend. She watches the tall, dark haired beauty pour herself a drink and she sees the tired lines running through Lizzie’s face and the way her body struggles to keep her hand from shaking while she pours.

“You alright there, Lizzie?” Ada asks.

“Yeah,” Lizzie chuckles, “I’m alright.” Ada knows that line. Says it herself about five times a week.

“Is it Tom then?”

Lizzie chokes on her drink but Ada can tell it’s a laugh. “Is it that obvious?” Lizzie asks while wiping her mouth. “Of course it is,” she continues, “It’s fuckin’ stamped on my forehead.” She walks back over to where Ada sits and sinks into the chair next to her. “It’s my fault, really,” she says and takes the cigarette offered to her from Ada. “You know, I thought,” she pauses to light her smoke, “Working here, getting paid as secretary and not a whore. I thought it’d make me feel better. So it’s funny, really, how much worse I feel.”

Ada wants to tell Lizzie that she’s not a whore. Not anymore. But she can’t. The words get choked up in her throat and make her want to gag. Because they’re not true, are they? And Lizzie’s past might make it easier for the reformed street-walker to accept Tommy’s treatment. To take his words and actions as the paid wounds they are. And maybe that’s what Ada hates most about him. That he makes her, his sister, feel like a common fucking whore. Every bit of her up for sale.

“Well, you know Tom,” Ada says as she stands and pours herself another glass of whiskey. She holds the bottle out for Lizzie and the beauty leans forward to take it from her hands. “Everything has its price,” she says with a swig from her drink, “And God knows he’s got the money to pay for it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Lizzie says while holding out her glass with a shake of her head. Ada clinks the glasses together and smiles.

“You’re not alone,” she says softly, “Not anymore.”

“It was simpler when he just wanted to fuck,” Lizzie muses then she looks up at Ada with a slight blush. “Sorry,” she continues, “I know he’s your brother.”

“Me? Related to Thomas Shelby?” Ada asks. “That’ll be the fuckin’ day.” She finishes the brown liquor in her glass and puts out of her smoke. Then she considers Lizzie’s words and she finds herself asking a question before she’s had time to think about asking it. “He doesn’t fuck you?”

Lizzie stops mid-sip to bring her eyes back from their distance and look to Ada. She swallows and sets her glass on the desk in front of them. “No,” she says, “Tom’s been seeking other women these days. Never the same one. Never more than once.” Ada nods as if the information fits into some sorta puzzle she didn’t know she was solving. “They all look the same though,” Lizzie continues, “And I don’t say it meanly, but they all look the fuckin’ same.”

“Like Grace?” Ada asks as she grabs another cigarette and lights it.

“No,” Lizzie says as she pours herself more whiskey. She caps the bottle and pushes it away from her. “No, Ada,” she sighs, “Not like her. None of them look like Grace.”

Ada tucks her conversation with Lizzie away into the cobwebbed corners of her mind. Then she forgets about it and it stays tucked away there for all of about three weeks until she goes to visit John and Esme. It’s a lively household. Makes makes her home feel haunted by comparison. If it’s not the children, running around and yelling at the top of their lungs, it’s Esme and John themselves screaming. And for all the yelling and noise that can be heard at their home, she knows it’s a happy one. They both have tempers, she won’t lie about that, and they both have too much pride. Ada’s been between enough fights of theirs to know that. But they love each other. And she bets Thomas didn’t see that coming when he forced them to get married. But isn’t love always Tommy’s weakness? She sits in the parlor of John’s home and listens to Esme loudly tell him that she didn’t want company tonight. That’s fine, thinks Ada. She doesn’t want to be here either. But Shelby business can’t wait, can it?

“Did you want some tea?” Esme asks with narrowed eyes as she sits herself across from Ada.

“No,” she answers as she takes off her gloves. “But I’ll have some whiskey if you’re pouring.”

“We’re always fuckin’ pourin’ round here,” Esme mutters as she grabs two glasses and a bottle off the mantle. “John’ll be down soon.”

“Okay,” Ada nods as she looks around and then she feels compelled to add, “It’s not just John, you know? Who I’m here to see.”

“Sorry for not jumpin’ for joy at seeing Tommy’s favorite lapdog,” Esme says as she takes a healthy gulp from her glass. Ada sighs and drinks her whiskey. She used to be close with Esme. She’s not really sure where the relationship went sour, but it probably has something to do with the rot. Ada’s missed a lot of things trying to fight the infection. At least the Gypsy will still drink in her presence. “So what were you doing there then?” Esme asks.

“Doing what where?” Ada says and fishes her cigarette holder out of her pocket.

“At the Ritz,” Esme continues, “My cousin says she saw you. Walkin’ arm in arm with Thomas after midnight.”

“I haven’t been to the fuckin’ Ritz,” Ada says. “Tell you cousin to get some fuckin’ glasses, yeah?”

Esme shrugs as if her earlier words didn’t mean anything. “I’m just tellin’ you,” she says, “So’s you can be more cautious in the future. Eyes out there everywhere.” Ada stops before she lights her smoke. She doesn’t understand.

“I’m not lying,” is the only thing Ada can think to say. “I wasn’t at the Ritz.” John walks into the room as she finishes her sentence.

“Fuckin’ hell, Esme,” he says as he grabs a glass from above the fireplace and walks towards the bottle on the table. “I told you it wasn’t Ada,”

“Right,” his wife agrees, “And now I asked her myself so I believe you. Both of you.” Esme stands and finishes her drink. “I trust my ‘usband to tell me whatever it is you got to say so I’ll be leavin’ now.”

“Yeah, fuck off,” John calls over his shoulder as he pours himself a whiskey. “Fuckin’ hell,’’ he mutters.

“Still in the honeymoon period, eh, John?” Ada can’t help but tease.

“Fuckin’ honeymoons,” he says while shaking his head. “You know, we haven’t taken it yet? Our fuckin’ honeymoon. And every time I ask her where she wants to go, she says she wants to go the fuckin’ pastures. Like I want a honeymoon spent in horse shit. Can stay in Small Heath for that.” He tips the contents of his glass down his throat and turns towards Ada. “So what’s he got to say then?” He slams his glass on the table and wipes his mouth. “Another fuckin’ list?” John asks as he holds out his hand.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “It’s another fucking list.” Ada shifts in her seat to bring out the folded piece of paper from her pocket for John.

“Great,” he says as he snatches it from her hand. “I was startin’ to worry, you know? Hadn’t gotten one in the last eight fuckin’ hours.”

“He’s trying his best, John,” and even Ada doesn’t believe the words she says.

“Yeah, I know,” John says as he swipes at his nose. She figures their sibling bond is the only thing that stops him from pushing the lie. He pulls a cigarette out his pocket and sits in the chair Esme left empty. “I believe you,” he offers as he lights his smoke and for one moment Ada thinks John might be stupid. “That it wasn’t you at the Ritz, that is,” he continues, “Not the other fuckin’ thing.” He motions towards Tommy’s list with his words. There it is, Ada smiles to herself. You can’t bullshit John and it’s good to know that hasn’t changed. He reaches for the bottle to pour another drink and sinks back into his chair with his full glass. He looks beyond strained. More like defeated. Not that it’s unexpected given the circumstances, but John’s usually faster to bounce back from Tommy’s callousness. But it’s been going on for nearly four months now so she can’t really blame him. His vest is crumpled under his jacket and it brings out the little boy hiding in his features. Ada knows if Arthur saw him like this, he’d slap his back. Come on now, he’d say. Things to do, Johnboy, ya know how it is. But it shouldn’t be like that, should it? It’s wrong, what Tommy asks of his family. Our Johnboy, she thinks and puts out her cigarette. Boy is right; he’s got too much youth left to let Tommy beat it out of him like this.

“But she did look like you,” he says and his words spark that tucked away memory of her conversation with Lizzie. “And it’s not the first time it’s happened.” He looks to the side as he speaks and lights the almost forgotten cigarette in his hand. “I wasn’t gonna say nothin’ but Esme.” He stops and sniffs before he gulps half the whiskey in his glass. “Well, she’s little rough, I know,” he continues, “but she’s a good woman.” John stops again with a sigh. He shifts in his seat and takes a long drag from his smoke as if he needs to consider his words carefully. As if what he’s got to say is something Ada won’t want to hear and he’s need to figure out how to frame it first. God bless him, she thinks. John may be able to see through bullshit, but he sure as hell can’t hide his. “It worries her,” he says, “that’s all,” and that he ends up on those words after all his seemingly careful deliberation bothers her. How odd. How honest. How like her Johnboy. Ada doesn’t know what to say so she drinks instead.

Regardless of her current standing with Esme, Ada respects her. The woman has intuition and the backbone to defend it. Esme reminds her of Polly sometimes and she wonders if that’s how Pol might’ve been while young. Headstrong, loud, and drunk, but full of the world’s secrets. Ada sits by Polly’s desk at the Shelby Brothers Limited late one evening and watches the older woman write in shorthand, her pen moving like wildfire across the paper.

“What?” Asks Polly.

“Nothing,” Ada shrugs. Pol stops writing and looks up at her. “Really, it’s nothing, Pol,” Ada says. The older woman stares at her a moment too long before she looks back down at her paper and begins her furious writing again.

“Sure,” Polly says, “It’s always nothing, isn’t it?” Ada rolls her eyes at Polly’s words. “This whole family is full of nothing.”

“Don’t take your anger out on me, Pol,” she sighs. “Whatever he’s done now, it’s not my fault.”

“Who said anything about me being angry?” The older woman snaps as she slams down her pen. “And why should I be angry? It’s doesn’t have anything to do with me. Nothing does, nowadays.” She opens her cigarette case and pulls out a long, black smoke before tapping it on the desk. Polly lights her smoke while narrowing her eyes at the flame then flicks the smoldering match to the ashtray. “So you’ve thought about Boston?”

“Yeah,” Ada says after a pause to light her own cigarette, “I think it’ll be good.”

“It’ll be a lotta work,” says Pol, “But that might be what you need right now. God knows a bored Shelby is a curse on the world.” Ada thinks about reminding Polly that she’s a Thorne now, but the words take too much effort so she lets them stay resting under her tongue. Her Aunt has her eyes closed with her head leaned back against the top of the chair. If Ada’s going to ask what she wants to, what she came here to ask, it should be now. While Pol is resting and unawares.

“Has Esme talked with you?” Ada asks.

“Oh god, why?” Asks Polly as she sits up straight in her chair and puts out her cigarette. “It’s not the count, is it?” she continues while standing and turning towards the back room containing the safe. “I swear, the women these boys bring into our home.”

“No,” Ada says before Pol can leave the room. “It wouldn’t be about business.”

Polly stops with her back facing Ada. “Should we have a drink?” She asks while turning towards the draw hiding the always present bottle. “Feels like this is a conversation where we’ll want one.” She pours two glasses of whiskey without waiting for Ada’s reply. Then the older woman walks back to her desk and holds out the glass for her niece before sitting back down. “So what would this talk with Esme be about?” Polly asks after a sip.

“Well, if you haven’t had it yet, you can’t tell me, can you?” Says Ada.

“I thought I was asking you,” says Pol as she slips out another black cigarette to sit between between her lips and then lights it. She sits quietly with her eyes focused in the distance and Ada can see her mind running through all the possibilities. “What’d John do this time?” Polly finally asks.

“Nothing,” Ada chuckles, “At least not yet, anyway.”

“Right, so it’s not about business and it’s not about John,” Polly muses and traces her fingers over her lips. Running more scenarios, Ada thinks to herself with a smile. Then her eyes shift back to Ada’s and Pol drops her hand from her face while setting her glass down on the desk. “Is it Tom?”

Just as Ada is about to nod, she sees a figure in the corner of her eye, watching them both from the doorway; an ember at the tip of his smoke illuminates the face in the dark. “Tommy! Christ!” Ada cries.

“Oh god, is it that bad?” Polly asks while seemingly unaware that the topic of their conversation stands behind her in the doorway. As if his name somehow summoned him like devil he is. He moves silently into the room like a fucking ghost.

“Hello, Pol,” he says but his eyes stay steady on Ada. Polly gasps and puts her hand to her chest.

“Oh fuck,” she sighs and moves her hand from her chest up to her temple. “Lost about five years just now and I don’t have them to lose, I’ll have you know.”

“Have I interrupted something?” He asks as he sits in the empty chair next to Polly and across from Ada. His sister drinks from her whiskey and looks away from Tom’s eyes.

“You did,” says Polly, “but when have you ever cared?” She stamps out her smoke with her words. “So what are you doing here?” She continues. “Arthur said you wouldn’t be in until noon tomorrow.”

“Arthur doesn’t know everything, Pol,” Tommy says and Ada stands to refill her glass. “I’ll have one,” he adds and clears his throat. Ada looks up at the ceiling willing God to give her the strength she needs not to throw the bottle at Tommy’s head before she grabs another glass and fills it. She sets the bottle down harder then she means to and Tom raises his eyebrow at the sound.

“Sorry,” says Ada and hands him his drink before sitting back in her seat.

Polly shifts her eyes back and forth between the two siblings. “Right,” she says, and Ada knows her aunt’s trying to read the unspoken in the room. Well good fucking luck, Ada thinks. Lately, even she doesn’t know what Tommy’s not saying.

“Well, continue your conversation then,” he says before he takes a sip of his drink and fixes his jacket. “What does Esme need to talk with you about?”

“I don’t know,” replies Polly. Ada can feel the older woman carefully measuring out her words. “We’ve only just established it’s not about business, John, or you,” she continues.

“You’ve established that, have you?” Tom asks while staring at Ada. Her pulse quickens under his eyes and she reaches for another cigarette. “I wonder what it could be then,” he continues, “Sounded important, from the way Ada said it.”

Ada’s heart leaps an entire beat and she takes a gulp of her drink. He’d heard her. He’d heard the whole fucking thing. Does he already know? Did John tell him? It doesn’t seem like something John would share with Tommy, but maybe he didn’t have to. Tom’s smart. He could figure it out on his own. Then Ada has a thought and she feels herself grow cold as she considers it. What if he hasn’t been trying to hide it? She replays John’s words now. But she did look like you, he’d said, and it’s not the first time it’s happened. Jesus Christ. The whiskey in her stomach makes a jump for her throat but Ada catches it with a small gulp of air.

“You alright, Ada?” Tommy asks and she nods as she leans forward to light her cigarette off his offered flame. She’s thankful she didn’t have to light it herself or else the shaking of her hand would have been made clear.

“It’s just women’s talk, Tom,” Ada says while avoiding his eyes and leaning back in her chair. “It wouldn’t interest you.”

“This is an equal opportunity enterprise, as you both know,” he says. “What makes you think I’m not interested?”

“She just wants to Pol to do her gypsy witchcraft,” Ada says while pointing at Polly with her smoke and she feels her aunt watching her as she speaks. “Tell her the sex of the baby and other mystical unknowns.” Please God, catch on Aunt Pol, Ada thinks. She can’t calm the beats of her heart, not with the infection so close, so hot and burning.

“Of course she does,” Polly says firmly. “Who else would she go to? Doctors?” She laughs with her words and her laughter soothes a bit of Ada’s heart. Her Aunt Polly is such a clever woman. “Those men in white coats wouldn’t recognize a woman’s body if it wasn’t stretched out beneath them.” And even Tommy cracks a smile at Polly’s words.

“I’m here for the ledgers,” he says in answer to Polly’s question asked long ago and puts out his cigarette. Polly nods and gathers the stack together. “I want to look over them before my meeting in the morning,” he says after finishing the whiskey in his glass. He stands and accepts the books that Pol holds out for him. “You leaving, Ada?” He continues while towering over his sister. “I’ll give you ride.”

“I’ll just get a cab, Tom.”

“It’s safer,” he says, “riding with me. Come on, let’s go.” He walks towards the door and holds it open without waiting for her reply. Polly watches Ada with wide eyes as her niece stuffs her cigarettes back into her purse and stands. Her clever Aunt, Ada finds herself thinking again. Of course Polly’s worried too. How could she not be when Tom doesn’t even try to disguise it?

[alas-pancakes]

human // good omens

Crowley didn’t particularly want to be a father. He had no experience being a father. He was far from the fatherly type, if anyone was to be completely honest with him. Yet he drew kids to him the way a magnet attracted- what’s it called? Right, iron fillings. He attracted kids like a muddy puddle on a hot day. Yes, he did. 

The first time he found a kid, he was lost, completely clueless. A little boy clung to him, wailing loudly in Ancient Greek. He turned a slow circle around the market place, perhaps looking for someone he could dump the kid on. “They took my daddy!” The boy cried out, clinging on to Crowley much tighter than he liked. He knew, somehow, that that boy had nowhere to go. He was lost, homeless and alone. Crowley rested a gentle hand on the little boy’s shoulder, sifting through the boy’s memories. Flashes of color in the dark, a naive childhood where his father was on top of the world and his mother a supposed goddess of sorts. He had been running through the market place, his father trailing at his heels. Amongst the shouts, the was sound of a scuffle behind him. When he turned, his father, oh his beloved father, was being dragged away by soldiers. It hadn’t taken much for his innocence to break, for his eyes to take in the true cruelty of people being fundamentally people. Crowley sighed, removing his hand to tilt the little boy’s head up. Scared, angry, broken glass eyes met shaded ones. Without a doubt, Crowley saw a little boy who had fallen from his childish heaven into the brutal world, shaking with anger at it all. 

Crowley, himself, had no idea how to raise a human child. He didn’t want to raise a human child, lest the child turn out evil and demonic. Yet, he couldn’t quite let the little boy go and of into the world alone. Crowley, himself, had been scared and angry and full of broken glass when he had fallen. He would hate for this boy to turn out the same way. He glanced around him before deciding a small miracle wouldn’t hurt. He couldn’t raise a child alone but perhaps Aziraphale could help. You know, balance out the good and the bad so the child could grow up all normal? A pop of light and the boy, with his face pressed against Crowley’s flowing clothes, had experienced his first miracle. There would be many more to come. 

It had taken much persuading and reasoning and a promise of years worth of lunches and a look into the boy’s eyes before Aziraphale finally caved. He had starkly refused at first, unable to imagine either him or Crowley raising a child. “No. Just no. What’s there to say? You know how this will end, Crawly.” 

“Crowley.” He had corrected, rolling his eyes behind the shades. “Please, angel, I’m actually begging you.”

“Can’t we drop him at some temple or something? I’m sure they’ll take care of such a little popper as him.”

“Angel, he has nowhere to go. Absolutely nowhere.” Crowley’s tone dropped, soft and pleading and desperate. He had only used this tone once before, just before he fell. “Michael, please, I have nowhere to go.” He had cried out as angels looked on, no longer seeing him as one of their own. Aziraphale softened, swallowing hard before nodding. Crowley hurriedly detached himself from the little boy, throwing himself into the angel’s arms. “I owe you.” The boy looked on, his eyes red but otherwise dry. 

Apollon grew to be a normal boy. His fathers living in two separate houses but moving into one to care for him. One taught him of kindness, books, and philosophy. The other spoke of being yourself and not letting the world judge you, teaching him games and pranks and how to survive on the streets. Apollon loved his fathers more than anything, yet nothing made him forget the one that had been stolen from him, screaming and kicking. 

The first night raising Apollon was hard. It had taken the angel and the demon forever to come to an agreement and even then, they were not parents, much less experienced ones. After the boy finally fell asleep, he still cried out in his dreams for his father, waking up in cold sweats when he could no longer take it. In hopes of some peace and quiet, Aziraphale relented to Crowley’s request and miracled away the boy’s nightmares, delivering dreams of security. “I can’t possibly do it, ‘m a demon! I mess up everything I touch, angel!” Crowley protested when Aziraphale asked that he do it. 

After Apollon fell into a gentle sleep and Aziraphale settle into a chair to read his scrolls and books, Crowley snuck out to outside the house. It was early morning and not a person in sight, too dark for any eyes that weren’t adapted to the dark to see. Sitting on a ledge, Crowley spread out his magnificent dark wings. They would have been magnificent anyway. Having been uncomfortably hidden the whole day, clumps of feathers stuck out oddly and one of his wings itched. He sat there, silent, preening his wings as the city was laid out before him to see. At times like this, Crowley could almost pretend he was back in heaven again. He tugged gently at the itching feather and nearly screamed when it drifted to the ground. Was this a punishment for fallen angels? Was he going to lose his wings? Steeling himself to look at the wing again, he inspected it carefully, running his fingers over the smooth feathers. Nestled like an egg in a well-constructed, snug nest was a small white feather, like a bright star glittering in the early morning sky. His thin fingers traced it, almost in awe, before folding his wings back and hiding it. No one need know about this feather, no one need know what it meant. Crowley smiled, a small satisfied smile before he hid his wings and walked back inside.

Apollon grew fast, by immortal standards and soon Crowley found himself kneeling by the old man’s side. It had taken many small miracles to keep him alive this long but this time, both he and the angel knew it was time to let go. “I suppose you want to know the truth, my boy,” Aziraphale said, as his old-man features melted away. “I suppose you wish to know why we aren’t dead yet.” Aziraphale touched a hand to the side of the man’s head, blue eyes meeting strong, aged, wise, brown ones. “You know everything you need to know.”

This was the second time that Crowley cried. 

Time and time again, Crowley found himself saddled with children he could not raise alone. Time and time again, he found himself turning to Aziraphale with a baby in hand, a child at his waist, a teen beating his chest with tired fists. “Crowley, again?” Aziraphale groaned the first few times. After a while, it became like a habit to them both. 

Crowley and Aziraphale were far from the best fathers. The child they raised often ended up with the usual quirks you’d expect from one raised by an immortal angel and an immortal demon. Yet, they strived to be the best parents they could be, giving the children a better childhood than the one they hoped for. In their lost and tired eyes and broken souls, Crowley saw a little of himself reflected in there. In their painfully thin, bruised and battered and scarred and scared bodies, Aziraphale saw shadows of the one he couldn’t save. 

Slowly, feather by feather, white crept into Crowley’s life. His black feathers still far outnumbered his white ones but they were there and Crowley slept easily in that knowledge. He didn’t care so much about unfalling anymore but he could count the feathers in the secret of night and remember how many of his lost children he had saved from a fate like his. He could count the number of children he had given hope and the chance at a proper life. Crowley would smile and shed tears that burned when they touched him and he would remember. 

11 years before the world was supposed to end, he turned up at the A. Z. Fell bookstore with a basket in hand, knocking at the door. He had never knocked before. Usually, he just teleported in. “Angel,” He called out until Aziraphale opened the door. He slid into the closed bookstore without invitation and set the basket down on the table. “Angel, I need help.”

“Crowley, my dear, what the heavens have you done this time?” Aziraphale replied, vaguely concerned. “The Almighty Herself knows you never knock.” 

Crowley sighed. “It’s the Antichrist.”

Aziraphale quirked his eyebrows in suspicion. “Are you sure it’s the Antichrist himself?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to keep him?”

“Angel, he didn’t ask to be the Antichrist! He’s a child that needs a home and if we raise him right, we could stop Armaggedon!” Crowley cried out. He was exhausted and in no mood to argue with the angel.

Now, the prospect of preventing Armageddon was a tempting one to the angel. He had always been one for peace and he had become rather fondly attached to Crowley after all these years. It would be a pity to wage war against his friend, business partner, whatever they were. 

“Very well, we’re raising the Antichrist. We can’t possibly keep calling him that, can we?” Aziraphale began stiffly, trying not to betray how pleased he was to raise another child with Crowley.

“What do you think he shoulda be named?”

“How about Damien? I hear it’s quite popular these days.”

“We want him to have a normal name, my dear angel,” Crowley grumbled. 

“Well, there’s always Adam,” Aziraphale replied tentatively. 

“Adam. Like Adam and Eve sort of Adam?” Crowley asked skeptically.

“No, not that sort.” What Aziraphale really meant was, “Of course, my darling, what else did you think?” 

Adam was going to grow up to be the face of humanity, just you wait. He wasn’t going to fundamentally bad or fundamentally good, like the rest of Crowley and Aziraphale’s children. He was going to turn out to be fundamentally human. 

(1709 words)

[fyrapartnersearch]

Seeking Literate Partners!

Greetings! I go by Zibiqi, Z, or Dragon online, whichever tickles your fancy. I’m 19 years old and reside in the Central Standard Time Zone. I can’t recall exactly how long I’ve been roleplaying but it’s somewhere along the lines of six years, give or take. On top of that I write poems, short stories, and am currently in the process of writing a book or two, so I think it’s safe to say my writing skills are plenty developed for roleplay standards. Over the years I’ve explored this hobby on a rather narrow selection of platforms and am trying to expand that in hopes of discovering a different (or perhaps more suitable) type of partner. Below I’ve compiled the necessary and relative information that will hopefully be easy to navigate and understand. Hope to hear from you soon!

My Roleplay Style:

I write in third person as well as past tense, always have and always will. My replies average from 300 to 500 words a reply with a three paragraph minimum, but I can write more if my partner wishes and provides adequate material for me to work with. Also note that I heavily favor male characters for my own use and will not use a female unless I feel particularly inclined to do so. (On that note, please do not request for me to use one, for your request will be declined immediately.) My rate of reply averages at one reply a day, but I may reply more or less depending on the day, what I’m doing, and even the roleplay itself. I do have a trigger or two and those lie very closely if not solely within the limits of self-harm and suicide, in which I will not roleplay under any circumstances. (However, they are alright to mention/exist given they bear importance to the story or character.) On one last note, please know that I have no experience doubling, I’ve only heard of it. So if you ask me to do so, please keep in mind my inexperience, as I will not decline for I have yet to actually do it.

What I’m Looking For:

Age & Gender: Age does not matter to me as long as my partner can keep up with my writing style, unless there is romance involved, in which you must be 18+ to request. I don’t believe that a good story requires a romance sub-genre (for I do not roleplay romance as a main genre, please note) to be good or interesting. To me, it’s just spice. And as far as gender goes, you could be a toaster for all I care.

Co-Development: I can and will come with plots, but most of them will be incomplete. Don’t make me do all the work! If I wanted to do that, then I’d just write a short story on my own instead of roleplaying. Let’s collaborate and make our own, one-of-a-kind story.

Originality: There’s nothing I love more than an original character and an original story. I do not like canon characters, either playing them myself or playing against them. All of my own characters are original themselves, so I’d like to see some creativity in return. It’s more fun that way, don’t you think?

Fandoms: Though I don’t care to roleplay with cannon characters, I certainly don’t mind using other universes! I enjoy things such as Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Sword Art Online, and even The Legend of Zelda. Most of my fandoms span across books, video games, and a few fantasy shows and anime. There are far too many to list them all so if you’re interested in one in particular, just ask!

Out of Character Communication: I very much enjoy connecting with my partners even if its just the occasional hello. In these regards I like to have a second, separate chat from the roleplay to discuss things with, for if we need to discuss something related to the roleplay, having a second chat helps keep discussed details from being lost in the threads. But! This is, of course, completely optional and is not a must-have to roleplay.

Pairings: In the case that romance is involved (18+ required) I do prefer to roleplay MxM pairings. I will not put anything else out of mind because I’m fairly certain that this is an issue many fix with the “doubling” I have heard of, but in this case, again, please keep in mind that I am inexperienced with doubling.

Current Cravings:

I do have approximately three original plots that I am craving to find a “golden” partner for, as I have searched long and hard only to be disappointed with the results of my searches. Most of these plots are malleable and can be adjusted to suit both my and my partner’s cravings and preferences. Below I will provide a brief summary of each, and the rest will provided later! (Cravings are listed as of August 2020, for they may change later.)

Dragon Rider RP: Dragons cannot communicate with many species other than themselves, so they took on compatible companions who could speak for them while they spoke telepathically. Practically dragon riders, these warriors partner with dragons to protect the balance of the world. When the balance is threatened and the apocalypse can be seen on the horizon it’s up to a dragon-less rider to find the last of a rare species and fight alongside it to keep the apocalypse at bay and restore the balance—if it can even be restored. (My muse will be the dragon.)

Merfolk RP: Mermaids are real, and they live away from the world’s notice in the city they lost long ago: Atlantis. When the secret is out that they exist, the prince of the lost city himself ends up the center of attention. He cannot hope to survive without a friend in this world above the water. (Can go multiple directions, my muse will be the mer.)

Post Fantasy War RP: Strange, creature-like super-soldiers were created to win a massive war between humanity and anything that wasn’t human. With the war done and humans standing victors, the soldiers were no longer needed, and so were sentenced to their destruction. Though they were supposed to be mindless tools, that seems to not be the case after all when the hunt begins and something of an eighth of the massive army scatters into the wind like rabbits with dogs on their tails. Like many others, a soldier who had avoided capture for years finally finds itself in chains. The only way out is with a friend, but who would befriend such a magic-born creature as this? And should help come, then what?

Other: I also have an original creature that I would love to use as either an experiment in a sci-fi plot or an original god in a thriller or horror plot (I’m not entirely sure what the plot I have in mind would fit into but that’s close), or even something akin to a dark circus plot. In my google drive archives I have a multitude of characters who also come with their own plots so I literally have plenty of ideas, and my ideas can be combined with others to make something new and even more creative. (I enjoy trying to fit two characters together sometimes too and going off of that instead of a plot. It’s a different sort of challenge and oft provides a different kind of story.)

Contact:

Currently I am roleplaying out of three different platforms so feel free to use any of them, or even more than one if that’s what suits your tastes. The last of the three is an app that should be available to most phones and has been the place of my roleplaying for many years if anyone is interested in poking around.

Email: zibiqigodslayer@yahoo.com

Discord: ZibiqiGodslayer04#6074

Virtual Space Amino: http://aminoapps.com/p/4nk4u1