#as is him becoming sort of grandpa later on and suddenly he has tiny beings that look like his cc's

[varpusvaras]

Seventeen really doesn't know what to think about Fox's new spouses.

They are...alright. That's the best word he can come up with, for now. They seem nice. Caring. Smart. Fox had mentioned them before, and always described them with good terms (which perhaps should've glued Seventeen in to the fact they were a thing. Fox had never been someone who would go out of his way to mention anyone just because), and the more Seventeen heard about them, the more he did appreciate them.

It just all felt fake, in a way. Not them, no. Seventeen had met enough nat-borns by now to recognise when they were being dishonest and smarmy. Not these two. Absolutely not. They were probably two of the most honest and open people Seventeen had ever met, which was also most likely one of the reasons Fox liked them. Fox had always liked it when things were said as they were. But just watching them, happy as they were, in their own little world where everything was fine and nothing else mattered, Seventeen couldn't shake the feeling of waiting for something, anything, to go wrong.

They weren't made for happy endings. Sooner or later something would happen, and ruin it all. They weren't made for soft things like this. They weren't made for things like love, not like this. Love for them meant training them, teaching them, pushing them forward and over their limits, so they wouldn't die.

That's what Seventeen had done.

It wasn't fair, some part of him screams. It wasn't fair that his love had been made to be bruises and broken bones and tears and anger, only for someone else to then come after all of it and claim that love was actually anything and everything else than that.

It wasn't fair.

[9thbutterfly]

I wanna know about all your projects! they sound so interesting! but if I have to chose tell me more about goblins please? or nettle patch?

Goblins:

One of my many Kivailo world stories - how do I quickly explain the Kivailo world? Teenage/early twenties me grappling with the question of “could something like the nazis happen today?” and creating the most fucked-up country I could come up with. (And later mostly losing my interest in it because I realised the real world is at least that fucked up, if not more.)

I think plot-wise Goblins is the most interesting of the Kivailo world stories - it has “overcoming a lot of internalised homophobia and falling in love with another woman” and “rapist going from being an utter asshole to somewhat decent and saving some people’s lives (but still being a rapist because you can’t make that un-happen)” and “cute little girl and kindly old grandpa hide a person from genocidal government”.

Unfortunately it is an unedited and unfinished NaNoWriMo story... let me see if I can find a good bit that isn’t a complete mess of typos and notes to myself...

The little girl, standing in the hallway with her arms wrapped around the old man’s middle, was crying now. “But the goblin!” she sobbed into the man’s stomach. “They’ll see the goblin.”

Jonathan had already opened the door, and Julius followed him through before he had fully processed what the girl had said. But as soon as he had stepped onto the stairs leading to the attic, he understood.

He didn’t need to see – he knew as soon as he smelt it. The faint stench of urine and sweat, the smell of a human confined in a small room. Without thinking, he pulled the door shut and grabbed Jonathan’s jacket to spin him around and pin him against the wall. “You’ll keep quiet.” He whispered. “You won’t breathe a word, to anyone, or I’ll – I’ll tell everyone you’re gay.”

He was grasping at straws, voicing the one threat that popped into his mind, the one that might scare someone even if it had no basis in fact. Jonathan had full five months of military service left, and to spend these five months with everyone believing him to be gay would be a nightmare, perhaps even worse than what Julius had lived through when Daniel’s existence had become known.

But it seemed his random threat had hit home. In the dim light of the bare light bulb, Jonathan gasped, “No, please -! How did you -?” He snapped his mouth shut and bit his lip as if he had just realized that he’d all but confirmed Julius had been right. Julius himself nearly let go of Jonathan’s collar and stepped back, so shocked by the discovery that he almost forgot what was at stake. But the wave of sudden disgust, the disturbing idea that Jonathan might think he’d grabbed him to kiss him, still didn’t wash away the knowledge of what they would find at the top of the stairs – what the little girl had been crying about.

“Never you mind,” he grated. “You just keep your bloody mouth shut. And your hands and eyes off me, just so that’s clear.” He loosened his grip for a moment, then tightened it again. “Is that clear?”

Jonathan nodded, his eyes wide, his mouth working silently.

“You’ll stay quiet?” Jonathan nodded again, and Julius let go  of him and continued up the stairs.

The attic was filled with a jumble of old furniture and cardboard boxes. A dusty wardrobe and a stack of boxes formed a wall next to the stairwell, with just a tiny bit of space to crawl to the other side. Julius got down on hands and knees to slip through. There was a mattress there, with a tangled nest of blankets and quilts, a covered bucket in the corner, an all too familiar sight for him, and balls and bits of string littering the floor. In a swift movement, he pulled the wardrobe door open.

The Kivailo cowered inside, shrinking back into the corner at the sight of Julius. At first glance, he seemed to be a middle-aged man, but as Julius put a finger to his lips, signalling for quiet, he thought he was probably not all that old, thirty at most. The Kivailo stared at him uncomprehendingly until Julius shut the door.

“Well?” he called to Jonathan. “Are you going to come, or what?” The other soldier quickly hurried up the stairs.

“The girl’s play room, I’d say,” he commented as Jonathan stuck his head through the gap in the boxes. He made a show of opening the wardrobe again and peering inside, catching another glimpse of the Kivailo’s terrified face, then shrugged, closed the wardrobe and poking a couple of boxes.

“It smells…” Jonathan started, but Julius wasn’t going to let him finish. “She probably left some snacks up here until they rotted. You know how children are. Come on, let’s check the other side.”

“Julius,” Jonathan said quietly as they poked around between the odd pieces of furniture on the other side of the stairwell, a crib, a rocking chair, some dilapidated cabinets, with a sewing machine and a typewriter standing on top. “There’s got to be…”

“I said, not a word,” Julius cut across him. “And I mean it.”

Jonathan’s eyes went wide, as if he just now understood what Julius had meant. “You’re…”

“Not a word,” was all Julius said, and he turned and clattered down the stairs, waiting for Jonathan to follow before he opened the door.

They had only just closed the door again when Officer Needs-A-Name came up from the cellar.

“Nothing to report, sir,” Julius said. “Just junk and a play space for the girl.” He jerked his head at the child and her stony-faced grandfather.

“I got nothing, either. On we go, then.”

He was as bored with these endless raids as the soldiers were, Julius suddenly understood. And he didn’t really expect to find anyone. He shot Jonathan another warning look as he followed the officer, then, when the older man was out the door, dropped to his knees next to the girl, just for a moment, just to whisper, “Don’t worry about the goblin. I used to have one in my house as well.” Before she or the old man had time to reply anything, he rose and followed the others out of the house.

Nettle Patch’s full title was “Out of the Nettle Patch into the Brambles” (no connection to The Bramble Prince, though), and it was supposed to be a fantasy story in which a bunch of farmers and craftspeople (just normal people, who do not turn out to be secretly royalty) save the world from some sort of supernatural threat... except I never really figured out what the threat was supposed to be, so it didn’t really go anywhere. So the whole thing is kind of a mess consisting of lots of backtracking and notes to myself and typos (again, unedited NaNoWriMo) but I liked the bit where a very shy teenager who is totally not a self-insert gets volunteered for the Quest.

His mother sat down beside him, and poked him with a sharp elbow. “Sit properly,” she reminded him sharply but quietly, and he slowly unfolded himself from his preferred posture, with knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, and crossed his legs like everyone else was doing.

“Well, Denneb,” his mother said. “These fine folks here are heading off across the mountains to find some lady that stole something from the temple, and they are going to need some help – they don’t speak the language, of course, and they also don’t know much about finding food in the forest, or about sleeping out of doors, like you do, so I thought it would be lovely if you went with them to help them. And it would be good for you to see a bit of the world, too – you can’t spend all of your life up here with your grandfather. I mean, I would prefer it if you just came down to visit us all a bit more often, and went to the village like everyone else, instead of sending you away, but if that’s what it takes to get you to come out of your hood a bit, then so be it. And how will you ever find someone to marry, if you always hide up here? You can’t marry a bear or a tree or something. And you’re really of an age to start looking for a nice girl, or a nice boy I suppose, Mother knows this family produces enough children that there’d be a few for you and a husband to raise, if you’d rather have one of those than a wife. But a wife would be lovely, of course, so you could have babies of your own.”

“Wait, what is this? Why does Denneb get to go over the mountains and look for a wife?” Nonnol suddenly appeared around the corner of the house again, skewers with marmot meat in her hands. “I want to go over the mountains to look for a wife.”

[dimitre-grymzin]

It’s never easy to surrender something you thought you’d have forever.

Dimitre blames himself for being made a fool of. He let himself get distracted, he let his guard down, and now he has to accept the consequences and the heartache. The trip to visit his children could not have come at a better, more needed time. He consumed himself in being a devoted father. He kept his phone on silent unless they were asleep, focusing solely on them. This helped tremendously. The trip to France had been one for the books. Nikolai and Kira had a wonderful time, and so did their father. Dimitre laughed—and it was real laughs, not the forced ones he managed in the company of potential clients when they made horrible, cringe inducing jokes. No, these laughs that came in the presence of his children were unfiltered, life saving. The sort of laughs that soothe away the scars of a broken man. 

Returning to Ireland was bittersweet for Dimitre. This was his home. His first home—the home he built before Nikolai was even born. The home he wanted to eventually retire to when the madness of life slowed down, when his father wasn’t intruding at his doorstep demanding shit from him. The house on the hilltop in Ireland was Dimitre’s dream home, the place he wanted to raise a family. The Russian knew that this was a pipe dream. He knew that the chances of him living to be old and happy, surrounded by a family, was very slim. He knew that his death would more than likely come sooner rather than later. It was because of this sense of foreboding that Dimitre clung to these precious moments with his children. 

As soon as they arrived at the house, Nikolai was running across the yard at full speed towards the front door while Dimitre pulled his sleeping daughter out of her booster seat. He followed behind the boy who was dancing at the door, impatient to get aside. 

“Come on, dad!” Nikolai said in a dramatic voice, huffing. He was very tall and lanky, his hair was starting to curl at the edges, lightening, too. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” Dimitre said, handing the keys to his son so he could let them in. Taking this moment to reposition the sleeping child in his arms, he waltzed into the house once Nik had accomplished the task. The boy was already zooming up the stairs with his bag, leaving Dimitre to fight the door for the key and he kicked it closed. 

By the time Nikolai returned, Dimitre had already shifted Kira from his arms to the couch in the living room. He knew his time with them was growing short, so he didn’t want to be far from her yet. He settled on the couch and grabbed the remote. “Do you want to watch a movie,” he asked Nik as the boy found a place on the floor to begin building Legos. Nik agreed but it was halfhearted, causing Dimitre to laugh, “I mean, we don’t have to…” 

His son sighed and this set off the protective dad alarm in the man’s body. Dimitre sat the remote down on the table across from the couch and stared at his son who refused to look at him. “Talk to me, Nikolai.” 

“When are you leaving?” Nikolai snapped and it made Dimitre’s heart ache for a moment. His son was frustrated, he couldn’t blame him for that. Nikolai knew the answer to his question. Tomorrow. When Dimitre didn’t answer, Nikolai sighed loudly, his shoulders slumping forward in defeat. “You always leave.” 

Unable to keep the distance between them, Dimitre left the couch and came and sat down on the floor with the boy. Instead of trying to force him to look at him and talk directly, Dimitre began building Legos with him, letting the conversation come naturally. “I know it’s difficult to understand right now, Nikolai, but I’m trying to make it where I don’t have to leave you and your sister anymore. I know I have to leave but I always come back. And I will. I’ll always come back to you guys.” 

“But you could just take us from this place and take us back to our old place where we lived before. Me and my sister could just go with you,” he said, trying to persuade his dad. 

“I wish it was that simple,” Dimitre said softly, still building the tiny plastic pieces together. He was going for a color pattern: blue, white, black, blue, white, black. “I”m trying to keep you and Kira safe,” he added, trying to express the severity of things through the tone of his voice. 

“Like you kept Kira’s mama safe?” Nikolai said, not looking at his father but he was no longer building blocks. 

It felt like ice pierced through Dimitre’s heart. He sat there frozen for a long moment. Unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to talk. He released the blocks in his hands and clutched Nikolai’s hand gently. “Where did you hear that?” He whispered, his voice cracking with desperation. 

“He said you’re a bad man,” Nikolai whispered sadly. 

“Who said this to you?” Dimitre said softly, trying to coach his son to tell him everything without scaring him into silence, his heart was pumping heavily in his chest and it was becoming difficult to breathe. 

“Grandpa Boris,” Nikolai said, looking up at his father finally, his eyes were sad, starting to glisten with tears. “He said you’re the reason we’re here—is my mama dead, too?” 

It was abundantly clear that this question had been weighing on his son for some time, and that thought fucking killed Dimitre. He yanked Nikolai into his arms and hugged him so tightly. “Listen to me,” he said as his son sobbed in his arms, “Your mother is safe, I promise you. No one is going to hurt her. And you will be with her again, very soon, Niko. I promise. I’m going to make this all go away.” Dimitre rocked his son back and forth until he calmed down, he didn’t pester him with any more questions. Instead, he held his son until he had fallen asleep before putting the seven year old on the couch to sleep. 

While his children slept, Dimitre sat there in silence, his blood boiling with anger. His fucking father had been in contact with his children, he had been filling Nikolai’s head full of half truths. Ireland suddenly didn’t feel safe anymore. Dimitre knew he had to move his children and fast. He couldn’t make the move. He was being watched. It was how Boris had learned about the house in Ireland. There was only one person he trusted enough to call. Genna. 

[ducktracy]

166. steamlined greta green (1937)

release date: june 19th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: friz freleng

starring: berneice hansell (junior), mel blanc (bartender)

it’s been a hot minute, hasn’t it?

the title appropriated from the song “greta green”, streamlined greta green chronicles the adventures of a little car who wishes to grow up into a taxi cab, much to the chagrin of his mother, who wishes he’d follow the footsteps of his father and become a touring car. tex avery would expand upon this premise 14 years later with his own short, one cab’s family, where the little child wants to be a sleek hot-rod instead of a taxi like his father. interesting to see how times change!

“lullaby of broadway” underscores a busy street scene as we open. trolleys, cars, you name it, all narrowly avoid crashing as they bottleneck through a busy (and poorly regulated) intersection. two cars inevitably crash together, spurring an altercation. reducing the anthropomorphic cars’ dialogue to nothing but furious honking through means of a muffled trumpet is a wonderful touch, furthering the whimsicality of the short as a whole. angry exchanges morph into a heated wrestling match--suspension of disbelief works well as a nearby stoplight turns red and signals the cars to stop. they take a breather at opposite ends of the “ring”, and once the stop sign turns green again, they go back at it. the scene itself is reminiscent of the epic sequence in porky the wrestler where the entire wrestling ring is transformed into a train. perhaps not as exaggerated, but still enough to warrant praise.

fret not--the majority of cars seem to uphold a camaraderie as we hone in on a taxi dance hall. jaunty animation of anthropomorphic cars dancing together fill the scene inside (as does some sign gags, one sign reading “five can dance as cheap as one”), accompanied by a chorus of the title song. by this point, the merrie melodies songs were on their way out the door. i don’t believe i mentioned it before (probably too preoccupied by digesting the racism of the cartoon), but the merrie melody before this, uncle tom’s bungalow, was the first merrie melody to exclude a song entirely. the songs were a detriment to the cartoons rather than a bonus, and as a result, the songs themselves became much more halfhearted in the cartoons they were featured in. here is no exception.

all of the taxi cabs are happily dancing together. all except one, a lady taxi sitting politely aside with nary a dance partner. she turns bashful as a taxi approaches her for a dance, and in a clever twist, the lady taxi plops a coin inside her meter, switching the label from vacant to occupied. anthropomorphic cars aren’t as mind-bogglingly inventive as they used to be (just look at the pixar films), but for 1937, this entire cartoon is extremely creative. friz has worked with anthropomorphic cars before--he animated the beginning part with piggy of this wonderful scene from you don’t know what you’re doin’!, which still holds up as one of my favorite merrie melodies. the animation here (as in 1937 here) is wonderfully jaunty and fluid, and to boot we’re met with an innuendo as the lady taxi’s meter continues to rise. following in the steps of tex avery and his love of jackpot gags since day 1, the meter turns into a slot machine, winning the jackpot, and a plethora of gold coins shower out as the male taxi happily collects the coins into his hat, much to the bashfulness of his partner.

away from the busy city is a quaint little backyard, where we stumble upon the star of the picture--a tiny little car reading a book on how to be a taxi cab. the underscore here is “my little buckaroo”, which would find a home time and time again in many a warner bros cartoon (such as the 1938 friz freleng cartoon with the same name, as well as the daffy duckaroo, my little duckaroo...) the little car sighs longingly as he reads. the backgrounds are beautifully painted, conveying the homely nature of the scene rather nicely. very atmospheric, very nostalgic. the car’s mother emerges from the garage, honking and searching for her son junior. 

mama car finds junior engrossed in his book, to which junior panics and hides the book behind his back. the power of domineering motherhood prevails as junior reluctantly forks the book over. “i wanna be a taxi,” he protests indignantly after seeing his mother’s shocked expression at the brazen literature her son was reading. “a taxi? of all things! i want you to grow up and be a nice touring car like your father.” berneice hansell’s squeaky vocals are endearing as always as junior refuses. “i don’t wanna be a touring car. i wanna be a taxi!”

not having any more of it, mama car drags junior by the “ear” (one of the metal covers of his tires) and takes him inside their humble garage abode. as mama car prepares junior’s lunch for school (gasoline of course), you’ll notice a wonderfully clever visual gag--a framed portrait of an old car from the early 1900s hangs on the garage wall, affectionately labeled “grandpa”. my initial thought was that this was a dig on the 1933 disney hit the three little pigs, which couldn’t be too far off. this wouldn’t be the last time friz rips on disney--wait til’ his behemoth pigs in a polka 6 years later.

with lunch prepared, mama places the lunchbox in junior’s seat, much to his displeasure. junior takes off, with mama cooing at him to run along to school, stay away from traffic, “and keep clear of those railroad crossings...”

junior reaches the intersection between auto school and the city. his plight of decision is accented by a visual dotted line as he reads both signs, turning his head, trying to make a final decision. the school bell tolls like a funeral bell--with that, junior plays it brave and heads for the city instead. city life already asserts itself as intimidating as junior attempts to cross the bustling city streets. as the stoplight turns red, he readies himself at the line, preparing to take off, but once the light turns green, he’s repeatedly run over (or run above?) a number of cars as the cars zoom forward beneath him, rendering the little car paralyzed. very fun, smooth, hurried animation. once traffic clears, the light red again, junior is now in the company of an older, slower car, who patiently waits for the signal to go. once the light is green, the sound of the bell throws the old car into a boxing frency, shadow-boxing with an invisible enemy. this gag was referenced all too many times in the disastrous porky’s moving day by jack king just a year before.

junior gets jostled around by traffic as he wanders aimlessly into another intersection, eventually throwing himself into a safety zone (one thinks of picador porky), a fitting underscore of “little man, you’ve had a busy day” accompanying junior as he frantically pants, trying to catch his breath, his heart (where the engine is) beating furiously. more jaunty animation as junior, ever the genius, breaks the physical restraints of the cartoon world as he lifts up the painted lines and carries the safety zone with him. caught up in complacency, he tumbles straight into an open storm drain, weaseling his way out on the other side of the street. 

suddenly, relief--a gas station catches his eye. he approaches, the gas station serving as a soda fountain of sorts, manned by a bartender voiced by (who else?) mel blanc, asking “what’ll ya have, son?” the gas comes in a variety of flavors--strawberry, grape, orange, etc. junior signals the orange, which is “powerful stuff, son!” junior has his fill, and instantly the gas takes effect, sending jolts through out his body as the engine explodes in a rhythmic cadence (a classic warner bros gag). after the initial shock, junior is revitalized and ready to go--”gee, i can go fast now! watch!” 

predictable yet endearing, junior takes off in a flash, much to the bewilderment of the bartender. a camera pan reveals junior standing at the bartender’s side, clearly pleased with his work, much to the awe of the bartender. junior’s attempts to show off are endearing and serve as suitable momentum to the inevitable climax as he zooms over to the railroad tracks, “yoo-hoo!”ing the bartender. “shuffle off to buffalo” underscores the sound of an approaching train, hurtling across the railroad tracks as junior observes in awe. if my memory serves me correctly, the particular footage of the train used here is the first of many reuses--this train pops up in a number of cartoons, the one coming to my mind right now being porky’s picnic in 1939. perhaps it was used before this and my memory is just poor, but, at the very least, i can say that it’s the same train.

junior, now cocky, decides to race the train to show off, speeding alongside the tracks on a rural stretch of road. his excitement is cut short by a road hog--literally. a giant pig shaped car, labeled ROAD HOG in threatening bold letters slows junior’s momentum, junior honking angry “barks” at the offending car. junior attempts to pass, but to no avail. instead, the road hog grows even more obnoxious by stretching its tires out to hog the entire stretch of road. thankfully, a bridge comes to junior’s aid as the road hog is sent riding above the support beams, with junior passing below and now in front of the road hog.

road hog taken care of, junior gets gutsy again as his attention focuses once more on the rival train. determined to out-perform, junior attempts to race alongside the train, casting looks of validation occasionally to see just how well he’s holding the lead. the energy of the next handful of scenes is just swell--friz’s knack for musical timing comes in clutch as the railroad crossing bell dings in hurried succession with the beat of the jaunty music. some tashlin-esque camera angles as the train heads straight for the audience, with junior crossing over the tracks just before it, narrowly avoiding an inevitable collision. the charade is repeated again (with the footage flipped), but the energy is just as strong the first time around, especially with the key of the music elevating up a notch to D instead of C, heightening the anticipation and adrenaline. 

even if the energy is rampant, it can’t be maintained for the remainder of the cartoon, just watching junior do his gymnastics. friz knows this, too, which is why we get a view of junior’s gas gauge dropping to empty. predictably, junior stalls out on the train tracks as the train approaches. the train hurtles towards the audience, junior cowers in fear... and fade out to black.

i give friz credit, as i didn’t expect this to happen at ALL. i assumed his mother would swoop in out of the shadows to save the day and give him a stern talking to afterwards, but instead we’re met with a rather bizarre and somber scene. an ambulance tow truck hauls an off-screen junior to the auto garage hospital, and we’re met with a rather moody surgery montage. the suspense is extremely thick--the directing here is very cinematographic, very tashlin-esque, and VERY well executed. we never once see the injured junior. we have a split-screen montage of the surgery, showing oxygen being pumped, utensils passed around... the directing is top notch. very brooding, very smart to withhold junior from the audience, as well as concealing most of the faces of the operators. the minor key rendition of “my little buckaroo” does wonders to maintain the somber mood.

outside, we see mama car pacing aimlessly around, tearfully “oh dear”ing all the way through. the suspense doesn’t stop--the back door creaks open. after a beat, we see little junior, alive and mostly well, covered in bandages, running to his mother. they embrace lovingly, but that doesn’t exclude junior from a good lecture. 

another wonderful turn of events as we hear the all too familiar bellow of a train whistle during mama’s lecture. junior displays how much he’s learned his lesson by darting straight towards the tracks once more, hungry for a race. all the broodiness, all the moodiness, all the tears and heartfelt sorrow are thrown out the window as junior’s need for speed prevails once more. 

what also prevails once more is the train. junior manages to dodge the train at first, mocking the train in the process, but in the midst of his gloating, he’s oblivious to the other train hurtling straight behind him. 

again, junior gets hit. junior is relatively unscathed, albeit dazed as we fade back in from black. iris out as we see that the train is now in shambles, taking a much more severe beating than junior did.

i have to say, i thought i knew where this cartoon was going--i certainly was mistaken! i assumed it would be much more disney-esque, much more cutesy and endearing than it actually turned out to be. with that said, i ended up enjoying it a lot more than i would have as a result. the music score was lovely all the way through, as was the animation and the creativity. as i said, talking cars aren’t as surprising now, but this was pretty damn innovative for its time, and they certainly made the best of their surroundings and setting. the dark turn the short took was wonderful. energy was high all through the cartoon, but especially during the climax, and the broodiness of the surgery scenes serve as a strong juxtaposition to the previous scenes. it’s certainly evident both tex avery and frank tashlin have rubbed off on friz--as they should. friz is a solid director who is WAY too underrated for my tastes. his timing, both musical and comedic, is impeccable, and his cartoons are wonderful to watch. he doesn’t get as much praise because he’s not as “wacky”, but subtleties are just as, if not more so, important than wild animation, and i’d argue that especially for its time, this is pretty wild! tashlin’s camera angles and filmmaking techniques and tex’s need for speed and absurd humor both rub off on friz as we see here, and it pays off extremely nicely. at first i wasn’t too enthused to watch this cartoon, as i figured it’d be your “standard” merrie melody, but after seeing the end i would definitely recommend you to watch it. it’s fun, light-hearted, and it wouldn’t hurt to watch just once. go check it out!

link!

[morrpriestess]

A Story

So, here’s a very long channeling of sorts!

Sometimes, one can travel dimensions through art and imagery. Entering the dream realm in order to heal or repair. To fix some truths and to just observe. Let it be.

Really I just wanted something different :)

Here’s a little visit. A journey through my subconscious. It’s quite long. But this is pretty much what I do. To be honest. I doubt there’s anybody who’ll read this. But if you do, I hope you enjoy it as much as I have...

I was there, just laying under the sun and shadows in a petit hammock. A desert, a beach. I don’t know at this point honestly. So dry and so serene, yet in my mind it is so fresh; vibrant waters and blue waves.

Am I the only one to see it? Does anybody else see it?

Until now it’s only me. And it is perhaps after all, only because it is me, and I haven’t asked anyone yet. Who’s fault is that? No one’s. Just me and the sea…

Just the sea and me, didn’t you mean?

Well, no. Maybe. Hey, at least they rime together!

True… love you!

Me too!

And from afar I can see my mother and Di, they’re picking up algae to eat and to cook. But well, I don’t know if they see it. For all I know, those could be plants and such. I don’t think they see it. They just stare at it with a serious classical ‘resting bitch face.’ who am I to judge though, mine probably looks like that too.

So still. 

And yet behind me, I see my two cousins, I & D, fighting with swords in front of St and Ro, each quietly rooting for their respective sons. An amicable match. And suddenly think... I’m lucky I’m a girl…

Let’s go see the fight! I go and stand up, I’m bored and even so yet, I have the option to return, so I’ll gladly take it once again later, to keep seeing the beautiful, floating vast blue, neon sea. This time at night. I get excited just thinking about it!

I’m glad I’ve become more cheerful...

Anyways, back to the friendly fight, just clashing swords. Hermione’s watching and she doesn’t care, she rolls her eyes playfully and goes away. Ale is watching from afar with some really cool sunglasses, pretty much just taking care of us, not listening though. My father is far from here and suddenly approaches me. He tells me that I should fight. And so, as many times before, I chose to humor him. I’m no good at this! I blush, but even so among my shy nature, I manage to look secure, to look confident or at the very least rescuable. Laughing, and making some jokes here and there, making a silly remark about how I’ll win without a doubt.

One laughs while the other feels the need to tell me how wrong I was in a very indignated way, but even so, I feel respect from both of them… hmm, funny. I thought that they underestimated me, or just didn’t take me seriously?

Who am I to them and to the men in my family?

As I grab my sword, as I get handed one I see the crystals within it. It is green, emerald green, I blow at it, and it appears to have encrusted lilac gems. Platinum black, green, lilac. Then crystalline. I still wonder…

Do they see it?

One’s sword is bright, baby blue with some lilac, holographic-like highlights, and the other one is more modest, wooden, with sharp metal, silver edges. Stylish and holy in another level.

And doesn’t that make you feel selfish? Show-offy?

Bad?

I believe that the only selfish in me is you judging me. Am I not enough for me?

I’m just what I need, and I’ve always been. And if you don’t see that, if you don’t feel that, then probably the one who’s being selfish is you. Why not be sufficient with yourself. Instead of wanting me to be, what you’ve never been?

Let me love me.

Let me need me.

Let me love you.

And let me be needed as well as need.

I’m a child and I’m old. Both of them need more than an adult does in the physical world. And that’s okay, that’s fine. Adults need help on the other side. And that’s fine.

I feel oddly proud… vibrant baby blue, wooden with sharp edges. I then remembered that I’m the eldest of us all. Behind me, I can feel and see, both Se & So, a bit far away in a wheel swing. Just healing each other’s wounds and making each other laugh. Kids. I’m glad. Se is among the girls and I’m among the guys. Interesting. Funny! I smile. It fills me with joy and energy! Though grandpa is at the beach, just looking at the sky, trying to feel his legs until falling asleep.

And while I’m distracted and dazed, both cousins try to take me out first. The swords go right through me as if I were a ghost. Suddenly they don’t see me, perhaps taking this a little bit too seriously. I laugh whole-heartedly. With an amicable insult and cocky, playful bravado I pretend to attack. Both feeling very paranoid as I sing and dance. They both know that the true battle is about to start.

And so, as expected, one lashes out to hit me and I dodge laughing, then again screaming. I tell him: let's take I out first. And he surprisingly believes me! I push him and attempt to take his sword.

St protests at the injustice and Ro laughs at it. My dad nods negative…

And I don’t care.

I feel free. My ‘victim’ pushes me back and tries to hit me more intensely. He’s angry but he’s making an effort to have fun. Which means that he’s going to win for my own safety probably.

The other one stabs him in the back and gets stabbed right back. And funnily enough, I win!

Or, well, I guess I did win. In a rather strange way. But hey, once a winner, always a winner!

As everyone else just boos and complains, leaves to do something else, perhaps and hopefully more productive, my cousins just stare at me and hate me for a little while. While I shrug at them and commence to walk away, I won't admit it, but maybe a little bit hurt. No one back there said something nice or good about what I did or how I ‘won’, I was the only one making the jokes! How unfair!

… But then again, how sad! Can’t anyone be children and play?

Suddenly both of my cousins hug me and thank me. For what? I don’t know. I smile as they make some acknowledging, temperamental comments. And while they may sound hateful…

“You… you sneaky bitch!”

“YOU ALWAYS DO THAT GODDAMMIT, YOU!”

“Shut up Michelle, why are you laughing? What are you laughing at?”

They’re still hugging me warmly and fondly.

They’re just mad about something else.

They all are probably…

They see grandma and they stand by her in order to depart together a little bit later. She says hi to me, I say hi back. She gives me a kiss and then says she’s sorry, and that she’s trying, with that playful voice of hers and a sheepish smile. I tell her, no worries, I love her.

She then laughs and tells me that she keeps being happy because of me. Even if we don’t talk much, even if we don’t see each other much. She says that she relates to me and that I gave her faith to live with. And that’s she’s sorry for not being capable of admitting it. The same goes for my other grandma.

I say no worries.

No worries!

I understand…

Mom and Di keep searching through the algae and their vines, I approach them after my cousins' departure with K.

They said it was all okay. All while inspecting the vine’s red, tiny, bean-like fruits as I say that they should try them. Soon though, they told me they could not see them.

“Well, then taste them!”

We have other senses, after all... 

They grab the bean, without knowing they had it. I told them once again to taste it.

“Yuck! It’s too bitter!”

“Oh god, no! How horrible!”

Yeah, I understand. Just taste it, I’m sure you’ll take a liking to it eventually. It goes great with other platters! And their juice is sweet and intense. Like life. I guess it is what it is. Or maybe they just haven’t tasted enough berries and they miss their home.

I’ve been missing me as well. In real life, where’s my optimism? That grasp in reality?

Then it came, it is pretty easy actually…

It is there when I’m not there. When I’m too busy being myself to care.

Oh, I see!

Great!

Se is right! Life IS amazing!

I smile at my mom and my dear sister, who probably hates me as much as I hate her. I don’t!

She also gives me a hug, a Pisces one. Warm water and fresh movement. A union. Maybe mother doesn’t notice, but we both understand what we’re here for together within each other. A team along with other sister. A team of three. Forever together as that, sisters.

Three

Mom, you’re very lucky. As three is a holy number, a trinity is in to save. Animals, people and life. Death, limbo & life. And none of us are those. We just understand each other as those archetypes do so as well.

But I think you knew that as well, didn’t you? We all know everything and yet nothing.

Mom, I think that it is important for you to notice this.

We all notice this and at the same time not…

This is me not talking, but me just being. No words, no materials. Just manifestation, mom.

You’re lucky, mom. You’re blessed.

And thanks to that, we’re blessed as well.

Hermione suddenly appears and greets us, Diane and I, with a laugh and a hug.

Ever seen the card of the Three of Wands? Three of Cups? Three of Swords? Three of pentacles?

She then tells us that she’s been waiting for us to guide her to a nearby island. A bunny island. We say goodbye to you with a huge smile, a hug, and a kiss. As you try to decipher the mysteries of it all. Your don, your gift. Your life… ever heard about Atlantis?

Violins and guitars?

Okay, okay, I’ll let you be. Let go see something funny!

Be not scared! Be content and be curious!

Be you mom! Love you mom!

Love you a lot!

As I love my sisters & myself.

My father too, as well as my cousins who say hi to me from apart.

As I love the rain and it’s tears.

As I love the earth and how it receives me without doubt and with honor and duty.

The earth also tells you that it loves you too!

And that perhaps you haven’t noticed yet or at least lately. So she’ll wait for you as long as you have to. She’s old, and it’s not it’s first rodeo!

How funny is that?

Kind of like Mother Aughra from The Dark Crystal!

This is also for everyone, who has any doubts.

Just enjoy it!

Just enjoy it

Then I sit here once again, In Ale’s living room. Watching everybody with their own stuff and same old customs. Oh well, perhaps someday we’ll all see and make-up with each other. Because sometimes saying sorry wholeheartedly, even when we don’t know what we’re sorry for is all it takes, to be free and move on. With love for each other, and as a team.

…

Night comes, mom is better, dad is better. They’re both walking among the beach, telling each other stories from their respective worlds, as my sisters and So make an improvised party around the wood fire I and D made (both pretty irritable, but they’re just angry. Though D finally gives up and hugs So and Se. Playing with my sisters and talking to them.) Around them, My uncles and aunts reunite, laughing and joking along the sky. Grandma retiring for the night, though hilariously shouting grandpa’s name.

“You better not be sleeping at the beach again!”

“I’m here, I’m here! Let’s go to sleep then. Gosh!”

They both bid me a goodnight kiss.

“Well, I guess there’s nothing missing.”

My checklist is done, I guess. If not I suppose dad will take care of it. Though perhaps with a more harsh, mandatory, fist. But well, I guess it’s what it is, he’s just angry.

And I say that I love you. As I finally, happy, arrive at my little, petit hammock to see the night’s beautiful stars, the night’s beautiful lights, the beach.

Fresh breeze.

I breathe.

Falling asleep, interested and excited, for the new day and the new night.       

                                                                                                                                                                    - With love, for my family.

[lamiaward]

Operation Cobra : heroes care for anyone who needs it, even villains

I don’t own OUAT.

He can’t sleep.  

It isn’t just that his moms are still missing, that is not as worrying as one might expect. He knows they will protect and care for each other. And if the last years had taught him anything, it was that his moms were an unstoppable force together. So yeah, even if he misses them and it sucks not being able to help him, tonight it is something else keeping him awake.

The Evil Queen. What if it is painful to be a snake? In Harry Potter, the transformation from human to werewolf hurts a lot. What if this is like that?   . And this was forced.

He feels a little nauseous at that last part. Someone forced her to be stuck like this, in a cage. His mom has tried to protect him from her past, but she has told him some things (like her meeting with Daniel, which almost hurt listening to). One of the things he has discovered, is that for a period of time , she felt horribly trapped. And now she is trapped again, in a cage and all alone.

He shivers as his feet touch the cold floor. He has not even consciously made any decision to get out of bed, but he just knows that he will be wide awake and feeling terrible all night if he doesn’t at least check on her. Besides, he has been bothered by this for hours already. He has stared at the ceiling for such a long time that he could tell someone exactly where there are cracks or discolouration’s.

He puts on his slippers, then pushes open the door. At the threshold, he stops and returns to his room for a moment. He grins as he grabs the flashlight he keeps on the nightstand. Good thing he didn’t forget it at his mom’s.

He creeps through the silent (apart from what could be either of his grandparents’ snoring.) apartment , keeping his hand on the flashlight to dim the brightness a little (while still enabling him to not like trip on  Neal’s toys that are scattered around the room). He turns off the flashlight as he is next to the bed where at least one of his grandparents is not in a cursed sleep, but one that they could definitely wake up from and get him into trouble. Possibly. He doesn’t really know how they would react.

She is beneath the bed, the cage she is in still covered. He doesn’t hear hissing or anything, so maybe she is asleep. He just hopes she won’t start making noise as he takes her with him. He hesitates, then removes the blanket covering the golden cage.

His heart feels like the Snow Queen is squeezing it:   her head is bend, she is kind of curled up on herself. She looks tiny and far more vulnerable than a poisonous snake is supposed to.

She raises her head at the moment he reaches for her. She seems scary for a moment, taking on that stance he has sometimes seen in documentaries that show cobra’s hunting or around people. Then she deflates and sidles closer to the bars, until she is pretty much resting her head against his hand.

He gives her a feeble smile, then slowly removes her from the bed. He presses his finger to his lips- please don’t wake up whoever is snoring- then sneaks back to his room. When he is halfway there, he turns on the flashlight again ( smart, because one second later he can narrowly avoid tripping on a toy car).

As soon as the door of his room is closed, he tosses the flashlight on his bed and gentle puts down the cage with the evil queen in it on the bed. He sits down , crossed-legged, in front of it.

He studies her for a while. She has raised her head mostly now, just looking at him. She is really close to the bars, hissing something. Somehow, it doesn’t sound threatening or scary- he would almost say it sounds pleading.

But that might just be him ( him and she hates being trapped. If she is anything like mom , then she absolutely loathes being trapped)

He hesitates, then whispers one of the many questions he has had ever since he discovered what happened to her. “Are you still able to understand us?”

She seems to be nodding. “ I am going to repeat the question, to be sure okay? So are you still able to understand people when they talk? “.

She nods again.

“ Are you still in possession of your mind? It is not like you are suddenly going to become like a true cobra, right?”.

She nods, then shakes her head. He exhales in relief. “ Good. That’s – “.

He is silent for a while, she hisses something. “ You do realize you are only hissing, right? I mean, I am not a parselmouth”.

Even when she was in snake form (and also not really his mom, right?) Regina Mills had the same Henry-Daniel-Mills look. He is pretty sure that if he had been a parselmouth , that he would have heard her admonishing him. He still would’ve found it totally cool (as long as it didn’t mean he was like evil) to be a parselmouth, but he was kind of happy not be able to understand her right now.

“You know , we do have to discover a way to communicate…” he think for a moment. Then shrugs. “ What about you hiss for ‘yes’ and you keep silent for ‘no’.  Would that work?”.

She hisses. “ Great! “.

“ So.. are you hungry”.

Silence.

“ Because if you are, we probably need to go to a pet store. Do you think they have lizards there ?” He once saw a cobra hunting a lizard- as soon as it caught the lizard, he turned the sound down and looked away- so she is probably save to eat that.  

More hissing, but he is pretty sure she is just insulted and not actually saying ‘yes! Yes! Yes!’ . He sighs.  “ It is not like we can take you to Granny’s for a salad, snakes are carnivores”.

More hissing.  “Listen, we are not going to let you starve. And we are also not going to give you food that poisons you”.

She is silent and somehow, he guesses that she is thinking of all those years back, of seeing him in the hospital and knowing it was her that caused it.  “ It wasn’t like a barb, I know you did not mean to hurt me “ he says, even if he still gets mad when faced with the new sleeping curse on his grandparents’ shared heart. Even if she deserves to think he blames her ( and he kind of does, because it was the evil queen part of his mom that decided to poison ma)

She rests her head against the bars, like she is reaching out for him. He pretends he doesn’t know what she wants, because does she deserve instant forgiveness? . Instead, he gets up for a moment to get his phone, ignoring her hissing ( how can hissing sound worried anyways?) and sits down again.

He shows her the phone. “I am going to do some research. I need to know what kind of species you are in order to know how to take good care of you”.

He studies her.  “ Do all cobras have a hood like that? Perhaps you’re a king cobra, I once saw one in a documentary and it looked vaguely like you”.

He google searches ‘king cobra’ , then ‘black king cobra’. He holds his phone next to her. “ I don’t know.. can you like rear up?”.

She does, as much as she is able in the small cage anyways. He looks at the picture again, it could be but- “ I really don’t know for sure…”.

“Oh wait, there is an article!”. He quickly clicks on it, then scans it . “ Okay, so king cobra are gargantuan- the average size is supposed to be three metres – they have light coloured bands across their body and they do have hoods”.

“Do you think you are a king cobra?”.

She hisses. “ Okay, you could be.  But I just want to check”.

It turns out, identifying cobra species is near impossible. There are at least twenty different cobra species, that have hoods and look slightly like the irate queen that is starting to hiss more and more- even though they’ve long established he isn’t a parselmouth- and she could be a cape cobra( though the black ones he has seen pictures of don’t really look like her ) and she could be-

He finally caves and goes to a site that just talks about cobras in general. “ So here is the plan- “ he interrupts himself to glare at her and mutter “Will you stop hissing, you are going to wake someone!” when he is fairly certain she will remain silent, he continues “ This is the plan. This site says cobras like birds, fish, frogs, toads, lizards, chickens, rats, rabbits and eggs. Whatever is easiest to get, is what you will eat okay? “

She is silent. “ You know, I could always just give you to grandpa and see whether he bothers to feed you!”.

He starts to stand up, already reaching for the cage when she hisses softly. The cage moves forward as she sort of throws herself against it.  “What are you even trying?”.

But it looks kind of funny, so he laughs softly. She stops and hisses softly again. He sighs, is silent for a while. He stares at his hands. “ Has granddad or grandma been feeding you?”. It is not what he actually wants to ask, but it is important to know, so.  

He had lasted like one and a half days (and one sleepless night) before finally approaching her. She would hiss whenever he walked by and try to get closer to him. There was this one particular time where she was acting pretty crazily and grandpa actually pulled him back, using his own body as a shield for Henry. But he hadn’t reacted, because whenever he felt empathy , he only had to glance at whichever of his grandparents was ‘sleeping’ and remember that burning room to steel his resolve.

He had been trying to ignore her, but he couldn’t help sneaking glances at the cage- that was almost always covered- and noting that for a murderous queen-turned-cobra , she didn’t really look that threatening. Now, he is trying to remember whether he has seen either of his grandparents giving the snake anything ( he cannot. He can just remember a tearful grandma listening to grandpa’s recorded explanation. And discussing new plans. And patrolling. But not getting anywhere).

She is silent, so he thinks- “ Wait , so you haven’t eaten in almost two days?”.

He feels like someone has punched him into the gut. “You could’ve died” he exclaims and suddenly misses his moms ( and especially Regina) more than ever.  He tries to calm himself, Snakes are supposed to be able to live on a meal for months, right? But- “ How much of you is just human and how much is snake?” he wonders.

“Do you feel like you are starving right now?”.

Silence. “ Okay. I still think it is better if you eat something tomorrow though. Is salmon okay?”.

Hisses.

“ I will get you some then” for a moment, he briefly thinks of keeping her into his room, close to him. But this isn’t his mom, who used to fall asleep reading (or telling) stories to him sometimes. This isn’t his mom, who kisses his forehead after protecting his heart with a spell. This is the woman that sends kids into houses that belong to child-eating witches. This is the woman that makes his ma vanish.  

Still, it is more difficult than expected to not at least leave the cage in his room ( it is even difficult to not let her out of the cage) . It gets easier when he imagines his moms hurt , lost in a strange land, or her hands on his shoulders as she presses him to hurt an innocent.

Finally, he grabs the cage. He almost drops it as she suddenly rears up and hisses. If he was anyone else, he might think she was about to spit venom (which reminds him – I shouldn’t forget to do something about the venom she has. You have to milk snakes or something, right? ) but instead he thinks she might just be telling him to keep her, here.

He cannot imagine her being even remotely okay with being locked in that cage all that, presumably kept under the bed all day and night, never talked to or – as far as she knows- even looked at. In fact, he doesn’t even know whether he is okay with it.

Fine, he does know he isn’t okay with it but that is just because she looks so much like his mom. And sometimes acts like his mom – when it is about gestures or tone of voice or like he sometimes thought he saw that same loving gaze directed at him.

But she isn’t his mom. She is just the part of mom that is the worst, right? That is what it was like in the book. That is the thing though. The fairy tales never turned out to be like he heard, even if there were important parts that stayed the same.

That is why it is so difficult now to actually place her beneath that bed again. Her hissing doesn’t help either; it just makes him think of all the awful things she might be saying. He quickly sneaks back into the room, places her back under the bed- there is this one particularly awful moment where he swears she looks sad- and covers the cage again.

“ I will talk to you tomorrow” he whispers, as close to the cage as possible so that she can still hear him.

Back in his room, he still doesn’t fall asleep easily or immediately. There is so much (and too much of it horrible) to think about. Even his thoughts have to shut up sometimes though and just when he actually wants to grab his phone to research ‘how to milk a snake’s fangs’ his eyes start to slip closed and before he knows it, he is asleep.

In the living room, an evil queen feels something that has become unfamiliar by now. She is used to people getting stuck on the first part of her name, never caring to look beneath the surface, to ask why she became like this.

She isn’t used to having hope anymore.