Latest Posts by sublimedetectivemusic - Page 3

it’s a cruel fate, to be a child-yet not-but still. a fate of mounting dread, of hurdles long passed, of body prisons and cracking voices. a fate worse than death, in their eyes.

the first time lucy feels herself well up over something her true self had long since moved above, she freezes, then sobs for hours. “we’re not just trapped,” she cries into peter’s chest, her hands too small where they bunch in his entirely wrong clothes. “it’s not just a cage. it’s torture.” it leaves her bereft, stuck with overflowing eyes and a voice that can no longer carry the songs of her heart like it ought to. it wavers, veers off course like the leaves that wilt above her head. to be a child once more, without her hard-won maturity, without long-honed control of emotions and their display. it aches. to be kicked out and left with growing pains one thought long past.

she doesn’t hide it from the others, holds on tight to keep them together as the world spins them dry. it stains her hands with salt water and ash, but edmund clings right back to bury his head in her shoulder and reach out a helping hand in turn. it hurts to look at him, to look at all of them so far from what they should be, but she keeps her eyes open defiantly.

edmund falls down the stairs and stares at his bruised knee with unknowing eyes. there are no scars that reach up to his knee, no long line of white marking his shin. just a scrape and red skin, marring unblemished skin as though only starting its history now. it jars him, opens the deep well of wrong that he pushed aside in favour of readjustment. he looks down on a blank page, empty of the memories pushing against his skull every hour of the day. there is no proof, he thinks with shaking hands, no proof of the life they lived. a truth he had known already, somewhere, but never sunk in to this extent. he is a book unwritten, with ink trying to push through paper from the inside without success.

they’ve been robbed of not just their bodies, but their history, so he sits down with gritted teeth to capture what they’ve lost in words, if nothing else. susan looks at him with eyes slowly losing their gentle smile and his pen scrapes illegible lines on empty pages.

susan finds herself with her forehead down on her papers, her hands pulled up against her chest as she breathes through the itching need for tears. The ink is misshapen below her, letters looping all wrong. Her hands shake with unlearned skills, uncalloused, unwilling to help her keep their true home between her fingers. It’s cruel, she pleads silently, to not just drop them back into a country that no longer understands them, that their minds no longer fit, but take everything they’ve learned and gone through along with it—returned to clothes and skin far too small, without memories of all they had become. she fears to test the strength of her grip, of her arms, loathes to find a weak back unused to carrying responsibility or drawing a bow. to find herself truly without all that brought her joy.

she curls her hair the same way, even when the strands fall strangely and her hands tremble through it all. it looks nothing like it ought to, but she will find a way. behind her, she watches peter leaning too-thin shoulders against the notches on the doorframe, his too-round jaw set in anger. susan’s hair feels empty in her unmarred hands.

peter doesn’t remember what it was that set him off, but here he is, curled up in the bathroom with a kitchen knife clattering to the floor as he pulls at his own hair. he knows he can’t use the knife, that this is an impulse born out of the horrible itching wish to dig through this ill-fitting child body to find himself again, to find where it all had gone. his voice cracks when he curses and it only makes things worse, to find himself without the roar, without the rumble in his chest. there is no king to find within the pulpy mess inside his ribs, no hand to grasp and pull himself inside out so that the world may be right once more. there is no labyrinth or pit to unearth a now unlived life from, no golden age hidden behind his rushing blood. he can’t fix this.

when lucy picks the lock and his siblings pile in, peter can feel a thin trickle of blood make its way into his brow. susan cradles his hands in hers and sighs at his bloodied nails. edmund looks at him with understanding and deep, purpling bags under his eyes that make peter sob all over again. it’s all wrong, he tells them through his tears, he should have been able to protect them from the horror their lives have become.

lucy, the discarded knife now in hand, tells him with a teary smile that he is not all gone, the complex of a hero king still alive every time he speaks. it’s bleak comfort for them all, but they take it where they can.

will never forgive what corporations have done to feminism and how they have brainwashed countless young girls into thinking this new wave of feminism is how it should be. that they are rebelling by not being basic yet still being as pretty as humanly possible at all times. that the best place a girl can be is a ceo. that womanhood is sacred and divine and specific and cant be dirty or ugly or annoying or come in different shapes and sizes. we are slowly turning back to being pure and beautiful as possible through some warped ass tiktok “spirituality”

wondering about Hob. wondering about his hundred years of soldiering and banditry. wondering about how it feels for him to take a life when he loves living so dearly. wondering what it’s like to be someone who secretly believes death isn’t for him but delivers it unto others. wondering what it was like for him go on fighting and killing after he realized he wasn’t going to die. wondering how he felt about cutting down men who had only seen twenty years and would see no more. wondering if it got harder or if it got easier the longer he lived. wondering if he ever soldiered again after his first meeting in 1489. wondering if that’s why he asked if he made a deal with the devil. wondering if he sometimes looks at the faces of his university students and thinks about when he was that young. wondering if he marvels at how much more they know of life and how much less of death. wondering if he mutes the news when they cover armed conflict. wondering if he stiffens involuntarily when he overhears someone at the new inn saying britain doesn't need more refugees fleeing war because we need to look after our own first don't we. wondering if he falls asleep sometimes thinking about young men who never got to grow all the way up because of him. wondering if he thinks about how they never got to experience chimneys or playing cards or handkerchiefs. wondering if he imagines them starting families whose descendants might’ve gone to university if only they hadn't met hob on a field in burgundy six centuries ago. wondering if he can remember their faces or if he sees his students’ instead. wondering if they blur together in his dreams.

just had the shocking revelation that people splicing together screenshots of various real movies that clearly do not go together to produce goncharov gifsets is going back to 2012 tumblr at its peak. this is superwholock edits. this is rise of the brave tangled dragons. and most accurately and importantly this is frankenstein’s monster-ing gifs of karen gillan and ben barnes and whoever else it was to create a meandering epic of a visual format fanfiction for the marauders off harry potter

i would like to personally thank oscar wilde for the reminder that to define is to limit, tolkien for the reassurance that not all those who wander are lost, hozier for the promise that honey, there is no right way. you whisper that there will be a light, no matter the tunnel; you ease the burden of not knowing; you show me seeds waiting for spring where i supposed a grave to be.

edit of all time

we were best friends forever, but the truth is—

otessa moghfesh / valerie duca / samia / lady bird (2017, dir. greta gerwig) / rachel vorona cote / pariah (2011, dir. dee rees) / madeleine morlet

Listen, I know Dream winning his duel with Lucifer with hope is like... A BIG DEAL and super symbolic and beautiful, HOWEVER I have something that may not be better, but would definitely be FUNNIER. 

Dream loses. He's been locked in a bubble and had his hopes dashed again and again, even though he's still fighting and still hopeful, it's harder for him to reach that and it doesn't come to mind in time for him to win against Lucifer. He's to stay as a servant in Hell and there's no Endless or divine being that can or will come to his aid. He's trapped. Again. 

Only Matthew isn't Jessamy, Matthew knows when the best way to help is a tactical retreat to gather reinforcements. So that's what he does, going immediately to Luciene like, "Hey, so, uh..." And there has to be some way they can help him! Luciene makes it clear that none of the dreaming denizens can. None of the Endless can, no deity would be of any help there against Lucifer. There are Old Laws dictating that Dream lost fair and square and no one can interfere with that. And Matthew's like, "Well what about someone who can challenge Lucifer to win him back? Someone not bound by the Old Laws?" 

"The only beings not bound by the Old Laws are humans. There's no human--" 

Except there is. There's one. One human that Dream would go off once a century to meet, and it's a long shot, but-- 

That's how Hob Gadling finds himself being approached by a talking raven asking him to trek into hell to rescue his boss. "You know, Dream of the Endless? Lord Morpheus?" 

Hob doesn't know who the hell the bird is talking about until Matthew describes him. "Oh, my Stranger!"

"...He seriously didn't even tell you his name?" 

Now, the idea of setting foot into Hell itself to do battle with Lucifer Morningstar is, y'know... Not something he wants to do. He confirms over and over if Matthew is SURE he doesn't have to die to achieve this, because he's not ready to leave yet, and Matthew is like, "Yeah, buddy, shouldn't be a problem." He's lying. He has no idea if it's a problem. (It's not.) 

Hob is like, "Yeah, but... I can't FIGHT Satan himself and expect to win, I AM still human." 

And Matthew's like, "You don't actually have to fight her, it's like a game! But uh... Pretty sure you still feel all the pain and stuff." And he explains the rules, and like, okay, feeling the painful death of whatever kills whatever you decide to be in your round SUCKS, but Hob's been through that before. It's actually a pretty intriguing game, one he thinks he might win. 

See, the way he sees it, it's a combination of the "times infinity" type of game (I love you, I love you more, I love you times two, I love you times a thousand, I love you times a million-- so on and so on) with that counting game where you either say one or two numbers, back and forth with someone, and whoever says 21 loses. Basically, there's one logical conclusion the game is going to reach. Someone is going to bust out the "times infinity" or in this case, "heat death of the universe" or some other completely life-ending thing. And like with the counting game, if you can get your opponent to say specific numbers on the way to 21, you can make sure they're forced to say it. 

There's a strategy if you think ahead enough, and he has an entire walk through Hell to plan it. 

(It SUCKS. He sees Robyn there. It breaks his heart. It's meant to, it's meant to keep him from reaching the palace, seeing his son in Hell, but they don't know Hob. They don't know the grief he's had to overcome in order for him to say, with absolute certainty, that he still wants to live even though it hurts. He reaches that citadel.)

Dream is, of course, horrified to see Hob there. Hob meanwhile is like a jilted exe all, "Yeah, yeah, we're not friends, you stood me up, but I'm still here for you because I'm the bigger person and I fucking care." 

He challenges Lucifer for Dream's helm and their safe passage out of Hell. Lucifer is... Intrigued. She just beat Dream of the Endless, and this human thinks he can beat her when humanity's collective unconsciousness couldn't? His immortality has made him cocky, clearly. So she accepts, and bargains that if Hob loses, he has to give up his immortality. 

There's a good minute where Hob pauses at that and has to really think about whether his arrogant, condescending not-friend is really worth that but yeah, yeah he is. Meanwhile Dream is off to the side. "Don't do this, Hob Gadling. It is not your responsibility to fix my missteps." Basically his version of pleading for Hob to leave and not risk this up until Lucifer is like enough out of you and shuts him up. 

They play. Lucifer starts out with the wolf again, because it's a good starting point to see what direction her opponent plans to take, to get a glimpse into Hob's mindset entering this game. Her plan is, of course, to cause pain enough that Hob will have a hard time thinking, but Hob makes that really fucking hard from the get-go and throws everyone in the room for a loop when his answer is...

"I am the over hunting of the local deer population. Ecosystem destabilizing, predator killing."

Well. Okay. Yeah, sure. Fucking fine. It's hard to kill that painfully. Lucifer manages to come up with, "I am hunting restrictions, nature preserving, ecosystem balancing." 

Hob, by that point, is like, I got this, actually. This might be fun. "I am the expansion of civilization. Forest destroying, hunting law nullifying." 

Matthew, who had been feeling pretty iffy about calling this guy in to help, is no longer questioning that choice. Dream is a little starry-eyed. 

Eventually Hob is the head of the Home Owner's Association. Lucifer is a bear, scrap hunting, person killing. Hob is family, revenge-seeking, bear euthanizing. Lucifer is Pride, argument starter, family destroying. Hob is friendship, blood covenant, thicker than womb water. Lucifer is jealousy, friendship rending, relationship ruining. Hob is personal growth, jealousy ending, apology giving. Lucifer is relapse, progress destroying, confidence killing. Hob is perseverance, step taking, progress rebuilding. On and on until finally Lucifer decides to end this the way she did with Dream and Hob leads her along until it reaches that natural conclusion, the death of all. 

Now there's some temptation there to go with the obvious, since he can't die even if the universe was destroyed. At least he doesn't think so. But he had already decided that it was an obvious choice to go for and he could think of a few clever ways Lucifer might get around that. So instead, Hob goes the far better choice and personal insult of being God, universe creator, life giver. He's very proud of himself when the demons erupt into boos and Lucifer looks about ready to rip his fucking throat out with her teeth. 

The way he sees it, there are two choices for her there, unless she really pulls something unexpected out of her ass. Option one is the whole "what's a god to an atheist" thing in which Hob would have then been a miracle, faith affirming, god-proving. Not much can destroy a miracle. 

But Lucifer, livid and prideful, goes with option two. "I am Lucifer Morningstar, God defying, His Kingdom ripped sunder!" 

And Hob has the absolute glee to grin and go, "I am Hob Gadling, clever, death defying, and triumphant over Lucifer Morningstar."

He and Dream are promptly kicked out of Hell on their asses, Dream's helm is thrown at his head with a force strong enough to break the sound barrier, and the gates are slammed shut behind them. The whole thing is so humiliating that Lucifer has to change their gender and moves to LA to open a nightclub.

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”

“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Climb aboard, then!” But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown. “Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.” 

“I can’t help it,” said the scorpion. “It’s my nature.”

___

…But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the frog felt a subtle motion on its back, and in a panic dived deep beneath the rushing waters, leaving the scorpion to drown.

“It was going to sting me anyway,” muttered the frog, emerging on the other side of the river. “It was inevitable. You all knew it. Everyone knows what those scorpions are like. It was self-defense.”

___

…But no sooner had they cast off from the bank, the frog felt the tip of a stinger pressed lightly against the back of its neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” said the frog.

“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

They swam in silence to the other end of the river, where the scorpion climbed off, leaving the frog fuming.

“After the kindness I showed you!” said the frog. “And you threatened to kill me in return?”

“Kindness?” said the scorpion. “To only invite me on your back after you knew I was defenseless, unable to use my tail without killing myself? My dear frog, I only treated you as I was treated. Your kindness was as poisoned as a scorpion’s sting.”

___

…“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

“You have a point,” the frog acknowledged. “But once we get to dry land, couldn’t you sting me then without repercussion?”

“All I want is to cross the river safely,” said the scorpion. “Once I’m on the other side I would gladly let you be.”

“But I would have to trust you on that,” said the frog. “While you’re pressing a stinger to my neck. By ferrying you to land I’d be be giving up the one deterrent I hold over you.”

“But by the same logic, I can’t possibly withdraw my stinger while we’re still over water,” the scorpion protested.

The frog paused in the middle of the river, treading water. “So, I suppose we’re at an impasse.”

The river rushed around them. The scorpion’s stinger twitched against the frog’s unbroken skin. “I suppose so,” the scorpion said.

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Absolutely not!” said the frog, and dived beneath the waters, and so none of them learned anything.

___

A scorpion, being unable to swim, asked a turtle (as in the original Persian version of the fable) to carry it across the river. The turtle readily agreed, and allowed the scorpion aboard its shell. Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell. The turtle, swimming placidly, failed to notice.

They reached the other side of the river, and parted ways as friends.

___

…Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell.

The turtle, hearing the tap of the scorpion’s sting, was offended at the scorpion’s ungratefulness. Thankfully, having been granted the powers to both defend itself and to punish evil, the turtle sank beneath the waters and drowned the scorpion out of principle.

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” sneered the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back.”

The scorpion pleaded earnestly. “Do you think so little of me? Please, I must cross the river. What would I gain from stinging you? I would only end up drowning myself!”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Even a scorpion knows to look out for its own skin. Climb aboard, then!”

But as they forged through the rushing waters, the scorpion grew worried. This frog thinks me a ruthless killer, it thought. Would it not be justified in throwing me off now and ridding the world of me? Why else would it agree to this? Every jostle made the scorpion more and more anxious, until the frog surged forward with a particularly large splash, and in panic the scorpion lashed out with its stinger.

“I knew it,” snarled the frog, as they both thrashed and drowned. “A scorpion cannot change its nature.”

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. The frog agreed, but no sooner than they were halfway across the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown.

“I’ve only myself to blame,” sighed the frog, as they both sank beneath the waters. “You, you’re a scorpion, I couldn’t have expected anything better. But I knew better, and yet I went against my judgement! And now I’ve doomed us both!”

“You couldn’t help it,” said the scorpion mildly. “It’s your nature.” 

___

…“Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”

“Alas, I was of two natures,” said the scorpion. “One said to gratefully ride your back across the river, and the other said to sting you where you stood. And so both fought, and neither won.” It smiled wistfully. “Ah, it would be nice to be just one thing, wouldn’t it? Unadulterated in nature. Without the capacity for conflict or regret.”

___

“By the way,” said the frog, as they swam, “I’ve been meaning to ask: What’s on the other side of the river?”

“It’s the journey,” said the scorpion. “Not the destination.”

___

…“What’s on the other side of anything?” said the scorpion. “A new beginning.”

___

…”Another scorpion to mate with,” said the scorpion. “And more prey to kill, and more living bodies to poison, and a forthcoming lineage of cruelties that you will be culpable in.”

___

…”Nothing we will live to see, I fear,” said the scorpion. “Already the currents are growing stronger, and the river seems like it shall swallow us both. We surge forward, and the shoreline recedes. But does that mean our striving was in vain?”

___

“I love you,” said the scorpion.

The frog glanced upward. “Do you?”

“Absolutely. Can you imagine the fear of drowning? Of course not. You’re a frog. Might as well be scared of breathing air. And yet here I am, clinging to your back, as the waters rage around us. Isn’t that love? Isn’t that trust? Isn’t that necessity? I could not kill you without killing myself. Are we not inseparable in this?”

The frog swam on, the both of them silent.

___

“I’m so tired,” murmured the frog eventually. “How much further to the other side? I don’t know how long we’ve been swimming. I’ve been treading water. And it’s getting so very dark.”

“Shh,” the scorpion said. “Don’t be afraid.”

The frog’s legs kicked out weakly. “How long has it been? We’re lost. We’re lost! We’re doomed to be cast about the waters forever. There is no land. There’s nothing on the other side, don’t you see!”

“Shh, shh,” said the scorpion. “My venom is a hallucinogenic. Beneath its surface, the river is endlessly deep, its currents carrying many things.” 

“You - You’ve killed us both,” said the frog, and began to laugh deliriously. “Is this - is this what it’s like to drown?” 

“We’ve killed each other,” said the scorpion soothingly. “My venom in my glands now pulsing through your veins, the waters of your birthing pool suffusing my lungs. We are engulfing each other now, drowning in each other. I am breathless. Do you feel it? Do you feel my sting pierced through your heart?”

“What a foolish thing to do,” murmured the frog. “No logic. No logic to it at all.”

“We couldn’t help it,” whispered the scorpion. “It’s our natures. Why else does anything in the world happen? Because we were made for this from birth, darling, every moment inexplicable and inevitable. What a crazy thing it is to fall in love, and yet - It’s all our fault! We are both blameless. We’re together now, darling. It couldn’t have happened any other way.”

___

“It’s funny,” said the frog. “I can’t say that I trust you, really. Or that I even think very much of you and that nasty little stinger of yours to begin with. But I’m doing this for you regardless. It’s strange, isn’t it? It’s strange. Why would I do this? I want to help you, want to go out of my way to help you. I let you climb right onto my back! Now, whyever would I go and do a foolish thing like that?”

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”

“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”  

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Come aboard, then!” But no sooner had the scorpion mounted the frog’s back than it began to sting, repeatedly, while still safely on the river’s bank.

The frog groaned, thrashing weakly as the venom coursed through its veins, beginning to liquefy its flesh. “Ah,” it muttered. “For some reason I never considered this possibility.”

“Because you were never scared of me,” the scorpion whispered in its ear. “You were never scared of dying. In a past life you wore a shell and sat in judgement. And then you were reborn: soft-skinned, swift, unburdened, as new and vulnerable as a child, moving anew through a world of children. How could anyone ever be cruel, you thought, seeing the precariousness of it all?” The scorpion bowed its head and drank. “How could anyone kill you without killing themselves?”

The Sandman | 1.04 “A Hope In Hell”

When Alex looks up from his father’s slack face—with bloodied hands and stumbling feet—there are spiderweb cracks spread out across the glass of the cage. His ears still ring with the deadly thud of his father’s head meeting his own creation.

Dream of the Endless, ethereal and silent as always, looks back at him with undivided attention, heavy enough that Alex thinks he might buckle underneath it. Gangly, thin limbs rearrange themselves until the entity that has been haunting his dreams and waking hours for ten long years stands upright for the first time, looking down at Alex with a tilted head and blank face. One pale hand slowly reaches out.

Alex’s breath catches. He thinks of a night not too long ago, a night before he stained the glass between them red, where he’d dared to speak freely for once; where he’d seen something other than hate and a threat in Dream’s eyes, something akin to curiosity. Where he’d dared to speak what he’d been thinking for longer than he would ever dare say. “I would let you out,” he’d said, “if I could.” Alex’s heart, far up in his throat and beating like a hummingbird’s wings, feels heavy and cold at the memory. His hand moves before he thinks further. Slowly, the world around him falls away until all that remains is the cage, the cracking glass, and the entity reaching out to meet him halfway.

He thinks he might hear the guards yelling, but his heart drowns them out before their words can find their home inside his head. His hand doesn’t shake as it lands on the glass, sticky and cold. The glass snaps distantly. Dream of the Endless matches the place of his blood-slick hand, eyes dark where they meet Alex’s own. Alex thinks he might see the night sky in them, unfolding out before him like a tapestry his fingertips can almost reach. Dream tilts his head again, bird-like enough that Alex feels tears fall down his face in remembered guilt and grief. He feels pinned, trapped like a dying butterfly underneath the needle gaze of an entity beyond his understanding, larger than life even where his skin stretches tight over his bones, incomprehensible, all-encompassing—a predator without fangs. Alex remembers childhood fears filled with glass cages and his father’s wrath, feels so impossibly small in the wake of his dream and nightmare alike.

Then Dream nods, slow and without haste. Alex’s heart drops out of his throat into his stomach. His legs shake with all he’s found within the space between their mirrored hands. Dream casts his eyes down, a path clear enough for Alex to follow without error. Gold lettering shines against the black stone floor at his feet, brighter than he last remembered it. Beckoning. Alex—with a slowing heart and a sob trapped between his teeth—knows what to do.

He allows his knees to give way just beside his father’s body, allows the world to drift further away even as he knows the guards must be seconds from dragging him out of the room and into an uncertain future. The cracking of the glass, like a frozen lake underneath a winter sun, is a soothing whisper that drifts around his head as he breathes out.

Alexander Burgess, guilt-ridden, brotherless, fatherless, drags his bloody hands across the binding with a tear-soaked smile.

[also on ao3]

Some experimental The Chronicles of Narnia illustrations I did in my uni. I wanted to draw the most memorable landscapes from each book as I imagined them in my childhood. Tried to do some experiments with style and practice more in drawing environments¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

prints: x

I hate you preserving beauty at the cost of enjoyment.

I saw a video of a woman with extremely thick hair doing a thinning method at home. One comment said "my hairdresser heart weeps" because apparently her method may lead to frizz and impact a unified hair look. The woman had so much hair it was giving her headaches.

Its the same as people telling me when I had long hair never to cut it because its so impressive. Its people telling natural redheads never to dye their hair because its such a rare pretty colour.

Its transmasc people being told they were so pretty as a girl and are wasting that.

Its girls being told they are wasting their figure/physical attributes because they are not displaying them constantly and wearing comfortable baggy clothes.

It's people telling you to never go in the sun, not smile and not to use a straw because it will give you wrinkles. Its being told not to eat certain foods because they are bad for your skin, or to do eat other foods because they are good for your skin regardless of whether you enjoy either of those foods. It's being expected to put hours into your skin care and prioritise it over activities you enjoy so you have younger looking skin when you are old.

It's being expected to wear clothes that are uncomfortable because they make you look thinner/more like an hourglass. Not to move in certain ways because it will be unflattering.

It's telling people not to prioritise themselves and their interests in their decisions but instead to prioritise their skin/hair/figure/etc.

I did not agree to preserve whatever natural features i was born with like a one man historical society for myself just because i happened to be made of those genes. I have every right to use and enjoy my body in ways other people don't think fitting and that don't preserve features that currently fit societal beauty standards. I do not agree to hold aesthetic pursuit over comfort and health and happiness.

I know one thing. When i am old i will certainly regret every single day i ate a papaya for breakfast (i hate papaya) instead of a pancake and didn't go into the sun. I will not regret having wrinkles, i just hope they are from laughing.

everyone good, everyone had a little break from my shenanigans? ready for some more meta tonight? cool because @eddiemunsterson woke my ass up at 6am linking me to this post by @thediktatortot wanting to know why the light on Eddie's bike felt important and I wanted to talk about this whole... thing anyway, so GUESS WHAT TODAY IS.

Today we're going to talk about Light and its relationship to the Stranger Things narrative, particularly as it appears in ST4.

Obviously light has always been important to Stranger Things, as it connects the Upside Down with the Right Side Up. We see this with Will communicating through the lights, with the lights showing the passing of the monsters etc.

In season 4, light really comes to the forefront of the story. We see a plethora of instances where light is used to connect plots and as this... thematic undercurrent where the characters are bringing light into the darkness, or moving out of the darkness into the light. Who is holding the light and what they do with it also reflects in the narrative!

Let's take one of my favorites first. I'll put it all below a cut.

When the group first enters the Creel house in 4.05, the first thing Lucas does is try to turn on the light. He knows - they ALL know - that the light is not going to come on; he even jokes about the electric bill, which means he is aware of the connection. So why choose to spend screen time showing him turning on a light he and the others, as well as we, the audience, know isn't going to come on? Because light matters!!

Lucas is narratively connected to Max this season, HARD. Most of his time this season is spent trying to protect her, trying to befriend her, trying to help. When they are seated in the back the RV, he tries to convince her to let someone else put themselves in danger and we see the first thread of connection. She tells him that Vecna only sees the darkness in them, and so her plan is to run to the light.

What is the light? Her good memories, for sure, but we also see evidence of her running directly to literal light when she is first taken. The group put her music on that first time and she sees the crack of light in the darkness, and manages to escape and run to it. Fascinatingly, they choose to have her "light" that she runs to in this instance be to... a literal graveyard. Fascinating because, you know. Generally when we say "don't go into the light" we are telling someone not to die. To come back to us. And here's Max, running to the light to survive, to return to a graveyard. Look, you can see literal sunbeams fanning out from the group below her!

In any case, her memories are her "light" that she is going to run toward, but the bigger "light" in this case is the music that pulls her out completely. The guiding light back to reality, back to safety, back to Lucas. And... just like Lucas cannot turn on the light in the Creel house toward the start, when he is in the Creel house again at the end, he cannot turn on the "light" for Max. He is barred from putting the headphones on her. That's why they used precious screen time showing us Lucas trying to turn on a light everyone knew was not going to turn on.

The first time they enter the Creel house in 4.05 actually contains a LOT of instances of light use that will come back later, so I'll go through them in no particular order.

One of the moments I've actually talked about before is this one:

Dustin turns on the light and Steve has no idea where the light has come from, or where to find light of his own. This is a theme that repeats for him; he tries to use an unlit standing lamp as a weapon, he doesn't see the light over the boathouse when they're looking for Eddie, he doesn't know where they got the light when entering the Creel house, he doesn't initially understand why they're turning off their lights to "look" for Vecna (this comes back), he doesn't think to take light himself into the lake (Eddie hands it to him, he was going to go in with nothing), he drops the light when the tentacle hits the gate membrane.

The only times Steve uses light to useful effect is when he is following someone else's example, which probably says something about how his character is still learning not to be the asshole (the "monster") he was in Season 1. He doesn't initially understand how he can be hearing Dustin's voice; it is Nancy who suggests communication through the lights, and then he sees Nancy trying to turn on the lamp in the Upside Down, and he turns his flashlight around to look at the other lights- which shows them the chandelier. He doesn't initially understand why they are turning their lights OFF to look for Vecna, until he sees Robin's flashlight light up to indicate that Vecna is present, and then when his own lights up instead, he takes lead and follows the monster at the head of the group.

Another interesting thing about Steve + light is that "his" flashlight, that we see many times a) is very visually different than the rest of the group's (everyone else wields the silver duracell flashlights, while Steve's flashlight is red. you know. like the lights in the Upside Down),

and b) trades hands often. Eddie is the one to wrap it up and give it to him to take into the lake.

Robin is the one that rescues it after Steve has dropped it at the bottom of the lake.

Eddie is the one to carry it around in the Upside Down after the bats, even going so far as putting it on his bike when they're all riding around.

As such, Steve's connection to the light is still tentative, uncertain, and often relies on others to exist. He hasn't learned to make his own or what to do with it, which is a pretty good mirror of the rest of his life. He's been trying to make connections with dating, he's distanced from his family, he's been trying to forge friendships with this group (in particular Dustin but honestly what kid hasn't he adopted at this point). He is surrounding himself with people that are connected to the light, that are full of it themselves, and he's learning.

Interestingly, Steve and Lucas' storylines are linked, in that Lucas is taking after Steve pretty hard. He's the one that's into sports, he's the one that lost the girl he loves to her breaking up with him. He's taking on some of Steve's mannerisms even, putting his hands on his hips like Steve does. And he's the other person in the group that doesn't work light the way everyone else does.

Also in the Creel house, we see the moment the kids first find the lightbulb hanging in the room where Vecna is doing sacrifices, where he hooks up to all those vines. This is... well, heartbreaking in its foreshadowing. Look at them standing around the light, the way it is framed in this moment:

Seven lights.

(This is interesting on its own, outside of the use of lights as well- look at where everyone is standing. Max isn't next to Lucas, and she's not even across from him- Steve is. Dustin and Robin are across from one another. Max and Nancy are across from one another. The older teens to the left, the younger teens to the right. We see Steve and Lucas' storylines paralleling. We see Max and Nancy bonding over making weapons later, and it would not surprise me at all to find out Max looks up to Nancy.)

Compared to when the older teens later find the chandelier, and we are treated to this strange, interestingly-framed view of the chandelier:

Five lights.

Or rather, maybe I should say, two lights less than when they started out, the same way two lights in the party will be extinguished; Eddie's and Max's. We also, in the Creel house in 4.05, see similar foreshadowing when they very first enter.

In this moment, we see the group entering the house and it is VERY much framed as the characters stepping out of the bright light of their world (past the broken stained glass window of Vecna's childhood) and into the darkness of the Creel house. But more than that? Who is standing front and center in this moment? None other than Nancy and Max, the two people Vecna will drag into the darkness of his mind world. And they don't just stand there! They enter, wreathed in light, and together they step out of the light, in opposite directions, into the dark, the same way they will later be taken in different directions by Vecna; one to live, one to die. Behind them ("left behind" you might say) is Lucas, who is revealed still standing in the light as Max moves from in front of him and into the dark. Steve and Robin are already in the dark to either side of Nancy as she enters (much like the three of them will be in a group to fight Vecna later).

This moment also connects to the light that is used to find Eddie. In 4.02, when the group is looking for Eddie, Max is the one to see a doorway lit up in the darkness and goes toward it to find their friend. In this case, the boathouse is viewed from almost level ground; lower, but not particularly from above, just distant.

What I find perhaps even more interesting than that is that the light over the boathouse door is one of the parallels in Jason's twisted mirror plotline. Both groups (ours and his) believe they are searching for monsters, except Jason finds his by going toward the light and our group finds theirs by going toward the dark. Where our group finds a friend in the light, his group finds an enemy. In Jason's case, the boathouse is viewed from "on high" so to speak, with Jason looking down upon it instead of being on equal footing.

While everyone else is seeking the light in both of these moments at the boathouse, both times find Eddie hiding from the light. He hides from Dustin and company, and he hides from Jason and company. He is avoiding the light. But the more time he spends around our group, the more we see him guarding and protecting and sharing the light, giving it to Steve, using it to ask for help by sending an SOS, putting it on his bike to guide the way. Rather than hide, he actively engages in protecting everyone else- much the same way Steve does, except that unlike Steve, Eddie's relationship to light is already solid. As soon as he knows it is friendly, he settles right into guiding and sharing.

So, to answer the original question of "why does the light on Eddie's bike feel Important," it's because it is. It's because it is one of the ways light is being used overall and it's a visual representation of Eddie guiding with light (but he's doing so by borrowing Steve's light, the trust the group has in Steve, he has the light because Robin gave it to him after she rescued it from where Steve had dropped it). It's important, visually in that moment, because it separates him from the others; they will form a team of three, and he will not be a part of it. They will survive, and he will not.

It's also significant because we see the change between the two worlds; we see visual representation of a loss of light in the moment the view switches between the kids biking together with everyone having a light to guide them, to the Upside Down where only one person has a light, and it's Eddie, and it's borrowed- the same way lights native to the Upside Down must borrow their shine from other sources:

(also LOVE the moment before this where they're riding and their shadows stretch out ahead of them... Literal foreshadows)

There is one last incidence of light use that I want to talk about and it's perhaps the most obvious one and definitely the one that links up with the rest of the show, and that's the instances of the group interacting with the light between worlds, particularly the chandelier and the lite bright.

Nancy, is the first to touch the chandelier light at all. She is the one that suggests they use the light to communicate with the Right Side Up in the first place, and the one to actually "write" on the lite bright for the group. She takes time, every time they see the particles, to "play" in them.

But for all that she is the one suggesting contact, the one to touch first, she is the last to reach for the chandelier in the group shot, and the first to pull away again. She steps back and lets Eddie establish contact with Dustin, and only steps in when they actually need to talk, not just signal. In the Creel house in 4.05, when Max begs the question of whether or not Vecna can hear them when the light goes out. The "obvious" answer seems to be "no" but then we find out at the chandelier scene that actually... maybe he CAN. Maybe he can hear Nancy talking about communicating with the other side through the lights, and there's a good chance that that's why he chooses her to try to communicate to El, later on.

Outside of just Nancy, the moment when the fruity four are interacting with the chandelier as a group is important, too. I have seen a lot of gifs of the moment they're all standing there gazing wonderingly into the light together, but I have yet to see the moment before that, and I think the moment before that is actually... SO much more important. Nancy touches the light first, and then stops, and we get this:

What an absolute sucker punch of framing. This light, shining in the dark, surrounded by evil vines. And then, from below, from the darkness, a hand slowly emerges, reaching for the light, stretching for it, followed by two more, followed, reluctantly, by a fourth as the camera begins to drop and the glow of the light is shown reflecting on the faces of the gathered, much the same way the chandelier itself is only lit because it is reflecting the light from the flashlights the group has brought with them into this darkness.

Literally they have brought light to spread to the Upside Down, which in turn spreads it right back to them. They are the lightbringers, they are the beacons, the light in the dark, the hope. And Robin says it all: it feels kinda good. To bring the light, to touch the light.

Like GOD I just love everyone's relationship to the light in this show, and particularly this season. I hope they keep going with it.

not to give pirates of the caribbean too much credit but it really is the only major franchise Ive seen that was able to pull off the “historical and mythical exist at the same time” with any sort of success

Even though Calliope’s story was written in the 90s, man does it hold up for the current day, frighteningly so, post #MeToo where people are seemingly more willing to examine the canon “great [male] writers” and interrogate the ways they used, abused, and took advantage of the women in their lives. The way Ric Madoc doesn’t really think he’s done anything wrong because his abuse of Calliope has resulted in his best work yet. The way he uses progressive politics to further his image, (the name dropping during the interview, using the diversity of the staff for his movie as a marketing gimmick.) The way he calls himself a feminist, (and probably genuinely believes in it to,) and yet is wholly unable to examine the harm he has caused. Because you can care about and believe in pushing against harmful systems but still perpetuate them to reap the benefits they give you. The way the story decimates the lone genius archetype with one foul swoop, showing how it’s a poisonous ideal passed down through generations of men who care more of the quality of their art than that of their character. How the story itself is called “Calliope,” and continuously centers her pain, her humanity, refusing to give the spotlight to the wet napkin of a man who technically functions as the story’s protagonist. I could go on!!!

You know what scene lives rent-free in my mind? Everything before Creel house, specifically when it comes to the Steve/Dustin/Eddie trio.

Mainly, it kills me that Steve was so clearly conflicted by them being bait, and you can see it. The narrative wants us to see it.

As everyone sprouts the plan and they say Eddie and Dustin will lure the demobats away, whose face does the camera go to? Steve! Steve looking grim and tense and very clearly not happy about it.

And later, as they prepare for war and he talks with Robin, we can see how much of their combine focus is in protecting the group. Everyone else (except for maybe Nancy) is taking this as an adventure, a war game… they are either excited or, in Nance and Max’s case, grimly determined. It’s only Steve and Robin who express worry or doubt. And their resolution is far less vengeance or war… it’s about protecting people.

So then we go back to Eddie’s trailer and through to the Upside Down. And everyone is ready for war and you can see Steve hesitate.

And as they leave, before they leave to fight Vecna (and here is what kills me) the camera lingers on Steve’s face BEFORE he turns around. They give us those extra seconds of Steve quarreling with himself, between knowing what needs to be done and leaving these two alone to fend for themselves. And while I’m sure he’s worried about Eddie too, you know most of his concern has to be about Dustin. Because Steve is his protector. He has been since s2. He is the person that stands between Dustin and danger and this time he won’t be here to do it.

So when he turns around, you can just SENSE the dread he’s fighting against. And they brush him off, “we aren’t heroes, you can b the hero” and it breaks my heart because Dustin makes the joke lightly. Dustin thinks it’s just Steve being the stereotypical macho that wants to fight the bad guy himself. And, because Steve is a badass in his eyes, it makes complete sense. Everything will be okay because Steve’s got this. But Steve is dying with worry and he has no choice but to trust Eddie Munson. This guy who he has been so ridiculous jealous of for months and who Dustin clearly adores but is he willing to do what Steve would? Will he stand in front of the demodog and fight the bully and hold on the armed soldiers for this child?

(He does, in the end, and how utterly heartbreaking is it?)

So in the end, Steve leaves. But there’s so much weight and pain there. And it feels like he didn’t quite get his point across to them. He didn’t get to make it clear that it matters and why it matters and that he wants them to be safe and that he’s trusting them with his little brother’s life and “please, don’t be heroes, please run.”

On death. Again.

On december 2020 I wrote about my grandma’s passing. I’ve just read the post again and it says that “it’s the first time someone close to me dies”.

oh, well.

Next thursday will be the first month anniversary of one of my classmate’s death. It’s the fourth death of the year. So far it’s been two illnesses, one suicide and one accident.

He wasn’t my friend, I didn’t know a lot about him, except that he would have been a much better engenieer than I’ll ever be. I think we were going to graduate at the same time. It’s not fair.

I found out right outside the lab where I saw him for the last time. We were there with the rest of our group the day they told us classes were cancelled because of covid. We cheered and laughed and said good bye and see you soon.

We were not scared. We didn’t know.

I mean, of course we were in the same group chats and online classes for the next couple years, and even teamed up in some projects, but I never saw him again.

It was an accident. He was riding his bike. It was not supposed to happen. We were supposed to graduate together. We were all supposed to make it.

I feel guilty because I chose not to go to the funeral, or the ceremony, or the homage. I didn’t tell his family and friends I was sorry for their loss. And I was. I am. I just really didn’t want to go. I would have felt totally out of place. I was not his family, I was not his friend. I barely knew him. And it still hurt.

It still hurts.

Classes start again next week, and he is not going to be there. We are going to sit there and take the lessons and do the homework and listen to the teachers and complain about all of it. And he is not going to be there.

We are going to graduate without him, and all the good things he could have made in the world are never gonna happen. All because of a fucking accident. It’s not fair. It’s just not.

I don’t know why this death struck me more than the other three. Maybe because it affects me directly. Maybe cause he was my age. Maybe cause it was so sudden. Maybe cause now I’m scared someone I love will walk out the door and I’ll never see them again.

There. I said it. I’m scared. I’m really fucking scared. I can’t do anything to stop things like this from happening, and it’s absolutely fucking terrifying.

That’s all I have to say. for now.

Here is what my mother told me when I was young: the world is harsh. It is unforgiving and it has teeth. Take no shit.

Here is what I have learned from the world: it is wounded and the humans scattered throughout it are rarely the rats of Rat Park, they are the tired, trembling experiments in need of more kindness, not less. Do no harm.

Here's what I have learned from the world: humans are good. They are soft, and gentle, and they are wounded, all of them. When humans were young and wild, they looked at the snarling beasts that came to their fires, the ones with sharp teeth in their long muzzles, and they saw soft fur and the welcome-home wag of a tail.

Here is what I have seen: Given an opportunity, humans will choose creation and love. They will create art, and music, and community. They will tell each other stories, sing each other songs, help each other heal. Even without safety, even when it wounds them, they will love. They will love each other - their family, their friends, their mates - and they will love the world.

Here is what I have seen: there is hope. Sometimes it is ugly and twisted and burns, but humans will hold onto it with both hands and their entire heart. They will share it with one another. They will use it to tame beasts with fur and teeth as well as the ones that live inside of themselves. They will create because of it; they will say I hope this makes someone smile, I hope this makes someone cry. I hope this saves someone. And it will.

Here is what I know to be true: evidence of a healed broken bone from thousands of years ago reminds us that what makes us human isn't our wounds, but how we care for one another through them.

Here is what my mother told me: the world will gnash its sharp teeth at me. It will try to wound me.

Here is what I know to be true: I am human, and humans heal one another and can turn sharp teeth into wagging tails.

Why I’m Mad About Eddie

Okay, so, like I said earlier, I’m not mad about the fact that Eddie died, the fact that he died is NOT the source of my anger. I’m mad about the poor storytelling that led to it not even being a good death, after they set it up to be a GREAT death. I’m mad (furious) because I deserve to be heartbroken over his death, I deserve to have bawled my eyes out, I deserve the catharsis of a good character death, not this rage burning in me over the disservices done.

If you’re mad about it but can’t quite place why you’re mad (instead of heartbroken, like we deserve to be, I deserve to be suffering a raw, gaping wound in my chest right now!!!), maybe this will help.

I want to be clear at the start here that the following is not an analysis of Eddie as a person, none of this is going to be treating him as if he were a real person. This is about Eddie as a tool of the plot, as a tool of the writers, as a character within a story being told by people that should be able to do their jobs better. If you see me saying things like “Eddie did X” or “Eddie thought X” the intent is not that Eddie, the person, performed these actions, but rather that the writers wrote him as performing these actions.

So with that, let’s proceed.

The core of my problem with Eddie’s death is that the manner in which he died is trying to sell us the opposite message to what the narration showed us to that point. The way the death is set up, the writers are trying to sell us on the message “Eddie is a coward that becomes a hero when he stops running away.” Unfortunately for the writers, that’s NOT what the rest of the narration has shown us, so that message ends up feeling empty.

So let’s look at that. When does Eddie run away?

Keep reading

"I'm so glad you were born."

So I’m finally watching His Dark Materials, and uh…

I didn’t know the panserbjorn ran a children’s hospital.

the crows described using five of this quotes

Kaz

“And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind . . . I love puzzles. Trickery is just my native tongue.”

“He knew exactly what he intended to leave behind when he was gone. Damage.”

“There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.”

“Well, Brekker, it’s obvious you only deal in half-truths and outright lies, so you’re clearly the man for the job.”

“Would you?" asked Wylan, his chin jutting forward. "Trust someone with that knowledge, with a secret that could destroy you?" Yes, thought Kaz without hesitation. There's one person I would trust. One person I know who would never use my weaknesses against me.”

Inej

“You still may die in the Dregs." Inej’s dark eyes had glinted. "I may. But I'll die on my feet with a knife in my hand.”

“She was not a lynx or a spider or even the Wraith. She was Inej Ghafa, and her future was waiting above.”

“For some reason, those words had comforted her. Better terrible truths than kind lies.”

“I'm already a ghost, she thought. I died in the hold of a slaver ship.”

“"I'm not ready to give up on this city, Kaz. I think it's worth saving." I think you're worth saving.” . . . She would fight for him, but she could not heal him. She would not waste her life trying.”

Jesper

“Facts are for the unimaginative,” Jesper said with a dismissive wave.

“There was a long silence, and then, eyes trained on the notch they’d created in the link, Wylan said, “Just girls?” Jesper restrained a grin. “No. Not just girls.”

“That sound - the swift, shocking report of gunfire - called the scattered, irascible, permanently seeking part of his mind into focus like nothing else.”

“Take good care of my babies,” Jesper said as he handed them over to Dirix. “If I see a single scratch or nick on those, I’ll spell forgive me on your chest in bullet holes.”

“If any of you survive, make sure I have an open casket,” Jesper said as he hefted two slender coils of rope over his shoulder and signalled for Wylan to follow him across the roof. “The world deserves a few more moments with this face.”

Wylan

“You’re not weak because you can’t read. You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. You’re letting shame decide who you are.”

You’re our chemist, Wylan,” said Nina hopefully. “What do you think?” Wylan shrugged. “Maybe. Not all poisons have an antidote.” Jesper snorted. “That’s why we call him Wylan Van Sunshine.”

“You know, Wylan, one of these days I'm going to stop underestimating you.” “There was a brief pause and then, somewhere ahead, he heard Wylan say, "Then you're going to be a lot harder to surprise.”

“Until this moment, Wylan hadn't quite understood how much they meant to him. His father would have sneered at these thugs and thieves, a disgraced soldier, a gambler who couldn't keep out of the red. But they were his first friends, his only friends, and Wylan knew that even if he'd had his pick of a thousand companions, these would have been the people he chose.”

“What do you like?" "Music. Numbers. Equations. They're not like words. They ... they don't get mixed up." "If only you could talk to girls in equations." There was a long silence, and then, eyes trained on the notch they'd created in the link, Wylan said, "Just girls?”

Nina

“Nina stopped laughing. “I am going to turn your teeth inside out.” “That is physically impossible.” “I just raised the dead. Do you really want to argue with me?”

“You aren’t a flower, you’re every blossom in the wood blooming at once. You are a tidal wave. You’re a stampede. You are overwhelming.”

“They were twin souls, soldiers destined to fight for different sides, to find each other and lose each other too quickly. She would not keep him here. Not like this.”

“Nina just liked to flirt with everything. He’d once seen her make eyes at a pair of shoes she fancied in a shop window.”

“What do you want, Kaz?” “You have crumbs on your cleavage.” “Don’t care,” she said, taking another bite of cake. “So hungry.” Kaz shook his head, amused and impressed at how quickly Nina dropped the wise Grisha priestess act. She’d missed her true calling on the stage.”

Matthias

“Nina, I am with you because you let me be with you. There is no greater honor than to stand by your side.”

“Do not be afraid. Fear is how they control you. There's so much in the world you don't have to be afraid of, if you would only open your eyes.”

“I’m trying to compel you to kiss me.” “That’s foolish.” “Why is that?” “Because I always want to kiss you,” he admitted.”

“They fear you as I once feared you,” he said. “As you once feared me. We are all someone’s monster, Nina.”

He doesn’t approve of anything about you. But when you laugh, he perks up like a tulip in fresh water.” Nina snorted. “Matthias the tulip.” “The big, brooding, yellow tulip.”

How do you live up to this, you ask yourselves. How do you live up to the legend? How do you follow in your own footsteps, now much too large to fill? How do you come home when your home has lived a hundred lifetimes without you?

They look at you and see not your bodies (school child-child-too small-too fragile), but a landscape full of life and long-gone peace. They see victory, glory, a battle easily won and a gracious rule. They see salvation, legend, a golden age. 

They don’t see the scars, the unyielding prison, the shake of your breaths and the purple-bruise map of all fights and failures you come with. They don’t see the steel, the gnarled roots, the ugly mess inside your chests.

They don’t see children, and did you not wish that? Did you not wish for them to see you as you are meant to be? Why then do their eyes that see royalty without hesitation feel like chains? Why do your shoulders droop under the weight of their eager gaze?

Perhaps it is because they don’t see you as you were then. They see legends, mythology, saviours upon a pedestal of shining light, a throne they paint golden when it should be red and blue for every wound it gave you. They see idols, statues, carvings on stone walls, paintings within historical tomes. And that is not what you are, standing among them in clothes that used to fit better in another life and with promises that slide across your tongue like tar. That is not what you are.

You are claws and teeth and unsung roars. You are tear-stained screams and bloodied hands and crowns too heavy for anyone but you to bear. You are cracked marble, crumbling stone, unworked metal, burning wood. You are beautiful, regal, a coming storm, but you are not what their eyes tell them they see.

And how does one even begin to tell these desperate souls that their salvation will not be golden? That glory is not so easily achieved? That you did not sit upon your throne with clean robes and regal smiles when you became rulers of a kingdom, but stood upon a cliff in bloodied armour and torn skin and swore oaths unknown to the creatures that now call you saviours? 

So how do you tell them that you are not what they make you out to be? You don’t. You swallow down the words like molten rock and choke on that truth. They cannot help seeing the fairytales you have become in a land that hasn’t known you for a millennium. You aid them as they ask you to, and pray their dreams won’t cut them when they shatter underneath your feet.

("he only got two eyes" voice) he only got 13 episodes

May the 4th be with You: A Poem for Star Wars Day

I was so good at being a kid, and so terrible at being whatever I was now

John Green Turtles All the Way Down // Taylor Swift “this is me trying” // Fredrik Backman Anxious People // Noah Baumbach Frances Ha // IT commentary // Lynne Rae Perkins Criss Cross // @romantics-and-eternity // Britney Spears “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman” // Imgur user @manjurtutul // Emily Brontë Wuthering Heights

                              THE WINTER NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                    for: @quecksilvereyes from @bloodybigwardrobe.

dragon’s promise.           

Next to a quaint town in Cornwall, there is a wood. It looks like any other, trees spreading out haphazardly across the land, leaves drifting here and there. The town is separated from the trees by a thin stretch of long-abandoned fields. There are no paths that lead into the woods. Instead, there are stories told. Stories full of shadows and monsters with razor-sharp claws. Stories that pass on the most important rule of the town: nobody enters the woods.

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