#but it got dyed green from how much branch goes into the ocean from the algae

[araremonaka]

Octopus guy

[shwarmii]

seeing as i have not been tracked down and mounted on a wall as of yet, i will take that as license to continue lmao sorry, ill stop this bit now lol

i also wanted to shout out how much i love the song "Better Place"(, period, but also) under the lens of it as one of those "having a chronic illness/disability makes this song feels different" kind of tracks. like the idea of the singer being okay with discomfort just for the person being sung to, in this case Branch + the others @ Floyd, to be in a place that is better for them (which i initially took as that older health rhetoric about how, when you're sick, your family will often send you to the oceanside the get better; because doctors used to actually perscribe "ocean air". like, it's in Greta Gerwig's "Little Women" as one of the family's attempts to heal Beth) and to be somewhere that gets the sung-to-person excited (because there's nothing like seeing someone you love be fragile and sick and fatigued be so excited for what they are seeing that they just get this surge of energy and happiness. even if they pay for it later with a flare-day, just hearing them laugh and go "that was so worth it tho" is awesome). im really glad they picked to sing that song for Floyd, esp since the Brozone family were overall initially uncomfortable being around one another but got through it for Floyd's sake. it was a very fun song (especially with all its ad libs, i loved those)

im also very glad they kept his hair's roots white, to show the consequences of Floyd having been held captive for so long. i know some people's hair goes white prematurely from stress; and i know a lot of people dye their hair for a sense of agency and control (especially would make sense in Troll culture, considering the cultural importance of hair to them). i know some people have the hc that Clay's hair as a kid was dyed blonde, hence why his hair has changed to green (i think it was meant to serve as a visual reminder of how he's changed from Fun to Serious; since all the other brothers largely kept their personality. but who knows, Branch's hair was originally very blue and is now much more black than it originally was; maybe personality shifts change hair in a "true colors" kind of way. but that's just me, i do also very much support Clay's Hair Was Dyed Blonde Back Then and is its natural color now). i think Floyd's hair being impacted by the crystal nonsense, and Floyd trying to reclaim his body/hair through dying it back to the color it majorly was before everything happened makes sense. maybe he was convinced to leave the roots white as a kind of "reverse frosted tips" look lol

but yeah, i really do hope against hope that Floyd gets to be an ambulatory mobility-aid user. we saw in the crowd-shots of the last Brozone concert before their break-up how a Trolls wheelchair could look (which... not going to lie: i wish that was designed to make more sense, bc i cannot tell how that Troll self-propels without using their hair). and i think it is really cool that Trolls mobility-aids look so cutesy and loud and fun! like (ex-)King Peppy's all-green cane having polka-dots is really cute. i would love to see Poppy maybe use her scrapbooking skills to help Floyd customize his mobility-aid/s, assuming he would like the help, since it has been confirmed as early as "Trolls: Holiday in Harmony" via the comparison of Branch's attempt at scrapbooking that not all Trolls innately have that talent the same way all Trolls can sing. so i would love to see Poppy explicitly expand her talents from scrapbooking into other crafts (i think it'd very "queenly" of her to so directly interact with the assumed-marginalized of her community, and would be a great way for her to practice her listening-skills in a leadership role without it being too high-stakes). but id also love to see Satin and Chenille help as they explictly have talents with textiles/fabrics too. i just would love to see Floyd get a lot of help in this adjustment, and i also would love to know more about Trolls mobility-aids in a world-building sense (like, i LOVE the world-building towards mobility-aids in "Fullmetal Alchemist" with its automail (magical metal prosthetics that require painful surgeries and intense maintenance) and "Witch Hat Atelier"'s multiple mobility-aids, primarily their sealchairs (wooden chairs with deer/ram-like hoofed legs that can jump and run, but require seal maintence and money to gain, and cannot work in areas where magic is disallowed like a king's castle) and "Avatar: The Last Airbender"'s whole exploration of Toph and Teo (tho i do have heavy qualms over the Teo-episode's overall message to descrate the sacred, that was all Teo's DAD; so i digress as Teo himself is wonderful (there's a youtuber by the name of Oakwyrm if you want to hear more about my complaints on Teo's dad/that episode overall, as well as analysis on disability representation; Oakwyrm does a lot of disability analysis, i love it lol)), give me more disability in my fantasy PLEASE. this world is so creative with its Caterbus and Rhonda and how creatuve Trolls can apply their hair, i would love to see how their culture impacts what mobility-aids are available — like maybe the Trolls wheelchair-user in the Brozone crowd was how wheelchairs were 20 years ago, we have room to explore what Trolls disablity tech would look like nowadays. like, are the wheels still that big? and hard to reach? but also, just fun stickers and patches and customization in that distinctly Trolls-way would also be very fun to see, i would love to see how Floyd would want his mobility-aid/s to look should he ever have them ♡

assuming 👀 that i won't be hunted for sport for having been a closet "Trolls" fan.. 👀

i just wanted to shout out how refreshing it would be to have Floyd be chronically ill post-Velvet and Veneer. like, he can still dance and sing for his solo career; he just needs to cushion time before and after to recover, and he needs accommodations for things to prevent flare-ups of his symptoms. i doubt "Trolls" will, but itd be really cool if they used Floyd as ambulatory mobility-aid representation ("ambulatory" means his disability would be dynamic enough that he can walk/dance, but he needs mobility-aids on days where his body is flaring up and/or to prevent future flare-ups; like wheelchair, crutches, cane, whatever). maybe he has to go to a doctor regularly to navigate his symptoms, idk. maybe Clay can be his medical advocate sometimes. it'd be nice to see is my point

[tsarisfanfiction]

Teen Tracys

Muse is on a roll today, it seems (and I even managed to get some uni work done!).  From a conversation with @janetm74 that started over a discussion about punk!teen Virgil with a green mohawk and Eco-Warrior!teen Gordon and snowballed into, well, something a bit like this.

Random, has not been particularly polished, and I threw in a time skip rather than deal with the serious conversation.  Might write that later.

For ages, we’ve got Scott at 21, John’s 19, Virgil’s 17, Gordon’s 13 and Alan’s 9.  Three teenagers in the house; uh oh.

Scott loved his brothers. Really, he did.  But sometimes, they were just too much.  Big brother just didn’t hold the same weight as parent, no matter that he’d helped to raise all of them, and every so often his little brothers remembered that.

“Gordon, no.”

The thirteen-year-old, decked out in nothing but recycled greens, glared up at him with all the self-proclaimed righteousness a teenager could summon.  It was a lot.

“Do you know how much pollution is still being pumped into the oceans?” he demanded, not at all cowed by the fact he barely reached Scott’s chest.  “They finally stopped all the fossil fuel in the 2020s, and plastic was entirely phased out by 2030, and then the world gave itself a nice pat on the back as though that fixed everything!”

Scott had heard this tirade before.  Many, many, times before.

“Yes, Gordon, I know. Preservation of the oceans is important and that’s why this family – and Tracy Industries – does its bit to make sure nothing goes in there that shouldn’t, and is why you take part in charity events to continue to spread awareness.  I know.”  He didn’t have a problem with any of that, either.  No, what he had a problem with were the rallies.

Charity work?  Fine.  More than fine.

The rallies?  Not for an unaccompanied thirteen-year-old boy, and Scott knew they often involved illegally sabotaging places that still produced pollution.  No matter how well-meaning Gordon was, it was Scott’s duty as big brother and guardian not to let him get tangled up in that.

“Clearly you don’t know if you think that’s enough!” Gordon retorted, and Scott sighed.

“Gordon, I know more needs to be done, but it needs to be done legally, and not result in you getting thrown in a lockup, okay?  You’ve got that charity dinner with Lady Penelope next weekend, remember?”

“I can do both!” Gordon protested.  “Scott, I have to go!  It’s important for the planet!”

“Well it’s important to me that you don’t end up-”

Bright green in his periphery killed the rest of the sentence as he turned his head to see his normally sensible, reliable brother looking anything but.

“Virgil, you are not going out looking like that.”

“I can go out looking however I want, Scott.”  Seventeen years old and the teenage attitude Gordon was showing seemed to have infected his next oldest brother at last.  Virgil had been such a quiet, low-effort teenager – even more so than John, whose rebellion had been entirely digital and Scott was quite frankly afraid of what he might have done – until now.

Now, the punk phase had hit, and apparently the colour of the day was green.  Vibrant, radioactive touch-me-and-die green.  In a mohawk.

Scott tried to be the supportive big brother, he really did, but there were lines and the all-leather ensemble complete with mohawk and numerous piercings were pushing it.  Worst of all was the noise-maker he called a trike that he’d gone and bought last week despite being explicitly told not to. That had crossed the line.  There had been much shouting.  Virgil refused to return it, and spent more time in the garage tinkering with it than with his family now.

Gordon considered it an affront, and Scott wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t going to be a target for the so-called rally if Gordon managed to join it.

“Virgil, please.”

“I want green hair!”

They’d caught Alan’s attention.  Great.

“No, Alan.  You are not dyeing your hair green.”

Realising both green-themed brothers – if for two very different reasons – were both trying to slip out while Alan played distraction, Scott backed up to the front door and blocked it with his body.

“Virgil did!”

“And if his hair dye ends up in your hair, his entire new ensemble is heading straight for the recycler,” Scott growled.  Three little brothers, all at once.  It was enough to give him a headache.  Gordon shifted, a shift that meant trouble, and he remembered the current household feud. “Gordon, if Virgil’s hair dye ends up in Alan’s hair, no more charity events until you’re eighteen.”

“But Scott!”

He didn’t even care which of the three said it.  It could have been all of them.  Why couldn’t they go through teenage rebellion from the sanctity of their bedrooms, like John did?

“I wouldn’t say green’s your colour anyway, Allie.”  As though summoned by Scott’s thoughts, the fourth little brother materialised.  Finally, some sanity- “how about we try black, or a dark blue, to match space?  Maybe Virgil can help make it a galaxy?”

“John!”

Betrayal.  Betrayal of the highest order, but Scott refused to get dramatic about it because he had three drama queens in the house already and that would only encourage them.  Even if the smirk John sent his way made him want to throw something.  Or scream.

Or both.

With four brothers ganging up on him – two because they’d hit the rebellion phase, one because his brothers were, and one just because he could – Scott knew he wasn’t going to win this with his sanity intact.

“Alan, no, you are not dyeing your hair any colour.  Gordon, you are not going to that rally.  Virgil, you are not going out like that.  John, if you’re not going to be helpful, scat.”

“But Scott!”

That was all four of them. In chorus.  If half of them weren’t feuding he’d think the whole thing was choreographed.  Looking at John, he still wasn’t convinced the ginger genius hadn’t managed to orchestrate it.  He was still smirking.

Scott needed to pull out the big guns.

“If you four won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to Grandma.”

The woman was in the garden, taking a well-deserved nap away from five grandsons.  Scott didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew when he was beaten. Two brothers, he could handle. Three, tough but doable.  Four, when one was deliberately stirring the pot? Even Scott had limits.

Any hopes he might have had that the mere threat would be enough died when three defiant – and one amused, damn you, John – faces stared at him.

He pulled out his phone, gave them one more moment to change their minds of their own accord, before making the call.

“Scott?”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Grandma, but can you come back inside?”

“On my way.  What have the trouble-makers done this time?”

Scott gave her a brief rundown, interspersed with varying levels of protest from each brother as it reached their turn.  By the time he was done, the woman was inside the house, regarding all five of them.

Three faces were starting to quail.  Alan in particular looked on the verge of tears, but no teenage rebellion was stopping Virgil being a Grandma’s boy and even Gordon had a healthy respect for her tongue.  John continued to look far too smug, and Scott’s internal alarm bells were ringing.

Still, Grandma was here now. Grandma would sort his brothers out and Scott could get a blissful half hour – maybe even an hour, if he was lucky – without some sort of sibling drama.

“Well, I’m not seeing any problems here.”

What.

Grandma walked straight up to Virgil and started plucking at his jacket, deftly dodging the metallic spikes as she adjusted it on his shoulders.  “When I was your age, it was all pink.  Pink leather, pink hotpants.”  She winked in Scott’s direction and the urge to scream bubbled up in his chest.  “I dyed my hair to match.”

At least his brothers seemed to be as dumbstruck as him about that, even if Scott was watching his last bastion of support crumble before his eyes.

“Your Grandpa had the most amazing Harley,” she continued.  “Ooh, what a beauty.  Such a smooth ride.  He really knew how to treat a girl, your Grandpa.”

Nope.  Absolutely nope.  Scott needed brain bleach, and an escape from the madhouse, preferably before he screamed.

With a hoarse yell that was only a yell, and not a scream at all, he yanked the front door open, all but ran through it, and slammed it so hard a shingle slid from the roof.

He stared at it for a moment before surging into a run, past the garage and that damn trike, over the front gate, and headed straight for… who cared, as long as it was away. Right then, the house could collapse or burn to the ground for all he really cared.

Scott tried to be tolerant, he tried to be fair to all of his brothers, but sometimes it was just too much to handle.

***

“Scott?”

He’d ended up sitting in a tree after running all through the woodland until his legs burned.  Apparently, that wasn’t enough to stop his grandmother finding him when she wanted to.

“Are you ready to come home, dear?” she called up.  He sighed and let his head thud against the trunk.

“Am I going to be ganged up on by my brothers over stupid things if I do?” he asked.  “Because I think I’ve had enough of that.”

“Your brothers and I had a nice long chat, and we’ve put some new house rules in place,” she told him. “Gordon has agreed no more rallies and Alan no longer wants his hair dyed.”

“And Virgil and John?” he asked warily.

“Virgil has agreed not to provoke Gordon any more, but you two need to talk about policing each other’s clothes, young man.”  Scott winced. “As for John, he knows he went too far, but just like with Virgil, you are going to have to talk to each other like the reasonable young men you are.”  There was no reproach in her tone, but Scott felt scolded all the same.

He didn’t want to go home, but if Grandma was promising no more carnage…  Scott could never bring himself to leave his brothers for too long.  Reluctantly, he eased himself out of the tree, swinging from the last branch to the ground below.

“I know you don’t like what Virgil’s done to his hair,” Grandma said, looping her arm through his. “But remember it’s his hair, not yours.”

“It’s not that,” Scott admitted.  “He can do what he wants with it; it’s that trike.  He can’t wear a helmet with his hair all spiked up like that!”

“Then you should tell him that’s why you disapprove.”  Grandma was, as always, full of logic.  “None of you boys can read minds, you know.  You have to talk to each other.”

“I know,” Scott sighed. “Sorry, Grandma, I messed up.”

“You’re just worried about them.”  She squeezed his arm fondly.  “They’ll appreciate it when they’re older.”

“Will they?”

“They’re not the first teenage boys I’ve raised,” she reminded him.  “There’s nothing you and your brothers have done that your father and uncle Lee didn’t do already.”

“…Even the punk mohawk?”

“I still have the photos.”

[the-dumb-smart-friend]

I spent way too long on this so please give it attention

So my one friend and I have been working on the same rp for ~2 1/2 years, and right now we’ve been on a big break because of the whole quarantine thing, and inconsistent scheduling.

LET ME TELL YOU,

So many characters have changed so much in my mind over the break that I’m going to need to look through my logs of the characters before the break. I have plans for the story that can have it continue for multiple years into the future.

I have so much planned character development and minor conflict planned, not to mention the scandalous temptation of corruption arcs. My friend’s main character has literally murdered/hurt/threatened one of my characters on many occasions, and now they’re going to have to work together in order to save both their friends, family, lovers, and the entire concept of a continuous timeline before the winter solstice.

Meanwhile, the main villain has gone from pretty much an unstoppable god mary sue character to a touch starved twink with bad intentions and an attack dog evil scientist.

Every single character believes that what they’re doing is good, even if they know deep down that what they’re doing will have awful consequences.

And I’m not even done. I finally made a concrete reason to the timelines constantly looping, and the whole revival problem, as before I just had a loose idea. The two main gods that have been hinted at to be evil and really powerful and awful and stuff (despite one helping out the protagonists and the other being neutral/evil leaning) actually worked together thousands of years ago to do this really powerful spell thing so that every time this select group of really powerful people died (along with everyone that knew them, it was often one big catastrophic event), they would all be revived in the most recent year, over and over again until they found out how to break the “curse”.

The timelines will loop over and over again until the characters all find out how to stop it, which is to somehow keep magic (one of the key building blocks that’s holding life and the world as we know it together) from completely disappearing and dying out.

So the god of magic power was like “Dudes I’m gonna die if we don’t do something to keep magic from dying out.” and all the other high ranking gods were like “Bro no, last time we intervened with something on the mortal plane, we killed all the dinosaurs.” so then the magic god was all like “Fine, but you guys are all pricks.”.

So the he asked his sister (the goddess of time, memory, and significant events/holidays) to help out, and so they created the time loop idea. They cast a really old, really forbidden, semi-DIY’d spell with all their power, but because of the great crime they committed, the more powerful gods cast them out, and took all of their memories, condemning them to the surface for the rest of time.

oooh, looks like you’re interested, nice.

Also I’m on new meds, so sorry if this is confusing.

(TW for death, mentions of gore w/o graphic descriptions, mentions of kidnapping, hints at abuse, dissociation, cursing/verbal aggression, grief)

So the two ex-gods gave themselves new names, and decided to wander around, trying to find out who they were. The two had some moral conflicts and decided to part ways. Time Goddess, who now gave herself the name Raestress (pronounced Rye-stress) eventually stumbled upon one of the mortals that she and her brother cursed for the rest of time, and decided to stick with said mortal for a while, and by that, I mean kinda stalking said mortal.

Because Raestress wasn’t the one to come up with the time loop idea, and was the one that told the other gods, she was allowed to keep some of her powers, however she had absolutely no clue how to use them.

This next pert gets a little fuzzy, and I still need to iron out the details of it, but it ends with Raestress sacrificing both her life and all her power to the mortal, but because of her punishment from the other gods, was cursed to stay as a sort of ghost or spirit that follows the mortal (Remi) she just helped, only able to talk though/to her.

The sacrifice of Raestress’ powers to Remi led to Remi being able to remember all the past timelines she’s lived through, and all the other people that were chosen to live and die over and over again, and decides that she needs to be the one to bring them all together.

Back to modern day, Remi has amnesia for unknown reasons, and makes a bunch of new friends in this little north island town she lives in. One day, a random new math teacher shows up at her highschool, then one of her friends goes missing, then her friend’s sister goes missing and is later found dead, completely torn to pieces. Then she and some friends are about to take a little walk through the forest, when one of her friends is shot with a crossbow, and dies. Sure, they’ve gotten plenty of threats before, but they all just thought it was just some kids trying to pull a prank, but now Alice is dead.

The group try to compose themselves as they wait for the police to arrive, looking up through the trees as to where the crossbow could’ve been fired from, but everything is completely obscured by a swishing sea of branches and leaves. Remi looks up through the leaves, watching them spin and swirl, growing darker as her body seems to float back and fourth in an invisible ocean.

Her vision goes completely black for a moment, but she then sees herself, standing still and looking down at her friends, who have gone from hysterics to almost silent. The world seemed to have washed itself in a shade of periwinkle, swaying like the ocean, any sounds coming out as muffled and distant. Remi watched as her body began to shudder, shoulders bouncing up and down. She watched as her body laughed completely out of her control, quickly pushed against a tree and drowned out by muffled yelling and screaming from one of her friends, Aqua.

The others tried to hold Aqua back, but despite her small frame, she could fight like a 6′ brickhouse. Remi couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t explain, or shout “That isn’t me! I’m right here!”. All she could do is watch as her body’s eyes shifted from bottle green to a sharp, brassy yellow, somehow untouched by the blueish haze that blanketed the rest of the world.

Still, her body laughed, going on and on about something that Remi couldn’t hear, no matter how much she strained to.

The rest of the day seemed to continue in a blur. the police arrived, taking all the standard procedures, but it was hard to pay attention to anything but Alice’s body being carried away in a bag. Nobody really knew what happened.

Remi was still trapped outside of her body by the time they got home that night. Whatever or whoever was controlling her was managing to get under everyone’s skin without completely shattering the illusion of Remi still being in complete control. Guess those are the consequences of being known as the one who laughs at horror movies.

As soon as they both stepped inside, Aqua had thrown Remi against a wall, holding her by the collar of her shirt.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” she screamed, voice breaking before she could finish her sentence.

Remi’s body chuckled with squinted eyes, playfully glaring down at Aqua, boring into her skull.

“I should be asking you the same thing, sweetheart.”

Finally at that moment did the rest of the group realize that whoever was piloting Remi’s body definitely wasn’t her, because whatever spoke was using a voice that didn’t match in the slightest.

It’s voice sounded like it could’ve been either a young man or an older woman, familiar and welcoming yet cold and sharp as ice, sharp enough to cut through whatever was muffling the voices from wherever Remi was stuck.

Aqua dropped whoever this person was, taking shaky steps backward, clearly trying to say something, but no sound came out.

This strange person took a step forward, bowing and swishing their arm with a flourish.

“Though I can’t explain everything now, I’m sure that your dear friend Remi will.” They purred, staring through the veil and directly into Remi’s eyes.

“Who are you?” Aqua shuddered, invisible hands trailing cold fingers up her spine.

“A nobody, a somebody. A friend, an enemy. Nobody really knows when or where I’ll come or go, but if you were to call me anything, feel free to call me Crow.”

Something about that name just didn’t sit right, it seemed to send an imaginary bullet through Remi’s head, swimming through her thoughts and flipping every switch in her brain. Something, somewhere, was screaming at her, remember, remember. The already strange world started to get stranger, dark figures appearing all around Remi, reaching out and covering her eyes, ears, mouth, nose, everything until all she could sense was a dark void.

Crow smiled, kneeling down to meet Aqua’s new level on the floor.

“Right now, I’m serving as nothing more than a distraction, and maybe just a little something to get this story going” they said,

Aqua again tried to respond, but her voice had seemed to just disappear at the most crucial moments.

“I do hope we meet again.” Crow ruffled Aqua’s hair just as all the lights flickered out, leaving complete silence and confusion, after all, what was there to say?

Minutes passed, though nobody was keeping count. Nobody moved, and instead just stood wherever they were, trying desperately to process all of today.

When the lights finally flickered back on, Remi was passed out on the floor, but after everything that just happened, it took everyone a while to notice. Nobody said anything.

Will had carried Remi upstairs to her room, hoping that maybe staying by her side could make a nice distraction. Aqua had stayed sitting on the floor, back to back with the couch, head in her hands. Everyone decided to keep to themselves for the rest of the night.

By the next morning, Remi still hadn’t woken up. Sure, not quite unusual, but right now what everyone needed was an explanation, or one of her sarcastic jokes at the very least. It was at noon when everyone had started to worry. 

It had reached 5PM when she finally jolted awake, catching her breath and running her hands through her hair.

“I remember...” She whispered,

“I remember everything.” She said again, quickly standing up and rummaging through her desk, despite Will telling her to take it easy.

“My notebooks, they’re all gone!”

“Remi, please,” Will tried to step forward and calm her down, but she pressed on.

“Don’t call me that.” She demanded, mumbling something afterward, “Just call me Rei.”

Alrighty so I might finish this at some point, idk, but the explanation/TL;DR is pretty much that BBEG had tried to kill Aqua, the main thing holding him back from achieving his goal, but Alice had jumped in the way and sacrificed herself.

Rei was then pushed out of her own body by a mysterious deity known only as Crow, who by the way is not Raestress, I just didn’t know how to quickly explain everything. Both Crow and Raestress had somehow managed to together give Rei back all her memories of the past timelines, but because of Crow’s distraction, the BBEG was able to steal all of Rei’s logs of strange dreams and little songs, all of which can be pieced together into an encrypted spell that has the ability to bring back the dead, a spell that has long since been completely banned and erased from the world.

When Rei was trapped outside of her body, she was actually pushed out into limbo/the spirit world, and all the dark figures were different versions of her from her past, though that was never really specified in the original story either, I just left it up to debate.

There is still very little known about Crow, but we know that they’re a sort of grim reaper character, have a past with Rei, and that they’re working for the BBEG for some unspecified reason.

The reason Rei doesn’t like being called Remi is because the letter M is considered evil and bad luck to her and others that are enemies of/know the atrocities or the BBEG and his family. Also because she prefers to distance herself from her past with Crow as much as possible.

Will, who was mentioned at the end, is actually Rei’s girlfriend.

Aqua is my friend’s main character, who is kinda really hotheaded, and is later tricked into killing one of my characters.

BBEG and his siblings are all children of the god of magic that was mentioned earlier.

If anything is confusing, or if you want more of the story, let me know, and I’ll try to add more.

[kkintle]

Map: Collected and Last Poems by Wisława Szymborska; Quotes

Dreams flickered on white canvas.

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

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

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

Are people really so simple as far as people go?

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

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

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

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

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

I TEACH silence in all languages

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grew rozes with a “z.

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

I am too close for him to dream of me.

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

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

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

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

Arduous ease, watchful agility, and calculated inspiration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Non omnis moriar—a premature worry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[zrtranscripts]

Season 8, Mission 16: Icebreaker

Cracking up

~

[walls rumble]

AMELIA SPENS: I'd say I blame myself, but obviously, that isn't true.

SAM YAO: Amelia, whatever you're up to, this isn't the time! Five and I are stuck on a tiny glacier ledge with the laird and his daughter. There are caves behind us filled with zoms, and the only way back to Mor Island is the bridge in front of us, which is currently collapsing! Or... [sighs] Well, maybe melting's a better word. It's made of ice, and it's got big walls packed with frozen zoms that are rapidly defrosting!

AMELIA SPENS: I'm just pointing out this is all very predictable. I let your little Abel gang chase Jones to the Far Hebrides to retrieve the Edda and cure Janine's nanite poisoning, and as soon as you're out of my sight, you do something to cause disaster in the UK. 

Red fungus is spreading all over the coast. It drifted down from here the day you arrived! I'm approaching Mor Island on the Undaunted. I see you through my periscope. Is Janine there? Nobody else is answering my comms. Oh, don't mind me, I'm only prime minister!

LAIRD REID: Buddy, can whoever's buzzing in your ear help us? That bridge is collapsing from the far end and soggy zombies are coming down it this way.

SHONA REID: Over there, branching off from the left side of the bridge. A gangway made of ice connecting the bridge to another part of the glacier.

LAIRD REID: Aye. The bridge was built for tourists. That gangway's the path to the guest lodge. Good thinking, lass! If we can make it across the gangway to the lodge, Sam's friend can rescue us. Getting to the gangway means using the collapsing bridge, but we've no choice. Everyone, onto the bridge!

SAM YAO: Wait, what? Onto the collapsing bridge? Hell, Five, look behind you. There's a dozen zoms shambling out of Jones' caves. And the laird's run off with Shona! Not sure we're safe with him, Five. I mean, he shot Jones. To protect Shona, but still. Remember the last thing Jones said? There'll be no stopping them now. What do you think he meant? Well, we really can't stay here, though. Amelia, stand by. Come on, Five. After the laird. Run!

~

SAM YAO: Keep going down the bridge, Five! Careful of the ice walls! They're melting fast, and the zoms inside are thrashing to get out.

LAIRD REID: Five, Sam, over here. There's a doorway in the ice wall. It leads to the gangway. Five, kick it open.

[door bursts open]

SAM YAO: Amelia, we've stepped out onto a platform on the side of the bridge. The ocean's below us. There's a gangway from here to the glacier.

LAIRD REID: The gangway's made of ice. Grew over a wire frame like the rest of the bridge. It's melting fast. It might not take all our weight. Shona? You go first. The gangway's only a dozen meters. There's a ledge on the other end with a stairway down to the lodge.

SHONA REID: Dad, no -

LAIRD REID: No time, lass! Take the notes we got from Jones. We'll follow you once you're across. Go. That's it, run!

AMELIA SPENS: Sam, there are too many rocks near the bridge. The Undaunted can't get close. There's a rescue launch, but it won't reach you before the zoms do.

SHONA REID: Dad, the gangway's cracking up behind me.

LAIRD REID: You're over halfway across already, lass. Keep going!

SAM YAO: Five, get back! [ice breaks and collapses into ocean] Amelia, the walkway's crumbled. The ice just... cracked apart into the sea.

LAIRD REID: It's okay. I see Shona. She made it to the glacier ledge on the other side. Fast feet on the girl. We can't follow you, lass! Get to safety. We'll find another path. This bridge is melting fast. We need to firm it up. There's a stockroom halfway along full of the chemicals those scientists on Dearg Island sent us to keep the bridge frozen. It's our only chance. Shona's safe for now. Come on, both of you. Follow me further up the bridge before there isn't any bridge left! This way, run!

~

LAIRD REID: Ach, this bridge is getting thick with defrosted zombies. They're coming out of the walls. [zombies growls, gunshot] And I'm low on rounds.

SAM YAO: Watch out, Five! [ice clatters] Chunks of ice are falling from the girders overhead.

LAIRD REID: This is the maintenance store. It's just a cupboard. Door's never locked. [door creaks open and closed]  See those containers? Chemical X. [laughs] Not much for fancy names, that lot from Dearg, but this'll freeze anything in two seconds flat. It's the only batch we have left, but we don't have a choice.

SAM YAO: So what, what's the plan? We pour drips from the containers ahead of us, freeze the bridge as we run?

AMELIA SPENS: Oh yes, I'm sure that won't end with you accidentally freezing yourselves to death at all.

SAM YAO: Amelia.

AMELIA SPENS: I know you've missed my wit, Sam. No need to say. Listen, I can see the whole bridge from here. There are great sloughs of water flowing off it where the ice is melting. [sighs] If you can reach the next set of support legs, you have a chance. But don't worry. I've got a plan, but you'll have to be quick before the whole bridge goes down. Grab a container each and run.

~

SAM YAO: Hurry, Five! There's barely any bridge left. Just a wire frame and a slippy ice floor. Hard to run straight in this wind.

LAIRD REID: We're here. That there's a suspension tower sticking up from the bridge's frame. There's a set of supporting legs underneath it, standing in the sea.

SAM YAO: You know, Five, this place kind of reminds me of the Golden Gate Bridge. Well, in general shape. Only with melting ice and zombies. The water is just streaming off that tower. There's dozens of zombies caught in the flow.

AMELIA SPENS: Look over the side of the bridge. See that chain of rock fingers jutting out from the waves? You're near shore. Those rocks lead straight to Mor Island.

SAM YAO: And how exactly are we meant to get to them, Amelia?

LAIRD REID: Oh. I think I've a glimmer. See how the wind is pushing all the running water off the bridge towards those fingers in a great arc? If that arc were to freeze, we could shimmy down it onto the rocks!

SAM YAO: That's insane! Amelia, tell me that's not your plan.

AMELIA SPENS: You're such a doubter, Sam! I'd hurry up. The zoms from Jones' caves followed you up the bridge. They're almost on you.

LAIRD REID: Come on, both of you. Get pouring!

[liquid pours]

SAM YAO: I don't believe this, but it's working. The blue liquid from the containers is freezing the water in place in a big glittering arc like another bridge down towards the rocks. A bridge filled with half-frozen zombies, but still.

[zombies moan]

LAIRD REID: It doesnae seem stable to me, but it's better than staying here. Down the frozen path, both of you. It looks brittle, so be swift. Dodge any zombie bits sticking out of the ice. Towards the rocks, run!

~

SAM YAO: We're on the rocks, Five! [sighs] I didn't think we'd make it. I could hear the ice shattering behind us. Ooh. A bit bleak, these rocks. This one's just a fat pillar of seaweed-covered stone.

LAIRD REID: That's Mor Island in the distance. Look at that sandy beach and the green behind it, under black clouds. We need to get back, make sure Shona's all right.

[ice chunk thuds onto rock]

SAM YAO: Hell, Five, the wind's blowing great chunks of ice from the improvised bridge straight at us. [zombies groan] And some of those chunks had zombies stuck inside!

LAIRD REID: Aye, and there's some shuffling out of the sea, too. They're creeping onto the rocks where the pillars get wide at the base. The rocks in this chain are big and close and we can scramble from one to the other if we keep our strides wide. Onward to the beach, run!

~

LAIRD REID: Come on, Five. Over the rocks. Run! Leap, if there's a gap too wide to take in a step.

[ice chunks thud onto rock, zombies groan]

SAM YAO: Wind, hail, and zombies falling out of the sky, Five!

AMELIA SPENS: Fair warning, Sam, I really don't like the look of all those zombies. They're following you straight to the island, which is where I'm going, so I'm ordering the Undaunted to launch a torpedo at the rocks, blow them away.

SAM YAO: What? Amelia, we're still halfway to the shore!

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, I wouldn't worry about it. There's nothing you can do to turn the torpedo back now. You'll just have to be fast enough to outrun it, won't you? I'm very confident you can do it.

LAIRD REID: Look there. That great black shape cresting the waves. Is that a submarine? There's water rippling ahead of it like something's coming this way.

SAM YAO: You know, Amelia, I really wish Janine was here to say something properly cutting. Okay, the coast just ahead, Five. We only need to make it across the next few pillars, then clamber down the last one to the beach. Oh, for God's sake, run!

~

[water splashes]

SAM YAO: [sputters] Thanks for helping me out of the water, Five. Ugh. Oh, I must have underestimated the distance from that last rock. [coughs] Didn't realize we'd have to swim – swim to shore.

LAIRD REID: This is [?] Beach. Oldest sands on Mor Island. I hope my Shona's safe on the glacier.

[explosion]

SAM YAO: Look, I think we've got a more immediate problem, here. That torpedo just hit the fingers. They're gone. And so are the zoms, but... the blast started a massive tidal wave heading in this direction. We've got to get inland, or we'll be washed away. [coughs] Come on, Five. Toward that hill. Run!

~

SAM YAO: It's okay, Five. We made it up the hill. The tide's behind us, sweeping across the beach.

LAIRD REID: And sweeping out just as fast. The storm's dying down, too.

AMELIA SPENS: Marvelous, you've survived. I knew you would. Now you'll be able to tell me what the hell De Luca has been doing on that island, Sam. I spotted smoke rising from the local town. Oh, and the rescue launch from my sub just collected the laird's daughter from that glacier. Rather chilly, but alive.

SAM YAO: Oh my God. Five, look behind you.

LAIRD REID: Good Lord.

AMELIA SPENS: What exactly are you lot gawking at? You, adjust my periscope. Oh. The tide washed a lot of sand off the beach and exposed markings beneath.

SAM YAO: It's like... a slab of flat sandstone where the beach meets the cliff. There's a shape carved on it, and a massive outline of a human. Or... or is it a Neanderthal? It's wearing a necklace with that endless circle symbol, the one we've seen around the island.

LAIRD REID: We've got records on this island going back thousands of years. Never have I heard of this.

[radio crackles]

JODY MARSH: Five, Sam, what the hell's going on? We've just got the fire in town under control. We've been getting garbled messages from Amelia, but everyone's been too busy to answer. Janine says you went after Jones. Did you catch him, Sam? Did you get the control box? Can we cure Janine?

SAM YAO: Jody, there were things that went wrong. Jones is gone. We got the control box, but it's smashed. [sighs] But we're going to get it fixed. Amelia's here now, and we've got a submarine, and I swear, Five, we are going to get it fixed. This isn't over yet, no matter what it takes, we are going to find a way to save Janine.

AMELIA SPENS: And also stop the red fungus on the mainland from wiping us all out, if that's not too much trouble. Honestly, you people. How have you managed anything without me?

~

[sztefa001]

I read the first line and I was like omg could it be about Beksiński? And YEA, HIM. I've seen his works irl long ago and wish I could see them again. I go on google images to look at them every now and then. I hate horror but those paintings are just so alluring... Idk it's hard to describe. Lemme get an example with no fucked up malnourished bodies, mabe sth with architecture (but no bones, dw. Yea he paints architecture with bones often....):

Ok so... this is like a scene from a weird, not exactly pleasant dream. There is a bit with blue sky some trees and green grass. Looks nice but it's all in a weird room, as if it was only painted on its inner walls and not real. Maybe the small window shows what really is inside - a place of night with clear skies. Still better than the ouside. It looks hellish, there are rusty clouds. Is there a big wildfire somewhere nearby? Did a toxic volcano blow up? You know one thing - it's not safe out there. Peaceful, maybe. But not safe.

The stars in the window look like from a safer place than those outside covered by smoke. You kinda wanna get into the building, hide from messed up weather. But will you dare to get closer to the weird red fungi? I mean maybe it's leaves of that dying ivy, who knows. Is it really dying tho? The thin branches sticking to the walls, looking like a blood system. Were they ever blooming? Will they ever bloom again? Are they dead? Will they die because of the smoke?

The smoke... you wish the sky was clear so that you could see the place in light. Because there must be sun somewhere there, right? Or maybe this place was always engulfed in the smoke... How people lived there if so? Because there had to be people. Someone who built this place. Why did they build it, for what purpose? Was it a portal between worlds? Regardless of the purpose it must've been long ago given the spread of the ivy and some mossy grasses and a bush growing on the top.

You're entranced but also uneasy. You gotta get out of there. I feel if you chose to get around the building ('cuz you want to see how it looks from the other side) you could've end up in the same place regardless if you got around it from left or right. But that's not for certain. You know how dreams are, they can change completely and you can even just simply forget to look back before waking up.

Another thing with the building entrances. I'm sure that coming in through the front doorway would put you in a completely another place than if you came through the missing wall. Wait... is it missing or was it built that way? Whatever. If you go through the doorway you'd notice you really are in the sunny forest and that it wasn't just painted. There's no other door, the one showing a beach with a dark, starless sky is gone. You go deeper into the forest and wake up forgetting to look back to see where you came from and if the small window was still there.

If you go inside from the left side, you'll forget to check out the room, you only know the trees were fake, painted on. You were too worried about the red grass and fungi and wanted to get to the beach asap. Was sth alive in that grass? Was the ivy moving? It wasn't, it was perfectly still. Even tho the grass was rather high and looked dry you don't recall anything tickling your legs.

You're on the beach. it's much wider than it looked like and the ocean seems even more endless. The sky is dark. You want to look around, to see how far the beach goes, to see how the building looks like from behind. You wake up before you can turn your head.

You wake up with a major mindfuck and just sit there in your bed trying to make any sense of your dream. Your nightmare. Sure there were no monsters or any immediate danger but you were uneasy. Didn't feel safe a t all. And yet you want so desperately to go back, this time with more working braincells. So that you don't forget to look around. So that you remember to inspect the trees closely. So that you can use your flashlight on the grass to see if it's really red.

Within several minutes you forget most of the dream. You only remember the feeling you woke up with. Next time you dream it you forget you wanted to because that part of your brain is sleeping. It goes all the same, maybe this time you take a different route. Only after waking up you remember. "Oh yeah. I was there before."

every now and then I'll see a painting that looks just real fucked up and see that it's a polish painter and I'll go "is it the same guy who has all that other fucked up art?"

and it always is.

[zhe-lazy-fox]

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people.

I was tagged by @voltronpals

LAST:

1. Drink: 7up 2. Phone call: with mom about a week ago 3. Text message: Sms of the phonebill…. 4. Song you listen to:  Chase and Status Feat Plan B - End Credits 5. Time you cried: Uhhhh.... When Keith was about to sacrefice himself

HAVE YOU:

6. Dated someone twice: Nooo 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: I can’t even remember if i kissed anyone, EVER 8. Been cheated on: no 9. Lost someone special: Not that I know of 10. Been depressed: *insert gif of Kermit and that guy nodding at eachother* 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Alcohol tastes like crap so no.

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS:

12. Green 13. Purple 14. Blue

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

15. Made new friends: I think so 16. Fallen out of love: I wasn’t even in love to begin with.. 17. Laughed until you cried: Yes 18. Found out someone was talking about you: no 20. Found out who your friends are: *shruggs* eh 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Why???

GENERAL:

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: Uh pretty much all of them... most are friends, classmates and relatives... then that random person i can’t remember how they got there

23. Do you have any pets: I have two bunnies and fishes... but they’re home with my family, i miss them :<

24. Do you want to change your name: Sometimes, but i like my name

25. What did you do for your last birthday: You expect me to remember what i did a year ago???????

26. What time do you wake up: It depends on when school starts, right now it’s about 07:35 on weekends it’s around 12...

27. What were you doing at midnight last night: TRYING TO FALL ASLEEP! 

28. Name something you can’t wait for: Season 5 of Voltron. When i move to a new place so i can get one or three cats :D, and what I think is the last book of the Guardians of Childhood

29. When was the last time you saw your mom: a week ago :(

30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: Stop being a procrastinator... but man I can dream.

31. What are you listening to right now: the last people that are in school talking among themselves as they stand waiting for a friend or are walking out the door to go home or idk...

32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: I might have, I’m bad with names and my memory is shit

33. Something that is getting on your nerves: The Voltron Fandom has it’s fair chare of rotten nuts

34. Most visited website: YouTube, Tumblr, DeviantART, AO3... facebook

35. Mole/s: I might have some... i don’t really care...

36. Mark/s: I have a scar under my right arm that goes from my armpit to about halfway up the rest of my arm... Fell out from a tree when i was little and got a broken branch stabbed into me there, did it stope me from climbing trees? no. XD Have some scars on my fingers and knees aswell from life.

37. Childhood dream: I wanted to be a Veterinerian but then i realized i would haev to put down animals and i will cry so no, i will become an Ilustrating Writer instead i decided... and that is still my dream.

38. Hair color: dark blond

39. Long or short hair: Short, but it’s to long now, i need to cut it... BUT MALMÖ HAVE TO MANY PLACES SO I DON’T KNOW WHERE TO GOOO DX

40. Do you have a crush on someone: .... what the hell is a crush?

41. What do you like about yourself: My eyes :D

42. Piercings: Nope

43. Blood type: Uh... idk

44. Nicknames: Foxy, Moon Moon, they are the most used then there’s Al and Sanji...

45. Relationship status: Single and not looking

46. Zodiac: Scorpio

47. Pronouns: she/her I’m fine with anything to be honest

48. Favorite TV Show: Voltron! Midsumer Murders, there are probbably more... but i watch Tv so rarely...

50. Right or left hand: Right

51. Surgery: Got a branch stabbed in my arm so yeah...

52. Hair dyed in different color: I did bleach my hair a while ago... I want it white... but man i am lazy...

53. Sport: I did do horse Riding and Tennis for a while before i started High School

55. Vacation: SCOTLAND OR IRELAND! Japan, Hawaii.... idk

56. Pair of trainers: ???????????? what????

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating: Last thing i ate was a clementine...

58. Drinking: Uhhh... didn’t i already aswer this? but uh Milk?

59. I’m about to: Answer this, then fix my Pathfinder character, but i need help and the DM’s class doesn’t end until 17

62. Want: Money, CATS! To find a house or apartment so me and my bff can live togheter because man, she lives to far away DX

63. Get married: No, maybe idk... don’t think so

64. Career: Ilustrating Writer... hopefully, or animator of some kind... idk... I will probbalby end up in Ica or Ikea or something...

65. Hugs or kisses: HUGS! I love HUGS! 

66. Lips or eyes: EYES ARE BEAUTIFUL AND I LOVE THEM!

67. Shorter or taller: Ehhhhh... *Shruggs* don’t care...

68. Older or younger: *shrugs*

70. Nice arms or nice stomach: I.... don’t know...

71. Sensitive or loud: a bit of both?

72. Hook up or relationship: NONE OF THAT!

73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Bit of both???

HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a Stranger: No

75. Drank hard liquor: I might have tasted it once... but it tasted probbalby horrible so i repressed that memory

76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: Who me? nooo, i don’t have ANy idea of what you’re talking about... Yes...

77. Turned someone down: Yes... i think??? Look I am not good wiht this romantic shit

78. Sex on the first date: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

79. Broken someone’s heart: I don’t know... maybe????

80. Had your heart broken: No

81. Been arrested: noo

82. Cried when someone died: Does bunnies count? because i cry everytime a bunny dies, may it be wind bunnie babies or my own.

83. Fallen for a friend: uhhhh????????? i don’t think i have... but like i said i don’t know squat about this romance shit

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

84: Yourself: ehe.he...he..hh.e.he..eheh... ehe.... sometimes

85. Miracles: Maybe....

86. Love at first sight: *gestures to my asexual and aromantic self* WHAT?!

87. Santa Claus: Nah

88. Kiss on the first date: ........... Look at answer on 86

OTHER:

90. Current best friend name: VENESA! I LOVE HER!

91. Eye color: Mine? they are greybluegreen-ish... they’re a stormy ocean idk...

92. Favorite movie: ROTG

I tag @monpetitange and anyone who sees this and wants to do this.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Hey! How are you? Hope you are doing well!

I read your jealous!percy fanfiction and OH MY GODS is it possible to be in love with a fanfiction because I really was!!

Can I request for a part two??

Please feel free to ignore this if you are busy or cannot do it right now!

I just wanted to say that I really do adore you and your content!!!

Thank you!!!

When I tell you I sat in my room and cried when I saw this ask?!? Thank you so much for your lovely words angel💖🥺they really do mean the world! And I’m so so so happy you enjoy the mess I put out☀️

Your wish is my command so here is Part 2 of the Jealous! Percy fic. There is no jelly Perc in this one but there's enough fluff you may have a cavity after all this sweet👀

Please enjoy!

Masterlist

Percy puts the final bauble on the Christmas tree and stands back to admire his work. The tree glitters brightly, a combination of tinsel and the soft yellow lights wrapping around the branches. The low melody of Christmas music comes from the small radio sitting on the bookshelf and the coco steaming on his coffee table looks more than inviting. He figures if he, and his band of misfit daddy and/or mommy issue group of friends, couldn't go home for Christmas he would do his best to bring the festivities here. The one person he really wants here is going to California for the holidays, something he hasn't done in years, and although Percy is disappointed he knows his friends will make the most of the time anyway.

He collapses onto his couch, staring at his hard work and takes a small sip from the steaming mug. His laptop is silently playing some Christmas movie or the other and the mountain of notebooks and pens on the table shake precariously. A small collection of weathered envelopes sits to one side; cards for his friends. They had promised no gifts, as they do every year, and instead sought to make the cheesiest, funniest, most tear worthy cards. There were different categories and if you won you got to pick the holiday games or what happens to the losers.

A single knock at his door pulls a frown onto his face. He considers ignoring it, mostly because he wasn't expecting anyone, but it starts back up a moment later and he resigns to a baseball bat and a cautious glance. He eases the door open and bursts out laughing as he sees who's behind it.

"What?" His unexpected guest gives him a wide eyed look, "Did I forget pants or something?"

"I thought you were a really polite murderer."

"What?" Confusion is etched so perfectly across that beautiful face Percy can't help but laugh again.

"Come in my love," He moves out the way and let's his boyfriend pass.

Just as he closes the door again Jason Grace pulls him by the wrist and crashes their bodies together.

"I missed you," The blonde breathes, and he has to hide the shiver that races up his spine at those husky words.

"We saw each other two days ago?"

"Maybe I'm an addict."

"Please kiss me. Right now."

And those blue eyes glitter with joy as their lips meet. It is soft and patient and full of sweet wonder. Jason threads his hands through those black curls and slants his head slightly, trying to get closer, if that were even possible. Percy swipes his tongue across the blonde's lip and his mouth parts in a little gasp. Their kiss deepens, turns to languid exploring and content passion.

When they break apart they are out of breath and the smiles taking over their faces make the sun look dim.

"Missed me that much huh?"

"More," A golden hand strokes his flushed cheek.

"What are you doing here?" He leans into the hand, looks up, into that adoring gaze, "I thought you were going to Cali to be with your father?"

"He has a last minute work trip," The blonde rolls his eyes, "I'd rather spend the holidays with you anyway."

"Well the gang is coming over tomorrow but we have tonight and every day after that all to ourselves."

"Who knew we'd be here?" Jason sighs, laying one of Percy's hands against his thundering heart.

"Not me," He giggles, "I thought I'd be spending my Christmas pretending I haven't been pining over you and maybe drinking unhealthy amounts of coco."

His boyfriend scrunches his nose, "Why do you even like the stuff? It tastes like bitter bean water."

"I think you're talking about coffee," His green eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Ugh don't even get me started on that stuff. Tea is the only valid hot beverage." The blonde huffs as they stow his stuff in the bedroom and flop down on the couch.

"You are such an old man," He shakes his head, rubbing a thumb over his palm.

"What time is everyone else coming tomorrow? And who is?"

"They'll be here between eleven and one because I told them ten. And it's Frank, Haze, Leo, and Reyna. Everyone else is with their families."

Jason snuggles into him, hair tickling his neck as he rests against his shoulders. A muffled yawn escapes him and Percy's heart clenches for the gentleness of the situation.

"You want some tea?"

"No," He yawns again, "I'll need to pee every five seconds in the night."

He laughs, and his boyfriend whips his body up, eyes wide with horror, "Sorry that was probably too much information."

"Are you kidding I’ve seen you throw up your guts because of food poisoning. That was hilarious."

"Shut up," Jason mumbles, golden cheeks heating, "We don't talk about that."

"I think it's the only time I've ever seen you look disheveled."

He shudders, laying his head back on Percy's shoulder, "I never went to feel like that again. I swear I was dying."

They settle into the quiet, the hum of the radiator and the low music still playing from the radio washing over them. Jason intertwines their fingers, tracing patterns against the back of his boyfriend's beautiful brown skin. And that's how they fall asleep, slowly and indulgent. As if they can hang up time on a hook and take it down when they need it next.

When Percy's alarm starts playing the next morning he groans loudly and stretches out. His boyfriend mumbles something and snuggles further into his side. He strokes a hand through those sunlight strands and drops a kiss on his forehead.

"I have to get everything ready, my love."

"Don't leave," He garbles, "You warm."

"I promise I'll be back. Why don't you go sleep in the room. You'll be more comfortable there"

"Want you," His voice is raspy with sleep and Percy has to stop himself from yanking his boyfriend by the hoodie and planting a passion fueled kiss on his lips.

"If I don't set up we'll never be ready by the time the gang comes."

Jason simply holds his arms up, blue eyes unfocused and gives him a lopsided smile. With a sigh that hides his amused affection he loops his arms under the blonde's, wrapping them around his back, and grabs his legs.

"You ready my love?"

A nod, and fumbling kiss into his neck is the reply. And then Percy is lifting up his boyfriend and carrying him through the apartment and into his room.

"Mhmm," Jason hums onto his skin, "Smells like you."

"You like it?"

"Smells good," He bobs his head as he snuggles into the duvet, "Like ocean and rain."

Percy just smiles and brushes his lips across the blonde's gently, "Sleep."

As he turns to walk away Jason catches his wrist and tugs him back.

"Stay," His blue eyes are wide with pleading, "Please."

"But i—" He starts, and then he's falling onto the bed and wrapping his arm around his boyfriend, "We are going to be so late."

Jason kisses his cheek, his nose, his other cheek, before finally reaching his lips.

"Iss okay," He's already falling back asleep.

Their breathing slows, and they find each other once more, in a land as perfect as this one.

***

"Well good morning lover boys," A delighted voice squeals.

Percy moans, muttering something unintelligible and buries himself into the sheets.

"I take it nobody has ordered our Christmas feast or started on the Eggnog Nogfest?" Another voice giggles.

"Go, sleep, warm." He tries to form a coherent thought.

"If y'all don't get your asses up right now I'm pouring ice water on both of you." A husky growl comes from right over them.

Ocean eyes blink open as he struggles to bring the room into focus.

A scary, bright-eyed Reyna is glaring at them and Leo is leaning against the door frame, mirth swimming in his expression.

"Finally," Hazel laughs, "So can we get this party started?"

"Ugh," Percy groans, "What time is it?"

"Half twelve. We let ourselves in after knocking at your door so long your neighbor came to tell you off for having sex in the kitchen."

"What?" He isn't awake enough for Leo's explanations.

"Cause you know banging against the wall?" His friend prompts but Percy just waves him off and rubs at his eyes, nudging Jason to get up.

"So when's lunch?"

Frank steps into the room with a reassuring smile, "On the way. I just ordered."

"Are we having Christmas in here then?" He asks.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Reyna shrugs.

And before Percy can protest Leo is catapulting onto the bed and Hazel is flopping over their legs.

"Wow Jase," She pokes at the blonde, "You bony shins are really comfortable against my spine."

"Who asked you to collapse onto my bones?" He grumbles, trying to wake himself up.

"Who asked you to be sleeping on Christmas morning?" She shoots back cheekily.

"Touchè." He grins, moving over to make her comfortable.

"Well," Percy looks at his friends, eyes shining, "What are you two waiting for? Get on here!"

Reyna and Frank shake their heads, like the parents they were so rightfully labeled, but happiness sparks in their eyes and they dive under the covers.

"So who wants to play Go Fish or Forfeit?" Leo smiles gleefully.

A shout of excitement goes up and they all shuffle into a circle, the blue-threaded black silk duvet being tucked around them. He grabs the double pack of cards he keeps at his nightstand and distributes seven per person.

"Everyone know the rules?" He asks.

They all nod. So the Christmas festivities begin.

And there in that room, on that bed, Percy and his friends know what warmth feels like, and the glittering in their eyes can only mean love.