#i am unimaginably excited like holy shit holy fuck oh my god

[thekidsarentalright]

im literally gonna be hearing fall out boys eighth studio album so much for stardust for the first time later today. what the fuck!!!!!!!!!!

[lucky-clover-gazette]

(hi, this is a negative rant about the thirteenth doctor's era. it's not about jodie's acting, it's about the writing and overall production. just putting that here since i am tagging. your thoughts are appreciated bc honestly i'm shocked it's like this and want to hear others' takes)

okay not to be a hypocrite considering the amount of shit i've given moffat but oh my god 13's era so far is one of the least exciting bodies of media i've ever seen. like there's nothing here. it's so incredibly unfun and i have no idea who the fuck it's for. if you're pandering to straight people and 2014 tumblr teenagers you do a moffat, if you're pandering to fucked up gay people and overly philosophical emotional masochists you do a rtd. this is pandering to a 2017 cancel-happy twitter user who likes hamilton the musical at its prime and really really wants to be progressive but also is super repressed, uneducated, and shallow about it, and i don't even think that hypothetical person would ENJOY this?? we have a woman doctor, but she lacks any kind of maturity or sexual agency that every male doctor was given, because the male show runner clearly thought that was the only way she'd be taken seriously. and holy shit, the tokenism is absolutely insane. or at least, it feels that way to me. i'm curious to know how fans of color have felt about it. and besides the tokenism stuff, the companions have no personalities whatsoever, like it's mind-numbing how interchangeable and weak they are. the dialogue all-around is noticeably bad, and it's not even in a fun way. attempted Reveals feel cheap and make me roll my eyes. everything is so deeply unimaginative and boring and basic and it really is just so insane to me that we went from rtd having weird horny gay aliens dying to britney spears' toxic while simultaneously delivering absolutely gut wrenching and breathtaking story and character moments... to this. what a damn shame that the first woman doctor is associated with this mediocrity.

i'm at the end of spyfall part one (the master reveal was my final straw, hence making this post) so maybe my mind will change from here on. but holy fuck, dude. i thought people exaggerated about chib's era but it really is just like white noise, that only gets more unpleasant the more you actually think about it. passively unobtrusive at absolute best, infuriating for its emptiness one step down from that. i would take moffat's worst doctor who over anything of this era i've seen so far, with the exception of instances of unambiguous misogyny and sexual assault in a few of his episodes.

i am conflicted whether i should tag this as chibnall and 13 because it's negative. i want to hear other thoughts so i think i will, but i apologize if this is something you've connected with. you do not need to engage in a conversation defending it unless you want to share your thoughts, which are more than welcome.

[haikyuu-sickfics]

Vomit Warning

Morisuke knew his limits very well.

He wasn't as ignorant as some people he could name and was proud in his ability to balance his body on the thin fence between just fine and horrible.

As humiliating as it sounds, his most daunting limit was roller coasters.  Even harmless merry-go-rounds stir up a

 devious stew in Morisuke's midsection.  He truly didn't understand how any living being could find such an attractment entertaining.  What was so novel about watching the flurenscent lights of a fair blur together as your body was carelessly lifted up and down?  Better yet, why the hell did his frenemy find these attractions such a show of strength?

Morisuke wanted absolutely nothing more than to prove himself superior to the tall bastard who stood next to him, taunting him while pointing towards the towering coaster ahead.

"What?  Don't tell me you're too scared to ride it!" Tetsurou cackled, slapping Morisuke hard on the back, just light enough for it to be considered friendly by onlookers.

The shorter of the two clenched his jaw, flexing and relazing his fists as he swallowed back a plethora of retorts.  Uneasiness surged in his stomach, but was greatly overpowered by his competetive nature and want- no, NEED to shut up his friend for good.

"I'll ride it," he stated blankly before commonsense had a chance to stop him, "unless you're too scared to ride it with me."

"Me?  Too scared?  I'm already in line," Tetsurou called out, disappearing into the queues daunting enterance.

Swallowing his doubt and internally cursing the universe, Morisuke followed.

The line was long, long enough to provide Morisuke numerous chances to escape, long enough for his mind to cement this situation as a worst-case-scenerio of a team outing, and long enough for Tetsurou to provide enough taunts to fuel Morisuke's arrogant standing.

After what seemed like hours of standing under the sweltering heat, awaiting the end of the line like a sheep to the slaughterhouse, the pair were standing infront of the rollercoasters closed gate.  The fake rust on the faux metal staring deviously into Morisuke's furrowed expression.

A harsh squeeling reached his ears as a new cart pulled up.  The station erupted into a choir of laughs and chatter, the windblown guests sporting permanent grins on their dried lips.

"It's our turn!" Tetsurou sang as the gate pushed open.

They were in the back, the 'bestest most scariest seat, reserved for true thrill seekers' according to Tetsurou.  Morisuke wanted to protest, to deny his standing as a 'true thrill seeker,' but he didn't  He already waited 40 damn minutes in that cheesy line, there was no possible way he could turn back on his decision at this point.

So he sank into the warm plastic of the ride seat, buckling the belt and sighing gratefully s it hung loosly over his nervous midsection.

The relief didn't last for long.  A worker walked down the length of the coaster, pulling a strap on each persions belt to pull it taut against their body- then slamming the metal overhead bar down onto them.

Morisuke groaned, the sudden attack on his anxious stomach a forwarning of what was to come.

Before he had a chance to truly wallow in his regret, the ride launched off- leaving his heart and stomach behind.

Tetsurou whooped and hollared next to his uneasy companion, his screeches of excitement penetrating Morisuke's sensitive eardrum.

Lights flashed, dancng wickedly with the horrid scent and sounds of the amusement park.  Morisuke's felt overwhelmed by the sudden explosion of feelings, the foods became indistinguishable as their potent aromas swirled around, mimicing the state of his stomach.  He forced his eyes closed, anything to stop the rapid spinning of colors surrounding him, but his living nightmare followed him behind closed eyes, worse if not the same.

There was no escaping it.

Morisuke could feel the blood draining from his face, could feel the sweat cooling as soon as it met the air whipping by.  His jaw was clenched to keep it from chattering as his head was thrown around carelessly.

A sudden flash indicated the on ride picture, and the soon end of the ride.  It also was Morisuke's last straw.  The sudden blinding light and inky darkness which blotted in to replace it sent waves of vertigo through him.  He tried to keep his jaw clenched, he knew how hard Tetsurou would tease him if he allowed his one weakness to get the best of him on this stupid ride.  But it was no use.

Before the ride could even reach it's end, Morisuke threw up.

No one noticed at first.  It was just a small mouthful, landing on his chest as though it were ice cream dripping from his chin.  Morisuke hoped that would be the extent of his illness, maybe he could blame the crude stain on some messy meal.  But that option quickly dissipated as he gagged over himself again, bending forward as far as the tight restraints would allow as warm vomit dribbled from his frowning lips.

"Holy shit dude!" Tetsurou yelled, pushing himself as far as possible against the wall of the coaster and away from his ill friend.

Morisuke refused to look at him, instead keeping his eyes on his shoes which were now soiled with what was left of his greasy lunch.  The sight made his stomach turn all over again, forcing his body to press against the belt as all air was pushed out of his diaphram.  Tears sprang to his eyes as gag after gag over took him in unison with the winding track.

Finally, the ride lurched to a stop.

Though things only got worse from there.

Everyone who could see him from the line was groaning, complaining about whatever delay would be a result of this strangers inability to handle thrill.

Morisuke squeezed his fists at his side, bundling the loose fabric of his shirt and clinging to it as though it were a life saver.  The only thing grounding him in this shipwreck of an outing.

After what seemed like forever of sitting under the scrutinizing glare of spectators, the bar flew up, bringing with it a rain of Morisuke's illness.  He didn't have a chance to be grossed out as he unbuckled, forcing Tetsurou out before running around him and as far away from the ride as possible.

He didn't stop until he was in the safety of a dirty bathroom and bracing himself on the cool glass sink.  Internally, he thanked every being there was that the bathroom was empty, that he finally got one sliver of privacy in this unimaginable moment.

That was shattered, of course, as the door slammed opened.

"Holy shit dude," the newcomer gaped, repeating his earlier sentence, "are you sick?  Was it the food?  Cause we ate the same stuff and I wanna be prepared."

"It wasn't the food.  I am not sick," Morisuke informed through clenched teeth, his knuckles white around the sink.

"Then what was-"

"I get sick on rides," The glare shot in Tetsurou's direction was enough to seal his lips from any furthur comment.

Morisuke groaned as his body grounded itself and his mind mercilessly played through what had just transpired.

He sank to the floor, noting how a mistory fluid seeped through his pantleg, but not caring enough to recoil from it.  His clothes were already soaking with one foul smelling substance, what would if matter if another was added to the mix.

"God, I'm so stupid!" He proclaimed, burying his face in his hands.

"Normally, I would agree, but now doesn't seem like the right time for that," Testurou spoke up, making his way over to Morisuke, "do you have anything to change into?

"Oh yea, cause everybody packs a spare outfit for a fucking daytrip," Morisuke spat out, his sour predicament tainting his tone.

Tetsurou sat there for a moment, thinking before pulling off his sweatshirt.

"Here, take off your shirt and put this on, it's hot anyway," Testurou offered the fabric before standing up and pulling his pants off, "I thought there was a log slide here so I wore a bathing suit under my pants, if you pull the jawstring tight enough and cuff the ends they'll probably fit."

Morisuke looked up with wide eyes, a flurry of emotion spinning wildly under his glazed irises.

"Really?  You do realize that makes you look like a dork?" It was said as more of a statement, but far from an insult.

"It's better than walking around with my lunch as a graphic design."

Morisuke laughed despite himself.

"Okay, you win this one Mr. Nice-Guy," Morisuke surrendered, pulling of his cold shirt.

"Let's not count this one, but you best bet I'm gonna win the next one."

"Not if I can do anything about it.  Hey, as long as you still look like a dying chicken when trying to recieve- I think I automatically win everything."

Tetsurou guffawed, "I do not!"

"Is there a mirror on court?"

Huffing, Tetsurou picked up Morisuke's discarded clothes and tossed them.

"Maybe we will count this one."

[pilot-boi]

Shouting in Cafes: Chapter Seven

Highway Skyline

They’re burning down the highway skyline, on the back of a hurricane that started turning when they were young.

AO3 LINK

Neptune made a point to carefully open the car door and get inside. The car was… Nice. Surprisingly nice. The seats were clean and smelled like lemons, the floor mats were spotless. No trash. No stains. Sun was checking his hair in the rearview mirror.

“Huh,” Neptune said, not fast enough to hide the surprise in his voice.

“What?” Sun asked, freezing.

“It’s nice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No beer bottles.”

“Wow, dude. I’m hurt, truly,” Sun said, pressing a hand to his chest in a facsimile of hurt. Or maybe it was real hurt. He could never tell with this guy.

Neptune supressed a laugh at his performance. He couldn’t afford to let Sun see him be happy. That would mean he was winning, and they weren’t friends. Nope. Totally not.

“Ready to ride?” Sun asked with a smile that said danger.

“Just… here? We’re going way over the speed limit here?”

“It’s fine!” Sun waved him off, adjusting his mirror and shooting himself a grin in the reflection. “There are never any cops or pedestrians here. Don’t worry so much, Neptune!”

“I have to worry. That’s the only way you won’t freaking kill yourself.”

Sun laughed, and he did have a nice laugh dammit. A laugh that made you want to laugh along with him. Neptune barely restrained himself from doing just that. 

“Okay! Here we go!”

Sun was out of that parking space so fast, Neptune thought he might get whiplash. He stopped the car just as quickly, then started it up again before either one of them could get their bearings.

“Su- Su-” Neptune stuttered out between the breaks, his nails digging into the leather and his glasses threatening to fly off his face.

“Aw, see? We are good friends!” Sun called over the purring engine. “We’re already giving each other nicknames!”

“Shut up!”

The pavement screamed underneath them and Neptune watched his life zoom past. Oh, look, there went the time Scarlet knocked his head into the terrible birthday cupcake he got him and Neptune had sprinkles dropping out of his hair for at least a week.

Sun bucked the car onto the empty street and took off, wind tangling in his hair and eyes open wide. The trees turned into green blurs, the buildings into only smudges of paint on a blue backdrop.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Neptune yelled and promptly sealed his mouth closed. Air poured down his throat at top speeds and with it most likely a million bugs. No thank you, this was terrifying enough all ready, he didn’t need that.

The road bumped and threatened to make him bite his tongue off. And he needed that, thank you very much. For screaming, if nothing else. 

“You know, you sure do take the Lord’s name in vain a whole lot,” Sun said as casually as if they were out for lunch. He pulled out some sunglasses and tucked them into Neptune’s hair without even asking. Yellow reflective aviators. What had he really been expecting?

“I’m already Catholic! It’s fine!”

“I’m not really sure that’s how it works,” he said conversationally as he pulled on a pair of honest-to-God fingerless driving gloves. He was going to die. Forget getting in a crash, his heart was going to stop.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Neptune screamed. Sun had started fishing around in the space between the cupholders, and his face was turned completely away from the road to do it. Neptune’s heart raced. Street signs smeared. Sun’s speed neared one hundred.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Cool your jets, dude! I’m just grabbing some tunes!”

“We’re going to die!”

“Oh, so now we’re a we?” Sun quipped, winking at Neptune and still not even glancing at the road that his car was practically devouring.

“What the hell are you talking about?! Just keep your fucking eyes on the road, you absolute maniac, or I’m going to have an actual stroke!!” Neptune screamed, his lungs in his throat and his heart hammering in his chest. He was going to tear the leather upholstery with how hard he was gripping it.

Sun laughed. Laughed! Like they weren’t doing something highly illegal and could die at any second! “We’re not gonna hit anyone! Hey, dude, do you dare me to beat one-fifteen?”

“No!” 

More laughter. That laughter was going to be the last thing he ever heard.

Sun finally got what he was looking for. He wiped the CD (who still used CDs?) off on his tank top and popped it into the player. Big band jazz music blew from the speakers, the bass cranked up because of course it was. Still. Jazz? Trumpetey, 1920s, New Orleans jazz?

“What the fuck is this?!”

“You really lose your censor when you’re out of work,” Sun said, leaning casually back into his seat, seemingly ignoring his hair flying in every direction from the wind, and facing directly towards Neptune to speak.

“No, I don’t! I think it’s the life or death situation I’m currently facing!”

“My driving isn’t that bad,” Sun pouted, his eyes wide again. Damn those eyes, how dare they look like they’d been plucked straight from a noon day sky. 

“Shut the fuck up and stop giving me those puppy eyes! Keep your goddamn eyes on the- You almost hit that sign watchoutwatchoutwatchoutwatchout holy fucking shit!!”

Neptune’s face was suddenly freezing, what with all the blood draining out of it and all. His hand had made its way to his heart somehow, bunching up in the fabric, while his other arm pressed up against the car door as if that would help if they hit something. If he had a heart monitor on, it would read well over one hundred.

“Puppy eyes?” Sun asked, said eyes lighting up once again and that fucking grin spreading across his face.

No. Oh God no.

“It’s a thing you do, Shut up a-”

“You noticed a thing I do?” He sounded delighted. God fucking dammit, what the hell?! Neptune was having a fever dream. That was it. He was dying of a horrible sickness, and this was the torture his brain had conjured up for him.

“Dumbass! Holy shit! Please just focus on the road!”

Sun sped up.

“No. No no no nononono!!”

“Yes yes hell fucking yes!!”

Neptune glanced over. Sun was grinning from ear to ear. A spot light that split the darkness. A smile for punching the sun, for setting off illegal fireworks just to have some color in the sky. A smile for street racing at unimaginable speeds just to bond with a barista he barely knew.  

“You’re actually planning on killing me,” Neptune panicked, at whatever could pass for a normal tone of voice in this death trap. “If this was a trick to kill me, congratulations, it’s fucking working!” 

Sun had the audacity to laugh. “I’m actually going to die in this neon blue convertible with a maniac at the steering wheel!” Neptune yelped, the calm demeanor his horrified realization had brought gone in an instant. 

“Wow, you’re morbid!” Sun laughed. “Chill out, dude! I just want to get a little air!” His grip tightened on the steering wheel and he leaned forward as if that would make them go faster.

“A little…?!”

Neptune un-squinted his eyes and focused on the road up ahead. Sure enough, there lay a steep hill that Neptune had somehow managed to forget about. How could he? He drove up it every morning and back down it every night. It made your stomach fly up into your throat even at regular speeds.

“This is suicide!” Neptune cried, gripping his seat belt tight enough to snap it right in two.

“Not if we don’t die!”

“If we don’t die, we get arrested! That’s not better! You get how that’s not better, right?!”

“How is dying better than getting arrested? Besides, there are never any cops here!”

“You’re insane!”

“We’re almost there!”

“I’m going to vomit! Seriously, I swear to Go-”

“Hold on!” Sun yelled, teeth bared in a face splitting grin and eyes bright with manic fire.

Everything in the car went flying, including its passengers. Miraculously, that flight was only an inch or so out of their seat and not through the windshield. Still, the experience of rocketing over a hill at hundred of miles per hour speeds while bass-boosted jazz blared out of the speakers was a unique experience that Neptune never wanted to repeat.

Neptune’s seat belt caught him as he threatened to fly overboard. Sun was cheering his head off, Neptune was too terrified for any sound to escape his throat. His voice seemed to have been left on the pavement below. 

There was a split second where he could have sworn that time froze and he was able to watch Sun’s huge eyes crackle with electricity and excitement. The red leaves of the trees on either side of the road swished with the new wind. The road beneath them blurred, the center lines losing all meaning. All within half a second.

But then their tires bounced once, then twice, and finally they were on the road again.

And Sun was grinding to a halt.

And swerving into a ditch.

He let the car turn completely sideways, pressing down hard into the brake. Dirt flew up around them along with clumps of grass and a few pieces of Neptune’s remaining sanity.

They lurched forward, then stilled.

And Sun hollered. “Holy shit that was awesome!!”

Neptune’s voice returned. “Am I dead?” he asked, frozen stock still in his seat, too scared to move.

“Not yet, bro!”

There was silence for a moment. Then a laugh bubbled out of Neptune. And another. And he was grabbing at his stomach in an effort to control them.

“I’ve never heard you laugh before,” Sun chuckled.

“I guess,” -a laugh break- “I save them for near-death experiences!”

Sun giggled a little. Then he joined, too.

Both of them clutched their sides with the laughing, and the more Sun laughed the more Neptune laughed because his laugh was so infectious it was annoying, but Neptune couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed. It faded in and out from high pitched snickers through his teeth and tongue to deep roaring claps of thunder. Woodland pixie. Hearty ship captain.

“Why the hell do you have bright yellow aviators, dumbass? That’s so lame!” Neptune cackled, pulling them off his head and wiping tears from behind his glasses.

“Why the hell do you have blue freaking hair? Like, more blue than my car! What the fuck?!” Sun pointed out before sputtering into more indistinguishable laughing.

They both slid down further and further into the leather seats, their shoes resting on the dashboard, the occasional putter of laughter from one of them sending both back into a laughing competition that their sides couldn’t handle anymore.

The wind messed up Sun’s hair. Bad. All that gel helped when it was styled correctly, but when Mother Nature had her way with it, it turned into a hot mess. Or just a mess. It splayed out around his head, combining with the straw yellow color and making his head look like he’d jumped into a haystack and a fan at the same time. The back just stood off his neck, straight up in the air like someone had just ordered it to attention.

He kept running his hands all through it. Like it helped. Neptune probably didn’t look that great either.

Sun’s chest was heaving with laughter and adrenaline, and there were bright pink spots high on his cheeks. His sparse freckles dotted under his flush and speckled like constellations across the arms brushing back his hair. Bright yellow hair framing eyes like drops of sky.

“Do you want me to take you back to your car?”

Neptune opened his eyes. Woozily, he addressed his surroundings. Sun was inches away from his face, eyebrows pressed together, one hand climbing through his messy hair. Had they been…? No. No stop. Neptune had just passed out from exhaustion and Sun was waking him up. That was all that had happened.

How late was it? The orange and pink shades of sunset scraped against the tops of the red-leaved trees that closed in around them. It shone through the gaps of the trunks in slats that blinded Neptune momentarily and lit up the flecks of gold in Sun’s blue eyes.

What was happening?

Sun just asked him a question. Focus Neptune.

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” He thought for a second. Sun was still really close to his face, and for some reason his thoughts were moving more slowly than normal. He could count the individual freckles speckling his cheeks. “I won the bet.”

“It wasn’t really a bet. Just an agreement,” Sun murmured, his eyes flicking over Neptune’s face as if trying to memorize it.

“Sure, sure, but I survived.” He was too close. Why was he so close?

“Yeah,” Sun said, finally leaning back and rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “Am I really that bad of a driver?”

“Don’t make me start laughing again.”

Sun smiled bright enough to light up a dark room and clapped a hand on Neptune’s shoulder before starting up the car.

His hand was warm. Calloused and huge, and warm. Neptune definitely did not glance down at it. 

Nope. Totally did not do that.

[eldunea]

ok i totally got the answer wrong on this one (i think the answer was D) but seeing this prompt in my LSAT book touched a deep, deep vein in my scifi nerd heart. “we are not sure how different from us something might be and still count as intelligent life”……like that just opens up so many new and exciting possibilities for intelligent alien races who have cognitions that are totally different from ours and that we might not know anything about but that are equally intelligent and valid and so we’d have to work to understanding them. i also love how this prompt says “it is likely that we will find and recognize intelligent life elsewhere in the universe only if we leave our definitions open to new, unimagined possibilities.” this totally fits because fun fact there’s not even one concrete way to define human intelligence, so how can there be a concrete way of defining alien intelligence--which is undoubtedly a thousand times more complicated and diverse? 

i think i already touched on something like this a little bit in my long-standing headcanon about human intuition being a very limited form of psychic empathy. i’m p sure i also mentioned that some other sapient species lack human intuition--and that would make their understanding of emotions and interactions very different than the human one. both species might have the same logical intelligence, but the emotional intelligence would be very different so that’s something we would definitely have to work out with them. i just? i don’t know where i’m going with this i’m just spazzing out and rambling because this kind of stuff gets me so excited.

oh, and also. this opens the door to some pretty horrifying scenarios that my dystopian demon brain can’t wait to get its hands on. if humans can’t formulate a solid definition of sapient intelligence, then other alien species might not be able to either--which means that there’s a possibility that other sapients can EXCLUDE HUMANS from their definition of sapient. we have all sorts of traits that they can look down upon, ranging from psychological faults such as confirmation bias, the “above average” fallacy and the capacity for prejudice* to cognitive “deficits” such as low digit span, unreliable working memory and a distinction between short- and long-term memory that other species might consider themselves to be above. they might see that our minds don’t work exactly like theirs do and thereby exclude us, and we might do the same to them and/or to others…it’s fascinating, it’s dangerous, it’s the kind of worldbuilding exploration that i am all about. normally i hate this fucking test but honestly? god bless the LSAT for giving me this gem.

*i realized as i was writing this that other aliens scorning all humans under the assumption that we’re all prejudiced would be the ultimate irony. those aliens would claim that they are beyond prejudice and that’s why they look down on other races who have the capacity for it…thus proving that they too had the capacity for prejudice all along. is this something the altean supremacists do? totally. i’m putting it in the mea altea tag because holy shit, it fits so well.

[rockofeye]

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock.”

If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. Rev 3:20

I have written this post at least five different times and thrown out each version because it misses what I want to write about. At the same time, I don’t know if what I want to communicate is actually able to be written about. How do you put into words the exact moment something drastic shifted as a result of the smallest, most gentle interaction from the most unexpected place? Does translating experience and thought into something that is read take away it’s importance and meaning and leave it impotent? I have no idea, to any of that.

What I do know is that this maryaj of mine has brought about a lot of big changes, little insidious changes, and shaken a lot of shit loose. In some ways, it has done bigger and more expansive things for me internally than kanzo did, because it has flipped my relationships with my spirits upside down and inside out and backwards/forwards/sideways, all in the best of ways and all in ways I couldn’t predict prior to having them put a ring on it. I knew going in that this was significant for me and it’s own sort of initiation, but even then I knew that, like all initiations of all sorts, I couldn’t see or touch those mysteries until I was on the other side and, even once I was, had a little time to really digest what had happened and how I felt about it. A lot of seemingly unrelated stuff got pulled in, and it has started manifesting in ways that continue to undo me and lay me bare. Initiation isn’t finished once the ceremonies are over, it continues on forever and evolves as we evolve.

The catalyst of all of this was not the maryaj ceremony itself, though that was a huge hinge and flashpoint. Instead, it was something that happened after and just before I left Haiti. It was something I asked for, but didn’t expect delivered, and it turned out to be one of the most meaningful experiences of my vodou ‘career’ so far.

One of my husbands did not attend our maryaj ceremony, for a bunch of reasons. It was a hard thing and I was in my feelings about it for a minute, but it ultimately changed nothing--spirit marriage in vodou does not require each spirit to be present, as the presiding priest does the same work whether or not they are there. The ring is blessed and empowered, I am blessed and empowered as a spouse of this spirit, and the marriage certificate/contract is endorsed as complete and valid. For me, it was that this particular divine joining was a bigger leap of faith for me than any of the other marriages because I had never met this spirit embodied. Kriminel had showed himself to me in dreams repeatedly, making known his presence until I (and anyone else I told the dreams to) was quite sure it was him. He pressed himself upon me until the last moment when I asked my spirits if there was anything else that needed to be done for the ceremony, and there was a dream where I was told that I couldn’t have the ceremony without two extra rings, one of which was for him. Overlaying that dream was his laughter--just the sound of his uncontrollable, I-am-crazy-I-don’t-care laughter ringing in my ears--and I was told that they (all my to-be husbands) had me now and were never going to let me go.

Kriminel’s relative insanity is why I hadn’t met him before. He is a spirit heavily involved in the lineage I am a part of, but he is a rough ride and difficult to manage, at the best of times. A mild Kriminel disfigures his chwal by pushing pins and needles through his cheeks/tongue, a more feisty Kriminel slashes his chwal with a blade, eats glass, stabs his chwal (the first dream that I could definitively say it was Kriminel was when he walked up to me laughing, stared at me with blood red eyes, and laughed and laughed while he stabbed himself repeatedly in the stomach), and vomits blood .He is not saluted or called into possession often, and so him asking/demanding that I marry him was really me looking a psychopathic serial killer in the face with stacks of bodies around him on our first meeting and effectively saying ‘marry you? Sure!’. I could have said no, but, for whatever reason, I took that big leap of faith and logic and agreed, sight really and truly unseen. There was nothing really say that he wasn’t just going to show up and try to kill me, but, you know, living on the edge and all.

Curiousity hadn’t and hasn’t killed me yet, and as the wedding drew closer and passed without him being embodied, I found him more and more compelling. Once I managed my feelings post-maryaj ceremony, I prayed and asked him for a wedding gift: I wanted to see him embodied before I left Haiti. There weren’t a lot of opportunities for that to happen--there was one ceremony happening two nights before I was to fly back home where he MIGHT be allowed to come, but he otherwise was not going to be a presence that would be sought out.

He did come, though, to fet Dantor, and he delivered my requested gift. I watched a Kriminel that, the second he was seated in the chwal, I knew without a doubt was my husband. I watched him throw himself around the peristyle and go through a complicated exchange where he was allowed to drink from a bottle but not hold it. I watched him run full force into a group of priests who were blocking him from accessing the altar, where there were a variety of daggers and machetes. I watched him do work on people that sent them to the ground howling and crying. I watched him snatch up an errant bottle of rum, smash it to pieces over the poto mitan, and chew on the broken glass before he was stopped. I watched his chwal bleed from cuts inflicted as part of the bottle breaking and I watched Kriminel slowly bubble out blood from his mouth, in a way that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

When he was hustled into the badji/back room to have the cuts and blood attended to and to be offered the feast that had been prepared for him, I had a long moment of staring at the closed badji door. It was entirely possible that this was going to be the only chance I was going to get to see him embodied for quite awhile. If I invited myself back there, I could be inviting myself to an unpleasant party (think a group of velociraptors all turning their heads to look at you at once) of the several Kriminels who had arrived and were eating, or it could be an opportunity to observe my husband in his ‘natural habitat’. I really had a moment of indecision before I had a moment of Fuck It. I burned down my life last year and lived to tell the tale, and came back this year to get married, and I wasn’t going to be scared of any spirit I was married to (or any spirit in general--I did not come all this way in my life to be afraid.). So, I handed my friend my camera, asked her to wish me luck, and headed for the badji.

My expectation was that I would find a corner and occupy it quietly while watching my husband and the other Kriminels eat. I am one small and relatively unimportant person, and I make it a habit not to force interactions with spirits. However, my expectations are often broken because I am painfully human.

When I opened the door and stepped into the back room, the Kriminel I recognized looked up and everything changed. His eyes lit up, he threw his arms opens in a ‘YOU’RE HERE OH MY GOD’ sort of way, and gestured insistently that I should come sit by him. I swear to all that is holy that you could smell the smoke of my brain short circuiting in that moment. Was this not the same spirit who had assaulted a rum bottle and seen fit to harm his horse minutes ago? Is he not the same spirit who prefers blood to water and wants to burn down the world? It was, but it was also my husband and my heart recognized him. All I could do was hang my head and grin like a fool. The serial killer set about to straightening out the sheet-covered banana mat so that I could sit on it with him and not be on the floor.

His gentleness was overwhelming and disarming, and it was honestly all I could do not to cry like a 12-year-old meeting his favorite rock star. Yes, he had been extremely present in my dreams for months, but having him physically next to me and being joyful about me was something that I had not expected or planned for, really. He pulled me close to him, put his arm around me, kissed me repeatedly, and blessed the ring I wear for him over and over, with repeated kisses to it and the finger it was on.

He was excited to feed me and kept pushing pork and bannann and pòmdetè at me until it was almost force-feeding. Food received from a spirit, and doubly so from a husband, is a blessing, and he was intent that I would have his blessings to the point where I had to ask him to slow down and gesticulate wildly for some water while I gagged on the sheer volume of food that he was trying to shove down my throat. I fed him, too, and we both accepted food from the other Kriminels, meant as blessing and recognition in it’s own way. He was excited and happy and insistent that I not move one inch from him, and it was time-out-of-time while I was next to him. I have no idea how long he was there holding me to him, but it was truly a perfect moment and an unimaginable blessing

It’s hard to explain the significance of this. It looks so bland on the page. I can’t put into words what unfolded right then, but it was a moment that I truly understood how my spirits love me and it broke my heart open in new ways. To see the throat-slitter, the basin de san, the husband who can never be given a blade, and the one who I must say ‘no’ to when he goes to eat the bottle he is given to drink out of while we enjoy what amounts to a wedding feast choose to see through his madness to embrace me and what I mean to him and he means to me was astounding, undoing, and awesome in the truest sense of the world.

This was moment when the mystery of maryaj lwa began to really began to unfold itself for me. I find myself understanding why I have continually come back to mystical marriage as it plays out in the Catholic church. There are pieces of the initiation-ceremony that marries a nun to Christ or a monk to the Church that talk about preparing a table for the bridegroom and the bridegroom preparing a table for his spouse, and that slammed on my head in a big way after Kriminel drew me to him. He--and all my husbands--literally set a table for me and I for them. The table for my maryaj was filled with the foods the spirits eat, and each of them fed me from it and I fed them. Kriminel insisted I, his husband, eat what was made for him which is a sacrifice, since he himself will not eat it. They strengthen me by giving me what was made for them, in a gift of survival and sacrifice in a religion and culture where food is literally a life and death subject.

The liturgy of divine marriage in the Church also speaks of the monastic--usually a nun--creating and tending a temple in their heart for their divine spouse, and that suddenly made sense. My lwa have spent years now worming their way into my head, heart, and soul, but the act of maryaj lwa really cemented how that manifests for me. In maryaj, the spirits ask for things that purposefully set us aside for them, in specific ways, and create space to grow a relationship in a different direction. Having the first physical interaction with a spirit I married come after that put down roots in a brand new way--I have never known Kriminel in any other way besides the suitor and husband, and this basically ripped a space open in my heart and shoved a temple in there. With that in mind, he is dizzying and compelling and PRESENT.

I understand more of what mystics mean when they talk about the presence of their divine spouses. My husbands--even the ones I have known for years--are much closer now than they were previously. I don’t even have to reach out to find them, they are just there. They speak more clearly now, since they essentially have a pulpit in my heart, and they show themselves to me more and more.

My orientation towards the world finds my spirits everywhere, from the homeless man on the street to the bus rumbling down the highway to the hurricane that destroys and floods, but I find them even more specifically now. One is the basin of fresh, cool water, another is in the belt that goes around my waist. Kriminel, for some reason, is in the needle and testosterone that gives me ease of living. It took me awhile to ascertain why he asked me for maryaj, but as I continue to grow in my understanding of him I understand on a bone-deep level why and how. It’s in this deeply personal expression that I hear his laughter. I have known you since before you knew my name. I have watched.

At the same time, he embodies a profound reminder: don’t forget who I am. No matter how much love he shows me, I can only expect him to be himself which includes all of his self. Kriminel-the-husband cannot be separated from Kriminel-the-murderer, Kriminel-the-embodiment-of-insanity, Kriminal-the-executioner, Kriminel-basin-de-san, Kriminel-who-roars-thunder. As much as he presents me with love, he also presents me with those things and reminds me that, if I am to love him truly, I have to accept all of that. Kriminel, like all spirits, is a package deal.

And, should I betray my husband, I will find myself with his dagger in my heart, between my shoulder blades, slitting my throat. He will kill me, because he can and because it will make the most sense to him. The hand that holds is the hand that dismembers. Don’t forget who I am. Don’t run, I’ll find you anywhere.

Here I am, blessed beyond all conception and previous belief. Who am I to be so lucky? I am just a broken human, a tiny priest, and they give me more than I possibly deserve with no requirement but that I love them in return and uphold the promises between us. I have done nothing to earn this, but they deliver themselves and their hope for me to my door, without pretense. What can I do but do what they ask?

There are more things that tie in here, and that have shown themselves to be just as unexpected as this particular blessing, but this is long and word-y, and so there will be another post soon!

May you be as blessed as I have been.