#i need learn inglish

[nanacuyin]

Psss. Iba a dibujar a bodoque como Red guy y a Tulio como a Duck, pero me di cuenta de eso a medio dibujo

Aunque Policarpo acarrea la publicación.

[abbyshands]

Good nigth darling,you're okay?can we have more nerdy!abby pleaase i beg you 🙏🙏🙏(srry for my inglish)

teach me

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

a/n; hello, my love! i’m good, and i hope you are too! of course EEK i was going to write more for her anyway, i love a nerdy girl. also this is cut off asf I’M SORRY i’m tired, maybe i’ll do a part 2 if y’all ask <3

synopsis; you’ve never been good at science, let alone college biology. when your professor all but forced you to get a tutor, who should you end up with but your nerdy girlfriend, who has a very unique way of getting you to study?

pairing; dom!abby anderson x sub!fem!reader

warnings; abby uses baby/princess, use of a strap-on, cockwarming + edging (kinda), abby refers to the strap as her dick and it’s referred to as her dick/cock, choking, spanking, degradation (ish. abby’s tone is just mean), anddd i prob missed smt so lmk <3

wc; 2.2k

p.s.; ALSO this is was ib an ellie fic i saw bro idk where tf it is 😭 searching for it tho. i js remember it was nerdy ellie. it was so good BUT LIKE WHERE IS ITTT idk i’ll link it here if i find it

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

you’ve always sucked at science. biology, chemistry, whatever the hell it was, it had never been your cup of tea.

your professor had not so kindly recommended you get a tutor. otherwise, your grades would decline (more than they already were, that is). you didn't want a tutor, let alone for it to be someone you didn't know. you were already feeling awkward enough having to have someone tutor you at all—you couldn't imagine if it was by an unfamiliar.

that's where abby came in.

abby anderson was your girlfriend, and she was a nerd. like, cliche movie nerd. if you couldn't find her in her dorm, with you, or in class, she was at the library, doing homework until she couldn't anymore. she was a coffee addict with how late she was up each evening, study sessions, unnecessarily reviewing, and, again, homework.

let's just say, abby anderson would do crazy things for an a.

you didn't necessarily want to have abby as your tutor. for some reason, it was embarrassing to you. you had already felt that way when you told her you needed one at all. it would be 10x worse if she would be the one doing it.

not only that, the focus.

how the fuck were you going to focus when you have abby fucking anderson in front of you? when your mind races with memories of her fucking you from behind, or kissing down your neck, or making you the wettest you've ever been, just by being alive?

you weren't.

but abby was persistent. you had originally said no when she first asked to tutor you, but when the guy who was supposed to tutor you didn't even show for your first session, it was no longer a request.

it was a demand.

you were sitting beside abby in her dorm, working on an assignment for your biology class that was due the following day. you had taken up to ten breaks by now, and it had only been an hour and a half or so.

abby pushed her glasses up on her face as she looked over at you, eyebrow raised. you had been dozing off, elbow on the desk and chin on your palm as your eyes began to fall shut.

"hey," abby snapped her large hand in front of your face, making your eyes open again just as quickly as it had happened. "are you listening to me?"

no.

"yeah. yeah, sorry, i just, um—dna and rna. that's what we're learning now, right?" you ask confusedly, doing your best to make it seem like you know what you’re talking about.

but the look on abby's face tells you all you need to know.

"mhm, like, ten minutes ago," abby hums a bit annoyedly, and you can't help but let out a sigh. it's bad enough you have to be here at all, but letting abby down, or worse, pissing her off, was the last thing you wanted to do. “you're never going to learn if you don't put any effort in," she sighs.

“c’mon, abs,” you whined as you set your pencil aside, putting your head down on the desk, eyes on abby. the blonde set her own pen down with a small shake of the head, expression unreadable. “i can’t do this anymore,” you said dramatically. abby rolled her eyes.

“what’s wrong now?” abby asked, but it’s not like she really wanted to know the answer. you knew how seriously abby took her own schoolwork, which may be the reason she was annoyed that you didn’t. but you just weren’t like that.

“none of this makes sense. i can’t remember a thing we go over. god, i hate biology,” you complained once more, looking away from abby.

abby sighed as she put a hand on your shoulder. as much as she wanted to be annoyed, she loved you, and she knew full well that even if you were smart, biology was your worst class.

“what can i do to help, baby? flashcards, d’you want me to quiz you? what do you need?” abby asked as she moved her hand to your back, rubbing it. you shrugged.

“i dunno. i don’t think any of that stuff is going to help me, abby. my memory’s—not that good,” you lamely huffed, but it was true. your memory was best when it came down to the things you cared for. college biology was not one of them.

“hm,” abby hummed. it took a beat, a small pause. but then, abby’s perked eyebrows told you that she had just gotten an idea, and so did the way her plump lips curled into a grin.

“i think i know what’ll do the trick.”

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

that’s how you ended up on abby’s lap, her cock buried deep inside of you as she gripped you by the bottom. abby’s way of bettering your sour memory came in the form of one of the most agonizing experiences you had ever had.

“how does dna differ from rna?” abby asks you casually, as if she isn’t filling you to the brim. you feel your face getting hot, bottom lip bitten down on as you look at her nervously.

“u- uhm. d- dna has a d- double helix model, fuck,” you whine. you must be at least a little correct, because abby bucks her hips up into you, causing the silicone dildo to move inside of you. “rna’s single, a- and involved in a different process than dna.”

“attagirl,” abby praised. it’s then that she grabbed you by the ass, hard, and forced you to ride up to the top of her dick, just before she’s slamming you back down. for only a few seconds, you gain some pleasure by moving your body like that, or abby doing it for you, that is.

but then, she’s robbing it away from you, just like that.

“a- abby, please, c’mon,” you whimper. this had been going on for a third of an hour or so. abby would ask you a question from the deck of index cards she had made for you, and you would answer. simple, right?

wrong.

because here's the thing: she wouldn’t move unless you answered her, and it had to be correct. and if not?

smack.

abby's large hand comes down on your ass as if to shut you up. really, it doesn't. you let out a moan as she then grabs your ass again, not giving a care to how sore you may be.

because she's already slapped you way too many times to count.

“don't act like this isn't for your own good," she says firmly, reprimanding you. "you got that one wrong last time. and we’re not going to stop until you’ve got that whole fucking deck memorized, you got that?” she asks, signaling to the forgotten pile of index cards on the desk behind you. you whine, body too achy for abby to deny her.

“f- fine," you whine, because who the hell would you be to say no?

“good girl," abby praises as she rubs her hands over your bottom, caressing you in a loving manner, a wide difference to the way she was addressing you mere seconds before. "now, can you tell me what a neuron is?”

doing your best to not focus on the feeling inside you, you nod, and easily answer. “a- a neuron—" you huff. "is a specialized cell.”

abby moves her hands to your hips and pushed you up, so that you're around halfway down on her cock. you let out a small shudder, but it must mean you're correct. “and what’s it do?” abby then asks.

to some degree.

but you know this one. after all, it was one of the last cards you looked at in the deck. so, you respond, “transmit.”

abby moves you up more, and this time, she brings one of her hands up to cup your tit. she plays with your nipple if only for a second, causing you to let out a low moan. but just when you think she's going to keep going, of course, she doesn't.

“transmit what?” she asks firmly as her fingers caress your rib cage, and it's all you can do not to roll your eyes.

“nerve impulses," you say a bit too fast, eager to have her hands back on you. your neediness helped you on that one. "i- it’s the basic unit of the nervous system," you add, for good measure.

"that's right, princess," abby smirked, course she did. she had always had way too much fun when she was driving you crazy during sex. this was no different.

but you're pleased to find yourself rewarded, because abby allows you to ride her again. you move up and down a little quickly, scared that your girlfriend will rob you of the feeling before it's even begun. abby begins to rub your clit as she gazes at you fucking yourself on her dick, way too needy for her touch.

"eager girl," abby cooed, rubbing her index on your clit in quick circles. "so needy for my cock, aren't you?"

"yes," you huff out fast, eyes closing shut at the feeling under you.

"too bad."

abby shoves you all the way back down her dick, so that you're all the way back down at the base. it pleasures you for only a second, before the feeling vanishes, just like that.

"abby, f- fuck," you groan annoyedly, body begging for a release you know abby won't give you unless you do what she tells you to do.

and she doesn't like your words.

abby grabs you by the neck, forcing you to look at her as you roll your eyes in the brattiest manner she's ever seen from you. "look at me. look at me when i'm talking to you," and she uses that tone you know she only uses when she's not playing games, barking your full name out at the end like the word pains her tongue.

once she's got your eyes on her, she speaks once more. "if you really want this dick, and i know you do, you're gonna take what i give you like the good girl you are. that clear?"

you keep your eyes on her, scared of what will happen if you don't, face hot as you answer. "y- yes, ma'am."

"primary use of the kidneys?" abby asks, not even giving you praise for obeying her. but you're not at all surprised by that: if there was one thing about abby, she did not like your bratty side.

this time, unlike what abby's asked you before, you can't remember the answer to this. like, at all. you fumble with it for a second, digging through your head for what it could be. but you don't get a response.

"i- i don't know," you dumbly stutter, genuinely unsure of what to say. abby isn't having it, obviously, because one mlre spank is coming down onto your ass before you know it.

"f- fuck!" you whine brokenly, head rocking back, and bottom sore from each hit abby's given you. she doesn't seem to care.

"yes, you do," she all but growls at you, and you think of your real class all too quickly, like she's your professor. "we went over this. so fucking tell me," she says, and it only makes your abdomen churn more.

and fill with butterflies.

“s- something to do with b- blood pressure, right? c- controlling it? please say yes," you were begging more to yourself than to abby, not even sure where that answer came from.

“mhm, and what else?" she coos, doing what she's done a million times before: moving you halfway up her cock.

"i- i don't know, abs. can't remember," you mutter, and really, how could you by now?

it looks like abby is feeling a little generous this time, because she helps you along. "what’s it do to your body, princess? begins with an 'r',” she asked.

even when your brain begins to fog up with all of the questions in your head, and what's happening besides that, it seems to click for you when abby says the letter 'r.' “r- regulates it? th- the fluid balance?”

“mhm," abby says with a small nod of approval, even kissing your chest this time as a reward.

"there’s my smart girl.”

and it goes on like that forever, question, answer, question, answer. sometimes, you got abby's cock easily. most times, you weren't so lucky.

your eyes are drooping, body aching and face hot as you stutter out the answer to the final card in the deck. once you do, you let out a deep, long exhale, which makes abby chuckle.

"see, pretty girl? wasn't that bad, was it?" abby coos, putting her hand up to cup your cheek. obviously, you want to say no. but after all of this, it was too risky to be bratty to abby. so you shake your head.

and you hadn’t even finished yet.

"n- no, it was—fine," you lie, and abby knows you are. but she doesn't ask about it, knowing full well how much she's done to you already.

"look on the good side.”

“you'll remember better now, won't you?"

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

reblogs are very much welcomed <3

———

[purpleglitch]

HOLA como crees que se llevan rsgeogre y rstechno es para una tarea

(Perdón te respondo en inglish es para que toda la pipol entienda :3)

Okay I had to read old posts about the AU when i talked about rs!rivals since i also talked a bit about rs!george and rs!techno's dynamic (HERE!!) so I think the main thing is that they're not as close as c!rivals (in general techno and george weren't as close as techno and dream were) so in this au rs!rivals have known each other and are old friends from other servers. when techno joins the smp invited by dream, he meets george and rs!dnf is a secret relationship that only a few people know about (sapnap, bad, some others don't know explicitly but they're sus about them,,,) and techno immediately picks up on the vibe dnf have and knows there's more than just a friendly king and knight dynamic but doesn't ask dream about it.

(This got looong and self indulgent so here's more under the cut :3 )

At first there would be this tension between techno and dnf for the monarchy positions they have but he still would joke about george a lot and calling him out on his jealousy and try to steal dream away from him (as a joke), but then things get complicated and he had a fight with dream and their views were opposing to each other and they're all overwhelmed and stressed with all the wars and techno saw red, his netherite sword in dream's chest, and out of the corner of his eye he saw george screaming and running towards them in the middle of the throne room, leaving dream's body on the floor while he ran away (he doesn't know what happened in the castle afterwards) (also being different vibes than the clip of c!techno running in the castle to kill c!gnf and run away).

After that incident, weeks pass while rs!dream recovers from his first canon death and rs!george thinks about what to do to keep dream safe and away from all the conflict, his view on techno is negative at this point for how he betrayed dream's trust and friendship, but dream tells him he forgives techno, he doesn't hold that grudge and he doesn't want them to become enemies, he recommends george to at least try and have techno on his good side in case things go downhill he needs an ally since he can't be in the battlefield. This could be why when techno is captured by l'manburg, george and punz rescue him from being executed and guide him to escape with his horse, what if there's a quiet moment and techno tries to talk to george and clear things up but it's awkward and he's ignored by george who's trying not to lash out at him, also techno notices george is more panicky and anxious (checks his communication device a lot and techno knows he's talking with dream and checking up on him). After they part ways, techno thanks his help and george just hums and leaves to meetup with punz.

They also cooperate on stuff together and rs!techno finds both amusing and a bit worrying the insane demons rs!gnf has during fights, laughing and taunting their enemies but that also breaks the ice between them and start having fun teaming up like for doomsday. But then techno notices george more tense and he doesn't smell like dream's perfume anymore. he knows that something bad happened at some point but doesn't push it, and when weeks and months pass he no longer sees george around the server other than passing rumors of "the monster being in jail" that end up being true when dream goes to the artic and pleads for him to save george and help him break out of pandora, dream tells techno everything that happened in their relationship and how even after the dethronement he still loves george. and techno feels guilty for dream's canon death and knows an apology isn't enough (even with dream's forgiveness) so he accepts and plans his visit to george.

You know what happens in canon, they stay there for 3 months and in that time they reconcile and learn they both care about dream, and it took a bit to make george talk but when he started he couldnt stop and techno listens while he rips cloths to make bandages for the countless wounds george has from the torture, and his jokes are more lighthearted about george's jealousy and he reassures him that dream loves him too and promises coming back to save him.

He does!! and shit happens during the escape but they manage to do it and techno and george go to the artic to heal his wounds better before going to the Hana Kingdom (Kinoko but flowers instead of mushrooms), and meanwhile dream is sleeping but having nightmares thanks to HD.

I THINK THAT'S ALL?? i hope this was comprehensible I zoned out writing this(/j) and any plot holes just uhhhhh this au is canon divergent now 😎 jk but feel free to ask more!! I wrote this in one sitting so I hope the timeline makes sense 😭

[cookietastic]

Hi love your art, i been following You for a while now and i wonder, what are your headcanons for the ship or just Jonny and Daniel? For example i have the headcanon that Jonny is good at drawing or that Daniel always wanted a lizard pet (i hope doesn't sound weird) anyway my real question is which job would you give to Daniel and Johnny? Cause carsalesmen, i don't know it felt like Daniel would do something else, the same for Jonny.

PD:sorry for the long post and if something is write wrong inglish is not My firt lenguaje

It’s all good!! No need to be sorry!!

I have a lot of Lawrusso/ Johnny and Daniel HCs :’D

I also HC Johnny is good at art! I also HC that’s he’s pretty good at a lot of things but doesn’t really bring it up because they were just hobbies and stuff he did growing up and didn’t get the same recognition/approval as Karate did so he doesn’t say much about them.

Another one I have that I draw a lot is Daniel smokes but really open about it so tries to hide or or smoking in odd places.

Careers I’m not fully sure about careers - I do have this little au where the cobras own an Auto shop together which ironically is nearby the bonsai shop Daniel and Miyagi are at. And it starts out as “oh shit haven’t seen you in a while” to “Are you following me? Because I keep seeing you and your bike/car around here” for both to realize the places they work at are near each other. The Cobras realizing Daniel is REALLY good with cars and Daniel and Miyagi can’t do everything alone with shop/have a lot on their plate so they strike a deal with one another.

With Daniel I always like the idea of him working at the Bonsai shop or still and probably getting a side gig fixing cars rather than selling them. I think it’s a cute callback to how good Miyagi is with cars and showing Daniel learning a lot from him. Or something with a job or side job that has to do with cooking since he seems to be very good at that too!

If you got more HC questions or AUs I’m totally down to answer!!!

[notmuchtoconceal]

Tired and Free (Stronger, Habit of Me)

ON MY KNEES, DON'T MAKE ME STOP:

ONE MORE TIME, ONE MORE TIME \\./ //.\\ \.// 710380960171069083017 (A Far From Complete Survey of the Record, Detailing But a Scant Few of the Ways In Which You Are A Duplicitous, Backstabbing Manslut Who Don't Use Protection) . o . ( o ) . o . o /./.\.\/.\/./.\.\ o

( o )

{{FROM 111-1 :-- Where Instigation is Shown to Be Mutual}}

[Close-up: The plucky face of a toothy, square-jawed Anglo-Aboriginal-Asiatic-Miscellaneous Man-God, whose perfect teeth worthy of depiction in gold-emboss alike with stained glass attained their character of distinction hammered by years of poverty, malnutrition and dick-fistings from repeated lippings off, being visibly an uncompromising prophet and intellect.]

- G'day, Major. Name's Haruspex. Bruxer Haruspex. Former captain of the Ruelandese National Guard. Reportin for duty. Know we've been acquainted on many occasions, what with our numerous adventures over the years, but -- y'know... sometimes ya just loike to restate the basic premises and assumptions so everyone's on the same page. Never know who might be listenin in. Some freshfaced new recruit might not know the hierarchy yet. Best you just play it loike a radio thing y'know -- restate the basic premises and assumptions succinctly before each altercation, that way anyone can just jump right into the story.

He said funny things like that. He said funny things in that funny voice of his :-- It made your dick hard how funny his voice was.

- So, get this. All the men back in my village in Rueland -- they were all tragically (tragically overused, that word tragically) well, they were all tragically murdered in the same three week span while out huntin ostrich -- No, no. Ostrich. Ostrich plural. Back in Rueland we couldn't afford all those extra blowy noises. Only learned men and old-school ultra-poofs who fancied gettin fisted up to the elbow with Crisco for lube could afford all those extra blowy noises -- though the truth was, we was all to stupid to tell the difference, we're bein honest. There was one lad -- a gentleman and a scholar. He weren’t harmin no one, mate. (.) Jus tryin to translate Can’t into contemporary Inglish. Never hear that poor fucker so much as wheeze again. … Strained the tongue too much, we're bein honest. All those blowy noises. We needed to keep our tongues strong. So many long mornins -- suckin cobra venom true a goat teat ta build up a tolerance lest we venture out into the front yard alone. Stared down the black eyes of that devil bird down many a lonely road ... Well, get this. I was the only boy in left in my village after that. You know what that means? Means I got the attention of all the -- wait for it -- the attention of all the --- all the girls. I was absolutely showered in -- pause for effect -- showered in girls. Major ... um. ... Major, do you know what I like? Major, do you know what i really, really like? Major. Major -- do I gotta say it? Do I really gotta say it out loud? Major. Major. I like -- I like girls. Oh my Gosh. I love girls. I love their pillow fluff bodies. I love their silky fragrant locks. I love their big doe eyes -- and I love how my heart flutters into lard ripples of buttercreme when I'm just shaftin em -- poundin on em like a lil yippin puppy. Oh I just wanna be pet! -- Oh I just wanna be pet! -- um, Major. Major, I'm not gonna lie ... can I … can I be real with you for a moment? I think I just -- come closer -- I think I just really, really wanna be pet?

[scratch behind the ear]

… Major! Major, you make so happy major! Oh, the girls -- oh Major when i lived with all the girls they pampered me like a princeling. They slopped me lips in wineys -- they stuffed me cheeks with ciggys -- they bit me venomously down me lowly hangin lips -- haha -- once I got in a scrape with a mongoose. Tore that fucker in half. Ate its heart out in retribution. Still got seven inches. Couldn’t even afford lemonade as a chaser ... guess what? Now? Now I drink for the emperor. I can imbibe elixirs from across the globe and name region of origin by scent alone. I can identify over 808 types of poisons, toxins, corrosives, unguents, tonics, herbal teas, snake oils and supplements down to the individual peptides -- to say nothin of the dungy taste of another man's spit -- 

[[Wanted to cut in right here, mostly to show him his big intro is worthy of the ashcan, but unfortunately it remains beneficial to the reader to be aware of who's speaking, even if that necessitates having to introduce Brux for the 8th fucking time -- Laik]]

… ostrich. It was only the one, really. Birds are a lot smarter than you wanna give em credit for, well …

 ... bird.

His passion for the fairer sex was, on occasion, a novel diversion -- though often destabilizing to group cohesion.

- Goils! Goils! Goils!

If the outermost extreme of his peripheral vision caught so much as the hemline of a skirt, he would veer out of formation blindly into oncoming traffic.

[Schreibermachen – greets the gun barrel morning with a glint of dawn]

- Look over yonder, Psychorrhax. Toward the gray and blighted horizon -- Cpt. Haruspex leaps and dances as though attempting favor with the sun, or else dares to implore the bounty of a cargo drop.

[Young Psychorrhax views – resolute in the most measured scorn]

- Perhaps it is code, Cpt. Schreibermachen.

- Astute as always, Young Psychorrhax. Please be so kind, as with your cocksucker’s lips so full-figured and forward, to do our company the favor of rendering unto speech the fiery valor of our fallen comrade. 

[Corneal Contraction in Aerial View]

- 'Need no help, friends. Learned urban foraging in the Ruelandese Guard. Can survive a whole lunar cycle on this here roundabout.'

[[Brux, lacking in Tranny Vision (TM) -- which he uninstalled out of a backdoor access concern, arising solely to facilitate encounters such as the following -- will take a minute to get the gag -- Laik]]

… is the woman giving up to him her cherries, Cpt. Schreibermachen?

- In moments he shall be spitting up the pits!*

[[Yes, Brux really did teabag a woman for five whole minutes before realizing most goils don't got those. Sorta makes you wonder about the state of the female sex over in Rueland, or if maybe Brux is reinventing himself a little more than he lets on. Hey, he's not a total and complete dumbass, he's a tantalizing enigma! -- Laik]]  

[[*Yes, this really is the caliber of dialogue I had impromptu with my boyfriend. If being in love makes you a LARPer, I think every European needs to just get over themselves and accept they're a bear-fucking theater fairy. -- Alkali, the Second Laik, He Who Henceforth is Established]]

If the prospect of rescuing young women were to intercept the docket, his short term memory would obliterate itself and he would seize into a deadlock by the dictates of his mating instincts. 

- That conical fortress up on the top of the hill? Estimated material of construction: tetrahedra-sifted Jovian swirl concrete. Estimated date of construction 370-390 Post-Imperial Trans-Fracture. Estimated plundering -- well-- hehe. There are girls in there, Major. Baskets and baskets full of... wait, no. Hold on, see. This part – this part is very relevant to my backstory, you see, because I was very well taken care of, and that's influenced my loike -- sensuous philosophy of life, y'know? First time I saw a battlezone, I saw a guy's head get blown clean off ... Well, more like a buddy, really. I can't even remember his face -- yeah. It's hilarious now but at the time I was thinkin 'Shit. I'm a lover not a fighter. I'd rather be twirlin a baton than a rifle, but hey. I look good doin either.' -- I dunno. Loikely, I wasn't so glib in the moment -- y'know. I was just thinkin of the sorta thing that I'd like to say to a girl once I found one, but I gotta be honest with ya, Maj. I don't remember findin any. What I can remember faintly was curlin up into a ball and cryin me eyes out -- just bein so scared and so alone and wantin to die

<<<

>>>

... some memories, mate. Some memories are a lot like a boomerang... or maybe a girl -- y’know. Ya throw em. Ya get distracted. You’re not payin attention -- they’re gonna slap ya right back you're not payin attention.

Cpt. Schreibermachen -- that fuck Joey -- once hoisted a pair of silk women's undergarments up the flagpole of the Display and Punishment Pavilion, and lace and shimmer billowing, Brux was by means of sheer appetite able to scurry thirty feet vertically, where clinging to himself like a scared koala, he lost any sense of spatial or temporal orientation and found himself lacking in the grit to leap back down.

[a song of hollow alloy – shrieking on a buckling gourd]

- Major. Major, don't help me. I can do it. I can stay up here. I can stay up here all day -- with the panties. Nobody look. I'm gonna sniff em.

You turned away. For the sake of the common decency, you turned away.

[Cpt. Schreibermachen's hand eclipses the sun]

- Look upon my labors, Psychorrhax -- and tremble.

[Laika doing jazzhands]

- I’m trembling -- I’m trembling, Cpt. schreibermachen, sir! 

- Your struggle is not heroic, Psychorrhax! You flinch from greatness as a temple priestess from a backhand! Your heart is full of falsity, cowardice, and petty vanity! I long to be rid of you as a golden beast would be a brood of ticks!

Some moment in the past -- his shoulders shone with blacker luster.

Cpt. Schreibermachen stares through a porthole. The black room. The black glass. Psychorrhax in biohazard gear -- banana beetle yellow -- stares through a porthole of his own. Curtains of latex. Sheets of latex. The sweat fragrant on his fingers. Pooling on the bed. A pool of yellow beetles. He stares up. Mirrors on the ceiling. Larger than the others.

- Been awhile. Missed how good you smell.

[[No Comment -- Laik.

All the comments -- Al.]]

Some nights, he found himself wanting for spectacle and was forced to manufacture dilemmas in which he might showcase his expertise – to be tempted to compete for a treat unrightfully earned.

=-= = =.= = =-=

The starlight of city lights shone into the wide gilt and marble grid of the solarium. Cpt. Haruspex ejected his soda stream. 

o))<

- Nobody move. Joey pissed the punch.

The spittle dripped down Laika's face.

- Cpt. Haruspex, you took but a sip...

[[Got to film this shit like forty times. When Joe was reviewing the footage for the transcript, he replayed the final shot on the viewer with a similar repetition, simply to revel in the self-evident reality of having absolutely selected the finest take, the one which embodies most the pathos of the scene as latent on the page in all its torrid ardor, embodied now in stunning three-dimensional reality by moi. -- Laik

None but I have witnessed the scenes in which the Wallies dance -- Al]]

[radiant day through the windows in Joey's insertion shot]

- He has you there, Haruspex. Not even your finely honed culinary prowess could have so quickly and silverly ascertained that it was my broth which pollutes the vino!

[Brux requested two white elephants and a troupe of acrobats for his]

- I could sniff out those fruity notes with both eyes open!

(DROTTIN - and a crab-stalk grafted on his dick, bro.)

- As if you couldn’t. As if anyone couldn’t!

- It’s citrus, Haruspex!

- Citrus is a fruit, golden boy.

(DROTTIN - You turned it into the world’s worst tinto verano. I’m fuckin thirsty, bro!)

–\\./–

Cpt. Schreibermachen – that fuck Joey – glanced at you through the light. Through currents of the straw to gold of his hair, all motes shone as points on rings of iron cross.

His smile – its manifold condescensions – unmoored his face from the affection it so rightfully earned. He seemed only ever – to be half-looking away. You could somehow see – yourself blurry in his periphery. Though flesh before you – already you carried the quality of memory.

- Not that I ought guarantee myself a good first impression – though I ought expect to still give a second and third!

The full weight of his eyes fell on Laika Psychorrhax – squire still at heart – and Laika smiled with the warmth of a saint or Madonna painted powder blue and scale of shellac over the rim of a bow of candleglass.

- As though his neck were that candle and his eyes the flickering flame!

To see the light snuffed out. The wax glide down the slope of your arm. As a shard of the mosaic of her face entered you by slip of palm. 

– Glistening gossamer – What milky nebulae fins between my fingers!

( o )

{{FROM Löwenrudel-2 :-- Where Fraternization is Shown to Be More Than Strictly Fraternal}}

- Welcome to A Bruxaria – a show that may or may not still be The Bruxcast. On my program today, I have the effervescent lil tall sip of fizz, Cpt. Luxor Drottin ready to serenade us with some fine poppy foam bubbles I know you'll be eager to trickle right down your shirt fronts!

- What up, Brother Brux. You got a special girl in your life yet, bro?

- She's out there, mate! Might be listenin in right now for all we know!

- Bro, what I know is you're gonna make the luckiest lady alive the lady who makes you the luckiest man alive. You're so special, Brother Brux. You deserve a special girl to be with all the rest of your days ~ !

- Cpt. Drottin, I have to ask – you a Great Dane or just a Standard Swede?

- Deffo not enough Finns to make a whole fish, bro.

- An avalanche every iceman cometh, I am indeed the jelliest of donuts!

(STICK IT IN A PUSS O/o STICK IN A PUSS o/O

YOU LOVE TO CUP THE VULVAE /O CUP THE VULVAE /o

CUP THE VULVAE O/O )

- Bro, you should soundproof Cpt. Hlaford when you're recording, otherwise stick em someplace soundproof, bro. Holy hell – What are you even spending 9/10ths of our total broadcast budget on if you can't account for basic quality of life improvements?

- Mate, we hadn't always been a big show. You're a young up-and-comer. You weren't with us in the early seasons. I started out as a pirate channel in a janitorial closet and did every show to the hammer beat of Wally deadliftin in nothing but a big sweaty-ass stained lycra singlet and cheese scented wool socks, the singlet himself (itself -- weren't once human!) almost obscenely padded out by a fat heavy knit cotton tee which'd accrued mothscales on pine like sycamore sap; sweatmarks foamroasted in tree rings so much so I thought he were wearin some sorta throwback arctic camo -- sometimes just strippin outta his drenched as shit singlet, tossin his goofy coconut tropical-scented pineapple-printed dick briefs at me head, full on fuckin sloshin me like urinal piss foam in a mug I served outta the tap at me own bar -- and Wally fukin drank it down, asked for another and another -- by the end, I was dehydrated, lyin on me side jitterin and he just bleched and said he was goin out fer a beer /// Live on air, his stinky fuckin briefs hittin me head, and it's so sweet and anointed and heedy like a fuckin pina cooldada it takes awhile to taste the burn :-- Joshua Openly Fornicatin Christos, I bet this man's cock is delicious! I just wanna stare the seat of his pants everyday the rest of my life and cringe thinkin bout how good it'll taste, but never ask cause I'm such a shy and delicate flower -- I had to hear it during recording, during editing, on the air. It's part of me creative process now. There just is no motive to create without hearin Wally scream through a wall, punch through the wall, chase me round the room, hollerin after me to gimme back his soul. Destroyin all my equipment, but not before it can all be backed up to the satellite, way out in space, where Wally's domain can not yet penetrate out into the upper atmosphere ~0~ !

... Tell you the truth, I can't coax him into helpin me do it unpaid, so I just sorta loike – y'know. Built my sets around him. Sometimes cut off pathways in advance to keep him boxed in... change the patterns of nature to make him predictable, just sorta like – you know. Follow him and record so inspiration can strike the second he lets his guard down and thinks he's free to be himself, but I'm just over here bein a nosy lil anthropologist lady who wants to record the sound of him gettin it on so I can once again feel the butterly tinglin in my nowhere places when the currents of life are alive and fruitful like a smoothie churnin an egg-beater round my brain out which I will fry the heartiest crepes?

- Bro, to be completely honest – I have so many questions, I don't even know where to start, so um – I won't unless you give me a few moments to collect myself, which I doubt you will?

- Mate no, by all means. This is a show where two people talk! A talk show. I have to show you talking! In all the hours we've been together, I'm sure I definitely have footage of you talking. Go ahead. Prove it to me now and to the viewers at home that you have participated in my talk show by talking to me – Now. Live on air. Edited only for initial broadcast.

- Um –

- Cpt. Drottin, you know, I think –

\\./

[[Commercial breakfast. Dignity & self-respect. You ain't what I eat. -- Laik]]

//.\

Cpt. Schreibermachen glanced at Drottin through the light.

He seemed for a moment, only anonymous. Some face more flesh than memory, shed as the cicada shell of a mask.

- Never have I met a man before as you, brother – as uncut and void of substance as myself. 

Cpt. Drottin let himself linger -- in the glance that he threw back.

He would stroll as he would linger. Some eternal dusk whenever he took things slow. Though his eyes was the hardball palming the mits of the leather, soft. No fangs to see in the dusklight he crept.

Corrosion softest in the creases. Parts of him wore away, from wear and from moisture, and it seemed inevitable – that he should decay though still a young calf he was. To slaughter before spoil. No caustic splotches. No sheens of oilslick to stain. The wear of age which deep intuition had bent into seams varicose down the planes of his face – hairline fractures in the light which only you would see, for only you looked and met not a man's eyes before meeting the topography of his skin as you interrogated your seawall against oblivion every morning.

You had seen comelier young men putresce on the vine. He was simply microdosed with his own fermentations, dispersed in beads along the sweet. You never tasted his punch, or into what frenzy it drew you.

- I will hear you, brother – for you are a virtuous man.

Schreibermachen wore a brief of cotton, Drottin a brief of aluminum. The translucence of the strands wrung-spun and glow-wormed in the rays of the evening sun, refracted off the contouring of their meddle.

Their cocks they pushed together, to careen shaft to shaft, in boy's adventure fables where they knew the heroics of their capacities for life and for daring, ascending and descending the ropes from which they hung and swung, sang and wrang (though sometimes it were vine or stone) and they could press only closer to cling in embrace, singing praises of valor, sputtering salival and bellowing, articulations upon articulations as you strove to meet his eyes ~

Though your head craned back as his, slick inside the prison of his briefs, as you foamed through the cling of yours -- your slick coating his, beading through the meshing to mingle with his as he stewed in your seepage and his stung your nicks -- your cockheads so tight inside the dual collar of your phimotic ring, magenta and clamped upon by the joint limitations of your own crucified anatomies, where you were girdled in flesh as you were gartered in fly, as much two bodies trapped within a mind as two minds trapped within a body, inches upon inches /

Your eightheads together, (4 + $ - CAP = ←) meeting his eyes with the mutual piteousness of your need, hovering at a threshold of ecstatic communion, condemned to never plummet off, but shoot deep roots into the rocks at the edge, to drop fruit to be carried far in the rivers below ~ your trunks entwining and your branches parting farther, the spongeal nodes of your need still aching and pressed together, no longer able even to rub, but merely to give and merely to pulse in the same heartbeat of your idiot-eyed surrender to himself and to you ~

Breeches around your ankles in the public squares, your uniform jackets drenched with drool, foaming down your legs and into your breeches, briefs so soaked-through there is nothing left to-be unseen ~

... and you are breathing in the spice of Cpt. Drottin's beard, longing to bite at it, but you can only hold him, wishing your faces were clamped even closer together, stuffed by the figure-eight of a dual-chambered inflatable gag, lips bolted in the optical illusion of a vice-grip jaw to jaw so you could meet his eyes, only his eyes, and never be away from those pools into which you longed to drown, but would plunge only into to scale up – for the light you saw was but a reflection of your own.

… you are the true foundation, Brother Joseph;

Drottin sang to ache ~

the exhaustion he could no longer prolong.

/o

[ Camera left rolling for six hours.

Through the silky, slatten light

falling through embers of alleys;

Cpt. Hlaford bums a smoke off a derelict saint, to bless him with a bottle of spiced rum, and a pirate jig they will do.

A pirate jig they did do for you.]

o|

( o )

{{FROM Löwenrudel-3 :-- Where Instigation By an Outside Party is Established}}

Cpt. Psychorrhax lingered long in Brother Jacek's line of sight.

His eyes could move nowhere but where they willed -- for Psychorrhax moved them by subtle stirrings of weaves and misdirects.

A carnival hare in a conjurer's grip, more meat than felt. Held taut by his throat, stirring in the hand of fate. Though he moved with an air of what was causal, if slight and rushed -- precocious a boy that he was -- around him the currents of the air lit ablaze as if molecules ignited in figure eights, and so lent to his every motion the swell of a crashing wave and with it all the drama of a dance ~ though it was mute as the tall grass, billowing though he was still / a mound all around the vegetation.

Brother Jacek held his gaze -- he tracked Laika everywhere.

( o )

{{FROM Heute Ist Der Tag (An Dem Ich Dich Traf) :-- Where Sycophantry is Itself Revealed to Be a Form of Instigation}}

[Close-up: Cpt. Drottin shorn of beard and bear fur, looking particularly barely legal despite being a 6'6" scruffy blonde goat demon (sprawling, stony and desolate as a winter landscape bereft of his key mammalian bounty, expressed now in the subtle fury of a simmering lechery) prancing about under terms of mandated faggotry in heavy yoke and chainlink, dick keyed up like a bank-vault rigged to blow if tumbled -- Laik]

- Sir, please --

Cpt. Haruspex needed to check the whine on that fan.

... don't make him wear that ridiculous thing outside. It's degradin enough that he's gotta wear it in! Way he's gotta hear himself jingle as a jungle cat harnessed in bells! ./. Stripped of his pride by every clattering din-ga-ling, ding-a-ling, hell-ooo-oooo . .\. Mate, lookit him shrimped! Dick's gotta be gettin all bent up squirmin round inside that tight pinchy thing! It's gonna come out all segmented like a centipede, scurry up your leg with its claws. Man his age shouldn't be stuffed into things like that! Hurt his self-esteem you tellin him what a happy lil slaveboy he is, all decked up as older brother's submissive totemized fuck-display!

[a biting of the lip~

a tenting of the trousers.

reluctance, aching to be rid of itself~]

Cpt. Haruspex you feel -/- ( o ) -\- would make for a great piece to complement Cpt. Drottin. They could recline on the armrests of your chair, //. ( o ) .\\ Elbows nestled in the smalls of their backs, two perfectly symmetrically chained slave brothers. -//- -//- -\\- -\\-

-One suggestion, there he goes. Threatens to turn me to furniture! Elbow me in the back til it bursts open like a dislocated knee, prejac jelly donut with pus and tobacco leaves rolled and puffed! Just the day-in day-out grindin and crushin, thoracic to the tray, bone-gutted loike ---

- Sir, may I say --

Cpt. Psyhorrhax approached in a haze of black merlot as Haruspex allowed the ostrich feather of his eyes to wave back and forth.

- Him! Yes, him! Laika would make for a much better slave brother!

Cpt. Psychorrhax attempted to hold his smile.

He conspired not to let his glee turn to disgust, glancing at Cpt. Drottin -.- visibly so much less than the nothing he was typically allotted.

- He'd be perfect, mate. Yeah. Laika's soft. Delicate. Spurnful and mournful. He's even prettier than Drottin. Got more sculpt. More bone. Got more woman scorned in him. He'd look twice as fetchin in a cocktail dress! He is round. He is soft. He is not not masculine, though his leg's definitely look pert and powerful poppin out the hem, muscular and tendony as free-range devil birds farmed for hate! Drottin is more... more somethin, tho not necessarily more of a soapdish. Prone to scum and lilac scent alike, you understand well nuff! Got so many beautiful boys to choose from, sir! My flesh bared in shorn and moisturized submission display would be a pox upon your eyes and induce mass blindness if televised! You must insist on torturing me so brazenly, for I have such a dutiful and loyal soul -- you yearn to test my resolve!

[[Fucker's referrin to Jacek now. Three just ain't enough! -- Laik]]

You would see Cpt. Psychoraggia presented before you in time. You would require two additional symmetrically-arranged slave brothers to complete your envisioned footstool, for two men would be a necessity of stability and comfort to support the weight of your size sixteens, and it would take two additional to unlace, suckle and lick with hoary breath.

[pretty sure this was still Brux talking]

- Sir, your proclamations are difficult to parse -- am I still the rest for your scaled grindstones or will I be an accessory to the footstool? Would I be honored to breathe deep of the earthy and brie-like tang of your post-parade bootsocks? It would be a much more pleasing fate, sir! You know you enjoy the sight a Brux on his knees. Don't even need pads, mate. Just let em swell up like baboon asses on each of my loike knobs, lettin the joints get all loobed up with inflammants, press em together and you thigh fuck me like some beautiful marbled skin-flap pussyboy!

From the look Laika refused to give it was evident to any with eyes to see he found himself taken by Cpt. Haruspex's enthusiasm.

[[The relevance for the inclusion of this scene here will become apparent in time. For now, be a good lil spectator and just enjoy the sights -- Laik

Eyes forever fit to feast. -- Al]]

( o )

{{FROM Löwenrudel-1 :-- Where Somebody Must Certainly Be Aware They Ain't Bein Subtle!}}

(_/~ ( o ) ~\_)

- Brother Jacek. Why the long face? You look as hoarse as you sound!

- I'm not sad, Brother Brux.

- Mate, you don't gotta hide nuthin from me. It's me, your buddy. It's me, Brux. You know I'd only ever lie to you if you weren't in your right mind and I needed ta subdue ya! Not that – y'know, you're ever fully in yer right mind, so I guess i'm never fully tellin ya the truth? and that's loikely the cause of some of your strain? but – y'know. Nobody's ever always in their right mind, mate. We all gotta lie to protect ourselves. It's not your fault that when people're around you they need extra protection and thus got a higher likelihood a lyin, and their lies – innocuous things that they are – only put ya further on edge. I swear to you, mate. I'm always tellin ya as much of the truth as I can, or I think ya can handle! and I know I'm super self-absorbed, but loike – I'm really tryin with ya, mate!

... not that I'm spellin this out cause I wanna manipulate ya or nothin, it's more like – I just need ya to see where I'm comin from, cause sometimes bein impersonal really is the best way to care for somebody?

... cause loike – y'know.

... on some level I really do wanna be your mum, but loike – realistically I can't? I feel like I'd be lyin to ya if I really did try to be your mum full-time, cause as much as I'd want to, I'd be openin myself up to more baggage than I could handle, and then I'd get strained and my strain would strain ya more, and it would begin to compose a vicious cycle of bitin off more than I can chew with a man who – I'm sorry to this say this mate – can really stuff his mouth cause he's not afraid to use his teeth?

…  gosh, mate – I keep my distance around some men who, y'know – I dutifully serve and love and adore and now I gotta get close enough ta you to make ya feel safe and protected, but also – you could eat me. You really could. That is a probable outcome and it is one I need to protect myself against. It's not like – it's not like I don't want ya to be able to eat me either, cause – y'know. Chances are if ya couldn't eat me, I'd just have contempt for you? I'd certainly find you a lot less intriguin. There's somethin inherently fascinatin about danger that makes ya compelled to rush toward it? Though also – it cannot be overlooked – there's also somethin about danger that repulses ya and makes ya wanna stay away?

... I get it, mate. I get it. I wanna do everythin I can for ya, but I can only do it from a safe distance of no less than ten and no more than seven feet, and sometimes – y'know. You really do need me to get closer, but I can't? It's not your fault. It's not anybody's fault. There's simply an inherent difficulty in two men bein intimiate with one another, which is why men are best off bein intimate with girls, y'know – not that I gotta tell a fine, sharp-nosed poonhound like you, Brother Jacek, it's more loike –

- You're thinkin bout Joey and Laika?

- Red-handed as a reach-around in the jelly jar, Brother Jacek! Cherry as always! I cannot tell a lie, but I sure can filibuster! Roight, see – with Joey and Laika, it's loike – are they the same person? Like all blondes? It's kinda weird how much Laika wants to be loike Joey, right? 

- You wanna be like Joey, Brother Brux.

- Mate, I do not wanna be like Joey. There's not a whole lot about Joey which is admirable or beautiful or thrillin, he's a thoroughly miserable person who can't love anybody but monsters. No offense. I was not thinkin of either you or our commander whom I venerate with offerings, or Laika himself for that matter, who seems to be a vain, petulant, amoral crackpot if you really squint between the hours of two and three.

... um, do I really think that? Do iIthink my loving and devoted brothers who I spend most of my time around are thoroughly loveless shells of human beings who can only inflict suffering upon themselves and upon each other? Have you ever noticed? This the sort of talk that you find uplifting and inspirational, Brother Jacek? would you like me to keep going, or would it be more productive if I bitched about Wally instead?

( o )

{{FROM: Johannestag-0 :-- Where a Poor Boy is Ruthlessly Eviscerated by an Imported Sissy From a Failed Nation}}

[[Our weekly Stygian Council meeting, already in progress -- Laik}}

With a storm wind, you rose the hand mallet.

It swung toward the anvil.

In the thunderclap which sparked, all had known -- that you were the only one with might enough to shut Joey up.

- Permission, sir!

Brux was piping up now --

… to bar Cpt. Schreibermachen from the introduction, indexing or glossification of any new businessships for a period of at least three lunar deci-cycles to perhaps even six solar hexi-cycles! 

Overruled. Without Joey being the only one to talk, the venture would have to remain with Brux.

- Sir, you're sayin it with your face…

It was customary -- to humiliate all dissenters with the gavel.

Cpt. Haruspex, your dearest and most treasured confidant, fellow of strange lands and stranger loves, did not deserve the route degradation of our custom so delivered with such painful constancy.

- He is such a route disappointment to him, Cpt. Schreibermachen -- 

Cpt. Psychorrhax leaned to speak.

… that he is ashamed even to honor his failings with a public admission of evident reality, for Cpt. Haruspex's reputation remains so starkly in ruin, he would kick up dust before he realizes he has no shards left to hammer.

These words you knew to be Laika's – 

For from the dulcet tones of his soprano, his diction mimicked Schreibermachen's as though a bird call through reeds, breathing venom into the hoary and wild snout of a petting zoo monitor lizard.

- I will throw pixie stick filling in your eyes Laik!

In Cpt. Haruspex's homeland, this statement would be deciphered as an act of targeted, disproportionate malice against an unstandard male -- for there remained a place where Brux remained but simply substandard.

- Sir, your breathtaking economy which melds the eloquence of your wit with the wit of your ecology could be but a dim remembrance cutting at the margins of sensibility outside the orthodoxy of the transcription!

Brux was keenly aware that Joey could cite plausible grounds for the necessitation of a footnote by -- with the ostentation of his sycophancy -- drawing attention to where he recorded his poetic impressions of your entrenched and solemn brow with but the most astute acuity.

- No new business it is!

Cpt. Haruspex shuffled his slick prints.

… well not if Sir's gonna encourage Joey to include that in the written report. To think that Cpt. Hlaford's fine and exquisitely legible and timely shorthand should be plastered over with Joey's jittery ink blotted scribblings, reeking as a packet of firecrackers engulfin gunpowder paper fortunes outta lunar meadowlings of flutter'd watermoths-- well, mate, it's like ya don't even wanna put together a dossier whose calligraphic simplicity recalls the stunning brushwork of printed Kyoto seclusion!

Cpt. Hlaford, finger blades sloshing the black tide, lashing at the manta flesh which gilled the filter of his ink theremin -- did not cease to recoil, though embodied the chaos within the lancing of his strokes.

- Cpt. Haruspex --

This was Cpt. Psychorrhax.

… Cpt. Hlaford resents that his achievements could be only ever fodder in petty games of onesupsmanship between men who lack even the lack of courtesy to consider one another their rivals.

As all were implicated in this comment, Wally could not resent it -- though under any circumstance, could have found ample cause to do so.

- Make me lick the blood off yer boots, aye.

Cpt. Hlaford's wrists would flick -- as his lips moved, puckering as suckerfish past gritted teeth, tethered by fingerbones to sugar-strings.

… once you kick me when i'm down, sir.

- Old business it shall remain then!

Cpt. Haruspex was eager to move back.

- New business resumes then!

As Joey was eager to remain forward.

- Terrorism funding! Today we're talkin bout terrorism funding!

Their throats filled the air. The room filled with their groans.

Cpt. Haruspex, a classicist well-at-heart, proved eager to scrape, as a horse carcass from a grill floor, our most languishing historical custom.

- What if the terrorists --

Brother Jacek, still as the earth below the storm wind -- held himself to attention. By some secret will, he found the fortitude to speak.

… aligned with the anarchists.

Cpt. Psychoraggia knew well the terror cells to be among our country's most well-endowed and respected counter-military measures -- they who would align with enemies of the state, both known and unknown, only if -- and when -- competitive salary or the need for artful experimentation necessitated nonseasonal conflict.

- They are our brothers too, Cpt. Jacek -- our brothers in headgear and neckscarf; cradling jet-propulsion tanks of double-humped gin.

Laika let his hand linger long on the sun-warmed slab of Brother Jacek's back. Joey saw nothing -- for he felt so truly what was evidently so evident, his hand could stain only what glosses the hide.

[[Gosh, I am just so lucky I never know which parts of Sir's narration are wryly sarcastic cries of anguish stemming from the unspeakable violence he's witnessed and perpetrated. Makes me feel so warm and fuzzy that for for all I know, all his words can mean the exact opposite and I've been autistic the entire time like some idiot dumbass! -- Laik

A stylist of pure probability -- Al]]

( o )

{{FROM: Johannestag-1 :-- No Elaboration Necessary}}

The room was spinning – You weren't.

You didn't feel too bad – Far from it.

This wasn't a place – You'd been too often.

- Maj. *******, sir – you switch from water to soda on your third and soda to tonic on your sixth – becoming so quickly well-traveled, your adventurousness knows no bounds -- a roadmap well-inscribed on the velium of a carcass, to be raptly gilded by the veinery of your bloat!

That lil fuck Laika – He was cute.

You didn't care much what his words mighta meant in reality – You just knew it'd be good to dick his face right here in the open.

- Bloated with fermentation, Psychorrhax – a dent in the sterling hull of his tap! Though his mass is admirable enough to lead navies– he has been fasting since noon before last, and not a single molecule stirs otherwise in his guts, shriveled beneath boughs of striated hardwood!

Holy fuck, Joey – you had a chocolate croissant and a Zoobier earlier – you're corrupted. You'll never regain your ketonic aura. Your face is already fat with carbs – Go throw up, you'll be pretty again.

Bro, you gotta trust you on this – Don't let anybody from the press catch you. Don't even look in a mirror, you'll never recover. 

- The major is aware, Psychorrhax – lean prose is the product of a honed mind, in which a lean body is also the inevitable consequence. The workshop of his mind is cold butchery – for his words flay your still living cadaver and slice through the sinews of your pectoralis down to the bone, to wedge into finely sliced sheets some scalpel of his silent tongue – flat as sharkskin against the roof of his mouth when he does not lick …  I am more fanciful, as though it needed be said aloud. A certain hunger stirs in my joints – a heaviness to my head and the clarity of steam rising off warm lakes of some clairvoyant space.

… I could have said as much… with half as much, this is certain – Had I not poisoned myself with a drizzle of cocoa and sweet orange on barley.

Economy. Economy. Economy.

It was all you drilled in this kid – and still he went first class.

- Big guy. Big buy – Whaddya you doin? Whaddya you lookin like that for? You tryin to make me grandma, wolfy? I ain't grandma. Don't care what big eyes you got – I ain't lettin you in. Nuh-uh. Not into my brickhouse. Brick shithouse. That's you. Need brick while I shit. Gotta be defensive. Stay defensive. Best defense is a good offense – Best offense is to never defend. Put you back in your hayloft – Where you belong. All those sticks. All these sticks – Hey. I don't know about those. You know about those? One of you – one of you is a witch. I can sense it. I been practicin – practicin my remote viewin – so I can find the remote. Find it anywhere. It's under the couch cushion – We got thirty sex cents. A pretzel. A copy of Jodi Flightplan on DVD. Gosh. What treasures. Treasures of antiquity. Gonna put em in a museum. We will Foster – All behaviors. 

Your fuckin dad – holy shit, you loved this guy.

- Hey! Hey, big guy! You look with your eyes, not your hands, you hear? Eyes are big and freaky – don't need your big – weird ass crab claws on me. Big hairy dick vein. Oh my Gosh. You use that moisturizer I got you?

You're gonna give that fucker a hug –

- Oh no, oh no! 

Gettin you this cushy fuckin job.

- Oh no!

Had to admit, padre – don't always get it, but sometimes – sometimes ya make a lick a sense.

- I need to be guarded – against my bodyguard – he might sneeze! Might sneeze on me! Change the makeup of my germs – I am a salad – Why is nobody – nobody puttin up a lil sheet. Sheet of glass for me to go behind? Where I can get naked – all ripply. Let people see me as a pretty lady.... I have tits. My tits are marvelous! I am spewing forth curdled milk from the goaty dugs which are the source of my supreme fecundity – lick my balls.

He was a riot –

He or somebody else actually thought this shit was poetry. 

- Father, do not forsake decency by continuing to wander about fully clothed!

Joey – don't egg him on – he's liable to get scrambled when you try'n make him overeasy. 

- You're becoming quite the clucking hen, Maj. ******* – though an omelet we will make, every egg you shall insist on cracking yourself upon the rim of the pan will scream out in the ecstasy of betrayal; for it was these into this fold which you have lain, to hear solely the song of how they sizzle!

If Laika was an egg – he'd be Faberge.

- Best you leave me on the mantle as you return to the kitchen. 

Only time you wanted Brux – was when you had no idea where he was. 

- Sir. Sir, stop. You could not – you could not – you could not knock out all three of those massive pillars holdin up the balcony – Naw, naw mate. Even with a charge from this distance, you don't have the breadth, or – dare I say? Yes. Yes, I do – You lack the ferocity to demolish stonework that distance apart unless you wanted to risk makin a damn fool of yourself – y'know – unless you tried some – wicked, loike – hurl of one pillar into another at breakneck speed sorta –

Cpt. Haruspex – you needed to admit – displayed, on occasion, a remarkable ear for strategy.

- X – XII – XIV – He has rediscovered whiskey, Cpt. Schreibermachen.

Don't need no fuckin helmet kid – This forehead splits axes.

( o )

{{FROM: Johannestag-2 :-- The Reality of What You Chose}}

The priests of the labrys he bent to his will – weighed with snow in gnarled poses, heavy as the boughs of spring – craned to him to blow mountain horns through the handles of their hollow axes.

- I have not spoken to Brother Laika in some time! What rulers echo in every void utterance! The pleasure has most certainly been his!

The rhubarb hues swollen beneath the sterile goatiness of his face – slick with his sweat, some idiot aureole played as his hair unfurled from the gilding of its honied comb – A kaleidoscope of arms and suckers in the brass-edged prongs of a heliacal crown which was his hair blowing in the breeze of the slate blue day – Metallurgical in the covalence of its bonds, the day overlooking the white of the plaza, yellow ivory by ash of gold.

- Sir, your words move me as only Cpt. Schreibermachen's do – have you, by some iota of probability unpaid, perchance to've read him?

...

–

As seeds scattered in the wind, they wanted not, yet wanted only to die.

A whole brood came of age, spurning the ovipositor which laid them. Without contradiction of their wants, the falsities of the false world into which they were born, they knew they themselves to be expendable – people who should have never been, sold now and always, to people who weren't worth it, on land which was not theirs :-- serving only the machinery for which they had been bred to be slaughtered.

The Carpenter removed his hood – he was but (A) Baal by kinder words. 

He sang to them. In harmonic resonances of love, he sang to them. By the grosses, from bridges which rose in honeycombed towers, drone embryos flew without wings – into the traffic of tankmen to be torn under wheels pulverized & dragged – limbs flash-fried a second here and there, wasted :-- untold countless unclaimed prophets squandered. 

((( o )))) Without the lubrication of blood to properly anoint at proper variables – The machinery chugged and sputtered to a halt.

The streets caked with viscosities of skin and sinew – gelatin of bone and meat pumped by arterial sepsis. Clean. Pure.  Sears of gunmetal perfumed on tongues. Product rotting on shelves without plot or purchase, writhing with fresh and effervescent life, singing the songs of flies.

The structures collapsed by the rings of their stumps, pumping always lead in their sutures, where true necessity reigned, hollow hearts followed hollow heads – as all were as gourds in the wind.

A hedge trimmer to a bonsai, an octopus to a cutlet. With ice to a sickle, whole densities of shoulder were shed in the shaving. Another turn of the waltz – into place, they fell, and into space, they rose.

Deprive themselves of them – for they have spoilt their generations, every vivisection floating like debris, around the miracle of these pollutants.

~!~

;w L

L o :

–

Cpt. Haruspex's tongue would slip when his hands would slight him.

Cpt. Haruspex's words would fail him – when by the slight of glance, his eyes would fall upon Cpt. Schreibermachen sipping coffee. 

( o )

{{FROM: ( o ) V>IIV7 ( . ) :-- I Am Unafraid}}

He could meet his own eyes. Meet his own eyes, though his breath weighed leaden on his chest.

Cpt. Psychorrhax stared. Stared and struggled to remember.

This man was no stranger to him. This man was simply nobody.

An anonymous face. An able body.

This person looking back had no past, no future, and knew himself to be simply a collection of discontinuous moments and fragmentary observations which did not cohere into a whole, less he strained his wrist and bloodied his hands in another effort to hold himself together.

Cpt. Psychorrhax could think of things.

Think them, though they contradicted what he knew.

There were times in his life – the life of this person staring back – where he could disappear into the bold colors and winding patterns of the tapestry of life, though when fire took to the gold lace and silk, he was not even ash, merely a solitary ember whirling as a feather on a draft which would vanish amongst the dust of the tiles, swept away as one iota of detritus to compose the weightless gray clump of pollutants in some bin.

He could reach out to this person. Press his hand to the glass and meet him eye to eye. From his quivering throat, some pressure passed his lips. It was as though the other man struggled first to speak –

but cut himself off so as not to interrupt. 

This man – though his eyes were gentle – was far from an unimpressive specimen of manhood. Possessing of grace and athleticism, still robust but for a figment of the boldness of his brothers – the beauty in him could not be denied, though neither could it budge him. As upon a moonlit shore, the black waves would roll, and in the salt wind carrying the smell of campfires extinguished, sepulchral tongues could lick at bare feet buried in the sand – still warm from the sun so long past set.

[gagging on cock, sputtering, accelerating]

-- Please. Continue.

-- History is written by the winners, and to assume there are winners and losers is to assume a polarized view, not only of history, but of human thought and the universe from which it extends. As there are no winners and losers -- for the rules of any game could only ever be human dreams -- there remain countless histories unwritten where all the many things never here have already occurred, and what greater worlds were these we now see! We rescue them by our recollections which never were, and so enrich this world we know not to be our hell, for we could make it nothing but ... longing always for there to be somewhere more worse!

-- Might be I'm from Upside-Down Land Joe, but you thinkin backwards makes it happen forwards makes me wonder about all the upright things that'd never be :-- like what it'd be like if Laik were talkin!

\ . o

{{FROM: 7(o)8v\ . >I3>VL . /^3(o)L Doppelteleere}}

-- Welcome to the Laikaverse. Tonight on our show, we have the only man who ever mattered to me, and he should matter a lot more to you. Ladies and gentleman & all interesting packages I need to unwrap cause they make me wanna guess, tonight I am proud to present my one and only guest. My best friend & brother, Cpt. Laika Psychorrhax.

-- Yo Yacko. How's havin the only show worth watchin treatin ya?

-- I get all the views I deserve. All of them. I don't need your hearts. I rip em from the chests of all who oppose me. I'm a barbarian & a brute and I de-stigmatize cannibal psychopathy by bein cute in a bad boy way which Laik keeps makin boyband, all his fuckin smiles. I'm basically the best. Don't need to mention it. Know how bad you want this dick, bro.

-- Don't need fuckin seven or eight middle names. I like havin the two. I think it makes it less disingenuous when I wanna brand, which I don't need to cause I am arbiter of all possibilities which present themselves!

-- Well spoken, better sucked. We can actually talk about shit that bros care about at some length before I make you suck my dick. Sometimes I just wanna hear two dudes talk and suck each other's dick, bro. I don't wanna go to the fuckin ballet. Like the choreography is spellbinding, but it's too hyperstylized to be sexy. I'm not a fuckin rube, I just don't know why your dick needs an aerial shot bro. Can't the dick be a subject in its own right, does it have to be a dream-image in a propagandistic context? Holy fuck, what have words done to your brain, bro.

-- Why I wanna go to the ballet, I fuckin live it!

-- Dance, lil seducer-assassin. Smack you on the ass with my ruler before I make you gulp down a shot of poison, send you out into the Siberian winter to ice-skate in the light of the moon while Spider Willow watches from the barn. Cradling all her agricultural tools and her chemistry set, hollow and silvery knowin what she hath sown.

-- Holy fuck, bro. Fuck my ass and cuddle my scared shivering body! I don't need no comparative mythology course before you refuse to blow a load on my face cause that would deplete your heightened stoic life essence and dim the solar crown radiating out your gold-threaded dick-header! Fuckin wrap me in a myrtle jockstrap and crush my balls, bro! Shower me in the gold of all which is cloudy and stagnant and stifled! I long to be blessed by your brine, the salt of your labor and excretion! I'm not a fuckin black hole, Joe! I'm a fruit, I gotta burst and seed, bro.

-- Juicy lil pomegranate. Juicy lil apple. Juicy lil date.

-- Fuckin masticate me to make water into wine, bro! It's a fuckin miracle when you dismember me! Oh my fuckin God, bro. That's what you are to me, no fuckin irony, no fuckin academic obfuscation! You magnificent beast! Rip me to pieces and devour me! Splatter my blood all over these pristine white walls, that the scene of my execution should look as though Pollack convex within a Bollack! Mirror me in flesh to eyes dimmed by torpid flames into new universes of neuronal tumescence! Your fat engorged prick at which I long to suckle like the teat of a bull is the one true Source of My Life and I Am Slavish Before It! To me, your cock could never be a means to inflict pain or inject corrosion, for it is the very font of all which I most cherish. It is truly Life Itself!

-- Yeah, like I said. Know how bad you want this dick, bro.

( o )

Cpt. Schreibermachen – your brother Joseph, who we knew as Joey – craned the axal column of his vertebrae the full facsimile of a three-sixty degree turn which the stabilities of his anatomy would allow – craning the long and exquisitely tense musculature of his neck, inviting what tuggings they would allow to what sparse growth sprouted there – some scraggling and beckoning from the spots and scabs which shone as gold veining the granite jetsam of a cavewall – staring up into the winding cloudwell which was as a sea itself pouring out. A sea itself pouring out and around, peering through the looming densities, always peering where the sun still blistered brightest, for it bleached and acidified all which it could only relentlessly and unendurably hammer upon.

– It’s here, it’s here!

Joey bellowed ahead. Brux screeched from behind.

– Why, why, why? Why would it be here, Joey? It confounds all matter of public record and therefore common-sense, that it should be here! You are a lunatic! You are excitable, irritable, and contemptuous of the facts before you and all around you! You slumber lazily in a silence which is deafening for it is tragic, that your bountiful young intellect, all your talents and potential, should be squandered on such hysterical and meaningless fancies! My poor brother! My poor Joey! Nobody can help you! You’re lost and alone in this world, with adversaries all around and no safe haven to shelter you! For who you are and what you are able, you have been marked – doomed to wander, now and forever, spurned by all you may help and all who may help you! My poor brother! My poor Joey! Why don’t you ever call? We used to be so close? Would you like to talk about it? You know you’ll always be my special lil guy, Joey…

From the first of the free asymmetrical zippers on his uniform jacket – the clanging color and metal latticework which composed a public garden of pins, medals, ribbons & cokecaps blushing lushly from his lapel – he propelled with great rapidity a violet cloak of embossed and threaded fleur di lys glittering in spun gold, and with it obscured the chatter.

– Continue to ignore him at all costs! My revelations were revealed to me verily in a session late first this morning before last, then early this evening before this! My unconventional methods – the methods of which remain still too unconventional to explain this present moment, and perhaps still too many future ones at length! – was arrived upon for my frustrations with the hole always cleaved away by the cookie-cutter upon the sheet left me at last a ball of dough which was in its sum now entirety the residuals of the previous frames off which the gingerbread men did march ;– bunched up and rerolled anew, until there was only one but none! I was odds and sods, an oddity out committing sodomy and I wondered truly if I was as inverse as it was said, feeling this emptiness so persistently, for I knew once what spectacular shines burst forth within!

Brux was shouting. Shouting into the roaring wind.

– The more I talk over him, the more his scrawny lil book boy spinal nerves open to new possibility and influence will be confounded and disrupted –forced to talk in my same dilating and contracting rhythms, so all he attempts to exposit becomes as me; a yawning void, suffocating and expanding, crushing you inward, stupidly and glassily, as the puckering lips of a depthless carnival hare more orange'n gold!

Brux was shouting. Shouting as he rolled his cloak across the mud.

– They were revealed to me in a moment of meditation come trance come transcendent ecstasy as I lay pressed once more grinding against my brother in the dark night of our shared compartment, where I longed only to be one and deathless with him eternally ;– knowing myself as I could never be! Torn from the wrong side-in, always back out!

Cpt. Drottin strode forward. On his head, the marble idol flecked with streamers of freshly-oiled copper wire, the anemone-eyes of a harness and visor distended from the notched circuitry of its flexors.

– Bro, I can’t see shit with this shit on, bro.

To the sun, his eyes were pressed. To the horizons, his fingers reached, and some distant ether mist rose to take him in hand. His feet, firm and pressed against the ground, felt in the sutures of their bones what currents flowed beneath the earth, and from his love-nut – tight, swollen, puckering as his balls still fat and swollen with the seawalls he held back ; uncummed, uneaten, the fire in his guts and balls ;– eyes alit with leaky cock, hungering for potentials unearthly and obscure.

– All of this I know. No dissent may take into account what I know, when it refuses to see, refuses to hear – it is not good-faith criticism to call me a lunatic not for what I believe, but only for I can no longer believe not even in you, but what you think you need to obscure yourself!

From Brux’s lips emanated forth raspberries as he leapt into the protracted and violent syncopations of the worm.

– You’re approaching JRPG text-dump levels of unnecessary verbiage, Joey! I have no emotional connection to anything you say, for nobody talks like that, nobody thinks like that, nobody really thinks two dickless nerd boys getting it on (not offense to my good friend, Cpt. Drottin. I would gladly rub my dick bulge against yours were it not already too excruciatingly tender to merely hold your hand. Though I confess also … I see not the need to work up the strength to perform an action which I have fundamental contempt for, and I (full-disclosure) sometimes worry about you. Nevertheless, I hope impromptu public confessions are something you can live with, and like… things don’t have to get too weird between us, for you remain my brother and my heart’s most secretive longing and any dream of a life without you is but living death) … but um, no. Dickless nerd boys can rub their cute lil bumps together anytime, Joey! That’s why boys being into other boys is for losers! That’s why you deserve a wedgie! Fuck pussy, loser! Pussy, pussy, pussy! You talk too much! You’re the annoying one! You’re overplayed and nobody likes you!

The salt breeze through his hair, Cpt. Psychorrhax allowed his heart to flutter. The weight upon his chest poured fourth its waters as a goblet overflowing and all throughout the channels of him came the calm which rendered as a warm mist the ice which clotted in his veins.

An elbow to his brothers shoulder – the limitations of the framing did not reveal the cube on which he stood to gain elevation.

– He grows more enchanting by the day, Cpt. Schreibermachen.

He looked upon Cpt. Haruspex, and found him magnificent.

Joey looked away – rightfully, manfully – at more important things.

( o )

Woe to us, for whom petty games of tribe and warfare were enough.

Woe to us, for whom petty games of family and drama were enough.

Woe to us, for whom petty games of myth and nation were enough.

Woe to us, who bore conflict for we needed the pain of others to feed, lacking wholeness and center within ourselves, we who could know only kindling by friction, necessitating others be left fuel for the fire.

Woe to us, who are the inheritors of the world we have built.

\./

Cpt. Haruspex, falling to one knee, kisses Joey thrice across each boot, his ankle flexing and swerving to accommodate the gallantry of his lips. First on the caps, then on each side of the heel, coming back to the first, then ricocheting off the second, to kiss each underside the tip.

“Schreibermachen, my brother. For you I adore, and for the people of this land whose wandering eyes, whose listless and unruly minds, whose souls are as roaring seas eager to overtake the land; whose hearts are as frail songbirds fluttering in gilded cages – for you and for them, and for my five fellows and myself, I endure with you These Seven Woes.”

On both knees now, he slides forward with great rapidity. Stumbling onto his hands, pushing forward to propel himself first at ankle level, pulling himself up by his calves to press both hands firm against his ass. Burying his face in the taut black heft of Joey’s bulge. Pressing his tongue to the seam of the leather. Meeting his eyes with an intensity demanding wounding, for it was now in simple and absolute compliance.

//o\

Cpt. Schreibermachen, descending to one knee, extends his hand to caress the fold of Brux’s ear, the other to his shoulder, meeting him in the miasma of his eyes, to usher in a daybreak through the perpetual exhaust-starved ruin which was the marshland on which we built.

Oh, fog of discontinuity be now blown away to bring forth the vapor mist of things too variably complex to render before stalwart and primeval eyes! We who see best with eyes not sealed shut, but brought down in dustings of perpetual remembrance of what is right, so many present wrongs being errors wrought in hostile alignment we may brazenly disregard to laugh at the unfaithful who call themselves their inverse!

“Haruspex, my brother. Though contemptible at times, I could never hold you in contempt, needing what no man could offer, needing space which no man could own, living out strange contradictions on foreign shores. I could never hope to understand – all the hows and whys of what you are, and cannot stop you from feeling whatever you may feel, regarding me how you will regard me, as gifted as I am with all the gifts of self-discernment, association, style, and all other boons of life and liberty. For this, I say to you – the pleasure of this chastisement is minimal, I being a sadist worthy of my stiches – for I wish I needed not blood, wish you needed not to bleed. Wished I could crush all leeches of the earth, stake every vampyre to the soil by the base of a crucifixion, to leave all pawnbrokers as bricks on which to lay the foundations of homes. I would kill anytime I wish, and stop anytime I please. I implore you not to usher in a bloodbath, and yet I cannot prevent you. I have doomed you, by my refusal to enslave you, to a freedom which is enduring, and you know not how to be a beast, then rightfully spurn my pretensions! I say to you, I am no better. I say to you I am merely myself. I say I strive for truth above my ego as my highest aim. You insist all truth-seeking exists to gratify the ego, and I say – is egoism not then your highest truth? Tell me now, tell me true. What game lacks a winner, what contest lacks a loss. I will ask why you play and what you hope to gain, and to this think to myself – for all answers you believe will bore me – that no matter the outcome, in every game which I watch or I play, I learn always something knew!”

Eyes falling closed in the sweet sublimity of surrender, his bare teeth icy with the dead light half-subsumed by the fog of his breath, he slips into trance meeting that spotlight distant, now washing over his eyes and through the golden straw of his brother’s hair.

( o )

Through the pools of liquid crystal, we saw Our Lord Cpt. Drottin :– battered in his whities, still suspended in the winter air.

Daily we pray to him, to pantomime the consumption of his flesh for our daily bread. The wine flowing as overabundant richness from the soles of our feet: calloused and tawny as the blood we lapped from the stump of his neck and bronze-eyes of his mutilated palms.

Our hair we perfumed with the oils we let drop and shatter, to smear alike in filth and richness through our fingers. The gloss was ours to wear, pungent and sweet, cloaking us even as we reeked. In masks of floral brocade, we looked to one another in half-glances through the line, beckoning these violations we too might suffer openly. That we too may be marked. Be condemned. Revealed for those bounteous things we are.

Rippling as winds across the plain, the clouds veiling those shallow ponds of depthless eyes – his heartfelt and agonizing eyes We saw now drenched in tears with rivers upheaving pikes of mountainpeaks sutured shut to crystal ice :– His milky skin so flushed, the steam rising off his face as much His tears, Our spit, Our piss pouring into his still wedged-wide pi(ee) hole from tubes he chugs down deservedly and gladly.

The demolished balcony of his muscle-gut grows thicker and more ridge-like the more he attempts to maintain balance. Attempts to press himself up. Pressurize himself to grow through the very seams of his bones as he chugs – chugs, chugs – all his brothers have to offer.

Our only worthy substitute. Our one true Lord and Savior. Only through he could our pain be allevied, for by partaking of His was Ours lessered.

( o )

“This is the brick,” Cpt. Drottin rose the monolith which was this red rock, burst to dustclouds of a thousand fragments, from which we made our cornerstone. “I have learned love is Laika.”

This brick he bashed into the nose of the man closest him, the fourth of his own line. Shattering on impact, he stumbled into a wall most certainty there, which he could neither pass through nor scale, not with the great plateaus of his nostrils gushing onto his linens to compose the organic facsimile of a performance in splattering rosewood.

Laika … could only spit.

“What the fuck does that prove? How am I the asshole cause you brick your own guy in the face like a dumbass? Durr-durr. Yeah, buddy! It’s me! I’m the one who’s as insecure and insane as Brux! I’m a tiny dog-hearted lil bitch with no loyalty outside what my own ravenous and whimsical appetite dictates me! That’s why I sit there and not only let him constantly verbally abuse my boyfriend while I not only say nothing, but secretly agree while I masturbate furiously to his hate-filled comments all night long and thank God he’s got such little self-awareness he can spew such torrents of atrocious nonsense which nobody else got the balls to agree with openly like a smokestack out to skies all the more glorious only for how the carbon emissions refract the sun into the splendor of an oilslick trapping every rainbow in its grime to reveal a resinous amber of industrial runoff more fragrant than the bile of whales or pitch of trees!”

He gave Cpt. Drottin only more reason to smile.

“In what other ways may I make my speculations known but by opening your ears to the neigh-saying which never ceases from the horse’s mouth? Do you not see how the straw in which you stuff his emptiness fails to spin itself to gold? Your senses I have amplified as the record I have let play on repeat and all throughout the night the music still blares. Why do you not listen, Brother Joseph?”

( o )

" ... A dead child. Born dead, for his mother was dead the whole of his incubation. No life in her, none to feed his soul. Born hungry for the life she never lived. Though he breathes, he speaks, he stares and sees. Born dead. No woman I designed as perfect as she, grown from the finest selection of bones, hand-sewn with a flesh of my own conjuring from alchemical arts black as the inner cities out which I hail, could look upon him without shrieking, he being a monster and she but his mate.”

At last, a long exhale Laika let out. As a train departing a station would kick up a storm in winding tunnels in the dead of night, eyes bleary for it was still such a long way home, and you knew not how long you would need to wait in the cold and dark, the ambiguous eyes of strangers all about. The uncertainty of your being inviting probing, as if showcasing by hem of garter a wound you longed to see torn open that blind-eyes may glimpse in any spilling out what another wouldn’t say – half-begging the blind to reinforce those things you knew never to be – he found himself … uncertain how, somewhere far from the previous moment, half-aware of an apotheosis partially-recognized, yet dinged by the despair of how far he still had to go, how little progress he’d seemed to have made, having only recognized how lost he was.

( o )

“For some reason…” he says, “the bulletin is taking extra long today!”

Cpt. Psychorrhax , stationed across from him, sat cross-legged in a Lord Byron power-pose whose raw charisma more than overcame its innate faggotry. His uniform hung from him as though endowing its regal aura to the air, agitating each and every individual molecule to the barbarism of civility which was the eternally-becoming democratic process.

“Heads will roll,” he promises.

Brux, lipping the cap of his pen, which unbeknownst to him, the fourth on his left had earlier used to shove a hemorrhoid back up his own ass, stared dreamily and inkily wondering what pungency he smelled.

“You do somethin with you hair, Laik? Seem like you got a glow today!”

Napoleonically, he smiles. The light hitting him composes a frieze, burning itself into Brux’s retina for the rest of his miserable daze.

Neoplatonically, he recieves.

“Gosh, you’re so cute now that you’re all-grown up lil Laika! I just wanna pinch you. I just wanna pinch you and smack your cheeks and whip out my cock and bash with you wit it for bein such an arrogant lil runt? Who the fuck you think you are, cunt? Think you fuckin deserve to get dicked jus cause you’re so beautiful and manly and your every errant motion enslaves me to the daemonic divinity within you? Gosh, lookit me. I’m Laika! I’m gonna go brag over the air bout how I know the cutest and most adorable blackest-hearted lil Witch King. Ooooh. I put a spell on yoOoOuUuU. NoOoOoOow yer mOoOoOoinne. Get real. You see one fuckboy, you seen am I (em all). I already seen two today, so it’s like I seen the entire universe. Twice. Before lunch. I’m still not even hungry! Joey’s not the only one who can fast and develop the cognizance of a vegetable! I am the stupidest, laziest motherfucker I know and there is nobody alive more intolerable than me! I have a quarter Aboriginal Ruelandese ancestry which means only ¾ths of all the baseless fearmongering I spew is factually racist, while a whole fourth remains informed by the experiences of a former-fuller person of color!”

Laika didn’t need to speak. Before even the eight who were his could rise with him, the way they walked – he walking before them, said all he needed to say – said more than he could ever say with words.

Brux spat onto page when he stabbed it with his pen.

“You’re applyin the Lovecraft principle of describin the indescribable in too many words and applyin it to how you dissed me! Real fuckin clever, Laik! Yeah, guess you know what a fuckin hack author your boyfriend is real well out there livin the dream yourself! Two fuckin feet a proximity to you and I don’t gotta fantasize bout what it’s like to be an axe-murderer anymore! Durr-durr. I’m a drunken lunatic man-beast! I’m so stupid I’m gonna hack apart and eat everyone I love cause my artistic achievements are non-starters which utterly fail to mask my dwindlin irrelevance! Hurr-hurr! I shall never be eternally young and battered, ever-dying and reviving, renewed by my own darkness! I got no fuckin idea where these suggestions’re comin from, but what I do know is they got nuttin to do wit you, nor your supposed secretive means, you lil fuck!”

Onto the Arabic gardens, the patio.

Another day in paradise.

They sang for him, as they would sing for anyone.

( o )

“I like Brux when he’s manly,” he said aloud to himself.

Staring at his own shadow. Starring at the dancing grasses. The dancing grasses he longed to smoke, to feel himself lie back well-reclined within himself, knowing only good food and good music at tangerine sunsets of a perpetual dawning, well-alive and well-aware of the multitude within and without, wanting only needlessly, needing only to want.

“Sometimes he’s so beefy and broad. He’s uncouth with a violent strangeness which is dazzling as it is coarse. Like a horsehair tail sprouting flytraps or any manner of strange things which blur the vegetable from the insect, with a fuzziness at most arachnid.”

These words. There must have been truth. Some were certainly his.

“Why does he insist on being written as this absurd and outrageous sissy? Is it all Joey’s lies? Some of it has to be Joey’s lies. What percentage of the things that Joey says are totally lies? (I feel anyone who believes in proper syntax is a liar who wishes to modulate my biorhythms along some arbitrary pole. Drunk you is real you. Sobriety is the Lie that Hey Zeus the Wino sold to his habituates.) Brux can’t possibly be a bigger liar than Joey and Laika. In some regards, Brux simply has to be the lesser of two evils. Brux is so much better of a team bitch than Laika. Laika fucking sucks at being team bitch. Holy fuck. He either lies there and takes it or lies there and enjoys it lewdly and disgustingly or lies there and hates it and it’s literally rape but he won’t fuckin say anything. He won’t even be like …. ‘hey bro, stop fuckin rapin me!’ or 'bro i’m real fuckin pissed bout all those times you raped me.’ Naw, man. He’s just like … gonna sit there and hate you and not mention those times you raped him. Fuckin coward. Every time you rape Brux he won’t shut the fuck up about it. He goes over the PA and lies about how many times you raped him so now you don’t even know if it was an implanted memory or if you really did rape him. Why would anybody rape Brux? Does he get hotter when you’re drunk? Do you think he would look extra rapeable if he was sober and you were drunk? I think you should get real drunk at a time when you know Brux has to be sober and see if you rape him. Why would you do this as a thought experiment, just make it happen, bro. Big bro rapes Brux all the time anyway. Maybe Brux is insane because big bro rapes him too many times. Maybe Brux is insane because big bro won’t rape him. Brux is always tryin to get big bro drunk and big bro still won’t rape him. I think he definitely did fuck with your memory, either surgically or through hypnotic suggestion.”

( o )

Though you turned the page, and the song of its leaves rolled as waves over rifle fire in your ear, somehow you still heard him. Though he never spoke, never glanced up, simply thumbed his pen on the wood of the table – tapping his cap on the lattice of its top: vents of chainlink running parallel as spokes from the hubs of wheels of silver lizard scale.

“You like me a lot. Tempestuous as I am beautiful, I am all which the man you profess to love could never be, and so you wear your repulsion of me openly and deign to spurn me, spurning only yourself for you wish to lay encoiled with me arm-in-arm and call me brother. Chastising yourself only for you know in time you will succumb to my sick fancies and find yourself incompatible with who you think you are, unable to recognize any longer which inadequacies you adopted of me, and which were always your own, you so willing and desirous to bare the endowment of all I take of you, reveling in those spaces in which I leave you to fester.”

The things he couldn’t say – to which you seemed to give shape and clarity with a panache which needn’t be telling, any difficult projections casting only light on smooth, marred surfaces – simply elevated him, reductions though they were, for he was habitually enlarging himself in whatever confines you put him, as a foam perpetually boiling over.

“Hot pot with me, Joe. Give you a splash as you dunk em in.”

Dunk tank goon. He would make an excellent dunk tank goon. The target which would dispatch the lever to send him splashing ought be water-sensitive as the type you’d see in carnival squirt gun games, modified along the duration of a trough where men could shoot of their distillations, flowing down to the basin of the tank proper, filling with the piss in which he would inevitably drop and need to drink himself out.

“We could work so well together. Is it really good for yourself, for me, for our shared brotherhood or the people of our land, if you continue to find me arbitrarily repulsive for no reason other than to suit yer idle fancy?”

...

“I wish myself presently…” Joey decided, “To make myself unknown.”

Brux … rotated counterclockwise.

“My spine, my spine!”

Joey had taken Brux to the tabletop. Around his head, the crook of his elbow crushed him in suffocation, descending down his face, a rolling pin in a harmony of notes ringing out in creaking leather. Flattening him down to dough, he rested there, cap-off beside his plate unruffled, in a headlock as he looked up at you swollen and helpless, Joey smiling as he pried his legs apart with his ankles and pinned him by the arches of his calves.

[simsimcha]

1907

MY BEST FRIEND

BY IZZY LEDERMAN AGE 7

My best friend in the world is Al Scarfo. 

There are 3 three reasons Al is my best friend. 1. Firstly, he is smart 2. Second, he is brave 3. Third, he is kind.

Al is smart because for example he learns Inglish English faster than me and he is good also with also does well in math. He helps me with my home work homework. Mrs. Stacy gived gave him the best mathmatishan mathematician award 2 two times.

2. Al is brave because for example when we got lost in the park he didnt didn’t panic. I was pretty scared but Al said to pretend we were eksplorers explorers and we found our way back to the path. When we were pretending it wasnt wasn’t so bad.

Al also is kind because for example when I talk to him about my sister Rose who passed he dosent doesn’t make fun of me for crying. 

He says he understands because his dad passed to too. And he is still sad about it. Sometimes we are sad together. 

Restating my introduction You do not need to say this. all of this makes Al a good friend.

(Grade: C-

Please see corrections. 

You are improving. -Mrs. Poole)

[aphantasia-culture]

So i been thinking i may have some level of aphantasia, here the think i learned about aphantasia when i was quite young and i didn't thought i had it then because most test were like "do you wanna check if you have aphantasia? Just imagine an apple and if you see it then you don't have it" and well i technically could imaginate it but i couldn't see it, it was in my brain and its like a cartoony apple-shape on one side and the colors the other and its very hard to imagine anything more complicated than an apple like i try to see a loved one and even if i last saw them seconds ago i don't remember/ picture (because sometimes i do remember but i cannot picture it) the face or anything that the person was wearing; and recently i read that another sign of aphantasia was not having the head voice and i don't have it, i mean that if im not actively thinking instead of talking i dont hear anything, could you give me some advice or something i been thinking about this for the last few days and its just eating me alive.

Sorry for any bad inglish, it is not my mother tongue.

Thank you for sharing your aphantasia struggles with this blog. You're very brave for reaching out. (And your English is okay, I understood that's all that matters)

I didn't start this blog bc I was an expert on aphantasia, or even knew a decent amount of information about it. This video on aphantasia is basically most of the info I have. Aphantasia tests like this one, scare the crap out of me.

I started this blog, bc I knew I needed to better understand what I was dealing with.

Having aphantasia is scary. It's impossible to explain to people who don't experience it. And it's impossible for them to explain their experiences to us.

I am neurodivergent in many many ways, and it's really alienating most of the time.

One of the hardest things about being neurodivergent, is not being able to explain how your experiences are different from the norm. There's even a term for it. It's called hermeneutical injustice.

Of my numerous neurodivergencies, aphantasia seemed to be one of the ones that had the most extreme case of hermeneutical injustice.

It's caused so many roadblocks for me in pursuing therapy, bc therapists don't know how to work around it, and they blame me for it.

We need language to explain how these experiences are causing roadblocks, and to get that language, we need community.

So while I don't have advice, I am here to help our community find the language we need.

So keep sharing your experiences, and hopefully we can all help each other.

[antiloreolympus]

I admit, even if i'm a big LO fan i really like your blog and i agree with some opinions here.

I would like to give my opinion of some things that i need to get off my chest about Persephone's act of wrath:

1. The gods needing a permit for an act of wrath on humans is stupid, how does that even work? Someone offends them so they get angry and go to Zeus and if Zeus is on board with it he gives them a papper that says "Zeus let me do this"??? Like, an act of wrath like Persephone's is something that happends when a god snaps, it happends in the moment. How does Zeus think they will be calm enough to walk away, go talk to him and get a permit from him? That's just stupid. Also, Zeus literally burned Demeter's field out of anger because she didn't wanted to hyde one of he's misstress, so he isn't exactly good at controling he's wrath either.

2. Persephone's anger towards those humans that killed her nymph friends shouldn't be taken as something bad, they had a deal with Demeter and they break it, witch resulted in Persephone's friends (that she created) being murdered and in top of all when she told them to stop they laugh and make fun of her. Imagine being a 19 year old goddess that just had a fight with your overprotective mother, is in a bad mood and in a moment of anger you yell at your childhood friends, that you created by the way, just to turn around and seeing them desintegrating in front of you and the last thing that you told them is "i want you guys to leave me alone" in top of all, when you go and confront the killers they laugh at you because you're just "some minor goddess" hell, i would have snapped too! Not saying that what Persephone did was okay but i can undestand why she finally snapped.

3.Those humans who cut the flowers would and should have been punished anyway, killing nymphs was a big deal in mythology (i have the theory that Persephone's act of wrath was based on the myth of Demeter and Erisicton, were the King Erisicton wanted to use the trees on a forest sacred to Demeter to build the forniture of he's palace, and he ended up killing a dryad (i think that's the name for a forest/tree nymph) so Demeter cused him and the dude ended up eating he's own daughter and himself) Hell, even offending a nymph was considered worth of a punishment, look at Andromeda's Mother, she almost got her daughter killer for claiming she was more beutifull than the ocean nymphs. So i don't see why those humans wouldn't have been punished if Kore would have just told her mother way they did.

4. Killing and punishing mortals wasn't even a big deal in greek mythology:

.Hera had no remorse in cursing and killing Zeuse's "lovers" and bastard children.

. Athena turned a woman into a spider and depending of the version she turned Medusa into a monster.

.Artemis and Apollo killed the 14 kids of a Queen who claimed to be better than their mother, Leto.

.Poseidon, with the help of Aphrodite, make Mino's wife fall in love with a bull and had the bull's baby as revenge for not sacrifasing said bull in he's honor.

.Zeus send an ex-king to Tartarus for claiming that he sleep with Hera.

So the fact that RS make a law in LO of "no killing/punishinf mortals" really makes no sense to me.

(Sorry for the mistakes, i'm still learning inglish)

Thank you for sharing your opinion (I agree with what you're saying btw)

Also, your English is really good for someone who's learning 👍

[introvert--weeb]

Hello, sorry for the inconvenience and for my English-I'm Italian-, I would like to ask you if you can match me with one of the tokyo revengers characters. I am 14, I have black hair and I am 1.49/50. I am a cancer and my MBTI is an Infj ad regarding my orientation, I am a bit confused, however, having been attracted to both females and males maybe I am bisexual (I have never been in a relationship and am not attracted to from wanting it) pronouns are she / she. As for my character, I am a calm person and others define me as kind, perhaps a little too much (like Tohru from Fruits Basket or Falco Grice from Aot).

In class I turn out to be one of the most scholars and I have high grades, others call me nerd, I am a particularly curious person so knowing is one of my favorite hobbies along with reading books / manga / comics (my favorite genres are science fiction and Psychological but I also like shoujo you are talking about manga) and listening to music. I'm insecure, but when I'm with someone who makes me feel complete and at ease I open up much more.

I tend to apologize very often which sometimes tends to annoy others and I tend to underestimate myself.

I like to skate, I dress in black / or equally dark clothes or - like skirts, pants or sweaters and shirts - and loose fitting and I wear all stars like shoes.

I really like cats, all kinds of food and video games.

I really like outgoing and self-confident people. -Sorry for my inglish, and sorry if the message is too long-

Your English is really good so don't worry 😊

I am going to be matching you with...

Keisuke Baji ❤️

You had been assigned as Baji's tutor as the teachers did not want to have him repeat another year. While you didn't particularly want to be tutoring anyone since you had a life outside of school, you agreed due to not wanting to let anyone down. Definitely too nice for your own good.

And so, you had taken one of the tables that were free within the library. Pulling out all the textbooks you felt you would need, all that was left was to wait for Keisuke Baji to arrive. Which wasn't that long after you had set out the materials.

You weren't going to lie, he definitely wasn't who you were expecting to see. You were expecting someone who looked like they carried trouble everywhere they go. Instead, Keisuke Baji looked like someone who would be called a nerd by others. Glasses, slick tied back hair, and his uniform was almost immaculate even after a full day of school.

After tutoring him for 45 minutes, you started to turn the conversation to more personal topics like interests and hobbies. It was a comfortable conversation and you were beginning to quickly warm up to the boy.

The tutoring sessions continued for a month and you were quickly falling for Keisuke. And unbeknownst to you, he had quickly fallen for you. So after the last tutor session had ended, this boy was quick to ask for your number and if you would go on a date with him. You were surprised yet agreed just as enthusiastically.

Your first date was at a cat cafe and you can fight me if you think any different. This boy adores cats and so would believe that all first dates should be held at a cat cafe. And because you also really loved cats, you had to agree wholeheartedly. The both of you would coo over all the kitties that came over, Baji saying how he wished he could have his own cat but his mother wouldn't let him.

As you were dating Baji, you would quickly come to know that he was the First Division Captain of the infamous biker gang, Toman. You were surprised as you had thought of him as the nerd you met, but once you saw this boy dressing casually, you almost had a heart attack. You really couldn't believe how attractive he was when he was out of his school clothes.

Being with Baji meant that you had come to meet Chifuyu and the other Toman members. You and Chifuyu would become close friends due to the shared love of Baji, cats, and shoujo manga. Don't tell me you wouldn't want to swap recommendations with this cute blond. This proved perfect for Baji because it meant you didn't mind spending time with both of them.

If you ever show that you're insecure in front of Baji, you best expect him to shower you in compliments and affection until you start feeling better. It would become a routine of getting affection because Keisuke really doesn't want you to ever feel insecure again. He just wants you to see how perfect you are to him and he will rest at nothing to get to his goal.

Baji would get super excited when he found out you skate. He thought it was super cool and would come with you whenever you want to skate. Might even think about learning to skate himself so it could become a new.fun date idea. Would also offer to teach you how to ride his bike if you would teach him how to skate. Whether you take up this offer is on you.

This relationship went from safe and sweet to spontaneous and adventurous. Dates would start to become rides on his bike or going to amusement parks together just to ride the rollercoasters when he could afford it. I can see this boy trying to win you the prize at stalls when you both go to festivals or even try and win a plushie for you at a claw machine in the arcade. He wants you to feel loved and will spoil you when he can.

[dasweet]

Aunt Le

Synopsis: You're working part-time, especially after having your son. Your husband... He renovates houses. And I'm the cool single aunt. Somehow, we build our life.

Author's Notes: My first time writing here, so please be patient with me. Also, inglish is not my native language. be patient with me x2

Fluff

Afghanistan was a mess – that was one of the only thoughts around Yelena’s mind since the US government sent her squad to support the armed forces there. Shelters were built. People were taken off the street. Bombs were detonated, too. Yelena swears she can still hear the noise of explosions in her ears, even though the jet’s noise was the only real sound she heard in the last thirteen hours of the trip. And she tried to sleep. Tried to rest. But as a soldier who is constantly on the field, she has lost the ability to nap peacefully in public spaces (a disturbing ability that saved her life and dozens of others more times than Yelena can really count).

Still, at times like this, she wished she had this talent.

The last six months on a mission, rarely alone, rarely resting, constantly rescuing people from high-rise buildings and battling extremists has taken a toll on her nervous system. Thirteen hours of travel and a time-zone break didn’t do much to help either. But none of that matters. Not the incessant pain in her musicians, the aching twinges in her back that still can’t handle the jet’s seats, the heavy dark circles under her eyes that Yelena swears have already become a natural tattoo set. No. When she parks her car and the first thing she sees beyond the manicured yard, with neatly trimmed green grass and a red tricycle near the porch steps, it’s like the last few months hadn’t existed. Her heart swells up like a wet cotton ball and she opens the car door. A smile coming when the front door is flung open and a human being’s project passes through it faster than the speed of light.

“Aunt Le!” Hux squeals happily, shooting in her way like the small energy missile he is. Yelena leans over to catch the boy in mid-jump, ignoring the thud her suitcase makes when it hits the ground. She squeezes the boy a little tighter and is squeezed back in a death hug. His scent of baby shampoo and blackberry syrup has never changed.

“Hey buddy” She hums under her breath “How’s my champion doing?”

“Good.”

“Good, huh?”

“Yes.” Her smile grows even softer when she notices Natasha on the threshold, sneering affectionately as she does whenever Huxley is near his aunt. You see, since the boy learned to walk, he doesn’t let anyone pick him up. Except for Yelena.

“Put me down!”

For a short time, of course.

Yelena laughs, putting the child back on the sidewalk.

“Nice hat.”

“You think? I asked Mom for a soldier’s helmet like yours, but she thinks I’m too young for that.” He shares, tidying up the aluminum colander he’s currently wearing as a military helmet to hide his father’s inherited black hair.

Yelena peers at Natasha under her lashes before leaning in to whisper. “I’ll let you use mine if you promise you won’t tell mom.”

Huxley smiles excitedly. A toothless smile, crooked teeth and wrinkled nose, while half his view is blocked by the barrier of the colander . Yelena barely has time to melt before Natasha finally approaches.

“Stop corrupting my son.” Her hand lands on Yelena’s shoulder with a firm grip and for a second, loneliness and emptiness are filled with shared brotherhood affection. "Моя младшая сестра, it’s good to see you.”

They’ve never been very fond of prolonged physical touch, so their affection is portrayed with looks. Right now, Yelena is sure hers is mushy as hell when she nods positively, holding the older one’s elbow to acknowledge the touch. “Come on. Lets go in. You need to eat and get some rest. Looks like you came out of a war.”

“Ha!” She says, catching the irony of that choice of words in the air. Natasha rolls her eyes. “Where’s Bruce?”

“Mr. Gardner needed help fixing the roof.”

“Are the kids still causing problems?”

“It’s Halloween, Yelena.” Natasha shakes her head heavily “The kids have their trick moment and the neighbors deal with the damage for the rest of the year. Just the usual.”

“Rude. Hey, here, let the aunt-“

“No!” Huxley protests “I take.”

His version of help consists of dragging her bag across the floor, since he doesn't have the strength to lift and carry it in his skinny arms.

"Want help bug?"

"No Mommy! I'm fine!" Shouts the boy back.

Yelena doesn't have time to think that she'll need another suitcase until the end of the trip when Natasha comments something in Russian about how this vacancy for a physical education teacher at the school where she works is open and how nice it would be if Yelena could reconsider her plan of career. Stay in Ohio longer. Yelena rolls her eyes, too in love with her profession to give it up to live a simple life in the suburbs, with a husband, kids and furry pets that would probably make her raise her kids on antihistamines.

She doesn't even like people that much.

"But I could think about the dog" she confides as she crosses the Hall "I want a dog."

Behind them, Huxley pulls her bag up the stairs.

+++

She wakes up the next morning with a tiny body scaling her waist and her reflexes, too fast for her slow mind, kick into action before she can think about it. Her body tenses in preparation for a fight, but instead, all she sees is Huxley's toothless grin and her extra-large helmet unbuckled along the kid's jaw.

“Look, Aunt Le! It fit!"

[thedanceronthestreets]

PEDRO PASCAL GQ GERMANY - OCTOBER 2020

Original text by Esma Annemon Dil

Fotos by Doug Inglish

Styling by Simon Robins

Translated by @thedanceronthestreets

Intro: A broken tooth could almost have been the reason for our meeting with Pedro Pascal to be cancelled - and with that our conversation about roots, his new movie and times of change. 

Interview: It is almost eery how empty the streets of Los Angeles are under the gleaming sun. While Europe is finding its "new normal", people in L. A. are cutting their own hair even without being neurotics. Many of them have not seen their friends in half a year. The pandemic is out of control. So are the reactions to the situation. Inviting someone to a "distance drink" in the backyard can lead to the same consternation as proposing a relationship partner exchange. 

All the more of a surprise was Pedro Pascal's immediate confirmation. To the drink, not the partner exchange. He is one of the winners this year - and if Corona had not forced the movie industry to go on a holiday, he probably would not have had the time for this drink. After "Game of Thrones", the series in which his head was squished, followed 2015 the leading role in "Narcos" as a DEA agent on the hunt for Pablo Escobar, and now the leap onto the big Hollywood screen. As of 1. October the Chilean will appear in the blockbuster "Wonder Woman 1984". Furthermore, the second season of the "Star Wars" series "The Mandalorian" will start in October with him as the main character - unfortunately underneath the helmet. But we all seem to be under the same helmet in 2020. It is this man we want to meet, who worked as a waiter in New York a couple of years ago. Whose parents are political refugees that settled in Texas, and one day their son decided to walk into a drama club in high school. 

And then the cancellation. While we were preparing the house and garden for Pedro's drink and fashion shoot, which isn't an easy task under L. A.'s restrictions, his management called in with terrible news: Pedro has - no, not Corona - had to receive emergency surgery due to a sore tooth and is now lying in bed with a swollen cheek, making talking or shooting impossible. The sun shines onto empty streets. And our empty garden. 

A few days later, he stands in front of the door anyway, no huge bulge in his face, but stitches in his gum. No limousine service that dropped him off, he arrived in his own car and picked up his makeup artist on the way. He helps her to carry in all the equipment and states first and foremost: "I've got time today!" What a star! It does not seem like we are about to ask him how he managed to become a Hollywood sensation, but rather him asking us that question. Pedro Pascal! So, what kind of star is he then? 

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for ruining your plans. The operation was a total emergency. 

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling was the result of a secret trip to the plastic surgeon. Apparently, because of the quarantine in Hollywood, their schedules are packed. 

Sorry to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I raced to the hospital with a tooth fracture and the worst pain I've ever felt - a hospital where the severe Corona cases are treated. I was unable to contact any dentists! Right before I parked, a specialist called back. I'll spare you the details of the surgery, gruesome. The pain was excruciating despite the 10 anaesthetic shots. The doctor said I wasn't the only one going through this, a lot of people grind their teeth at night thanks to stress. 

What are you most afraid of at the moment? 

The way the government is handling the pandemic scares me more than the virus itself. The lack of intelligent crisis management is a moral disgrace. The leadership crisis makes orphans out of all of us - we're left to fend for ourselves. 

How have you spent the last few months? 

With frozen pizza in jogging trousers in Venice Beach. I live in a rear building that's in the garden belonging to a family. In reality there are enough good takeout restaurants around that area, but for some reason I like salami pizza from the supermarket. 

That doesn't exactly sound like the movie star lifestyle. What does it feel like to be forced from top speed to zero? 

Considering the things happening in this world, my own state really isn't the top priority. But I would have to lie, if I said I wasn't disappointed. The entire cast and crew of "Wonder Woman 1984" put so much heart and soul into the production. We had so much fun on set. I had hoped to carry this feeling of exuberance around the globe to the openings of this movie. 

You are part of a political, socialist family that fled the Pinochet regime in Chile. What do you remember from back then? 

My sister and I were born in Chile, but I was only nine months old when we claimed asylum in Denmark. From there, we moved to San Antonio in Texas, where my dad worked as a doctor in a hospital. 

Texas isn't exactly considered to be socialist utopia. How well did you settle in? 

San Antonio isn't a cowboy city but rather very diverse with large Asian, Afro-American and Latino communities. In my memory it's a romantic place, culturally inclusive. The cultural shock only hit when we moved to Orange County in California later. Suddenly, the environment was white, preppy and conservative. 

How were you welcomed in California? 

To this day I'm ashamed when I think about how I let my classmates call me Peter without correcting them. I'm Pedro. Even without growing up in Chile, the country and language are part of me. I was quite unhappy in that place. At least I was able to switch schools and visit one in Long Beach, where I felt more comfortable. With its theatre programme, I found my path. 

Could you visit your family's homeland as a child? 

Yes, after my parents ended up on a list of expats that were permitted to re-enter the country. First, there was a big family gathering, then me and my sister were parked at some relatives' place for a few months while my parents returned to Texas. They probably needed a break from us. They'd had us at a very young age, had a vibrant social life, and my mother was doing her doctorate in psychology. 

Was your mother a typical young psychologist that tested her knowledge at home? 

You mean whether I was her lab rat? Absolutely. I can remember weird sessions camouflaged as games, where someone would watch my reactions to different toys. Even though I couldn't have been older than 6, I knew what was happening. My favourite thing was to be asked about my dreams. That was always a great opportunity to make up fantastic stories. 

Was that your first performance? 

Definitely! My strong imagination alarmed my mother, because I'd rather live in my fantasy world than in real life. I didn't like school. I ended up in the "problematic kid" category. At some point the subjects got more interesting and my grades improved. So many children are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be daunting. Why is it acceptable to be bored out of your mind in class, when there are more stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

With everything happening in the world this summer: Do you believe that social hierarchy structures are genuinely being reconsidered? 

Hopefully. After the lockdown my first contact with people was at the Black Lives Matter protest. The atmosphere was peaceful and hopeful until the police got involved and provoked violence. At least during these times we can't avoid problems or distract ourselves from them as easily as we usually do. It seems that the pandemic provided us with a new sense of clarity: we don't want to go on like this. 

The trailer of "Wonder Woman 1984" represents the optimism of the 80s. That almost makes one feel nostalgic nowadays. 

That holds true. It's two hours of happiness. Patty Jenkins, the director, managed to make a movie full of positive messages. We shot in Washington, D. C., then in London and Spain - which now sounds like a different time. 

Do you miss travelling? 

I've only now realised what a privilege it is to just pack up your things and fly anywhere. With an American passport you can travel freely. And that's why the small radius we live in now is kind of absurd. Over the last few years I often retreated in between takes, because I was always on the road and overstimulated. Friends complained about how comfortable I had become. We all took social interactions for granted and realise now how reliant we are on human connection. Now, I wistfully think about all the party and dinner invitations I declined in the past. 

In L. A., people spend more time indoors or in nature than in other metropolises. Could this city become your safe haven after New York City? 

My true home is my friends. Ever since I was young I've lived the life of a nomad and haven't set roots anywhere. Until recently, my physical home was a place for arriving and leaving and hence I didn't want to overcomplicate living by owning lots of things. The opposite actually: Without having read Marie Kondo's book, I got rid of all the stuff that was unnecessary and lived a very minimalistic lifestyle. 

Is there something you collect or could never say goodbye to? 

Books! I still own the literature I read during my teen and university years. Recently I found a box of old theatre scripts and materials back from my uni days at NYU. I can't separate from art either, same as lamps or old pictures. Furniture and clothes are no problem though, they can be chucked. 

Do you remember any roles that were defined by their costumes? 

Yes, "Game of Thrones" comes to mind immediately. During that time I first understood what it means, as an actor, to be supported by a look. I owe that to costume designer Michele Clapton. She developed these very feminine robes and brocade cloaks for my role that looked very masculine when I wore them. I felt sexy in them. And very important were of course Lindy Hemming's power suits and Jan Sewell's blond hair for the tycoon villain Maxwell Lord in "Wonder Woman 1984". Relating to the style, I couldn't really see myself in the role since the shapes and colours of the 80s don't really fit my body. My type is the 70s.

Do you adopt such inspirations into your private closet? 

At this point in time, I'll choose any comfortable outfit over a cool look. Sometimes I mourn the days when I defined myself with fashion. It's a bit mad when I think about how, in the 90s as a teenager, I would go to raves; a proper club kid with crazy outfits: overalls, chute trousers, soccer shirts and a top hat like in "The cat in the hat knows a lot about that!" by Dr Seuss. Later in NYC I was part of a group that placed immense value on wearing a certain style. The fact that I only walk around in joggers nowadays is actually unacceptable! 

Normally, actors who work on comic screen adaptations become bodybuilders and eat ten boiled chicken breasts per day. You don't? 

My body wouldn't be able to handle that. I find it difficult enough to maintain a minimum level of fitness. As of your mid 40s, you suddenly need a lot more discipline. Until the tooth incident happened, I worked out a couple of times a week with a trainer to keep the quarantine body in shape. 

What would annoy you the most, if you were your own roommate? 

I can be very bossy. I have to gather all my goodwill not to force my movie choice on to everyone else. When I want something, I'm not passive aggressive about it, I attack head on. Also, I can get caught up in tunnel vision: When i feel down, I can't imagine that I'm ever going to feel better again. I have difficulty with seeing the bigger picture when experiencing problems or emotions. Method acting really wouldn't be my thing. That's why I try to only work on projects that feel good and where people encourage and lift each other up. 

While you were trying on the outfits you pointed out a lack of self-esteem. How does that coincide with your career? 

Isn't it interesting how traits and circumstances go hand in hand? Self-esteem comes from the inside, but it's also influenced by what society believes. We use critical stares from the outside against ourselves. I lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and worked as a waiter up until my mid 30s, because I couldn't live off acting. It was always so close. The disappointment of always just barely missing a perfect part or opportunity is exhausting. When is the right time to stop trying and what's plan b? That's not just a question actors ask themselves, but anybody who struggles to earn a livelihood - unrelated to how much potential they have or how close their dream may seem. We are beginning to see now how our narrow definition of success is destroying our communities. At the same time, it's becoming obvious that, until this day, your family background and skin colour determine your chances of living a dignified existence. 

What are the positives of becoming a leading man later in life? 

I have the feeling that I've got control over my life - without the pressure of having to accept projects or be a social media personality. That surely also has to do with the fact that I'm a man. Women are surely pressured to appear quirky at any age. 

Life is always a management of risks - especially at this time. For what would you risk losing something? 

Usually, if you don't play the game you're not going to win anything. That applies to friendship, love, work, creativity. Anything that really means something to me, is worth the risk. 

Wonder woman 1984 will appear in cinemas 01.10. The 800 million dollar earning DC comic franchise is moving into the New York 80s with its sequel. It looks spectacular - only Pedro Pascal with blond hair in a three piece Wall Street suit looks better.

[mittensmorgul]

Hi, I have a question, and I hope it would be interesting for you too... Could we talk about angel's wings and feathers?..

I always thought that angel's wings were a part of their true form, a kind of energy which we can only see as a shadows or electric sparks or ash or something like this.

And I didn't think that it could be a real wings with feathers as bird's. Until, while rewatch, I've noticed that angel's feather were mentioned in SPN at least twice (maybe you've noticed more?):

1) In 8.12 when Henry Winchester time travels he uses an angel feather in spell. And then Dean tells that Henry stole an angel feather from the trunk of the Impala. So feathers are reall??? Why did the Winchestets keep the feather in the trunk of the Impala and where they get it? (ok, maybe they found it in the bunker)

2) In 12.13 Sam uses a white feather in spell returning Gavin back in time (we know this spell needs an angel feather)

So now we can see how the real angel feather looks like???

Does that mean that the angel's wings can be presented in physical world like a real wings with feathers and this is not fanfiction? I like this idea so much.

I think that the creators of the show didn't let us to see it, as many other great things, that is sad...

I would really like to know your thoughts about this.

(Sorry for my bad english, it is not my native language...)

Hi there! First off, your English is fine! (lol it’s my native language, and I just typed it “Inglish” by accident, so you’re already doing better than I am :’D)

ETA: DON’T REBLOGGY THIS YET. I forgotted something that @thayerkerbasy just reminded me of, and I’m editing this post... brb... okay NOW YOU CAN REBLOGGY!)

As far as I know, those are the only times in canon we ever see or hear mention of an angel feather, and both times it’s for the same exact spell. They reference that it’s Henry’s spell when they use it again in 12.13, but make no mention in dialogue of it being an angel feather. Yet Sam had a whole jar of fluffy little pin feathers, so the assumption is that they’d been collecting them for a while (unless those were either found in the Men of Letters’ spell ingredient stockpile when they moved into the bunker, or otherwise given to them by Cas at some point).

It’s weird, because they seem like a very limited commodity, especially after the angels fell and their wings all burned up. Even after Cas got his original grace back, his wings never seemingly recovered. When we did finally see his wing prints in 12.23, they were still... not healthy... So my thinking is that any spell that would require them will become impossible to cast when their current supply runs out. All the other angels-- at the end of the series-- were either dead or locked in Heaven with their broken wings. We never learned any of their fates. Maybe they were all rendered obsolete under the Heaven Remodel?

A little behind the scenes from the early days of SPN as a bonus, since it’s tangentially relevant:

When they were filming the very early episodes of SPN, they had a lot of choices to make about what to show us based on what their budget would allow them to portray. Think of an episode like Wendigo, 1.02. One thing I see people say often was that it was a shame we didn’t see more of the monster, but only saw like... bushes shaking, or a vague form moving through the underbrush, or a blur. They made a stylistic choice right there to keep it within budget.

The options they faced were showing us a “dude in a rubber mask” type monster and showing it more, versus one really terrifying shot of a Proper Monster™ dying in spectacular fashion. Rather than go full-on cheesemonster, they chose to leave most of it up to our imaginations, giving us glimpses or hints of the monster.

They went back and forth on this a bit over the years, attempting to show us more on occasion, but most of those times the audience reaction has been varying degrees of wtf... Think about some of the scenes where they attempted to give us more than a glimpse at the supernatural, or a blood splatter, or whatever. It didn’t always work well. Think: the wire fight from 13.23...

I mean, it took us until 11.14 to ever see an angel “flap away,” when we saw Casifer zap Dean off the exploding submarine.

For the most part, I appreciate the fact that they understood the limitations of their own budget and didn’t give angels cheap little wings just to be able to show them on camera. Over time, only being able to see them as shadows, or as char after the angel died, became part of the lore of the show.

I blame Adam Glass for writing that spell, because he probably thought it sounded cool or whatever, that it was effectively a throwaway line because no other spell they’ve ever used has required an angel feather as an ingredient, and in story it was only linked into this larger Men of Letters Legacy plot that in retrospect feels like Chuck tying up loose ends and putting previously “deactivated” plotlines back into play.

I do find it kind of interesting that both iterations of this spell (the second resurrected by Bucklemming) were both tied to Abaddon. Henry’s spell in 8.12 brought her into the story from the past, she eventually travelled to the much further distant past to bring Gavin into the present (presumably with her own power alone, no angel feather required), and then after she was killed, they used the spell to return Gavin to his own time. So in a a way, the spell was part of a closed narrative loop, never to be referred to again.

Kinda wild that we’d never heard of angel feathers being a thing for spells until we learn that Dean apparently had some just stashed in the trunk, though... :’D

As for how corporeal angel feathers are/were, they exist in the earthly plane enough to leave char marks when they burn, when an angel is killed, so they must always have had the potential to manifest physically. I can’t imagine they ever would’ve had a budget to show us anything more than what we usually saw, though. It did give them a LOT of flexibility over how exactly they presented them to us when they DID show us. And I can’t even imagine the suffering Misha would’ve endured as an actor spending all those years wearing some weird wing harness rig. It would’ve been... impractical. And the CGI the show could’ve afforded-- especially in earlier days-- would’ve been... bad...

But what they were able to show us? Was often awesome. Remember when Raphael showed off his wings in 5.03? LIGHTNING!

And when we finally did see actual corporeal-appearing wings in 8.23... it was Dramatique™

And for More CGI Is Sometimes A Bad Thing Science, please have the attempt at Michael’s “true form” from 14.01:

It’s kinda a super-letdown after AU!Michael’s previous shadow wing displays from 13.01, but more specifically from 13.22:

those... were... badass... 

Even the pre-wire-fight wing shadows on Dean were badass:

But if they’d tried to show us more of them, to make them move through action scenes for example, it would’ve been... bad...

So what we’re left with is the knowledge that there is some sort of corporeal element to wings that we simply can’t see most of the time, but clearly angels have the ability to show or hide them at will, even from other angels. Could it be an act of will on the part of the angel that manifests a bit of their grace in the form of a physical feather? Honestly, that’s the theory I’ve personally adopted toward canon. In fanfic, I’ve read tons of various headcanons about what angel wings are and how they function-- everything from “a manifestation of their true form” to “angels share a lot of traits with birds” to “an extension of their grace,” and everything in between.

I personally, in canon, like to think of it as akin to how they’ve used angel grace for other spells. I mean, when we recall that angels haven’t been on Earth much for the last few thousand years (aside from at least a couple of known incidents where angels interfered with humanity, like Ishim and Company in 12.10, for example, and the presumptive extension that the Men of Letters knew of the existence of angels and likely summoned one up a time or two the same way Lily Sunder had, giving one explanation for how Henry Winchester knew of this spell and had an angel feather to use for it, but also recontextualized when Lily Sunder taught us that humans can use their own souls to power spells in the same way angels used their grace... which sort of makes the notion of needing an angel feather AND his own soul to charge that particular spell in 8.12 a bit redundant unless Lily’s knowledge of angelic magic was more advanced than Henry’s... hrmpf.... so much tangent... back to the point)...

We did eventually learn of other spells that required an angel’s actual grace, not concentrated in the form of a feather. The Angel Fall Spell in 8.23 being the prime example. Metatron took ALL of Cas’s grace for that one, even if he didn’t use all of it for the spell and left a “fragment” (Metatron described it as “not a lot, but enough.”). 

ETA: HECK. I have 9.03 on the tv right now and it’s distractedly made me disgusted enough to have forgotten something that Thayer just reminded me of: Lucifer’s “fossilized feather” in 12.07. It held enough grace to restore and heal him after Rowena’s spell in 12.03 had degraded him. Which really only adds to the theory that “feathers” are simply bits of grace that have been rendered solid somehow, but that can be transformed back into grace as needed.

And then there was the Rift Spell for travelling to alternate universes that required archangel grace, as well as the time travel/ward breaking spell that Sam found in 11.14 that ALSO required archangel grace specifically. Would these spells have worked with an archangel “feather?” Possibly, if material feathers are somehow just crystalized bits of grace, but since we never got a full explanation in canon, and never even really saw corporeal feathery wings that dropped feathers or could be plucked, and never even had mention of corporeal feathers outside of their use in this single spell, it’s really up to our own interpretation. And I kind of like it that way, because that way we get to have fun little discussions like this one. :D

I know this isn’t a definitive answer, but it’s how it all makes sense to me, in the hand-wavey sort of way that all of canon works. :’D

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hate ti ryin your day wuth my cringe exceptations but the only font my brajn willll allow me to read really is comic sans (i have dixlesis). and with that dragient thingy so like one line is red and the rother one is blu and so on so my brian doesnt get lost. and i also have outocorrect (but not on my phone so thus is probrably a mess but no narret how many times i reread this i just cnat spot whats messded up). and inglish is not my frist langague so mhh,,, even worser. sorry for this bring hard to read. ups

Hey Nonny! *HUGS*

Hey, not a problem Nonny <3 Listen, I know that Comic Sans is listed as a joke font, and even in Graphic Design best practises, it’s a font highly frowned upon. But YES, I did learn in school that Comic Sans is a font easily legible by dyslexics, so I get it and why it’s still around today. Won’t stop me from not liking it namely because people use it wrong in their designs, in my opinion. I still don’t like it, hahah.

You might be interested in this font face called OpenDyslexic and appears to be the free open source Regular version of the paid Dyslexie font suite if you can’t afford to support the (dyslexic) creator for the full suite. It’s a clean, nicely spaced sans serif font

That all said, friends, I get that this ask may be a farcical ask mocking dyslexics (for the record, I DON’T. I believe it’s genuine, as I HAVE seen severe dyslexics type like this), but I think it’s super important to talk about stuff like this, BECAUSE of the misconceptions about both fonts themselves AND about dyslexia, so please don’t mock this ask <3

FINALLY, though, Nonny, it’s okay to need to use and prefer Comic Sans. Don’t be shamed into liking it. Take care of yourself, Nonny <3 <3

[gremlinanonstoryblog]

Hey! How's life for the three of you going? :)

Hello ^^

Life has been good for us so far! Thanks for asking! How has life been treating you? XP

I got at job as a psychiatrist recently and I already had some arguments with some clients and I dunno what's going on with parents but y'all need to chill the fuck out, I'M NOT WORKING TO FIX YOUR KIDS I'M WORKING TO HELP THEM SEE THEY AIN'T WRONG OR BROKEN!!! FOR FUCKS SAKE LET ME DO MY JOB!!! Anyways things have been going fine :3

HELLO TANHEX!!!! How are things going for you buddy? :D

I got a job as a substitute ✨inglish teacher ✨, in the country we are in, inglish is not the official language and the classes I'm giving are just an extra for kids to learn inglish and I LOVE MY HIGH SCHOOL CLASSES THESE KIDS ARE ✨ANGELS ✨ AND I GOT SO FUCKING LUCKY!!! In the first class I gave them I asked what were the pronouns they wanted me to use when addressing them and the fact that they were extremely S H O C K E D was both hilarious and depressing, some of them cried out of happiness cause until now teachers didn't care about what pronouns they used and how they felt about it, I've been giving them classes for 2 weeks or so and I already have a bunch of stories to tell

Howdy fella! How are things goin for ya? We've been fine ove here, Miss oh honey and Gremlin got new jobs and I'm over here reading some books, I finally started reading Harry Potter, I've only seen the movies so far but I'm enjoyin the books

Privet nice stranger, thank you for asking that is very kind of you to ask, we are doing fine, how bout you?

Hope you're having a great morning/afternoon/evening/night ^^

[kate-likes-this]

Pedro for Augustman (10-19/19)

Cezar Greif • Photographer: Doug Inglish • Styling: Lucy Armstrong • Grooming: Mira Chai Hyde Related: photoshoot / list of articles 

Until recently, people were still erroneously addressing Pedro Pascal as Pascal Pedro. But he didn’t mind. Years of struggle in New York’s theatre scene had taught him to take things in stride. Pascal had studied drama in NYU, with his appearances on television after that limited to bit parts in Buffy the VampireSlayer and a few cop dramas. It took Game of Thrones, playing the part of Oberyn Martell, to make Pascal a household name – at the age of 37, no less.

Since that breakout role, Pascal has been busy. Among other works, he starred opposite Denzel Washington in The Equalizer 2, played a leading role in the Netflix biographical crime series Narcos, and acted as Agent Whiskey in Kingsman: The Golden Circle. There’s more to come, beginning with the titular character in The Mandalorian, which airs on Disney’s new streaming service Disney+ this November. In June next year, Pascal is slated to appear in the next Wonder Woman movie as the villain Maxwell Lord. Clearly, the man’s career has just properly started. 

When did you first fall in love with acting? At a very young age. My father used to take us to the movies three times a week. He’d come home from work and ask if we wanted to go see something, and we would, of course, want to go. I saw First Blood, The Big Chill, and so many other films. There was one summer when my mother would drop me off at the movie theatre as though it was daycare – times were different back then. I’d watch a few screenings of movies like Poltergeist in one afternoon before she picked me up at six. This exposure to films led to a hobby in acting that my parents were happy I had – at least I wasn’t sitting around watching cable TV all day. It occupied so much of my time and eventually turned into serious training.

Why did you make the shift? I had to take things more seriously if I wanted to stick with it. It wasn’t just being in love with the idea of appearing in movies and on stage any more – I needed to learn to analyse a story, delve deeper into the various aspects of acting, and learn the technical side of things. What came next was getting jobs to pay the bills. Surviving as an actor, basically.

You took some time to find mainstream success. Did you ever consider quitting? The confidence definitely fluctuates. I didn’t develop other skills, so my familiar routine was to attend auditions for jobs. One would be enough to pay for rent and food for a while, or I had to wait tables to pay for my expenses. It felt completely desperate because I was really in love with the art of acting and the idea of being a working actor.

But I always got enough work to keep going. I don’t think I would have if I couldn’t get a job in three years or something like that, but such a thing never happened. I would get a role in a tiny little play outside of Boston, or a beer commercial, or an episode of a cop show in the city.

Do you appreciate your popularity more since it came later? How do you think this has influenced the way you approach your status as a celebrity now? I was definitely more self-assured because my habits and routines were firmly in place and felt more important to me than my newfound success. I know it’s hard for me to describe this, but I just don’t feel famous. That wasn’t part of my development when I was younger, so I came into it “fully cooked”, or maybe even overdone. (laughs) As exciting and as strange as fame can be, it just doesn’t feel as real to me as my relationships, or the fact that my backaches, or how I panic in the morning if I don’t know exactly where I can get my coffee. Those things have much higher stakes to me than the public’s perception of who I am.

Can you identify a reason for your success? Did it make sense for to you when it “arrived”, perhaps because you thought you were becoming a better actor, or was it pure luck? I oscillate between the two. It can seem totally random, which is terrifying because anything can happen, but the randomness of it all makes a little more sense to me. But I see some clearly predestined circumstances for other people, and you sometimes have these very clear realisations that an opportunity was kept from you a long time ago because it wasn’t the right place or the right time. I guess I probably lean more towards the randomness of it all, or the simple idea that if you keep at the same damn thing, you’re increasing your chances of it succeeding.

And how do you view your breakout role in Game of Thrones now? It changed my life, but what’s interesting is how all the silly jobs that I’ve had before this one also felt like big breaks. I was a jobbing actor by my late 20s, and I was just as excited with some seventh-tier role on some network television show because it meant that I could pay some bills.

That felt like as big as a win as anything else. It’s the same with theatre. Because it’s so hard to go from the small plays to the medium-sized ones, getting a role in the latter feels like a miracle too. I was close to becoming homeless many times in the past, and was actually staying at an AirBnB before getting the role in Game Of Thrones, so I must really thank the showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss for taking that chance on me.

Has your experience in theatre helped your work in film? How do they compare? Theatre work is like the building blocks of what I do now. From Shakespeare to something contemporary, and everything in between, I’ve done them all. When you perform the same thing eight times a week, you’re constantly reworking your role to keep it interesting, whether it’s discovering something new or discarding something that exists. It feels like training. The last time I took classes was in college – and that’s something I don’t recommend – but doing theatre work felt like staying in school, which helped. Plus, it provided medical insurance and a weekly paycheck.

Tell us more about the new Mandalorian series. It’s taking things in a new direction. I think it’s amazing that Lucasfilm is letting Jon Favereau and Dave Filoni take Star Wars into new territories as far as style and tone are concerned, from using practical effects and digital special effects in tandem, to exploring characters out of the familiar Star Wars settings. They’re also blurring the boundaries between the good guys and the bad guys, and I love the idea of having things in a grey area. We’re dealing with the outer reaches of the galaxy here, which means a lot of ambivalence around what is right and wrong, and the conflict between self-serving and self-sacrificial decisions and actions. It’s all very much a part of the Star Wars story. As for the character, the Mandalorian is a bounty hunter, and people pay him to do jobs. Let’s just leave it at that for now.

Christopher Nolan said he casted Tom Hardy as Bane because of how he acts through his eyes in the mask. What was it like to express everything you needed to in this role with a full-face helmet on? Much of the work is already taken care of by the writing, which is great, as well as the visual experience that the show provides. But it was still important to me to live in the story as a person who does not show his face, so I worked a lot on the character’s body language. It feels almost like going back to theatre. I think that there’s a lot that can be told with stillness and very economical movements.

I hear that you’re a real movie nerd. Do you have recommendations for fairly unknown directors or movies that we should pay attention to? I just saw this incredible movie called Monos by Alejandro Landes. It was amazing. And I’ve been floored by [director] Ari Aster. He’s an aesthetician that also brings out great performances, and the films Hereditary and Midsommar blew me away totally. There’s also someone who’s up and coming – Taika Waititi – who made Jojo Rabbit, that’s, in my opinion, the best movie of the year.

[thesidesareamess]

Ummm, Hello i'm sorry for botter you but i need to ask you if i can use one of your sanders sides edits (one of roman with yellow eyes and black marks) for an au that i did based on that edit. I'd like to ask your permision to use it. (Sorry for my bad inglish i'm from argentina and i'm still learning) i promise to tag you so so you can see it and give you credit :D

Yeah you can use it.