#this is one hell of a way to procrastinate

[terresdebrume]

I'm going to be greedy and ask for more 😽😽😽

[Make me write]

Hehehehehe please do feel free to be greedy! I'm enjoying the writing time and procrastinating at work so it's double win for me xD

🔗 Story tag 🔗 Part 1 🔗 Part 2 🔗Part 3🔗Part 4

He considers walking back to the office, but dismisses it as a coward's attitude. Edwin may not be the strongest fighter there is, but he does pride himself on his ability to face the world as it is rather than as he wishes it were. The current situation with Charles is untenable, and the only way to resolve this, one way or another is for them to talk it through. With that in mind, Edwin takes a deep breath and phases into a furniture shop to jump through the nearest mirror he can find.

The office is quiet when he steps in. There is a sort of stillness to the air that Edwin hopes he is simply imagining, the sort that settles at the back of his neck like the fetid breath of a hell hound and brings all sorts of questions to Edwin's mind. The first of them is: where is Charles? There is no trace of him Edwin can see or hear. Crystal was on her way up when Edwin panicked, is it possible she took Charles out for some sort of conversation? If so, whether she will take Charles' or Edwin's side is something of a toss up, and not one Edwin cares to resolve today.

He must talk to Charles, though. Yes, he is distraught by the turn of events and can admit, if only to himself, that his heart still bleeds just to think of what he saw earlier. But the longer he stares at the empty office, the longer he is left to wonder whether Charles will even be willing to hear him out, the more Edwin realizes he will gladly take the wound if it means keeping Charles by his side. He will make peace with his friend's new relationship. He will endeavour to be civil to the the Cat King, and he will keep his darker thoughts to himself forever, just so long as he can--

Someone sniffles.

The sound is so faint it is almost a miracle Edwin hears it over the hum of traffic creeping in through the window, but it makes Edwin's heart triple its size with hope anyway.

"Charles?" He asks the empty air.

[activate-shadow-of-the-window]

Reading Othello hit me hard, and for procrastination reasons my brain decided to write the following mock-play versions of very crucial scenes in Among the mountains of everlong, the prequel to Cracking like a dry branch in a westward wind, and a tragedy that I didn’t know was a tragedy until I took a step back and realized that I just traumatized half the cast by putting them through actual warfare. So of course the only correct response was to write scenes from a nonexistent play about it!

A warning for spoilers (out of context) for Among the mountains of everlong (which I haven’t even bloody published yet), an unhealthy mother-daughter relationship, and a person getting mostly assassinated. He’s fine by the end of the scene.

Also they’re inspired by lyrics from the Oh Hellos because of course they are.

Scene 1: Exuent

(Enter Lynette and Katherine opposite each other)

Lynette: O daughter, dear Katherine, why dost thou seek’st

Mine council so late in this day of storms?

Don’t thou know’st that we be in such grave times

So fierce and tempest-tossed that no monsoon

Nor squall at sea would dare fight in the sky?

Katherine: O mother, dear Lynette, why dost thou ask

Such questions that thou must already have

The right crystalline answers of somewhere

Within thy head so cold and circled tight

By that which is frosty and silver there? (She gestures at the Powder Snow Torq)

Lynette: O rogue, o snake, o daughter of my love,

This war, this time, this wind-whipped land o’ mine,

Tis that which makes my nights so long and dark

And drains my light, my mind, my very self.

Tis why thine mother is so dull and grey.

To make it clear, I’ll say it thusly here:

My dear, I am a ship, a great one too

Cannon-heavy, tall and proud, bright as well,

But this here gale, this world’s great gusts,

Do send me top’lin tail o’re teakettle,

Rolling and bounding across wave and crest

Of war and peace and work and rest.

Tis why I still wear this old torq round here (She gestures at the Powder Snow Torq)

As it is what keeps this head on its neck.

Katherine: Lynette, do halt thine tongue and still thy breath.

Lynette: Why so?

Katherine: Why so? Why ask? Why prod and poke me so?

You of all the folk in this castle

Tall and proud upon the mountainside

Should know why I do speak with serpent’s tongue!

Blight me, o mother mine, if thou dost not

Know in thine stubborn heart the reason why!

(Lynette approaches Katherine, and the Powder Snow Torq glows)

Lynette: Daughter mine, thou treadst a line spindly

Thin and glasslike now. Sayest what thou

Darest.

Katherine: Do I sayest what I dare, Queen Mother?

I shall and will, and, like crystal, it shall

Be clear and flawless cut by mine sharp tongue

And teeth. Do listen close so you might hear.

(Katherine leans towards Lynette)

Katherine: I am not the fool I was when I

Was young and sweet like berries on a vine.

Thine crocodile eyes I have seen clear

And clearer still how you hunger right here.

Thine eyes you batt like ashes in the place

Of dying embers dancing ‘bout the log.

Yet thou art warm and bright and eat the branch

As swiftly as thou eats those words spat out

By mourners and the grieving few whomst thou

Allow to weep. No, Queen Mother, I trust

Thou not one grain of sand nor speck of dust.

So sayest I, right here, right now, to thou:

I turn my back for I am off to leave.

(Katherine about-faces and stomps away to her exit)

Lynette: Daughter mine? O, curse this day, o sing

Thine song for mine own sake, great Overture

At Dawn, o lord, do sound strong with trumpets

And horns of brass and pride that rage and reave

So that this storm may pass me by for once!

O once, just one time of good rest grant me

I do plead of you, o great Dawn’s ire made

In flesh and tusk and cape that flaps with wind

No mind the still and silent of the morn!

Away, o pain, o weakness in my heart,

And still mine soul, spirit within this chest.

(Lynette exits clutching the Powder Snow Torq around her neck)

Scene 2: Caesar

(Scott is kneeled and holding Montgomery’s head as the latter bleeds; looking on are Joey, Sausage, and Shubble)

Scott: Dear father mine, slip not into those hands

Of bone and rags that do grasp at thine soul!

Montgomery: Dear son, don’t fret, not now, not here, I beg.

Scott: Not yet, not yet! O Death, not yet! I pray

To you, wingéd Nocturne, do strike Midnight!

O you with feathers dark and bleak who flies

Through clouds, o’re moon and sun, and calls

Your home the stars themselves, may those keen ears

Hear this blight-strewn call from these lands beyond!

Montgomery: Plea not, my son, cry not and waste no shouts.

Scott: Song o’ Dark! Heed my prayer! Do come

Hither and guide my hands so true and sure!

I beg of thee, great wings so shadow-swept

Uproot mine thorns and knot mine brambles here

And there do root my pricks and grow my stems

So that he may breathe again and again! (His hands begin to glow)

Montgomery: Scott, dear son! I feel thee, thine spell

It works and weaves and roots down deep in me.

Stop not! Halt not! A second more, I pray! (He coughs)

Joey: O miracle, this day in June, halt not

Strong prince, weave true and thick those thornéd twigs

Of magic there round blood and flesh that cleft

So quick and viciously by that foul beast

Of Skytouch sent!

Sausage: Speak not so quickly, friend, at this time now.

We know not who might see or hear these words

Slip past our lips when shock’d and frightened are

We here today under this spell of loss.

Montgomery: Speak of me not in tense of past, Void’s sake!

I breathe still and my heart beats now in here! (He coughs)

Shubble: Fair Gilded Crown of Solis dear, rest now

And calm thine racing heart so that your son

May knit your throat and mend your voice to strength.

Another day may you yet see with luck.

(All exit, Montgomery borne on a stretcher)

Scene 3: Hieroglyphs

(Enter Skizzle, Salem, Mini, and Rebels)

(A loud booming noise is heard followed by more explosions above)

Skizzle: Hark! Hear that outside?

Salem: I hear that not.

Mini: I do hear that.

Rebel: What be it, sir?

Mini: It be the song of war.

The cannons hit those notes on high with pride,

And gatt’lers cry the parts of basses deep

While rams of trees and metal wrapped do sound

More like the sweet mel’dies of altos strong

With surety in breath and tone only

Possesséd by the birds of opera stage.

Rebel: Why do they be singing at such an hour?

Skizzle: I know not but much I can guess

From facts gleaned from notes passed between the folk

At watch upon the walls of Cistern Bay.

High there do they see much and hear as well.

Tell me they have ‘bout odds and ends, things nice

And nasty too. All things blood, steel, bones broke

And steeds maimed far beyond the edge of life.

Salem: But what use are steeds maimed, bones broke, and such?

Day by day the same you hear from those

At watch on high from walls and skies above.

Skizzle: True that, but the day before last did change

That same rhythm of war. Said they who watch

That barreled guns and cannons tall did aim

And fire shot without shot true to hit

Those ‘top the walls, to find them out by light

Of powder shine and iron gleam midair.

Salem: They attack, then, now, within this night?

Mini: Most assuredly.

Salem: Why, we must man the cannon here, and take

Up swords and bows to fight against any

Who daréd face these vali’nt Red and Gold! (She draws her cutlass and holds it high)

Up, in arms, all wings and claws, to fight!

(Salem exits, followed by Rebels)

Mini: Join her I shall, and man the comms to keep

This Bay half up and down free from talons

Borne green and sharp ‘longside that banner high.

(Mini draws his sword and exits)

Skizzle: O, my comrades, true to those colors

O’re head and clack beneath mine feet down here.

Fly high, my birds, sing strong and fight til’ death!

For even those great stars above be naught

But dust alight and gilt with light on high

Yet great and bright do they still be, and we

Be like those shapes once fought and loved and died.

(Skizzle draws his sword and exits)

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2 memes because i think they're funny

[panstarry]

in heaven with you 💥

[cent-scratchnsniff]

[solradguy]

I missed how majestic it was having long hair but also I completely forgot how much of a pain in the ass it is to wash it. I need to go rewrite that hair washing scene in Interlude and stretch it out to like 6 pages of agonizing torment as Frederick turns the water off and realizes there's still soap in his hair so he has to turn it back on and rinse it better and also the shed hairs half-clogged the drain so the tub is quickly filling up

[johaerys-writes]

this is perhaps a bit of a specific ask, but do you get asked that often or is it just that you are the type to wait a while to answer asks? and then you answer them in close time, so it seems like a considerable amount

Honestly it kind of depends? I try to answer asks shortly after I get them, the same day if I can unless I don't have time, so I'll answer them the next. Sometimes I take a bit longer, if it's a writing prompt or something like that. I don't always get that many asks but I do love chatting with people so they're always welcome!

[a-dotrivenitupontop]

[bluebudgie]

what's fascinating about drawing petthri is that he's so incredibly inconsistent difficulty-wise.

like with all my other rats i just know that certain criminals are harder to get right while others come really easily

but petthri is always either one or the other. ranges from "draws 3 lines; oh good he's done" to "curse this rat's face he's literally the worst (spends half an hour moving around cheek bones)". nothing in between.

[soryualeksi]

Sometimes I remember that to people I meet IRL I'm talking WEIRD SHIT when I'm like "the ratio of glucose to caffeine in my blood has to be re-adjusted for optimal functioning" to their face in the morning.

[ghastbutlikegay]

ouhhh the time loop......

[exopelagic]

I am baking cake at midnight and it is going to kill me <3

[somebody-else18]

I don't know when i became such a fkin wuss- I'm scared of drawing shoes!!! SHOES!!! ffs when did i fall off of doing art soo bad that the thought of making 2 pairs of shoes- side by side is so daunting and scary that i have actually erased the few lines i made at aLL MORE TIMES THAN I SHOULD'VE IN THE LAST TWO HOURS AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH

[astrxealis]

on a whim and in spite of my responsibilities i have started on making a whole 9 chapter self-indulgent fic for mr. grim reaper from the hit game 'a date with death'

[sentientsky]

I do wonder if Crowley's optimism is actually optimism. If it weren't 4 a.m., I'd do a philosophical deep dive, but since it is, I'll just try to string some thoughts together.

At the core of Crowley's questioning stands, "What is the point of it all?"—it's what he wonders as Starmaker and what he defeatedly asks Shax at the beginning of season 2. It strikes me as a very specific flavour of trauma-related existential dread reinforced by his fall and the concept of the ineffable plan.

The thing is that Crowley already knows the answer to that question; it's just not a satisfying one. Because what is the point of it all? of us? of our lives? of all the suffering and the good and the bad and, well, everything?

There is no point. It's a fact you need to come to terms with rather quickly if you grow up traumatized, otherwise, you will break. There was no point in Crowley falling, just as there's no point in anything he or Aziraphale did over the last few millennia—they just are.

It's why any meta questions focusing on God won't get anywhere, there is no answer God would ever offer us or them; there is no answer that matters, period. Maybe God has one, maybe they don't, but it has zero effect on the story or what happens to them. It's terrifying, in a way, to think about it like this, because if there's no point to any aspect of our lives, why bother? Why bother when there are so many horrible things that could happen?

And THAT is where we come all the way back around to Crowley's optimism. He has long accepted the lack of answers (though I can tell you from personal experience that you never really stop asking anyway), but he needs to find a way to live with the world as it is.

'Everything's going to be fine sooner or later' isn't optimism; it's what you need to tell yourself to not jump in front of the next train.

Crowley's optimism is dreams. Dreams of him and Aziraphale being happy and together, dreams of their cottage in the south downs, dreams of heaven and hell never touching them again.

Dreams of life turning out to be better than what he is currently living.

From the outside, it can certainly look like optimism, but I see him, I am him, and I can guarantee you that it's not. It's a tiny pinprick of light in an otherwise dark sky that may or may not be actually there, but if you stop telling yourself that it exists, there's nothing left but darkness. You're afraid of the dark and its teeth because you have been bitten by them before.

So you keep repeating it over and over and over, and maybe one day it will no longer be a lie or you will be the light, but for now this is what you got.

It is also the reason why Crowley is going to be a wreck in season 3. Finally, he thought, we can be together and happy, and in love without being afraid. He reached for the pinprick of light, thinking it to be a star, and got ripped apart by sharpened teeth instead. Crowley needs that lie, and he just got completely disillusioned.

What's the point when, after everything, Aziraphale still leaves him?

No matter how much they love each other, Crowley needs to find an answer to that question within himself, not in Aziraphale or anyone else.

[malachitezmeyka]

It’s all “take care of your inner child!! Treat them the way you wanted to be treated years ago and it’ll help you heal!!” until said inner child is throwing a tantrum about having to go eat dinner