#our nostalgia for a time when humans weren't yet human
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Inspired by your last ask! What are the best French books you’ve read that have no English translation yet? I read Play Boy and Qui a tué mon père (really loved the latter) last year and it feels so fun to read something that other Americans can’t access yet
I'm too nervous to make any list of the Best XYZ Books because I don't want to raise your expectations too high! But okay, here's my No English Translation-themed list of books I've enjoyed in recent years. I tried to make it eclectic in terms of genre as I don't know what you prefer :)
Biographies
• Le dernier inventeur, Héloïse Guay de Bellissen: I just love prehistory and unusual narrators so I enjoyed this one; it's about the kids who discovered the cave of Lascaux, and some of the narration is written from the perspective of the cave <3 I posted a little excerpt here (in English).
• Ces femmes du Grand Siècle, Juliette Benzoni: Just a fun collection of portraits of notable noblewomen during the reign of Louis XIV, I really liked it. For people who like the 17th century. I think it was Emil Cioran who said his favourite historical periods were the Stone Age and the 17th century but tragically the age of salons led to the Reign of Terror and Prehistory led to History.
• La Comtesse Greffulhe, Laure Hillerin: I've mentioned this one before, it's about the fascinating Belle Époque French socialite who was (among other things) the inspiration for Proust's Duchess of Guermantes. I initially picked it up because I will read anything that's even vaguely about Proust but it was also a nice aperçu of the Belle Époque which I didn't know much about.
• Nous les filles, Marie Rouanet: I've also recommended this one before but it's such a sweet little viennoiserie of a book. The author talks about her 1950s childhood in a town in the South of France in the most detailed, colourful, earnest way—she mentions everything, describes all the daft little games children invent like she wants ageless aliens to grasp the concept of human childhood, it's great.
I'll add Trésors d'enfance by Christian SIgnol and La Maison by Madeleine Chapsal which are slightly less great but also sweet short nostalgic books about childhood that I enjoyed.
Fantasy
• Mers mortes, Aurélie Wellenstein: I read this one last year and I found the characters a bit underwhelming / underexplored but I always enjoy SFF books that do interesting things with oceans (like Solaris with its sentient ocean-planet), so I liked the atmosphere here, with the characters trying to navigate a ghost ship in ghost seas...
• Janua Vera, Jean-Philippe Jaworski: Not much to say about it other than they're short stories set in a mediaeval fantasy world and no part of this description is usually my cup of tea, but I really enjoyed this read!
Essays / literary criticism / philosophy
• Eloge du temps perdu, Frank Lanot: I thought this was going to be about idleness, as the title suggests, and I love books about idleness. But it's actually a collection of short essays about (French) literature and some of them made me appreciate new things about authors and books I thought I knew by heart, so I enjoyed it
• Le Pont flottant des rêves, Corinne Atlan: Poetic musings about translation <3 that's all
• Sisyphe est une femme, Geneviève Brisac: Reflections about the works of female writers (Natalia Ginzburg, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Townsend Warner, etc) that systematically made me want to go read the author in question, even when I'd already read & disliked said author. That's how you know it's good literary criticism
Let's add L'Esprit de solitude by Jacqueline Kelen which as the title suggests, ponders the notion of solitude, and Le Roman du monde by Henri Peña-Ruiz which was so lovely to read in terms of literary style I don't even care what it was about (it's philosophy of foundational myths & stories) (probably difficult to read if you're not fully fluent in French though)
Did not fit in the above categories:
• Entre deux mondes by Olivier Norek—it's been translated in half a dozen languages, I was surprised to find no English translation! It's a crime novel and a pretty bleak read on account of the setting (the Calais migrant camp) but I'd recommend it
• Saga, Tonino Benacquista: Also seems to have been translated in a whole bunch of languages but not English? :( I read it ages ago but I remember it as a really fun read. It's a group of loser screenwriters who get hired to write a TV series, their budget is 15 francs and a stale croissant and it's going to air at 4am so they can do whatever they want seeing as no one will watch it. So they start writing this intentionally ridiculous unhinged show, and of course it acquires Devoted Fans
Books that I didn't think existed in English translation but they do! but you can still read them in French if you want
• Scrabble: A Chadian Childhood, Michaël Ferrier: What it says on the tin! It's a short and well-written account of the author's childhood in Chad just before the civil war. I read it a few days ago and it was a good read, but then again I just love bittersweet stories of childhood
• On the Line, Joseph Ponthus: A short diary-like account of the author's assembly line work in a fish factory. I liked the contrast between the robotic aspect of the job and the poetic nature of the text; how the author used free verse / repetition / scansion to give a very immediate sense of the monotony and rhythm of his work (I don't know if it's good in English)
• The End of Eddy, Edouard Louis: The memoir of a gay man growing up in a poor industrial town in Northern France—pretty brutal but really good
• And There Was Light, Jacques Lusseyran: Yet another memoir sorry, I love people's lives! Jacques Lusseyran lost his sight as a child, and was in the Resistance during WWII despite being blind. It's a great story, both for the historical aspects and for the descriptions of how the author experiences his blindness
• The Adversary: A True Story of Monstrous Deception, Emmanuel Carrère: an account of the Jean-Claude Romand case—a French man who murdered his whole family to avoid being discovered as a fraud, after spending his entire adult life pretending to be a doctor working at the WHO and fooling everyone he knew. Just morbidly fascinating, if you like true crime stuff
#ask#book recs#the book i started reading last night is The Naked Neanderthal by Ludovic Slimak and i also didn't#expect it to have an english translation but it does#i'm only at the beginning and so far it's philosophical ponderings about what kind of creature the neanderthals were#if they were humans in a different way than us. with a different kind of intelligence#and how to understand it without projecting our own way of being in the world onto this other humanity#sorry to quote cioran again but it reminds me of when he said every generation misses the good old days and#if we retrace our steps from regret to regret we'll find the original regret#our nostalgia for a time when humans weren't yet human
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I just rewatched The 10th Kingdom miniseries.
It aired in 2000.
Did it hold up after two decades?
Well ... my opinion is HEAVILY colored with nostalgia, so you may not believe me when I say:
Yes, mostly.
Perhaps I'll make a thorough review another day.
Right now this post is about Wolf.
First, a few memorable lines of his dialog:
I could follow your scent through time itself.
When you called me your husband, I went all hard and soft at the same time.
Ravenous. When I look at the moon, I get hungry for everything.
You better tie me down. Or else I might eat you up.
Wolves mate for life.
When I watched The 10th Kingdom at age 20, it was for the excitement of seeing a FAIRY TALE CROSSOVER! For a massive fairytale/fable/folk story nerd like me, this was HUGE. Remember, this was 2000. The public had had the internet for only 5 years. The big boom of urban fantasy books hadn't quite hit yet, and reimagined fairy tales weren't being picked up by publishers like they would be 12 years later.
So seeing a miniseries that threw all the old standards into a big pit and added modern (albeit crass and sexist) humor was right up my alley.
Twenty years later (now in my 40s), I am inexplicably drawn to Wolf in a way I NEVER was as a 20-year-old.
True, my tastes have matured and changed since 2000. I admit my attraction towards humanoids-who-are-not-100%-human has grown rapidly in the last 5 years. Fangs, tentacles, and horns are far more sexy to me now than they've ever been.
So ... yeah. Wolf. Um.
😍🤤🥵😳🥴🥰😈
I guess I'm gonna go over to AO3 now to search for 10th Kingdom smut. Because we never got the sequel they hinted at.
The last episode ended with the main character's voice-over with something like: "I'd like to say our fairy tale ended happily ever after, but almost as soon as we arrived in New York, another crisis beset the Nine Kingdoms that brought us back. But that's a story for another time. " And then the narrator says "Here ends the last chapter of Book One of the 10th Kingdom."
That sounds like there's more to come, right??
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If it's propaganda why is it making me cry?
I love internet archives. FreeMusicArchivedororg and InernetArchivedot org are my besties. Even Tumblr is an archive. Not ready to let go of 2014 yet - it gave us T Swift's 1989, a crucial year for human progress. Whenever I needed to patch something up or spice things up in a film archives have provided an answer. After all, history is cyclical. Archive's always had my back.
I've been thinking a lot about archive lately and how it can be recontextualised and used creatively by new generators. I'm very intrigued by the concept of taking something that has no emotional and historical value to the artist who is then going to re-imagine it, simply by looking at the edges of the frame and by making holes within the frame. For instance:
But then that got me thinking about archive which has no historical or emotional value to me but is still part of my personal history. For the sake of melodrama - my identity. For context here's a lil throwback to the post I wrote up last year after my visit to the French institute:
This talk has been creatively haunting me and now having seen the finished product, the film haunts me. Non-Aligned: Scenes from the Labudovic Reels is part essay, part intimate friendship, part political discourse - a 7 year long discovery and investigation of a dusty archive of a country that ceased to exist. I went to see it with my parents, they're Mila's generation, grew up in the former Yugoslavia and watched it fall apart. They grew up watching the footage Mila dug up to make her latest film. To my mum, this was the resurrection of the propaganda she was fed as a young girl. To my dad, it was a nostalgia trip - back to the time when we were someone, something on the map. And to me, well, it made me cry.
youtube
Stevan Labudović, the cameraman of Yugoslav president Tito and Mila's protagonist captures the birth of the Non-Aligned Movement. Sent on missions to film liberation wars, he plays a key role in the information battles that defined the era of decolonisation and the makings of cross continental friendships.
Given I am dealing with Eastern European racism in my dissertation, I couldn't quite believe what I was seeing in Mila's film. A better time, just like my dad always claimed and I mistook it for rose tinted glasses. A tool of propaganda perhaps, but also proof that bridging the gap between wildly different communities is possible. Cross continental comradeship - no matter the colour of the skin. It's like Mila is bringing this archive out of the shadows in a crucial moment in history when the us vs them seems to be ruling the political discourse left, right and centre be it regarding gender, race, nationality or access to healthcare. She's here to show us that we weren't always so divided and in by re-contextualising the material through the edit, she is building the groundwork for a better future. A reminder that friendship was and is possible if we open ourselves up to it.
Mila lives and works in Paris. My friend Eva, a ying to my yang in many ways (and not just because she is blonde) also lives and studies in Paris. She too met Mila and was incredibly inspired by her filmography. I just got off a 3 hour phone call with her during which we both realised Mila's plan worked. She was our wake up call. Her fusion of academic research and artistic practices calls to action, to educate and to change, starting from myself.
Reason 382826272 why I love documentary.
The Other Side Of Everything
On a less existential and heroic note, I found Mila's earlier work, a documentary about her mother's flat in Belgrade and what lies behind its locked door relevant to Natalia's documentary I've gotten involved with.
Once again, it's a highly political film - her mum is probably the biggest activist Serbia has ever seen and I found myself wondering what it must be like for Mila to live up to her mother's legacy, to follow in her footsteps and almost keep the fire burning. I really enjoyed the way Mila interacts with her mother on screen, facilitating discussion which often evolves into arguments. The camera is not a sufficient barrier for these two strong minded Balkan women to go head to head. Watching it I thought about how I would have to treat my role as the cinematographer on Natalia's project to get a similar result and I realised that I might have to just step back and give Natalia the camera so she can start the conversations with her grandparents behind it. She's talked about wanting a mostly observational approach but realistically, 10 days in Poland will not be enough time for her grandparents to get used to me and I also won't pick up the language that fast so I can differentiate between what's important and what isn't. Seeing the way Mila handles family dynamics has helped me understand what is expected of me as a third party observer. Even the flies on the wall sometimes have to exit the room.
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*Warning Adult Content*
LONGING NOSTALGIA - Chapter 30
Len
I had forgotten that the summer heat could be bad in Alberta if it wanted to be.
A good number of people in the pack spent most of their day outside since it wasn't something that they could do during the long winter months.
Adyen took an interest in gardening and fishing.
We spent a lot of time by the river swimming and floating on our backs.
He didn't like the horses though and stayed behind the fences whenever the children when their caretakers had to make them exercise or eat overall, he got used to the pack quite well and in about a week he knew his way around the campgrounds.
The pack had been more accepting of Adyen than I had expected. Kaya and Kai took a quick liking to him and so did many of the Omegas and mid-ranking wolves.
My mum had been temporarily upset that we weren't a pair that could produce children but she got over it, treating Adyen like her own son and showing him ugly pictures of me from when I was about twelve years old.
Everyone liked, Adyen. Including Ahote.
The two had bonded over tending the garden.
Adyen was interested in learning from him because his own mother had a garden and Naylan just started one in his pack lands.
"You've stopped being weird around me, good," Ahote had told me one afternoon when Adyen had left for the shed to grab a better watering can.
I had blinked, rubbing the back of my neck as my lips parted.
Nothing had come out of it and Ahote had laughed at me, shaking his head.
"Not quite there yet, I suppose," he had said squatting to examine the lettuce while I stood to the side.
Stiff as a log. He had been right though.
As the holiday had gone on, I had started to forgive myself about how I had acted about Ahote and him finding a man that loved him after his mate had broken his heart.
Sure, I still felt silly when I remembered me thinking of my future mate and tearing up at the thought that I would have it give up Ahote but that was all behind us now and I was starting to let it go so that we could be comfortable around each other.
Adyen also spent a lot of time with the children.
Adults were more educated and had a better sense to not ask why someone looked different but kids... especially children sheltered from most of the outside world... weren't.
Children would pause and stare at him and brave ones would ask him why his hair was so curly or why his skin was brown.
I thought Adyen would get sick of it but he usually just laughed it off and offered to hold their hand.
It reminded me of how they used to look at Alek who had blond hair and spoke in a foreign accent.
Adyen was enjoying himself here and so was I.
Catching up with everyone was a treat.
I got to see Ahote and Kaya's kids play together and babble amongst themselves as they ran around in stumbling steps.
I heard that Alek was now the second in command hunter.
Elan, Ahote's firstborn, had grown up so much in my time away.
I didn't regret going to Toronto one bit but being at home... even if it was just a month gave me a longing nostalgia that I decided to do the best with.
Adyen and I spent most of our days taking walks within the territory lines, curled up in bed, or jumping around and raising our phones over our heads, looking for reception.
Yeah, I had forgotten how terrible that was down here in the middle of nowhere.
Granted, I hadn't had a phone until I left, I had just heard Alek and Zeke complain about it a lot.
Because of the situation with the reception, Adyen and I didn't talk to the folks back in Toronto much. Here and there.
We had video chats when we followed the supply truck to the nearest city once a week. It was fun.
Day after day passed and today, just like all the others I had woken up in bed next to Adyen who was a human heater.
He was still asleep but I was wide awake letting my eyelashes touch the material of the duvet we had thrown over us.
I turned to my side, reaching out to touch the side of his eyes.
He furrowed his brows, cuddling the pillow under him.
"Hey, what time is it?" Adyen asked in a yawn, moving against me under the covers.
I blinked, groaning when Adyen pulled the covers away and the light from the window entered my eyes.
We had woken up earlier in the day but it was a carefree Saturday and we could sleep in, so we sort of did that.
Sort of meaning, we had sex and promptly got knocked out again.
That's why we were both naked and had a blanket over us even though it was summer and boiling outside.
"Len, what time is it?" Adyen repeated his question, reaching out his hand to hold my shoulder and give it a shake.
He didn't seem fully awake.
His eyelids kept on fluttering and he had to force himself to keep them open when I pressed a kiss to his forehead before pulling away.
"I don't know," I said as my eyes peeled open.
Adyen was pouting at me.
"How am I supposed to know?" I asked him, stretching my legs before rolling until I was laying on my back.
We were both sharing my tiny twin bed in my childhood bedroom.
Our boxes from Toronto took up half the space but Adyen didn't seem to mind.
In fact, he used me as a body pillow at night just pushed the boxes out of the way when he needed access to the door.
We spent most of our time outside with the rest of the wolves, anyway.
"I don't know," Adyen whined.
He was always grumpy after a nap.
"Do your wolf internal clock thing or something."
"What?" I laughed.
"That's not a thing."
"Dogs can do it," Adyen retorted, making me laugh even more.
He frowned, adjusting the pillow under his head, not responding to my jest.
I guessed he was picking to go to sleep again.
Feeling playful, I rolled to my side and poked his chest.
"So, what does an urban wolf, like yourself, think of a place like this?" I asked, teasing Adyen for being a city boy.
He rolled his eyes, pulling the covers over us again before snuggling into my chest.
"It's alright."
Those were mundane words but I could hear the fondness and understatement in them.
Adyen was enjoying his time here and it made me happy.
I smiled down at him, letting my fingers comb through his curls.
I could see the two keloid scars that had formed where I had bitten him over two months ago.
The sight of it made my heart skip.
'Mine.' I heard the low growl of my wolf day in my head as I let myself brush Ayden's shoulder.
'Ours.' I said back, not believing that there was a time that I had thought my mating bond was a bad thing.
I take that all back.
It had given me Adyen, after all.
THE END.
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Huh
Unlocked is one of my least favorite books and the first one is one of my favorites
And that's an entirely valid and reasonable ranking/opinion to have on the series! There's no right answer as to which book is the best, but it's always fun to see the different reasonings people have for their opinions.
I think Unlocked being disliked is a more common perspective in the fandom (especially closer to release date), and for good reason. There's a lot of frustration around Keefe and his decisions, thinking he undid a lot of progress by going back to his old methods and generally just wanting a different outcome. Additionally, it felt like it did him a disservice in a way, giving him this big ability and making his miserable and then sending him away. On top of that, we got very little Sophie and Keefe time together, which felt like we'd get with the way their relationship (not talking romantic) has developed, but instead we were robbed of that. I'm just theorizing though! There's several reasons why people might not like unlocked
oh also with it being a novella when we were expecting a full length novel, and the kotlc guide isn't something a lot of people may be interested in reading. There's a lot of quality information, but it's dense, so if you were anticipating a whole other book and got this I could see how it would be disappointing. (not saying this is what you think; this is me guessing reasoning behind why someone wouldn't like Unlocked)
I personally love worldbuilding and the details of it, so having a guide was very interesting and I didn't mind it delaying the rest of the story! There was old info a and new info and things I'd forgotten about, so that look into the work behind the story built a positive association in my mind.
And then the story itself felt like we were finally building up to something coming to fruition. Honestly I think Sophie really sold it for me. She took a stance and was aggressive and destructive about it--cathartic, in a way. She got to be angry and take control for a little bit and I loved it, so I hope we get to see more!! it hasn't felt like she's been truly fighting for the past several books, but her actions in Unlocked seemed fueled and strategic and ruthless in a way I always love to read about.
On top of that, I saw Keefe running away as something fun and interesting story-wise. I think I actually made a few posts about how I was excited he'd run away because I wanted to see the shit that would go down. Stories like these are made to entertain (one of their many roles), and Keefe leaving again does just that. It makes drama and produces questions, which is all it needs to do.
and then for the first book, I can see why you'd like it!! The story and the world were so much simpler then, it's like a fond memory looking back before everything went to shit. Sophie's biggest problems were school and her grades and her crush, not trying to juggle several political things and battles and homework and a love life and all that. I think the first book preserves a lot of that sense of what some of us wanted as kids, a magic world we had a right to where we'd learn we weren't actually human and everything would be okay. because we see Sophie in that book and go cool!! I wish I could do that!! because nothings gone terribly wrong yet and the world seems so nice and better than what we have. At least, those are the things I like about the first book
There's also the nostalgia of it. It was our introduction to the world, so rereading it is like visiting an old friend or thinking back on something with new wisdom. But perhaps I'm just sentimental!!
Personally, I'll always appreciate the first book for introducing this whole world, but it's gotten more complicated now and it simply can't hold up to that for me. It's like thank you for your service. you've done your job, but now you can rest. This is a thing we see in a lot of series and media, the first book/episode/season of it setting up the rest of the story and then everything past it goes beyond and gets better and exceeds expectations. it starts to pale in comparison, but that excitement and wonder I had when first reading it was real.
Essentially, the first book walked so the rest of the series could run. We've read about so many things! So many places and characters and conflicts, and none of that would be possible without the first book. But it's obvious when reading it that it was only the beginning of the story. I remember it with fondness and it's what got me hooked on the whole series, but it doesn't satisfy my desire for complexity and detail anymore, if that makes sense.
I love all the books and have read them so many times I lost count, so I really don't think I could rank them. But the first and most recent book always stand out and for very different reasons. Just because the first is my least favorite doesn't mean I don't like it!!
Also all my speculating about why people may like and dislike different things are just that: speculating. I can't say why you may or may not like them, I just took a guess based on some reasoning I had!! So if there's something that draws or repels you from either that I missed/got wrong, you're more than welcome to correct me on that!!
#every ask I answer I get closer and closer to doing a reread#i mean with unlocked paperback coming out maybe I should to get ready to read that#nanowrimo is starting in a few days and here I am thinking about doing a whole reread#i wonder if I did one if I'd have a ranking this time#I doubt it#but I still wonder!!#kotlc#keeper of the lost cities#quil's queries#nonsie
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[Trying my hand at a fan fiction.
I love to write but I have never done anything like this before, so all feedback would be extremely appreciated (Grammer, Plot, Characters etc.).
I love Tokyo Ghoul so I really hope I don't fuck this up 😅. A big thank you to anyone who reads this ❤️]
Caution: Agressive Swearing, Offensive Language, Graphic Violence.
Notes: Takes place post end of TG:re, Reapers = Marshall version of Doves.
1. Crow - 24
City lights and the rushing motions of the landscape turn the 24th ward into a blinding and blaring circus. Humans. They crawl through this city with the assurance that they will be here tomorrow. They will be here a year from now. They will be here forever. They are the only lifeform with this assurance. All other creatures in this world live with the knowledge that their making it to the next moment is a fifty fifty
It is certainly a miracle that they last, noticing absolutely nothing at all. They don't see the effects that the fumes of their veichles have on the planet that they grip so tightly to. They can't begin to recognise that they are being continually watched and targeted by devices that could wipe them from the face of said Earth in less than zero. They don't even notice the apex predictor observing them from less than a mile above.
Humans simply move from one spot to another, only stopping to cause irrevocable disaster and reduce their surroundings to less than ash, and then move on to the next target. Someone said that humans are Parasites, and although it may be naive to believe this was wholly correct, it would be complete ignorance to dismiss it entirely. Ghouls do not indulge in such ignorance. Parasite is an apt description for a human, from the perspective of a ghoul, that and food.
The figure stands tall, wind rushing rapidly through their tied up hair. They can smell the putrescence of man-kind as they go about their sweaty and arrogant business. They would laugh if it wasn't so tragic. What do humans amount to? They are greedy and bloody bags of meat that fight and hate more than any other being, yet they are allowed to multiply and just be. It could be argued that ghouls are the same as humans in this aspect, but most abide by the one meal a month agreement, even though this arrangement can be hell for some. Unlike humans, who see violence as their God given right, when ghouls fight, it is rarely for anything other than survival. Perhaps this view doesn't take all ghouls into account, but all humans gorge themselves on everything, and fight for any fucking reason they want.
Twenty years ago, a disaster was meant to end this disparity. For the first time ever, ghouls and humans fought together to save the world they shared from the monster that had been designated 'DRAGON'. The defeating of this enemy was meant to end in equality, where ghouls and humans shared the world equally. Scientific leaps had been made. Synthetic meats that ghouls could eat, so they wouldn't have to harm humans. The corpse of Dragon even lead to dramatic advancements in the medical field. Humans were now benefiting from ghoul DNA, as it allowed them to combat most illnesses and increase their lifespan somewhat. After all that ghouls had done for them, weren't humans grateful? No. Ten years, then ghouls were back to being vile creatures to be hunted, and were forced back to living in the sewers. The deaths of so many perfectly good and innocent ghouls, just so that humanity could screw them all over again. What a funny tragedy.
Another figure appeared from the shadows, stepping in line with their comrade. Neither looking at the other, they both silently watched the ferris-wheel turn round and round. A world that they saw as rightfully theirs. They were hungry for it and they would have it. No matter the cost. In fact, the more human casualties... the better.
"Are you ready to go?" the newcomer asked, never taking their attention away from everything below.
"Yeah. Any longer and I might have to eat you."
"Like you could" came the cold, arrogant response.
"Just because you got five inches on me now, doesn't mean I can't still beat your ass Da..."
"Don't fucking call me that. While we're out here you call me Kuma and I call you... Blindfold, or Eyeless. Something like that." Even though his response had been quick and sharp, neither his tone nor his concentration had wavered.
"Eyeless" they conceded.
"Fine, Eyeless it is. Just don't go shouting our real names out in public. You're enough of a liability as it is without giving our fucking identities away."
Eyeless finally turned to look at their brother. They couldn't help feeling a pang of nostalgia. He had been so small once, constantly hanging onto their shoulders and making paper birds that he place all over their home. Those memories hurt, especially when they remembered what came after. He used to smile so much and now he's a moody little shit. They'd never been like that at fourteen, they thought smugly.
"Fine. Let's go KUMA before I rip your snarky head off." With that final retort, Eyeless turned and stepped off of the roof.
Kuma watched them drop six stories, landing with grace and poise. Why were they always so aggravating? Maybe he was jealous of their natural ability, or perhaps they were just a pain in the ass to be related to. With a sigh and a wandering look to the night sky, he followed suit.
* * *
The Marshalls finished up disposing of the ghoul. Bikakus are a pain in the ass Haruto thought, but it's better than a Ukaku. Haruto loved the fact that he was an intimidating figure. The ghoul had basically shat itself as soon as it had seen his large muscular frame, and cruel bearded face. The black trench coat they wore, that often announced the end for ghouls, probably didn't hurt either. He nudged the face of the corpse with his foot. He reckoned it wouldn't even be worth removing his Kakahou to get a new quinque. Taking into account the short amount of time it had taken him and Kenji to bypass his defences and cut him through the middle, he was a B rated ghoul maximum.
"Right, time we get back" Haruto sighed.
"Mhm" Kenji agreed. He never said much.
"Did you bring the body bag? You never know, you might be able to upgrade that piece of shit you call a quinque." Haruto laughed loudly. He loved taking the piss out of Kenji, especially when he knew his only retort woukd be 'mhm'.
As expected, Kenji responded with a grumbling "Mhm", and moved towards the body.
Haruto, turned to walk away, lighting a cigarette and beginning to inhale deeply. That Kenji was going to marry his sister. What's he gonna say when the priest asks him if he takes her to be his lawfully wedded wife? Mhm. Haruto chuckled to himself. All in all Kenji was a good guy, and one hell of a Marshall. He could use that crappy Ukaku quinque pretty damn well, even if it did come from a C rated ghoul. Kenji also took Haruto's kids to the beach when he and Mrs Haruto wanted a quiet weekend. He might be an ugly fucker with next to no hair, and a face that made you want to split him down the middle, but he was clean and sometimes smelt nice. Yeah, Kenji could marry his sister if he wanted. She could do a hell of a lot worse.
A loud splatter sounded out behind Haruto. He spun on his heels, instincts flaring immediately into action. Where the fuck was Kenji? Where his partner had been attempting to fit the ghoul into the black bag, there was now the cut in half corpse of his future brother in law, fallen to the sides with a blindfolded figure standing in the middle. His entire being twitched in anticipation of this thing making a move to kill him, but all it did was leasurly bend down and scoop something up from the gore beneath. As the creature straightened up, he saw that it was simply sucking on one of Kenji's bloody fingers. To others, this might signify a psychotic animal, but to a seasoned Marshall, this was a confident and calculating killer plain and simple. A powerful one at that. Their clothes were indistinctive; clad in thin black leather and fabric, however, their mask was a completely different story. Almost the entirety of its face was covered. Its mouth had a tight black fabric wrapped over it, with a skeletal smile that would open, revealing the snaking pink tongue underneath. The huge back leather collar surrounding it could be zipped up to hide all but the eyes from the world. Not that the eyes could be seen either. A bone white blindfold shut them off from view. Foreign symbols were drawn in deep black on either side, with the a closed eye taking centre stage. Although it was just a drawing, that closed eye was unearving, as if the lack of sight heightened its ability to see, instead of impeding it.
Now this was a ghoul. Just by its sheer presence Haruto could tell this one was rated A, or more likely >S. Haruto couldn't deny to himself that he was intimidated, but he was a senior Marshall, and always backed himself in a one on one. He looked down at his fallen partner and gulped. First things first, get into this guys head. Haruto scanned the ghoul, looking for weaknesses that he could exploit verbally. If he was lucky, the reaction could lead to him obtaining an edge. He noticed that this ghoul was slight in stature, maybe five foot five all told.
"You wanna end up like this other piece of shit, you fucking dwarf."
This garnered absolutely nothing.
Haruto couldn't take it much longer. This creature continued to lapp at the guts of his dead partner, that were splattered over its fingers. It obviously didn't give a shit what it looked like to others. It reminded him of a cat, publically cleaning its fur and genitals with no concern for the world. It was fucking reveling in its feast, and it made Haruto's blood boil.
"You killed an innocent man. He was gonna have a family and you ripped him apart. You monsters have no fucking souls and you all belong in hell. That's where I'm gonna send you. I'm a fucking senior Marshall you stupid shit. You have no clue how badly you've fucked up."
Again, the ghoul made no sign of changing emotion, continuing to dip its fingers in Kenji and take its time eating. Haruto knew he needed something else to get into its head so he scanned again. 'Shit' he thought, as the ghost of a smile passed over his lips. The majority of its body was covered in black that mostly obscured its shape, however, his keen eyes saw that although its grey hair was tied up, it was probably quite long when undone. At its chest area, although it was probably bound, there was the hint of a slightly tented structure. The hardest one to spot was the hips. Despite them being covered by black leather shorts, those hips were a tad too wide to be a man's.
"Alright you sick fuck. I'M A COMMIN FOR YA!"
With one last drive to uncover more courage, Haruto raised his Kokaku quinque and lept towards the ghoul.
"I'M GONNA FUCK YOU UP FOR KENJI... YOU BITCH!"
As Haruto closed the distance with extreme speed, to less than two meters, the shadow of another figure dropped from the sky, landing directly next to the first. Haruto skidded to a halt, taken aback by the new masked creature. This one was certainly taller, and its face was covered by a red, horned mask. It was only as his attention slipped completely that he realised his final mistake. For the first time, the blindfolded ghoul smiled widely, the skeletal mouth parting to reveal massive bloody teeth.
The next thing Haruto knew was that he was laying down on the ground, face to the sky. His neck was warm and dripping wet. He raised his hands to his throat as the oxygen escaped his body, feeling the deep gash that was releasing his blood. The ghouls started conversing.
"Which one you want?" the first asked the newcomer.
"I don't care. You killed 'em both so you choose" the other responded dispondantly.
"Well, you're the growing boy so you take the ghoul and the first Reaper."
"Damn, well fuck me if you ain't the best big sister" uttered the male ghoul sarcastically, as he casually walked over to Kenji and the dead ghoul. "Why you taking you're mask off you sicko? The guys not even dead yet."
"I like it when they watch me" the female ghoul giggled.
Haruto saw the shadow of something passing over his head. "Ken...Ke..ji" Haruto gasped.
Suddenly, from below him came a the same giggle. "Awww dude, I think these guys were close."
"Eyeless, eat the fucker and let's go" came the voice of the male.
"Hey buddy boy, look at me will you" said the female from his feet.
Haruto craned his neck, scared of what he might see, but thinking 'fuck it' to himself. What's did he have to be afraid of, he's already dead. When he finally focused on the face he was confused. She was chewing on a leg. His leg. When the fuck did she get her dirty hands on that? When she'd finished on his leg, licking the tips of her fingers with delight, she bent down and hovered over him. Eyeless? That's what the other one had called her, but that wasn't true at all. Now that her blindfold was off he could see the entirety of her murderous giddy face.
"You're very funny" she said. "Innocent man. Gonna have a family. Its really fucking funny."
The last thing Haruto would ever see would be a testimony to her names innacuracy. Staring at him excitedly was one grey eye, so remarkably human looking it was weird. The other eye was a pool of darkness... with a violent, blood red pupil that seemed to be trying to force its way out of its black prison. She snapped up the rest of him.
"Sicko..."
End
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Since I rant enough about the wizening Ma and Pa received in Sinnoh it's only right to wreak bloody rhetorical vengeance elsewhere:
However harsh it may be, I'm glad Takeshi Shudo isn't alive to witness the hateful desecration of his legacy.
...
In a universe where no one's allowed to age, why are the modern Jessie and James so withered and decrepit?
Dragon Ball has been on for more than three decades. Its stars were permitted to grow up, because the head can cope with the opportunities this offers.
Yet Goku, Krillin, Bulma et al bear a greater similarity to their younger selves than these gurning invertebrates do to Team Rocket, wearing a papery approximation of their skin.
Akira Toriyama is actually concerned about his life's work, still coming up with interesting concepts, brand-new characters, and most importantly, values his audience by keeping to the established canon.
If a Dragon Ball fan reads this, I am so jealous of you.
Consider yourselves fortunate not to have seen the thing you loved the most pulverised and the resulting glutinous mass moulded back into makeshift sloppy cadavers.
Look at the state of that man! That's a good picture these days!
Why have the eyelid lines turned into upside down bags?
And why has she collected her lashes for this particular screen shot?
On eyes with a strangely feline slant...
Has she had a face lift?
Get yer money back on that one, love.
And why has he marks under his eyes and round his flapping gob to add the hint of exhaustion?
And why don't her lips reach the edge of her mouth anymore?
And why must he display Beaver Toof, as if he's only got six pegs left?
Giving it to him but not her implies she's lost the lot, needing to gum objects for a result.
And why do her low-slung ears consist only of lobe?
And why can you see his featureless lugs? Why does his barnet stand outwards in tentacles like he's taken to wearing a floppy Starmie?
What's that's meant to be, purple dreadlocks?
And why is her hairline curved and absolutely straight, like a bad wig, apart from the perfunctory bits to the side, which I guarantee won't alter their position throughout the run?
Hair used to move about, now by law there's a set pattern which cannot change. Stamp that life out immediately.
And what's that flaccid growth between his weary peepers? Is that meant to be fringe?
PFFFT!!!
And why are her digits just as thick and oblong as his?
It ain't fingers. It's trotters.
And why's he got a back to his throat, but she hasn't?
And why are we forced to witness it? You can see all the way to his dangler!
The great gaping pink cave looks like the end of Looney Tunes when Porky Pig pops up and stammers: "That's all folks!"
Remember a lack of Beaver Toof? And triangular mouths?
Remember when Meowth was a cheeky, spirited little cat, not a middle-aged human midget, an emaciated wreck bored of it all?
Remember when it wasn't deemed necessary to expose us to internal organs?
And when James was a handsome, hysterically camp dandy, not a creepy, snot-ridden science dweeb?
And when Jessie was a beautiful, stylish young girl, hot-tempered but loyal, not a sullen, cold, reptilian, Botoxed-to-the-gills gorgon?
Remember when Team Rocket were fun? And attractive?
Remember when they had joy in their hearts in spite of their poverty? And vim? And hope?
Remember them acting with flair and imagination?
Remember when their schemes had variety?
Remember when they had more than a single disguise per era?
Remember when they had many occupations? And were good at them?
Remember when they'd have a go at everything and weren't reduced to flipping condemned meat in a grotty burger van FOR THREE YEARS?!
Remember when those in charge didn't despise them, when they got happy endings?
Remember split screens? And face faults? And background tones? And purple streaks down your cheeks?
Remember big, bright open eyes, not shrunken, sagging and empty holes afflicted by glaucoma?
Remember when Jessie had eyelashes?
Remember when Pokémon was an anime?
And when James had a fringe, not a bent swelling like a balloon animal?
And when the artist could be arsed to draw Meowth's Charm properly?
Remember when the voices weren't nails down a blackboard?
When Meowth didn't sound like a wedge of coal grinding beneath an oil-deprived door?
When Jessie's dulcet tones had a wider range that just screechy, and weren't reminiscent of a cacophonous banshee clawing her way from a bog, using her own mug as a shovel?
When James speaking didn't suggest he was at best, suffering sinus difficulties, and at worst, constantly battling to swallow his own sick from looking at her?
Mind you, I'm grateful the 4Kids cast are no longer here. They deserve better, and their presence would only validate the crude bastardisations.
Every time the guttural howls reach my poor ears a chill runs through my system, and reminds me of The Pokémon Company sacking the real dub crew in preference for a job done on the cheap.
Remember speed lines? And Pokéball-throwing animation?
Remember a new motto performance in each installment, not the same stock footage reused again and again?
Remember when it rhymed?
It shows.
Remember remembering it?
Remember when Team Rocket would walk down the street in their uniforms and no one took a blind bit of notice despite the organisation operating there?
And they didn't fanny about in one scabby polyester costume every minute they were travelling, even when NO ONE KNOWS WHO THEY ARE?
Since Unova, whilst confronting Ash and this era's soon-to-be-forgotten companions, you get this exchange:
Moron-Of-The-Week: "Who are Team Rocket?"
Ash: "They're bad guys who steal other people's Pokémon."
EVERY SINGLE BLOODY TIME!!!
WORD-FOR-WORD IDENTICAL!!!
The writers have such deep appreciation for their work they're sending in cut-and-paste scripts.
Remember blasting off when something blew up, not an explosion from nowhere, or giving it the slip with a jet pack, or abduction by a Care Bear?
Remember when the eyebrows matched the hair?
Remember when he wore it long?
Remember blue shock? And sweat drop? And hammerspace? And comedy violence?
Remember her jagged hairline? And it being RED!!!
Remember proper highlights to it, rather than the odd white lump now and again, as if sweating like a pig, or their heads are infested with giant space ticks?
Remember when they were in all the episodes? And were main characters? And on the introduction sequence?
Remember when Jessie and James used to hug? And hold hands?
And bicker as only a couple can, but you knew they'd never cope alone?
Remember when they'd fly into each other's arms under the flimsiest pretext?
Remember when they meant more to one another than just being a pair of unconnected and disembodied wraiths coincidentally walking down the same road?
And they had more than civil interactions?
Remember when she loved him as much as he loved her?
And no one else could ever take his place?
And canon wasn't infected with the ruinous depiction of her as a hard, heartless bitch barely tolerating him until someone 'better' came along, at which point she'd fuck off without a backwards glance?
'Better', as in a scabby, satchel-mouthed, gormless cretin, just to add surly insult to merciless injury.
Never has such a life-long and hardcore defender of the faith flipped into an ardent Rumishipper as I did after that episode, once I'd swept up the fragments of my soul.
Remember when they were sympathetic?
Remember when they showed human warmth?
Remember when they cared about each other?
Remember when they weren't just a jangling, distorted mess of half-recollected traits?
Remember when they weren't really evil?
Remember Rocketshipping? That was a thing once, believe it or not.
Remember when they had a conscience?
Remember when actually wicked characters turned up, and Team Rocket ALWAYS sided with Ash, rather than the nauseating spectacle of suddenly being best buds with the Boss?
Remember when they had contact with the Twerps?
Remember when Team Rocket and the Twerps loved each other in secret and would endanger themselves to save their 'enemies'?
Everything that was once good and winning about them was sucked out, degree by degree, to leave the corpse, hollow and dead, strung up on wires as a grim marionette.
I'm sure most who see this will vehemently disagree, that I'm completely wrong, that THEY like them.
Yes, you like this three, but you don't like Team Rocket. This is not them. You have yours, and I have mine, but let's not pretend they are the same.
Why, if there is no difference, would I be so hostile, when they meant so much too me?
Did you ever wonder where the original fans went, why they all departed en masse? It's not because they 'moved on' or 'matured'.
They didn't leave Pokémon. Pokémon left them.
As the makers rely so heavily on repetition (sorry, nostalgia) they arrogantly expect us to still be here, having blithely welcomed our memories minced and our canon ripped up or ripped off, apparently.
We're intended to put up with watching them lay waste to ťhe series's body, clinging on for when a rotting bone is pulled up now and again and waved at us, before they chuck it aside to continue the dismemberment.
It's been eaten from the inside out, explaining the facial collapse. Behold the beauty on show:
You see what I mean, don't you?
Don't you? No, because otherwise you'd say the same.
How anyone feels able to describe three deformed freaks as 'hot' or 'cute' I will never comprehend.
The uniform collar protrudes like a solid pipe, emphasising the pencil necks.
It gives the impression of wrinkled, leathery tortoises peering out of their shells to secure a tasty lettuce treat.
Is that pretty? No.
Is it so surprising I don't care for my favourites to resemble melted waxwork skeletons of their own dæmonic counterparts?
S&M is a most fitting name, for this is torture.
In the film Death Becomes Her, Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn vie for the attention of Bruce Willis, both taking a serum giving everlasting youth and slimness.
The catch is it confers immortality, but not invulnerability, so when pushed down the stairs Meryl survives but is dead, her neck broken, thus she's zipped up in the morgue fridge.
When Goldie is shot with a canon she too rises, internal organs blown out.
The rest of the adventure involves the pair losing the war against time, patching up and painting over peeling grey skin, holding onto loose limbs as their bodies fall apart.
This obviously is the case here. The trio lapped the potion up at the close of Sinnoh, experienced a fatal accident and are now steadily crumbling to mush before us.
According to grave-diggers the head always goes first, so there you are then.
I have a suspicion that Giovanni lured all three to his crypt, experimenting on them to engineer his ultimate super soldier, which explains their flat, plastic appearance. Those since Unova began are the cyborgs, the real ones locked in his cellar.
You may notice I have about the lowest opinion possible of the current writing team, as they deserve.
Why should I have any respect for vindictive halfwits like this, who hate Team Rocket so much they're going out of their way to distort and uglify them, expressing the resentment in celluloid?
Jessie, James and Meowth lost their only defender in Takeshi Shudo. From that point they descended from loveable, hapless tragic figures to self-parodies (Hoenn) whiney, irritating divs dumping one another at every interval (Sinnoh), robotic, amoral scum (Unova and Kalos) and now physically repulsive minor additions (Alola and Galar). Is that trajectory all accidental?
It not that it's a new 'style' (for want of a better word), as were that the case, this hideousness would apply to the entire cast, but it's only done to Team Rocket. How could that be unless motivated by malice?
Given the sub thesps are obliged to prostrate themselves in the dust, begging fans to make their appreciation known, it smacks of desperation.
They wouldn't need to ask that were the trio treated as an integral component. They must sense the objections and are thus drumming up support to avoid the dole queue.
Are those in charge so resentful of their presence it manifests in mutilating them, keen to do anything that may alienate the fanbase, so at the first sign of a dip in popularity they can leap upon it as the perfect excuse to write Team Rocket out?
Why be surprised? These are imbeciles who reject their own canon at the close of every generation, so why care about someone else's?
If people have to harangue the writers with grovelling praise of their retcons, rehashes and all-round twatting about, butter 'em up sufficiently, with the implied threat of deserting the franchise should Team Rocket be ejected, taking their purses too, all so the smug, avaricious berks deign to put the trio in the next generation, that proves they don't want them, so how can what they write for their characters be objectively of any worth?
Team Rocket would've departed by now, were there not a palpable worry their absence might ring the death knell of the whole thing, turning off the financial tap, which is what matters.
Therefore they are retained, grudgingly, and only so long as the clamour continues at its current decibel level. If that drops it's over, and don't expect a romantic resolution. Why should pleasing you be a concern when you're to leave with them?
Ask yourself: how much of your devotion is based on what they are right now, and how much is from who they used to be?
How long can they live off past glories?
The offences done in Unova and Kalos were bad enough, but remarkably Game Freak found further depths to plumb, therefore it can only get worse.
I have of course retained the loveliest for last:
Be still, my beating heart.
No, really, be still. Stop infact.
Planet of the Apes.
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!!! making your own soulmates is so special because it's a concious choice on both of your parts, which is so much better. like, yeah, it's cool to think that the universe thought you and this other person should know each other, but it's even better for us!! humans!! to be able to accomplish that same feat, finding our way to someone else because of pure willpower, or even pure accident. we're all just fumbling around, and on the chance that you find someone to hold your hand through it all, yeah. now that is special.
shdfklsjdf you make such a good point, all the writers who tackle memory loss fics are really talented and maybe a touch evil /j i'm sure they're all wonderful people with amazing talent.
SUMMER AESTHETIC IS "COOL" OH MY GOD KSDJFLK. that,, does that even qualify as a pun?? either way, ily for that /p. pun dorks rise up! i have no idea when i learned about the flavors that weren't, but yeah, that was a very disappointing day. i have to agree, warm water does not sound very nice at all!!
artists: Fun. very nostalgic, don't have too too much content and i don't think they're active as of late, but yea. also The Strumbellas, idk if it's just me but they have 'road trip at 8pm in the middle of summer' vibes. All Time Low, chloe moriondo, Oliva Rodrigo, there's a bunch of others but off the top of my head, those are a few!
and yES i love feeling nostalgic. sometimes it hurts, though. when you're listening to music, or reading a book, and it just crashes over you for a minute. nostalgia,, nostalgia is such a powerful force because it can make you feel worse or so much more alive. nostalgia is an interesting concept too, because it's so strange how the smallest little things can transport you back to childhood. and then you're sitting next to your childhood best friend in the hot sun, tired from chasing each other around the playground, and you're hiding behind their door so that you never have to leave, and you're riding your bike while the sun starts to set, and you're going on vacations and trips that you barely even remember. and like ?? you're telling me nobody else wants to suddenly sit down and cry when they see this specific shade of green? or that you don't see my shirt and immediately think of being hugged and wishing you could be forever eight years old?? and no! i don't think that your bracelet looks like the beach along the coast, or that seeing a glass-stained window feels like my childhood!! but good for you, always keep those little pieces of memories stored in the most random of objects.
the future? hm,, in some aspects, yeah. i can't wait to be alive and independent, screaming at the sky at age nineteen. i can't wait to look at a book and go "hey, i read that years ago! i loved it". because the future is so,, malleable in your head. you can do whatever you would like in the future, because it hasn't happened yet. and maybe it won't, but it's always nice to dream, yknow? i'm not sure if that counts as the future future, or more just dreaming.
do you prefer thinking about the past or the future? when you picture "nostalgia" and "good vibes", what mental image comes to mind? - 🌵
bestie how DARE you say i have good words when you say stuff like THIS and expect me to be okay holy shit your words are the best and im. hang on. i have to stop typing for a sec to just. go reread it. "we're all just fumbling around, and on the chance that you find someone to hold your hand through it all, yeah. now that is special." OKAY. YEAH. yeah yeah yeah. exactly.
oooh wait omg i love road trip vibes!! i gotta go listen to them right now!! and YES chloe moriondo and olivia rodrigo!! fun fact im listening to sour right now lmaooo
OKAY. your words about nostalgia i'd quote them but i'd just be pasting the whole paragraph you wrote so. suffice it to say ily /p and your words are beautiful and perfect.
yeah, i think it's interesting if a little sad to think about the difference between the future and just dreaming. but hey, who says you have to make them completely separate? where's the fun in that? there's no telling what could happen next, so let your imagination decide for itself :)
gosh i think i like thinking about the past more. thinking about the future stresses me out, and when i think about the past i just feel nostalgic and wish i could go back to those times! it's like, even if i feel bad about things i did or didn't do in the past, hey, it happened, i gotta move on. but in the future, i don't know what i'll do or what i won't do, i just hope i make the right choices, and i honestly can't tell if i will, and that's terrifying. so, i like thinking about the past !! sldjflsdjfldj
when i picture nostalgia and good vibes, i picture laughter and playgrounds and sleepovers and holding hands and i think of school from back when i enjoyed it, and i think of friends from back when i didn't constantly worry about having them. idk.
what's your top 3 or top 5 songs on sour? do you enjoy thinking about your past? i know we talked about time travel and messing with time a little while back, but here's a question: if you had the option of traveling forward or backwards in time, would you do either one and if so, which one + why? ily <3
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Landscapes and Lovers
I just had the best weekend with the love of my life. A first of many, one would say. What initially burst into a canceled trip became one of the best escapes of my life; although this would be an understatement to any long-distance couple's yen.
I wouldn’t mind getting lost together at all.
This was our <mutual> mindset when we first talked about our planned misadventure. Karlos and I literally had nothing set except for these two things: Zambales & Surfing. Thanks to this infamous virus, the fear of being in places with actual people arose at some crappy level so we had to find some barren place worthy of our amusement. And poof! There came Anawangin Cove: the majestic land of volcanic ashes. I have been here in 2016 (as can be read in one of my previous posts) and yet I had no single percent of hesitation coming back, especially now with the one I want to share this beaut with the most. Scenic, fascinating, uncrowded -- just perfect. ❤
Roughly past 3:00 in the afternoon, after almost a 4-hour trip (from bus rides to tricycle to pumpboat), we docked into the shores of Anawangin. It was so exciting how everything was unknown to us - like how the strong opposing waves allowed us to arrive smoothly despite. And the best part? No signal. We settled into our humble tent coursing through the wooden footbridge along the serene lake. It was basic. It was lovely. It was all we ever needed - a breather and each other.
After our late lunch at a local eatery nearby, we immediately set off to explore the land. We started trekking, braving the rough unfriendly trails uphill. The red soils were rather slippery and there weren't enough branches to grip. Although he certainly knew I didn't need babysitting, Karlos always made sure to keep my safety his priority. (How he's all cute and smart and a gentleman, I wouldn't figure. I'm just a lucky chic. ^,- ) It was one of the <countless> moments I pause and look at him bare and pure, and thank God for how blessed I am to have him.
Oh, wow. As we reached the mid-level of the mountain, we came to a halt glorifying the sun that welcomed us atop. The view of the adjacent cove below us, the reflection of the sun by the waters as it slowly set, the brushing of the wind against my face - this was not as I imagined it to be. It was more. Karlos was holding my hand and we both just enjoyed the breeze and the view. Everything at the moment was captivating.
The destination is just as beautiful as the journey.
But then you are both to me, love. ❤
Silently recessing, hiding from the endlessness of the horizon - the sunset gave us the perfect moment alone together. It was just the two of us amid the long stretch of the shore. We talked about anything and everything (as we always do). We were simply present - candid, unfiltered, thorough. And there I was, falling for him deeper and deeper by the minute.
We were up early the next day to figure our way to San Felipe. Good thing it was rather easy to navigate and the people were kind enough to guide us.
Thank you, Anawangin Cove, for our memorable stay. You are one for the books, indeed!
On to our next stop: Surfing! We were both exhilerated as we watched the waves of Liwliwa before us, crashing back and forth. It was Karlos' first time to surf while it was my fourth, although I still consider myself a newbie everytime. We rented our boards, had our basic orientation with the guides, and headed off to the sea.
It still feels surreal. Playing with the waves has always gratified my soul; it makes me yearn for it. And being back to Liwliwa where I first learned to surf brings me all the nostalgia. Most importantly, being here with Karlos, and experiencing one of his firsts with him takes me to another level of zest no one could ever replace.
I watched him glide over the waters. Could it be possible that my eyes turned into heart-shapes, 'coz I think they really did. I never thought I can be fascinated by a human being over and over for being his normal awesome self, and be loved by him at the same time -- oh how lucky could I be? For a first timer, I would say he was doing a better job than myself (and I was an above-average starter!). I just love how he amuses me. Unbiased.
Finally, we made our way back home (to Clark, of course). What our bodies did not literally prepare for, our minds took over. We managed to reach town on time, had our short ice cream break (yay to dirty ice cream!) and got aboard the bus to Olonggapo.
Thank God for long rides that allow us to rest! How exhausted this man had become, I could only imagine. Good job today, love!
This LDR thing that we have been sailing through has kind of brought us to this subtle level of desire to share experiences in different places. Whether it be our (his or my) first time, so long as we're together will make it an adventure of a lifetime. This was yet our first official travel, and I'd say this one's over the top -- being one with nature, being fully into one another. Looking forward to more adventures and getting lost together!
Isn't it amazing how our 7-Eleven rendezvous has now morphed into so many magical places?
Anywhere with you, my love. ❤
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Auditions, send a couple lines of your choosing
The last thing I broke was the cypher and academic, so Come yonder, players, hear everyone rise Above this dangerous reprise Players, one and all, what a surprise! A world so woken, with stars in their eyes Words soft spoken, with truth in their cries To risk nothing, and all to get it right To lose all love is to know the fight To battle only the nihilism is a cure To attempt to have equality is most impure To blame the girls is always fine What's yours was ours and mine The cunts deserve the claw and the knife And if they bitch, just end their life Because humanity is inhumane and we rule it all Under our boot, they're dust, they'll As we waited for the rain, I thought about the last time we'd stood on this corner and how different things had been then. Distance and time had changed us, had changed everything we'd thought we meant to each other. It was disconcerting. It wasn't precisely nostalgia, because my thoughts seemed to flicker over what we could have been, not what we had been. I'd always wondered what we'd could have been if it weren't for that day, the one we chose to never talk about. And here we were again, both of us with that same haunted look in our eyes, struggling to find a way to destroy the wall that had grown between us after that day. His family taught him that He had to fight for what he wanted, even if it meant eternal damnation and suffering - it was all about saving face in the Prydonian culture. A rise to power was the only method acknowledged as having any meaning, and Koschei had taken those lessons to heart by the time he was 13 years old. He'd already dived into the realm of madness half a decade previous, and the political system was all he had left as a means of redemption now that the in tempered schism had marked him as worthless. He'd show them all, no matter what the cost. So it hadn't come as a surprise when he'd become obsessed with the only other Time Lord candidate that bothered to show him any kindnesses, nor had anyone expected them to succeed in anything. And yet, here they were, the last two of their kind. It was a bitter joy to know that, and to know that there was little love lost in the centuries that had escaped their grasp - but joy meant there was hope, no matter how bitter the taste. So he knocked four times on the wall of the blue box that stuck out like a duck on fire in the small town he'd tracked it to, casually standing there as if he'd always be able to control the situation. Wasn't as if Koschei wasn't aware that Theta knew better. Fear verse and create a better version - A demon decides it doesn’t want to create human suffering anymore and switches tactics. Little does it know it creates the worst suffering of all, forever written in demon history as the most savage and cruel demon that ever lived. The demons name? Fear. Hope verse - A demon decides it doesn’t want to create human suffering anymore and switches tactics. Little does it know it creates the worst suffering of all, forever written in demon history as the most savage and cruel demon that ever lived. The demons name? Hope -— There's always been a way for the Master to find the Doctor, no matter what others believed. Usually a way to call a truce exists as well, and Koschei realized it just in time. With a flash, he was gone, tracking the other time lords ship through the galaxy. He raced using the only means he had with him, a terrifying and sickening portal through the vortex with a device strapped only to his wrist, and around 12,000 years later, he located the man standing on a cliff top, a solitary figure painted darkly against a turbulent sky. There is a sweet spot between pain and caution, between motivation and desperation, between bliss or a near miss. If I look up right now I'd see The map inside of me.
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