godofglitter

I came. I saw. I wrote.

[godofglitter]

this is why we can't have nice things

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

hello :)

ok hiatus is back on ty bye :)

[strausswinter]

The Secret History Translation Masterlist

i was going to put this on a spam account but then decided to put it on a public one. who knows, maybe someone will benefit from it! if i’ve made any mistakes, do let me know

à moi. l’histoire d’une de mes folies (to me. the history of one of my follies or my turn. the tale of my madness)

quod erat demonstrandum (it can be shown)

cubitum eamus? (will you sleep with me?)

consummatum est (it is done)

hoi polloi. barbaroi [the many/majority. barbarian (person who doesn’t speak greek)]

bei nacht und nebel (at night and in fog)

deprendi miserum est (it is wretched to be found out)

khairei (hello)

bakchoi (initiates)

cuniculus molestus (annoying rabbit)

arrectis auribus (attentively/ears peeled)

dormir plutôt que vivre (sleep rather than live)

dans un sommeil aussi doux que la mort (in a sleep as sweet as death)

requiescat in pace (rest in peace)

n’est-ce pas (isn’t that so)

amor vincit omnia (love conquers all)

raison d’être (reason for existence)

nihil sub sole novum (there is nothing new under the sun)

quel plaisir de vous revoir (what a great pleasure to see you again)

genis gratus, corpore glabellus, arte multiscius, et fortuna opulentus (smooth-cheeked, soft-skinned, well-educated and rich)

dénouement (outcome)

salve, amice (hello, friend)

valesne? (are you well?)

quid est rei? (what is the matter?)

benigne dicis (i thank you)

bureau de tabac (tobacco store)

Χαλεπά τά καλά (beauty is harsh)

mais, vrai, j’ai trop pleuré! (oh, truly, i have wept too much!)

les aubes sont navrantes (the dawns are heartbreaking)

hinc illae lacrimae (hence those tears)

sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat (such eyes, such hands, such looks)

[godofglitter]

ahhhh this is so useful thank you thank you

[godofglitter]

ep1 of men writing women

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.

.

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big nose ✅

heavy breasts 😔

muscular arms ✅

aka i cannot be an asimov heroine how sad for me

[godofglitter]

What to read after cosmos, an inexperienced guide.

So I finished cosmos, and immediately made a prezi on all the media it reminded me of. Did i spend the hours from 11:30-2:30am on this? yes. Will i get anything out of it other than personal satisfaction? i highly doubt it. But it looks aesthetic and it scratches my creative itch so....

here!

here's the link to it

And here's a pdf in case you're on your phone and prezi doesn't do its cool swooping thing:

(gods i really need to go back to school)

(ok ly gn)

[godofglitter]

This one is about art, and anonymity.

Yesterday as I was walking through a cutesy fair near the Ferry Building in SF, i stumbled upon this old man with a bunch of disheveled looking tables with mismatched and half falling off tablecloths, littered with circuit boards covered in curious imagery- astronauts and human hearts and moons. It was a cool idea, and of course as an engineer when I saw circuit boards I was immediately pulled in. Upon asking the man claimed his boards came from NASA, and that he was commissioning a 26 foot art piece for the new OpenAI office- and me, not knowing who this man was, immediately filed all this information in the "bullshit" box in my head. It wasn't conscious, yet part of growing up is developing an inherent skepticism for the world, hardened layer by layer after each interaction with street painters claiming to be picasso, like those people in vegas that dress like celebrities and make you believe for a second you've breathed the same air as a star.

He was so kind, this artist, despite my ignorance. I did not know enough about vintage boards to appreciate his IBM '92, or about waste copper to marvel at his planet prints, or about art and the price of creativity. His art was piled all together, expensive pieces mingling with the slightly less expensive ones, and me being too broke for cool things I tried to tell him I couldn't partake in his repurposing of destructive technology. Yet he was patient, and understanding, and after a short search and more bonding moments over his father's profession (mechanical engineering, like me) i parted with a beautiful piece depicting planets and sun signs on a layout of balboa PCBs that i paid what is an extravagant amount for me but was apparently absurdly low for him.

When i got home I almost didn't want to look him up*. I wanted to cling to the naïveté of believing his stories, his ambitions. I wanted to walk over to that side of town weeks later and see a giant wall covered in discarded electronics saying a big fuck you, from: art, to one of the world's largest AI companies and smile and think of that windy day in san fransisco. I didn't want him to be a dupe, because if he was it would mean that my moment of pure heartedness was truly misplaced, and it would strengthen my skepticism all the more.

But then again, is art worth a price because of the weight of the name behind it, or because it makes you feel a certain way? If something in these old abandoned circuit boards resonated with me- the way a human heart was almost beating up to life on the backs of something that may well replace human hearts in the future- then that resonance should be worth more than whether I'd heard the artist's name before. Who decided who becomes famous, and who gets lost in streets and mussed tablecloths and fallen names? And in the end, aren't kind hands worth more than curated, perfection-ized ones?

When it came time to pay I didn't have a card, or cash- 21st century woman that i am- and with the last dredges of my battery i made what was his first ever apple pay payment on the little square that stuck out of his phone. The little click and chime was nothing new to me, but he said "I have lived 75 years, and this is the first time I have been able to receive payment on my phone like this" or something along those lines. Weeks, months, days from now my memory will fade, and so will his- but I hope that just like his rendering of science and beauty will stay with me forever, the memory of the girl in the tiger print shirt who didn't know who he was but was drawn helplessly to his art will stay with him, if not forever then at least for a little while.

On a separate note, enjoy a screen recording of my decorating my wall with his art and with all the other art I've acquired (and made) over the years because this feels like a safer, less known space than the hoards of people I don't know on instagram. I want to look back at this blog years later and find myself in past words. This is my moment, frozen, lest I lose myself along the way.

*To my immense relief, he is "real". His name is Sean Kilcoyne (who is also a baseball player? what?). Here is an article talking about his artwork in SF from 1997: https://www.sfgate.com/homeandgarden/article/gallery-displays-handcrafted-works-2790517.php

[godofglitter]

I am not usually a nature person, which is weird because what are we, but nature? Yet every time I fall prey to a strong sense of "FOMO" and drag myself out of a weekend of being a couch potato I find myself staring wide eyed at these tall hills, or at the bright red of a woodpecker's mane*, or at all the beautiful green orange yellow lichen I only ever read about in science books but never had the fortune of being close enough to touch thanks to Delhi's love for all things smoky.

The point is, I wouldn't chose nature based activities if left to my own devices, but boy am I glad everyone in California was born a mountain goat- if for nothing else but the poetic inspiration these occasional forays into the wilderness give me. Take for example this tree we** stumbled upon not even halfway up our hike. What drew me to this particular tree was not just the way beautiful brown and red striations traverse along the bark, or the way squirrels made their fleet footed way around the base and into the bushes, or the leafless branches like fingers grasping at a rapidly greying, ominous sky. It was these meticulous and numerous holes, each seemingly consistent in diameter and depth, stuffed with little acorns*** that caught my eye.

And here is where the inspiration part comes in. Immediately, my brain went "aha!" and started composing an epic tale of love and loss- where we, as humans, are that bark filled with acorns nestled in spaces we have carved out of our hearts. If we are all born a full slate, brimming with these love-filled treats, then life is the wind that knocks half of them out of their places, and people are the birds, the squirrels, the prying humans that scrape and peck and dig to take our precious love away to sustain themselves. Think the giving tree, except when we run out of acorns we carve ourselves anew, mark ourselves for the next person to paw at, take ourselves away from us until we are nothing remaining but hollow bark surrounded by a bed of fallen, consumed shells.

But that is not all. Once the teenage angst found an outlet, the millennial fashion influenced found her voice and began to vociferously claim the wonderful-ness of the chatoyancy of this bark. Come to think of it, doesn't that mountain over there look like that one Deepika Padukone dress from some award function a couple of years back? Olive green and black, just like the dusty shadows along fault lines on this hill- and I remember the entire world hating her for it and thinking damn does it take a lot of strength to stand strong and take it. But then I thought- what if this amazing art-in-fashion-in nature was brought out to the world? And here began my wondrous five hour long pretence at being Yves Saint Laurent coming up with his winter 2024 collection titled Pinnacles: A Blooming Life. Or something like that. I'm sure there's some creative director out there who thinks of these collection names and all, that's not even the main point.

When an idea takes root in your brain, everything around you bends to nourish its seed. Suddenly, the patch of lichen on a grey rock was shaped like a perfect sleeved top to be styled with blue jeans and a maroon red slip on heel; the growing green tip of a pine shoot in a bed of old orange needles would make a perfect Ariana Grande-esque chiffon gown (teal on the top, orange on the bottom, think colour blocking like that one famous pink and orange Taylor Swift gown); the white-red-pink of the California Buckwheat would make for a gorgeous tulle flower top to add to the collection.

Mental mood boards were made****, other people were involved- and I saw how this seemingly childish idea of nature in fashion bloomed under the creative juices of three engineers, of all things, finding fabrics and textures and styles in rocks and dandelions and hard nut fruits. It takes only a word, a whiff of interest- what we often think of as not worth the occupation of air can become the spring that spreads through someone else's wild grass and adds a sweet fragrance of joy in land that seeks it.

A full gallery of pictures of random fallen fruits and moss later, my brain went back to this "giving" tree- giving not so much a real physical benefit but the imaginary fruit of inspiration. And really, aren't ideas like those tiny acorns too? Strong ones stay despite winds and disturbing perturbations; the weak ones, however well seated they may seem at first, will inevitably be slain at the hands of fickle nature. It made me realise how precious ideas are- how precious thoughts are, and moments- because with time they will be scattered or wither or perish, and there is nothing worse than the memory of an idea that you were too- tired, scared, underconfident- to actualise, that now lays lifeless in your palms despite all your attempts at shoving your breath down its throat. Every night that I spend saying "I will write this down tomorrow" is a night I am putting to permanent sleep words I was graced with, that once turned away will never return to me again.

All this to say I am glad I went today, inclinations and aches aside. My words live to see another day, the spaces within me will brim fully again with treasures of thoughts- and even the ones that fall will find another home where they can finally take root and sprout their winged leaves into the azure sky.

*fun fact today was the first time I've seen a woodpecker in real life and not in a cartoon, which is just another thing nature has given me

**me and aforementioned mountain goats whom I love very dearly, despited their (wait for it) goat-edness (sorry not sorry)

***Are these acorns? I have no idea. They kind of look like hazelnuts. Unrelated question, can I eat them? Asking for a friend ofc :)

****Which will become reality, some day. If someone wants to teach me art real quick that'd be awesome thank you

[monnyke]

snowbaz fic rec list

My long ass fic rec list just because snowbaz is everything. The ones marked with a ♥ are my personal favorites.

Long ones:

rebel rebel by BasicBathsheba  ♥ Baz Pitch loves, in no particular order: David Bowie, punk music, the feel of old vinyl, the smell of coffe (but not the taste), classic books, magic, David Byrne, the fact that he was raised by his aunt Fiona, and maybe, sometimes, Simon Snow. (183k)

Take on Me by BasicBathsheba Baz Pitch is an overworked uni student who – between his heavy course load and his shifts at his aunt’s bookstore – is stressed all the time. But when Simon Snow, a lit student with a short temper who’s trying to distance himself from his bad history, starts working at the bookstore, Baz’s life gets infinitely more stressful. (49k)

So This is Christmas by KrisRix ♥ Simon Snow hasn’t got a clue as to why he doesn’t want to fight his vampire nemesis to the death. All he’s got is a stupid plan to pretend that he and Baz are dating so that The Mage won’t make them fight. Baz Pitch has got an envelope bursting with money and a burning desire to enjoy whatever time he can with the boy he loves. (57k)

Local Hero by BasicBathsheba and breadofgod There is nothing Simon Snow loves more in life than football. And there’s really nothing in Baz Pitch’s life other than football. (56k)

The Truth Will Set You Free by sorbriquette Simon casts a truth spell on Baz that only works if the target has something they want to tell you but won’t. They can’t stop telling the truth until they confess what they want to. (45k)

Love Is Always in Style by rainbowbaz When Simon gets offered a job at the glamorous, high-fashion Natasha Magazine, he can hardly believe his luck. But being assistant to the complicated, rude, and quite frankly beautiful Editor-in-Chief Basilton Pitch makes his job a lot more difficult than he expected. (39k)

This Must Be The Place by BasicBathsheba  ♥ Simon is stuck in juvenile care over the summer. He’s lonely, disillusioned, and desperate to talk to Penny. But when he makes a Snapchat to try to contact her, he ends up talking to the most unlikely person. (36k)

network connectivity problems by BasicBathsheba  ♥ [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: (10:45): i mean like, how should i fix this BAZ PITCH: (10:46): Why would I know? [UNKNOWN NUMBER]: (10:46): you’re tech support? BAZ PITCH: (10:47): I most definetely am not. (35k)

Madly On by saltfromthesea It’s been six years since Baz and Simon broke up, six years since Baz went off the map. For all intents and purposes, they’re out of each other’s lives. But when chance–and maybe a little bit of fate and Penelope Bunce–throws them back together, they have to face the things that made them split up in the first place…and decide once on for all if they really are meant to be apart. (27k)

Keep Calm by aralias ♥ The kidnapping attempt fails, but it’s not the Mage’s only scheme. Eighth year begins. Tyrannus Basilton Pitch returns for the start of term – and finds his roommate missing. (68k)

Classroom Politics by aralias At twenty-five, Simon Snow’s life is finally on the up. He’s got his magic back, people listen to him, and he can draw the Sword of Mages. A lot of people think he should lead the Coven. But not everyone. The Old Families still see Simon as their enemy and they’re quite willing to quote obscure magickal law to stop him ascending to Mage. (40k)

Happy People Shine Brighter by EllisyaSyron After Simon goes off on Baz by accident, he begins to question why they are fighting at all. As the two start to learn to trust each other, a new threat looms: where are all these were beasts coming from? (57k)

Jesus Was a Cross Maker by EllisyaSyron [Sequel of Happy People Shine Brighter] Everyone is reeling from the confrontation with Dr Lang, and Penny, Baz, and Simon are forced to spend the summer alone with their thoughts. When they get back to school in the fall, everything is different. (61k)

Give ‘em hell, kid by fox_pitch  ♥ TOUR ANNOUNCEMENT: The famously theatrical pop-punk quintet BAZ PITCH AND THE DARK CREATURES have announced a five date UK tour fresh off the release of their debut album CATACOMBS (4* review, page 17).Simon Snow, folk punk newcomer, to support. (34k)

Dream with Eyes Open by KrisRix All Simon wants is to plague Baz with thoughts of him, give Baz a taste of his own medicine. All Simon wants is to be on Baz’s mind so much, he can’t focus. Can’t work on coming up with a spell to end Simon. (32k)

Holding Out For A Hero by sconelover Simon Snow is just like everyone else. He has a job managing a bakery and dirty mugs piling up in his room. Except for just one thing: he moonlights as a superhero, The Golden Blade, official protector of Watford City. And a new nemesis has arisen, wreaking havoc and mayhem upon the citizens: the sinister, mysterious Vampire. (93k)

Hang the Moon by aralias  ♥ Fighting one war is bad enough; three is almost impossible. That’s why, when the Old Families offer the Mage a deal that will put an end to their conflict, he accepts. Simon hates everything about the deal. (And his life. And he definitely hates Baz.) (29k)

All this souldmate shit by half_witch Simon has learned to despise his ‘evil anti-friendmate’ Baz despite being connected to him through magic their entire lives. From sharing luck at ten years old, to mind reading at twelve, to teleportation at seventeen, and the Red String of Fate at twenty—Simon and Baz know only three rules. (31k)

Game / Set / Match by NineMagicks It’s the beginning of the end for former up-and-coming tennis sensation, Simon Snow. He used to care about his career, and thought he might actually make something of himself - but as always, he was left eternally chasing Baz Pitch’s shadow. Months since Simon last made an effort, and years after either of them won anything of note, these two once-bright stars are on a collision course to meet at the tennis calendar’s most prestigious event, the Watford Open. (121k)

Once more, with feeling by fox_pitch Simon’s moving out and moving on. Baz still can’t work out where it all went so hideously wrong. Penny’s in denial, Agatha’s reluctant to put down roots, and Shepard - well, Shepard is probably doing just fine, I haven’t actually asked him. It’s Monday the 23rd of March 2020 and the UK is just about to be plunged into lockdown.But this lot don’t know that yet. (26k)

A Light From Miles Away by stillmadaboutpetra On June 3rd, at the end of their seventh year, the Humdrum pulls Simon and Penelope to Lancashire. There, Simon destroys it at the cost of his own life. On June 6th, Simon Snow appears out of a portal on the bedroom of a home in Lake Charles, Louisiana. The World of Mages think he’s dead. Except for Penelope. And Baz. (67k)

No Tomorrow by Spockzilla  ♥ “Why didn’t you wake me?” I growl groggily into my pillow. “It’s not my job to wake you up. Get an alarm clock, you fucking numpty,” he snaps. I wonder if super hearing is a vampire thing. “You threw my alarm clock into the moat first year!” I shout over the music. “Not my problem,” he says, as he slams the door shut behind him. (42k)

Twelve Days of Christmas by Spockzilla Baz finally gets to spend the holidays with the person he loves the most. That is, after Simon has no choice but to go spend Christmas with Baz at Pitch Manor. Baz is trying to get Simon into the holiday spirit while Simon is trying to get out of Baz’s house. Then a mysterious gift arrives. (100k)

Every Living Thing by MeredithKSparrow Simon has acres of grass to mow, rampant ivy to battle, and a grave to dig. Baz has a list to write. A very long one. Neither of them has time for distracting crushes, parental-expectations, the end of the world, or cemetery stakeouts at midnight with irritatingly fit guys. Oh, and there are wings. (68k)

It’s a Wonderful Watford Life by MeredithKSparrow It’s a Snow/Baz version of the Christmas movie It’s a Wonderful Life, in which Baz gets to see what the world of mages would have been like if he’d never been born. (39k)

Short ones (less than 25k- yes that’s short for me):

Everything’s Coming Up Roses by annabellelux During a fight over Agatha, Simon accidentally curses Baz with a dangerous love disease. Baz now has three options: find a way to get the object of his affections to return his romantic feelings, undergo a surgery that will take his magic away, or die. (11k)

A Room Just for Two by KrisRix Eight weeks into their final year at Watford, Baz finally returns–and he’s riddled with nightmares. Simon, for more reasons than he’d like to think about, has been sleeping poorly too. Their room atop the tower becomes a place where they can talk and ache and profess and yearn, slowly, slowly. (23k)

Sweet Dreams by annabellelux Simon comes back to eighth year with persistent nightmares, and Baz just wants to help by spelling him with Sweet Dreams. But when Simon’s nightmares about the Humdrum start becoming romantic dreams about his nemesis… he gets suspicious. (23k)

Night After Night by sorbriquette It’s not something I ever thought I’d be doing, crawling into bed with Baz in the wake of my nightmares. They’re not just nightmares anymore though, are they? Because the Humdrum can summon me. It could summon me at any moment. That’s why this makes sense. Baz is a brilliant magician and just brilliant in general. (21k)

Kiss It Better by KrisRix It’s a snow day at Watford! Simon is thrilled and wants to play and explore. Baz is cold and hungry and needs to hunt. When their paths cross in the Wavering Wood, the enchanting winter wonderland sets the perfect atmosphere for flirting—until a goblin attack slices through their moment. (16k)

Mind Games by BasicBathsheba Seventh year Watford students are required to take part in the eighth year Psychology of Magick lab studies. Simon loves it. Baz hates it. But when they get paired together for a school project that requires deep, personal conversation, little do they know, there’s more to the project than just getting to know each other. (12k)

An Academic Offensive by SHARKMARTINI ♥ In which Simon and Baz share a room at the top of a tower, hate each other’s guts, and reluctantly form a truce. (19k)

Afterhours by annabellelux ♥ Simon Snow and Baz Pitch are notoriously the worst uni roommates that have ever roomed together. Luckily, they’ve nearly survived the year, if only they can get through one last night… which would be easy enough, if they didn’t happen to be hanging out at the same club. (14k)

I Believe This Is Yours by BasicBathsheba “Cinderella soul mate — when you lose things it ends up with your soul mate.” Simon’s soul mate loses a book a day. Baz’s soul mate never loses anything. (12k)

You Found Me by messofthejess “If you’d have been there, Snow, all the numpties would have been dead.” “Maybe.” Simon sticks his chin out. “But it wouldn’t have taken six weeks.” In which it still takes six weeks to find Baz, but Simon’s the one doing the searching. (18k)

THE WEKEEND by BasicBathsheba  The Magical Adaptability Weekend is miserable. It’s freezing, there’s no food, and not enough beds. Simon’s unhappy enough about being stuck in the middle of nowhere with his homicidal roommate, but to make things worse, his classmates are being dicks, there may be a banshee on the prowl, and Baz is trying to summon a demon. (14k)

VOODOO by SHARKMARTINI When Penny learns something private about Baz, it brings them closer together. Or it would, if Simon wasn’t always so insistent on getting between them. (10k)

Do you want to know a secret? by bazzzzz Baz has a diary where he neatly writes all of his most deeply hidden thoughts and feelings. He thinks Simon will never find out where it is, but… Well, he does. And yep, he’s going to read it. After all, he has to know if Baz is plotting something, right? (10k)

Looking Glass by KrisRix This time, Baz really is up to something—he’s sneaking around the Weeping Tower and opening a mysterious door that definitely wasn’t there before. But the only thing Simon can focus on is the strange magickal mirror that keeps glinting at him knowingly…. (11k)

Rain Will Make The Flowers by fel24601 “Maybe you’re getting sick,” I say. “I don’t get sick,” Baz says. “Because you’re a vampire?” “No.” 8th year AU inspired by the Hanahaki Disease trope. (15k)

Much Ado About Snowbaz by GallaPlacidia When Agatha and Dev finally start dating, they decide to trick Simon and Baz into falling in love with each other. All they have to do is convince both of them that the other is in love with them. What could go wrong? It’s just a gay Watford Shakespeare fanfic you guys. (19k)

Four Funereal Weddings and an American Stag Do by aralias AWTWB AU - Simon walks out in chapter 10 and doesn’t come back. Nine months later, Baz sees him at a wedding. (21k)

Snowbaz at Oxford by GallaPlacidia Simon hates his posh Oxford suite mate. Baz can’t help it that he has resting-bitch face and a voice so rich that it makes people want to start a Communist uprising. Basically, it’s Carry On at Oxford without magic or plot. (9k)

drop the act by basl “Do you really not care that you have to be part of the drama club?” “Theatre is perfectly dignified, Snow,” Baz says, not even turning back to look at me. or Simon and Baz are forced to join the drama club to get extra credits. (16k)

To be continued…

[jezebelgoldstone]

Real HARD sci-fi is never queer A Memory Called Empire, Ninefox Gambit, Chrome, The Stars are Legion, the long way to a small angry planet, The Luminous Dead, Gideon the Ninth

High FANTASY is never queer Captive Prince, Prince of the Sorrows, In the Ravenous Dark, Gideon the Ninth, The High King's Golden Tongue, In the Vanisher's Palace, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, The Black Tides of Heaven, The Four Profound Weaves

All queer novels are so SERIOUS none of them are bust-a-gut FUNNY Monstrous Regiment, Red White and Royal Blue, The Last Sun, Boyfriend Material, Gideon the Ninth, Check Please!, One Last Stop, I Kissed Shara Wheeler

Ghosts are my jam Elatsoe, Black Water Sister, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

Look I just read fanfic I don't like the way novels read I'd read novels if they made me feel like fanfic does Winter's Orbit, The Last Sun, Prince of the Sorrows, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, In The Court of the Nameless Queen, Hunger Pangs, Simon Versus the Homo Sapiens Agenda, The High King's Golden Tongue, Red White and Royal Blue, Check Please!, Boyfriend Material, Cinderella is Dead

[rebelcaptain4life]

Crowley believes the most romantic thing is love confessions in the rain. Aziraphale believes the most romantic thing is regency-style balls. Therefore their favourite movie to watch together is Pride and Prejudice (2005). In this essay I will

[astrhae]

"I'm very good at forgiveness. It's one of my favorite things."

[godofglitter]

Okay so I have a theory about this obviously impactful kiss scene-

You know how in the books it mentions how angels and demons are "inherently sexless" unless they actively make an effort for it, so of course physical affection is not something they are naturally familiar with as celestial beings. It would make sense for all the adopted physical expressions that Crowley and Aziraphale exhibit to have come from the humans they've been observing for so long. So when they observe PDA, I can imagine Aziraphale also cataloguing the contexts behind each action- for example kissing as an act of expressing love, gratitude, and (wait for it) forgiveness.

So- when Crowley kisses Aziraphale, imagine a shocked Aziraphale going back into his catalog of emotions attached with kissing. Of course the first thing that occurs to him is that Crowley kissed him out of love- but despite how close they've gotten, that notion is so absurd and dis-believable to him- because in his head, how can someone like Crowley love Aziraphale? We all know how unexpressive Crowley is, and with his offhanded teasing and humour and pretend hatred of things Aziraphale stands for, maybe somewhere Aziraphale is still insecure about Crowley's feelings towards him, which prompts him to reject the first assumption as to the reasoning behind the kiss- love- and instead causes him to make himself believe the kiss is instead being used as an instrument to ask for forgiveness. That Crowley is saying sorry for starting this big fight over a decision that should've been really easy in the first place.

So when Crowley says "Don't bother", Aziraphale touches his lips in shock and- realisation. Crowley doesn't want forgiveness. The kiss wasn't an "I'm sorry". It was an "I love you".

And Aziraphale is angry, at Crowley for saying the exact opposite to him in all but his actions, making him spend so long in uncertainty, for the millennia of unsaid truths that lie between them- and, somewhere deep inside- at himself for not saying it back.

[godofglitter]

From Monster (2004), Episode 58.

Tenma is so precious why can't they just let him be happy *cries*

[durbikins]

oh yeah, with the new size limit for .gifs this thing can finally be posted

[eggtuna]

what the fuck

[ebsbestlife]

I just….?

[elusiveandincognito]

TREASURE THIS POST. IT ONLY APPEARS ON YOUR DASH ONCE IN A BLUE MOON I SWEAR

[poisonousquinzel]

forget posting cringe to scare off Twitter folks, we just gotta make this appear to be the constant vibe here and we’ll be good skdjskksks

[i-give-chess-pieces-to-people]

[ID: a pair of outstretched hands, offering a chess piece. End ID]

[the-haiku-bot]

[ID: a pair of

outstretched hands, offering a

chess piece. End ID]

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

[godofglitter]

In a spontaneous (and probably highly illegal) decision, I decided to enter a half-renovated palace looking building in Mubarak Mandi Complex, Jammu. No one stopped me, precisely because there was no one around- the entire enclosed polygon of tall buildings of maharajas who'd probably thought they'd be ruling forever had a neglected, forgotten look about it. Even the locals didn't seem to know of the existence of the small museum, or the British style fountains on four corners of a Mughal and Dravidian style garden, enclosed by the Rajputana looking palace buildings. So many religions, ruling families, races- all blending together homogeneously, without the added colour of communalism that often (unfortunately) divides other significant melting pots such as Delhi, where I have grown up seeing firsthand the segregation of Mughalai versus Rajputana, each distinct and prideful in a lack of confluence with the opposite party. Here in Jammu for the first time I saw a masjid down the road from a temple, jhatka and halal shops standing shoulder to shoulder with a pure vegetarian vaishno dhaba, people living in seemingly true fraternity- and above all, harmony.

I am sure this is a gross romanticisation of the political atmosphere of one of India's most controversial and warred upon regions. And yet this picture- of a roof panel at that palace I very illegally entered- sparks these bittersweet emotions in me that awaken the inner idealist. This panel is a glimpse into Dogra history, and all the diverse factors that form it- and yet even as we speak, vital parts are being slowly replaced by fresh, bright, unmarked wood. The glass half empty side of my brain cries at the loss of history, cries for the beautiful and intricate artwork on the inner walls of the palace that are being covered by sterile white paint, for the erasure of an entire culture by controversy such that even the descendants of the kings themselves don't know who they are. And yet, unbidden as hope, the glass half full side of my brain sees this blank wood with rosy eyes, perhaps reminiscent of the perspective of the artisans who first set out to paint this beauty in the first place- seeing these empty spots as fresh slates onto which we can paint our own stories of love and peace.

[godofglitter]

The Vault (I Can See You)

Inspired by Taylor Swift's I Can See You, aka the reason I'm out of a very very long hiatus.

Read on Ao3 (it's back!)

*

It’s a dangerous game they’re playing today, and the summer heat seems to be turning up in response. In the cramped space of the storage closet, the scents of sharp cleaning fluid mix with fresh plastic, yet what makes Alex’s head spin the most is the all too familiar smell of Henry pressed up against him, and he finds he wants nothing more than to lick the fine bead of sweat making its merry way down his adam’s apple. 

“I can see you written all over this,” Alex says with a smirk, making sure the movement of his lips lies close enough to the spot under Henry’s ears for his breath to make him shiver- but not close enough to touch. Yet. 

With the hand that’s not pressing Henry to the metal grill of the storage racks, effectively trapping him between metal and a, ahem, hard place, Alex pulls out a crumpled piece of pink paper with conspicuous blue hearts drawn all over, and the cutesy message “Meet me tonight?” scrawled in the most unironically barbie looking handwriting Alex has ever seen. The kind of handwriting all the girls (and maybe secretly even Alex on some exceptionally boring nights) were always trying to perfect back in middle school, so they could write the names of their “true soulmates” on the back of their notebooks and on their arms and on every desk they were assigned to so the whole world could be privy to their not so secret matters of heart. The kind of handwriting that really had no business falling out of his APUSH report in front of the whole class, just as he was about to start his self-proclaimed genius paper on the historical influence of world politicians on American governance. 

Of course, much embarrassment had followed, with a not insignificant number of catcalls (from Nora, of all people, he’s going to fucking murder her later)- yet even through the waves of shame that made his cheeks flame red for the rest of the period, there was a vein of excitement coursing through him that drove him towards recklessness, retaliation- because he knew how this game worked, and he may have lost a round but he’d make damn sure he’d win the war. 

It’s working he thinks, allowing his smirk to turn into a ferocious, purposefully cocky grin at the sight of Henry’s disheveled nod. If only the rest of the school knew about this, too- the crackling sparks flying between them behind closed doors, the desperate breaths against breaths, the insurmountable need to bridge the infiniteness of the space between them. And yet, selfishly, Alex loves the fact that he’s the only one that gets to see Henry like this- cheeks a perfect rose blush, lips wet and bitten through, pupils blown so wide there’s barely a hint of blue around the edges. To the rest of the world, Henry and Alex are the bitter rivals whose pranks against each other will one day make the principal’s head explode- or worse, get the whole senior class in trouble. Only alone, in the secrecy of the vault they lock their hearts in, do Henry and Alex allow themselves to be what they truly are- madly, desperately in love with even the shadow of one another. 

It is this love that prompts Alex to drop a sweet- and maybe a little shy, screw him- kiss on Henry’s cheek, right before he drops his mouth down low to the pliant space right underneath Henry’s jaw and bites. 

Henry’s sharp intake of breath and clearly uncontrolled moan sends all the blood in Alex’s body rushing down, yet he resists the urge to abandon the farce and pull Henry into a searing kiss, and instead continues lavishing attention to the vivid red imprint of his teeth, sucking the soft skin underneath until with a broken breath Henry whispers “please, Alex.”

He knows the rulebook like he knows the backs of Henry’s hands, written in sly glances and brushes in corridors and the teeming darkness under sheets on late nights- and yet Alex can’t help but press his lips against Henry’s at the sound of his voice. The lilting vowels of his voice stick to his eyelids, making it impossible to open them against the cinematically bright sparks that are surely lighting the space between them. He allows himself to apply just enough pressure, a buildup, a hint of true feeling- 

-before physically wrenching himself out of Henry’s arms (seriously, does he have Alex coded magnets in there or something?) and staggering to the other end of the tiny closet. He will never admit it if you ask, but it takes him a second to get his lungs to breathe evenly, especially after Henry starts humming God Save the Queen (not for the first time since they’ve started this thing, unfortunately). The way Henry looks- hair pointing in sixteen different directions, tie undone, jacket forgotten on the floor- sends the anticipatory shiver down Alex’s spine that draws him back near Henry again, somehow closer this time, and prompts him to whisper- 

“Yeah, I will meet you tonight-“, 

A pause, brown eyes meeting blue, breaths abated. With a sudden, wicked grin, Alex bends down once more to blow a moment shattering raspberry on the rapidly purpling hickey on Henry’s neck, before backing carefully but quickly out of the closet.

“-As long as you can make it through the day!” 

*

“Alex Claremont Diaz, I will kill you!” Nora hears from- what?- a broom closet, of all things. Stupid Alex- he probably locked Henry in and went away with the key or something, she thinks, shaking her head at the stupid shenanigans the two of them kept getting into. Of course, I have to be the one to save them, as usual, she thinks as she whips out a spare storage key (swim club manager privileges, thank you) and walks towards the closet door. She’s still shaking her head disapprovingly as she enters the closet, only to see-

Nope, nope, that was emphatically not Henry in a state of utter undress with a giant hickey on his neck, that Alex did not put there, and Henry is not whisper shouting oh fucks behind her, this did not happen, everything is normal, the storage door is closed. 

She doesn’t know about Henry, but Nora will definitely be killing Alex tonight.

[godofglitter]

Manoj Kumar in Purab Aur Paschim (1970), still from the song Koi Jab Tumhara Hriday Tod De.

[godofglitter]

i need some place to document all the very cool things daily life throws my way so hey i'm back.

Image: Pt. Jawaharlal Nehru's address to a throng of UC Berkeley and USC students, October 1949. Credit: Truman Library

This picture was taken at the historical William Randolph Hearst Greek Theatre, and the stage is the same stage I walked when I graduated this May from Cal. Even after four years amongst Nobel Laureates and inventors and revolutionaries I will never stop being amazed by the true extent of Berkeley's place in history. Go Bears. Jai Hind.

[arrghigiveup]

Excuse me while I die of laughter

[godofglitter]

THIS IS THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN 😂😂😂