i have such a specific view of kuusuke in my mind. like yes hes whimsical, dark, horrifying, has survived multiple 90+ feet falls and will continue to do so... kuusuke formerly co-owned a willy wonka-esque chocolate factory but ditched his partner when the whatever international fda equivalent came to inspect their factory.
my voice is poisonous, a gift from a strange god my parents once befriended. I’m careful not to speak, but I know they’re afraid.
A poison-voiced girl is born to deaf parents, but falls in love with a hearing boy. Their courtship is marked on her end by a thrilling restraint, biting her lip, knowing she could kill him with an indiscretion; he, on the other hand, longs to see her act without inhibition. He manages to make her laugh, sigh, gasp out in wonder - each time he falls ill from the poison of her voice, but is undeterred even in his convalescence, returning renewed in his goal to tease another sound out of her.
Her parents tell her to break it off; she’ll kill him. She reluctantly agrees. He refuses, pleads with her, grasps her hands so she can’t sign. In anguish she cries out his name — but lo! he does not sicken, does not die. It turns out his repeated exposures to her voice have mithridatized him against it. She can speak around him freely! They both agree that this development has taken a lot of the excitement out of the relationship, but it has been replaced with a greater casualness and intimacy that balances it out.
I can see the angels in their true form, a thousand splendid eyes and all. They think it’s funny, and have taken to hanging around my apartment
The angels start making excuses to keep showing up at my apartment, in the manner of the annunciation, but for increasingly trivial reasons. They come bearing tidings about how I should definitely get the turkey wrap for lunch, which brand of fabric softener I should buy, how that quarter I’ll find on the sidewalk is a sign that I am favored by God. They come bearing bad tidings too: The Lord has heard of all the evil in your printer, and has sent us here to jam it. Their presence becomes completely overbearing, but they are insistent. There’s a reason you see us in our true forms, they say, all their splendid eyes shining. Is it so hard to believe that the God that formed every atom of you in the womb should watch over you always, that every mundane moment of your existence in this world is shot through with the divine?
There was a body in the river, ice cold and snow white. Sometimes it was all the way dead. Sometimes it sat up and talked to me.
A king has declared that whoever can complete the following tasks shall marry his daughter: 1) to recover a lost treasure stolen from his family hundreds of years ago; 2) to name the start of the pact between men and horses; and 3) to find a cure to the plague ravaging the land.
Our plucky folk hero helps an old lady who sits by the river; she tells him of the snow white body within, who has sat up and spoken to her at odd times throughout her life. It is the spirit of the glacier: the glacier melts, and forms the river; layer by layer the past frozen in it is uncovered, parts of it living and parts of it dead. Our hero builds many bonfires and melts the glacier faster; the body lives and dies and lives many times over and tells him the three answers. 1) The thief fell into a crevasse and was frozen over; the ice is melted now, and the treasure can be recovered. 2) Iron horseshoes frozen in the glacier reveal the pact is many thousands of years old. 3) The plague is an old one, frozen and released anew with the glacier’s melting; it is carried in the livestock, and they must be slaughtered.
The hero solves the king’s tasks and marries his daughter. Presumably the new king is then faced with the challenge of the rising sea levels; no idea how that plays out.
“We’re all nice to each other here,” they told us, “we’ve got angels in the hills. They like it when we’re nice. And they see everything.”
This one’s tough to summarize adequately. Two men are going door to door, seemingly taking a survey of the religious beliefs in a small town. They finish, sit together in their car. People have been very cooperative. One of the men remarks that the local religious beliefs are disappointingly unremarkable: yes, they believe in angels watching from the hills, but most people believe in an omniscient God watching over them, and whether it is God or his intercessors, does it make a significant difference?
They sit in the car. Perhaps they smoke in the lazy sunlight. They have finished their survey ahead of time. One of them proposes: Suppose we have a picnic lunch up in the hills?
They park at the base of the hill and walk up. Lovely day. They spread out a blanket from the car, stretch their legs out on the grass, take off their coats, loosen their ties. They’ve brought their packed lunch, sandwiches, a thermos of lemonade. They talk about how pleasant all the people were. Their kind of religion seems so ... brittle, one of the men remarks. If I thought there was someone waiting to punish me the moment I stepped out of line, I’d want to do something horrible just to get it over with.
You think so? says his partner. I think just the opposite. The grand problem with religion is that there aren’t enough consequences for wickedness. I know if I saw the wicked being smote down on a regular basis, I would very satisfied in my religion indeed.
Well, of course you would; you’re a sadist.
Me? A sadist? Hardly.
You’re a sadist, his partner says teasingly. A sadist and brute.
They smile at each other. Idle conversation. There is a suggestion that they have visited many such towns and cities, asking the same question, but have yet to receive a satisfactory answer. At one point one of them notes that there’s something in the trees, but this remark is ignored and nothing is ever made of it. The conversation turns back to whether the angels in the hills are real or not. The ‘sadist’ stands up, declares his intent to do something wicked to test them. He marches around, swinging his arms, then looks around at the trees and puts his hands on his hips and laughs.
You know, up here away from society, he declares, I can’t think of a single wicked thing to do!
(Maybe a conversation here about how he could tear branches from trees, despoil the scenery, find an animal to kill; but then again animals in nature strip bark from trees, kill each other bloodily all the time, tear each other to bits, so how wicked could that be, really?)
He looks down at his partner still lying back on the blanket. Unless, of course, I were to do something wicked to you.
Whatever happens next, it is very leisurely. The scene is easy, very relaxed. Lovely day. Calm. Bright blue sky. Clouds float across it, white like feathered wings, and then pass, leaving not a trace behind.
None of us can imagine what life was like before the Clocks came, before clockwork cities, and all their technology. They rebuilt our crumbling society, in perfect, mechanical order.
Brief musings on a hypothetical pre-Clock society. A society built around the sun, all buildings roofless, everyone’s necks craned upward. Cities built running north to south so as not to block anyone’s view of the rise and set. A society built around hourglasses, everyone judging the passage of time by the sand puddling around their feet, knees, waists, clambering up onto growing dunes, waiting for the flip, for the sand to slowly drain away and the furnishings of their homes to be uncovered. Perhaps this was our unimaginable life before the Clocks came: sands stretching far away and bare, the hypothetical counterpart bulb of an hourglass reflected invisible above us, empty and vast with unrealized possibility, waiting to be reset.
When I was very young, I met a bear at the edge of the woods. Before I could play dead, it bowed to me.
Jokey little fic where a child is instructed on the etiquette of bears: when to bow, when to curtsy, when to raise your hands and make yourself as large as possible, when to climb a tree, when to play dead. (Note that grizzlies are territorial, so if they attack you and play dead they’ll leave you alone because the threat is neutralized; whereas black bears are not territorial, so playing dead will do no good because a black bear will only attack if it deliberately wants to fuck you up.)
I was given very specific instructions. Go to the rosebush on a clear night. As the moonlight turns the roses silver, feed them three drops of blood.
After years of trying for a child, a couple turns to an old witch to help. The woman is instructed to eat a rose from a magical rosebush. If she first pricks her finger and stains the rose red with her blood, then she will have a son, ruddy and robust and bold in battle; if she visits the bush on a clear night and eats a rose painted silver by moonlight, then she will have a daughter, as pale and graceful and elegant as the moon.
The woman is uneasy with the implications of this binary, and says so. The witch smiles and gives her a new set of instructions. So she pricks her finger at night, her blood painted black by the moonlight, and nine months later gives birth to a child as black as a rose, who is neither boy nor girl.
Never manged to come up with a plot for this one. The kid grows up to have a career fulfilling all those “Neither man nor woman” prophecies? Eh. Kinda corny. There’s something about gender roles in fairy tales here, but I couldn’t put it together.
Not for the first time, the company time loop drill had gone very, very wrong.
I did actually write a response for this one, but it got too long and I gave up on it. Summary of the rest of the idea I had:
Time resets. Nagle confirms that it is both an actual time loop and a drill; the company is doing a controlled time loop to prepare them for the real thing. People complain. What’s the point of a drill when an actual time loop would let you keep doing things over and over until you get it right? Nagle points out that could take years, subjectively, and that this is a controlled experience where he has a code to abort the exercise if anything seriously goes wrong. He insists they try to make it work.
They go through a bunch of loops. Don’t succeed. It’s highly technical stuff that none of them are trained for. Morale drops. People start complaining, they’ve spent hours at this, they should be off duty by now. Nagle points out there’s a ruling, established with VR training, that companies don’t need to pay their employees according to their subjective experience of time, and officially they’ve only spent 34 minutes at this.
More loops. Morale drops further. People start demanding Nagle use the abort code, threatening to quit. Nagle points out that while they’re in this time loop, their actions are consequence-free, but once he ends the loop they’ll have to live with their decisions for the rest of their lives. Are they sure they really want to quit?
At that point someone loses it and kills Nagle. Shock. Panic. Some satisfaction. He’s reborn the next loop, starts screaming about it - someone kills him again. Complete social breakdown. Eventually some people decide, fuck it, let’s just live in this loop forever. Killing Nagle becomes a standard thing they do at the start of every loop, so that he can’t input the abort code. They go through various reconfigurations of their social group - orgies, riots, open paranoia where everyone colonizes a different part of the building, regressing to primitivism, open warfare between various sects, rebuilding of society along different axes of thought. Everyone starts thinking of themselves as immortal, they start calling themselves things like ‘Chronobog of the Infinite Plane of Despair’ or whatever; the narration gets increasingly surreal.
After god knows how many cycles of this, everyone finally achieves an equilibrium of perfect enlightenment. They know what must be done. They leave Nagle alive, he watches as they move in perfect unison to unlock the server room and overcome all the obstacles and repair the tachyon servers, loop is finally terminated, normal flow of time resumes.
Nagle stands up, gives a speech, starts congratulating them on completing the drill. As he talks, everyone can feel the rapport they’ve built start to slip away - they no longer understand each other perfectly outside of the context of those 34 minutes. Time is moving forward again, and with it introducing unfamiliarity, uncertainty, an impossible onslaught of variables that they cannot predict or prepare for, and they are all moving inescapably further from each other even as they glance around and try to catch each other’s eyes and keep holding on to that feeling of perfect unity - but it’s too late now, they are strangers behind familiar faces, all of them heading in their own directions, going to be returning to their own separate lives; that moment of solidarity they had is past.
And then Nagle claps his hands at them and says, “OK, drill’s over, everyone back to work!”
ACTUALLY... *twirls curls* I've felt like I've been watched my whole life. I socially engineer my outfits based on which group of people I'm going to see and how much of a threat they'll likely interpret I am on a visual level. I only wear eye-makeup to doctors appointments and keep my hair as smooth as I can, so they will believe me when I say I'm in pain or distress. I cannot tell if my perception of being observed comes from a lifetime of cult-like christianity telling me God is punitively watching me or childhood trauma. Sometimes I think I am both the observer and observed looking down in pity and I realize I sound insane.
hello everyone and welcome to. crap from my camera roll that i dont want on my phone anymore, part one thousand
wip photos i took of one of the latest inktobers i did. those leaves were ridiculous. they took. maybe 3 or 4 or 6 hours on their own, i don’t remember but i made up all the shading and veining as i went so they came out sort of inconsistent looking but i was really happy with them because they were... so much work even if they weren't like. even remotely like any biologically accurate depictions of a(n earth) leaf. i guess that’s the joy of sci fi!! no one can make fun of you for not doing scientifically correct things even if you (studying biology) should make more of an effort to make things. like. accurate. lmao.
i think ib art really got to be with those progress photos they required for the visual journal. i am so often like. oh this looked better when i was working on it. finished pieces r so passe ! i gotta work. more on backgrounds. i am so bad at them and i try so damn hard. HAH
elanor texting me during class. they asked if i knew who david lynch was and i gave the ‘loved twin peaks/wouldnt watch eraserhead again gun to my head/dont know anything abt blue velvet but i have an unruly unmitigated unchecked chrush on dean stockwell rn so’ rundown and they said the prof was showing the class a clip of eraserhead (to which i said godspeed) but then later they were getting into blue velvet so i went back on this which prompted egghead saying actually that they’d seen that clip of some like it hot which was. surprising bc elanor has seen maybe half a movie in thier whole life and it was like. twilight new moon. anyway i have lost the plot
hi jack lemmon i am in love with you
the girl im in love w posted this (its a cropped part of a larger meme abt what girls keep in their pockets) and i keep fucking thinking abt it and laughing. the image of being a fucking annoying menace in a jail cell (which in my mind is a mix between gene wilder in the cell in blazing saddles and jim sturgess after the anti-war protests in across the universe). hilarious. unparallelled.
me after telling elanor (who sent me a tik tok abt the om*gaverse (insert ‘i still dont know what the om*gaverse is and at this point im too afraid to ask’ meme here. and that is NOT an invitation to explain it to me on anon in my inbox. i do not want to know. that is not my business. this is me making a tiny cross with my fingers and warding you all off) and said ‘me explaining my thesis to my family at christmas’) ‘giving you access to the internet was a mistake’
hi. wife city. i love this garbage outfit. fucking. pasta necklace lookin headass. god. personally i love when men have eyebrows that stick out two inches away from their face.
may or may not have made that fad whipped coffee when i was housesitting for my mom because kyoko had some instant coffee. it was terrible and disgusting and i pretty immediately poured it out into the garden. everyone who makes social media drinks deserves financial compensation. yall really live like this???
chihiro! this was the first time she really. jumped up and came and sat next to me.
the person who tagged un* mccormack in my art abt her book... very cool of her to have noticed that and been kind abt it but also. wish maybe that you wouldnt have tagged the author of a book in a post where i linked to a place where u can read it for free. lmao. also iconic of me later googling her other social media but confusing her with ursula le guin (idfk) and being like?? she died???? when i was looking at ulg’s instagram on my phone browser bc i dont have an account anymore (which. btw. is like freedom, canned) and then me being like. who runs that account then. a publisher? turns out i am just a fucking moron
charlie... <3
nico visited campus recently, this was all he passed onto me. im joking. and yet. i do occasionally think that i could never run for a public office beyond like a mayorship bc my online presence is 90% me (half jokingly) talking abt how i want to bang my teachers. god i hope no one is reading this but if you are. hiii.
joe. bitch.
me taking a health assessment for class at 8 in the morning + going.... oh come on.
took me a second to realize what he was talking about bc the “it’s a health thing...” and “i’m gonna...” were so separate to me but. once it clicked i was like. oh! that’s hilarious and i love you.
this reminded me of an assignment someone had once where they were told they were on a desert island and the only thing they had for company was. idk. a radio or something and it was the only contact they had with the outside world and they had to imagine what they would do on the island and they went and sat in the computer lab for like. half an hour. and came back with a document that just said “i’m going to fuck the radio” or whatever the equivalent was and MAN occasionally high school was so kind to me. that was hilarious.
from joe, like a week ago. i loved so much that he didn't say i wasn’t bitching or anything, just giving me the sweetest goodnight he could muster (and that-to be honest, i could ever hope for lmao) although once when i called myself a bitch he sent me that john mulaney ‘my wife is a bitch and i like her SO much’ gif and i think abt that all the time and laugh. king shit.
elanor. this was just. funny to me. they’re right but god at what cost.
mari’s axolotl costume at tane’s art show (her piece is the two wooden panels in the back)
i bought nico a copy of anton chekhov’s short stories as a ‘get well soon’ gift. bc i figured. he’s been playing rust since he got out of the hospital and i’m sure that gets dull and i wanted to get him something to read and i. i dont know i came across chekhov’s short stories recently and i loved them so much and i figured he’d like them too but also. knowing nico i was like. he’s not gonna fucking read this book. so i thought maybe if i annotated it he’d be a little more eager to actually flip through it bc. yanno i always think it’s interesting to see what my friends thought was notable/funny/whatever abt a book. (which is a lie. i really just. hadn’t read all the stories in it and i wanted to read them before i gave them to him but i figured annotating it didn’t hurt and that he might (maybe) appreciate it) so i’ve been underlining/commenting/drawing in the margins and i wrote him a little dedication in the front that says ‘for nico garnero, durante tu año enfermo, adya.’ which also to me is just. a fun little dedication. when he throws this into a goodwill donation bag in three years someone there will pick it up and fall in love with me despite not knowing who i am, (my brain....) anyway. im so enraptured by the notes on the text in this edition. there aren’t a ton of them and when they do appear they actually are interesting--meaning of names that are left not translated and stuff like that that gives more breadth to the language and also in the best footnote arrangement (at the bottom of the page instead of at the back of the book--which is the devil)
AND ANOTHER THING:
when i was in high school i used to make lists of things I was angry about and I think it used to abate my anger a little so here goes:
1. ty’s kid has croup. ty is also sick. abe works with ty. abe has his own kid at home. apparently (as everyone in the house learned yesterday) abe does not wear a mask at work. he “doesn’t have to because he’s vaccinated”--as if it isn’t possible to get covid while vaccinated. so now it’s possible that 1. abe has been exposed to croup’s parainfluenza virus and can pass/has passed it off to mariko (who mia noticed two nights ago was breathing heavily and irregularly), 2. abe has been exposed to covid (which ty may have) or 3. abe has been exposed to the flu (which--while less serious, certainly, could have been prevented altogether had he just... worn a fucking mask while at work). now he’s “quarantining” by sleeping in the office, but is using nick/i’s bathroom (of course) and going out into the house/common areas without a mask, though nick and I are wearing two every time we leave our rooms and avoiding common areas, and mia is wearing one intermittently around abe and not wearing one in common areas. because she is an idiot.
2. i had a bad night for another, separate reason last night and found myself watching all the episodes of what’s my line with jack lemmon in them--tears streaming down my face--before realizing. hey, maybe i should go to bed. which was funny to me.
the rest of these r just selfies so you can all kindly avert your eyes
me in the bathroom at my moms after being awake for 48 hours, taking two benadryl, and planting ~40 flowers in the planters in the front and back yard at six in the morning
i didnt brush my hair for the entire time my mom was out of town and i was taking care of grandma + kyoko bc i forgot a brush so. here. gratuitous mirror selfies.
pictures i send to joe for his growing album of ‘pictures of adya flipping me off’
me and mari looking So Sleep Deprived.
more pics from the disaster zone. elanor walking to the immigration office in ireland with me on the horn so she has a witness if someone tries to kill them <3
the most abhorrent socks/sandals combination yet seen on earth
mariko and i this morninggg
an actual nice picture + apple and raspberry martinelli’s blush + side part. i forgot i could actually look cute instead of like. a milkmaid. lmao.
from mother’s day i think?
an old wheat henna mia did on me
me n mariko <3
singin king of the road
baybie <3
getting slobbered on <3
edit: added nov 9th. tried to upload these w captions but tumblr wasnt having it and im not retyping them so. die
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