#wrote | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trambrosia · 2 years

Text

There is so much Noah's Flood stuff going on in The Locked Tomb. A lot is in Gideon the Ninth, and I feel incredibly dense for missing it until now:

The whole world is flooded

Basically everyone died

The representatives are sent two by two, like Noah's animals

Colum Asht's first name means Dove according to the appendix, and Noah used a dove to see if the flood had receded yet

(Noah also sent out a raven, is there something there?)

Teacher's sash is rainbow colored, echoing God "putting his bow in the clouds" as a sign he wouldn't flood the world again

I noticed rainbows cropping up a lot before and I'm really glad to have a more concrete basis for interpreting that.

The reason I finally put it together is that Tamsyn smashed it in our faces in Nona:

“But that’s the grace of it, Harrow. If I’m God, I can start over. The flood, you know? You can wash things clean. That’s all the end of Earth was … making things clean. It gets dirty again, you clean it again. Like those old power-washing ads. Spray and walk away, right? ("John 5:4")

So let's pause here and notice that he's styled a lot of Imperial things with rainbows, which are a reference only he understands. He went to church camp, even if it was only for the underage drinking, so he would know this. Rainbows are supposed to be a promise not to flood the world again, but it's a promise nobody else can hear and he doesn't seem to feel bound by it ("it gets dirty again, you clean it again").

The other thing about the rainbows is that Tamsyn also describes a lot of things as both rainbowed and oily, for instance the steel of the space ships and Jod's eyes ("The irises were dark and leadenly iridescent—a deep rainbow oil slick, ringed with white"). I went into this a bit more in the post linked above but we're getting farther from Noah. I don't feel like I fully understand this, other than a connection between rainbows and pollution.

The other big Noah connection comes at the end of Nona the Ninth when Alecto finds Jod:

Afterward Alecto went down to the ship and stood before John, purposing to travel through the River, and was grieved to find it yet dead. John was asleep, and not in his garments, unshaved and still drunken.

Noah was also drunk, asleep, and naked at one point after the flood. He got drunk on his own wine. He was in his tent, his son Ham saw him in the raw and said so to Noah's other sons Shem and Japheth. Shem and Japheth devised an elaborate way to cover up his tra-la-la without having to see it. When they did so, Noah awoke, intuited that Ham must have seen his ding ding dong, and therefore immediately cursed Ham and his descendants (the Canaanites) forever.

I honestly don't see the connection between the Bible story and this scene other than the image. Maybe there are other drunk naked asleep guys in scripture. But we've had so much Flood stuff.

Here's the Genesis chapter after the flood.

#wrote #the locked tomb #nona the ninth spoilers #ntn spoilers #nona spoilers #nona the ninth #tlt #tlt spoilers #harrow the ninth #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb spoilers

299 notes · View notes

lorcaswhisky · 9 days

Text

I'm fine.

#writing #wrote

9 notes · View notes

alisonagosti · 28 days

Text

Found at Skatepark

I adopted my dog Harvey from the Burbank Animal Shelter on February 12, 2012. At the time, he was nameless, and the card on his cage only had three words written on it: "Found at skatepark." He was filthy and scared, but he walked right up to me and put his two paws up on the bars so that I could scratch his belly, and that was it. I bought him for $70 and took him home the next day. Your life can change that quickly.

Things I want to remember: barking at me every time I'd come through the front door, His deep desire to roll on dead bugs, napping with him in the crook of my arm.

At the time, I was working two minimum-wage jobs, was obsessed with my sketch team, and had a roommate who would later be charged with money laundering. I had no business taking care of myself, let alone a dog. But I wanted so desperately to feel a sense of home— some version of family that I was so completely starved of. At this point in my life, I had no idea how to express that love was something I wanted so deeply and yet completely feared. When you're broke in your twenties, you don't always have the tools to examine your childhood and your parental models; sometimes, you just have to buy a dog and hope that it helps.

Things didn't go smoothly; he suffered from horrible separation anxiety, and when I would leave to go to work, he would bark so loudly and for so long that my neighbor finally slid a handwritten note under my door that simply stated, "Your dog's bark is so shrill and frantic -- it's like nothing I've ever heard before." Not helpful, but a valid observation.

He was one of the most stubborn creatures I've ever met. He refused to be housebroken for much of his early life. I gotta be honest; he never really locked that in -- he was 90% housebroken at best. He would steal food if given any opportunity. Once, when I was painting an accent wall, he rolled in the paint tray for presumably no other reason other than he decided he wanted to. Our lives seemed to mirror each other at the time, and since he never judged me for over-drafting my bank account or stumbling in drunk, who was I to judge him for going through the garbage?

Things I want to remember: His insistence on following me into the bathroom, patiently watching me pee and poop, sleeping on the bathmat as I showered.

It's not that he didn't know the difference between right and wrong. He knew the rules, would assess the situation and then proceed accordingly. If I was out and he needed to pee, why should he hold it? If a sandwich was left unattended, why should he not eat it? Philosophically he raised questions that my young mind was not capable of debating.

Some may call this asshole behavior, myself included. But Harvey also possessed a kindness and ease with people that I envied. I imagined him as a proud young man on the day of his bar mitzvah, happily introducing himself and encouraging you to check out the dessert bar, "We have cake in pop form and by the slice! Please help yourselves!" He never met a stranger in his life; encouraging or demanding pets from anyone. Literally anyone, he was not picky. I loved to watch him happily trot up to people at the dog park, wagging his tail and waiting expectantly until they obliged.

Things I want to remember: My favorite compliment I ever received for Harvey, "He's perfectly proportional, a lot of little dogs aren't like that."

I loved to watch people melt in front of him: a living teddy bear with oversized ears. He indiscriminately trusted everybody and wanted to sit on every lap. Somehow, people would instinctively hold him like a baby, and he would stay in that space for as long as he was permitted.

I did not have the same effect on people.

As we got older, I finally started making money; we moved to New York and experienced snow for the first time (we did not care for it).

Things I want to remember: Landing at Laguardia at 5 AM and traveling to my new apartment. My furniture hadn't arrived yet so I slept on the clothes from my suitcase with Harvey in my arms.

He took everything in stride and quelled the loneliness of a new city. For much of my time on the east coast, he felt like my only friend.

Things I want to remember: Coming home early from work to find Harvey and my dog walker asleep on the couch.

I started a relationship that was abusive. When he would yell at me, Harvey would hide, and I worried about his safety long before I considered my own. When I eventually fled back to Los Angeles, it felt like we'd both aged several decades.

We entered our 30s at roughly the same time, and Harvey really came into his own. His food theft reached new heights of creativity. On a vacation, I made the mistake of leaving a room service tray in the room with Harvey while I went to lay out at the pool. When I came back, he had pulled some of my clothes out of my bag. I didn't think much of it, but when we got home the next day, he quietly waited for me to unpack before retrieving a room service dinner roll that he'd stashed away in there. The art of it. The patience. He had become a master.

Things I want to remember: Holding him when I was sad, him generously allowing my tears to fall on his fur.

Another breakup or two, another six months of crying into Harvey's fur before Covid hit. For a good part of 2020, he was the only thing I touched. Outside of logging onto Zoom for work, he was my only purpose. At nine, he had become a reasonable man. Still capable of zoomies, not above destruction or scampery in the name of food, but a calmness had settled over him and eventually me as well.

I fostered a puppy during the pandemic, just like everybody else, and I decided to adopt him. An unforgivable betrayal in Harvey's eyes. The new calm of our house was now loudly disrupted by the idiocy of a puppy. I'll always wonder if he felt replaced. He wasn't. He could never be. We were just adding to our family.

I eventually emerged from my Covid bunker to go on a date with the man who recently became my fiancé. When he first met Harvey, he said, "he really likes me!" I didn't have the heart to tell him that he was just another guest at Harv's unending bar mitzvah; he'd eventually realize it on his own. My family became the four of us, and we became The Unit. Man, I fucking love The Unit. I didn't realize that coming home could be the most exciting part of my day.

Harvey continued to age; he thickened around his middle, and little things started to go wrong. He developed a limp that was eventually fixed with anti-inflammatories, and he developed allergies. But he always bounced back. He seemed indestructible. Looking at him, you would never know he was almost 11. His white fur hid any signs of grey, and he still had the bouncy gait of a children's cartoon character. He had his final act of chaos that Thanksgiving. When we set him down without a leash and he took off after a pitbull (this is not an indictment on pitbulls — I only mention it because of the size difference and sheer lunacy of it — Harvey is an asshole, don’t forget that part). Harv ran after this dog faster than I'd seen him move in years. All four feet off the ground, a fluffy bullet on his way for vengeance. In one simple move, the pitbull took Harvey's head in his mouth and flung him a few feet into the grass. It all happened in a second. When I reached him, he was lying on the ground, stunned. It wasn't until I picked him up that I saw the massive gash on the left side of his head as blood started to spill out. I will never understand why he did that. He decided he wanted to, I guess.

Even that was no big deal for him. Antibiotics and a cone for a couple of weeks and he was back to normal. He really seemed indestructible.

Then, about a year ago, Harvey got really sick and was diagnosed with diabetes -- a disease I didn't think dogs could get. And again, he bounced right back once we figured out his insulin dosage. It became my morning routine. Feed the dogs, shake the insulin, inject, dispose of the needle, repeat at dinner. I almost enjoyed it. The ritual of it. Just a small dose of translucent liquid, and he was functional. He was my buddy, just like he'd always been.

Then, he unceremoniously went blind, a common complication of the disease. He took it in stride, learning the layout of our place and confidently patrolling the dog park. He still went on walks and still played occasionally. And I really thought that this would just be the new normal for the next couple of years, at least.

Things I want to remember: After he went blind, we would often lose him in the house, asleep in tiny spaces or little nooks, watching him quietly stare at a blank wall while his nose was inches away.

Then a week ago, he stopped eating. For a few days I was able to bribe him with turkey and rice but he eventually refused that as well. We went to the vet the next morning, he could no longer stand on his own. Of course I thought that this might be the end, I also had seen him defy Death at least twice and I had no reason to think he would get Harvey this time.

The vet took X-rays that revealed an evil black mass had taken over his whole belly; I finally realized that we weren't going to wiggle out of this one. I was brought into a second room by a woman who is best described as Kate Mckinnon's character from the Barbie movie. She had sparkly nail polish, although I can't remember the color, just the sparkles. She started by telling me not to cry, and I wondered to myself what exactly constituted crying, if not this exact situation. I Facetimed my fiancé, who is working out of the country. Weird Barbie returned with my dog, my best friend of 12 years. He could no longer support his head on his own. I held him like a baby -- like I'd done thousands of times before.

"There are so many puppies that need good homes in the shelters." I looked at Harvey for backup, I think in earlier years, he would've given me a look that meant, "Can you believe this lady? She is NOT invited to my bar mitzvah." I didn't acknowledge the comment, and she followed up by saying, "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No," I answered without thinking, and she disappeared out of the room and back into her rightful place at the bottom of a toybox. I won't go into the next part because it's too hard. To sum it up, he died in my arms. The vet held up a stethoscope to his chest and whispered quietly, "And he has passed." I felt everything in my chest -- lungs, heart, guts -- all ripped out in one moment. It was, by far, the most painful moment of my life.

Things I want to remember: Holding him after he died.

And then he pooped on me. Just a little bit, but he got one more joke in, and I respect him for it.

--- In the nights since he passed I find myself wondering if he knew that I loved him and if I loved him enough. I'm afraid the answer is no. How can you ever love something enough? How can one 11-pound dog ever know what he meant to me?

I didn't. I couldn't. But he did it so effortlessly.

He was my constant and my family when I didn't have any, a beacon of kindness, and also the funniest person I've ever known. So goodbye, my sweet Harv, my grandpa baby, and my fuzz. You will always be the co-founding member of The Unit. I love you.

#wrote

8 notes · View notes

thepursuitofunderstanding · 1 year

Quote

People get addicted to feeling offended all the time because it gives them a high; being self-righteous and morally superior feels good.

Mark Manson

#Mark Manson #Manson #The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck: A Counterintuitive Approach to Living a Good Life #quotes #life #wisdom #philosophy #literature #art #artist #writer #write #wrote #books #author

32 notes · View notes

yeesiine · 6 months

Text

I wrote you a note, but I didn't send it.

#note #wrote #letter #send #actually I wrote a letter but I burn it

9 notes · View notes

madamecercle · 1 year

Photo

Wrote __ ._ Bordure-dit : que-Tu La phrase [9]

[1] — Bon ... Y a plus qu'à attendre. [3] — ... plus qu'à attendre que ça arrive. [4] — Ils sont déjà là. Au moins deux ...

#Wrote #Punaise #2007 #MadameCercle #bd #artists on tumblr

16 notes · View notes

hektor-world · 1 month

Text

أنا أراقبك فقط من بعيد، لكنك في ذهني وقلبي

#hektor #merida

2 notes · View notes

cosmolog · 9 months

Text

I'm currently writing a Miguel O'Hara fanfic over on my Wattpad if anyone is interested. It follows the movie but I added my own bits. Can't get this beautiful asshole outta my head.

19 notes · View notes

charismaticmegafaunas · 8 months

Text

Are we trained

To only see woman

As beautiful

When withered away

Or is there something about woman

That only lets us see her

When woman has nothing left to give

#woman #poetry #vibes #excerpt #from #a #poem #I #wrote

5 notes · View notes

trambrosia · 2 years

Text

We know that Nona contains at least a part of Alecto, right? But Nona doesn't really act like the Body of Harrow's visions. Nona can't lie, but the Body at least tells Harrow to lie about her age. Pretty sure that Nona is Earth's Resurrection Beast, but the Body acts more like a ghost in HtN where it gets the hell out of Dodge, a week before the RB shows up. There were lots more contrasts drawn in the October 11 bonus episode of @onefleshonepod, which was awesome and got me thinking about this. Before reading Nona, their thought was that it's most likely the Body was Anastasia, and I felt pretty convinced!

How did Nona, and for that matter the Body, get into Harrow?

We don't know for sure that Nona is the Body and they entered Harrow at the same time, as far as I know. So Nona could have joined in between the books. But I think it's more likely they are the same or at least joined at the same time.

So in that case, how did the Body come to Harrow? It could have come from the Tomb when Harrow was ten. On the other hand, this incredible theory post puts together a lot of evidence for the line of Ninth house tomb keepers being stewards of Alecto's soul, passing the soul from Tombkeeper to Tombkeeper:

What if Alecto and Anastasia have been hanging out in Harrow's head? In HtN chapter 2, we get a description of multiple "incarnations" of the Body:

When you were ten years old, the Body was quiet and rigorous, practical and merciful. At fourteen the Body was tender and serene, and sometimes smiled. When you were sixteen the Body was resolute and impassioned. In all these incarnations, she had preserved her vow of silence.

In GtN, we're already familiar with a vow of silence as a Ninth House technique for hiding identity. So, what if the Body is three souls, perceived as one because they're silent? The three incarnations match Nona's three sections of thoughts, top/middle/bottom.

At a guess, "quiet and rigorous, practical and merciful" sounds like Anastasia, "tender and serene, and sometimes smiled" sounds like the Nona we saw, and "resolute and impassioned" sounds like the other part of Nona/Alecto?

Someone else must have theoryposted about this, right? I joined Tumblr a month before Nona, so I missed most of the Gideon and Harrow theorycrafting. Would love to read other people's takes on the three Body incarnations.

#the locked tomb #tlt #harrow the ninth #gideon the ninth #nona the ninth #the locked tomb theories #tlt theories #nona the ninth spoilers #ntn spoilers #nona spoilers #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb spoilers #harrowhark nonagesimus #locked tomb #wrote

91 notes · View notes

therealjackdsaf · 1 year

Text

He knew he shouldn't have pressed the ad. He knew he shouldn't have. He knew about the missing people, the sketchy ads, the terror in general around the 'Find A Friend' ad. He felt like he was being teased, though. Now, as 2 hands gripped his shoulders, he sat thinking to himself; That was a terrible idea. And it was. Now, as the loud laughter rang out, he could do nothing but sit in terror as the being pulled itself out of his computer screen.

"HAHA! I'M SO HAPPY TO FINALLY MEET YOU!!"

He was terrified. The creature was vaguely humanoid, but it had no arms. It had 4 hands, 2 floating where they would be if he had his hands and non-existant arms relaxed, and the other 2 gripping his shoulders so hard he thought he'd bruise. The creature's head was a triangle with one large eye.

"Trikon, lovely to meet you, Alex!"

He was so terrified he didn't even register the person- Trikon- said his name. He started to scream.

"Oh, jesus- Shush! There's no reason to scream! Hush-up!"

Trikon clamped his 2 free hands over Alex's screaming mouth. Alex squirmed and tried to kick him.

"Shut. Just.. Be quiet. It's harder to struggle."

Trikon glared.

"You're my best friend now."

#random writing #write #i writed #wrote #d #wroted this #i wrote it #wrote something #OCS

6 notes · View notes

jasab · 1 year

Text

Our lack of confidence is not the result of difficulty; the difficulty comes from our lack of confidence—Seneca

#seneca #quote #said #wrote #einzelgänger #confidence #lack of confidence #difficulty #self healing #self aware #self #note to selves #note to self #note to everyone #don’t control #who knows what’s good or what’s bad

5 notes · View notes

incarnationis · 2 years

Text

vi veri veniversum vivus vici

by the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe

#latin #quote #text #wrote #literature

21 notes · View notes

snippetsearch · 10 months

Text

A cartographer friend of mine invited me to his study for drinks one day and explained how, in an effort to prevent others from copying his work, he had placed fake streets in his maps of nearby towns. Anyone including those streets must have duplicated his map, and he would be able to demonstrate their plagiarism with ease.

Some years later, while travelling with a book of his maps in my rucksack, I found myself passing through one of the towns he had surveyed, and thought to compare the accuracy of his work to the real thing. To my surprise, when I arrived at what should have been a fake street, I found an actual alleyway in its place. Assuming I had misremembered which streets he had pointed out to me, I walked to another, only to find the same thing. Over the afternoon, I visited each fake street in succession, each time only discovering an actual street in its place.

Sitting to rest at a street corner opposite a bar, I was surprised to notice that my cartographer friend, who I hadn’t seen in years, was being thrown out of it. I greeted him warmly, and after the two of us caught up with one another I asked him about the discrepancy between the maps and the actual town. He dejectedly explained how after he penned his map, the town had burnt down. With the municipal archives destroyed, they turned to the cartographer’s maps to reconstruct the town street-by-street — including the ones he had faked.

He went on to describe how, when he arrived after the reconstruction, discovered their error, and attempted to explain the extent of their mistake, no person would believe him. He finished by explaining how in the time since then, he had become so dejected by their denial of reality that he had become a drunk, and the butt of the town’s jokes.

Suddenly, a group of men emerged from the bar and chased him out of view. One of them came to apologise for having let the fool talk my ear off. When I asked him about the fake streets, he just laughed, and invited me to follow him down the block. We arrived at one of the alleys I had visited earlier.

“That so-called cartographer claims that this street was an invention of his, yet that cannot be true — this is the street I lived on as a child!”

He pointed out the details of the street: its hanging flower baskets, its lamp-posts, its decorated windowsills, and its cobblestone pavement. For each he recounted some role it had played in his childhood - how he had helped trim the flowers, change the lightbulbs, decorate the windowsills, and even showed a scar on his arm from when he had tripped on a loose cobblestone.

Was he lying to me to justify their fun at the expense of the cartographer? Or did he truly believe that this was his childhood home? I found myself in a deep confusion.

I retraced my steps, and for each fake street I returned to, any passer-by I asked had a story with which to vouch for its historicity (although none denied that the town had been razed and rebuilt). This was — where I had been engaged — where I opened the shop that pushed me to the brink of bankruptcy — where my first child was delivered in the dead of night — where I met my wife — where I lost my dog — and so on.

I left the town puzzled. From any angle, I couldn’t make sense of if the town had chosen to con me, or if they genuinely believed their stories. Or — was it actually the cartographer who had lied, having made me the first subject of his deception? Perhaps it was the case that after the fire, they sought so hard for the town to live on as it was that they had absorbed their mistakes into their nostalgia for the streets of the rebuilt city, and that memory makes fools of us all.

Indeed, when I returned from my long journey, I found inconsistencies in the features of my own town, which I had thought of often while away for so long. The patterns of the bricks, the height of the lamp-posts, the width of the canals: everything seemed to have flexed, compressed or expanded. Even the air tasted imperceptibly different. I couldn’t tell if I was living, then, in a city whose dimensions had shifted inexplicably, or if it was myself whose internal dimensions had gone askew. I chose — I’m afraid — to think about it no deeper.

#microfiction #wrote

4 notes · View notes