I Feel Like 99% Of The “don’t Vote For Biden Because He’s A Horrible Person” (followed By A List)

Read Along with Quincey Harker - 8th of May

This is a Blood of My Blood reading of Dracula, based on the Bad Ending AU created by @ and @ and others

First Read Along post with context

Blood of My Blood full AU in order

Helpful background reading for this chapter @bluecatwriter 's excellent novella Chapter 22 Indulgence, which has a lot of juicy interactions between Jonathan and Dracula.

This line hits him like a brick thrown at his head. What? Uneasy, unsafe? Things were going so well! What has happened in a single day to make Papa so frightened?

Only the Count, well, what's wrong with that? Father always explains things so well, so there is perfect clarity and no room for argument.

Papa was only shocked that Father didn't cast a reflection. Of course it may have seemed unusual, but there was no need for him to become dramatic.

Father! That's not responsible! So often Mum had repeated to Quincey the importance of being in control. Never act brashly out of anger or fear, she told him. Always be in control, or you will be controlled by others. For Father to lose control like that…

Father must have been frightened. People do all sorts of things when they're frightened, Mum had told him. He must have seen Papa's blood and been scared. After all, Papa's life and blood were always to be protected, and Papa was careless to cut himself like that.

And Father can move rather quickly, and it can be startling if you're not expecting him. Harmless, but maybe a little scary.

And sure, Father had smashed the mirror, but that was just to prevent more misunderstandings.

Very annoying - there. That sounded like the Papa he knew. Reasonable, unflappable. Like when Father was too taken by Papa's charm that he had kissed Papa's neck and shoulder all over and fed himself back to youth. Quincey hadn't liked it, hadn't understood, but then Papa had wryly explained that accidents happen, and Father made it up to him by asking forgiveness and taking him flying.

Just like the stone mentioned, Quincey's heart drops. No. No, he'd almost forgotten the shape of those sharp thoughts in Papa's mind. The memory had been smoothed over by happy family times, of stories and backgammon and fishing. Of Papa flying with Father and then Mum. But reading the fear in Papa's words in the diary, and the image of the falling stone... Quincey remembers.

This diary is revealing a dark and unknown edge to Papa's thoughts, just like those half-remembered nights.

Whether it's rational or not, Papa was scared. And he's thinking about the windows far too much for Quincey's liking.

He is being deceived. Papa is wrong about the castle and the Count.

He got scared and started seeing danger where he was actually safe, that's what it was. After all, what was he actually scared of? No reflection, a damaged castle and a few locked doors? That's nothing, that's just Quincey's childhood. He said he's a prisoner, but he hasn't even asked Father if he can go.

So there were no servants after all. Father was... pretending? Because he was ashamed, or embarrassed. A boyar should not be personally seeing to the needs of his guest, except that Father was personally invested in Papa's needs.

Quincey almost laughs at how Papa writes about the wolves again. What does it mean that Father could control them? He smiles. Only that Father is a powerful protector and knows how to use his power.

The unease that was building in Quincey disappates. It's all perfectly reasonable.

Such a familiar scene! How little Father has changed!

Quincey's eyes glaze over the passage about the battles of long ago, he knows those stories in detail. But Arabian Nights… Father had often told jokes about that story, more than once calling Papa his ‘little Scheherazade’, for all his skill at storytelling.

Quincey shakes his head, clearing the last vestiges of fear and tension from his body. He got so caught up in the vivid writing, the miscommunication that lead to fear, but he knows the end of the story. Soon the fear will give way to Love, and there will be the peace and happiness in Castle Dracula that he knows.

The other factor is that of course the SNP has managed to take Labour and LibDem seats in Scotland. If the exit poll is correct. This is going to absolutely suck

if the SNP is on 55 how the fuck are the Tories on 368

Trump is going to get re-elected.

Get comfortable saying it. Get comfortable hearing it and thinking it. Because if we don’t collectively get our fucking shit together, it’s gonna happen.

It’s gonna happen because his supporters still love him. It’s gonna happen because even people who don’t love him are thinking to themselves, “well this hasn’t been so bad, the economy is good, we didn’t actually go to war, that’s way better than taking a chance on some newfangled progressive.”

Nevermind the fact that the stock market takes a plunge almost every time Trump does something crazy and the economy is doing well due to Obama-era policies.

It’s gonna happen because I’m already seeing “I wanna take my toys and go home” rhetoric among Democrats who don’t want to vote for anyone who isn’t their fave.

I’m exasperated and tired and stressed and I should not have read the comments on a WaPo article, I know, I get it, but people — kids at the border. The Supreme Court. The stacking of the lower courts. The complete inaction on climate change. The uninformed “stick first, think later” approach to foreign policy. Even if you’re privileged or ignorant enough to sit there and think that none of this has touched your life, that doesn’t mean it won’t. Reading some of the things people are saying about the state of politics in the US has me feeling like I’ve taken crazy pills over here.

Do I have a favorite in the primary? Sure. Does it matter if she doesn’t win the nomination? No. I’ll go to the fucking bat for Joe Biden if I have to because people’s lives are more important than my ego or my principles. I don’t know how else to put that.

Other people’s lives are more important than your ego or your principles. That’s it. That’s the whole fucking thing and I don’t understand how no one has learned their goddamn lesson about this.

from Jubilate Agno

BY CHRISTOPHER SMART

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.

For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.

For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.

For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.

For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.

For he rolls upon prank to work it in.

For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.

For this he performs in ten degrees.

For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.

For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.

For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.

For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.

For fifthly he washes himself.

For sixthly he rolls upon wash.

For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.

For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.

For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.

For tenthly he goes in quest of food.

For having consider’d God and himself he will consider his neighbour.

For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.

For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.

For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.

For when his day’s work is done his business more properly begins.

For he keeps the Lord’s watch in the night against the adversary.

For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.

For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.

For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.

For he is of the tribe of Tiger.

For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.

For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.

For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.

For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he’s a good Cat.

For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.

For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.

For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.

For every family had one cat at least in the bag.

For the English Cats are the best in Europe.

For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.

For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.

For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.

For he is tenacious of his point.

For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.

For he knows that God is his Saviour.

For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.

For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.

For he is of the Lord’s poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually—Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.

For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.

For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.

For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.

For he is docile and can learn certain things.

For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.

For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.

For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.

For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.

For he can jump from an eminence into his master’s bosom.

For he can catch the cork and toss it again.

For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.

For the former is afraid of detection.

For the latter refuses the charge.

For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.

For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.

For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.

For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.

For his ears are so acute that they sting again.

For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.

For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.

For I perceived God’s light about him both wax and fire.

For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.

For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.

For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.

For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.

For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.

For he can swim for life.

For he can creep.

a lot of us are working from home now, pretty abruptly. it’s hard, and especially if you’re like me, a sudden lack of structure coupled with really harsh self-expectations/a tense or unforgiving temperament is really challenging.

i started working from home fulltime this year, and my stop it series is a set of doodled observations i’ve made about the obstacles, bad habits, and unhealthy expectations i’ve found myself running into as i adjust. i hope maybe they can be helpful to other people too!

please check out the linked tag bc i have further observations/clarifications on these in the captions of the individual posts, but i figured it’d be good to finally dump all the notes i’ve made so far into one place. 

and a final note on what i’ve run into as i get used to working from home: it is a really really difficult balance for me, bc on one hand i really NEED a lot of self-discipline and productivity assists to get things done and make enough money to survive. but on the other hand, a loooooot of productivity advice/motivation/tools out there are really heavily keyed into capitalism and the concept of productivity as self-worth, and it’s easier than you think to slide into destructive thinking because you’re trying to keep yourself on track. do what you have to do, but make sure that the measures you take to try to make home employment work and get things done are always abt helping yourself do what you need to do without strife, not wringing as much work out of yourself as possible.

The Patrician glanced again at Vimes’s impassive face, then looked back at the rank.

“That’s it?” he said.

Nobby whispered in Colon’s ear and then darted back. The sweating sergeant gripped his helmet as though it was the only real thing in the world.

“There was another thing, your reverence,” he said.

“Ah.” The Patrician smiled knowingly.

“There’s the kettle. It wasn’t much good anyway, and then Errol et it. It was nearly two dollars.” He swallowed. “We could do with a new kettle, if it’s all the same, your lordship.”

The Patrician leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair.

“I want to be clear about this,” he said coldly. “Are we to believe that you are asking for a petty wage increase and a domestic utensil?”

Carrot whispered in Colon’s other ear.

Colon turned two bulging, watery-rimmed eyes to the dignitaries. The rim of his helmet was passing through his fingers like a millwheel.

“Well,” he began, “sometimes, we thought, you know, when we has our dinner break, or when it’s quiet, like, at the end of a watch as it may be, and we want to relax a bit, you know, wind down…” His voice trailed away.

“Yes?”

Colon took a deep breath.

“I suppose a dartboard would be out of the question–?”

-Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett

this whole situation is very funny

credit to @cryptvokeeper for the idea!

I'm still trying to wrap my mind around Men at Arms.

It's a fantastic book, but it is also so different from Guards! Guards! in tone. And maybe that's where the key is. It's not that the villain of the story is perhaps one of the most proficient killers in all of Discworld (all two and a half of them... D'Eath, Cruces, and The Gonne) and their goal is to actually kill. It's not even that the crimes that the watch are investigating are murder, because even though paid assassinations are legal death and murder are part of the setting. Death is literally a character here, though much more briefly than G!G!. Frankly, I don't even think it's because of the racial allegories.

The tone in Men at Arms is different because the first one to die is a clown. Because Pratchett literally killed the joke (the entire thing and all of its subsets). There's nothing funny about a clown funeral, the dogs are the biggest allegory for racial issues, a gun really is evil, Cuddy literally draws the short straw. It's all literal. Everything is extremely literal. For once, Ankh Morpork isn't a joke. For once, the city feels like a city. And it's the book where Carrot, the most literal character there is, becomes a man (literally and in every sense) and takes his mantle of leadership.

Everything in Men at Arms is literal. Because the villain killed the joke to death and it was the shining moment for Carrot to step up.

There's also an extensive running bit that even the silly construction of the silly, courtesy of Bloody Stupid Johnson, is actually stupid. Within the narrative itself, the book is calling itself out. It is saying that this absurd veneer that we have found ourselves on is just that. This city was built on itself, on its own bones, on the the bones of empires--fueled with the blood of many. The architecture beneath Johnson's flawed works, the aqueducts and sewer systems below the city, are vast and strong and powerful--maybe even beautiful. But they're dangerous. The past is incredibly dangerous. Even Carrot, whose potential is very much rooted in the past of the city, is dangerous. His victory is not one I expected in the moment it came. The line about how you must hope that whoever is looking at you from the other end of their weapon is an evil man... Was harsh and true and honestly a little frightening for a story which also contains a scene where a sentient rock man chucks a dwarf through the skylight of Schrodinger's pork warehouse to save both of their lives.

Perhaps this puts the rest of the book in context as well. Especially the things that made me cringe when I read them. Like everything about Coalface, Angua being included in the story because she was a woman and every book needs at least one (preferably one that can leap over a building or deadlift a draft horse), the high school clique-ificarion of all the guilds, Vimes talkin to the nobles after dinner and almost letting himself believe he could be like that (even though he ends up laying into them with some excellent biting sarcasm), Vetinari not being in control and not realizing it. It's all very real, but real like a real serial killer in real life and not a crime drama. Maybe even real like a normal guy in a costume with their mask off.

Maybe not.

It's not a perfect book (which bites, because G!G! was nearly there), but it remains a very intentional book. I feel like less people have read it than G!G!, and I can see why. It's messier, it's not as funny, there's a lot more allegory and it's a lot more blunt.

But it's still extremely topical (sadly). I retain my opinion that it may be one of the most important books I've ever read. And I'm beginning to understand, finally, why.

It’s 20fucking20 and here we are, still writing Barriss meta, apparently.

Tonight it’s lightsaber symbolism, because Anakin is very much fighting Barriss using her own lightsaber, and there’s a lot to unpack there.

On the one hand? This is…perverse. It’s viscerally wrong. It’s made very clear in TCW that lightsabers are powerfully magical weapons–soulbonded, in a sense. Your lightsaber is an extension of your being. “This lightsaber is your life.” The most powerful moments are the ones in which lightsabers willingly change hands. 

Cody handing Obi-Wan his saber is literally him handing him his life back. Barriss and Ahsoka, trapped in a tank under a mountain of rubble. Ahsoka casually hands her lightsaber to Barriss to hold while she works to save them; when Barriss gives up and accepts that no one is coming for them (and this is a running theme–Barriss gives up and accepts her fate, while Ahsoka will never stop fighting for a chance at hope) she lets her own lightsaber fade. But Ahsoka’s she keeps lit, a thin blade of light against the darkness, as she takes her friend’s hand in the one that had previously been keeping her own flame lit so that neither of them will be alone when the end comes.

So let’s…talk about that.

Because there was no saber exchange this time. The first sign to Barriss that something is very wrong is that Anakin walks into her room and casually uses the Force to pick up her lightsaber where it rested on a small altar. He used the Force and immediately took control of her life with that casual movement. Picked it up against her will, to stop her from being able to take it, specifically to limit her options. And then he used it as a weapon against her–

Barriss is furious during that fight, and it’s not just because she’s finally expressing her pent-up rage. Anakin swung a live saber straight at her head at combat speed, in order to test her. If he had been wrong, he could very easily have killed her. With her own lightsaber.

Of course, there’s the flip side of that equation. Yes, Anakin fighting her with her own saber is…obscene. But he was also, this time, completely justified in taking it in the first place. Barriss is the one who set her Jedi lightsaber aside in the first place. Barriss is the one who chose instead to take up Sith blades, stolen by force. When Anakin attacked her, she didn’t use the Force to hold him off, or dodge, or try to take her lightsaber back. No. She reached for the Sith lightsabers she’d taken in order to pull off an elaborate deception to cover her own tracks.

(And spare Ahsoka. The only reason to try to frame Ventress in the first place is to spare Ahsoka, which is why it’s very clear Barriss didn’t intend to frame Ahsoka when she first bombed the Temple. She lost control of the situation, and framing Ventress would solve the clusterfuck she created by trying to solve the wild spiral.)

(But you’ll notice she doesn’t confess or try to come clean. If all that mattered was sparing Ahsoka from the mess Barriss accidentally created for her, if this was about righting a wrong–you’ll notice Barriss does not turn herself in.)

The reason Barriss doesn’t have her own lightsabers is because, well. She decided the Sith blades suited her.

Which is how we got to this scene:

Anakin wielding as a weapon against her the reflection of her own untainted soul.

this is disgusting