43 With drunk Barry and Cisco who is completely sober?
“Are you drunk?” Cisco shuts the door to his apartment behind him, walking over to the giggling speedster in his kitchen.
“Cisco.” Setting the red cup on the table, Barry turns and clasps Cisco’s shoulder and insists firmly, “My Misco. I have never had a drink in my life.”
Eyeing the cup, Cisco carefully slides it out of reach. “Uh huh. What’s twelve plus four?”
Barry tears up. Afraid to set him off, Cisco passes him the drink back cautiously and, distracted, Barry takes it and finishes it off. He sets it down on the island – tries to, at least, because he misses the counter completely and the cup hits the floor. “Oh. Oh, my God, let me–” Flashing, he disappears in a streak of yellow light. Half a second later, the underside of the island takes a super-speed impact with an audible clunk. Sprawled on the floor, Barry reaches up and presses both hands to his forehead. “I think I broke my brain,” he groans.
“Whoa-kay, buddy, slow down,” Cisco says, crouching and taking his arm. Hauling upward, he gets Barry on his feet and grunts when Barry promptly sags into him. “How much did you drink?” he asks, half-dragging, half-wrestling Barry to the living room couch.
“Si–seven?” Barry flops hard onto the cushions and giggles. “I feel so good, man.” He tries to Flash to his feet and crashes over the coffee table, face-planting on the carpet. Giggling helplessly, he adds, “I’m so hot. Why’d you turn the heat up?”
Retrieving an ice pack from the fridge, Cisco tosses it at Barry’s back. It lands with a soft thud; Barry doesn’t move. “You throw up on my rug, you buy my next rug.”
“I love this rug,” Barry mumbles. “I’m marrying this rug.”
“Does Iris know?” Cisco asks, checking the kitchen for the “break in case of emergency” jar of 500 proof. Bone-dry. “What prompted tonight’s festivities?”
Barry laughs. “Oh my God, we’re just ants.”
He gets Iris on the phone and sits on Barry’s back to keep him from speeding off. The response is simple: ‘meta whammy.’ A beat, and then: ‘he with you?’
“My face is numb,” Barry mumbles. “Can I have a hug?”
Getting off him, Cisco sits back on his heels and watches Barry struggle to sit up, a slight smile quirking his lips at the sight. Baby giraffe steady, Barry gets up onto his knees before latching onto Cisco’s shirt for support, using him like an improv ladder before monkeying onto his front. “You’re hot, too,” he informs him, chin on his shoulder.
Patting his back, Cisco says, “I can’t wait to hear this story.”
Iris shows up around 9 PM. Letting herself in, she finds a snoring Barry on the floor, cuddling Cisco’s old softball sweatshirt like a teddy bear. She smiles and looks up at Cisco. “Nicely done.”
Feet propped on Barry’s back like a footrest, Cisco shrugs with heroic nonchalance. “Just doing my civic duty. Meta whammy?”
“Decreases inhibitions. Should be wearing off. How much did he drink?”
In response, Cisco nods at the empty jar on the counter. Iris winces sympathetically. “That’s gonna be a fun hangover.”
“He throws up on my rug, he buys my new rug,” Cisco reiterates.
Iris makes herself comfortable on the big plush chair and says, “Thanks for not letting him die.”
“What’re friends for?”
Snuffling, Barry stirs, sitting partially up before squinting at Cisco and mumbling, “Ant-Man.” Scooting closer, he grabs Cisco’s leg and closes his eyes, snoring again in seconds.
Cisco sighs, but he’s still got a smile on, and it morphs into a wolfish one as he pulls out his phone and takes a pic. For posterity.
Were all sorry that we don’t break as often as we should. Or fall in love as profoundly as the first one. Sorry that we need more then the teas of Christmas Eve to put us to bed. That we need hips now, and dicks, and sleazy music with a heavy bass line. Sorry that we can’t open limber eyes and wake without man handling the morning. What do we do, when all of the bones in our love have fallen out the socket? What do we say to dancing then? But that we had enough of tripping over old skin. A pile of evolution pooling on the floor. We forgotten how to be humble, or human. Looking in the mirror handily recognizable, were over the prostitution but still as young as girls with big dreams, wrinkles where they thin our youth, til there’s nothing more then a white cotton t-shirt that has had one two many battles with the washing machine. We’ve shrunk our bright eyes down to size the way you do tumors, or things you’ve outgrown. Pupils, like half open closet doors. Dark & darker still. With skeletons, threading our eyelashes each time I blink. I don’t start a grave yard, rattle some memory and pluck one more flower pedal from the world. I love you, I love you not half as much as I did at 18. & then not even as half as much as I did at 12. When I was 10 I wrote my first poem. A sonnet. About stars & love. & at 10 I knew nothing about love, only that it was cosmetic. The one line that I could remember is, all this passion leaves to desire. & at that age I never felt passion course in my veins, but I believed I would, because then I believed in anything and anyone. But I hardly do that anymore. Who needs believing when your at the age of reason. Cause now? Now I know everything and everyone. And no one is as beautiful as your idea of them. Nothing is as pure as the fate I lost when I realized that.
What do you do when you misplaced your faith in your species? When you can’t find any grace for people? When you start looking for ways to empty them? Do you use your veins as a chock chain for someone else’s heart? When that limp in your gate in just an ape climbing it’s way out of your spine. We are all the animal. And none of the pray. These days everyone’s out for blood, so could you butcher some kindness? Sometimes, I feel smaller than A Swiss Army knife. Is being guarded the only way to live life? Always on the run, so your little bored dreams are not things you step into, like grass from cross trainers you were only meant to chase them. And following you are the two ugly step sisters, age and dream. I know it’s sad, but before I go there’s just a couple things I’ve come to know, butterflies with their wings are just caterpillars aspiring to be the birds that eat them. And evolutions birth dreams but take life’s. And quite trying to climb out of your skin, I don’t care what Andrea Gibson says. Your ribs are not ladders, monkey bars are prison bars. The human heart? Has a pre set number of beats, and loves in a life time. So none of these things should be used lightly as metaphor, & I’m sorry this is true. And I’m sorry for being sorry. But nothing moves me anymore.
A group of scientists placed 5 monkeys in a cage and in the middle, a ladder with bananas on the top. Every time a monkey went up the ladder, the scientists soaked the rest of the monkeys with cold water.
After a while, every time a monkey went up the ladder, the others beat up the one on the ladder.
After some time, no monkey dare[d] to go up the ladder regardless of the temptation.
Scientists then decided to substitute one of the monkeys. The 1st thing this new monkey did was to go up the ladder. Immediately the other monkeys beat him up. After several beatings, the new member learned not to climb the ladder even though he never knew why.
A 2nd monkey was substituted and the same occurred. The 1st monkey participated on [sic] the beating for [sic] the 2nd monkey. A 3rd monkey was changed and the same was repeated (beating). The 4th was substituted and the beating was repeated and finally the 5th monkey was replaced.
What was left was a group of 5 monkeys that even though never received a cold shower, continued to beat up any monkey who attempted to climb the ladder.
If it was possible to ask the monkeys why they would beat up all those who attempted to go up the ladder … I bet you the answer would be … “I don’t know — that’s how things are done around here” Does it sound familiar?
Don’t miss the opportunity to share this with others as they might be asking themselves why we continue to do what we are doing if there is a different way out there.
Alone together - a mix by Marceline Robotted and Beta Frry
the moon song-karen o | apartment-young the giant | bubbly-colbie calliat | you already know-bombay bicycle club | all i want-kodaline | fools-lauren aquilina | oats we sow-gregory and the hawk | quiet-lights | oblivion-bastille | i will follow you into the dark-death cab for cutie | baby im yours-arctic monkeys | the ladder-andrew belle | give me love-ed sheeran | stop the world i wanna get off with you-arctic monkeys | where to now-cider sky | bloom-the paper kites
In the shower this morning,
I lather onto a group of new stretch marks,
huddled on my right thigh and I think of
your frown first,
wonder if you would approve
of me growing into myself, showing signs
of occupying space.
When I was four,
the monkey bars were ladder steps
to a sky I could one day touch.
My fingers itched for reaching.
My legs buckled at the thought
‘Daddy, am I allowed to?’
You smiled. You shook your head no,
like baby girl, the possibility of falling
is a sin too, don’t you know?
Out of the shower this morning,
the mirror forgot to fog
and I wrap a towel around the parts
I always forget to love.
The tiles and my ankles are cold.
My hair drips into the in between cracks,
water pooling, water saying I am here, saying
I am clean now.
I turn the lights off.
Touch both hands to my newfound marks,
feel my thigh damp, feel its goosebumps.
See darkness and monkey bars all at once.
Forget to think of you, Daddy.
Ask the smell of mist,
'Am I allowed to?’
Imagine Asahi singing opera / having a voice like Josh Groban. Imagine stagehand!Noya learning to play guitar just so he can sing Staind’s “Tangled Up In You” for Asahi.
Imagine Noya’s uncle owning a theater / show hall. Noya comes there from a very young age and acts like a little monkey, climbing the lighting ladders in the wings of the stage onto the roof steel to listen in on the children’s choir practicing. Asahi, despite having a beautiful voice, is never the one to get solo’s cause he is way too nervous about going up to audition for one, but Noya hears him singing softly to himself in the hallways sometimes and thinks Asahi should have ALL THE SOLOS.
Imagine high school aged noya working part-time at the theater while Asahi has moved on to the choir for teenagers. Imagine Noya leaving notes in the director’s bag saying he should try listening to Asahi’s voice sometime. Then when he climbs up again one time, he realises the director is asking Asahi to step forward from the choir and try the solo part and he feels even more nervous than Asahi does.
Imagine Asahi becoming quite the star around where they live and more people coming in to listen to the choir’s shows. Now the choir can put out more performances and Asahi gets scouted for the Miyagi classical choir. He asks the director of his old choir what made him decide to make him do solos and the director just shrugs and says he doesn’t know who it was that relentlessly left him annoying amounts of notes until he caved in.
Imagine Asahi performing throughout the prefecture and Noya being a little annoyed at this, because it means Asahi spends a lot less time in his hometown theater and Noya can’t travel with him to catch every show.
Imagine Noya spending his Asahi-less time learning to play the guitar and finding this song, realising it kind of applies to what he feels for Asahi and figuring out how to play it.
Imagine that one day, Asahi visits the theater again and hears the song playing, sung by a voice that somehow gives him shivers. He listens to the music, the lyrics, while he looks for where it’s coming from.
When he’s standing in the middle of the stage, he realises the music has stopped and hears a “did you listen?” from above him. He looks up and sees a guitar lying flat on one of the beams, while Noya hangs upside down from the roof steel, locked into position by his feet. Of course, Asahi freaks out, so Noya quickly makes his way down to the stage to calm him down.
Imagine Asahi telling Noya how pretty that song and his rendition of it are and Noya telling Asahi that his voice is way prettier, he would know, he’s been listening to it for ages. So Asahi gets his hopes up and asks him whether he was the one to leave the notes and when Noya tells him yes, he also says the song was about him, it always is, everything always was about Asahi and then they live happily ever after.
[[admins note: please listen to the song, it’s a really pretty and very shippy song]]
Existential Crisis (It's very long, but might be worth a read)
Every now and again, I slip into a deep existential depression where I lose all my sense of oneness and self-worth. It’s the binary opposites within me trying to kill each other. I thought I knew who I was rooting for; logic. But faith has crept it’s way back in me… quietly and slowly at first, and then all at once.
For the last year or so, Ive been wearing a different ‘world lens’ which consequently shaped the way I perceived everything. Being an atheist, I learned to assess everything logically. I felt calm for the first time, and no longer had salvation anxiety. I believed that the very meaningless of life forces us to create our own meaning. Children begin life with an untarnished sense of wonder, a capacity to experience total joy at something as simple as running; but as they grow older, the awareness of death and decay begins to impinge on their consciousness and subtly erode their joy, idealism, and their adventurous spirit. Consequently, questions arise, so answers are shoved down their throats. The catholic mother will answer with Jesus, the muslim with Allah, or the Buddhist with Buddha. Its all the same difference.
As a child matures, these beliefs shape their very existence. Beliefs which are hammered down so hard to their very core, thinking they were born believing these things. I don’t blame the catholic mother or the other mothers of the world for telling her child what to believe because she doesn’t know any better herself. It’s what her mother had taught her, and what her mothers mother had taught her and so on. So when someone says “I believe in Jesus”, I always wonder why? Theres no use for such a rhetoric though, because i’m sure they have no idea themselves. So are these really their own individual beliefs that were thoroughly thought out, or was it passed down through generations? I read a psychology experiment a while ago, and although it does not relate to religion, it said something to me. There were 5 monkeys in a cage with a ladder in the middle. Above the ladder, there were bananas hanging. When the first monkey tried to climb up the ladder to get the banana, the experimenter sprayed all the monkeys with a water gun. The monkeys climbed the ladder a few more times, and each tie were sprayed again until they all realised that climbing the ladder meant being sprayed, so they no longer tried. The experimenter then proceeded to remove one of the monkeys and replace it with a new one. The new monkey immediately saw the banana and attempted to climb the ladder. However, before the monkey could reach the banana, all the other monkeys pulled the new monkey off and began attacking him, out of fear of being sprayed again. The experimenter repeated the process of removing a monkey and replacing it with a new monkey until all 5 monkeys had been replaced. When the last monkey was replaced, the new monkey saw the banana and immediately climbed the ladder, but was attacked by the other monkeys for doing so. So by the end of the experiment, none of the original monkeys were left and yet, despite none of them ever experiencing the cold, wet, spray, they all had learned to never try to go for the bananas.
I feel this way about people and their religious beliefs. They truly don’t know why it is they believe what they believe. The way I see it, not everyone can face the idea of their being nothing after death. Religion offers hope, which may save some from insanity. For me though, the thought of nothingness does not scare me, just like I didn’t mind the billions of years of nothingness before I was born. People care so much about what happens after death, but when it happens they aren’t able to care, even if they tried. There is no more 'they’.
No one is born religious. We are all taught what to believe. If a man went his whole life without ever hearing the words “God” or “Jesus”, he would not be religious. If the pope had grown up like that man, would he really be the religious?
As children, we are told that having beliefs is good, and we are encouraged to stand for what we believe in no matter what. We should be proud of our beliefs, right? Cause believing in something is a good thing? The way I see it… the stronger you believe in something, the less likely you are to change those beliefs. The less likely you are to attempt to understand someone else’s perspective, cause you’re right and they’re wrong.
In a word full of so many people with so many different beliefs (which were handed down to them from previous generations and not individually thought out), plus being taught to be proud of our beliefs…. conflict is inevitable. Keep in mind that every person thinks that what they believe is true. If you’re reading this, you probably think that your beliefs are the truth. In the same way that a person who holds completely different beliefs to you thinks with certainty that they are right and you are wrong. The difference between the two is the contexts and circumstances of their life. Things such as birthplace, age, race, gender, etc. all play a role. My wish is to achieve an unbiased perspective, even though my own beliefs are the product of my context also. Its very important to understand that their are so many lenses we can view the world from. If you experienced everything someone went through, heard every thought that person had, it would be impossible to not understand or love them. Keep in mind, even Hitler believed that what he was doing was the right thing to do.
I was raised within a christian context, and for the most part of my life identified as a christian. What separates myself from my siblings (who still adhere to christianity), was my ability to emerge.
If a child is reasonably strong, and lucky, he can emerge from the lenses he perceives the world from which had been forced over his eyes like a blindfold hindering the truth (which is dynamic). Not only can the child emerge, but he can forge a fresh sense of purpose and affirmation. He can tailor his own pair of lenses. He may not recapture the same pure sense of wonder he was born with, but he can shape something far more enduring and sustaining.
The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile, but that it is indifferent; but if we can come to terms with this indifference and accept the challenges of life within the boundaries of death - however mutable man may be able to make them - our existence as a species can have genuine meaning and fulfilment. However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light.
I recently visited a church for the first time since my deconversion and as I listened to the preacher, I remembered all the reasons I used to be a christian, and the fear of eternal hell consumed me once again. I am fighting a civil war within myself. Logic vs. Faith. I’m rooting for logic, but the battle will take some time.
harry potter au where courfeyrac has wayyyy too many weasleys' wizard wheezes' products and accidentally (aka stumbles over his feet because he is a clumsy motherfucker) drops peruvian instant darkness powder on an unsuspecting Ferre (whom he has never spoken to before; oops) and basically destroys his arithmancy homework. Ferre is actually uncharacteristically angry with Courf; which is understandable given the circumstances.
(2) - and they basically start snapping at each other, Courf /trying to apologize but also not really?? It was an accident?? And this douche is being really mean about it?? In the douche’s defense that homework was really hard, and it was due in like. Ten minutes from then. He had every right to be angry. So, after this incident every time they see each other they glare stubbornly or turn around and leave which is starting to annoy Enjolras A Hell Of A Lot
(3) Because Combeferre is in his optional Interspecies Politics class and always goes on long, educated rambles - Enjolras generally admires him, y'know? “And why did you have to go and make enemies with the smartest kid in our grade, Courf?” “HE? IS HARDLY THE SMARTEST I DON’T GET WHY YOU LIKE HIM ENJOLRAS HE IS A SELF ABSORBED MONKEY LADDER” “Was that a jab at his height” “Ohhokayy so now just because i noticed he’s TALL it means i like him?? YEAH RIGHT NO WAY” “that’s. not what i said. ”
“just because i noticed he’s TALL it means i like him?? YEAH RIGHT NO WAY“ I’m screaming
Alright alright so after the incident Courfeyrac and Combeferre are perfectly content with ignoring each other (and ignoring their slight (okay, not so slight)) crushes on each other)
But then Enjolras and Combeferre start studying together and Courf’s housemate Bossuet discovers Ferre and, more importantly, his attractive friend Joly and before they know it, all their friends are either dating or instantly becoming besties
And those two are forced to be around each other more and more and it starts out as “Uh, you weren’t bad in the Quidditch match” and “Hey, do you know much about astrology?” to “Hey, you want to sneak into the forbidden forest?” and “Whose common room should we hang out at tonight?”
And then it’s stolen nights on the astronomy tower, soft conversations as they watch the sunrise from the windows of the owlery. Hesitant at first, then passionate kissing. Courf whispering his apology for that incident once more and Ferre rolling his eyes because “You think that matters to me anymore? If it took nearly failing a class for us to meet, it was worth it.”