No one knows how it happens. No one knows how it’s done. The harvesting of Unwinds is a secret medical ritual that stays within the walls of each harvesting clinic in the nation. In this way it is not unlike death itself, for no one knows what mysteries lie beyond those secret doors, either.
What does it take to unwind the unwanted? It takes twelve surgeons, in teams of two, rotating in and out as their medical specialty is needed. It takes nine surgical assistants and four nurses. It takes three hours.
I will so make Griselda drag kidRoland by his ear in Stand by You, because he was mean to Marianne and his mother just excuses it with: “Boys like to tease girls in that age.” Griselda will teach her a lesson about how to raise a good son.
wow I just began listening to the dear Evan Hansen obc cast recording for the first time and yeah the map song is okay and waving through a window is Iconic Ben Platt™ but Sincerely, Me is SUCH A BOP I CHOKED WHILE LISTENING TO IT FOR THE FIRST TIME honestly can’t stop playing it
Okay, I’m obviously not over the emotions writing this fanfic is inspiring in me -
We have Bog, this horrifying and grim King of the Dark Forest, the fabled Bog King who captured the Sugar Plum Fairy and attacked a festival, this Goblin of shadow and bitterness and strangeness, and he is willing to lay down his life for this tiny little Love Dusted Fairy Princess WHOM HE BARELY KNOWS.
In contrast to Roland, the shining and golden Handsome Hero, a Knight who holds a blade to the throat of one of the Royals he’s probably sworn an oath to protect, the very girl he was entrusted with an army to rescue.
He knows Dawn. She was gonna be his sister-in-law. He knows her, knows how gentle and sweet and innocent she is, and HE FUCKING IS READY TO HARM HER AS SOON AS THINGS START GOING SOUTH FOR HIM.
Just…I am full of emotion right now. God, no wonder Dawn is so ready to support Bog and Marianne. She is Bog’s fiercest defender along with Marianne. She is all for Big Brother Bog.
He was ready to die whereas Roland was all too willing to kill.
here’s a real weird poem i wrote once about dean in hell. it feels like i wrote it manic. (i know where i picked up carcosa, but i am not entirely certain why i associate it so strongly with a literal hell. gehenna is a place in abrahamic mythology, “destination of the wicked,” often translated as hell in english. come commala is a dark tower thing, and i’m pretty sure the verse the dark tower [and roland] live in is hell.)
carcosa: for two score & some odd years i called you home. you brought me here, pulled me like a prayer strung on barbed wire like a chunk of blonde mane tangled in your spikes. you were – you are so many things so many things
oh, carcosa. together, we hallowed your halls with the stench of death until it no longer settled heavy & choking in our throats. we made soundtracks from bodies hitting the floor, a slump-whumpf, dead for the first time. you taught me to garden with bones for soil and my flowers, how they bloomed just for you
my beloved, my carcosa, your waters never tasted of salt, only iron only shackles only pennies in my mouth i never seem to have the right change. that’s why fairies never visited us. us, the island that no man should ever try to be. us, often alone, nothing but the glint of a blade, the clink & clunk of chains, all these graves full of children we keep to keep us company
carcosa, we were so beautiful together. like obsidian twilight. like the hot spray of blood across my cheeks. like dark matter.
commala come come carcosa, and i’ll be a turtle for you i could need so little, come commala your glass shard deserts wouldn’t penetrate my shell unless you wanted them to. but we’ve left that behind. you laughed when i finally broke under you when you made me into a monster when i became you and i was finally in on the joke.
carcosa, you were my first love. before you i’d never held a heart in my hand i’d never felt powerful you needed me before anyone else ever did
so yes, carcosa, i cried when those black wings came to lift me out of your ash streets. i needed you, too. maybe i never wanted to be the mayor of gehenna when i grew up. maybe i just wanted something anything to call my own. maybe i’ll never really stop yearning. maybe all of my poems will be about you for another eternity.
but carcosa, carcosa, you never took care of me the way you said you would the way you used to promise like a lullaby the way i never really deserved.