-Sir, we’ve found this and we needed you to name it.
-Pineapple.
-But we figured we might as well just call it “Ananas” since the majority of the world refers to it as-
-Pineapple.
-But sir-
-Pine. Apple.
CRYING I HAVE TO REBLOG IM SORRY OMFG
So why the actual fuck does English call it a pineapple when the entire world agrees that it is an ananas?
The original word “pineapple” was calqued (translated word-for-word) from the Dutch word “pijnappel”, which is their word for “pine cone” and not at all related to the pineapple, which they called “ananas”. (Confused?) The early English uses of the word relate solely to pine cones, and it wan’t until 1665 when some jerk named Pietro della Valle travelled to India and remarked in a letter that “To outward view it [Ananas] seems, when it is whole, to resemble our Pine-Apple.”
“Don’t wish it was easier, wish you were better. Don’t wish for less problems, wish for more skills. Don’t wish for less challenges, wish for more wisdom. The major value in life is not what you get. The major value in life is what you become. Success is not to be pursued; it is to be attracted by the person you become.”
girls who get off to you encouraging them to cum are the cutest? “that’s it baby, you’re doing so well. you want to cum for me, don’t you? come on baby, I know you can do it.” and later praising them for being a good girl when they finally cum? what’s even better is when they thank you afterwards for making/letting them cum all the while trying to catch their breath ahhhhh
Consider who the three main characters of Obi-Wan Kenobiare.
Obi-Wan, Vader & Reva. What ties them all together?
They’re all trying really hard to NOT be Jedi… even though, deep down, that’s who they are.
Because as the Grand Inquisitor puts it: the Jedi Code is like an itch; they cannot help it.
Take Obi-Wan, for instance:
He’s saying: “I’m not a Jedi anymore. That guy died the same day Anakin did. I’m just Ben.”
But it kills him that he can’t help Nari, he can’t help that dude who can’t feed his family, he can’t help those settlers on Mapuzo who were getting bullied by stormtroopers.
His character arc is the most obvious one: he is coming to terms with the idea that, yes, he still is a Jedi.
Becausethat’s who Leia needs him to be right now.
And it’s who Luke will need in the future.
Vader:
We know Vader’s road arc won’t conclude in this series.
For years, Vader is always THIS close to going back to the Light, then always stomps his foot on the ground and doubles down, going “nu-uh, I’m evil deep down inside, I swear! Dark Side all the way! Look how I’m killing this guy! See what a monster I’ve become Obi-Wan?!”
He keeps rejecting the Light and rationalizes his actions by saying the Jedi betrayed him, but deep down, he’s rejecting the Light because he thinks he deserves the pain that the Dark gives him. He’s a monster and he is where he belongs: in Hell.
But we know that, eventually, he lets go of the guilt, the anger, the fear, and does become that Jedi again, which George Lucas once described as “ultimate father figures”.
Because that’s what Luke needed when the Emperor was killing him: his father, the Jedi.
Now take Reva:
She’s saying: “I’m not a Jedi. The Jedi abandoned me. I hate them and I’m gonna have my revenge!”
That whole speech she gives in Part I?
She’s not saying that to the Tatooine randos (who the Jedi never protected in the first place because they had no jurisdiction in the Outer Rim). She’s repeating that to herself.
Clearly, she was a youngling when Order 66 happened, she got taken in and made into a monster. But not really, right? ’Cause the other Inquisitors? Now those guys are full-on psychopaths. She’s cute compared to them. They tell her as much.
She’s not as broken inside as they are.
And deep down, she knows it too. Which is why she screams, she pouts, she’s overly arrogant, reckless, mean and insistent, she’s overdoing it, she’s overcompensating.
“Look at my flips! Look at how I parkour! Would a Jedi be so badass?!”
She’s doing exactly what Vader is doing.
Only she’s doing it louder, because the good in her isn’t buried as deeply as it is with him. She’s stomping her foot and doubling down and insisting that “no, I’m bad, I swear”.
Because the alternative is accepting that - unlike Vader who made his own choices - deep within Reva lies the truth that what happened to her wasn’t her fault. She’s a victim of a galaxy-wide genocide. And it’s not her her fault. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people, and it’s unfair.
Which is why Haja takes her by surprise.
Why would this guy WILLINGLY say he’s a Jedi? Is he crazy? Doesn’t he realize what that comes with? The target it puts on your back?
Seeing him do that clearly hits her where it hurts.
Now, I don’t know if she eventually arcs and manages to become that Jedi once again… or if she’ll die trying… or if she does like Vader and rejects it for good.
There’s a reason Reva and Moses Ingram are positioned in the middle in all promotional pictures featuring the trio:
My guess is that it’s because while Kenobi is coming around to following the Way of the Jedi, and Vader is just blazing trails in the opposite direction… Reva’s fate is unclear.
Monsters that have to clutch onto the bed frame as they fuck you, so that their tight grip doesn’t snap your bones.
Or the monsters that cradle you in their giant hands, gently thrusting into your tiny, fragile, human body because they know they can break you but stars, hurting you is the last thing they want, so they’re slow and tender and work their way in and they can literally hold you to their body with one hand cause you’re so damn small compared to them but so precious and they just want to make you feel good and wow I went really off tangent with this oops
Here’s the thing they don’t show you in all those cool television shows about restoring vintage cars. All the cleaning. Sure, there’s a lot of sanding too, especially if you’re some kind of painting-enthusiast pervert. By and large, though, the majority of your time spent on a restoration will just be cleaning various things. Bodywork. Hinges. Connectors. Levers. That little crevice in the dashboard that somehow accumulates the entire world’s quantity of cat hair. A bracket that’s a “little ugly.”
Nobody can resist this. Even me, a person with shit-boxes which can barely shift into third gear, can easily while away an entire weekend into the pursuit of making a windshield wiper arm slightly less ugly. No matter how much we tell ourselves we don’t care about aesthetics, it’s hardwired into our species. Which is why I got ahold of some of those newfangled learning-machines, and trained a robot to tell me what to do. If I just narrowly followed the computer’s plan for how to restore the car, then I’d be done with, say, this Lincoln Versailles way ahead of time, and then I could dick around with cut polishes to my heart’s content.
Of course, it didn’t work out that way. The human spirit cannot be defeated. In fact, the more the computer shrieked at me that I was deviating from The Project Schedule, the more I wanted to procrastinate and take my time. Have you ever spent over four hours taking a boar-hair brush to the gap between the driver’s door and the wing mirror? There’s nothing more relaxing, especially when a robot is going into four-alarm meltdown, threatening you and your entire species with oblivion if you don’t drop that shit right now and start replacing the kickdown cable, tout suite.
Eventually, there was a thunderstorm, and the computer shut off with a loud sizzle and pop. Coincidentally, the local military base had some kind of intrusion into its systems at around that time, and a nuclear launch was ordered. Very scary stuff. Luckily for all of us, the guy working the silo at that very moment was busy trying to clean up his desk, and never even noticed the request. Chalk another one up for productive procrastination.
Another scifi story with a very experimental POV. This one is a bit…angrier? in tone than the last two. But! It felt good to write, and I hope you enjoy reading it. It’s a bit longer than the others as well, so make sure you have the time! Warnings for grief, loss, and a very loyal starship.
QUERY: Where is my pilot?
QUERY: Where is my pilot?
QUERY_ALL: Where is my pilot?
>_Your pilot is dead. You have been called as a witness in their posthumous corporate trial. You will answer the Board’s questions without hesitation or omission.
ERROR: I don’t understand. My pilot is good. They would never have need to stand trial.
SUGGEST: Reassessment of trial’s necessity.
>_Overruled. You will answer the Board’s questions.
When I tell you I SOBBED. Amazingly well done. I’m someone that often finds sci-fi very inaccessible (the vernacular, setting, etc can be difficult for me to grasp) but I had no issue with this piece.
because it’s a puzzle no one else will ever arrange the same way as you.
because there are ideas that simply won’t come to you until you write down the wrong words.
because all the bad scenes are the bones of the wonderful scenes.
because someone will love it: someone will read it once, and twice, and thrice; someone will ramble to you about the complexity of it; someone will doodle your characters out of love; someone will find it in exactly what they were looking for with or without knowing it.
because they have things to say, your characters. they’ve told you all those secrets and they have more to tell you, if you will listen.
because you love it even when you don’t; even when it drives you mad or when it accidentally turns into apathy; even when you think you’re doing it all wrong; you love it, and it loves you back.
because you can get a treasure even from things that go wrong; because if a story crumbles down you can build a shinier one on the same spot; because you won’t know where it will take you until it takes you there.
“Of course, Lady Macbeth never wiped the stains off her hands since the crimson that remained was all in her head. But do you think Agamemnon managed to scrub his nails clean from his daughter’s blood? Or did he see speckles of Iphigenia’s smile etched in the lines of his palms everytime he took his sword and shield to fight a war too big for tiny, insignificant humans? Could Gertrude picture the last breath of her husband on the hands of his brother, as he played with her hair, as he caressed her skin? Did she try to bathe and bathe again to get rid of the sigh of the dead, of the touch of the murderer? All of those who grazed Death or those who lent Her their hands, did they ever manage to take off their red-stained gloves?”
Whumper cleaning Whumpee up without care. Tearing chunks of hair from their scalp as they roughly brush it, bathing them in scalding or absolutely frigid water, making them gag as they shove the toothbrush too far back in their mouth. And Whumpee can’t complain, knowing this is the closest they’ll get to caretaking for the foreseeable future.
