The Girl Who Doesn't Know What She is Doing

Looking back on his childhood, Warlock would wonder how he ever managed to have a job at all. The flowerbeds always seemed to be flooded, the bushes were trimmed to within an inch of their life, and instead of using any sort of pesticide, he instead fawned over whatever caterpillar or rabbit decided to have lunch in the garden.

Despite all this, however, the plants always seemed to survive, somehow. When he was six, he realized that a sort of pattern had emerged. The plants would be near death, when he went to bed at night, but by the time he got up in the morning, they would be looking so lush and green that you couldn't even tell they had ever been sick. Then, every four to five days, the process would repeat itself.

He didn't have any clue as to why this would be happening until he was seven. He woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of shouting coming from the garden. When he rushed to the window to see what all the commotion was about, he saw Nanny Ashtoreth standing in the middle of the yard and screaming at the plants. This went on for several hours, until finally, she seemed to run out of things to say and stalked back inside the house.

The next morning, the plants were thriving again.

Brother Francis seemed very pleased, as Warlock watched them while kicking a ball around. He was close enough to hear as the gardner leaned over to the Nanny and said proudly, "you see my dear? Anytime they start to look unhealthy, I make sure to spend the entire day giving them love and praise, and come morning, they always look beautiful again!"

Warlock was pretty sure that it wasn't 'love and praise' that brought the plants back to life. Strange as it sounded, he was pretty sure that it was Nanny's shouting that had gotten them to straighten up. After all, had he been a plant, he would certainly do his best to look presentable if Nanny screamed at him the way she had at the plants last night.

No, the garden's vivaciousness was definitely Nanny's doing, and Warlock expected her to say as much to Brother Francis.

Instead, Nanny's face softened in a way Warlock had never seen on her before as she smiled at the gardner.

"Yes, Angel," she said, an alarming sort of fondness in her voice. "You've certainly got a knack for this. I should never have doubted your abilities."

Brother Francis positively beamed in response, and for a second, he looked much younger.

It was as the gardner picked up his water can and began to drown the flowers again, that Nanny Ashtoreth caught Warlock watching them.

While Brother Francis's back was turned, she smiled at Warlock conspiritorally and raised one gloved finger to her lips. Warlock grinned back and nodded.

Smite me, Crowley thinks one day, about three or four days into the Beginning of the World. You cast me out, why not just finish it off? 

He feels rather daring about it, especially when God doesn’t answer. Puts a bit of a swagger in his slither, or so he tries to tell himself. 

If he’s being honest with himself (which he hardly ever is), it’s not the the daring of standing up to someone, but the daring of standing at the edge of a cliff with a backpack that may or may not contain a parachute and opening your mouth to invite a person who may or may not be standing behind you to give you a good hard shove. It is exhilarating. It is terrifying.

It quickly goes downhill from there.

It becomes a silent litany over the next few days. He tries to provoke Her, mostly by thinking a lot of annoying questions as loudly as he can, because that worked the first time. It doesn’t work now. He might as well be alone with his thoughts. He tries new things – he dunks ducks underwater, he convinces one particularly nimble mosquito to buzz right around Adam’s left ear for four hours straight, he uproots plants here and there. Smite me, he thinks. I’m meddling. I’m putting my sticky fingers all over this lovely thing you made. Smite me.

Smite me. I’ll make them touch that thing you said not to touch. I’ll do it. Don’t think I won’t, because I will. And he does, to boot. Adam and Eve eat the apple, and he turns his back for two seconds and they get kicked out. He’s furious – God is apparently paying attention, just not to him. He’s going to have to escalate things, and he looks around for something that might be more precious to Her than a bloody tree.

Smite me, he taunts. Smite me down. Look how evil I am, oooooh, I’m talking to this angel on the wall, I might tempt him if you’re not careful, God. COME ON, YOU COWARD, DO IT. 

He doesn’t hear Her reply. He hasn’t heard any of Her replies, and in any case he’s very busy talking to the angel about that flaming sword, but nevertheless She answers: Smiting, is it? Well, if you insist.

The angel mumbles, almost too quiet to hear, “I gave it away,” and Crowley is… poleaxed. Utterly poleaxed, and more than a little impressed, and so delighted that he entirely forgets his other, silent conversation. 

“You what?” 

“I gave it away!” cries the angel.

There, God says, infinitely satisfied with Herself: There. You’re smitten.

“National Geographic called me and asked me to write the feminist facts about how The Lion King gets lion pride dynamics all wrong. I happily complied. Lions are matrilineal!! 

When I contacted Craig Packer, one of the world’s leading lion researchers, to talk  about this story he was IMMEDIATELY AVAILABLE. He Skyped me almost instantly from a camp in Kenya and said he’s been waiting for someone to ask him this question since the original film came out.

Anyway, if The Lion King were real, Nala would be the star, Sarabi would be holding her up saying everything the light touches is our kingdom, Simba would have left and never come back, and when Nala got old enough Sarabi would have carved out a territory for her to rule.”

- Erin Biba‏ 

In real life, Simba’s mom would be running the pride

“Reasons men gave for lecturing me on lion pride social structure and telling me one of the world’s leading lion researchers is wrong (I am not kidding these are real): -Watched The Lion King DVD extras -Read a textbook 25 years ago -Has been to the zoo -Everyone just knows

If you ever wondered what it’s like to be a woman that communicates science, this is what it’s like. Any expertise you or your sources may have gained over decades of hard work are null and void because someone watched a DVD extra 25 years ago.”

“She deserves to be punished too.”

“I’m not saying I support rape, but-”

“Sorry to say - she deserved it.”

“She put herself in harm’s way”

“But if she was fingered, then that’s not rape.”

“She ruined their lives.”

“Yea, but did you see what she was wearing?”

“Boys will be boys!”

“She should know better than to drink at a party…”

  “He should’ve enjoyed it.”

“She must’ve lead him on.”

“But she orgasmed. That means she liked it - “

“Women can’t rape because…”

“Be grateful it wasn’t a man!”

“I’m sorry she hurt you but don’t call what happened to you rape, it’s an insult to the REAL victims…”

“You weren’t raped, you’re just lesbophobic.”

“She’s his wife, it’s her job to please him.”

“Oral isn’t rape.”

“Well he wasn’t armed, she could have walked away.”

“Guys can’t be raped, they love sex!”

“She didn’t fight back; it wasn’t rape.”

“I’m just going to pick up the boy from daycare and then it’s date night.”

And the lady says “Oh! How old is he?”

“He’s three.”

“Mine too! Where are you registering him for kindergarten it’s such a hassle-”

And that’s when I realized I said “boy” and not “dog” because I always think of Charlie as “good boy” but this slip up has lead to a miscommunication.

The lady is now 6 minutes into a clearly needed rant about how unnecessarily complex shopping for schools is, esp when you have a neurodivergent child, so I can’t just tell her that Charlie is a dog because then she’ll feel awkward for unloading on me and she clearly has enough going on.

“It really depends on who he’s with. He’s very quiet at he but won’t shut up if he’s at the park or has a friend over.”

“was it hard to potty-train him?”

“he’s adopted, but I was genuinely amazed at how good he already was with hygene and potty stuff.”

“mine’s just obsessed with paw patrol and Frozen, drives me crazy!”

“I imagine. Charlie is colorblind so he’s not as into tv, but he always wants a toy if I take him anywhere with them.”

“oh gosh the toys! And the kids are so rough on them!”

“yeah Charlie can destroy a stuffed animal in about 2 minutes, so I only buy him the really cheap ones.”

“Does he throw tantrums when they break?”

The Very Good Boy in question, Charleston Chew.

younger siblings immediately: