#<- kinda?? it's kinda more wordy than anything but ya know

[c00kietin]

drew Brittany because I want to talk about her-

As I've told you before, Brittany is one of my oldest ocs when I first began drawing back in 2020, inspired by Helluva Boss (a show I'm not interested in anymore- but if you are a fan I think you can tell who she's inspired by design wise lol). She is also a character I'm very attached to- Brittany is probably the closest thing that I have to a comfort character.

When I showed her to my therapist, they told me that she's a form of art therapy to me. I think about her when I'm happy, when I'm overwhelmingly happy that I channel it into Brittany. When I'm upset or sad, I try to think of Brittany. Sometimes it helps.

It's why when I draw her or write about her, she's this cheery, positive demon who never seems serious or upset. Because it comforts me. Making her happy makes me more happy.

Because of Brittany being a close comfort, I don't intend on giving her a romantic partner or ship her with anyone. I don't really know why, but the idea of it sort of weirds me out. As for you guys, I don't mind too much if you find her attractive or anything (*cough cough @taperecorder-gizmo*) as long as you don't, ya know, make any sexual comments about her. But I know you wouldn't do that.

On a more silly side, sometimes I think about how I have her being 19 and remember that I have 19y.o. mutuals and I'm like. damn I hope I'm not representing 19yos wrong or something/hj

Thank you to those who have drawn her, because along with all the oc fanart I have received, I adore it all. Brittany's probably one of the main characters in my brain- I like drawing her, writing about her, I have a music playlist dedicated to her as well. Yeah, I like her :>

anyways thanks for coming to my speech about this goober and remember to drink water 👍

[dinopopduck]

Ezekiel Only Being Unaffected By Certain Kinds of Magic

Let’s just start with me saying this isn’t exactly a new theory. It’s the demigod thing, and it’s a fairly popular one. If you haven’t heard of this headcannon, I put as much as I can find here. If you have, I found a bunch of new stuff that I haven’t seen anyone else mention, so reading this isn’t a complete waste of your time, I hope.

I tried to keep this from becoming wordy, but it got really long anyway, because there was a lot to talk about here.

Ezekiel being unaffected by magic is sort of an ongoing thing in the show. He is influenced by it much of the time, such as by Santa’s Hat, Pan’s Flute, Prospero’s spell, lycanthropy, etc. When it comes to the stuff he was seemingly completely immune to, there is one link that connects them all.

Apple of Discord: Everybody knows this one. The Apple is a Greek artifact, meant to turn you into the worst version of yourself, and Ezekiel was only one completely unaffected. It’s blamed on “he’s already the worst version of himself” or whatever.

Zeus Lightning Bolt: the episode where Ezekiel ends up decked out in Greek armor, and is sent to pick up Zeus’ Lightning Bolt, which was freaking out and zapping everywhere. He picks it up just fine, and he’s then able to hand it off to Flynn. It may have been purely because of the Greek armor he was wearing, but Flynn did not seem so sure about that working.

Cindy’s Love Potion: Ezekiel is able to be near the potion without becoming obsessed with Cindy. At first, it’s blamed on him being obsessed with himself, then later Jacob tells Ezekiel that he was already in love with Cindy. It was an obsession, not a love, potion you literally spent the episode proving that blah blah, he didn’t even recognize her at first blah blah, anyway, I have a better reason.

There are two Greek mentions in this episode. First, the potion project itself is called Project Aphrodite, a Greek goddess. Second, the sunflowers; when asked, Jenkins mentions how sunflowers are a Greek symbol of unrequited love. In addition, “love” potions may have originated in Greece, or at the very least, were common enough to have multiple sites claim that, lol. At the end of the season, where each librarian uses their gifts to turn Apep mortal, this greek potion is what Ezekiel ends up using.

See a pattern here? Everything that he was completely unaffected by was Greek in some way. So, he has an immunity to these kinds of artifacts, but why? I vote demigod.

Anyway, moving on.

Here’s some magic he could have been immune to, or could not have been. Its pretty debatable.

Fortuna: Technically a Roman Goddess, but the show does acknowledge how similar they are to Greek Gods. He may have been affected by the spell, but broke out of it pretty quick. Some think he may not been affected at all; slot machines aren’t exactly fair, especially in a casino that exists to cheat completely. As for Ezekiel getting so upset over losing, what he says, “Not the guy that loses, I’m the guy that wins” sounds very similar to what he was saying in Point of Salvation, but that’s a whole nother topic.

Alternately, he was affected and this point shouldn’t be here. I don’t know, I’m not the writers.

Libris Fabula: He was a little bit affected, just far less than the others, as he acted pretty much the same. He did get a barely noticeable clothing change, became luckier than normal, and was just able to cast a spell for some reason? Speaking out that spell, it froze the guy, and a certain Greek God does have the ability to put people to sleep. Not really the same thing, but worth thinking about. Maybe. More on that later.

Most people think he was immune, but he could have just been similar enough to the character he was portraying that he didn’t need to change a whole lot.

These ones are barely worth mentioning, because have other reasonable (though I guess your definition of reasonable may be different from mine) explanations, but you could see them as magic immunity as well:

Silver Screen: Ezekiel gets into character the least, while Cassandra and Jacob are out singing and calling people by their character names. Maybe less affected, maybe just a spoilsport. Probably the last one.

Point of Salvation: Was the only one able to remember previous loops. Since they were in a video game, it’s explained that since he was the first through the door, he became the player while everyone else became NPCs. I mean, sure.

Christmas Thief: Saint of Thieves only used his truth telly power on Ezekiel’s mother, not him. Ezekiel did not feel obligated to say anything. Could just be that the guy wasn’t talking to Ezekiel. Or, earlier in that episode Ezekiel tells his mother he doesn’t steal anymore (at least for anything other than the Library, I assume, cause he still kinda does) and therefor that made him immune to the spell, since it only works on thieves.

Image of an Image: Both Cassandra and Ezekiel got their pictures taken, and Cassandra was the only one affected by the transfer spell. However, Ezekiel wasn’t one of the “chosen ones” because he snuck in, and jumped in front of the camera while Eve (one of the “chosen ones”, who was later able to be affected) turned away. Either that, or he just didn’t have time to feel the effect, since his picture was taken after Cassandra’s, and Eve’s was placed in manually.

That’s all the possible instances of magic immunity I could think of.

Next, we have some other stuff that is relevant to this point, but wasn’t necessarily artifact/magic immunity.

Prophecy Cube: Created by the Oracle of Delphi, who is from Greek mythology. This isn’t about whether Ezekiel was affected by something, as he was still able to use the prophecy glass/get stuck in the cube. Rather, it’s about the Zeus Challenge in the cube. They probably would have died in there, but luckily, Ezekiel had just happened to steal, and keep on him, the exact thing they needed to get through– a bunch of golden coins, and a prophecy that ensures at least one coin can’t be destroyed. Luck? Prophecy? Divine Intervention? Plot convenience? Okay its probably the last one but STILL

Also, Ezekiel getting pissed at Zeus.

Zeus’s Bolt (again?): There is a promo image I think for season 4? that has each of the Librarians holding their tools. Jacob had his axe, Cassandra had a notebook, Flynn had Excalibur, all normal, except for Eve and Ezekiel. Eve had this big staff thing I didn’t recognize, and Ezekiel had Zeus’ Bolt for some reason?

Lightning, just, in general: If there is wild electricity in an episode, Ezekiel is probably around.

Examples:

City of Light: Gets shocked and knocked backwards into Jacob by a very electrified fence, gets up right afterwards and is fine.

Broken Staff: The Zeus Bolt thing, you get it.

Image of an Image: Ezekiel electrocutes Jacob. Jacob was not really fine. He lived, though.

Point of Salvation: Ezekiel electrocutes Jacob part 2 Electric Boogaloo, but this time on purpose. He was not fine. He died. But don’t worry, he lived.

Self-Fulfilling Prophecy: Mentioned a little bit above, Ezekiel, Jacob, and a student get stuck in the Zeus Challenge, and Ezekiel uses some coins he just so happened to steal recently. Throwing them on tiles shows whether or not lightning will strike if it was stepped on. Seriously, why is it ALWAYS Jacob?

The Dark Secret: Ezekiel is the one sent to wrap a cord around a lightning rod constantly being struck by lighting. “Why am I bloody doing this”, he asks? I mean, Zeus probably isn’t going to kill his descendent(?), right?

Werewolves: Have you heard of the Lycaon of Arcadia? It’s a Greek myth. Basically, this dude named Lycaon wants to test how smart and all-knowing Zeus is. To do so, he kills his own son, cooks him, and serves him to Zeus to see if he notices, ya know, no biggie. Zeus was like “wtf man” and brings the son back to life, and turns Lycaon into, you guessed it, a wolf. So, Zeus creates a werewolf of sorts, maybe one of the firsts. In Fangs of Death, Ezekiel just so happens to be the one (main) character to be turned into werewolf. So, if he was a descendant of Zeus, imagine how big of a “fuck you” that was to the god. That all being said, Ezekiel was turned by an Egyptian god, so that might not have been intentional. Also, they may have just been avoiding turning Jacob, because there is already a werewolf named Jacob and they didn't want another Twilight reference in that episode.

Family/Name: Ezekiel is adopted, and his adoptive mother mentions how she took him in off the streets. Because of that, we don’t know who his birth parents are, and whether or not he, or anyone else, knows is unknown. Soooo, we can take some creative liberties as to who his parents might have been.

As for his name, it carries some religious connotations. It should be remembered though, the meanings I’m talking about here are Biblical, not Greek, so again, might mean nothing for this argument. “Ezekiel” is “God’s Strength” or “God will Strengthen”. Jones might also be something like “God is gracious” or “God has favored”, thought different sites say different things. However, I’m pretty sure the name Jones came from his adoptive mother, and apparently Jones is a common last name in Australia. His first name is more relevant, because all of his siblings have themed names; Mercy, Charity, and Honor. So, either his mom named him differently because she knew something we don’t, or he already had the name before she adopted him. Either way, this probably means absolutely nothing. But what are we here for? To analyze a dead show like an English teacher analyzes the color of curtains in an 100 year old text. If it wasn’t for all the other stuff, I probably wouldn’t think about this too much.

Okay. So Greek stuff, lightning, and Zeus himself come up a LOT when it comes to this guy. So is Ezekiel the son of Zeus? Possibly, but a more popular theory is that he’s Zeus’ grandson. Because Zeus’ son just so happens to be Hermes; god of things such as luck, travel, money, trade, and most importantly, thieves. Oh, and animal husbandry/shepherds and sleep, I don’t know how much those apply but I will try.

Time for some comparisons, honestly most of these don’t even need to be explained so I’ll keep it short-ish, cause this shit has gotten way too long already.

Luck: Ezekiel, especially in the first season, likes to rely on luck, and tends to be very lucky in general. Examples where this is mentioned include Fables of Doom and Apple of Discord. “Smarter to be lucky then lucky to be smart!”

Travel: We can assume that he ended up traveling in his previous job (that being heists all over the world) fairly often, even before the Library. Becoming a Librarian with a teleporting door increased that of course.

Money: Steals very high-value items to sell. Also apparently likes to take money from his coworker’s wallets. And probably everyone else’s.

Trade: The aforementioned high-value pieces he steals are traded/sold for money. In Christmas Thief, we find out he kept none of the money or items, giving it away to others who needed it. That kinda fits this category, I think.

Thieves: I really don’t need to explain this. Unless you haven’t seen the show.

Animal Husbandry/Shepherds?: Basically the care of animals. Um, well he doesn’t keep cows or anything, but he has a tendency to “adopt” magical creatures that need help. Stumpy, Nessie Jr., maybe Frankenstein’s Monster as well?

Sleep: I mentioned earlier how Ezekiel froze a guy (not really in an icy way, just couldn’t move) by hitting him with his coin. Hermes is able to send people to sleep with his Caduceus (the snake wand thing). Yeah, it’s not really the same thing, though you could consider being frozen a kind of sleep. He could have just been lucky enough to find a magical coin, and lucky enough to figure out how to use it at the exact right time without even knowing what it did. It’s a stretch either way, really, and was never explained in the episode at all. Yeah, I can't find anything else that fits.

Hermes is considered to be a thief and trickster, and a lot of the things he is god of are Ezekiel’s main occupations. With all those similarities to Hermes, frequent events related to lightning and Zeus related things, and immunity to Greek artifacts, we can conclude that he is perhaps the son of Hermes, taking after his father in abilities and getting visits from grandpa.

Alternatively, his somehow IS Hermes, but I doubt that. He’d probably be way more powerful. He was also able to see the future with Prophecy Glass, which Jenkins claims is impossible for immortals to do (although in that case he was talking about a Prophecy Cube, but close enough). It’s more likely that he is a demigod.

Okay, that is all I can think of that is relevant. I binged the series about two months ago, and have been thinking about this theory. I went ahead and re-watched the episodes that I mentioned in more detail, as well as parts of others that I remebered. The reason I bring this up is because I may have missed things. I did not rewatch a majority of the episodes, more that I looked at a list of episodes on wikipedia and tried to remember what happened in them, watching clips and episodes if I needed to.

The show was cancelled, so we’ll probably never get a confirmation as to who Ezekiels’ birth parents were, and as such, you can’t prove me wrong! That being said, if I got any facts incorrect in this, please tell me so I can fix it. I’m not well versed on Greek Mythology, in fact I know basically nothing, and did the research as I went along. So again, there could be more. This is just what I found in like, less than a day of searching.

Join me next time on “How is Cassandra magical, where’d she get it from? Also, were we ever gonna meet her parents?” And “In the first episode of season 3, Jacob is just able to hit a heavy punching bag of its chain, across the room, at bullet speed, just because of a shift of his wrist, and later in that episode do the same thing to Apep, and it’s just…never addressed or spoken about again? Like wtf man?”

I'm probably not doing that

If you managed to get through all of this, thank you, and I hope this wasn’t too painful to read.

[masterkief]

request: i literally had a dreqm about it but maybe... where yr drunk or something and ryan takes care of you nd tucks you in bed but u kinda whine cuz u dont want him to leave:.... *rots and dies* im sorry if this is so wordy LMAO n e ways love yr blog!!!!! :) <3

hiii I really hope you like this 🥺 @twoheadedboypt2

- -

My head was fuzzy, a noise filled my ears like rushing waves; I was stupid drunk. Deciding it was finally time to try and walk though, I pushed myself away from the kitchen counter; stumbling briefly.

Taking my time I wondered through the house ignoring unwanted conversation and trying my hardest not to fall over. Making it to the living room I spotted him sitting on the arm of the couch making everyone around him laugh like he always did.

His eyes lit up when they caught mine.

“Y/N!” He called, waving me over.

Annihilated or not my lips couldn’t help but pull themselves into a smile.

“Hey handsome.” I said, somehow managing not to slur my words.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and sat on his lap. Shifting so that he could hold both of us on the couch arm, his hand held onto my hip.

“You uh...good Y/N?” He asked, his breath against my ear causing goosebumps.

I pulled away a bit and raised an eyebrow. It was getting harder to pretend I was “sober”.

“I am fineeee Magee.” I booped his nose, “Are you?”

A smirk pulled at his lips, the grip he had on my hip tightening. He knew I was fucked up, his sudden concerned expression making it harder to lie.

Ryan had seen me fucked up plenty of times, always playing the part of my knight in shining armor and coming to my rescue. I don’t know how he wasn’t sick of me by now.

“Okay fine, I’m fucked up.” I whimpered with a pout.

Ryan laughed, sliding me off of him gently. Standing, he held me in place.

“You want me to drive you home?” He said over the music.

I nodded as a sting of embarrassment touched my cheeks. I hated when Ryan had to play babysitter.

Saying our goodbyes, he then lead me from the house with my hand tightly in his.

By the time we got to (and into) my place I was ready to keel over.

“Y/N let’s go, your room is literally 2 feet away.” Ryan groaned when I stopped to “rest” on my couch.

Pouting again I tried to find words of protest but failed, yawning instead. Ryan rolled his eyes at my silence and stomped towards me.

“Y/N seriously get.up.”

Ryan trying to scold me was hilarious for some reason, a small chuckle escaping my throat followed by a hiccup. He scoffed and before I knew it he was lifting me up and over his shoulder.

“Oh Ryan!” I cried, too drunk to really resist. “Come on I could’ve walked.”

Ignoring me he continued to my room. Eventually my back met with the mattress, Ryan standing over me; examining me.

“Well.” I slurred wiggling “seductively” on my bed.

Ryan gave me a suspicious look, earning another smile from me.

“You wanted me in here so bad, aren’t you gonna help ya girl out?” I provoked, hinting at him taking my clothes off for me.

Ryan once again rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Jesus christ Y/N I fucking hate you sometimes.”

Hesitating, he walked towards me. I was going to fuck with him and call him a perv but the thought of Ryan undressing me held any smart comment I could make in the back of my throat. I observed quietly as he confidently undid the button of my jeans, slowly sliding them downward. Lifting my shirt up and over my head, his eyes then found themselves transfixed on my chest.

“Ryan.” I pretended to scold him.

Quickly shaking any inappropriate thoughts away, he threw an oversized tshirt at me like a dodgeball.

“Alright.” He said once I crawled under my blankets, “Are you good now?”

He was closer to my door than I had wanted.

“Ryan?” I said, my voice like a whiny child.

“Y/N?” He replied folding his arms over his chest.

“Will you stay with me?”

I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the way Ryan once again went out of his way to take care of me, but I was feeling...soft...cuddly? His expression of disbelief was somewhat unsettling, making me instantly regret my suggestion.

“A-are you su-....like in the same bed? Are you sure?”

I guess I had caught him off guard, but I couldn’t help but giggle at his sudden nervousness.

“Ryan you stripped me half naked but sleeping in bed with me is what freaks you out?” I joked shaking my head in amazement.

Without a word he rolled his eyes and made his way to my bed. Undressing to his boxers he then stood next to the bed in silence. Laughing again I slid over to give him some room.

“Come on big boy.” I teased patting the empty space, “Make baby happy.”

Turning away from him and onto my side, I felt him finally get in. I was worried I was going to have to ask him to cuddle but before I could even process how to go about it, his arm snaked it’s way over my waist and his body pressed against my back. Snuggling into him more, I could finally close my eyes.

“Thanks for taking care of me...again.” I said, drifting off to sleep.

Squeezing me tighter, his lips met the back of my head.

“Anything for the precious little baby.”

[turneverybodyintopuppets]

Hi. The following is my attempt to systematically hash out the “Mr. Infodump” controversy in the TS fandom. It’s primarily for my benefit, but I’m posting it on the off chance it helps someone else who’s just as confused/dismayed as I was. I’m not attempting to argue for blind absolution (”Thomas is an angel who can do no wrong!”) or cancellation (“He’s no better than the likes of J.K. Rowling!”), just to present as intellectually honest an assessment as I can make of what happened and the degree to which the TS team is responsible.

Laconic: Thomas Sanders, a content creator on youtube, posted a skit in which a character calls an aspie-coded character “Mr. Infodump”. Several fans have expressed hurt and anger over the use of a trait associated with neurodivergence as an insult.

My own initial impression: I’m on the autism spectrum myself, and personally, “Mr. Infodump” didn’t register as offensive to me; in fact, as a huge Logan kinnie, I liked that a neurodiverse trait I see in myself was being explicitly linked to my favorite character. That said, there are many in the community who feel deeply hurt and betrayed, and it would be a) irresponsible and b) close-minded to handwave their concerns. Thus:

[Abridged version: Bolded]

Context for use of the word:

Line from Roman: “I was going for regal sophistication [in last commercial pitch], but Mr. Infodump over here [*gestures to Logan*] wasn’t cooperating.” Defensive tone, alluding to the fact that Logan’s commercial pitch included excessive product information that would leave buyers disengaged.

History: Roman regularly invents nicknames for fellow sides and employs them in a manner that can range from fond teasing to a juvenile way of insulting the side he’s presently bickering with.

Names previously directed at Logan include “Calculator watch,” “Egghead,” and “No-Funsen Honeydew… Doo.” They generally play off of Logan’s tendency toward being uptight, stereotypically nerdy, and eager to furnish the group with information in the capacity of a teacher.

In this particular instance, I doubt anyone would say the word’s use was “malicious,” but it wasn’t “affectionate” either. Roman is visibly preoccupied and defensive in the scene, throwing out a nickname offhand.

Power Dynamic: There is no imbalance of power between Logan and Roman that would indicate anything resembling a bully-victim relationship. Logan responds to the word in the same manner he does Roman’s other antics and displays no particularly hurt reaction.

In-Universe Response: No character corrects or condemns Roman’s use of the term. This may, however, be because Logan is the first to respond, armed with his own complaints about the others’ commercials.

Meta-Level Implications: The audience is not encouraged to agree with Roman’s sentiment that infodumping is a negative trait anymore than they are his other commentary on Logan via nicknames like “Egghead,” because Logan’s role in the story consistently proves it wrong; all that infodumping saved an unconscious Roman from his murder-happy brother, for one, and the audience knows it. Given the posturing and defensiveness that accompany Roman’s delivery of the line, it’s clear the creators were communicating that he was in the wrong to say it. That, and Logan will almost certainly reinforce this by verbally decimating someone in the next episode, as per usual.

I think that last point is key. People will accuse others of infodumping in a negative way IRL—I know I’ve been called far worse for failing to mask—and to pretend that such things don’t exist in fiction is misrepresenting reality. Instead, creators can and should include minority characters (race, sexuality, gender, neuroatypicality, etc.) *confronting* discrimination, dealing with it complexly, and showing both the misguided character and the audience how wrong they are. Logan resonates with me—and other aspies, I think—largely because of how he clearly struggles in dealing with the other sides’ occasional criticism of his eccentricities, but he ultimately remains committed to his identity and ideals. If the TS crew continues to write a show that reinforces the fact that his neurodivergent qualities are what make him strong—and god knows there's not much media that does this well—, they’re doing something incredibly important for us.

The issue here, then, wasn’t the show promoting ableism as a message, because its handling of the conversation here doesn’t. Rather, it was the use of a term that many consider inherently ableist as an insult. So:

“Infodump” the word:

I find this fascinating, actually—Science is discovered. Math is discovered**. Language? Language is unequivocally invented. We’ve create these words with combinations of mouth-sounds, and we’ve assigned them meaning.

But the thing is, people have different backgrounds and experiences that define both who they are and the nuances of the meaning they tie to those mouth-sounds

Basic example of varied mental prototypes: I live in the northeast USA, so when I hear the word “bird,” the first thing that pops into my head is a bluejay or robin. If you ask my friend who’s studying in Brazil, though, he’d likely think of a macaw or toucan. 

For me, “spring” = my mom’s pink zinnia garden and “chocolate” = a square of hershey melting against gooey marshmallow. This idea of memories and experience informing word-meaning mapping, of course, extends to a) more nuanced concepts and b) a more subconscious level of understanding. Poetry in particular, I think, tends to play with this to invoke the sensory experiences it does... I could infodump about translated poetry but that’s a whoooollleee other thing and I’m getting off track.

But essentially, an individual’s experience of any given word, to a degree, is subjective. Our dictionary definitions are merely approximations of a collective understanding of that mouthsound-to-meaning mapping, and we have to update those definitions as language evolves (remember when “Google” couldn’t be used as a verb?)

So, what happens if I look up “infodumping”? TVTropes tells me it’s a “type of exposition that’s particularly long and wordy”. UrbanDictionary says its “used to deposit large amounts (usually entire articles) of information in online forums without summarizing or paraphrasing the information.” I reach the resources that explain it in the context of autism and ADHD over halfway down the Google results. The word “infodumping” has quite a few circulating meanings, and the one associated with neurodivergence isn’t as visible as we’d like it to be.

From what I understand, Thomas Sanders and co. merely knew “infodumping” as the practice of talking at length about a subject, like closing a rant with a friendly “aw, sorry for infodumping on ya” and such. This was exactly how Logan opens his commercial, so they stuck it in as a—frankly, kinda feeble—nickname á la the creative genius behind “Mr. Smarty... Pants”. They had no knowledge of the term’s gravity to the autism and ADHD community, because they haven’t been exposed to settings that use that definition.

So, where does that leave us on accountability? If they’re ultimately not producing ableist content, do Thomas Sanders and his team have the responsibility to be aware of how an insult featuring this particular word might be inherently triggering to a community?

Many accounts show that the inclusion of the term caused real emotional harm and as content creators—particularly ones with a relatively young fanbase—the TS team should have taken more precautions. A more diverse staff/writing room may have caught this, given how egregious some fanders found the error. Furthermore, why shouldn’t it fall on neurotypical people in general to “educate themselves” on these issues, as in the cases of other minority groups?

That said, however, can any creative team be reasonably expected to know of any-and-all potentially triggering content? I’ve avoided speaking of Thomas Sanders’ personal character to maintain some impartiality, but a long history of promoting representation and careful content warnings does suggest a genuine commitment to self-correcting. Accepting the well-intentioned criticism of fanders—many of whom are so broken up by this precisely because of the amount of faith they place in the TS team—and taking active steps to change is ultimately the best course of action, and I, for one, will be sticking around to see the results.

[thanekrios]

The way fall smells

SUMMARY: Tommy always loved the distinctive scent of fall. After a day patrolling with Joel, he remembers why.

The leaves had grown old and begun falling, laying carpets of warm hues on every trail surrounding Jackson. Tommy took a deep breath, taking in the unique sharpness in the air that came with the last months of the year.

It had been a good day. They had patrolled until noon, everything clear – no signs of Hunters or infected– and after checking in, left for the rest of the day to hunt and walk, to talk and have a snack under the orange light of the late afternoon just like they did when they were young.

Joel was having a good day too; Tommy could see it. For the whole afternoon, his shoulders had been relaxed, arms resting at his sides; every now and then, he stopped to take in the shushing of the leaves or the landscape. He was at peace.

Over the course of two years, Tommy had seen how his brother’s sharp edges had begun to dull and a smile would come to him easier than a frown. He talked more, about Sarah and Tess and sometimes even about himself; he hummed around Tommy, sang around Ellie. For a long time, Joel’s hatred for everything was like an all-consuming fire. But Tommy knew that as catastrophic as fires could be, they could also restore – he had seen it with grasslands, entire fields cleansed by the flames, making way for new vegetation to thrive. And now, he had seen it with Joel.

“We should head back.” Joel said as he got up and brushed breadcrumbs off his jacket. “We don’t want it getting too late.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed as they began walking in Jackson’s direction. “Got any plans for tonight?”

“Watchin’ a movie with Ellie.”

‘You’re both welcome to join us for dinner if you like.”

Tommy made a pause and considered his words.

Whenever they had them over, it wasn’t just dinner. It was a series of stories from any period of their lives. The brothers grew more excited with each anecdote, Maria would bid them goodnight long after their plates had been cleared; and as their laughter turned loud like thunderclaps, Ellie began knocking down every miserable object in her proximity as she became overexcited while shouting No fucking way! Then came the guitars. More laughter and clatter. And before they knew it, Maria was walking out the door for an early patrol.

So, Tommy added:

“Before your movie.”

“Thanks, but we don’t wanna interrupt Maria’s sleep two nights in a row.” Joel’s eyes ran across the golden foliage, the corners of his mouth curving.

“Well, I’m sure Ellie would appreciate some leftovers.” Tommy found himself smiling as well. “I can leave’em by the porch.”

“Usual place?”

“Usual place,” he confirmed.

“Appreciate it.”

They walked in silence for a while, enjoying the brittle sound of falling leaves and with each step, they walked into memories.

Tommy loved fall.

He first became enchanted with it as a child. He craved the crunching of a dry leaf under his booted feet, having a hot drink when his lips were chapped, listening to Joel play soft melodies as the sun set fire to the clouds. But above all, he looked forward to the unmistakable scent of summer’s perishing.

Tommy knew he came across as simple, devoid of imagination. Even before the outbreak people had assumed there wasn't much to him, that he never dreamt of anything other than a job in construction, blindly following Joel’s steps. He knew why it was easy to believe he had chosen an uncomplicated life rather than having settled for it. He didn’t make any effort to correct anyone. His dreams had been his own. Truth was, Tommy had wanted to be a storyteller in his youth.

During his childhood, he imagined the playful winds that came with fall were whispering stories, travelling through the rattling orange and yellow leafed trees, there for anyone who was willing to listen. Tommy imagined, to escape the empty rooms, the absent parents. He opened his mind and closed his eyes to craft tales of floating homes in the sky and flying whales and homemade dinners.

Fall shaped each story and realm that sprang in his heart and imagination. He didn’t speak of any of them, for whenever he had attempted to put it into words, the intricacy of each story, the vibrance of every world, the heartbreak experienced by each character became colorless.  

"All imagination and zero talent," he confessed to Joel in his early teens.

Joel, who wasn't the wordy type either, comforted him the only way he knew how: by handing him his treasured guitar.

"You can tell stories with this, too."

By trading words for melodies, Tommy had compromised. If that was to be the only way to set his stories out into the world, it was enough.

Joel stopped and took in a deep breath, catching Tommy’s attention. His older brother let out a pleased sigh:

“I like the way it smells.” He didn’t need to say more, Tommy knew what he meant, but he continued, “Y’know, fall.”

He took in the words and allowed them to travel the usual road, back into his heart. 

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. He buried his hands deep in his jacket pockets and filled his lungs with fresh air. He had heard that many times before but never from Joel. “Y’know, Sarah used to say the same thing.”

Something softened in Joel’s eyes, the look on his face echoing the one Tommy had seen on him countless times, whenever he had braided Sarah’s hair with so much care and tenderness it made it difficult to think of him as anything other than a loving father.

“Did she now?”

Tommy nodded:

“She said she liked the way fall smelled and then, uh, asked me what the smell was.”

“What did ya say?”

“I dunno, somethin’ dumb, like dust from a dirt road or somethin’.”

“That…that’s pretty accurate. Why’d you say it’s dumb? Was Sarah disappointed or somethin’?” Joel asked after a moment.

Tommy quirked a brow:

“Sarah? Our Sarah? That girl didn’t act disappointed a day in her life.”

“Yeah” Joel agreed in a whisper.

“But she asked me again the year after that. And then the one after that. And it kinda became a game we played. I gave her the thickest answers and she took’em. Then she started havin’ answers of her own.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d she say?”

“Well, a bunch of stuff. Good stuff. I think one time she said, uh, sharpened pencil. Yeah, that was it. Sharpened pencil. She also came up with…”

In recent years, Tommy had become an active forgetter, a problem that had triggered countless arguments with Maria. But those moments with Sarah, he remembered better than entire years.

“Apples, yeah. Refreshin’ and sweet and sour. There was, uh, wet soil after rain and hot hay dryin’ in the sun.”

“That’s…that’s a good one” Joel chuckled before kneeling to tie his shoelace. Tommy was certain his brother was only pretending to do it to shield his face. Then, as he stood up, he held his gaze. His smile was wide, eyes gleaming. “What else?”

Tommy didn’t have to think too hard. He knew just the one.

It had been a late afternoon, two days before the outbreak. Orange tinted the town as if the moment already belonged to a memory. Sarah had a plan; she would go to Tannhaus Watches & Jewellery to get Joel’s birthday present and he would go to the bakery next to it and place an order for a cake.

“Divide and conquer!” Sarah had repeated on their way to town.

The breeze carried the earthy sweet scent of the piles of leaves, tickling his nose. For once, he had decided, he would ask the question first:

“What does fall smell like?”

It had taken her but a few seconds to whip up an answer, taking Tommy by surprise:

“Fall smells like you, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy’s words had died in his throat. He looked down, speechless still, and rested his eyes on her smile, equal parts sweet and smug. The realization of never having felt more loved dawned on him—it was a similar sensation to floating downstream. He felt weightless.  Tommy remembered how when Sarah was little, they spent most of their time lying on golden grass, looking for shapes in the clouds or loudly singing along in his car. Sometimes they sat on the porch and drank extra sweet hot cocoa and he told her – in his own convoluted way – the stories he had told himself as a child to feel less alone. Tommy had reminded her, through his stories and his terrible mac and cheese dinners, that he would always be there for her – just like Joel had been for him.

“Alright. You win, sweetheart,” he said when he meant to say Thank you, I love you too.

Sarah had wrapped her skinny arms around his waist. She would never do that again.

They made their way down the street, their sneakers brushing against the asphalt, the musky fragrance of wisterias faint in the air.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to win but I’m glad I did.” And she had meant I love you more.

Jackson peered through the trees, lights dotted across the county. The temperature had dropped, the chill bit at Tommy’s ears, pink shading his cheeks. A big lump had formed in his throat — there was no way he would be able to speak without his voice breaking. It didn’t matter, he wanted to share it with Joel. The words poured out of his lips as tears ran down his cheeks. He stopped. He half laughed; half cried. Then explained, in vivid detail, how Sarah had made him feel. He apologized. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Talking about Sarah? Crying? He had grown so used to getting burned whenever he had brought her up, it was still easy to forget just how much Joel had changed.

After Sarah’s death, for the first part of the nightmarish years they spent together, barely scraping by, surviving at the cost of their own humanity, he dreamt of her almost every night. Waking up in sobs, the light dissolving into grey shadows. Joel had refused to look at him, splintering Tommy’s heart. They never spoke of the past. They never spoke of her. They took. They survived. And their hollowness deepened with every wretched day.

Time moved forward; the changing of the seasons serving as the last remaining proof of it. He found comfort in the breeze that came as the year was about to end, revisiting memories and his old stories. Sometimes, as he patrolled, he ventured back into his worlds and again greeted the heroes of his childhood. He knew that there was no room for dreams or stories and his heart ached as he gave them up all over again. And then, he watched how the seams of Joel’s humanity continued ripping one after the other. He had believed he would never get his brother back. But now, Joel’s eyes glistened, a combination of longing and joy. He told him there wasn’t a thing to be sorry for. He listened and placed a hand on his little brother’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Joel said softly once Tommy hung his head and fell quiet.

Tommy nodded, letting out a trembling vaporous exhalation.  

“I’ve always wanted to tell you about that,” Tommy said as the knot in his throat loosened and he looked back up at Joel “I just didn’t know how.”

“I’m glad you finally did.” Joel gave Tommy’s shoulder a little squeeze before letting go.

Tommy watched him walk ahead, his silhouette against the sinking sun. He couldn’t see it, but he knew Joel was smiling. He was smiling too. The wind blew. It smelled like fall. It smelled like home. 

[lycorogue]

For your ask game... 7, 13,15 and 16!

Livrever! You're just as bad as @cyhyr! You should also be well aware of my wordiness! Welp. Looks like I'm dusting off that good old Long Post hashtag again today. 😂

[Fanfic Writer Ask Game Questions]

7. What story/headcanons do you feel the proudest of?

By far the headcanon (which became a story) that I'm proudest of is the origin story of the lucky charm bracelet Marinette gave Adrien in "Gamer."

She already had it on-hand, and she didn't seem to have made it specifically to gift to Adrien. She even said he could "borrow" it, but never got it back. I think the charm bracelet was a spur of the moment decision to try to cheer him up and build up his confidence. When I was a kid, my mom gifted me various inspirational cards and worry stones to help me through finals and remind me that I could achieve anything I put my mind to. It felt fitting that Marinette's parents would do something similar, and THAT is where the bracelet originally came from.

If you want to read the full headcanon-inspired story, you can find it here: Build Your Own Luck

I love this headcanon so much I'm making sure to work it into my "I promise, I'm still working on it" WIP One and the Same.

Honorable Mention for favorite headcanon would be the headcanons I came up with for my Plagg-centric/Plagg-Appreciation story Forever in Darkness. In particular, my headcanon that Plagg was Aladdin's "lesser genie of the ring" from the 1001 Arabian Nights tale. I basically had that headcanon since I first saw Origins and Plagg mentioned meeting a genie before.

(Also, ya know, I still consider my first completed multi-chapter story Peeping Tomcat my magnum opus... so... yeah... proud of that one too)

13. When did you start writing fanfic?

I've been dabbling in fanfic pretty much ever since I understood what fandom was. When I was in elementary school I would create a whole series of X-Men OCs (only to discover a decade or so later that nearly every OC I thought of is already a canon X-Men character, they just never made the cut for the 90s cartoon).

In middle school and early high school (so roughly ages 12 through 15), I created a self-insert Batman OC (and love interest for Dick Grayson's Robin). She was Selena Kyle's niece that moved in with her. She struggled between excitedly being her Aunt Selena's apprentice as a cat burglar, and using those skills to be a hero with Batman and Robin. I can't recall the character's name anymore, but she went by the alias Black Panther (because that was my school's mascot and I'm a nerd like that).

About the age of 16 or 17 I joined my first play-by-post role-play game where I played Harley Quinn. It didn't last long before the game master went to college and the whole thing fell apart.

Then there was a fanfic dry spell. I did work on original works almost constantly from the age of 10 straight through to college. Then I had a college professor that more-or-less broke my creative writing spirit, sadly. I still wrote for video production classes and scriptwriting classes, but I didn't write anything recreationally for over 5 years.

Then, in 2009 I got back into the "Hey, Arnold!" fandom. August 2010 I wrote my first fanfic for the fandom. It would be the first fanfic I would ever publish online. I've been working on fanfics again ever since. 😁 (if you don't want to read the story on FFN, you can find the import over to AO3 here)

15. What is the fanfic you’ve written that you’re most proud of?

As I said before, I still think of Peeping Tomcat as my magnum opus. It is the longest story I've written. It is the first multi-chapter story I was able to actually complete. There are a lot of moments in that story that I just love to reread myself. It's the first story I've written that I felt compelled to write a sequel to (sadly, said sequel, One and the Same, has been stubborn the past 4 years and won't properly form, so that's still a WIP). It's the only ML fanfic I've published that has inspired fanart (but it's not my first fanfic ever to inspire art. That honor goes to my sadly abandoned HA! fanfic What is Truly Meant to Be). Plus, I got to emotionally torture poor Adrien, but also give him a happy ending.

Runner Up, I think, would have to be Prescription for Love, which is my interpretation of what Adrien did off-screen during the season 3 episode "Backwarder." A lot of my reviews have stated how much people loved Kagami in that story despite not particularly enjoying her canon characterization at that point in the series. Plus, Adrien is an oblivious little mush.

Honorable Mentions to the aforementioned Build Your Own Luck as well as my first Christmas-themed story Woven Heartstrings. I am still amazed at how perfect the gifts are for all of the characters, and I was the one who thought of them!!!! Plus, I've had a surprisingly large number of kudos/comments on that story outside of the holiday season, so it must really resonate with people even outside of December. Final Honorable Mention goes to the aforementioned Plagg-Appreciation story Forever in Darkness.

16. What fanfic tropes do you avoid writing for?

Goodness. I actually don't write for tropes. Not really. I aim more for "how close to a legit episode can I make this story?" or just general "This plot bunny showed up and I guess I'm nurturing it now???"

I don't know if I even KNOW all of the basic fanfic tropes....

If I used the This or That (Fanfic Edition) game as a guide, I think the tropes off of that list I'd avoid would be:

Flower Shop AU - I don't know much about flowers for that to be worth trying

Historical AU - I am TRASH at historical anything... although I'm a HUGE steampunkest... go figure

Major AU reworks in general - I am perfectly content snuggled into the canon. I like this show for a reason. And I like fanfic because the world building has already been done for me.

Crack??? - I don't have anything against crack. I quite enjoy it. I just... I'm not creative enough to come up with something so bonkers????

Whump - Not intentionally, at least. I almost never go into a story with the goal to torture the characters. That just... kinda... sorta... happens??? Sometimes???

Enemies to Lovers - I ADORE this trope, but I don't know if I could ever manage to write Adrien/Chat Noir as Marinette's/Ladybug's enemy nearly as masterfully as the other works already out there. Especially when some of my "competition" includes Discordant Sonata by @edendaphne and Curiosity and Satisfaction by @imthepunchlord.

Whew! This was even longer than the 4-question ask from Cyhyr! You ladies sure do know how to get me to talk. 😁

Thanks so much for the ask! Anyone else interested in getting to know more about me and my writing style? Feel free to drop me those asks. 😁

[cloudy-selfshipping]

hi!! strawberry, cherry vanilla, and key lime? :-)

HIIII lys my beloved ily (/p) thank u 🥺💞💞💞💖💖 hmmm I’m gnna do these w albedo and scara (separately <3!)

strawberry: before getting together, how did your F/O realize they had a crush on you? How did they act around you once they realized they were head over heels?

Albedo would probs take some time b4 realizing he had an actual crush on me!!!!! He’d like... he’d Know the Symptoms™️ but it wouldn’t really Hit Him until we r hanging out near dragonspine at night stargazing together !!!!!! Nd he’d realize I’ve just been silent the entire time bc I was listening 2 him ramble abt the stars and constellations (ppl sometimes cut off his ramblings b4 he finishes :(( ) Nd actually focusing on what he has to say and his heart jsut goes !!!!!!!!!! Oh fuck!!!!!!!!! Once he realizes he’d probs be even More observant of things?? And also highly aware of my actions like More Than Before. Me playing w his hair while he sketches and his heart is beating out of his chest.

Scara would Never realize on his own bc he is a dick [affectionate] Nd is . Generally Vry Cold and uncaring and doesn’t pay attention to his own emotions. Signora would probs have to tell him like ..... u do realize that you’re so much nicer to Juno compared to anyone else Ever and he’s like What the fuck are you talking abt and the next time we hang out he jsut sits there and analyzes how he acts and is like Oh Fuck. I think he’d act generally the same (scara frantically trying to keep his emotions on lock down Asmr) but kinda like albedo he is hyper aware of Everything and how he acts and also how I act ykno?

cherry vanilla: how does your F/O show their affection for you?

Albedo is blunt!!! He’s not rlly embarrassed to show affection and his love language would be words of affirmation and also also quality time!!!! He’s very straight forward w what he’s feeling and w how he talks to me!!! Much to his amusement and to my dismay, I’m super easy to fluster when ppl are being verbally affectionate and he is a lil bastard and Will take advantage of that. And he shows his affection by also making time for me!!!! He can be very busy w research so he always tries to make time for me that we can spend together, whether it be me joining in on his research and doing what I can to help or him takin a break so we can have a stargazing date together!!!!

Scaramouche would show affection through gifts and also physical touch!!!! He is not one to be very. Wordy? Or speak out on his soft thoughts often bc he’s never. Done That Before? And is not used to it at fuckin all. With gifts he doesn’t have to rlly use his words!!! I’ll often find an item I’ve mentioned off hand in my room when I did Not Have it Before!!! Or I’d be resting against him while he works on idk harbinger stuff Nd he just stands up, walks behind me and puts on a necklace he got me without saying anything Nd he’d go back to work afterwards. With physical touch I’m more so the one to initiate it but 👉👈 he often pats my head (even tho he has to reach up to do it or he’ll tell me to bend lower) or Pets my hair!!! He also usually has his arm around me in public 2 make sure ppl don’t fuck w us bc Ya Know. Fatui harbinger Nd everything. can’t have ppl messing w his girl!

key lime: how would you describe your self-ship’s aesthetic?

with albedo it’s very!!!! Sofmt... gentle!!! Shooting stars and sunsets and 2 am ramblings. Light yellow and blue toned. The feeling of cool air but not minding it much because ur warm and cozy next to the person u love.... that’s us!! Idk how else to describe it or if I’m doin this prompt correctly sniffles.

with scara its like!!! unsure soft touches bc he’s Not used to this at All and doesn’t know what he’s doing. And affection behind closed doors!!!!!!! Extravagant dates!!!! Chandeliers and good food....

[non self shippers don’t interact thank u ]

[buzzdixonwriter]

Writing Report February 27, 2021

There’s no single preferred much less “right” way of writing a story.

Some writers have one set pattern for everything they write, others have as many different methods as they do projects.

It doesn’t matter so long as the work gets done to the best of the writer’s ability.

So this post is of limited application, but since it’ll give an insight into the creative process (well, my creative process), here goes.

My current Work In Process takes place in a medium size town over the course of three months.  I’m literally going through events day by day, with some days packed with many incidents, others just short perfunctory mentions.

Because of the size and scope of the story, it involves a fairly large cast.  There are, without exaggeration, over 100 characters in the story, most having only small parts to play while others weave in and out of the narrative over the 90 some days events unfold.

I got the idea for the story over 13 years ago and have been researching / noodling ideas on it ever since.  My first problem lay in finding an angle of attack:  What triggers the inciting incident and what motivates the characters who do the inciting?

I realized simplistic character types such as “protagonist” and “antagonist” didn’t fully apply here.

I have a focal character, but he is somewhat passive (he has to be, because to become actively involved makes him a jerk).  I have a trickster character but he’s not really an antagonist; for all his flaws you kinda like him in a begrudging manner (and of all the characters in the story, he’s the one who’ll go through the most growth).

The biggest problem lay in that while motivating the inciting incident was tricky enough, finding a way to satisfactorily wrap everything at the end proved far more problematic.

For years I was stuck with an idea for an ending that seemed more and more petty and mean spirited each time I revisited it…

…but I couldn’t think of anything else.

I solved that problem by drawing up a list of things that would be found in this particular town to see if any would spark an idea and sure enough, one did.  When combined with a previously unfocused plot element it provided a big slam bang finale that didn’t violate the tone and spirit of everything that came before it.

(I’ve posted before on tone, and why finding the right one -- especially for a story like this -- is so necessary.  The revised ending preserves my tone without compromising the need for a satisfactory conclusion.)

When I finally began work in earnest on the story January 1st this year, I had the rough outline sketched in:  A beginning, most of a middle, and a firm conclusion for the end.

I also had tons of story points I had no idea how I’d fit into the final work.

Now, for some projects, you want to have a good, firm, well detailed outline:  A mystery or caper thriller, for example.

But this isn’t that kind of a story, and if the town and its citizens were to come to life on the page, they needed freedom to move, freedom to breath, freedom to think.

So I started writing without having the entire 3 month period fully plotted out.

And ya know what?  It works, it works like a charm.

While I ended up jettisoning a lot of ideas, the ones that remained bumped into each other and formed interesting links and possibilities.

Item: I had some unknown person causing trouble for the trickster and the focal character but no clear idea of who it should be.  My initial idea was someone who resented what they were doing, but that was too vague, too abstract a motive.

Not personal enough.

Then it dawned on me if someone who felt rejected by my focal character decided to get revenge…

…and now I had a personal, emotionally strong reason for the acts to occur.

Item: I have a throwaway joke about cow tipping early in the book, and sonuvagun, if a certain other character is revealed to be the cow tipper it not only pays off his character arc but completes the joke from earlier.

Item: I need to get a bunch of people onstage for the big finale (metaphorically) and my original thought was they all happen to show up coincidentally which, while not impossible, certainly stretches credulity.  So then I struggled with ways that all of them would become independently aware of the central plot conceit and be in the right place at the right time but that seemed awfully cumbersome.

Then I remembered my trickster character has an ally, and if the ally were to learn one group would be at the appointed place at the appointed time, why, that would give them every motive in the world to tip off the other groups so they’d be there, too.

This was one of the great things about writing for G.I. Joe and Transformers; we had so many characters that we could do any sort of story we wanted because here was always somebody who’d fit right in perfectly and make it work.

I’m about 60%-70% done with my first draft at this point.  I tend to write expansively in my first drafts, adding more detail than needed, reiterating key plot points and info to make sure it’s covered, writing dialog that tends to be too on the nose and wordy.

Once the first draft is done I’ll let it lay fallow for a few weeks (got another story to work on as soon as I finish this one) then go back for a second draft.

We’ll talk about the differences in first drafts, second drafts, and polishes in the future.

  © Buzz Dixon

[stormyweaver]

Okay so... *ahem* I feel like so far, my lil’ fics I’ve posted have had a decent balance of snz + story, which I personally like to read when I browse through stories in general. But uh... if you’re looking for balance/canon stuff/awesome wordiness, this ain’t it lol. This is pure indulgence that I drummed up one night and swore I would never show anyone. Then I decided ‘Eh, maybe someone else might get a kick out of it’ so! Without further stalling, here’s some pre-season 1 Wa/lking D/ead featuring Rick and Shane during their police academy days. 

"C'mon man, quit fightin' it!" "Shade, I swear to God I'm gonna... g-gonna..." "Gonna sneeze again? Hell, blind man could'a told ya' that," While a grinning Shane leaned against the end of the bed, Rick reclined off the side, hands shakily hovering over his nose. He'd had a cold for the past three days, and it finally made a head the day BEFORE their fucking latest physical test was scheduled. He could deal with the fatigue, aches and general malaise - he’d pushed through worse - but did he really have to sneeze every other minute?! "Ugh, n'do, I'mb-- hih!" Rheumy eyes glazed over, close to slamming shut as his nose twitched, tingles running rampant along the lining of his sinuses. He could fight it, he could, he just had to concentrate... "Swear to God, man, you look like you're about to cum," That- that did it. "hhiiIh-- ihhTSCHH! Hih'TXSHH! iiHHSHH! ih'SHH! 'TSHH!" The fit landed into his cupped palms point blank, each one spilling out until his body figured itself satisfied. Groaning, Rick grimaced at the mess left behind on his palms, leaning over to pluck a tissue from the box on his nightstand. "I'b blamig' you for that," Meanwhile, Shane merely side-eyed his friend, a light smirk on his lips."Told ya'. Bless you, anyway, like - times five? Shit, never could keep count with you," Teasing Rick had to be his favorite pastime, even vying for first with boning the hot chick from the local bar on the weekends. He was just too easy to get under the skin of, especially with how pathetically miserably he appeared. Though, Shane couldn't deny that, this particular jabbing session had an underlying purpose. After spending the last couple of days with a walking germ incubator, he'd already begun to feel a sore throat coming on day two. Now, there was a distinct heaviness lining his lungs, a sluggish lag creeping into his bones, and damn if he didn't wanna claw his own sinuses out. But like hell would he ever let Rick onto that fact. No willingly giving ammunition for being harped on, it simply wasn't allowed between them. The sound of Rick gently blowing his nose caught Shane's attention, another chuckle passing through his lips. "Can't imagine how you're breathin' through all that gunk, man," Going back to his book, Shane flinched as he felt something soft, papery and distinctly damp land atop his hand. Gagging, he quickly flicked the used tissue to the side, "Oh, fuckin' sick, asshole!" Turning around to reach up, he grappled for Rick's flannel to pull him onto the floor, but the other wasn't going without a fight. "Take's one to know one!" he shot back, shifting so he was on his belly and pushing himself back off the edge and out of Shane's grasp. Even the slight tousle had Rick coughing into his fist, but Shane didn't back down. Closing his book, he crawled atop the bed, taking the momentarily preoccupied Rick and pinning him down -- wrists in hand, knees locking his legs into place. Grunting in defiance, Rick shot daggers at his friend, not enough to really show anything besides a large irritation, though. "Dick," Shane merely shrugged, leaning in a bit to sing-song, "Take's one to know one~" with a snicker. Rick could only roll his eyes, sniffling heavily as he-- Oh, shit. He was gonna sneeze again. Though it would have been the ultimate revenge, the merciful part of Rick really didn't want to stack up the odds of his friend catching this. After all, Shane fit the mold when it came to who was a bigger asshole between them. Couldn’t go ruining that dynamic. "Shane, lem'be up," he insisted, shifting his hips between Shane's fucking thunder thighs as he wrinkled his nose tight. "Uh-uh, not 'til you say you're sorry 'bout tossing your snot rag at me..." His tongue prodded the inside of his cheek, "...aaaand you admit that I'm better at puttin' together a Remington. 'Cause you know it's the truth," Snorting, though Rick couldn't identify if it was indignant or reflexive, he began to squirm in earnest, shaking his head. "I-I'm serious, man, lebbe up, I gotta..." Rick felt his lungs begin to spasm, breath catching on the last word. Still clueless, Shane rose a brow at his friend, "What’s more important than tellin’ me I’m right? Nice try, but, nah. Jus' say it an' I'll let ya' go, brother," A sudden huff exited Rick's lungs, and this time his eyes rolled up in preparation of the sneezes just itching to barrel out of him. Shit, he had to move--! "S-Shane, I... I gotta... hiihhh!..." Oh, screw it, he wasn't gonna go through this again. Maybe it was time for a little bit of payback for all that teasing. It seemed by the time Shane had put two and two together, brows raising just as Rick tilted his head back, flared nostrils exposed and damp. "hh'ITSHH'uh! ih'TSHHH'uh! hih'ISHHU!" Whether it was shock or slowed reflexes, Shane got hit smack in the face with the first one, raising an arm to shield himself from the next pair. He groaned in tandem with Rick, who allowed his head to fall back with a thick snuffle. "Ugh, damb that felt good," and a mildly satisfied smirk. Wait, his hand was free-- YES! Ignoring his streaming nose with another sniffle, Rick took Shane's momentary stunned state and flipped him onto his back, reversing their position in under two seconds. "You fuckin'--!" Shane started, attempting to break free from Rick's grasp, but even with a cold the man still knew how to pin someone down. Nostrils flared, Shane sighed and glanced off to the side, swearing again before peering up at Rick with a grimace. "Seriously couldn'ta warned me before ya' sprayed all that shit on my face?" A scoff flew past Rick's lips. "I tried! You wouldn't listen, stubborn ass," Sighing, he glanced down between them before giving Shane an exasperated look. "What, you wanna get me back?" Well... maybe it was kinda too far. Definitely gross. Shane had asked for it, but, Rick honestly hated seeing that hurt puppy dog look on the others face. Damn struck sympathy chords. "... Alright here, you can punch me in the arm, alright? That make ya' feel any better?" Before he could get an answer, Shane had been silently fighting an internal battle of his own. While Rick tried and failed miserably to stave off his fittish sneezes, Shane had actually been doing a fair job of ignoring the tingling within his own crooked nose. But with all the rough and tumbling, and surprise from being sprayed in the face, tingling had morphed into an all out itch. His expression was already going slack, eyes lidded as his lips parted to suck in air so as to fuel the inevitable sneeze. Rick, knowing that expression all too well by now, groaned and tilted his head to the side. "Jus' make it quick, man," Shane managed to gasp out a chuckle, bunching his nose up and down as the tickle worked his sinuses. "T-tryin', man," Fuck, he had to sneeze so bad, why wasn't it coming out?! He sniffed, heavily, feeling his chest expand beneath Rick -- and then nothing. Groaning, he squirmed a bit under Rick, his left leg beginning to job from the anxiousness of waiting. "Fuck, man, i-ihhh... i-it won't come out!" He gasped in disbelief, feeling ridiculous as his expression twisted all from a stupid tickle in his nose. Oh. Oh, geez. Rick glanced back to Shane in a mixture of awkwardness and pity - he knew how much a stuck sneeze sucked ass. And as much as his friend deserved at least a part of this, he wasn't a complete jerk. "Alright, alright hold on," Letting go of his wrists, Rick leaned over and yanked another tissue from the box, trying to ignore how... weird it felt, having Shane kinda writhing underneath him. "Tried this the other night, an'... look, it's weird okay?" He sighed, fingers twisting the tissue until it reached a fine point, "But it works so, jus' shut up and lemme help ya'," Shane wasn't about to say no - he'd wanted to sneeze in the first place, now this was just getting ridiculous. "I-I'd try snortin' p-pepper at tthis point," But, he reckoned a tissue would be a lot less painful. He tried not to tense up as his friend brought the implement to his nostrils, but he couldn't help seizing up once it slid past the rim. "huuhh--uhhh-uuUUH--" Still, nothing but build up, and he let out an audible groan. Rick tried not to wince at his friend's obvious discomfort, biting down hard as he attempted to wiggle the tool deeper into his nose. "Jus' try and relax, s'what I had to do. Uh... t-think of somethin' that makes ya' sneeze. Like that one girls perfume, last month, remember? Shit, thought you'd just about sneeze out the entire club that night, firin' one after the other. Think'a that, okay?" Oh God, that... Shane could recall with almost perfect clarity that night, not too long ago. Whatever cheap, heady scent the girl had on, it did NOT agree with his sinuses. Shane had little problem sneezing then, barely able to get a word in-between, and Rick all but led him out into the night air. But, it stuck with him, all over his clothes, his hair... so tickly... and he'd been so.... so fucking sneezy... "Hhhhoooh God, R-rick...! T-t-think it--  think it's wuhh-huh! w-workin'..." Shane's head had tilted back as far as it could go, and this gave Rick better access to really work at his nose. He wiggled the tissue,  giving twists as he slid it in and out of his friends nostril. Just seeing the way his expression was falling almost made Rick's own nose twinge in sympathy. "Uhhh-UHHH---!" He'd hit the spot. Rick assaulted the area as best he could, hand clenched onto Shane's shoulder as he encouraged him. "Jus' ooone more..." With that, he flicked the spear, twisting it twice before sliding it out, slowly, from Shane's nose. And that seemed to do it. "huuhh--hHHUUUH---HHH! HH! HHHUURRRUUSHHHOOO!" Shane finally released, so powerful a sneeze that he rose and bumped his forehead against Rick's with the force of it. "Ghh--!" Rick staggered backwards, falling back onto the bed with a hiss as his fingers rose to massage his temple. "Shit," he chuckled, cracking an eye open to glance at Shane, "Damn, when I said fire, I didn't mean liter-- Oh..." Anyone could tell by the hazy desperation on Shane's expression that he wasn't yet finished. Hitching softly, he brushed the knuckle of his index finger against the tip of his nose, a shudder running down his spine before he sneezed again, openly. "hhHUURUSHHHH'UHHh! hHHAHHH'KSHHH AAHHH'SHHH'huh!'hue... Ohhh, fugck," Shane moaned, ignoring the ache in his head in favor of massaging the sides of his nose. It still felt like he could sneeze his brains out, but a little less insistent than before. He sniffled, yes, full on sniffled, feeling tears trickle from his eyes and sighed. "... So, uh... think ya' mighta' got m'be sick," he mumbled stuffily, sniffling again and scrubbing at the side of his nose with a finger.

Rick could only huff out a congested sigh of his own, gazing at his friend with a small, apologetic smile as he passed him the box of Kleenex. “Misery loves company,”

[ittakesrain]

So I’m taking a class on peer support and how to be an advocate for those who need it

It’s phenomenally interesting. There’s so much to learn about and read about and explore and discuss and ponder deeply. There’s also so much room for personal growth to happen throughout the training process.

I was reading about the history of psychiatry and mental health systems and to cut out a lot of wordiness, I found this one particular part that I can’t stop thinking about.

Back in the 1800s, in this one asylum in New York, a publication came about that turned out t be pretty revolutionary in that it was written and published by people who were patients there. It gave at least a little insight into life there, although it was definitely a little too cheerful and optimistic, since it was written by people who wanted to keep writing and not have that privilege taken away by the doctors and such there. If they wrote too…colorfully…and made the asylum look bad, they might have ad to do some other form of occupational therapy.

Anyway, I was reading about that and I came across a line that talked about a fear that was had in regards to the patients’ minds:

“The danger is that the imagination will lead astray into the mazes of insanity.”

It took me a minute to process that and incorporate it into what I already believe in my heart and head. Like, I’ve thought quite a bit about the subject of insanity (having had more than my fair share of bouts of it haha), and I mean, I guess I’d never thought of imagination having anything to do with it, but then why did this quote jump the fuck out at me?

I think it could have just been the writer in me. This line did come shortly after a paragraph where it talked about how they’d often prompt the patients with topics to write about, just to get them distracted and focused. And they mentioned acrostic poems (god, does anyone else remember those from like, elementary school?).

I’m gonna do my “this is my blog and I reserve the right to jump around and not make sense” thing. And just dump my acrostic down here. Because I was just super inspired, ya know?

Safe from an inner world of spiraling chaos

An expansive stillness that allows movement

Nearing the edges of confusion calmly

Integrating the good with lessons learned from the bad

Trusting the ongoing journey and exciting process

Yesterday mattered but so does tomorrow

Yeah, one of those poem things where it says something going down but it’s a poetic sorta thing going across. I think this might be one of those things I revisit every now and again. My definition of “sanity” might change over time. It might be nice to reflect on that every now and then.

We were talking in class about how the definition of recovery is super personal and individual and unique. Same idea. Kinda cool.

I’m excited to see where this class takes me. I’m super pumped to go do all the readings and learn as much as I can, and to continue learning (ain’t that what it’s all about?) for a super long time.

Now, to get to all that reading (while l’m still motivated and awake)

[felinisfeloney]

so the donghau for MXTX scum villain’s self saving system just came out recently and as I have not yet read the novel because I barely had time to finish MDZS in a reasonable pace and right now my focus is this book about the history of chili pepper’s in China (along with the horrors of not having a job because even though I got a job I have worked less than 20 hrs in 2 weeks and have gotten nothing but rejection letters and come November if i don’t have a job that pays a min of 3k a month loans will kill me and oh god there is no hope for anything there is no hope) 

I am going into this very blind with really only what I knew through memes and vague summary. All I know is man gets isekaied into the villain’s role of a harem novel he thought was ‘bad’ and gay shenanigans will ensue. Also something about being locked in a coffin and touching the wrong ‘sword’ if ya know what i mean.

I liked the episode itself but I sadly couldn’t really appreciate the humor first watch because all of dialogue moved fast enough that I would miss something while trying to keep the visuals straight or just the subtitle vanished before I could read it. I chuckled inwardly enough (anyone who knows me will understand I don’t laugh easily at media. it has to be really really funny to make me laugh) and I would rate the personal chuckle scale for this 6/10. I feel like I would have laughed more if it didn’t go so fast i had to stop to read some of the subtitles and be able to look at the visuals at the same time, but I also understand exposition that’s really wordy like that can take a longtime compared to if you just kinda have it as a panicked stream of thought at the speed of ‘OH FUCK’.  

I do so love a story based on the whole premise of FUCK I AM DEAD IF I DON’T PRETEND TO BE THIS DUDE. and the other premise of FUCK I AM DEAD IF I DON’T CHANGE THE TIMELINE/CANNON.   

the real thing getting to me the entire time though was the animation... The animation is rough. I think the best way to describe it is PS3 cut scene graphics. Everyone kinda looks like they were designed more as a video game model with a similar template rather than as a TV character model. You kinda don’t want that but not because it’s bad look but more for how those models are designed around specific movements and visual distance for the camera. I will also say texture wise everything is very... it’s fine. Passable is the best term I would use. I don’t expect to see anything like Nezha but... it’s all stylistically boring (also the hair looks awful when it moves in close ups since it appears to just follow the body. I can tell this was not a rigged element on the model. i immediately was like ah i too have worked with maya’s pregenerated hair creator)

I understand budget wise this might have been the easiest but visually it’s obvious to me there is a common problem with follow through on the character actions. I feel 3d was a bad choice for this if you couldn’t fully go out for facial and body expressions because at times it’s clearly hindered. It’s passable animation but it’s the kind where you can immediately see all of the bad seems in the production in a few small moments. 

That said, I understand more than anyone that animation is a bitch and figuring out how to make 3D animation that is cartoony looking that looks nice can be way harder then just making it look like a FF model and calling it done. Nothing is perfect and I never fault a production for not looking on par with film quality. I honestly hope it stays at this  level and doesn’t dip too much as time goes on. I hate seeing animators struggle to make something look good.

[cosmicknives]

This is a bit of a sequel to something I posted like a year ago [link link]. Life has slowed to crawl and I’m trying to keep productive so, why not just edit more of that Gage x Gamma nonsense I still have on my computer? :D I still have a lot of fun writing these two, especially in the quieter moments between them, especially especially when it’s due to the sting of betrayal~! 

Synths, man, ruining all the good relationships in your life since 2229~.

 _______________________

Radiation sickness was never fun to deal with. It was even less fun when you had an insane Overboss. In the backroom of Fizztop, Gage slowly watched the RadAway do its damn job as he also desperately tried to ignore Gamma. 

"Seriously though, you want a new scope for your do-hicky?" It was a borderline impossible task. Looking over his shoulder, the tiny tyrant of an Overboss sat cross-legged at his weapons bench and Gage knew he was still out for his particular brand of blood. 

He had been real clear about that. A few members from the different gangs that had camped out by the entrance of Nuka-Town all but bombarded them with questions and hope as soon as they had returned from Safari Wild. Did they clean out the park yet? Fight anything fun? There's this odd rumor about a man in running around in loincloth too, did ya see him too!

It took every ounce of patience Gage had left not to scream at them all. Because, it wasn't his job to do scream. And it was Gamma’s. And just because he wanted to poke every wound Gage had just a bit more, Gamma had decided to be chatty with them. For the first time as Overboss, happily answering all their questions in wordy detail.

It was only when he feigned utter innocent, asking about Jackpot Royal's past though that Gage had put his foot down.

"Sorry, but we have business to attend to at Fizztop." He said curtly, tugging the short kid along with him.

"Yeah, that true. These injuries ain’t gonna heal themselves. Wait, did you know Gage give me this time?" Gamma dramatically exclaimed, poking out the bruised spot by his temple. "Me! His Overboss! God, Gage. We're really gonna haveta to work on your aim. Because not cool, not cool." He tsked, paying no mind as Gage pushed him on to the platform, harsh as could be.

Poor Jackpot Royal looked on hopeless, unable to tell if they should step in for their Overboss or if that would cost them their head. After a moment, they just waved goodbye and started to move back towards the Parlor. Smart kid.

After that, Gage just did his best to ignore Gamma, shuffling back towards his bed in the back room as he felt the radiation sickness finally start to settle into his body. It didn't take long to set up the RadAway, years of experience he'd never knock away, and he’d just let himself crash into his bed, hoping to sleep off the unpleasant he knew was going to come.

Gamma though had other plans.

After roughly five minutes of peace, he turned up in the back room himself despite having free-range of Fizztop. Instead of his typical mask, the kid had found a pair of over-sized road goggles and a rip-to-shreds puke green bandanna to cover his face instead.

"I'm gonna make some mods." He smiled in that same sweet and cold voice from earlier. “Have any requests?” Translation, I'm still pissed and fuck you if you think you're getting off scott-free.

"Some damn quiet and peace," Gage said though.

"Sorry, that's not on the menu today, friend." And that was that.

To his credit, Gamma wasn't really as noisy as modder as most raiders were. He worked fast and careful. And if he wanted to, Gage was almost certain he could work quiet too. But, that wasn't the case today. So instead, Gage gave up and just started to watch him from his cot. 

Gamma... He hadn’t been right earlier. Gage had had no clue about him being synth, being a tool of the Institute. If he were to guess, he would've just said the kid was a Vaultie because of a Pip-Boy but one who had been out in the Commonwealth longer than a Pip-Boy suggested. But, more importantly and more simply, he would've said that Gamma was basically like him: a fuck-up without a home just trying to survive as comfortably as possible. That was always the vibe he give out when they were up at Fizztop together, away from the other raiders down below.

"You know, tough shit, I made you a scope anyways. It's neon." He cackled a bit, turning to show off the piece.

And, Gage just replied. "Why are you even here?"

Toxic neon yellow scope in hand, Gamma paused along with the question, eyebrows arched in his own. It was weird seeing them do what exactly what Gage had always pictured them do, and a part of him was relieved. He could read this kid, at least a little bit. 

"I mean, here, in Nuka-World. What does the Institute want with us?" Because he wasn't stupid. He saw the endless possibility of this place, and he always knew others would see it too. That's why he recruited Colter. That's why he knew they needed an Overboss, someone to keep the rift-raft off their steps when they came trying to collect.

Over by his workstation, Gamma put down the scope and swiveled his chair around once and twice, until he was facing Gage again. “Not a damn thing, really." He said, shrugging slightly.

"Bullshit." Nuka-World had power, if nothing else.

"Not really," Gamma sighed again, spinning his chair around a little. "They're, ah, how would you put it." He tapped his bandanna playfully as he thought over his words. "Ah! Right! They're dead, so you know, Nuka-World? Not on their radar."

"Dead?"

"Ah, yeah. You haven't heard the rumors? Like, shit, they were everywhere out around Boston when it went down." Gamma sighed again as he rested his head in his arms. "Basically, some fucker blew us up."

"Someone, just, blew up the Institute?" 

"Well, I wasn't there when shit went down so it's a bit hard to say," Gamma said, trying to play it off with his normal dramatic air. But Gage heard an unfamiliar hard edge enter into his voice. ‘Bothered by something now, are we?’ He thought, filing it away for another time. "But that's the jist I got. Plus, you know." He frowned again, looking briefly away.

"I don't know, what."

"Urgh.” Flopping forward, his arm reached out to catch himself before he hit the floor. It was a short hop to Gage’s bed from there, Gamma plopping himself right beneath him as he started to fiddle with his Pip-Boy. Gage took to the moment to again quickly take in his Overboss under the bright, artificial lights of Fizztop. 

He didn't look like a synth, honestly. That was kinda the point, no, but still, Gage always figured there had to be some kind of tell to them, something that read fake. Even Gamma, odd and loud as could be, sitting next to him with Gage knowing, looked as human as anyone else. Was the Institute just that good with their abominations of science, or were there more synths out there than Gage ever thought to consider?

Gamma interrupted that line of thinking though, shifting as he could show Gage whatever it was on his Pip-Boy easier. "Just listen." And Gage did, and he heard nothing but static.

"There’s, nothing?" He said, unsure. Maybe that was a synth thing, but he dismissed that idea as Gamma sunk back down to his ass.

"Exactly," he said, pushing back a few strands of purple that fall in front of his face as the radio station played back only static.

"What's supposed to be playing?" He asked, figuring he did owe something to Gamma for saving his life earlier. Maybe letting him... talk was an okay way to pay him back, and one that wouldn't cost him even one cap.

He didn’t say anything at first, tracing the dirt on the floor instead. And it was nice, quiet as the RadAway sunk deeper into his body and sleep pulled him closer. But after a few minutes, Gamma’s voice tugged him back into the conversation.

"It used to play classical music." Quietly, his attention was entirely on the measured static tick up and down on his screen. And strange as it was, Gage did remember that funny little station. The only thing it played were these old instrumental pieces, no voices, no commercials, no updates about why they were going to die today. His mother listened to it religiously, never missing a chance to glare at his father every time he tried to change it to Diamond City radio in her presence. Gage had loathed that station so much as a kid, even as an adult too. It was just so frickin' dull.

But, still, after a hard day, hell if his hands didn’t twist the dial until he found that station once again and let it play for a few songs. Just a reminder how nice it was to be alive.

Until, maybe a year ago, Gage tried to tune into it one day and just, found nothing. Another loss to the ravages of the Commonwealth. He wondered how his mother took that news.

"It was the Institute's station, you know," Gamma smiled sadly. "We did fucked up things with it, of course, but it was ours. If it stopped playing, you know..." Trailing off, he didn't bother finishing that line of thought. It didn't need to be finished. Gage got the jist.

If it stopped playing, it was dead. The Institute was no more.

They sat together for a moment, Gage trying to process that new bit of news and he guessed, Gamma was trying to process the same bit of news albeit in a different context. And Gage thought, maybe he wasn't so wrong actually.

Maybe Gamma was a fuck-up too, just like him, one without a home just trying to survive as comfortably as possible in the fucked-up death trap they knew as the Commonwealth, albeit in a slightly different context than Gage originally had thought.

"So," Gage started slowly, "Why are you here?"

It wasn't the only question still floating around in Gage's mind but, either because of the drugs, the exhaustion or something else, all the others had quieted down for the moment. The Institute was no more. Maybe it was a lie, it was kinda unbelievable, but Gamma never honestly struck Gage as a liar.

He made up stories and played games and loved to mock people endlessly, but he never outright lied to Gage, not in the way most people did. That's why ...this... whole mess stung worse than the Gatorclaw attack or the additional rad sickness. Gamma never lied to him, except about basically everything.

Below him, Gamma just halfheartedly shrugged his shoulders. "Caps are the rule of the land, Gage, you know that."

And honestly, Gage could let this go for the night with that. Betrayal still hummed under his skin like a parasite. He knew this wasn't over, not by a long shot. There still a thousand questions and concerns he had about this, about synths, about the goddamn Institute and about Gamma being Overboss too. But underneath that all, like with Connor and Colter before, his stupid rotten idiotic heart was still telling him to trust Gamma, that he wasn't lying, not about this.

And fuck if he didn't want to believe that.

"I'm gonna put that scope on your gun, okay?" Gamma said quietly, playfully poking Gage in the head as he laid his own head back on the bed.

"Do that and I'll throw you off Fizztop," Gage said back, closing his eyes. Exhaustion tugged him along towards the poppy-filled land of dreams he hated so much. But it wasn't before he saw Gamma’s eyes through his dark shades, the same intense look once again focused squarely on Gage. He had no idea why he found it comforting now, though it was easy to blame to the drugs.

Pulling himself back to his feet, Gamma pressed his ratty clothed mouth right above his ear in an utterly sarcastic feeling kiss. "Oh, Porter, I'd love to see you try."  And Gage could almost feel his lips move into a little grin before his Boss finally walked out of the back room, leaving him to a peace and quiet.

[flying-elliska]

salut ellie! someone once asked you about your writing and you recommended falling in love with language and finding ways of writing you love. i was wondering, what books and/or writing styles are you in love with? it's just so interesting to know what somehow had an impact on the way you're writing bc i honestly adore your style

wow do you remember that ? that is such a flattering question oh my god. well, i’m still working on it. some of my favorites are (i’m very eclectic lmao) : 

- His Dark Materials (it’s a fantasy book series ‘for kids’ but it’s actually insanely deep and philosophic) is pretty much the first book series that made me fall in love with stories, and made me want to write. I think I found it when I was 10, and it completely shaped me. It’s so ambitious and clever, it never talks down to the reader, brings up those amazing worlds and philosophical concepts and is still accessible to kids. Most of all it is so committed to atmosphere, to making it vivid, to really make you go through what the characters are. I’m thinking of it and I can remember exactly certain passages in an almost sensory way : the witch Serafina Pekkala describing what it feels like to feel the Aurora Borealis on her bare skin as she is flying through the arctic. The polar bear Iorek giving Lyra frozen moss to help bandage his wounds after a battle. The grilled poppy heads that the Jordan College scholars at Oxford eat during a meeting. The little Gallivespians on their dragonflies and the way the sun reflects off their poisonous spurs. That’s how you make a story stick ; that’s how you can put in deep stuff without ever making it boring. I am so excited they’re making a tv series because that shit deserves some recognition. And I mean the whole plot about the importance of stories, free will, the horror of religious fundamentalism....always relevant. Philip Pullman’s stuff is great in general, I love his Sally Lockhart series, which is more adult and adventure focused, and is a great deal of fun. And of course, the sequel to HDM he’s been putting out recently. 

- I spent a lot of my teen years reading either crime novels or historical novels. (When I think of some of the stuff I read when I was 13 I’m like oh my god what were my parents doing lmao some of that was really horrible.) And I think it gave me a good feeling for suspense and setting, and how important tension is. One of my all time faves is Andrea Japp. She is a French writer who does mostly crime, involving complex/monstrous woman characters and a very sensory, poetic approach to language, often involving food, plants and poisons. My favorite by her is the “Season of the Beast”/Agnès de Souarcy chronicles, which is a crime series set in medieval times, with a cool independent lady at its core, crimes in a monastery, and this very gloomy end of times vibe that I love. I also read a lot of Scandi Noir stuff, I love the kind of ...laconic approach to life. And again : vibe. Vibe is so important. And Sherlock Holmes stories. I love the Mary Russell series that take place in that universe and are basically a big Mary Sue self insert guilty pleasure but are just. So much fun. 

- I like poetry a lot - not stuff that is too wordy, but something short, sharp and vivid. i think reading poetry is essential to feeding your inner ‘metaphor culture’. I love Mary Oliver. Rimbaud, too, that I read at 17 and rocked my world. One of my underrated faves is  Hồ Xuân Hương, a Vietnamese poet from the 18th century who was adept at using nature metaphors to hide both erotic stuff, irreverent jokes, and political criticism, and correspond with all the great scholars of her time under a pseudonym. Badass.  Recently I bought ‘Soft Science’ by Franny Choi, which is about cyborgs, having a female body, emotions and politics and it’s absolutely brilliant. 

- I love reading fairy tales, too. Currently reading (i always read a lot of books at once lol) Angela Carter’s Book of Fairy Tales, basically fairy tales for grown ups, collected from folklore all over the world, with an amazing kind of gruesome humor and wisdom. Norse mythology is also so damn funny. That one bit with Thor dressing up as a bride or Loki’s shenanigans...amazing. And I like fantasy, I find it very soothing to read for some reason, my fave has to be Robin Hobb and her Realm of the Elderlings series. And Terry Pratchett, especially the series with Death or the Witches. Just brilliant. Neil Gaiman too. 

- I tend to be very impatient when it comes to literary fiction, I find a lot of it is self-indulgent, dreary. I’m a genre reader through and through, I need to be amazed. I loved ‘the Elegance of the Hedgehog’ by Muriel Barbery though. Some stuff by Amélie Nothomb, Virginie Despentes occasionally (they’re French writers with a very dark, wry approach to life, tho the first is more polished acid and the second very punk rock). And ‘Special Topics in Calamity Physics’ by Marisha Pessl is pretentious as hell but a lot of fun, if you like dark academia. Salman Rushdie has a way with language that is amazing. 

- I read a lot of non-fiction. At the moment : the Cabaret of Plants (about the symbolic/socio historical meaning of plants and how they shaped history) by Richard Mabey and ‘Feminist Fight Club’ by Jessica Bennett. One I absolutely love is ‘the Botany of Desire’ by Michael Pollan in which he traces the history of four plant species (apple, potato, cannabis, tulip) and how they impacted us as much as we impacted them. I was obsessed with plants for most of my life as you can see lol (my mother is a herbalist and I wanted to become a botanist for quite a while.). Also philosophy/anthropology in little bits. I love Tim Ingold. Things about witches. Anything by Rebecca Solnit is incredible. 

- I’ve been reading a lot of YA recently, because it’s fun and quick and keeps me reading, and has a lot of good female characters. Big fave recently : Jane Unlimited by Kristin Cashore. It’s about a young bisexual woman who’s grieving and comes to this weird house full of doors, each of which leads to a different path in life, and we follow her through each choice she can potentially make, each of one becomes a different genre of story : creepy ghost story, spy story, sci-fi, cute romance, etc. It’s so innovative and it’s a story that is also bisexual culture at its core. Also I absolutely love love love love love (etc forever) the Raven Cycle series by Maggie Stiefvater. What she does with language is just so cool, because she stays simple and efficient but uses her metaphors in such a fulgurant, vivid way. Some of her lines are just. bam! genius. #goals. Also Ronan Lynch is probably THE character that helped me the most with my coming out. He’s one of my forever faves.  Of course Harry Potter, lmao, I was of the generation that pretty much grew up with him, the last book came out when I was 17. JK Rowling really should just stop rn. But I learned so much from those, about the importance of making your story feel like home, and having a clear emotional journey. And Harry is such a sarcastic little shit, I love him. And I love a Series of Unfortunate Events too, the darkly funny tone of it, the celebration of knowledge and resilience. 

- I think in terms of the classics (I had to read in school lmao), I do like Victor Hugo a lot even though some of his stuff just doesn’t fucking stop. I also like Balzac and his Comédie Humaine, he’s very observant, mean and funny when it comes to people (even though it’s depressing.) Colette is my grandma’s fave writer and she is a rockstar, I love her (also hella bi culture). Jane Austen is great, I read Pride and Prejudice in one night straight, I was so hooked. Love Jane Eyre too. I read On the Road by Jack Kerouac while hopped up on opioid pain killers and that’s probably the only way to appreciate it, but it did mark me.  

- But to be completely fucking candid, I probably read the most fanfic nowadays still. Esp since I got to college, I need to unwind when I read, and having characters you already know can be so comforting. Now, of course, there’s a lot of fanfic that is just fluff (nothing wrong with that) but I honestly really believe in the literary value of fanfic. Because some of that shit simply just really slaps and is well written. But also as a genre on its own : you just simply don’t get so much emotional nuance, and depth in most other things. Because these are characters we already know and the writers are not afraid to be self-indulgent and plot is secondary, we see shades of things that we never see anywhere else, we see relationships developping in the small things and wow that shit is breathtaking, bro, sometimes. The art of infinite variation on a theme. Even though a lot of fic writers could use a bit of stricter editing, and do stuff a bit too many unnecessary details in here, so does Victor Hugo soooooooo....

lol i could go on forever. i love book soooo much. uni kinda killed my reading appetite, I used to read several books a week when I was in middle school. hope i can get back there (although maybe not as much bc i have a life now lol.) but thinking about everything i have yet to read makes me sooooo happy. I want to get more into sci-fi, English lit classics. Basically I like stuff that’s witty, dark, political, hedonistic, with dry humor, but a warm heart. Stories that celebrate knowledge, curiosity and human weirdness. And that gets to the point. When I get bored by a book, I put it down, because I just don’t have the time. I also hate writers where you can tell that they think they’re better than other people. Misanthropy is boring. Thank you for this question anon I had a blast

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Fifty-Eight: In A Garden ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto, Tenten ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

“...you’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

“...but...why?”

“Cuz it’s fun, dude!”

Sasuke deadpans. “...dressing up in costumes and acting, in real time...is fun.”

“Yeah! LARPing is amazing! A few friends of mine from my old school were into it when we were kids! And since I’ve been getting back into contact with ‘em, I asked if they still did it? And they do! And we are totally going to a session and -”

“No.”

“But -!”

“That is the dorkiest thing I’ve ever heard of. I wouldn’t be caught dead doing that.”

“But Sasuke -” Naruto begs, curling fists under his chin. “I told everybody we’d be there!”

“You need to stop making promises on my behalf, Naruto.”

“C’mon, man! You tellin’ me you’ve never wanted to be, like...a badass knight? Or...or a mage? You never played games like that?”

“Yeah. Games. Where I sit and be myself, playing a game. I’ve never thought I should become the game.”

“Dude...do you know anything about cosplay?”

“...yeah. I do.”

“Y’ever looked at some really hot cosplay girls?”

A light tint of pink colors the Uchiha’s face. “...I’ve seen them, yeah.”

“Well, it’s like that...only they actually stay in character. And you get to interact with them, in character! And you can have battles, and sit in a tavern, and look awesome! I promise you’ll have fun. And like I said, it’s mostly people from my old school! You wouldn’t even know anyone there to be all embarrassed in front of!” Naruto nudges him in the ribs. “We’ll get you looking awesome, and they’ll just be impressed!”

Sasuke heaves a long sigh, staring at his friend skeptically. “...and what, pray tell, did you have in mind for me to wear?”

Sensing he’s convinced him, Naruto gives a wide, devious smile. “Oh, I think you’re gonna like it…!”

The event, as it turns out, is being hosted in a large park across town. Good, Sasuke can’t help but think. Fewer chances of being spotted by someone he knows.

Because while he’ll never admit it...he does look awesome. But...that also plays against him for looking like he’s taking this seriously.

Donning a thief build getup, his scheme is black and a midnight blue, with highlights of silver. It’s actually made of leather, for the most part. The armor, at least. He’s got boots, trousers, a tunic...and his armor. A chest plate, bracers, shin guards...the whole works.

And he hates that Naruto was right. Though he tried to resist...the more he looked at himself in the mirror...the more he thought he actually looked...really cool. And he can totally pull off a thief character.

Otherwise, he’s just a human - no pointy elf ears or orc makeup. That...would be taking it  a little far, in his opinion. Wielding a foam dagger, he only has a scar painted over an eye.

You know, just to add to the badass image.

Getting out of Naruto’s car, they soon see the ruckus. A fair number of people - more than Sasuke expects - are out in the grass. A gazebo seems to be a make-believe tavern, coolers of drinks (non-alcoholic - they’re still minors, after all) and food are made up to look like chests. There’s a fair amount of variety in the costumes - both in terms of characters, and of skill level. And no one seems to be ripping on each other. They’re just...having fun. A few people spar with their false weapons...others sit and talk with tankards. One guy even looks to be selling potions...which are just funny colored water.

“Sooo...whaddaya think?” Naruto asks, leaning against his friend to jostle him, wiggling his eyebrows.

“...looks like a nerdfest.”

“An AWESOME nerdfest!” the blond declares, lifting his broadsword. He, of course, is a knight...with armor Sasuke will admit is even more impressive than his own.

“So, where are all the girls?”

“Oh! I think Shikamaru said they were having a, uh...a photoshoot? In the gardens. If I had t’guess, they’re probably all there getting their pictures done before their hair or whatever gets messed up. Wanna go see?”

Sasuke goes pink. “...that won’t be weird?”

“Nah, we’ll just...get our pictures taken, too! It’ll be totally fine,” Naruto insists, waving a hand. “I really do wanna get pictures, though. I want this moment immortalized! Sasuke wearing LARP getup...I’m gonna show your kids.”

“Tch, whatever…”

They head up the hill to where the kept gardens of the park are grown. Sasuke’s been here a few times, but mostly when he was a lot younger. The park really isn’t his favorite haunt anymore. At least, not unless something is actually going on. While his mother used to take him and Itachi all the time in the Summer when they were kids...they’re both a little old for that now. Itachi’s in college, after all.

And, as Naruto said, there’s indeed a few photographers hanging around, snapping pictures of various roleplayers. Most of the ones up here are indeed girls. Barmaids, mages, princesses, knights...anything and everything, really.

“See? What did I tell ya? Aren’t they beautiful?” Naruto whispers, nudging Sasuke again. “Check them out!”

Grunting, Sasuke gives him a glance, not wanting to be...overtly obvious. Pretending to be watching the goings-on, he scopes out a few of them. They’re pretty, sure...but none really catch his eye too dramatically.

“Please, Hina?”

“I-I don’t know about this, Tenten…”

Glancing, Sasuke spies what looks like a weaponsmith talking to a girl in a long coat, which she clings closed with embarrassment.

“But you look awesome! It turned out so great! Shouldn’t you want everyone to see it?”

“I mean...I guess? I don’t know, it’s just...e-embarrassing…!”

“Dude, everyone here is in costume! No one’s gonna make fun of you! We’re all nerds here, right?”

“...r-right…”

“Besides, if anyone gives you trouble, I’ll knock ‘em one!” the one called Tenten assures her, drawing an oversized hammer from a belt at her hip.

Her companion smiles, gaze dropping as the current group moves out from in front of the camera.

“Next?”

“Ooh, us!” Naruto insists, tugging Sasuke forward with a yelp.

“Just you two?” a photographer clarifies.

“Uh...I guess. Unless anyone wants a group shot with us?”

“We’ll join in!”

Everyone looks over to Tenten, who hauls her friend forward by a hand. The other keeps her coat closed. “Got room for two more?”

“Yeah, sure!” Naruto quickly agrees.

“C’mon, Hina! You gotta take the coat off!”

Pink with embarrassment, the one called Hina pauses...then peels the garment aside.

Sasuke’s eyes go wide.

Donning fake elf ears, her hair is long and dark, straight as a blade to her tailbone. Pale lavender eyes match a few layers of her dress, which has several materials of various shades of purple. A delicate circlet with violet gems sits on her brow.

...wow...she looks like the real deal.

She’s beautiful…

“...oi, Sasuke. We gotta pose.”

Snapped back to the present, he blinks, realizing he’s...still in the garden. And everyone’s looking at him. Oh crap, was he staring that badly?!

“Sorry about him, he’s a little spacy sometimes,” Naruto snickers. “Thieves and their short attention spans, amirite? If it’s not shiny, he’s not paying attention!”

Scowling, Sasuke knows he’s trying to cover for him. “...better than starting all manner of brawls just to prove your chivalry, you dunce.”

“Ha! See? Such a kidder…”

...huh...this is actually...kinda fun.

The four of them pose for a few photos before they let someone else have a turn.

“So can we get copies of these?” Naruto asks one of the photographers.

“Yeah, they’ll be on our website.”

“...website?” Sasuke repeats. They’ll be online?!

“What, like anyone you know is gonna be looking at this kinda stuff, right?” the blond counters, pouting.

Likewise, Hinata goes pink. “Tenten...you didn’t say they’d be p-public…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know!”

As their more...exuberant friends try to work out the details, Hinata and Sasuke are left to the side, glancing to each other. “...your costume is amazing,” he offers, trying to make conversation.

That gets her to perk up. “You...you think so? I made it myself!”

“What?! No way!”

“Mhm!”

“Oh...I just bought mine, I’m not...crafty or anything.”

She laughs softly into a hand. “That’s just fine. We all do this differently. I just...r-really like making clothes! Maybe I could make you something sometime, um…?”

“Oh, uh...Sasuke.”

“Hinata.”

“Okay guys, they’re gonna keep ours under a password! Apparently they do that for private shoots, and...they’re making an exception for us! So we can see them, but...no one without the magic word can.” Naruto gives two gloved thumbs-up.

“Oh, g-good,” Hinata sighs in relief.

“Yeah…”

“Now, onward! To the festivities! There’s battles to win and ale to drink!” the blond then announces, leading the charge back down to the belly of the park. Tenten follows with a cackling laugh, wielding her hammer.

“...well, I guess we’re hanging out?” Sasuke asks.

“I guess so,” Hinata laughs.

“...cool.”

                                                        .oOo. 

     ...this is really random xD I kinda wanted to do something else, buuut I don't have a dedicated verse for it (yet), so...maybe another time, lol      I've never done LARPing...I watched a few friends do it BRIEFLY, and uh...they were some of the very low budget kind xD Which is fine! But means in truth, I know very little about it, so...hopefully I didn't get anything wrong, lol!      ANYWAY, I'm FINALLY done with the ship week I was doing on Tumblr, and uh...oof, am I burnt out. I'm surprised I got this done, tbh ^^; So hopefully I'll be a bit more...prompt from now on. And a bit more wordy. Doing two daily writing things at once is uh...a bit much, lol      But anyway, that's all from me for tonight~ I'm very tired, so time to crash! Thanks for reading <3

[adventures-in-progress]

life updates!

so in the spirit of radical authenticity imma be completely transparent about some life stuff shaking out for us right now and why i’ve kinda been on and off the grid for a little over a year now. i’ve realized it’s really difficult to create meaningful connections with people when both parties aren’t being honest and true, so here’s me laying it all out. basically butt naked. i’ve only shared this with like 2 people in real life, so what the heck might as well share this with a bunch of total and complete strangers for the sake of meaningful connection! this is probs gonna be fairly wordy so here’s a page break so i don’t eat up someone’s entire dash haha.

1. since undergoing a lot of personal growth stuff and trying to define what this big adventure called life means for me, it’s been really hard for me to post on here. it just hasn’t felt in alignment for me to do so and trying to be present on here otherwise has felt a lot like forcing it any slapping on a happy face when, in all honesty, there’s been a lot of feeling very not happy. i’ve also felt like i’ve had to fit this certain image that i was when a lot of faces decided to join me on my journey, and so posting on here started feeling a lot like doing it for other people than continuing to do it for myself. so, i stepped back. i didn’t feel like people would understand, i didn’t feel like wanting to remember some heartache and icky stuff that happened, and i didn’t want to post stuff until i wanted to post stuff for me and because it was fun again. it was a healthy break and much needed.

2. i’m finally getting out of a funk that’s lasted a couple months and has been really not fun. i feel like my natural, uninhibited state is joyful and bright and optimistic and that got really tainted and hidden. i lost my hope in humanity and felt like all my dreams and goals were impossible and far from reach. things just felt kinda hopeless and that feeling was so scary because that’s so, so not me. i’m the girl that everyone calls childlike and naive because i believe in dreams and fairies and angels and magic and that love always prevails and that everyone should do what they love, with their soulmate, and live happily ever after. i lost that, and that was terrifying, because i didn’t know how to get back. but i think when you get deep enough into the self help arena, you reach this point where it all really comes down to being happy and doing what you love. regardless of anything. and i think we’re all just looking for permission to do that big, terrifying thing that makes our heart flutter and our stomach churn in knots. at the end of the day, you were born here, on this green and blue ball whirling through space, with your specific dreams and desires for a purpose. and i believe you are meant to do something with that, regardless of whether you receive money, or fame, or recognition for it. i realized over the summer that i’ve spent sooooo much time and energy and emotional investment trying to fix things for people and save people and help them accomplish their dreams, all the while completely neglecting and ignoring my own desires and dreams. and honestly, that’ll slowly kill ya. if you’re not living your life for yourself, why the heck are you even here???? what’s the point???

3. me pursuing running was a total cop out. it’s been my backup plan because i’ve been too terrified of pursuing ~the thing~ and getting my heart broken, so this was the safe alternative. minimal emotional investment. still get to achieve things and work towards something. but here’s the dang thing. the universe/god/whatever you want to call it wants you to do the thing, and is going to do what it can to get you there. cue multiple running injuries and setbacks. like one after the next after the next. it just was not working. and when i finally got to that place where i realized that this was not working, i lost it. because it made me realize that i felt like i couldn’t have running or the other thing. but not because i couldn’t do the thing, but because my brain killed that option off in my head because it wasn’t safe. the emotional risk was too high. what if i gave it my all and failed???? what if it never worked and i never got there???? and many other numerous intense irrational fears. BUT if you don’t ever go for what makes you feel excited to get out of bed even if it makes you want to pee your pants and question your sanity, WHAT IS THE POINT OF ANY OF THIS???? to live a boring, stable, mediocre life? to live a safe life is to choose boredom and misery for the rest of your life because it’s “comfortable” and “safe” according to your brain, and i reached the point that i just couldn’t do it anymore. i couldn’t be miserable and “safe” anymore. it was killing me.

4. so last month, i spent a couple days in an intense, intense internal emotional battle with myself. wanting to commit (let alone admit that i even wanted) to pursuing my dreams, but being so fucking terrified at the same time. and i understand that it sounds so stupid! like looking back, i’m like WHY was that SO hard???? your brain can be a huge pain in the ass, let me tell ya. sweet dan snuggled me one night when i was really struggling and talked me through things while being the voice of reason to my irrational fears and got me to the place where i could finally admit that i wanted to do the thing. and holy moly just admitting to something like that will change your dang life. it was like a woosh of tension and stress and weight just left my body. like that. done.

5. so here i am, like 3 weeks later, finding myself. going back to 7 year old me with the dreams and the joy and the possibility. looking for the good and finding it. mentally committing to going for it, whatever the hell that means or will even look like. but it has radically transformed my life in the best of ways. i’m killing any and all “have tos” and “shoulds” in my life. i’m doing what feels fun and breezy and brings the light back into my eyes. it’s all baby steps, and i still falter and fall, but i can feel where i’m going to be and finding my way back easier and quicker every time. i’m telling you, this is what makes life worth living. 

6. dan’s also realized his life calling and dream this past month (yeah. october’s been real big for us hahah)!!! he’s gone from working at the fbi in d.c. to going to become an agent for the fbi office in milwaukee to meeting me (love will change your life in more ways than you realize) and not realizing what the heck he wants to do, to landscaping, flipping houses, and over the summer realizing he wants to be an architect that specializes in modern, organic, sustainable architecture. we’re looking at schools for him for next fall. :)

7. right now, dan’s boss just bought a new house on lake michigan as the next flip. we’re doing a proposal for a modern flip to this two story ranch in the next week or so, so if that goes through, prepare to see some fun house renovation progress pics! we’re really excited for the opportunity, and my dad (a prominent architect in mke) is overseeing our project and helping dan which is just going to be so, so cool. it’ll be soooo much fun if it happens, so fingers crossed!!!!

oh! if you’re wondering what the heck the thing is for me, it’s horses. it always has been. it’s been in there since is was 5 or 6. i don’t know how this dream is going to shake out, but it’s mine, and i’m owning it.

if you need permission to go for it, if you need a sign, this is it. it is worth it. the universe/god/whatever is not going to give you a dream that it will not fully support you in achieving. you just gotta fucking go for it. it’s scary, but we’re all in this together and there’s nothing more badass and fulfilling than going for it. if you need a dream buddy, reach out. i will 100000% support you.

[b4kuch1n]

two ghosts in Morioh

another day of running around taking care of businesses with my mom. Got some down time in the afternoon and spent it on this. yes Im a fluff writer now. somebody take me out the back

warning for non-plot, terrible poetry (Im serious. Ive never written a poem in english before. its not too nice to the hand), a filler OC thrown in on the spot, lotsa outta-nowhere headcanons, and all else possibly applicable. 

Read on AO3 

Okuyasu finally picked up.

Which was a good thing, because Josuke didn't wanna seem fussy or overbearing. 'twas a lost cause anyway, his mom would tell him, given that he had been anxious ever since he came home from the supposed double date that afternoon, and had walked from one end of the hall to the other over forty time (yes, she counted up until forty), mumbling to himself, hands firmly in his pants' pockets because he knew the moment he stopped holding it tight he would ruin his pomp by running his hand through his hair in frustration. An emotion that he caused to himself, his mom would remind him, because he refused to just walk over to Okuyasu's house and knock.

When the boy in question finally picked up, Josuke was a bit stiff from the draft in the hallway as well as from the tension built up by being stubborn. Okuyasu's voice only just managed to break through.

“Josuke?”

He sounded a bit hoarse. “Yeah, dude, I'm here,” Josuke said. The tension didn't leave him immediately like he hoped. “You didn't come.”

“Fuck, sorry about that. I'm jus'... 'm not in the best mood right now. Didn't wanna ruin it for you guys.”

“Shit, what happened? You okay?” Josuke could hear something fell on the floor with a metallic clunk. “What's that?”

“Oh it's-- 's the paint can. I'm fixin' up big bro's room upstairs. Been meaning to for a while now so... It's.” Okuyasu trailed off.

Josuke felt his shoulders stiffen up a bit more.

“It's some'n to do.”

Josuke bit his lip. After a moment of consciously picking off all traces of anxiety from his manners, he said, calmly, “I'm gonna come over.”

“No, dude, y'don't have to!” Okuyasu immediately barked, with something like panic in his tone. “I'm a bummer right now,” he added, almost sheepishly. “It's dumb, it'll go away on its own. Jus' some'n from the class.”

“Don't even think of it as me coming over to comfort you if that's better.” Josuke had to actively try to stay nonchalant now. “I'm helping with the room fixin'. It's gonna take the rest of the night with just you. That cool?”

He just caught his free hand moving towards his head on its own when Okuyasu sighed and he could hear the paint can being picked up. “Fine. I'm gonna be upstairs, let yaself in when you're over.”

By August 1999, Okuyasu had been sleeping in the guest room downstairs for ten months.

Keicho was a private person, and nobody could blame him at that. No kid would want to leave their toys trailing about when their father was so quick to anger. Keicho had faced so much of that misdirected rage, had put himself between his father and his younger brother so many times, that anything he had that wasn't broken he held on with an almost death grip. His routines, his CD collection, his rules, his own anger. He never learned to let go, and Okuyasu, whom Morioh had given more chances than it ever did his brother, had been feeling something like pity for that, and then guilty for pitying his brother.

He didn't really want to use Keicho's room again, especially when he never got his brother's permission. When Keicho had left balancing the book in Okuyasu's hand, their life became a clash between Okuyasu's fussing about trying to take care of things and Keicho's own rhythm and order, the solution to which that they came up with being that Keicho got the entirety of the second floor to himself. Okuyasu didn't mind – everything was simple with him, really – but after Keicho's death he felt even more out of place in that part of the house.

“It's fine if you wanna seal it off, dude,” Josuke told him one evening when he stayed the night, “you're the one living here. It's not like people know or care about that stuff, either way.” Josuke was smart, but he also believed in courtesy and manners even though he had been subjected to so much of the opposite of that, and it made for a strange kind of trust in humanity. One that was different from Okuyasu's own.

So in the end he decided to only seal Keicho's room. He had been slowly packing everything his brother left behind in the house into small carboard boxes and stashing them in the hallway. He wanted to keep a whole afternoon and evening free just to fix up the room itself, but he didn't think today would be it.

“Yeah, Koichi actually steered me home the moment we were sure you wouldn't show,” Josuke said mid-sweep. “I don't think Yukako mind. Actually I'm pretty sure Yukako doesn't really want me there third wheeling them. Gotta say I was about the same.”

“Sorry for leaving you hangin',” Okuyasu repeated, just as apologetic as when he said it the first time.

“It's not your fault you aren't well, dude,” Josuke stood up straight, free hand in his pocket. “Though a word beforehand would be good. But you were home late from the class, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Goto-sensei holding you up again?”

“Nah, he's nice.” He would be, after Josuke and Okuyasu dragged him out of some serious troubles last month. He was also a nice man in general. Okuyasu thought his writing style really didn't reflect that.

Josuke raised an eyebrow at his answer. Well, Josuke would have a different impression of Mister Goto Azuma, moderately famous novelist, given that the one who had to take a pen in the arm to grab the man (then under a Stand's control) was him and not Okuyasu. That kind of viciousness must keep people wary for a long time. Not to mention the apology gift they got was a place in Goto's ten-hour creative writing course organized by the uni, which was of no use to Josuke, but which Okuyasu snatched right up.

Outside of that event though, Goto-sensei was a mild-mannered, if a bit emotional and wordy person. He had anguish in his heart, sure, but he told Okuyasu once in class, in the tone of someone who was citing their name and age, that he wanted to love everything and anything more than he wanted to wallow in his sadness, so he channeled all of it into his writing and left his personal life free for his other emotions. Okuyasu found that a good way to do things as any.

“I'm gonna trust you on that,” Josuke said after a stretch of silence. Okuyasu grinned. “Anyway, something happened during the writing class then?”

“Yeah-- well, nah, but yeah.” Okuyasu rubbed his hands nervously under Josuke's confused look. “I mean, kinda? Goto-sensei gave us a prompt, and then I wrote something sad, and it bummed me out. 's all.”

Josuke's eyes grew wide. “Oh,” he said, “huh.”

“Yeah, it's dumb. Tolja don't mind it.”

“It's not dumb if it bums you out, dude.” Josuke leaned the broom against the desk and stepped closer to Okuyasu. His pomp looked almost plastic-ish under the buzzing light of the room. Okuyasu blinked when he held his biceps with both his hands. “I like you happy, Okuyasu. We gotta go there somehow, and I'm not a waiting man.”

Okuyasu looked at Josuke, eyes somehow brighter than the light should've made them, hands holding him firm as if willing him to believe. As if that had ever been necessary. He took a deep breath, and broke out in a grin.

“Thought so. You're a musical man.”

“Hell yeah I am.” The grin crept up onto Josuke's face, and he dragged Okuyasu in for a quick hug. “So, what's that piece you wrote today about?”

“I mean, you can read it.”

It must be impossible for Josuke's eyes to grow wider than this. This was maximum wide eye for him. “Really?”

“'s not fine art or some'n, but if you're cool with that, why the hell not. Wait here.”

Josuke waited in Keicho's half-cleaned room while Okuyasu went downstairs to fetch his notebook. Goto-sensei didn't care what his students did with what they wrote after class (“It's yours,” he had said, with passion, “and me telling you what to do with what's inherently yours is against everything I live for. Any experience you have with your own writing is deeply personal and unique, and if that includes setting your drafts on fire and inhaling the smoke, who am I to keep that from you?” He seemed to actually got misty-eyed at that idea.), but Okuyasu liked the man, and he thought keeping the things he wrote in his class in order was a way to show respect to a good teacher. Or it could at least make up for his terrible handwriting.

He flipped through the notebook as he went back upstairs. Man, he wrote more than he thought he did.

“Here,” he handed the notebook – opened to the correct page – to Josuke, who had finished sweeping the room and was bouncing on the balls of his feet in a subdued excitement. Josuke seemed extra careful with his hold on the thing.

“It's a poem?” Okuyasu didn't think that was actually meant to be a question, but he faltered a bit nonetheless.

“It's-- yeah. You aren't into that?”

“Dude, I barely read actual literature no matter what kind, that's not the thing. I'm just... poems are supposed to be even more about emotions than, like, novels and shit, right? I, uh...”

Josuke bit his lip. Okuyasu tried to follow the thread of logic.

“Goto-sensei said our writing is whatever we will it to be. If ya worry this won't be manly and cool, I'm gonna. I'm gonna will it into being for ya.”

“It's not that, dummy.” Josuke smacked him over the head with the notebook. He was smiling again though, so Okuyasu didn't mind. “I just don't think I can get the whole experience without you, like, walking me through it. Since you're the one with the emotions in this poem and all. So can you...”

Okuyasu grabbed the notebook. He looked at Josuke, and then at the words on the page between them, and then tentatively finished that hanging thought. “...recite it for ya?”

“Forget it if it bums you out again, okay?” Josuke held his hands up. “I'm cool either way. I wanna read it properly, sure, but if it's gonna ruin the night for you then forget it.”

Okuyasu stood there with his own notebook in his hand, with his boyfriend, in his brother's room that they were cleaning. He looked at Josuke, and then up at the buzzing light, and then at Keicho's CD collection on the shelf, newly dusted.

Finally he took a deep breath and said, “I'm not gonna hold onto it like that, dude.” And then he took Josuke's hand and said, “Let's come up to the roof for a bit.”

They left Keicho's room behind and went up to the attic, from where they climbed their way awkwardly up onto the Nijimuras' newly re-tiled roof. August was too early to feel chilly at night in Morioh, but there were winds, and the sky was wide open. Okuyasu thought it was a good place as any to give the poem a reading.

They settled on the warm tiles, and then Okuyasu had to stand up to go get a flashlight, and when he came back to the roof Josuke was still there – as if he would go away the moment Okuyasu blinked – the notebook balanced on his thigh.

“Ready,” Josuke said once Okuyasu had sit back down snug next to him, partly as a question and partly as a confirmation of his own status, and Okuyasu nodded.

“Alright.”

Okuyasu had never recited a poem before. His mom was a storyteller when she was alive, but there was a long stretch of time during which her conditions worsened slowly and the occasions lessened until both her and the stories were gone. His dad wasn't a wordy man, not outside of anger and grief. Keicho really would rather have silence than a human voice outside of his own, and again Okuyasu couldn't blame him for that. Or even question it, really, not when Keicho had his CDs and treasured them so. Outside of all that, Okuyasu had also never been good at school. He had other things to do, and the few literature classes he actually sat in for never saw him chosen by a teacher to read anything out loud from the textbook.

So, Okuyasu didn't really know what he was doing, no. But he was also a simple man, and right now it was doing it or not doing it. And Josuke had casted his vote – the only one that counted here and now.

“It's called 1999,” he said, and found his voice a bit raspy. He didn't figure out to clear his throat.

Cigarette butt on the ground

he chose one to pick up

and hold like a torch

Hand over head

Whispers like smoke

flow

1999

numbers he carried

one

in his left pocket

on the pad

along the line

into the waves

it's important, that's what he said

Cigarette butt in the air

His hand red

His eyes red

through them, the sky orange

twilight is for a while,

if statues are the same

1999

replays dissolve

into statics

into waves

away

one

on his lips

I didn't mean it like that,

or was it

I never told him,

or even

I don't think he knows,

that's what he said

Cigarette butt against the sky

futile

1999

variables

one

dissolved into the waves

my name is doubt,

and his I never got

1999

I met two ghosts in Morioh.

They were quiet a long time after that. When Josuke spoke up, he sounded like he just cried a bit. “Dude, that's so fucking sad.”

Okuyasu tried to keep himself from shining the flashlight on Josuke to see if he really had been crying. “For real? I don' even know what it's exactly about anymore. Jus' a buncha, uh, concepts put together randomly.”

“It got emotions into me, alright? So it's good to me, deal with it.”

“It makes you sad!”

“It's good sad though. Like listening to a late artist's album sad.” Josuke threw an arm around Okuyasu's shoulders. “That's how art is.”

“Sure,” Okuyasu harrumphed, but then smiled to himself, just a bit.

The two sat there on the roof well into the night. At one point they found their hands intertwined; Okuyasu let himself lean into the contact, flashlight and notebook laid aside, essentially forgotten. Late night breeze felt like sleep.

“The point of that poem is that I love you,” he said, and let it be.

The hand in his own tightened, and Josuke replied, with all the conviction his being could store, “I know, dude. Love you too.”