#I dropped everything and willed a doodle page into existence

[phlurrii]

I cannot sleep and I am curious about your take on this random conundrum I am faced with that I was wondering your take on because I love how you are able to depict dynamic movement and action in your art and animations.

So, I absolutely LOVE it when the typically cutesy being that is Mew is depicted as a feral godly beast and I am so utterly in love with Meau’s truly powerful design. An absolute apex predator. However, my brain is hung up on a frustrating detail. If they weren’t floating everywhere all the time how would they like… prowl? Or chase down something. They’ve got these nubby little arms and these looooong legs.

Like. I’m trying SO hard to imagine something that could anatomically work because as eery as floating can be there’s something satisfying about feeling in the weight of a creature through its gait. But all I can picture with their body shape is…hopping. Just a murderous psychic kangaroo cat god bounding towards something but like…It’s kind of silly? I’m sure irl that would probably be absolutely terrifying to see a kangaroo bouncing at you with malicious intent but… it’s hard to picture it as an intimidating movement.

The slow predatory prowl or the fast thumps of heavy clawed paws of something huge and large sharp teeth that quadrupeds have is so a satisfying in a heart racing way. I WANT a Mew or Mew-ish creature to be able to have that vibe while connected to the earth that but then I look at those LONG footers and nub paws and I…I’m left feeling like it’s not possible.

Even for Meau like…their arm to leg ratio…I don’t think it’s possible to run on all 4s. Naruto-run sure. Absolutely. All the mews and twos can Naruto run and kangaroo-hop with them leggies…but none of them move with the “tiger on the hunt in the forest” vibes. I want to make something close to that but I keep making something too permanently quadrupedal in anatomy.

Sorry for the tired brain rambling I just my brain won’t let me sleep because of it’s “How would Meau run down their prey on foot” thoughts sending me in a spiral.

You see- you see, I have the same. Exact, brain worms. Constantly.

When I made the Ancient mew, I wanted something feral, a physical threat. That happens to be psychically able to obliterate you as a side treat. In my earliest comics, I tried so hard to demonstrate she was a power house, so much so her mega evolution is entirely just… that. A massive, wall of steel. Meau tore those scientists limb from limb, literally, with her jaw. Even in mew form, she bitch slapped a nidoking with her tail and kangaroo kicked a persian. She could’ve just shadowballed them, sure, but I want that weight. That feral energy, that sense of an unstoppable force, meeting an immovable object, except it’s just one cat and they are about to flatten you.

As her design has clearly evolved, I’ve tried to make alterations that fit this feeling, that vibe of apex predator no matter the size. She’s larger then average because she’s a threat, she’s more muscular because she’s a threat, her tail is thicker, packed with said muscle because she’s a threat, her front paws are meaty and girthy because She’s. A. Threat. Her entire mega evolution is just amping up that primal energy of raw, unadulterated strength. That’s why I made it, it was my first freaking thought after I designed her XD

I was actually caught between animating a younger Meau acting like a mew or an current Meau acting like a threat. I went with younger Meau cuz we don’t see a lot of her and she’s about to come up with Noe’s arc. So if you sent me this lovely and viciously relatable brain dump 3 days ago, I probably would’ve swayed to animate feral meau XD

But, to answer your question, yes. She can absolutely hunt you down on all fours and disembowel you with her jaw, she is that untamed, wild concentration that kills with a sleek efficiency fellow gods fear. And! At the end of our current arc we’ll finally get that secondary typing reveal I’ve had planned since April XD

[yeocult]

ATEEZ as students studying

HONGJOONG:

king of self-care! but studies for 15 minutes then take a 2 hour break and calls it self-care (omg he thinks he’s me or smth)

has power naps every single day at least 30 mins because he’s Stressed

always thinking of ways to drop out during the middle of lectures

that one kid that talks to nobody & sits at the back of the class with his hood on to hide his airpods

doesn’t do it anymore bc one time it disconnected and “there’s some whores in this house” blasted out loud & now he’s paranoid

shows up to group studies but lets the group carry him,,, but he puts out One Really good idea to get his name on the paper

only cares about topics he’s interested in, other than that he’s just astral projecting

“yo can you send me your answers so i can compare mine?” but he copies it and says “we got the same answers” (all men do is lie</3)

calculates his marks; “ok so i need at least a 80 on this...oh wait no, a 95...damn okay...”

the type to arrives late with ice coffee

SEONGHWA:

wakes up at 5 am to study instead of staying up

scented candles and lofi music for the ~studying mood~

a linguistic learner

learns best by teaching others so he’ll do group studies often to help other people

teaches people without making them feel dumb

uses grammarly for his emails with 3 paragraphs asking 1 question with a proper greeting and a ‘sincerely, park seonghwa’

professor: ok - sent from iphone

you’ll never see him during exams week, he’s Gone

a loyal user of the outline method

his desk must be cleared at all times! a clean workspace makes it easier to focus

brings extra pencil just in case anyone needs them bc he’s the sweetest person ever (he’s fully aware that he’ll never get them back but it’s okay bc sharing is caring)

does his readings on time (you’ll never catch him slacking)

actually has his shit together for the most part 1/2

YUNHO:

writes “i love you” or “sorry” at the end of his tests (that he bombed)

the type to ask you to print “just one thing real quick” and it’s 15 page and at 2 am

uses emojis like :D & \(^o^)/ when sending emails to his professors

has a bad habit of copying word for word on the slide and he doesn’t actually understand/learn anything

goes to the library bc he thinks that’ll help him be in the ~studying vibe~

it doesn’t. ends up texting or watching youtube gameplay

has never heard of the colour-coding system in his entire life and ends up with a page filled with neon highlight

snacks breaks are the only thing keeping him Normal

leaves himself an encouraging note at the end of the reading page so when he’s finished he feels good !!

friends with all of the professors and uses all office hours

strongest points are his guessing skills in multiple-choice questions (process of elimination ftw!)

he tries his best, doesn’t care about marks that much because he knows it doesn’t determine him (and he’s right!)

YEOSANG:

probably runs a studyblr/gram

has the cutest note ever, his handwriting is so pretty!!

he thinks that buying an ipad pro & apple pencil will make him smarter

likes it bc he can doodle on it then erase them easily :”)

has to wear blue ray glasses because of how he looks at a screen so much

mildliners, muji 0.38 gel pen, 6 ring binder, minimal planner, washi tapes, you name it! he visits muji and daiso every other week

buys wayyy too many planners and notebooks which he never ends up using

only uses pastel mildliners because they’re easy on the eyes. cringes every time he sees yunho’s highlighters v_v

his flaw is that he spends 10 mins writing his header with brush tip pens

mutes the group project gc but gets his part done like the good classmate he is

sweats every time he gets an assignment back, takes a whole ten minute to mentally prepare himself

a visual learner; makes mind maps, flow charts, etc

actually has a working printer that he uses pretty often to prints lessons before class just to be Extra prepare

tells everyone he slept well but his bullet journal habit tracker for sleep says otherwise (plz rest!!)

exclusively uses college ruled paper like the sane person he is

SAN:

uses wide-ruled paper (unfortunately not everyone is perfect</3)

starts off very positive, motivated, and organized

then everything goes downhill by the second week

will definitely set byeol on top of his keyboard, take a picture, and send it to his professor as an ‘excuse’ as why he needs an extension (it works)

can’t sit still for any longer than 30 mins, his legs are always bouncing or fidgeting with pen

flashcard king! spends a lot of time on them but it’s worth it

a utensil chewer (always willing to share his pencil but when ppl saw the bite marks they’re like No Thanks >_>)

can’t study well with groups or himself bc he’ll be distracted,,, so he needs one person that can ground him bc when they’re in the zone, he will too be on his x game mode

sends his assignment at 11:58 pm hoping his professor will take the Hint (plz don’t be afraid to ask for help u_u)

prefers listening to ghibli studio soundtracks but then he either gets emotional or sleepy

sometimes forget to mute his mic and we just hear him groaning in frustration

“haha sorry i just stubbed my toe...”

then mutes his mic and goes back to his mental breakdown

MINGI:

the only person that studies every single day just to get his brain used to the information and running

probably listens to anime op or edm music for that Energy Boost

everyone either hates or love him because...

1. loves him bc he always comes clutched with study guides (and willing to share if he likes you enough)

2. he’s good at everything even if he’s not paying attention/doing it last minute

just naturally good at retaining information and applying them

asks Big Brain question that even the professors are shook

sometimes he gets super into the topic and wants to know Everything

���i’ve never failed an exam in my life” and he’s right! big brain mingi

fetal flaw is that he forgets easily (hence why the last minute) and has to write on his palm as a reminder

clicks his pens All the time so he switched to pens with caps just to keep others from jumping him

takes naps 10 mins before classes

actually has his shit together for the post part 2/2

“if no one got me, i know khan academy and quizlet got me. can i get an amen”

WOOYOUNG:

y’all know that one mf that doesn’t have a pencil?

yea he’s been using the same one someone lend to him before a test and never returned it

it’s been two months and it’s still working well and they’re never going to get it back

a minimalist,,,, but in a bad way</3 bc he carries his stolen pencil and paper that he spilled his energy drink over and that’s about it

just throw loose papers in his bag and forgets about their existence

doesn’t do binders or notebooks, just crumbled up paper

sometimes carries a textbook just to show everyone that he’s got his life together

really noisy for No reason, always wants to know other’s marks

a kinesthetic learner

hides his screen with he gets the kahoot questions wrong (you’ll never catch him slippin)

plays coolmathgames.com during class

doesn’t really know what to study/prioritize so he overwhelms himself with every single topic ever

thinks he’s god by pulling an all-nighter to look at the 60+ slides last minute

Swears he’ll change and do better next semester,,,</3

goes to the cafe, takes pictures of his notes & laptop, post it on his story, then leaves

JONGHO:

thrives off of red bull and ice americanos

gets notes and study guides from his upperclassmen because everyone loves jongho

an audio learner so he’ll probably work out or go on a jog while listening to lessons/audiobook

never pulls all-nighters bc it messes up his sleep schedule and says he’ll do it in the morning but he never does

doesn’t even own a highlighter, he’ll circle or underline stuff with a red or black pen

has never touched a textbook in his life

only the study guides and slides, his textbook is collecting dust rn

his notes are literally Only for him because his handwriting only makes sense to him

has questionable handwriting,,, it’s like decoding

multitasks a lot but it ends up taking a lot longer than he wanted to (bc it’s a myth)

very spontaneous; he’ll grind for 5 hours straight but sometimes he won’t even touch a pencil

works best when he talks about the work in groups and share information with each other, like having a convo about the topic

unmutes his mic Once after the lesson to say “bye”

does his work right after the lessons but then takes a short break & doesn’t even Look back for the rest of the night

-

a/n: tag yourself ! i’m a bit of hohong (i projected myself on all of them in some way lmaooo)

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 26

Read on AO3.�� Part 25 here. Part 27 here.

Summary: You're not sure what Ren is thinking. You're not sure what you're thinking, either.

Words: 2900

Warnings: Handmaid’s Tale AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I feel like every time I try to write this fic, I'm just... like... "Oh, let's try an action scene. Oh, let's try to write a party. Oh, let's fuckin', uh, inject some attempt at connection and emotion"? I don't know, haha. Reply down below if you think Anna be doin' too much.

That being said, the support and engagement I receive from y'all truly makes my day and week and life better. Every single comment is so special to me, I don't take any of it for granted. I feel so lucky and love y'all so much. Thank you! <3

The Knight stepped forward as you crossed the gate, a black wall of carbon and fabric, the pointed red cross on the breast of his cape the only break in the shadow. “Commander Ren requests your presence.”

You stopped, tossing a glance over the masked man before nodding. An escort wasn’t typical--not for you, anyway. “Well. Lead the way.”

The Knights Templar had been patrolling Kylo Ren’s property since before he’d returned from the hospital. After he’d called them to Snoke’s to alter the scene, his home had been monitored by at least three of them at any given time. One had gone with you when you were questioned by the Eyes--thanks to Christine’s report that a guard had killed Commander Snoke, you’d been given the benefit of the doubt and released in silence. A good thing, too, since otherwise they might have discovered the suspiciously bloody handprints on your tits.

Today, you spotted two of the Knights at the front gate and two posted at the side-yards--meaning the last two were in the back. You’d only ever seen all six the first day they’d arrived.

He turned, the flutter of his cape revealing the rifle strapped across his torso, and marched up the driveway, past Ren’s Audi, guiding you into the home. The bag in your hand seemed just ounces heavier as you trailed him, heart fluttering at the thought of seeing your Commander. It’d been over a week since you’d spoken. Your last conversation hadn’t gone well.

In a way, it’d been almost a relief on your poor body as it recovered from the concussion, the welts, the hickeys, the scabs on your knees and back. Even your cunt was grateful for a breather--you hadn’t realized what several days of being constantly, aggressively fucked by Kylo Ren’s massive dick had done for your pain tolerance.

That being the case, you would’ve been lying if you said that you hadn’t spent the days since your last tryst remembering the taste of copper on his tongue, the slickened slip of blood on your clit, how he’d looked coated in crimson under the summer sun as the heat of victory, of unity had pumped through you both. That connection had cracked open your ribs, lead your foolish heart to slaughter with the promise of security in your Commander’s arms. You weren’t delusional to believe that he wanted you as more than his Handmaid--no, the delusion had been the belief that he’d ever see you as his equal.

The Knight led you through the home, and you dropped off your bag in the kitchen--Emma and Rose were clattering away, and you heard Johana’s voice, a needle in your ears.

“No, no, don’t be stupid. Those don’t go there. Emma, will you start the tomato salad for the bruschetta, already? We need at least three different hors d'oeuvres--do you want to be shipped off to the Colonies?”

“Ms. Johana, please, I’m just now--”

“Get to work.”

You frowned. It sounded as if they were preparing for something, but what it could be, you didn’t know. The thought of another dinner party made your stomach roil.

The doors to Kylo Ren’s den were closed when you arrived--the Knight pushed one open, standing solid as he waited for you to enter. Glancing between him and the floor, head bowed, you passed through, and the door shut behind you.

In the light of the day, Ren seemed significantly less suffocating--but no less heady, no less beguiling. He leaned back in his chair, dressed in an open white linen shirt that revealed a ridiculously tempting patch of clavicle. Documents sprawled out in front of him, a fountain pen in his hand. His eyes were dark, full lips pursed as he watched you enter, following your footsteps and swaying skirts as you sat across from him. The bandages were gone, now, and you saw his scar, a pretty pink thread that stretched from his brow to his neck. He swallowed, and the line of it shifted with the motion of his throat. Your fingers itched, wanting to trace it.

“It’s been over a week.”

“So it has.”

You felt more awkward than indignant--you and Ren had plenty of ideological spats, but you’d typically resolved those arguments using your tongues for a completely different purpose. Now, he was solidifying his hold on Gilead as the Lead Commander, and his extended absence from your life had frustrated the tear you’d made in your relationship. Speaking with him now felt like taking a nail file to your teeth.

Gesturing over your shoulder, you said, “Is the Knight Templar really necessary?”

Ren glanced at the closed door, then to you. “You fail to understand how precarious a transition of power can be.”

“But for me?”

He blinked, gaze drifting to the papers, a slow breath gathering and leaving his chest through his nose. “I will ensure that nothing will ever happen to or harm you while you are in this home.” His eyes drilled you to your seat. “Or in my presence.”

“Oh.” Heat tingled your cheeks. “I see.”

The awkwardness refused to cease. It was like cotton, clogging the channels of communication. In the silence, Ren continued to review and add notations to the forms on his desk--they looked to be bylaws or something similar--so you decided to occupy your hands, too. You sat forward, snagged a pen, a piece of scrap paper he’d discarded to the side, and began to doodle. Even before Gilead, you’d never been particularly skilled with art, but your hands had rusted from years of being denied the ability to hold a pen. It felt unwieldy, the lines you made wriggled like worms across the page.

“Anyway.” You started to sketch what you hoped appeared like vines--they were shaky, trembling strands with misshapen blobs for leaves. “Why did you ask me here?”

He considered you for a moment, watched you draw. “Last time we spoke,” he said, “you said there was nothing I could do to make your existence as a Handmaid bearable.” He paused as you tried to create another stem of vines. “I disagree.”

You sighed, not bothering to meet his gaze. “Unless you can destroy Gilead, it never will be.”

“You could be my advisor.” His voice was soft, but certain. “Help me create a new order.”

A pause--you were frustrated with the way these leaves were turning out, anyway--and you glanced up at him, brow cocked. “How could I possibly advise you?”

Ren took his own pen and placed it to your paper. “I want to know your thoughts.” The ink spilled in a gorgeous, swooping arc as he drew a single stem and leaf. “Lead with your wrist.” A tiny, teasing smirk quirked the corner of his lip. “You offer critique so freely otherwise. Wouldn’t it behoove me to make use of it?”

You made another attempt, starting a new stem, guiding your pen across the paper as Ren had suggested. “I don’t want to be around the Council as your Handmaid advisor.” Half of you was playing along. The other half was traitorously curious.

“Then you’d be the advisor in my home.”

“No thank you.” The pen slipped as you added sloppy detail. You sighed. “That isn’t an equal.”

“Then you’d come with me.” He flicked tiny veins into the leaf he drew. “Use simple lines.”

“Well, I don’t want to do that.” You tried to imitate his movement, but your motor skills were clunky, unfinessed. “Any other awful offer you’re willing to make me?”

“You could sleep in my bed.”

Everything paused--your hands, your breath, your thoughts. You couldn’t think to move.

“And still wear this uniform.”

“No.”

You exhaled, your gaze traveled from his strong hands, up the thick muscles of his arms, past the sheen of skin at his chest and neck, landing on his own eyes. Streams of sunlight cast amber irises in gilded vulnerability, the constant void in his pupils filled now with something present and deep, a trench of new, tender need. He was seeking you, inviting you to a forbidden place you’d never dreamed you’d go--the technicalities seemed distant and secondary to the urgent ache you’d felt for his company. He swallowed again. The scar bulged.

But Johana, clinging to meaning. But the Resistance, whom you’d avoided since the coup. But the other Handmaids, languishing in the beds of their Commanders against their will. The thought of waking up in Kylo Ren’s arms filled you with a warmth that nearly choked you, scorched your heart with its heat. That warmth was drowned, almost immediately, in a blizzard of dreadful reality. You could never be his equal. He didn’t even know your name.

Wetting your lips, you started a new bundle of vines in the corner of the page. “Do you ever feel empty?” you asked. “Lost?”

For a moment, Ren didn’t respond, only followed your fingers as they worked to pull the image in your mind to life. Then he moved, pushing his fountain pen on the paper, working in the corner opposite of yours, whirling tapered black lines into an abstract plant design. You glimpsed his work with a bizarre pang of jealousy, but you continued, scrawling your best imitation into your own space. It felt easy to talk, like this, focused on your busy hands.

“You know,” you said, “the only thing that’s made me feel alive in the past three years is being with you.” You looped one of the stems to the middle of the page, adding a couple of ugly, thick-veined leaves. “But maybe before that, too. I don’t know. When you do stuff like this, it makes me feel worse. “

He swiftly swirled a long, naked vine. It came close to touching one of yours. “Worse.”

“Have you ever known something was wrong…” You weren’t sure how to finish the sentence. More and more stems piled up in your corner, encroaching on his work. “Have you known something was wrong, but felt like… the only way you can even think about taking your next breath is if you do it?”

Ren stopped. The pen bled a fat daub into the paper. When you looked up, his mouth was parted. He was gazing into you.

“Yes.”

Your eyes were chained to his, your breath hollow in your chest, fingers withering with weakness, your pen tumbling from your grip.

“And have you--have you felt like doing the right thing… but knew that it would be impossible?”

He wasn’t breathing, either--he was only staring, memorizing something.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Always.”

You blinked and wet your lips, wondering how he could survive with the same constant, crushing pain on his chest and in his mind. Ren regarded you in stillness, an awakened honesty pulsing between you.

“How do you live?” you asked. “I… It feels like I’m…”

“Dying.”

“Yes.” You sat forward, nodding. “Yes. Dying. Like… my actions don’t even matter. Like I don’t even…”

He broke from your gaze, scanning the piece you’d both created, your vines reaching desperately for each other from the corners, separated by empty white space. “Have a choice.”

“Yes.” The heat of understanding burned through you. “How do you do it?”

Ren glanced up, the severity in his stare shrouding him in shadow. “I destroy it.”

Air stuck in your throat. “What?”

“Until it is nothing.” His face betrayed no emotion. “I destroy it.”

Perhaps that’s where you differed. You hadn’t tried to destroy that feeling. You’d tipped headfirst into it, choked on it, allowed it to consume you. Underneath its weight, you’d suffocated, starving for respite that didn’t exist.

“That’s how being with you makes me feel.”

His chest fell, air escaping his nose. “Yet you were there.”

“What?”

Ren took your hand in his, led you to pick up your pen, curling his long fingers around yours. His grip brought you refuge, its firm warmth guiding you through slow, sweeping motions until you’d grown a beautiful shoot of vines on the page. Throat tight, you watched his face under a new lens, his features now in soft focus, skin kissed by light, hair shifting over his cheeks.

“You could’ve run. Let me die.” His hold tightened, sparks shooting between your skin as he led you through darting veins in a leaf. “You didn’t.”

Words wouldn’t leave. You could only sit as he released you, allowed you to admire your collaboration. His side of the page had branched into a bloom of abstruse lines, black rivers running through the paper, not entirely vines, but precise and pretty all the same. Your side was less complex, crafted with a child’s hand, but a clear attempt at plantlife--thin, shaky stems snaking from the corner, ovals tacked on as leaves. Then there was the patch you’d drawn together. That part filled the center, entirely different from your creation and his own, a gorgeous weave of coiled fronds that crawled to three-dimensional life.

A shiver rippled up your spine. You met his eyes for the hundredth time, but drowned in them as if it was the first.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, not sure what you were referring to, anymore.

Ren’s lashes fluttered at his cheeks. His lips seemed pinker. “Practice, little bird.” After a moment, he drew a deep breath. “Johana’s hosting a party this evening. For my installation.” He pushed the pens to the side. “I left a dress in your room. I want you to wear it.”

Your heart seized, and you shook your head. “What?” you asked. “A dress?”

“Yes.” His face fell in a mask of disinterest. “You’d said last time we spoke you wanted more than what you have.”

“But…” Johana. The Council. The other Commanders. “Everyone else…”

“Gilead will bend to my design.” He sniffed, folding the drawing and placing it in his desk. “You’re part of that design.”

Heat flooded your face. “Oh.”

There was that feeling again--the same one that burgeoned between you, twisted you in its temptation, that robbed you of rationality. The one Ren sought to destroy, the one that you wanted to surrender to. You despised him. And you couldn’t wait to wear whatever stupid fucking dress he’d picked for you.

“Vic,” Ren called out. The door opened, the Knight stepped through. “Escort her to her room.”

Nodding, you stood, heading toward the door. Before you crossed the threshold, you glanced at him a final time. He was watching you.

“I’ll see you this evening.”

You swallowed. “Yes, Commander.”

It was strange, walking the halls with a silent usher--and having him wait until you closed yourself in your room was even stranger. You stood, waiting for the Knight’s footsteps to descend the staircase before you ran to your tiny dresser, tearing open the drawers to reveal the dress Ren had hidden there. Hands shaking, face hot, you grabbed it and shook it out, flipping it under your scrutiny.

It was still conservative--a high neck, long sleeves. But the fabric was a soft, pink chiffon, draped to the waist, a design that would skim your figure, but not reveal it. Round fabric buttons concealed the collar, cutting through a window of gauzy lace. You twirled it, admiring the flutter of the hem, imagining how it would feel on your skin. The longer you stared, the shorter your breath became, mind swarmed with thought. How would it feel, to walk through the home wearing this, to feel the brush of something over than starchy cotton at your ankles? How would your Commander react, seeing you in it? Fire stormed your skin, made your thighs squeeze together at the mere thought of him gazing at you, mesmerized, captivated--

Why did this excite you, when you were still his property? Perhaps it was that promise of respite, this dress your brief gasp of air before you would be plunged back into a sea of misery. Or perhaps it was the way he’d looked at you, the sincerity in his eyes, the throb in your pulse that lingered from his hand around yours.

His reaction was one thing, though. What about everyone else?

Knowing you’d be a Handmaid out of uniform sent your heart into your throat, had you considering tossing the damn dress out of your window and burying yourself in your sheets. It wouldn’t just be Ren seeing you--it’d be his Wife, his colleagues, his would-be supporters. The fact that you’d be wearing this flowy, hispy thing in front of all of them inspired a rush of unearned horror through your head, so thick you could swim in it. Yet your status in society could hardly sink any lower. Other than scandal, what response did you truly have to fear?

After all, there was another feeling, too, a burbling bubble at the base of your brain.

Vindication.

Yes, you were special, you were more than a Handmaid, and while you were still stuck on this awful hell-rock, you’d prove it to them. You’d prove it to them all.

Tossing the dress on the bed, you wrung out your arms, ears aflame. Outside, birds twittered in chorus, their song an echo of the melody in your chest:

Hopeful. Jubilant. Naive.

[blurry-fics]

English Class

Pairing: high school!Tyler Joseph x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1964

Request: could i request something related to the rose colored boy series? as i’ve said i love that story a lot haha. but maybe just a little imagine about how they met each other and their first impressions?

Author’s Note: As stated in the request, this is part of the Rose Colored Boy storyline! Their meeting in english class was mentioned on multiple occasions, so here it is for you to read :) I hope you enjoy it! Also, yes, I have listened to Level of Concern and I love it!! (picture credit)

Your POV

Music blasted in your headphones as you made your way through the halls towards your English class. Your fingers were wrapped tightly around your backpack straps, tucked into your sides to avoid bumping into anyone. Getting to English class was always the worst part of the day since you had to walk all the way from one end of the school to the other through crowds of juniors and seniors who were just getting back from lunch, hence the tucked in arms and loud music to move quickly and drown everything out.

You were relieved when you finally made it to the English hall. There were only a few kids hanging out outside of their classrooms, mostly talking to friends and putting off going to class as long as they could. They hardly gave you a second glance as you walked past and ducked into your own classroom.

You started to head for your seat out of habit until you realized that Julie was sitting in it, scrolling idly through her phone. Confused, you turned towards the projector to see if there was some warm up activity about sitting at a different table. Your stomach practically dropped when you realized that there was a new seating chart. You had just gotten comfortable enough to make small talk with the people you had previously been sitting with.

After a minute or so of working out how the seating chart was aligned, you figured out where your new seat was and sat down in it. Your table partner, Tyler, had already arrived and was scribbling something down in a bent notebook. He glanced up at you and smiled as you took a seat, but didn’t say anything.

Probably because of the headphones.

You snuck a glance at Tyler when he seemed particularly wrapped up in whatever he was doing. The two of you had never talked before, but you knew a little about him. He was one of the kids from the other middle school that a couple of your friends had gone to; they were always talking about how they had huge crushes on him in seventh grade, but he had never really been interested. You could see why they thought he was cute, his eyes were nice and the brief smile he had given you was enough to make your stomach flip. That, and he played basketball; that was always a bonus in your friends’ eyes.

He started to turn in your direction, so you quickly made yourself busy by unzipping your backpack and pulling out your designated english notebook. The front was already covered in doodles from the friend that you used to sit next to in this class, but now she was on the other side of the room. From the looks of it, she was having no problem making friends with the new people that she was sitting with. Your table, on the other hand, was largely ignoring each other’s existence.

When the bell finally rang, you paused your music and tucked your headphones away into your pocket. You were only a few months into the school year and had already received numerous warnings about listening to music in class. Mr. Brown had even said that if he caught you one more time, there would be detention involved. You weren’t really looking to have to explain that to your parents… or Carter, for that matter.

“Alright, class! Good morning! I’m happy to see that all of you were able to find your new seats,” Mr. Brown said, making his way towards the front of the room. “I will be using that to take attendance today, so please make sure that you are sitting in the correct spot so that you don’t get marked absent. While I do that, I would like you to take a few minutes to introduce yourselves to your table members. You will be working closely together during the next unit, so I want you to at least know each other’s names. Go ahead.”

You slid a little farther down in your seat, not wanting to be the first to introduce yourself. Thankfully, Tyler was more than willing to start everyone off.

“Hi, my name is Tyler.”

He looked to you and raised his eyebrows. You cleared your throat and sat up a little straighter.

“Y/N,” you said, forcing a smile.

The rest of the table introduced themselves and then went quiet, getting back on their phones or making faces at their friends across the room. You idly tapped your pencil against the cover of your notebook.

“What music were you listening to?” Tyler asked.

The question took you by surprise. Sure, your friends had told you that he was talkative at times, but you never really expected him to talk to you. You stopped leaning on your hand and turned to face him.

“Oh, you know, just random stuff,” you said, too embarrassed to give him the actual answer.

“That’s cool,” he nodded.

“Do you… ever… listen to music?”

Really?

“Yeah, I’m really into music.”

“Who do you listen to?”

Tyler shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “I think The Killers and Death Cab for Cutie are my favorites right now, but it’s always changing.”

“My brother really likes The Killers, he’s constantly playing their music while he does homework.”

“Same, I listen to their music when I practice basketball, usually.”

“You play basketball?”

Yes. You already knew the answer.

“Yeah, I’ve been playing since I was little.”

“Are you going to try out for the basketball team?”

You were surprised by how easy conversation with Tyler was becoming. Maybe it was the encouraging smile on his face or the fact that he hardly even blinked when you were stumbling over your words. Either way, you were beginning to be thankful for the seating arrangement change.

“I’m thinking about it, but I’m not sure that I would be good enough.”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he smiled. “I guess I don’t want people to think I got picked just because my dad is the varsity coach.”

“Easy, just make sure you’re actually good at basketball,” you laughed.

“I am, don’t worry.”

You were about to make a joke about his cocky attitude, but the teacher grabbed everyone’s attention again and started to talk about what he had planned for the day. Tyler smiled at you over his shoulder before turning and paying attention.

This was definitely turning out better than you had anticipated.

Tyler’s POV

“Alright, I’m going to give you the last ten minutes of class to silently work on next week’s short story assignment! If you have any questions, I’ll be at my desk.”

Silent? That wasn’t going to work.

I glanced over at Y/N, who had already written a few sentences at the top of her page. Her hand was moving quickly across the page, writing sentences that looked much neater than mine would if I ever started writing. I would much rather sit and talk to her, but there was no way I would be able to get away with it during silent writing time. There had to be some other way that I could keep up a conversation.

I quietly ripped out a sheet of notebook paper and pulled off the perforated bit on the side. Across the top, I wrote down a question for her to answer as an icebreaker.

What are you writing about?

I folded the paper in half and made sure that Mr. Brown was turned towards his computer before sliding it to her. She stopped writing and glanced at the piece of paper. With furrowed eyebrows, she unfolded it and scanned the question I had written. I watched as she wrote out her answer, folded the note, and slid it back to me.

It’s kind of hard to explain, but basically there’s this city that all these people are stuck in and they try to escape. Only one of them is successful though. I don’t know, it’s kind of stupid and I’m not explaining it very well. What are you writing?

Stupid? That didn’t sound stupid at all. I made sure to write that down.

I don’t think that’s stupid at all, it sounds really cool. I’m not really sure yet, any ideas?

Y/N took a moment to finish her sentence before grabbing the paper and reading my new note. She pursed her lips and took a moment to think before answering, trying - and failing - to conceal a smile as she wrote back. It was cute.

Wait, what?

What if you write about a castle that’s under attack by something ridiculous? Like a giant pineapple or something?

Now I understood why she was smiling. We shared a look before I started to write back. It had to be funny, that way I would get to see her smile again; something about it made my stomach fill with butterflies.

And once they destroy it they celebrate by making piña coladas for the entire town?

I passed the note back to her. She opened it and smiled.

Success.

Before she had a chance to pass it back to me, there was the sound of footsteps behind us. The two of us turned around to see Mr. Brown standing behind us, his hands clasped in front of him. In our excitement over the story idea, we had failed to keep an eye on him and make sure he wasn’t paying attention. Wordlessly, he bent down and picked up our note. He was nice enough to read it silently.

“I’m expecting you to come up with your own ideas, Mr. Joseph, but you should be thankful that Ms. Y/L/N is nice enough to help you.”

“Thanks,” I said, turning to her. She tried so hard to conceal a laugh that she ended up snorting.

“Back to work, you two.”

I didn’t make a second attempt at trying to pass her a note, not wanting to get her in trouble for my bad decisions. Her ideas had helped me create my own, though, and I was able to spend the last five minutes of class writing a couple paragraphs.

“I want to actually thank you,” I said as I started to put things into my backpack. The bell had just rung and the entire class was filled with the sounds of shuffling paper and zippers. “I didn’t use the pineapple idea, but it did help me come up with something.”

“I’m glad I was able to help,” she smiled as she pushed an earbud into her ear.

“Also, you should totally listen to Death Cab for Cutie and let me know what you think.”

“I think I’ll do that.”

I could see that she was eager to go and I was the only reason she was hanging behind. Not wanting to keep her longer, I said a simple, “I’ll talk to you next class.”

“Bye, Tyler.”

She put her other earbud in and walked out of the room without another word. I finished packing up my things and walked into the hall to meet up with Nick, who had just finished his own english class.

“How was class?” he asked.

“Really good. We got a new seating arrangement and I’m sitting next to this really cool girl.”

“Oh yeah? Is she cute?”

“It’s not like that,” I said. “She just seems like someone I would want to be friends with.”

“You can be friends with cute girls, you know.”

I shook my head, although my cheeks were already getting hot. “Ok, yeah, she’s cute.”

“I knew it!” Nick laughed. “Still, that’s really cool.”

“Yeah.”

For the first time ever, I was looking forward to the next time I had english.

[scarletcedar]

SHIPPER.

NAME: Scarlet Langley AGE & DATE OF BIRTH: 27 & December 6, 1991 GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis Female & She/Her SPECIES: Human (Bitten) OCCUPATION: Bookseller at Topping & Co. Books

HISTORY:

Their lives are made up of stories; of cruel witches desperate for children, of foolish girls cursed to dance without rest, of clever men tricking creatures out of their riches. They cut you out of your Mama, like Red Riding Hood emerging from the wolf, Gram would say every time Scarlet reintroduced herself. Gram may have lost pieces of her own history, but recalled each fable with crystal clarity. Those stories are immortal, passed down from generation to generation, surviving wars and financial hardships and illnesses even when the storytellers could not. Scarlet collects them like precious jewels from anyone who’ll offer them to her, writes them down so they’re never forgotten by history.

The stories were meant to be lessons about the dangers that lurked in the dark corners of their small world. But little Scarlet didn’t interpret them as Gram had intended, instead taking out pieces of what she found interesting and constructing her own narrative. The woods were explored thoroughly in search of enchanted candy houses, and even now most of her shoes are red and thickets of thorns grow outside her windows. She always carries a switchblade in her purse, never knowing when she might get eaten whole.

Bright yellow eyes haunt her, but Scarlet’s not sure if it’s a memory or if her childhood imagination filled in the gaps of that day. The corpse in the Square reeked of decay and musk and wet leaves and dried blood; the whiff of it brought back childhood nightmares of golden-eyed beasts chasing her through the mountains. Her parents recalled that day in horror, and Scarlet always wished she could remember it fully so she knew what to be afraid of. But even without her memories, the wolf still haunts her along with all the other ghosts she carries. Needless to say, she’s not much of a dog person.

Got her job after getting into an argument with the manager about their dystopian novel window display. The most “dystopian” part of Brave New World is Huxley’s rampant misogyny. You’re promoting THIS but completely left out The Iron Heel? That’s practically the foundation of modern dystopian literature, and far more relevant today than Huxley’s creepy baby orgies. The manager invited her over to create new displays the following week, and in the midst of that she began to offer recommendations to customers and took it upon herself to reorganize the shelves to have more front-facing, eye-catching book covers. At some point during, she got her own name tag and the rest is history.

CAR CRASH TW There was her Mama and there was her Mom, and neither one went gently; Langley women never do. They’re artists, Scarlet boasted with pride whenever someone asked what her parents did. The Langley women were their own tribe, always welcoming strangers into their warm hearth and gifting locals with unusual handmade artifacts. Their death was untimely and unexpected, a tragedy about young lovers but not the kind they write plays about. They became another statistic, a cautionary tale for those driving through Montana during a snowstorm. 

CAR CRASH TW The news reported that Scarlet was the only one in the car to survive, that she was hypothermic by the time they uncovered her from the wreckage. But it was the locals who spoke about how she lost herself in her grief, how she’s only recently been able to drive again without having a panic attack on the road, how she still only knows how to make enough food for three people, how she’s only able to sleep with the TV on at night because she can’t stand how quiet her house has become. Scarlet tries to keep all the uglier parts of her grief hidden from the town’s prying eyes, unable to acknowledge how not fine she is even to herself.

An artist like her parents. Scribbles intricate doodles within the pages of second-hand novels; writes poetry on her arms; threads colorful, dainty flowers over the holes in her sweaters. Waves and vines and stars are painted on every wall in her home, and the empty space is filled with photographs she’s taken of loved ones. Makes a little bit of side money off of commissions, which she desperately needs. Her parents didn’t leave much when they passed, and she’s burning through her meager savings in order to hold onto her childhood home. She’s lost so much and she can’t lose this, too, even if it means being tied to Blackrock forever.

PERSONALITY:

Pretty clingy with her actual friends; almost obsessively takes photographs and grows anxious if they don’t text back when they say they will. Is desperately trying to hold on tightly to those closest to her, unable to vocalize her newfound fear of losing more loved ones. A traitorous voice in her mind says they’ll one day be taken from her as well, and she can’t silence it even though she knows it’s irrational.

People affectionately called her “Scar” until The Attack, ultimately deciding it was too inappropriate. She forgets that the scar is there most of the time, even though it’s often the first thing people notice whenever she wears short sleeves. Most are too polite to ask about it, but those who have the balls will get treated to one of the many outlandish tales she’s come up with. Crashed my car in a drag race — at least I won. Some jerk at Last Drop stabbed me because I queued “Two Doors Down” on the jukebox 27 times. The government sticks trackers in our arms when we’re born but I managed to carve mine out.

Is something of a cryptid-maniac; a lifetime of absorbing myths and legends has made her the expert on the weird and paranormal. It’s not that Scarlet necessarily believes in everything she reads, but she also can’t deny that the world is full of mysteries. There’s always something new being discovered, she’d insist whenever someone tried to argue that these monsters only exist in fairy tales. She’s not crazy, really — just open-minded. Still, if someone asked her if she believes in werewolves, she’d dismiss them as mere storybook creatures, despite her haunting dreams. Her reasoning is that it’s been many uneventful full moons since she was bitten by a wild wolf. I’m clearly still human, aren’t I? Now selkies, on the other hand...

One of Scarlet’s favorite parts of her job is recommending books to people. The whole process is gratifying — from learning about what they’re already interested in, to scouring through shelves for The Perfect Book. When she’s off the clock, she doesn’t wait for permission to offer recommendations, often handing off books to people unexpectedly with a simple, “This made me think of you.” Doesn’t mind loaning out books from her personal collection, believing books don’t belong on shelves but are meant to be read as often as possible. Her second favorite part is sorting through the second-hand books because there’s always some interesting piece of history stuck between pages of used books. She keeps a box at work filled with all the little treasures she’s collected from donations: boarding passes from far off places, handwritten notes, antique bookmarks, and even torn out pages from other books. In her free time, she’ll secretly slip in her own little unsigned notes between the pages of the secondhand books she’s read before. Be sure to have tissues on hand. These characters will make you believe in true love. It’s okay if you don’t understand the ending.

LOW-EFFORT CONNECTIONS:

exes who ended on good terms

unrequited crushes

friends with benefits

childhood friends

book club buddies

CONNECTIONS I ACTUALLY PUT SOME THOUGHT INTO:

THE LOCAL → Someone(s) who knows everything about Scarlet, despite her best efforts. In return, Scarlet knows more about them than they’d want to know — Blackrock is too small for secrets, after all. They get into each other’s business, and it’s annoying but it’s been this way for so long that it’s hard to imagine it any other way.

THE BROKEN HEART → Someone Scarlet saw frequently before her parents died, romantically or platonically! Their relationship completely fractured with the death of her parents. Scarlet could’ve either driven them away in her grief, too hurt to care for them. Or maybe she smothered them with her consistent presence out of a fear of losing them, too.

THE DIVIDED → Their families never got along, a local feud that has lasted for so long that Scarlet can’t remember what started it to begin with. She purposefully puts up a front with every member of the opposing family, holding onto a longstanding grudge in the name of her mothers. But perhaps she’ll discover that it’s best to put the feud to rest, too overwhelmed by other aspects of life to find the energy for it.

THE COMPANION → Simply put, a friend. Someone who doesn’t brush off Scarlet’s conspiracy theories, offers themself as a model for her art, is willing to drive Scarlet around when she’s not up to it herself.

[thetaekooklibrary]

Hey :) are there any new angst fics with happy endings? I've read all the ones that are in the tags! Thank you for your work! ♥

yep^^ some of these are still ongoing but they have ‘angst with happy ending’ tags so I’m assuming they’ll have happy endings once they are complete lol (here are previous angst with happy ending lists for anyone who wants to look)

(it’s not) Fine by roseycheol - You can’t fake what Jungkook did, the days spent bundled up together, the little notes left in Taehyung’s bag with stupid doodles of hearts and bunnies, the gentle kisses pressed to Taehyung’s forehead when Jungkook had to leave for class early and thought Taehyung was still asleep. Jungkook had looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world and touched him with such a firm yet delicate care, Taehyung knew that Jungkook had at least loved him in some amount. But he’s hurt and angry enough right now to say it, and he’s not sure whether it’s more painful to think that Jungkook fell out of love with him or was never in love with him at all. (Taehyung and Jungkook break apart and fall back together)

you act like summer but you talk like rain. by cloverseoks - Jeongguk does urbanex. During one of his little expeditions to an abandoned factory, he stumbles upon the camp of a homeless person, one he finds himself dying to meet.

Only Breathing - Aquiver by Sharleena - Like all things about Taehyung, being loved by him is loud, messy and familiar. Under lilac neon lights his hair is a shade lighter and his skin is gold, Jungkook’s hands tremble when he touches it and Taehyung keeps mixing weird sauces in his ramen. “Do you still quiver when I touch you?” “Always.”

when i’m ready (i will fly us out of here) by cherryjjk - summertime in seoul feels a lot like a thunderstorm, jeongguk thinks.

Veni, Vidi, Amavi by yourluckytae - (I came, I saw, I loved) Ever since that day, Taehyung has been looking for something, chasing a dream he seems to be missing. Something important that makes his heart whole. It’s a creeping sense of someone he can’t quite grasp, who’s always on the tip of his tongue, nails on a chalkboard screeching loudly in his ear to remember. But every time he tries, it hurts. But he chases the dreams, the feelings, whatever it is that he’s missing because he thinks it would hurt more to never find whatever’s gone. – Jeongguk stares at his palms absent-mindedly, body rocking with the movement of the train. His fingers trace over non existent words on his right palm. Something he hadn’t thought about in years. He has a feeling; something deep and nostalgic bubbling inside him tasting like chocolate muffins and caramel lattes and smelling of vanilla and strawberries. It stirs within him as his fingers trace each stroke over his palm. It stirs something melancholy, something sad. A feeling. (Kimi no Na Wa (Your Name) Au)

refrigerator humming, chewing gum and instant karma by locks - Taehyung sets the flowers down on the dining table, plucking the card off the little holder. “Dearest Taehyung, just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you. I hope you’re thinking about me too. Love–” he pauses and squints before cocking an eyebrow and pursing his lips. “Hyung, why is the boss of your little boy band gang professing his love for me?” Yoongi drops the noodles on the floor with a loud curse as he burns his hand.Or, Taehyung’s been trying his hardest to avoid Yoongi’s criminal life for a long ass time, but a cute kid and his infuriating father keep pulling him deeper into the mix.

We Were Together (The Rest, I Forgot) by Kookie_andCream - Jungkook has always been able to see ghosts. When he meets Taehyung and falls in love, the last thing he would guess is that Taehyung is one. But somehow, in a world neither of them truly belong to, they walk the boundary between life and death together and make it work.

(some people might consider this a bittersweet ending but I think it’s a happy ending)

little do you know by aeterisks - Taehyung has been running away from Jeongguk for seven years. Now is the time to be brave. (Or, Taehyung is a producer who goes back to his hometown to find a new artist to give his song to. What he didn’t expect was for it to be Jeongguk, his first love.)

love, taehyung by ataezingkookie - take a deep breatheand start at the beginning

tell them how we first mettell them how we shared our dreamseven your weirdest ones

no, keep that as our secret

tell them that this isthat this has to beone of the happiest daysof your life.

OR the one where Taehyung and Jeongguk just keep missing each other

i’ll return to you (a promised handful of orange blossoms) by meanho - “Do you think he’s cosplaying an anime, or manhwa?” Jimin asked, voice in a trance. Taehyung understood his confusion because it wasn’t every day you see a person dressed as fine as the king of Joseon himself stumbling through a crowd and knocking over some Sailor Mercury’s wand. “Hmm, maybe he’s going for someone from Yona of The Dawn?” Jimin scoffed, “Yeah right, more like my 9th grade text book.” (or, the taekook Rooftop Prince AU!!)

I know it will soon be our last (but I can’t let you go) by wolfsbanez - Jeon Jungkook is a guy who is willing to break as many hearts as he can and Kim Taehyung’s heart just happens to be on his way.

the world don’t stop ( it’s on again ) by dormant_bender - Jungkook just wants to be normal, but of course that’s impossible when the world has labeled you as “Spider-Man.” Despite his newfound power and abilities, the one thing he is still unable to do is confess his feelings for his best friend Taehyung.

Everyone lives with a love (that has come to an end) by wolfsbanez - Kim Taehyung thought he was ready for the perfect relationship and Jeon Jungkook just happened to realize otherwise.

i want to breathe; i hate this night by thebestofme - Finding out his sweet childhood best friend was now one of Seoul’s most wanted villains was interesting, to say the least; but what’s more astonishing is that a freak like Jeongguk is now considered a hero.

Black Dahlia by AmandaPleese - Jeon Jeongguk is not afraid to die. So he thinks. It’s not until he is staring into the eyes of his soulmate, black spots beginning to splotch his vision, chest on fire, far too many dark petals trying to come up his esophagus at once, that he’s terrified. It’s too much. Tears sting his eyes, and he looks desperately at his soulmate who looks just as desperate right back, his world beginning to teeter. His throats closes up, and he can���t breathe. Jeongguk thinks he’s never been more scared in his life. Jeongguk doesn’t want to die.

Spectator by TheSadisticMunchkin - Taehyung was used to being the spectator of his students’ stories. He enjoyed the way the pages of their life filled with the adventures and plot lines that he was more than happy to be a witness of. He was always going to be their number one fan. That was up until the moment he became a character in a very messy story. 

everything means nothing (your kiss is a gateway drug) by nyxphrodites - Kissin’ leads toTouchin’ leads toLovin’ leads toFuckin’ leads toSomeone always seems to get hurt // Jeon Jungkook’s in love and it’s not Kim Taehyung’s fault.

saudade by hurricanedelta - saudade. noun. a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or has been loved and then lost; “the love that remains”

Why Me? by bruhnam299 - Powerful CEO, Sang Sunwoo, catches sight of the pretty, little florist that works at the corner of the street, and what he wants, he always gets.

The World is Dark (But Baby you Shine Bright) by pinkeow - Where Taehyung sees nothing but darkness, Jeongguk is his light

I Got Lost In You(r Eyes) by NastaeTae - The earth is surrounded by a universe that doesn’t care, and filled with people that do. When something is out of place, the universe will correct it, no matter what the cost.

I Bloomed For You… by Meanie_Beanie_nim - Jungkook just barely registered the warm soft skin of Taehyung’s palm, before his whole world changed. His skin prickled almost painfully, and it felt like somebody had sent a great wave of electricity crackling through him. The world went black for barely a second as a strange weight settled in his chest, and then the world came rushing back like a flood. He looked up with wide eyes at Taehyung - no, at his soulmate - and expected to be met with the same surprised eyes as his own, but Taehyung just looked at him with a carefree smile. “See you soon, Jungkookie,” he grinned teasingly before releasing Jungkook’s hand and turning around to leave. Jungkook stood there for several minutes, just staring at the spot where Taehyung had disappeared, with only one thought in his head.  Why had his soulmate just left him? 

got a question or request? check our tags page first to see if what you’re looking for is already there, or use the search bar on our blog! if you don’t have any luck with that, feel free to send us an ask when the inbox is open^^

[comicteaparty]

March 7th, 2019 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party chat that occurred on March 7th, 2019, from 5PM - 7PM PST.  The chat focused on 2 for Joy by Abi Watson.

Featured Comment:

Chat:

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB START!

Good evening, everyone~! This week’s Thursday Book Club is officially beginning! Today we are discussing 2 for Joy by Abi Watson~! (https://tapas.io/series/2-for-joy)

Remember that Thursday discussions are completely freeform! However, every 30 minutes I will drop in OPTIONAL discussion questions in case you’d like a bit of a prompt. If you miss out on one of these prompts, you can find them pinned for the chat’s duration. Additionally, remember that while constructive criticism is allowed, our focus is fun and respectfully appreciating the comic. All that said, let’s begin!

QUESTION 1. What is your favorite scene in the comic so far and why?

i think at the moment that my fave scene is when art goes to the library. cause before the comic possibly toed the line about whether everything was conspiracy or coincidence. and thats the scene that says "nope conspiracy." i just also found it to be this really tense scene cause of the librarians talking about art like he was some super threat. which brave to making an activity like visiting library archives seem test. overall though, the part i like best is that it still leaves the question of what the one librarian guarding the archives wouldve done had art's rouse come to light

Superjustinbros

Ello~!

I have returned

RebelVampire

hey super~!

mathtans

I'm... kinda here for now. I did like the library scene, the librarian conspiracy was interesting.

Superjustinbros

https://tapas.io/episode/1159441

mathtans

I liked the cast moment there too, for the amusement value.

(Which arm was it? Whoa hoa...)

RebelVampire

yeah the cast moment was great, partly cause i was no expecting this random moment of humor to roll up

mathtans

As to my fave scene though, I think interestingly I'll need to go with the nametag thing. Because it was just kind of funny at the time, but had some significance later, with the gender change thing, and the not wanting to get him a new tag. Also explains (kind of) why he wears it upside-down.

Superjustinbros

It also gave me flashbacks to when I broke some fingers on one of my hands and had to go into a cast for about a month

back in middle school

mathtans

Ouch. I've never actually needed a cast for anything.

Also, maybe Tec is just waiting for the cast to heal before the fight, humm.

Superjustinbros

Yeah it was not pleasant. I'd go into detail about it more but this is a CTP

RebelVampire

yeah i really liked that on the side the nametag was made to be more relevant. it wasnt just some quirky character thing. which i mean the latter wouldve been fine, but i just like the element that these are characters who have been living their lives without art and the town didnt suddenly exist again just cause art showed up

https://tapas.io/episode/1121842 less a scene but i also really enjoy this page because of all the character reactions. like you got the whole circus of emotions going on and it conveys so much without needing any sort of dialogue

Superjustinbros

https://tapas.io/episode/1128546 and this one two pages later

mathtans

Also weird how Jack's name has dual significance.

Superjustinbros

"it means that makes a liar"

mathtans

I see what you mean there. (I'm not always good at picking up on artistic choices.)

RebelVampire

yeah. although that has gotta kind of suck. i mean i wouldnt want to find out a person i was named after was actually dead and i was just never told XD

Superjustinbros

https://tapas.io/episode/1296840 The latest bit also sparked my interests

RebelVampire

tbh, mike is probably just dumb/evil and not a liar. cause i severely raised an eyebrow to anyone who thinks they can cull birds from an area and theyll just never ever come back even for a short period of time

i really love art's dumb conspiracy journal

i am jealous and want one

Superjustinbros

yus

RebelVampire

but also someone needs to teach jack journalism does not actually involve journals XD

mathtans

Yeah, I don't think Mike's really got it out for anyone though. Maybe he's related to the librarians.

Art draws pretty well. He makes... art.

RebelVampire

an unfortunate nickname well suited to puns

Superjustinbros

"What did you name your son?" "Art"

"Is that really his name?" "No it's just a nickname he likes."

RebelVampire

but i really like how the journal shows art's thought processes and everything. like its a great way to build character without art smacking you with dialogue to put you in his head

Superjustinbros

lol

I never actually thought of that- to give a character a journal

and just have them jot down in it every once in a while

and show you what they write/doodle

mathtans

That's a good point. A little window into his view of the plot.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 2. One of the central features of the story is the vast conspiracy that seems to haunt Art’s hometown. Are the birds truly leading Art somewhere, or are they really just a coincidence? If the former, where are they leading Art to? Why were all the magpies culled and what does this have to do with murders and supposed cults? What was the one librarian scared of Art finding in the archives? Why is the other librarian willing to help Art? What does all this have to do with the forest and the various people who have gone missing in it? How do you think everything connects in general?

I think the birds are leading Art somewhere but im skeptical theyre actually birds. Cause conveniently nobody but Art sees them UNTIL Alice and Jack get involved. And then suddenly cause theyre part of the plot they can see them. So I kind of wonder if they arent birds but supernatural entities that look like birds

mathtans

I feel like that title "2 for joy" has something to it; I've never heard of the saying (rhyme?) before about the magpies, but there was a reference made. So turning it around, you need to have two people or the birds will get you.

Ohh, that's an interesting theory. I like it.

Maybe the missing people got turned into birds.

Superjustinbros

and then the birds haunt more people

and turn them into birds

it's how they spread

RebelVampire

thats an interesting idea. or more optimistically the birds are trying to lead art to a cure

mathtans

A cure for what though? He's not sick.

RebelVampire

actually if this was true itd explain why jack kind of got dragged in

one of those birds is his uncle

mathtans

Or a cure for the thing that turns the eyes white?

RebelVampire

i meant a cure for them

to be not birds

mathtans

Ohh, now I'm with you.

The librarians also used to be birds. That's why they're in on the conspiracy, they don't want to have to be birds again.

RebelVampire

the family secrets that cant be told are that art was patient 0 and really a ghost bird all along

on a more serious guess, maybe theyre leading art to ground zero though. like assuming there is supernatural stuff at work, when things like whats going on in the town happen, theres usually like an origin point. like a pentagram in the woods though probably not that.

mathtans

That's why they saved his life!

Superjustinbros

Good thinking.

mathtans

Maybe, could be something silver, what with the bird connection.

RebelVampire

arent magpies the ones who like shiny stuff?

mathtans

I think so? I don't know much about birds.

RebelVampire

google tells me yes but that this is a myth

and that scientifically them stealing the shiny things is not backed up by dedicated observation and testing

https://tenor.com/view/themoreyouknow-star-rainbowstreak-nbc-gif-4884642

which now leaves me torn cause i was gonna guess that theyre just leading art to their silver pile of treasure

mathtans

As Jack said, the true treasure was the friends they made along the way.

RebelVampire

ya know, given the title, that is probably all that matters

that through their quest theyre going to find joy

mathtans

And Joy will be the wife of that guy who was blamed for all the murders?

(Seriously though, it's interesting how deep the rabbit hole seems to go.)

Actually, now that I think of it, there was an X-Files reference too. Possibly just in the author's notes though.

RebelVampire

ya know

i would not be surprised if the wife's name did turn out to be joy

although id also find that kind of funny

mathtans

(off to crib)

RebelVampire

aside from birds though, im turning my attention to the archives. cause from the convo i gathered that besides other things, there were things with births and deaths art wasnt supposed to find? and given the one extra side page, i really wonder if it has to do with art's birth since hes adopted

(good luck)

RebelVampire

but maybe i misread the conversation. i mean maybe theyre just trying to cover up exactly how many people have gone missing in the forest. cause its too shameful or a high risk for crashing that small town tourism cash cow

or theyre trying to cover up the fact that the cult is still sort of active and something in the archives proves how deep the cult runs

mathtans

(back-ish) Yeah, I noticed the adoption thing and wondered briefly about it.

You think maybe the "murders" were just lots of missing people?

Superjustinbros

Yeah I wouldn't want that getting out inot the public

mathtans

A birb cult.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 3. In the recent pages, Jack and Art have decided they need to go into the forest and look around. What do you think will happen to the two while in the forest? Will they see more birds? Will the silver compass come into play? Do you think the two will be in danger considering the possessions that seem to have occurred to certain individuals? In regards to the conspiracy, what answers do you think the two might find directly in the forest? Lastly, do you think going into the forest will have other consequences? What if members of the town find out about their little expedition? What about Alice?

and it could be. that there are less murders than we think and everyone is just missing.

i do think the adoption thing is significant

Superjustinbros

more birds definitely

RebelVampire

i think what will happen in the forest is theyll get jumpscared a lot but then learn nothing. outside of the forest is spooky af. although i also think theyre gonna find something they dont think is significant until later and theyre like "le gasp signs of the missing ppl"

Superjustinbros

"forests are spooky"

the moral of the story

mathtans

(back-ish again) I wonder if going into the woods will cause a replay of the Hec stuff. Like Jack will have his eyes go white and try to beat up Art and then won't remember about it. Could put their relationship on the rocks a bit.

Or jumpscares with birds.

RebelVampire

tbh i actually assume if that were to happen alice would be the more likely possession target

like shell show up

scold

suddenly rolled back eyes

beat art up

mathtans

Ooooh. That'd definitely shake up the character dynamics. I wonder if the birds tried to talk to her first, but she didn't listen? Since she also left town for a while.

RebelVampire

maybe. although now im wondering how she and art both happen to coincientally be back in town. like we know kind of why art is there. but alice too seems a huge coincidence in a story where coincidences are actually conspiracies

mathtans

Hmmmm. Maybe she's not really there? Has anyone other than Art and Jack mentioned actually seeing Alice?

Maybe she's Jack's guardian angel or something in disguise.

RebelVampire

im trying

to recall a moment

i mean shes gone half the time and not able to interact with outside ppl

there was the one scene where theyre all eating together

but i dont remember if any outside person approached them

mathtans

Did Mike comment on her though? Because she only turned up when Art admitted to Jack that he was waiting for her.

(Is she a bird? Man, I can't tell if my conspiracy theories are totally crazy or not.)

RebelVampire

the only reference mike makes is later on when hes scolding jack and ask if its going to become another summer where he ignores customers to gossip with his "little friends"

so specifically plural

BUT

the context does not imply that there has to be multiple

more like the implication that more friends could show up even tho just the one is there

so it could go either or

mathtans

Indeeeed.

Oh, wait! The guy in the compass shop. He saw her, in the hat.

Mustache man... maybe he's in on it?

RebelVampire

darn it compass guy

mathtans

(Nice subtle detail in that scene by the way, him not recognizing Jack after the transition.)

RebelVampire

ruining our good alice isnt there theory

mathtans

Heh.

Alice and Art do prove that you can leave the town without just vanishing then.

RebelVampire

yes. until the town pulls you back

by crashing your car

i think jack and art going into the forest is going to attract unwanted town attention

i can hear that one librarian now going "i told you he was up to something!"

mathtans

They went swimming without incident though. As long as they play it off as camping or whatever, who would care.

RebelVampire

suspicious librarians

thats who would care

"They just went swimming who goes swimming that much they must be suspicious!"

mathtans

I wonder what the librarians do in their off hours.

Superjustinbros

sme tbh

RebelVampire

QUESTION 4. Among the conspiracies are a lot of emotional conflicts and changing relationships. Do you think Art and Jack’s flirting will go anywhere? Whether it does or not, how might their investigations and the revealing of certain secrets affect how they view each other? How might it change Art’s relationship with Alice given Alice is reluctant to buy into the conspiracies as much as Art or Jack? Also, how will learning more help or hurt Art’s ability to deal with Hec? Do you think Hec is in on the conspiracy or is Jack right and Hec just wants to fight? Lastly, why do you think Art was the one targeted by the birds, and how does Jack play into the ultimate roles that the supernatural events seem to have intended for them? How might Jack’s missing uncle come into play and change how Jack deals with the situation?

the nice librarian goes home and reads books. the mean one is obviously part of HOA and the neighborhood watch

mathtans

Related to the relationship stuff, it's nice how the gay angle was put in as a sidebar, just a statement of fact. I wonder a little bit if younger Art had a thing for Hec, which is partly why he sees the best in the guy.

Related to the bird stuff, the second appearance of the birds related to a baby. Not sure how that fits in.

Superjustinbros

i was surprised to see the gay comment, I'll admit

did Art drop that fact earlier on in the story?

mathtans

Yeah, when it was the four birds for Jack I think.

RebelVampire

yeah its pretty super early on

like not first page

but very early

Superjustinbros

aye

mathtans

Like maybe birth as the opposite of death? :/

RebelVampire

i worried it meant the baby was gonna die tbh XD

mathtans

Oooh, super serious.

RebelVampire

mostly cause so far the birds have an omen sort of tone and omens arent good

and they caused art to crash his car

soooo

Superjustinbros

and put him in a cast?

mathtans

But he was going to crash anyway, right?

RebelVampire

maybe? i mean art says the birds saved his life or something but that doesnt mean thats the objective fact of what happened

mathtans

Art and Jack seem destined to get together though, after the bit with Hec in the alley.

True. Wishful thinking?

RebelVampire

i do think in this case maybe

at the very least i dont think alice and jack are wrong in thinking some of this bird thing is about art kind of not coping with what happened

cause i def dont think art is dealing with it and that even though something is going on, hes also using it as a distraction

cause both can be true

maybe this comic is just the labyrinth and the birds are gonna spirit the baby away to turn it into a troll

mathtans

The baby is really Art. It's all time travel. He takes the baby back and gets himself adopted.

RebelVampire

so does that make the librarians the time police?

Superjustinbros

...That would be a pretty epic twist(edited)

mathtans

One of them is a grown up Jughead.

As to why Art was targeted, maybe Art has unfinished business in town.

RebelVampire

well id say hec is unfinished business. although maybe thats why. that art encountered the supernatural and lived to tell the tale and didnt disappear in the forest

so that proves he has magical supernatural immunity

mathtans

Oh, immunity, that's an interesting idea. Maybe it's because he was adopted and didn't grow up in town or something?

Maybe everyone has silver poisoning.

Superjustinbros

Oooooooooo

mathtans

Can that make your eyes go white?

RebelVampire

art is just the chosen one

idk

lets see

mathtans

I hope the Art and Jack thing works out. Art needs some grins in his life, and I gather the transition wasn't easy for Jack either.

RebelVampire

“Silver poisoning, medically termed argyria, causes ashen gray discoloration of the skin (and other tissues of the body).”

thats what the first result tells me

i think itll work out just cause its called 2 for joy and theyre the ones in all the banners

and they do seem to be mutually attracted to each other. although i do wonder if they solve the conspiracy if that will remain

mathtans

That's true... maybe the two of them will adopt a baby, whence the "2 for joy" relates to the birds too?

I suppose the specific species of bird is related too, but I don't know from specifics.

The real conspiracy, of course, is how that diner manages to have the best pancakes in town.

Superjustinbros

That'd be cute, just sayin

(or a young child)

RebelVampire

i liked the bit where jack was criticizing alice for making up ppl

but then art joins in

with an even more ridiculous chain

mathtans

Yeah, that helps to show the sibling angle too.

Superjustinbros

I guess since there's only a few minutes left, I'd like to take the time to say good luck to abi on getting this story worked on, it's looking great so far.

mathtans

Yeah, the characters are interesting along with the plot, like I don't think I've ever seen this sort of mix before.

Superjustinbros

Well said.

mathtans

Hope they bring pancakes into the woods to appease the birds.

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB END!

Sadly, this wraps up this week’s Thursday Book Club chat for now. Thank you so much to everyone for reading and joining us! We want to give a special thank you to Abi Watson, as well, for making 2 for Joy. If you liked the comic, make sure to support Abi Watson’s efforts however you’re able to~!

Read and Comment: https://tapas.io/series/2-for-joy

Abi Watson’s Redbubble Shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/abiwatson

Abi Watson’s Society 6 Shop: https://society6.com/abiwatsonillustration/s?q=new

Abi Watson’s Gumroad Shop: https://gumroad.com/abiwatson

Abi Watson’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/abiwatsonart?lang=en

[theseventhhex]

Okilly Dokilly Interview

Okilly Dokilly

Photo by Ris Marek

Okilly Dokilly is the world's only Nedal band. Hailing from Phoenix, Arizona, a majority of the band's lyrics are direct Ned quotes. Established in 2015, the band found success before ever playing their first show, becoming a viral phenomenon after releasing just a few press photos and a 4-song demo. Within 2 weeks, the band was featured by numerous publications including Billboard, Time, The Independent, BBC, Esquire, Vice and many more. In late 2016 the band released their debut album, 'Howdilly Doodilly', a 13-track catalog filled with Flanderisms, rushing guitars and more than enough left-handed puns. Okilly Dokilly's live shows are high energy affairs that weave together comedy and brutality. Guttural screams and pounding drums provide a soundtrack for the pummeling of an inflatable donut as green sweaters and round glasses blur across the stage… We talk to Head Ned about the band dynamic, connecting with fans and spirituality…

TSH: Would you say a primary quality you had in mind for the band’s debut record was for it to be brutal?

Head Ned: Yeah, I just wanted it to be very heavy and brutal; it was also important to have moments that are the exact opposite of those too. We wanted some quiet and serene moments and switch straight from the very heavy side to the very light side. It was fun to put them right next to each other.

TSH: How much of your material is direct Ned quotes?

Head Ned: The record is 75% Ned quotes, which is key! Filling the record with Ned quotes was a prerogative for us. About 15% consists of other characters and conversations that have been had and the other 10% are original lyrics. The original material on the record is ‘Donut Hell’ and ‘All That Is Left’, which are basically odes to the leftorium.

TSH: What’s the band dynamic like when new music is coming together?

Head Ned: It's an interesting process and very natural I'd say. Generally, it starts with something one of the guys has seen in a Simpsons episode or a clip, they'll send it over to me and I'll research. I'll find the full episode and look into it. One of the first things that we purchased as a band was all the existing copies of the show. We constantly dig out discs, look for quotes and kind of put them together with some guitar riffs. I’ll normally have a whole page of quotes in front of me and turn them into a song. I tend to find an ominous structure on guitar and the other guys will then come in and flesh out the entire song from there.

TSH: I guess you can’t make up the fact that the video for ‘White Wine Spritzer’ was made 15 miles from a nuclear power plant…

Head Ned: Ha! Yes! We're from Phoenix out in the middle of the desert. A few miles from us the place which provides all of our power is the Palo Verde nuclear plant. We had originally intended driving out and having the power plant in the background of the video. We envisioned us in the middle of night setting fire to couches with big lights and other crazy stuff going on. However, we saw the big alarm systems and thought we’d most likely attract federal authorities, ha! So we went in the other direction and went 15 miles the other way, which was a good distance, and we found a spot that was desolate in middle of nowhere to make the video.

TSH: What resonates with you mostly about the track 'Flanderdoodles’?

Head Ned: Well, that was one of the middle songs that we put together for the record. I remember a key factor was the delivery of the riffs. I came up with riffs that had pauses and I extended one of the pauses - it really gave the song a nice effect. This element has a comedic effect when we play live as it stops and is like a cliffhanger. It doesn't hit when you think it should and it comes in later. Like all the other songs, this track is in a drop d tuning on the guitar. You know, we were very much focused on minor keys to make the music more heavy and brooding.

TSH: ‘Godspeed Little Doodle’ is one of the more unique tracks on the record, especially given the length and tones…

Head Ned: Yeah, when I kicked off this track I thought that the record didn't have a long song so I wanted to write the long one. It was intentionally long as I wanted something more doomy and more atmospheric. For the track, I kept building guitar riffs and incorporated heavier punk lines in the middle of it. The song bounces between doom and punk. I feel it came out great and the length was just right. Also, the song was drawing from The Simpsons episode where they are lost at sea and so I was channelling the feeling of Ned feeling hopeless.

TSH: Is it quite the challenge to not burst into flames when you play live with so many layers on?

Head Ned: Haha! It was quite a challenge at first, but we're more used to it now. Generally where we are from, it's hot all the time. We travel to different cities, rock out onstage and we get a good workout. We're trained for performing and sweating, haha!

TSH: Which songwriters do you admire mostly?

Head Ned: Well, our musical tastes in the band are all over the board. We’re all into a lot of metal and also a lot of everything else. One of the bands that got me into hardcore was Thrice – Dustin Kensrue is a huge influence. I also really like August Burns Red and I’m a big fan of Queen. Oh, of course, Ned Flanders is a huge Beatles fan, and so am I.

TSH: Ned Flanders evokes a strong spiritual and religious side. Does this factor come into play within the band at all?

Head Ned: Ha! I guess it’s different for each member. I feel we're mainly hitting on Ned’s overly friendliness and unwavering funny side; we kind of avoid the religious side. It’s kind of odd, because at our live shows you have us each dressed as Ned Flanders, who of course is very religious, and the audience are throwing devil horns at us, ha!

TSH: With Hurricane Neddy being on of your favourite episodes. How highly do you rate Flanders’ angry quote to Lenny when he says ‘I don't know you, but I'm sure you're a jerk!’…

Head Ned: Haha! It's so damn good and one of my favourite bits from the episode. Lenny walks up in this little town of Springfield and Ned’s never met Lenny once, yet he totally shuns him. The explosiveness of Ned's attitude at that point is just anger. He’s mad at everyone in the town and Lenny just happens to be in the firing line. I also love it when Homer is trying to rattle his feathers at the end of the episode about stuff that must bother Ned – it’s hilarious!

TSH: You’re also a huge Futurama fan too…

Head Ned: Yeah, totally. Futurama is all round excellent. I also like Ren and Stimpy, as well as Beavis and Butthead. I’ve actually been watching Adventure Time recently. It’s a unique kids show, but it has some very funny elements to it and I’ve been watching it on tour. Also, Rick and Morty is brilliant too. Aside from cartoons, my fiancé is a huge Doctor Who fan, so I've delved into that universe. We actually have two cats named The Doctor and Rose.

TSH: What keeps you satisfied during your intense touring?

Head Ned: It's really the fans that bring out the happiness for us. When we hit the stage, it’s just so worth it and we have a lot of fun. We recently incorporated t-shirt canons in honour of Maude, who was killed by one. We fire them at the audience during the shows, they get t-shirts with ‘R.I.P.Maude’ written on them and they go nuts!

TSH: What’s pleased you most about the band’s progression to date?

Head Ned: The most pleasing factor is to be where we are now – it’s just so rewarding! I mean we were just Simpsons and metal fans and we merged two different worlds. We didn’t think people would understand or get what we were doing. However, now we're on this ground level connecting with Simpsons fans across the country – it’s beyond cool and very liberating. We appreciate that people have got into this and that they are willing to join in and party with us.

Okilly Dokilly - “White Wine Spritzer”

Howdilly Doodilly

[shinyoliver]

Verse 8: Poppy gives a pep talk

The planning carried on well. Or so Reg presumed, since everyone else was taking a break, and the average mood in the room was northerly of grumpy. He only had Bonzer and Bruce to judge off of since Reiki defaulted to grousing and Poppy left the room immediately. Bruce and Bonzer had a Bluetooth speaker synced to Bonzer’s tablet and appeared to be planning the playlist for an ultimate party. They seemed relaxed about it. Reg could only imagine that was a good sign for the planning.

Reg wouldn’t claim to understand any of it. He had his notebook open in front of it, and in big letters across the top he’d blazoned “How to Heist.” For the last several hours he had wrestled his unwilling brain into habits from college. (He described it as an unwilling brain because it sounded sexier to be unwilling to fall back into old college habits, but really he found it refreshing. He was one of these sorts of nerds who never quite leave off the college mindset.) The pages of his notebook under the heading now asserted themselves with rows of his chicken-scratch handwriting. He’d started bulleted lists of notes that began with terms like “placement” and “contingencies” and “abort protocols” (this term repeated often). As in his college days, he never left himself enough space between items and many of the bulleted outlines were split over several pages and connected by numbered lines. It looked a mess. It always looked a mess. And he never knew how he got any use from his notes, but he always did.

He swallowed, flipping around in his notes, feeling worried.

He always encouraged himself to write errant thoughts in the margins or doodle things halfway through writing something else. He had always found it a good aid to memory. Besides, if he didn’t write or doodle whatever it was then he’d obsess over it and forget to listen to the lecture.

As usual, he had found his mind skipping off into meadows of distraction almost as soon as Poppy started on her marker-board, diagram-aided “How to Heist” presentation. And, as usual, Reg wrote the skippy thought down, expecting, as usual, to feel it sink backwards behind his attention till later.

Something went funny with this thought. What he had written, in the margin near the top of the first page at an angle, was, “Ogres remind me of Mongols.”

Something about the sentence had felt urgent. Instead of leaving it there, he’d filled half the page in angled writing with trying to think that one out. He found that he didn’t know that much about ogres, so he had written a lot about Mongols with frequent little notes about how he needed to find out whether ogres are like this too.

It was half an hour before he listened to Poppy again. By then he quite lost the thread of the heist. He didn’t lose the thread about the ogres, though. The thoughts about them kept stumbling into his mind as if that field where his mind had been skipping was full of cheap whiskey.

Swallowing again, Reg closed his notebook. He looked around for Poppy, then remembered she had left the basement.

“Does anyone know where…” Reg said, and started to lose his breath before the end of the sentence. It’d been a long time since he’d spoken. He didn’t know what time it’d got to be, but it wasn’t a comfy time.

Bruce set a bottle of water down in front of Reg on his way across the room. Reg took it, nodding his thanks.

“Go out in the alley,” Bruce pointed with one huge hand at the door to the stairs to the alley. “Two doors left there’s the back door into a gym. She’ll be there.”

Reg nodded his thinks. He took a deep breath that turned into a sigh, and stood up with his bag and walked up the stairs.

Bonzer said something to Bruce that Reg didn’t catch. Bruce’s depth-of-the-earth chuckle rumbled, then Bruce said, “We all need to walk in on her at least once. Just so we know why not to.”

With these uncomforting words to chew on, Reg got out into the cold alley. The air felt wet, and he noticed that he had a cold everything. He forgot his jacket downstairs.

He stared at the bad graffiti and green dumpster on the brick wall across the alley from the bar.

It felt good to be in the air. His head cleared almost as fast as his skin temperature dropped. The basement had been warm.

Now he had a clear head, he had space in it for a feeling. The feeling creaked into place like an old door squeaking open—a door he didn’t want to look past.

An eerie sound interrupted his little moment of self-hypnotism: a bell tower, somewhere in the night to the south. He looked toward the sound—looked to his right. The bell tower tolled twice. Two a.m.. He sighed.

He didn’t notice himself do it, but he turned all the way toward the sound. He took a step south—put all this world behind himself, this strange universe behind the universe that he could ignore if he willed it. He had lived without knowledge of it his whole life. Why change that now? He could just leave. The empty, motionless alley looked inviting. The only light in it that way was the neon sign of a pizza place, open till three. He could grab a piece of pizza on his way to…anywhere but here. A calm future of just living as another person, safe and anonymous.

Ahead of him, an age and an age of just carrying on. Behind him, the heat of the promise of immediate disruption of everything “true.”

He unclenched his fists. He hadn’t known they’d tightened. His fingers hurt from it.

He wanted to talk about this with someone. He couldn’t think who…well, he could think of somebody. He only knew one person nearby that he wanted to talk with about something like this.

The back room of the gym was a space of general storage. The shadows had angular shapes. Reg clamped down on his imagination to keep it from populating the shadows with chittering gremlins. His imagination populated the shadows with chittering gremlins anyway. He hurried through the shadows toward the sounds. The sounds of swishing limbs and cloth, of grunting, of heavy breathing, of muted shouting, and of heavy impacts.

As far as Reg could tell, it was an MMA gym. Or a martial arts one. It had a corner with weights. One wall had weapons—wooden and not wooden—in racks. Two walls had mirrors on them. The many variations on the punching bag hung or stood, victims and sentinels in the dark. Poppy had only turned on the lights in one corner, where the floor was mats.

The silence felt like it needed something in it. Music or nature sounds or something, because with nothing in it to distract it the silence stared at them. It sat on them. It tried to squash them like two mice in a trap.

Poppy’s sounds lashed out at the silence, every crack of her feet and knuckles a shock in the big, dim room.

Reg couldn’t remember what he said first. Something obvious, like “hey, Poppy,” but he thought that wasn’t it. He felt justified being a little absent in that moment, watching her.

She had wrapped hands and still had her slash of shining hair slicked back. She still had her makeup in order, and it made her eyes astonishing, and she had on a Janelle Monáe The ArchAndroid tee shirt and a pair of sweat pants. No shoes.

So that’s what she looked like. All flashing and tall, backstage-at-the-fashion-show Poppy. Because of what she was doing, the moment felt unreal to Reg.

He had seen a picture of a famous boxer once. Some heavyweight like Ali or Foreman. It caught the boxer’s right cross at the moment of full extension, and every deadly divot of the boxer’s arm and shoulder and chest. He had a purity in his face, like he had achieved that goal of all Kung Fu Yung movie gurus and found his way into a moment of perfect silence when only one thing existed. That boxer looked immovable. And the boxer at the knuckles end of the punch looked limp like he had no bones, like he may as well never have shown up.

Poppy reminded Reg of that picture. The edges of her muscles cut shadows in the white light shining from above.

Although she also kicked sometimes. The standing punching back in front of her would have some aches tomorrow, and no mistake.

He forgave himself for saying something lame and forgettable. So, it seemed, did Poppy. She made her okayness about his presence clear by saying nothing at all.

He felt like he could watch her forever. He’d always wanted to learn to throw a punch.

“I could watch you wail on that poor innocent punching bag all night, but, um…” Reg said.

“Ching?” Poppy said.

“I mean, yeah, that’s what I always think when people end what they say with ‘but, um.’ But…um…”

“It’s the thing’s job,” Poppy said. She paused long enough to pat the punching bag thingy to show her appreciation of it. Then she punched it with the legendary (and stupid, apparently) one-inch punch of legend. Reg winced, since the punching bag couldn’t. Just one of the many services he could provide, he thought to himself.

“Without a function, what is it?” Poppy said. “Nothing. Waste of space. That’s what.” She delivered several swift punches to the punching bag.

“I had an ulterior motive in saying, ‘but, um,’” Reg said.

“I don’t hold with ulterior motives,” Poppy said.

Which made Reg feel like arguing. He felt in his gut he technically had plenty to argue about with that statement. Although he couldn’t think what the arguments might be, so he left it alone.

“Would it be all right if I talked to you about…something,” Reg said. He realized he said it with a tone that suggested more than he wanted it to. He wanted to sound casual. Instead, he kind of sounded whiny. He swallowed, coughed, and said in a deeper voice, “Nothing, you know, suspicious.”

The machine-gun shuddering of the long combination of punches and kicks left the punching bag swaying. Poppy stopped. The sudden ceasure clapped like small thunder.

She looked at the wavering punching bag from under her mascara-long eyelashes, almost satisfied. She took one deep breath. It seemed to be all the panting she needed. Calm, she glanced at Reg, then turned her back on him to go pick up her bottle of water and drink from it.

“I guess I need to, I don’t know, throw a punch, or something,” Reg swallowed. “That’s what Bruce said, anyway.”

Poppy stood with her stance wide and kept her back turned to him. She stretched her arms.

“I mean, I do if, like,” Reg swallowed, “if, you know, I’m, like, staying.”

Poppy put her hands on her hips. She traced shapes on the floor with her toes. Somehow she managed to make it clear by her shoulders that she arched her eyebrows.

“Which, like…” Reg said, “I see some question about.” He swallowed. “Maybe.”

A long, still second pulsed. The silence leaned in. Reg just about felt Poppy’s thoughts crackling.

With a shudder of Reg’s heart, Poppy wheeled. Her gaze thunked into him. He shied and tried not to.

Slow like a threat, she walked to the punching bag. She considered it, prodded it a couple times. Looking past it, she looked at the rack of weapons. She walked toward it.

Reg swallowed. Whatever happened next, he knew he had no way to be ready for it.

She dragged a four foot and a bit long wooden staff out of the rack of weapons. Reg felt like it made more than a four foot and a bit long noise. He felt wobbly.

“Put all that down,” she said. He fumbled out of his book bags strap. “You ready?” she asked.

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say what for? He had no time to say anything before the staff flew at him. It gave him a start to realize that it had been thrown rather than swung. It rattled against his chest. He managed not to drop it.

Poppy backed into an open place on the mats. She looked poised, but poised like a retort and had something of that false calm.

“I won’t hit you,” Reg said. He had a loose grip on the staff.

“A thing imbued with a sense of self has no sense of self until violence forces it to defend what makes it individual,” Poppy said. “By violating their tendency to be objects at rest, I show them respect—I say ‘You exist—please fulfil your purpose,’ to the great sticky mess of macrocosm that seems so intent to prove that I’m not the center of it. It makes so kind as to return the favor of violence and disrupt my tendency to be a stone. That is my prayer, and it is why I say a-bloody-men every single morning.”

While she talked, she looked more relaxed. At the same time, the air felt more excited.

“And no,” she said. “You won’t hit me.” She smirked. “So, go on, give it a go.”

Something fuzzy happened in Reg’s mind. He felt like he had been given permission by…something: the rules that kept semi-decent people from just whacking each other with sticks at the slightest provocation. He felt the feeling fading even in the moment that it had come into being. The realness of the moment had a great deal of potency. He visualized a half dozen different ways to run at Poppy and swing the staff at her. Sideways—up—once with a stabbing motion—he thought of taking a flying leap and coming down on her. What he imagined looked real behind his eyes. It looked bright and clear, almost more real than the sweaty gym air he breathed.

Like wisps of smoke in a breath blown, all the visions swept away. They left behind the staff in his sweaty hands, his half-weakened knees, and the smiling face of Poppy under the harsh lights.

“I can’t understand what’s happening,” Reg said. He thought about the words and realized he meant by them that he didn’t understand anything that had happened recently. So he nodded, emphasizing the point and agreeing with it.

Poppy answered by sliding her right foot back, turned her torso a little away from him and keeping her eyes full on him. She became a woman more ready for a fight.

“Then don’t,” she said.

Reg nodded. He swallowed. Then don’t, he repeated to himself.

The fight didn’t feel like a fight. Especially not at first. He only knew that a long time afterward. If it felt like anything, it felt like a massage, which he also only learned a long time after. A deep-tissue massage, harsh and demanding the question, “How can this not be worse for me?”

He swiped at her like a stiff child at first. But he would do that. No training meant no idea how to stand or how to swing. Plus since he had the stick and she did not, he kept it careful. He tried to be careful, anyway, till she maneuvered him into feeling like he shouldn’t anymore.

She rearranged him so that he felt more sure of what he was doing. The way she blocked rearranged his hands on the staff so that he had a stronger grip and struck out stronger. The way that she made long, stomping kicks at him that pushed him more than bruised him rearranged how he had his sneakered feet on the mat; he could feel his roots grow firmer. She shouted at him, not always in intelligible words but always in ways that had meaning he felt, and barriers of unsureness inside him slowly dissolved and let him reach into places in his mind that he had not realized he had.

After a couple minutes, a split second happened when he felt all the pieces work together. He felt her shift—watched her move—felt an opening. He took the shot, lashing out in half a stab half a jab that went in a half circle toward her ribs.

It would have made contact too, if she had still been there.

“Good,” she whispered in his ear.

Then his feet weren’t on the mats anymore. He had a moment when his breath got left behind. He lost track of down and up. The gym turned into blurs of light and shade. Poppy’s strong hands became his only reference to a firm reality. He didn’t make a sound, then he started to catch his breath again. A certain feeling grew in him that he would fall. “Down” started to mean something again, and it tugged in ever-so-slightly the wrong direction to be one he could stand on.

At the last blink before Reg gave into being hurled he knew not where, he felt his center of gravity lock right over his feet. Due to no fault of his, he found himself leaving the world of whirling to land on his own feet, firm as anything. Poppy let go of him. He took a few steps backwards, more because of the kinetic energy left over from the tiny tornado that had just happened to him than because of anything else.

His breath caught up to him all in a rush. He started to pant.

“Can you feel it?” she said.

Reg shook his head.

Her smirk told him that he would. And her second smirk said he should make ready.

Then he learned that he had not been fighting her, and he learned it would be a long time before he ever could fight her.

She steered him. Her hands and feet struck out fast enough that he noticed them when she drew them back and completely missed the next open-hand punch or light kick. Every single one made contact with him, and every one landed with a sensation like a little electric shock. Her knuckle jabbed his rib. Her knee bumped his shoulder somehow. Her fingertips pushed in under his jaw and made it clear that they could go much further and faster, then disappeared. None of it quite hurt, but all of it landed heavy enough to make him want to stop it.

But he just couldn’t move fast enough.

Except, he felt his body starting to do something new. Her hand would fly up under his arms and hit him in the sternum, and his body knew it had to do something to make that harder next time. When she tried it again he couldn’t block it, but his arms twitched to try. When she hooked his foot out from under him—then caught him and set him on his feet—his legs seemed to get a better idea how to stand firmer and move quicker, and she had less luck tripping him the next time.

He felt tired. He didn’t know how long this had lasted. His sore arms and shaky legs and all his tingling skin felt like it’d been hours. His heart had a quivery feeling like it knew he didn’t have much left to give, and a feeling behind his eyes told him to just lie down.

Poppy looked sharp and full of breath.

A sound tickled the air. After a few busy seconds, Reg thought he tracked the sound to Poppy’s calm smile.

Yes—she was humming.

He recognized the tune.

It was “Les Boys” by Dire Straits.

In his too-weary body, beset on all sides by this woman’s strength, watching her calm face and hearing her calm hum, making it clear how little she needed to pay attention to him, he felt a last barrier break. And now his head had that tune in it,

With the emptied-lung, liquid-bodied force of will of power-walking the last hundred yards to the top of a mountain, he swung the staff in his hands at Poppy. He slashed at her once, and she blocked. Twice, and she blocked. She blocked a fourth time and a fifth time. He wound up for a sixth, and that was when gravity went funny again.

When he felt oriented again, he had the ceiling and its bad lights filling his view. The mats held his shoulders and jelly legs, and it felt like a consoling pat on the back.

Poppy sat next to him. Well, Reg said sat: she lounged. She looked like she had just walked in and found him and had decided to sit with him till he saw fit to explain why he thought it a good idea to lie around on the floor of a gym.

He would do that. He would explain what had happened, as soon as he caught his breath.

For a while, he breathed. Then he closed his eyes and breathed. He liked that better.

“What just happened?” he said, and he accidentally said it out loud.

“You just fought for yourself is what just happened,” Poppy said. “How about that?”

Reg took a deep breath and it was halfway a groan. “Something profound just happened,” he said.

“Did it?” Poppy said. “I don’t hold with ulterior motives.”

With that, she tapped him on the cheek. It was the sharp tap of a coach pointing out to her rookie boxer that he had a lot to learn. A “you’re cute, kid,” tap.

Reg stayed on the floor for a while after she left.