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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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YYH Recaps: Episode 1, Surprised to be Dead

Hello, all you hypothetical readers! It's a beautiful spring day and I have a free afternoon ahead of me, so what better time to start another massive project while I guilty stuff my other WIPs deep into the depths of my hard drive? Yeah. Iffy life choices aside, someone mentioned a few weeks back that they'd love for me to recap a show I have more positive things to say about than negative (RIP RWBY) and ever since Netflix announced that their live-action adaptation of Yu Yu Hakusho is in the works, I've been itching for a re-watch of the anime. With the RWBY hiatus underway, it seemed like the perfect time to fulfill both desires.

Before we begin though, I'd like to touch on a few things that are going to influence this project.

First, YYH is near and dear to my heart. Written by Yoshihiro Togashi in the early 1990s and later adapted for an American audience by Funimation, I had the pleasure of experiencing this story five different ways: as a serialized tale in Shonen Jump, a binge read when I had the money to buy the manga, tiny snippets of the anime on Adult Swim late at night — don't tell my parents ;) — as an after-school treat on Toonami, and then years later as a re-watch when I introduced it to a friend (who, in turn, blessed me by having us watch Fullmetal Alchemist next). I used to keep a Hiei bookmark in everything I was reading, the spirit gun made it into our witch-wolf-space adventures on the playground (middle school was wild), and there was a long period of my life where I tried very hard to teach myself to stand with my hands behind my back, precisely as Genkai does. Spoiler alert: I failed. So to say I love the series is... a little bit of an understatement. I bring this up simply as a way of demonstrating that there's more than a bit of nostalgia attached to YYH for me and that will inevitably cloud my reading of it. How can it not? So that's just something to keep in mind as I work through a series that, like any having hit its 30th birthday, has its outdated, flawed, and other questionable aspects.

Second, but very much connected to the first point, is that these are pretty casual recaps. I summarize and extrapolate, focusing primarily on plot and dialogue (but with the occasional cinematography aspect tossed in). I'm not conducting research on the cultural history here — something that will come up at least once in this episode — I'm not arguing an overarching thesis, and I've never been someone who focuses on the author/production/trivia of a series. I'm here for the story as the story is presented to the viewer. If you've read my RWBY Recaps, this will function precisely the same way, with the only difference being I'm engaging with a finished text as opposed to an ongoing one, so there’s a lot less, “Maybe ___ will happen” theorizing going on.

Third, I obviously recommend that you watch the show yourself (you can find it on YouTube!), but you don't have to know the series to follow along. As these massive paragraphs attest, I tend to be both detailed and verbose, so we'll be covering every major plot point — and most of the smaller ones too.

Finally, I'm working from the dub. I know, I know, the horror. But it's what I grew up on and, honestly, I think it's superior to the sub. YYH's dubbing is in a class all its own and to this day there are very few shows that compare to it. Trust me, it's a good call.

That's enough of the boring chit-chat though. Let's get started!

Our very first episode "Surprised to be Dead" opens on a crowded street. We see lots of traffic, people going about their business, and a pedestrian crossing sign that, crucially, turns red. This is our normality and, like in every genre story, you need to break that normality at some point so that the protagonists can go on their fantastical/supernatural/science fiction journey. YYH eases us into things by first breaking the normality of an everyday afternoon: there's a screech of tires, quick shots of a man pushing a child out of the way of an oncoming car, and then his back is hitting the windshield. We begin this story with a horrible — but otherwise mundane — car crash.

Now, these flashes alone have a fair bit to unpack. Despite later getting a brief shot of the man's scared face right before he's hit, the moment's focus is really on the child. He's the one foregrounded in the initial, slow-mo shot. He's the one who appears in color while the man is kept in shadow. This isn't just a hit, it's a rescue. The camera is also careful to follow the soccer ball this kid was playing with (more on that later in the episode), with it flying through the air as the man is hit and bouncing to a stop in the street, acting as the dramatic finish. It's childhood! It's innocence! It's play on a sunny afternoon! And it's all gone wrong.

This moment is chaotic and even a bit confusing. Not in the sense of what's happening — that is quite obviously a guy being hit by a car — but who the victims are, how precisely this came about, or even why we're meant to care about this beyond a generic capacity to feel for other human (fictional) beings... that's all removed. And it works. As the crash takes place, the camera pans across the stunned crowd and we, the viewer, become a part of that crowd. They don't know what precisely is going on either. We're all just horrified onlookers as a sudden tragedy takes place. We're all watching the same show.

So everyone realizes this guy has been hit. People are staring in shock and someone calls for an ambulance. We see the driver fall to his knees in the street, distraught, shakily saying, "I didn't mean to..." It's a very serious and emotional scene that —

— is immediately tempered by this guy waking up, complete with a cute 'pop!' sound effect when he opens his eyes.

This is YYH's brand, this Very Serious Circumstances skillfully interwoven with casual indifference/comedy. It's admittedly far from a unique brand, but it's an excellent choice given that this is the same attitude that will drive 99% of our protagonist's interaction with the world.

Speaking of said protagonist, our guy wakes up, opens his eyes, and realizes that he's floating. There's a great, disorientating shot from his perspective where everything is upside down, causing him to nearly fall out of the air. Well would you look at that, he's as confused as we are. It's our audience surrogate!

A narrator says, "And so it all begins. This boy's name is Yusuke, he's fourteen years old, and he's supposed to be the hero of this story. But oddly enough, he's dead."

Game of Thrones might have made it popular, but YYH did it better.

(Yeah, yeah, I know one death kick-starts the journey and the other is a shocking twist. Just let me have this.)

Now, it's a weird introduction, right? At least at the end. The announcement that change has occurred, a name, an age... that all checks out. But "supposed to be the hero"? What the hell is that “supposed to” mean? Our narrator gives us the easy, surface answer: "But oddly enough, he's dead." We're capitalizing here on the audience's expectation that death ends a character's journey and though they may have been a hero previously, they can no longer be one moving forward. That function within the story has passed. So it's this intriguing question of, "What kind of hero do you have when that hero is dead from the start?" but as we'll see soon, there's an additional meaning here of, "How can Yusuke be the hero?" As this premiere sets up, Yusuke doesn't act like the hero is “supposed to” act.

Until he saved this kid.

But right now he's just confused: "Okay, this is weird. Stupid weird."

Two EMTs arrive on the scene and are hilariously useless. You know how in any medical drama a doctor will stop CPR after a couple of seconds because obviously you're not going to spend half the episode on realism? Well, that's this only a thousand times worse. One guy just looks at the kid and announces he's fine except for some bumps and bruises. Meanwhile, the kid is sobbing.

"Well, at least one of them is," replies the other EMT, because I guess he can tell Yusuke is beyond hope without taking a pulse or anything? "I hate cleanup," he complains as they load his body onto a stretcher because that's? An empathetic response to have??

Honestly this scene is wild.

Yusuke is understandably upset that he's, you know, dead and all. He starts hounding the EMTs who, unable to hear him, just go about their business of taking the kid and his body to the hospital. "You think you can just do whatever you want because you have that stupid uniform on? You can't just write me off. Listen to me!" and Yusuke tries to punch one of the EMTs in the head, resulting in him floating right through.

What a great way to introduce your protagonist's personality. We see here that when things go wrong Yusuke's default emotion is anger and it starts creeping in even before he thinks the others are ignoring him: "Stupid weird." He has problems with authority — "You think you can just do whatever you want because you have that stupid uniform on?" — is used to others listening when he gets angry — "You can't just write me off!" — and is poised to use violence at the slightest provocation. Yusuke is a guy who, right now at least, is ready to punch first and ask questions later.

As Yusuke floats back up into the air and the ambulance drives away, he finally cools down enough to try and think his way out of this. "It's not like this is the first time you've been in a jam,” he thinks. Yusuke recalls that yeah, something was different about today...

...he actually went to school.

Catch me laughing that this idiot boy equates the weirdness of him dying with going to school. Good lord.

Anyway, this jumpstarts our flashback. We open on a generic, anime middle school (that always feels like a high school to me) where the principal is calling for Yusuke through the loud speaker. Oooo someone’s in trouble! We follow a young girl up to the rooftop and she gets a classic hair-blowing-in-the-wind moment to establish that she's our love interest. Meet Keiko Yukimura.

Keiko finds Yusuke hanging out and immediately starts lecturing him for trying to chew gum and refusing to wear the boys' uniform. "Oh, give me a break, Keiko. I look better in green." Note that it's here we learn her name and it's an easy, casual way to introduce it. I bring this up because Yusuke's introduction via our narrator is very much... not that. It's an on your nose statement about his name, age, and importance to the story, and if you're just starting the show in 2021, it might come across as a rather armature move. Like something out of a kid's show, perhaps. Yet here we see that this was a deliberate choice, considering that YYH is capable of introducing character information naturally when it wants to.

This moment also tells us that Yusuke cares a great deal about his image. More on that in a bit. Because Keiko isn't finished her list of grievances yet, going on to say that his attendance record has hurt their entire class, hurt her as class representative, and if he keeps going down this path he won't even graduate middle school. "Sometimes I think you don't care about anyone but yourself and then you don't even do that right!"

They're legit complaints. Too bad Yusuke is busy looking up Keiko's skirt.

Yeeeeah. Sadly, this is common for anime, particularly a 90s anime like YYH. Even presumably more progressive series like My Hero Academia feature characters like Mineta, whose entire personality is being a pervert, and the creation of abilities that "require" kids/young women to be scantily clad. See: Yaoyorozu. YYH is no different in this regard, with various forms of sexual harassment functioning as a shorthand for how much Yusuke secretly likes Keiko. "Boys will be boys," right? Obviously not.

Like so many others series, the creators get away with it because they’re framing it as a bad thing. It's totally fine because look, Keiko slaps him! This is teaching the viewer how wrong this behavior is. Never mind that this is clearly an established habit between them, that Yusuke laughs off Keiko's discomfort, and that the whole scene is meant to be funny for the viewer. That's the real purpose here; it’s not a PSA on harassment.

That, and to establish the long-suffering love Keiko has for Yusuke in turn, largely stemming from a life-long friendship. "Dumb boy! He hasn't grown up a bit since he was four years old." We see that Keiko's early interactions with Yusuke have given her insight that others lack. As she heads down from the roof she runs into two girls hiding around the corner, too scared to come out lest "the great Urameshi" set his sights on them. Isn't Keiko terrified of what he might do to her? "Or worse, what others might say of it?" Like any classic high school middle school setting, one's reputation is king. Yusuke cares about how others see him — maintaining that tough boy attitude — and the girls care more about what the rest of the school might think of Keiko's interactions with him than the presumed harm Yusuke could do to her. They heard he can summon 2,000 men with just a whistle and that he "kills for fun!" But that means nothing in the face of people talking about you. Despite being one of the most popular girls in school, Keiko is the outsider here via her disinterest in what other people think.

The animation changes here, giving us a good look at how the girls picture Yusuke: tough, scowling, surrounded by shadows, and backed by an entire army.

In contrast, we've already seen what Yusuke is really like.

Keiko laughs the image off too. Yusuke is more like a "lamb" than a killer and besides, he couldn't order around two people, let alone two hundred. "He doesn't have many friends."

"That's not what I heard," says one of the girls.

"Yeah," goes the other. "I think we would know."

Again, rumors rule here, with whispers in the hall considered more reliable than someone who interacts with Yusuke on a daily basis. Keiko doesn’t have a hope of changing their minds.

Oh, as a side note, I love that they gave Keiko Miyazaki-esque hair. It's very emotive.

Yusuke escapes outside where the principal is still calling for him to report to his office. He overhears a conversation around the corner and we cut to two boys, one of which is showing a wallet off to the other. He explains that some bully tried to rough him up, but he said he was Urameshi's cousin and the bully took off, dropping his wallet in the process. The guy's friend is impressed, but what is he going to do if Yusuke ever finds out he lied? Not to worry, he says, that "blockhead" would probably think it's true even if he did somehow hear.

Yusuke, obviously, does hear about this and he, also obviously, does not believe this guy is his cousin. He looms ominously and they scurry up against a wall, terrified and offering him the wallet as an apology.

"You think I want your money?" Yusuke yells.

YYH is, in many respects, a rather simple story, but I appreciate the hints of complexity in these otherwise straightforward interactions. It's not that this guy used Yusuke's name to steal a wallet, he used it as a form of protection against another bully — a far more sympathetic motivation. It's not that Yusuke's fearsome reputation has resulted in any genuine respect because once people think they're safe they reveal how little they think of his intelligence — he's a "blockhead." And Yusuke, though intimidating and violent, is not your average, schoolyard bully. He doesn't care about money, only the insult and the damage this guy using his name might have done to his reputation. There's a little more nuance here than you might otherwise expect.

Also, note how dark the boys' standard uniforms are and how much they blend into the rest of the world. Yusuke, as our protagonist, stands out in his bright clothing. He was right, he does look better in green!

So he's ready to clobber this kid when one of the teachers arrive: Mr. Iwamoto.

Iwamoto demands to know what's going on, but the boys are too terrified to rat Yusuke out. Noticing the wallet on the ground, he assumes that Yusuke was after their money, something that greatly offends him: "Whatever!" Iwamoto goes on to say that, "No good weeds like you should have been plucked a long time ago," making it clear that he considers Yusuke a hopeless case. The positive aspects that Keiko sees, as well as the complexity the viewer sees — to say nothing of his introduction of saving a kid — aren’t considered here.

Notably, Iwamoto exists in part to show us what Yusuke could become. Not a teacher (he's obviously not attending school enough for that!), but a cynical man who is cruel for cruelty's sake. Yusuke is already barreling down that path, ignoring Keiko's advice, terrorizing other students, trying to punch EMTs, etc. If his life (or afterlife...) hadn't changed through that accident, this is the kind of person Yusuke might have grown up to be, and we can see that clearly in the visual parallels between them. Dark haired men dressed in green who scowl with ease and toss out cutting insults. Yusuke is staring his future in the face.

For now he walks off with a final shot, "You shouldn't talk. It makes you sound stupid." This time Yusuke makes it to the school's entrance and tries to enjoy his second attempt at chewing gum, but someone hits him in the back of the head.

"Okay, somebody's DEAD — ah. Sorry, old man."

"That's Mr. Takenaka to you."

Our principal has finally left the office and hunted down Yusuke for himself! Putting this interaction immediately after the one with Iwamoto allows the viewer to compare them. Yusuke might be irreverent towards his principal, but it's clear there's still some kind of respect between them. Yusuke only starts threatening because he doesn’t realize who hit him and once he does realize it's Takenaka, he immediately apologizes. That "old man" comes across as a teasing insult and Yusuke allows himself to be briefly dragged back towards school, rather than throwing a now classic punch. In turn, Takenaka cares enough about Yusuke to try and keep him on the straight and narrow. He utilizes Yusuke's preferred language — violence — but in a casual way, nonthreatening way: slight hit to the back of his head, noogie, pulling him along by the ear.

It's the sort of physicality we're used to seeing in media between a parent and child who are outwardly antagonistic, but actually share a deep bond. Takenaka is also careful to frame their return to his office as a "discussion," not a punishment, and offers Yusuke tea along with the conversation. Whereas Iwamoto considers Yusuke to be a "weed" that should have been plucked from their school long ago, Takenaka is determined to help Yusuke bloom.

If we're continuing the flower metaphor :D

Yusuke isn't in the mood to play along though. He gets away by using a fake ear, startling Takenaka when it unexpectedly pulls free. Yusuke escapes the school grounds and Takenaka, suffering a back twinge from his fall, can't chase after him. Poor guy. I understand that pain lol.

Yusuke heads home where we're introduced to his mother, Atsuko. Most notable in her first shot is the soft lighting that highlights her looks. We're not told how old she is here, but I believe she's around 28 — and she looks it, if not younger. Given that Yusuke is 14, that means Atsuko was a mom at his age. This is a quick and subtle way to tell us about Yusuke's home life. There are more overt details in this scene — it's at least lunchtime and Atsuko hasn't left her bed yet, she demands that Yusuke make her coffee instead of greeting him, it's all meant to imply (before we actually see) that she's an alcoholic — but her age is another way to highlight the broken household here. There's no partner in sight and she clearly had Yusuke as a teenager. He hasn't had a strong parental figure to take care of him. If anything, Yusuke is taking care of Atsuko here.

"Oh great, mother of the year!" basically sums things up.

Atsuko wants to know why Yusuke isn't in school and he says that everyone is pissing him off today, particularly with their preaching. "Dear, if you hate preaching so much you should live on your own... but you can't do that, can you?" Alongside a rough upbringing, Yusuke is suffering from the common problem of being trapped in a dead-end life. He hates his school, his town, and coming home to find his mom hungover. Yusuke has no prospects and, outside of one principal, no one who is actively working to help him find some. Even the little things he hates, like being preached to, are unavoidable because if you want to live on your own, that requires money. Good luck pulling that off as a middle schooler whose only skill is street fighting!

Yusuke walks off in a huff, literally shouting in a street about what a bad day he's having (and hilariously scaring off pedestrians in the process). His shout brings trouble though. A couple guys appear to ambush him, their boss close behind. The music increases the tension, Yusuke's expression is serious, and we even get a Dutch angle thrown into the mix.

For any who don't know, the Dutch angle is a popular film technique to establish that something is wrong. There's tension in the scene, something uneasy is at play, and the world is now literally off center. It's perhaps most famously used in Do The Right Thing to establish the friction between an Italian-American pizzeria and the predominantly African American neighborhood it's based in.

But it's also used a great deal in horror as a way to say: yup, shit just got real. Scary real.

This Dutch angle introduces a character you may not appreciate at first, but absolutely should: Kazuma Kuwabara.

He's initially the comic relief and that's clear in his introduction. Within seconds we move from that intimidating arrival to, well, seeing him. To be clear, I've got nothing against redheads with big chins, but compared to Yusuke's design, Kuwabara is meant to be the funny looking one. His threat level plummets the moment we get a look at his face, especially in a series that will occasionally use looks as a (supposed) measure of intelligence.

Also, Kuwabara is dressed in light blue so, like Yusuke, we know he's important!

Any assumptions that his appearance isn’t meant to imply a goofy, embarrassing personality are put to rest when Kuwabara starts rambling about how they last time they fought Yusuke just got a cheap shot in and he'll definitely win this time. Yeah, he won't. Yusuke is thrilled by this diversion though and we get a shot of him looking almost as creepy as Keiko's friends think he is. Whatever else might be said about Yusuke, he is absolutely a monster in a fight.

Which we see here. If anyone picked up the series without knowing this was a fighting anime, they'll realize it now. Yusuke's choreography is stylized to show off his skill: he disappears with a 'whoosh' and dark lines to suggest inhuman speed,

attacking Kuwabara with a knee to the face, utilizes flying kicks, lands perfect, precision punches, and ends it all with the toe-tip landing we've come to expect of all powerful fighters. Kuwabara never even got a hit in.

Happy as a clam now, Yusuke wanders off whistling and Kuwabara's friends are left to pick up the pieces. AKA, his likely broken bones. I love that they're legit friends though and not just nameless goons for the sake of giving Kuwabara a small gang (though their names won't come up until later). "That makes 0 wins an 156 loses!" one of them cries, trying to get Kuwabara to stop ending up in the hospital, probably. We establish that Kuwabara is The Most Dramatic Ever when he pulls his broken body into a seated position, shouting, "No! I almost had him that time!"

Then he passes out.

Kuwabara, honey, you obviously did not almost have him, but god bless you for the outlook. The most optimistic thing on this Earth is a well-loved Golden Retriever, but Kuwabara comes in at a very close second.

With his dream to one day beat Yusuke in combat established, we cut to Yusuke wandering the street where the episode opened. "Okay, I'm remembering" he says in a voiceover. "After that I met the kid."

The soccer ball reappears as it rolls to a stop at Yusuke's feet. He grabs it and immediately starts yelling at the kid. Horrible protagonist, right? Well, Yusuke is trying to instill in him the danger of using this street as a playground, a worry the viewer already knows is 100% justified. “Listen, kid, that’s dangerous! There are cars going by that will splatter you into the pavement!” It's one of those quick moments where we get to enjoy Yusuke's duality: he's someone who is nearly making a toddler cry, but for rather understandable reasons. He's got the right idea, but needs to go about it in a more mature manner.

Which is precisely what he attempts to do. Sort of. Yusuke changes gears, though whether it's a more "mature" route is certainly up for debate lol. He tries entertaining the kid instead, raising and lowering the soccer ball to reveal goofy faces.

When these fail to impress, Yusuke goes full out by stuffing the ball into his pants, pushing his nose up with a pair of chopsticks he got from god knows where, and generally just putting on a display.

So Yusuke cares very deeply about his reputation... but only when it comes to those who are an established part of his life. Keiko, Mr. Takenaka, and the other kids at school all need to maintain a particular image of Yusuke, one that he's carefully cultivated. But random pedestrians on the street? Who cares about them? Let them talk.

This shows us that Yusuke does indeed have priorities over his own, selfish goals. Namely, the happiness of some kid is more important to him than looking "cool" for a bunch of strangers. Lots of characters with Yusuke's surface attitude would sneer at the idea of degrading themselves for — their words — some brat. But Yusuke, as we constantly see, actually does have that heart of gold. “Well, if all else fails I can still make kids happy.”

Although... I'm not sure what to make of his display itself. I have the distinct sense that there's something prejudiced here that I'm not able to fully articulate, what with the chopsticks, slanted eyes, bald head, and the like, though to be entirely frank I don't have enough knowledge of Japan's history to say precisely what it might be. Or, really, whether it exists at all. Just something to chew on.

What I am sure about though is the importance of having the child label Yusuke as monster — "Yeah, monster! — but in a delighted manner. Yusuke is indeed some kind a monster, someone who disappoints adults and terrifies his classmates, a demon fighter on the streets too, but here that identity is reworked into something positive.

Having successful secured a laugh, Yusuke tells the kid — calmly this time — to go play elsewhere. The toddler stares up at him with the blank expression only kids can manage.

Well, kids and whatever headspace I'm in after writing these metas.

To absolutely no one's surprise except Yusuke's, the kid does not go elsewhere. Instead, he continues kicking the ball down the street, causing Yusuke to exclaim, “Dammit, what’s the use? The kid can get smashed by a car for all I care!” Liar, liar.

The picture becomes desaturated as the kid kicks the ball and it flies into the street, time slowing down to show it landing precisely in the middle of the road. Yusuke again yells for him to stay put, but when has a toddler ever listened? He begins to walk into the road as our driver arrives, speeding, swerving, and paying more attention to the girl at his side than what's in front of him.

This time, we see the accident from the front with both Yusuke and the kid presented equally.

There's a cut to black and when we return we're in the present, Yusuke floating above the policemen now investigating the scene. “So that’s it? I’m roadkill?” As Yusuke realizes he's dead, specifically that he's a ghost, a voice goes,

"Bingo! Bingo! You win the prize!"

A woman has appeared who is quite obviously othered by the standards of the episode so far. Unlike the greens, blues, and browns of the series' modern clothes, she's dressed in hot pink kimono with blue hair to match. She's also, you know, floating on an oar.

“I didn’t expect you to figure it out so quickly," she says, referring to Yusuke's revelation that he's dead. Apparently, those who meet unexpected and/or violent ends tend to take some time coming to terms with their demise. It's a nice acknowledgment of Yusuke's intelligence in an interaction that's otherwise... not great for his self-esteem.

Meaning, this woman is about to drag him lol.

She introduces herself as Botan, pilot of the River Styx and guider of souls to the afterlife. You might also know her as the Grim Reaper.

(Hey, RWBY fans: I originally wrote that as Grimm Reaper 🤦‍♀️)

It's an claim Yusuke takes issue with because 1. Botan is too pretty to be the Grim Reaper and 2. If she was really some god of death she'd be taking this much more seriously, not laughing and saying, "Bingo!" For the audience this does two things. First, it acknowledges our own expectations and validates them. Yusuke's world isn't so far removed from our own that he takes Botan's looks and personality at face value, he also expected a skeleton with a scythe. So don't worry, all the weird stuff in this series is weird to our protagonist too. They'll be explanations. Or, even if there’s not, you’re not wrong for being surprised.

Second, it sets up the very common theme in YYH of undermining those common assumptions again and again and again. We've already seen it with Yusuke, wherein characters who look and act a certain way are, supposedly, destined to be that person and nothing more. Yusuke is meant to be just a "weed," a dumb, violent, angry loser who goes nowhere in life... but we already know he's more than that. Botan is supposed to be scary and serious, but she says nah, I want to be cute and bubbly instead. No character in YYH embodies who they're "supposed" to be when you look past those surface characterizations. They play the part of archetypes — and do keep certain parts of their expected personalities — but they're also far more well-rounded than that. Which yeah, is something most people expect from any story nowadays, but YYH is particularly adept at making you think you're watching Simple Show A only to turn around and surprise you with More Complex Show B.

It's great, trust me.

So Yusuke is pissed that Botan isn't adhering to those expectations, in the same way that he works hard to validate others expectations of him. He doesn't know how to deal with someone challenging his world view yet. Rather than angering Botan though, she just nods and says that this response makes sense for him. “Rather than being scared, or surprised, you yell a lot and tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about." Taking out a notebook, she quickly summarizes everything we learned in the flashback — minus Yusuke's complexities: he's fourteen, in middle school, is ill-tempered, violent, hates authority, and is a horrible student.

Typically, Yusuke responds by getting angry and trying to snatch the booklet out of her hands, only for Botan to pull it out of his reach, laughing. The tables have turned! Rather than being surrounded by people who cower at Yusuke's imposed authority, he now finds himself faced with someone who laughs at his transparent attempts to take control of the situation.

Calming down, Yusuke wants to know if the kid he saved is really alright and Botan offers to let him see for himself. That offer produces Yusuke's first, genuine smile.

They fly to the hospital where a doctor is in the process of giving the kid a clean bill of health, his mother crying with relief.

That's enough for Yusuke. “Alright, Botan, I’ve got no regrets, so you can take me to hell or wherever it is I’m going.”

That tells you all you need to know about Yusuke's self-worth, despite his bad boy attitude. His life is a dead-end as far as he can see and most of those around him haven't done anything to dissuade him of that idea. He says he doesn't care if the kid lives or dies, but then instinctively saves him. Post his death, Yusuke doesn't have anything he considers a regret, or anything he'd like to do before he leaves, like saying goodbye to a loved one. Oh, he's also pretty sure he's going to hell and has resigned himself to that without a fight.

Uplifting!

Botan just laughs though, saying that she's actually here to offer Yusuke an "ordeal" that could bring him back to life. See, he wasn't supposed to die today — let alone die saving a kid — and frankly they don't know what to do with him. It's another neat summary of what we've already learned: Yusuke is a far more complicated case than the afterlife assumed and now, when push comes to shove, deciding whether he belongs in heaven or hell is... muddled.

There's a fantastic story there about the problems with an afterlife that reduces a person's entire life to a few surface characteristics recorded in a book, refusing to acknowledge the context of their situation, or their capacity for change. “Run someone with your credentials a thousand times and they never would have saved a kid like that." Except, of course, Yusuke did save him, so those "credentials" are suspect, to say the least. However, YYH is not a story that explores these issues. Instead, I recommend you watch this!

Rather than being upset at the afterlife's low opinion of him (because let's be real, Yusuke shares it), he latches onto a little detail Botan let slip. If he wasn't supposed to die today... then was the kid?

Mmm... no. Actually, without the chaos of Yusuke jumping into the road, the driver would have swerved at the last second and the kid would have not only lived, but actually come out with one less scrape.

So Yusuke is obviously upset by this news! I would be too!! Holy shit, hang onto the "it's the thought that counts" message with everything you've got.

Also, don't think too much about the fact that the afterlife apparently knows exactly what will happen to people, down to how many cuts they accumulate in an accident. Also, don't think too much about where the afterlife foreseeing the crash begins and the unexpectedness of Yusuke interfering ends. That way lies madness. This will never come up again, so just let it go.

Sorry, 2013 me hijacked the post for a second.

As said, Yusuke is understandably upset by this revelation and as he fumes I'm reminded that this series likes to pull some amazing expressions.

Botan reiterates that it's all fine because Yusuke can come back to life. Weren't you listening? He should feel honored, in fact, considering that an offer like this only arrives every 100 years or so. Well, that explains why all of humanity isn't grappling with people coming back to life on the daily. One person every generation isn't going to cause much of a stir.

However, instead of jumping at the chance Yusuke announces that Botan is just like the teachers at school: she doesn't know what she's talking about. “You said yourself my life was kind of pathetic, right?” he says, going on to explain that everyone will be happier now that he's dead. His school won't have to deal with his behavior, Keiko won't have to nag him, and his mom will be able to party whenever she wants. It's a win-win for everyone involved.

Hmm, this feels familiar.

Don't worry, Yusuke doesn't need to experience a whole alternate reality to get the message.

“I’m sorry you feel that way at such an early age," Botan says and she is sorry, because despite her teasing nature that's a legitimately horrifying thing to believe. Yusuke won't budge though and after a little back-and-forth Botan leaves, telling Yusuke he should think it over while visiting his wake. She'll come back once he decides what to do.

“Do you have worms in your ears, lady? I did decide!” but Botan is long gone.

We cut to that night where Yusuke has indeed decided to attend his own wake. Maybe because of Botan's advice, maybe because he's just morbidly curious. We’re not given insight into the decision.

Atsuko is a mess, to put it mildly, not dressed for the occasion and sitting slumped against the way, staring vacantly as the guests offer their condolences. Yusuke is surprised by the fact that his entire class is here, but quickly writes them off when he sees two of the boys laughing. I'm on the fence about this detail, which I'll unpack in just a second.

First though, Yusuke sees Keiko exiting the house, inconsolable in her grief. She collapses on the ground with her two friends trying to offer comfort, despite the fact that they had nothing good to say about Yusuke himself. Good on them.

Before he can think too long on this though, Yusuke is distracted by Kuwabara's arrival. Unlike Keiko's crying, he expresses his grief through yelling. Specifically, yelling at Yusuke. For dying. For daring to "run away." His own friends are physically holding him back as he charges into the wake, screaming, “Who am I gonna fight now, huh? Who am I gonna fight?" It's not really about the fighting, of course. At least, not the fighting alone. "You’re supposed to be here for me," Kuwabara finishes, the punch he's thrown at Yusuke's photo going limp and catching his first tear.

You know, for all the goofy expressions, this show really is gorgeous. Just wait until we get to the fight animations.

Kuwabara's reaction is why I hesitate to write off the classmates like Yusuke has. Granted, we have no reason to believe that they care for him as Kuwabara does — they're nameless background characters defined only by their terror of "the great Urameshi" — but it's still a split second taken out of context. We don't know what they were laughing at, or if laughing is a part of their grief. God knows I personally laugh at the most inappropriate moments. If you tell me someone has just died there is a very good chance I will laugh awkwardly as I try to process that. It’s just a reflex. All of which I bring up not because these side characters are important, but because Yusuke's perception of his own worth is. The point of each of these moments is to show that those around him have always cared for him, even if Yusuke didn't notice. It's nice to think that extends to his classmates too. The variety likewise exists to show us how people grieve differently, with Kuwabara's friends not understanding that this is how he's working through the trauma: “This place is for mourning!” He is mourning, even if his way of mourning isn't as socially acceptable as Keiko's. So if screaming and throwing punches is valid, crying is valid, staring stoically in a drunk stupor is valid... why not laughter too?

Not likely, perhaps, but possible.

As an additional possibility to chew on, watching this premier again, it struck me how more emotional Kuwabara's scene is compared to Keiko's. Don't get me wrong, crying and calling Yusuke’s name gets the point across, but it's two seconds of generic grief compared to a much longer scene rife with intensity. When Kuwabara arrives the music swells and everyone is forced to pay attention to him. His grief is loud, violent, and given symbolism with his fist and the photo. There's more effort put into his reaction, frankly, so it wouldn't surprise me if fans started shipping them after this. That grief combined with an "enemies to lovers" possibility is a pretty potent mix. To be clear, Yusuke/Keiko is the (oh so obvious) canonical endgame and in the fandom Yusuke/Kuwabara can't compare to another slash ship that will turn up later, but this is a good example of how writers can craft some Very Gay Scenes without realizing it. When you have the girl crying prettily for a second and the guy absolutely losing his mind over Yusuke's death, questioning his purpose now, his support network, and then collapsing in grief... don't be surprised if your audience goes, "Oh hey, maybe they'd be a good couple instead."

But I digress.

The only people who are unquestioningly happy about Yusuke's passing are Mr. Iwamoto and his co-conspirator, Mr. Akashi. You know Akashi is another bad guy because he has bucked teeth and "ugliness" is an easy way to code for evilness. YYH is not immune to those mistakes :/

These two are really something else though, standing in the middle of a wake and claiming it's “too bad that car wasn’t big enough for them too," referring to Kuwabara and his friends. Wow! What stellar members of the academic community. Iwamoto goes on to say that Yusuke dying at least accomplished something good. Not, mind you, saving the life of a child, but rather looking good for their school's reputation. Akashi agrees, but says it's likely Yusuke only accidentally saved him while trying to steal the kid's lunch money. Remember, that accusation of theft is the one thing Yusuke has said outright that he does not do.

He's pissed listening to all this — wouldn't you be? — but knows by now he can't do anything about it. In another fantastic shot, Yusuke hovers his hand over Iwamoto's shoulder, desperate to grab him, when Takenaka's arrives there instead.

“What do you suppose is more disgraceful? That boy showing his misery, or your insensitive and idiotic words!”

HELL YEAH. You tell 'em, Mr. Takenaka.

Yusuke gets his third shock of the night at this passionate defense. Takenaka leaves the teachers to go pay his respects, but admits to Yusuke's picture that he just can't speak well of him. He was surprised to hear that Yusuke gave up his life for another and it's a fact that he acted selfishly. Though he doesn't say it in as many words, Takenaka explains that he's not grieving because Yusuke was a good person, but because it's so clear to him that he might have been. “Why didn’t you stay? You could have made something great out of yourself.”

Normally, "Why didn't you stay?" is just something for the living to grapple with, as the dead obviously don't have any say in what happens to them. But Yusuke does. It's here that the lighting grows soft again and Yusuke considers Takenaka's words. Keiko and Kuwabara grieve for who he was, but Takenaka grieves for who Yusuke could have been — someone that might still exist if Yusuke decides to undergo this ordeal.

Atsuko adds fuel to the emotional fire, breaking down and hiding her face in her knees.

Finally, the kid Yusuke saved arrives with his mother. Because yes, Yusuke saved him in every way that matters, considering no one else knows — or will know — that he'd have lived anyway. I like that the show doesn't allow that knowledge to undermine the emotion of their arrival, or what Yusuke’s act meant to them.

The mom tells her son to pay his respects and the kid thanks Yusuke for saving him, and for "making faces." He clearly doesn't get what's going on here. This is confirmed as the two leave and he asks his mom if he can play with Yusuke again tomorrow. “I know some people sounded angry at him, but he’s really nice!"

They're probably just crying because they want to play with him too, he thinks, which just makes his mom join in. Everyone is crying in this club tonight.

Those words are the cincher for Yusuke and with a brief montage of all the grief he's witnessed, he makes his decision.

We cut to later that night where Yusuke floats above the city, admiring the moon. Botan reappears and he asks, “Have you ever not known about something that seemed obvious to everyone else?” Yes, everyone has experienced that at one point or another. She asks if he's made his decision and Yusuke agrees to try and come back to life.

Emotional revelations out of the way, we're allowed another tone shift as Botan yells with joy, speeding off and causing Yusuke to grab hold of the end of her oar, lest he be left behind. Cranky as always, he demands to know where they're going. "To the spirit world, of course!" They're off to see someone who can explain the ordeal and give Yusuke the tool needed to complete it. Just hang on and enjoy the ride.

Thus ends our very first episode! Ah, the nostalgia. This is part one of a four arc series, with the anime cutting out a lot of the filler stories found at the start of the manga — a smart decision, I think. They primarily do the work of teaching Yusuke what he learned at the wake, so if you can accomplish that as quickly as the adaptation did, all the better. Especially since Yusuke needs to grow a great deal beyond the basic understanding that people might, sort of care for him, and that work will occur primarily through a job he's going to take on. The series isn't really about his death and it's not about an attempt to come back either — it's about what happens once you get that second chance. So this is the setup, but it's important setup all the same.

No need to skip ahead though. I've blathered enough for one recap. I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you when the writing gods next bless me with energy! 💜

#YYH #Yu Yu Hakusho #YYH recaps #mymetas

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hms-no-fun · 3 years

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do you ever deal with like... writers 8lock? how do you deal with that?

i do! quite often, in fact.

it's probably easy to look at the 30,000 words i've released in the last two weeks and think otherwise, but it's important to remember that i didn't release anything for a solid six months before this. when i finally got medicated again, the year i've spent thinking about this story while being mostly unable to get it on paper (for a multitude of reasons that can all be summarized with "it was 2020") just came flooding out of me. part of why i'm buckling down on this to the exclusion of almost everything else is because i know from experience that if i walk away for too long, all that energy will disappear and it'll be so much work to get it all back together again.

for me, writer's block is more of a math problem than anything. i was actually blocked on gf3 chapter 8 for a while because there are so many concurrent plot threads happening it's hard to keep them straight! i feel like half my job is just sitting here computing probabilities like a supercomputer that runs on pizza and filtered water.

a block can start anywhere. it can be "i don't know how to begin this story" or it can be "i don't know what should happen next" or "nothing i'm writing feels good." the blanket advice i would give for how to deal with a block is, of course, to keep writing anyway. you're never the best judge of the quality of your own work, especially when you're young. but i also know that this advice isn't really all that helpful, because i still get railroaded by blocks all the time. the difference is i've gotten pretty good at dealing with them in a timely manner.

i've described this feeling in other asks where i'll be writing a scene that's chugging along, and then something happens in the scene and suddenly i can't write anymore. the big example i always come back to is in gf2.2, when terezi lands on earth and tries to kill june. i originally ended that scene with terezi collapsing, june stealing her phone, and her and jade taking terezi to the hospital. and i actually sent that draft to a friend and she was like "this is great," but i wasn't convinced.

so i sat there for a bit and thought about what this story would look like if i followed that thread. did i really want to write a bunch of hospital scenes? did i really want to write an explicitly duplicitous june trying to cover up her actions? how would those things map onto the ideas i had for the future? and just from the shape of that story i could tell that, whether or not it was good in concept, the thought of writing it myself made me want to sleep for a thousand years.

and that's the thing, really. i think we railroad ourselves into scenes we don't want to write because they're the first thing we think of and we just kinda go with them. sometimes you just have to power through those scenes, but most of the time i've found that you can drop them in the trash or, at the very least, radically shift perspective in a way that makes them more interesting. writing is an expressive exercise and shouldn't feel like pulling teeth unless for whatever reason you feel like it has to. it's less about whether the writing is coming fast or slow and more about whether you think you're on the right track. and generally i've always been pretty good at telling if i'm on the right track. but like anything it's a skill that gets better with practice. hence: just write, damn it!

but then there are times like now, as i'm finishing up chapter 8.3.1, where i've just been staring at the damn thing for so long that i can no longer distinguish the good from the bad. that's why i brought other people on to check my corners. every time i write some clownshoes nonsense, i post snippets in our work server and ask if it's good. sometimes it is, sometimes it's on the right track but needs work, and sometimes it's totally off the mark. i like having people around me whose expertise in life as well as in homestuck specialty are different from my own.

a lot of times, working through a block is just a matter of talking it out. i've had SO many metaphysical conversations about godfeels deeplore that will probably never be made textually explicit, but they're important things for me to understand. often i find that a reason for a block has less to do with whether i know what is happening in a scene and more to do with whether i know why it's happening. because while writing i might have an idea like "ooh what if there's a spooky thing" and it fits in this esoteric sense. like i can tell that it's the right thing for this story. but now i've added a new wrinkle to the larger fabric of it all, and if i just keep writingwithout thinking about it i know i'll wind up regretting that choice later. so i compute probabilities and talk out concepts with my friends and throw out ideas and always always always when i'm open to other people's suggestions and drop all ego about "this is MY baby and I'M the auteur", we wind up coming up with some really truly excellent shit.

but sometimes a block is just a block. maybe you start a story and you don't like it. maybe your entire conception of the thing is just wrong, and you need to start from scratch but don't want to admit it. or maybe you're just tired!! i frequently try to push myself past my limits and i always wind up paying for it. my writing gets less coherent and i make a mess of parenthetical descriptions of [x character does y thing] and rushed, incomplete dialog that future me has to spend extra time just cleaning up.

it's easy to feel like, if you're upright and sentient then you have to write. but we aren't machines, and sometimes the energy just isn't there. maybe you can't focus enough, maybe the ideas are too spread apart. maybe you can only get a couple lines down. god knows that happens to me all the time! the solution, in my experience, is to just walk away.

there's a great bit in zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance by robert pirsig (which is genuinely one of my favorite philosophy books, surprising absolutely no one who knows its reputation) where he talks about having an engine problem in his motorcycle that he needs to fix, but there's a threaded screw holding the chassis in place keeping him from accessing the engine. he describes feeling FURIOUS, to the point of wanting to smash the whole fucking thing with a wrench. he describes being utterly, completely stuck, to the point that this screw is consuming his entire world. and he says:

"Stuckness shouldn't be avoided. It's the psychic predecessor of all real understanding. An egoless acceptance of stuckness is a key to an understanding of all Quality, in mechanical work as in other endeavors. ... Normally screws are so cheap and small and simple you think of them as unimportant. But now ... you realize that this one, individual, particular screw is neither cheap nor small nor unimportant. Right now this screw is worth exactly the selling price of the whole motorcycle, because the motorcycle is actually valueless until you get the screw out. With this re-evaluation of the screw comes a willingness to expand your knowledge of it."

art blocks, in my opinion, are no different. you can get stuck on the littlest things, especially when you're thinking big picture. it's easy to think that this one insignificant misunderstanding in the text can be ignored while you work on other parts, but it never works that way. at least for me. you have to be able to identify these little things that feel wrong, and treat them with the gravity and seriousness they demand. a quotidian hospital scene you barrel into automatically can be worth the entire wordcount of a work, because until you figure out why that scene feels wrong, you can't get any other work done.

and the solution, SO often, is to just walk away. go read a book, watch a show, go for a walk, smoke some weed, take a nap, eat food, whatever man pick your poison. let your brain passively process this thing in the background. during the day i write completely sober, and then at around 8 or 9pm when my comprehension really starts to fall and the doubts start creeping in, i step out and smoke some weed. obviously this isn't a solution everyone has access to, but it works for me! something about the way my thoughts spread out when i'm high makes it so much easier to process these vast pathways of information that i'm trying to funnel into a coherent narrative.

sometimes you realize the solution is to throw away 3000 words and take a different approach, like i did with 8.2. i should say, don't do this when you're just starting. you always always always end up rewriting the beginning of a story once you get a sense of how it builds and ends. the beginning in a first draft doesn't need to be good, it just has to get the ball rolling. but once you're in deep enough, you get a better sense of what works and what doesn't. and at that point you have to be egoless enough to know that even good prose can be the root cause of a block.

anyway, that's my advice. i hope that's helpful in some sense, but everyone's got their own approach and their own idea of what they're doing. this isn't meant to be blanket universal advice and shouldn't be taken as The True Way or whatever. it's just, like, my opinion, man.

#godfeels #homestuck #writers block #creative block #writing advice #how to get over writers block #how to write #sarahposts

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mallowstep · 3 years

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Just saying on the whole: I decided on Brackenpelt and Mintfur's personalities, this blogs anon's (and a bit you, no offense) literally decided to kick canon Reedwhisker to the curb, he now looks like Oakheart, and he's a sweetheart and a bit of an idiot who tries his best to protectand tell on Hawkfrost? (I've not read past TNP, so idk if he's actually like this so if he is forgive me.)

oh my god i. i can't.

okay so i have this thing that. is kind of long and convoluted to explain and also i neither want nor have to but i have this thing about repeating work. i can't do it. like i physically cannot make myself do it. if something interrupts what i am doing, and i lose what i wrote for an ask, i cannot make myself rewrite it. the thought alone is enough to make me want to cry.

so. i was. god. i can't even -- even summarizing what i wrote is very difficult for me. so i'm just going to jump in to where i was writing, maybe back up a little, because i was having fun talking about character arcs, and -- y'all can just deal.

(n.b. when i bring this up, people tend to suggest things like drafting responses to asks in software with autosave, or just saving responses to asks as drafts periodically. the answer is always, "i know that's an option, and it doesn't work for me for any number of reasons." while i appreciate the care, i'd rather save us all the time.)

(but to respond as quickly as i can to your actual ask -- i change background characters all the time, and no one has ever commented on it. secondly, while i often enjoy what anons offer me from different ideas, i'd prefer if we don't -- treat them as mine, perhaps? hm. not sure how to phrase that well and i want to move on now.)

anyway, basically, i'm rambling about decisions anons make and why i wouldn't personally make them. because i was in the middle of a thought, i'm going to have to back up a little, but -- i'm going to try to save myself some time and pain and just make one starting statement and then move on.

while i'm about to explain why i wouldn't make the following choices, that does not make them bad choices. in fact, i often enjoy responding to your asks with snippets utilizing these choices. they're just not choices i would independently make, but that doesn't make them bad. i just like to ramble about character arcs, and this gives me an excuse

reedpaw interfering with hawkpaw's dreams of the dark forest

the arc i have planned for hawkfrost revolves around no one knowing about the dark forest. it is essential to tigerstar's manipulation of him that no one knows. it is fundamental to his character arc.

so -- i can't just throw in reedpaw interfering. it would change every character's arc. and i like my arc for hawkfrost. i do not think it is benefitted by reedpaw interacting with it.

(this is kind of what i mean -- i've greatly enjoyed writing the drama that comes of reedpaw interfering, but i would never choose to have him interfere in independent content.)

reedkit being born not long after hawkkit, mothkit, and frogkit

this is the piece i'm most angry to have lost. i had -- guys i had a very good explanation of this one. it's. i will do my best because -- i don't know.

i am very -- the misty au matters to me. unlike the other aus, the misty au is mine. it is not some web of ideas, it is my au, and while i adore seeing everyone play with it, it often feels like -- handing someone a rubiks cube, watching them fiddle with it, and then, when they give it back to you, you solve it in a few moments. (i did speed cubing personal best was 27s, although i doubt i could get anywhere close to that now.)

like, you hand me this idea. mistyfoot has another kit about six moons after hawkkit, mothkit, and frogkit. i nod as you explain, am excited to see you so excited about it, but i cannot simply leave the cube unsolved. it is a compulsion of a sort. you hand me an unsolved cube, and i will solve it. i don't mean to, sometimes. it is simply that i know the patterns so well, and the process of observing and solving a cube is so instinctual, that i look for the best cross without realizing what i am doing, start to solve without meaning to.

and -- in this case, this is me solving the cube, this explanation. i have inserted this metaphor in part to explain why i feel i must try to explain this once again, why i am -- now that the chance, the idea of covering this topic has been raised, i cannot set it down.

so. although it is difficult, i want to tell you why i wouldn't choose to do this. again. there will be less couching this time, as there always is, so review my -- i don't think you're wrong, i just wouldn't make these choices -- above. i mean it.

reedkit being born changes every character's arc inherently. i've mentioned this in passing, but it fundamentally changes every single character's arc. for the main seven, it is a direct and tangible change, and for others, it is a ripple effect, and no stone is left unturned.

but i will use mistyfoot's arc as a catch-all, to explain my reason for not making this choice.

mistyfoot -- okay, if reedkit is born, mistyfoot's primary focus is no longer feathertail. i'm not one for "one child is loved more" stories. i don't like writing them. so. mistyfoot's focus is split between reedkit and feathertail.

and that is a problem. because -- feathertail is the most important thing in the world to mistyfoot. in an unhealthy way at first, but in a healthy way, later on. it is Unhealthy for mistyfoot to base her every action around how it affects feathertail; it is healthy for mistyfoot's top priority to be feathertail. codependency vs being a parent.

so. why is that a problem? well -- because it changes a lot of things, but most importantly, or at least, most close to the main time period the misty au covers, it changes how mistyfoot builds a relationship with hawk, moth, and frog.

because -- well, let's back up for a moment.

mistyfoot does not go in the nursery once. despite the fact that it is feathertail, that before and after this, they are nearly inseparable (unhealthily before, heathily after), she does not visit feathertail in the nursery a single time.

[insert a tangent about mistyfoot being in the nursery with reedkit i cannot bring myself to rewrite]

her interactions with the kits, once they are weaned, are either highly structured, or incidental moments she avoids and escapes from as fast as she can.

but -- feathertail is always there as a buffer. feathertail brings them out to mistyfoot as her kits, as a form of -- presentation, almost. or, mistyfoot and feathertail are talking, and one of the kits approaches momentarily.

because she can't do it anyway.

[insert tangent about mistyfoot being a good mother and how in this instance, that means not being around them]

and as the kits grow up, it is through feathertail that mistyfoot manages to build a relationship with them. the fact that they are feathertail's kits is how she does it. in part because -- it is a degree of separation that she is afforded. if things are too much -- she is not their mother. she can back off. but also because -- they are important to feathertail, and that makes it easier for mistyfoot to want to know them.

this is -- core to all five arcs at hand, here.

she sees hawkpaw seek out feathertail after a nightmare, and she sees a kit, who loves, who feathertail loves. she sees -- it makes it easier to forget his father, if he can simply be a child, sleeping with his mother to ward of nightmares.

hawkfrost is -- will always be the one she has the hardest time connecting to. this has little to do with his appearance (while he looks similar to tigerstar, he is not a clone -- he has more contrasting markings, a white chest, blue eyes, a narrower build, sleeker, glossier fur, and so on), and everything to do with the grief he causes feathertail as an apprentice. she worries over him, and mistyfoot doesn't know what to do.

frogheart is easier, or at least more straightforward. he bonds with mistyfoot when he's carrying feathertail down the mountain. there's -- two levels. first, he's doing a great service to the most important person to mistyfoot. second, this is a very hard time for feathertail, and mistyfoot wants to be with her for it. so -- they walk down together.

mothwing is -- she starts to be more and more responsible for feathertail's healthcare. and -- mistyfoot is. pretty much always with feathertail for that. even something as simple as marigold on a scratch, or getting a thorn pulled out -- mistyfoot is there.

it is an Anxiety Inducing Time. feathertail associates being treated with very bad things, and avoids going to the medicine den, so like -- mistyfoot has to be there to actually get her to go.

so while mothwing is learning to deal with -- a bit of a role reversal, in that she has to take care of feathertail. as a doctor, yes, but feathertail -- requires a lot of patience, cajoling, and creativity. and you know, that's hard. it is hard to see the cat who raised you like that. that's a big theme for mothwing.

but it means she starts to build a relationship with mistyfoot.

so -- why does it matter?

well, putting aside a long list of reasons that mistyfoot having reedkit then is so angst inducing (she's grieving for her first litter, she's not in a place to voluntary have another child, she's still coping with the trauma of a forced pregnancy, etc), if her focus is split between reedkit and feathertail, the weight of all of this is decreased.

not -- by half, or anything. love is not some finite resource. but mistyfoot no longer avoids the nursery, and she has many more early interactions with the kits. when feathertail leaves, she has another kit that means she can't fall apart in the same way. and -- that means that frogpaw, hawkpaw, and mothpaw's initial impression of her never changes.

when feathertail vanishes, they start to gain a deeper understanding of mistyfoot, which enables them to be able to start connecting to her.

other stuff

i'm doing this thing where i try to go to bed before 3am, so unfortunately, not right now.

oh wait i lied real quick

tawnypelt

i think this is because you haven't seen her pov yet, but a lot of asks about her tend to misunderstand her internal thought process. or at least -- they don't characterize her the way i intend to.

#ask #mine #misty au #anon #not sure how to tag this tbh #reed au #i don't know #again to be clear #anons never change #i just felt like explaining #why i make the decisions i make #and i like talking about mistyfoot

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inexchangeforyoursoul · 5 years

Text

@nagasleeps ... you unknowingly made me sweat blood upon getting the prompts lmfao 😅 (fake dating?? spo rT S??? so many things, none of which I’m into asgdsfafsd,,,)

Getting over the initial turmoil and the need to hire a deep web hitman to assassinate me, however, I thought about it… and yes, I’ve always liked the aesthetics™ of figure skating and racing, so it wasn’t ~that~ hopeless of a case,,, All in all, I ended up revamping a scene from a half-done fic to feature the LoV (instead of the Todofam bc latter are the og cast in the other thing so they were out of bounds but sssh)

I was vibrating when you reacted to the Happy Feet joke, so I really really hope you’ll enjoy the rest just as much!! ✨ MERRY LATE CRAMPUS AND A HAPPY NEW YEEEEAH

OH right: have an ao3 link that will likely read better lmao

“Can I?”

The question itself takes everyone for a loop, but the real catch that makes heads turn is the barely contained excitement in Hawks’ voice. Then there’s his face, too, which is that of a kid on their first festival.

It quickly turns into an embarrassed blush that he tries to hide behind the collar of his jacket, but the damage has already been done- not only did he speak up like that, but it happened just a split second after everyone has unanimously started to move on.

“Can you?” grunts Dabi into the awkward silence with a raised brow, nodding towards the ice rink. He was a few steps ahead of them already, targeting what seemed to be the nearest punch stall available.

Hawks tagged along for the Christmas fair visit in Deika because he figured he might multitask and try this buddy thing with Jin and also catch a few snippets of info, but watching the kids slipping around on the ice when they stopped by the rink… did things to him. Nostalgic, dangerous things.

“You skate, Hawks?” Himiko asks with a glint in her eye. She also doesn't hesitate to turn back and bounce towards the rink, obviously interested in… either him, the fact, or the place itself. He's yet to get a grasp on the girl.

“ … ” His brows pull up as he sulks on behind the makeshift barrier. “... I could. A little.”

She hops against the railing, balancing over the dangerously unstable structure. “Oooh, that's neat! What are we waiting for then?”

Wait, we?

Hawks is almost surprised enough to say it out loud, which… nice save. That sounds all kinds of counterproductive.

Doesn't help with the emotion reflecting on his face, though.

“What’s that face for?” she asks with a pout, looking almost offended before hopping back down. “I’m not going to pass up some fun, if you’re going, I’m going, too.”

“Ah---”

“Me, too!! Me, too!!!” pops Twice’s head up from nowhere between them.

“--- I see.”

“Well then,” Himiko says, her grump already forgotten as she's planting a hearty pat on Jin's head. “Can you skate, Jin?”

His brows, if they exist, inch closer as he squints, as if thinking… but he also immediately says a plain “Hell no.”

“Want me to teach you, then?”

That one rouses a confident “HELL YEAH!!” on the other hand, and he pulls on the drawstrings of his hoodie with such force that he not only disappears up to the nosetip, but an audible ripping sound also conveys the hoodie’s dislike of the abuse.

“Buckle up, then!" Himiko states with her hands on her hips. "First we’ll need some shoes, though. Also, you should get up from the ground, can’t skate like that.”

The man jumps straight into a salute upon hearing that. Considering that his coat is hanging off his head like a tent, it's quite a sight. “Aye aye, Toga sensei!!”

Hawks can’t help but let the uncertain hum break free; he is not sure he’s ready to make a clown out of himself… or that he could still stand upright at all, as a baby bird he was quite a midget. And a lot closer to the ground in case he hit it, making it less, well, scary.

“Mister, you coming too, right?” asks Himiko turning back to the two leftovers of the group.

“Oh…? Oh, sure! Ha ha…” he starts, the nervousness hardly hidden in his voice.

A stone falls from Hawks’ heart; there’s another clown in the making…

The old man (?) is so full of it, though. Just look at him. The only thing holding him back from stuttering is state of the art bullshitting skills…

“--- it is a highly refined form of showmanship, of course I---”

“You’re so full of shit, old man.”

… IT WASN’T HIM. IT WASN’T HIM WHO SAID THAT, RIGHT?!

Said old man’s monologue stops with a soft ‘ah’ of mixed shock and horror… followed by both hands pressed tight over his wounded pride and heart. Not even the mask can hide the damage done.

“Dabiii, you can’t just steal the big man’s thunder like that…” speaks up Jin as he peels a hole for himself on the hood to look out of.

Oh, thank GOD.

The offender isn’t shaken by the callout in the least.

“He should just admit he can’t skate,” Dabi shrugs, turning back to wherever he was headed before the minute disturbance began. “Anyway… I’m off to drown myself in mulled wine or whatever they have for sale. Smell y’all later.”

Yeesh… that’s cold.

… actually, getting Dabi alone out of the picture has made this issue of being seen stumbling around half as intimidating. Which Hawks isn’t gonna complain about.

A few minutes later he’s already received his pair of skates and is mentally preparing for the task at hand. And also trying to calm down, because honestly? He’s excited.

First things first, though, for a change his wings are more of a liability while doing this, so he gets rid of most of the feathers. Only after piling them up in the corner of the coat (more along the lines of 'bag') check room does he try the skates from a few angles on the plastic covered ground. They may be rented, but in comparison to the pair of battered ones he found by a trash container as a kid, few sizes too big then and now just as small, anything shone as long as they fit the task.

With a deep breath, he decides to give this a try and steps into the rink. One leg, then the other… a slow start at low speed, but he’ll have to remember how to stop as well… Yeah, this will do.

Having gained some confidence on the field, he also manages to get out of the way of Toga and Twice as they burst onto the ice with reckless abandon, the latter obviously having no experience in the rink as he finishes the action mopping up every person and shaved particle in his wake.

Hawks skates up to him with a raised brow as Himiko giggles on and makes her rounds around the sprawling man. "You okay there, mate?"

His face that peeks out of the fluffy hoodie still pulled closely around his head looks either really focused… or 100% out of it. Maybe embarrassed, or having a religious experience. Hawks can't tell. In the end, he summarizes his status as follows:

"... yes."

“I told you, didn't I?” chips in Himiko, too, now that she’s over her giggling fit. “Can’t skate while on the ground. Though, if someone can do it… it’s probably you.”

"I'd say he's still got better chances with the usual method," Hawks muses out loud before offering a hand. (Not the best idea. Jot that down, Hawks: Bubaigawara Jin not only is nimble, but also heavy. Easily two-times-your-weight heavy if wings are not included. Do not engage in close combat.)

Nearly ending up on the ice aside, he notes that the number of people in the rink has dwindled down quite a bit in the past minute. Whether the masses are intimidated, afraid, or just conscious of the dumbassery of the big guns, Hawks doesn’t know.

Nor care about, really- more space for him to fuck around. Speaking of which…

He leaves the two jokers behind as Toga starts to legitimately tell Twice how to stand on the ice, and picks up just enough speed to test whether he can do another thing he usually can’t because of his wings.

The first attempt doesn’t go all that well, as he nearly slips when the skate he’s balancing on hiccups upon a deeper trail cut by others; on the second, he manages to stand on one leg, which is half of the battle, alright. He takes a second of a breather to stretch his legs before taking the route back towards the entrance again, checking in on how Twice is faring while he’s at it; seems to be going well for him. A little shaky, but he doesn’t fall ass backwards anymore.

He takes a deep sigh to collect some second hand inspiration, then shoots off to where Mister Compress’ hat has entered the field.

Hawks lifts a leg again, but this time, he also reaches behind his back to get a hold of the blade that should be riiight about… there!

Just sliding in a straight line and not stretched enough for this shit so it hurts like hell? Yes.

It would hurt even if he had stretched, to be frank.

But!! One day, he’s gonna do a legit Biellmann spin, you just watch.

“Why, Starling…!” Mister calls out with an air of awe, the doom and gloom finally lifting from his stance as the blonde is shaking his leg loose. He does stay suspiciously close to the entrance all along, though. “This comes to you as easy as flying does!”

“Could be worse,” he yells back as the momentum from the bend takes him the opposite direction.

Frankly, some may see it as cheating… but his feathers are an amazing addition he's gonna use to the fullest when on ice. So what if he has sonars to know how and where he’ll touch ground, or where to look for his feet from behind? Anyone with functional legs can do this without the help, they just need a little more practice. And why wouldn’t they? This is as close as anyone else can get to flying themselves, and boy is it a lot of fun!!

In fact, he’s so psyched that he does a pretty decent, simple Axel, nailing the landing after. Nice~

Hawks doesn’t bother opening his eyes for the next few minutes, just enjoying the chilly wind pinching his face and ears even pinker. Only then does he look up when someone with a whiff of some peach flavored alcoholic drink is about to cross his way… and goes as far as holding him by the waist, even if it’s for the fleeting moment he needs to grab his arm and spin them around in a circle.

“Not bad for a chicken.”

What the fuck, it’s Dabi.

The suspiciously happy man smirks over the baffled expression that appears on the hero's face. “You should check whether there’s a Happy Feet on Ice project, you could even make it.” Having said that, he gives Hawks a spin and joins him for the next round across the rink.

Wait a goddamn sec…

The blonde looks around with mild suspicion; he’s just noticed that Dabi is keeping up with him fine, which means… he can skate? “I thought you didn’t do, like, sports?”

He is pretty adamant on whining and moaning whenever the need to do anything but stand around menacingly arises… which is understandable, since, um… isn’t this a little… painful with a Frankensteined body like that?

Actually, it definitely is painful, because there’s one--- scratch that, now it’s two red stains on the white shirt poking out from under that ridiculous coat, and--- and blood dripping from one of his elbows, what the sincere fuck. Can he not feel that?!

“Spiked enough to do some stupid shit,” comes the enlightening sigh of an answer as they take the curve at rather high speeds, the faint smell of something not punch like also apparent on his breath. Makes the fact of him coming up close again less alarming, at the very least; a drunk (if not high as a kite…) Dabi averages out as more annoying, and less of a threat. And double the creepy, but that’s beside the point.

“You ready, birdie?”

… okay, maybe there is some room left for worry.

“Ready fo… huh?” The villain has his hands firmly around Hawks' waist now, as if preparing to--- no, there’s no way, he’s such a stick man, but still, the mere possibility…

“Fly!!!”

“WhaaAA---?!” By the time he realizes that Dabi really has that exact thing on his clearly not quite lucid mind when picking up some more speed on the straight line ahead of them, he’s already airborne. Hell if he’s counting how many turns he is doing, but damn it all, he has bigger problems at hand- first, he's actually getting dizzy, and he’s never dizzy with the exception of concussions and being sick, which is concerning, but maybe it’s due to fear. Second, he needs to recalculate his fall right fucking now, because this cackling asshat has managed to throw him quite high and he's also off-balance. He has trouble landing on solid ground when plucked near clean like this as-is, fuck, he's falling already, fuck fuck fuck fUCK---

It costs him a nearly sprained ankle, some panicked arm and wing flapping and an instant heart attack, but he manages to stick the landing somehow. He’s shaking like jello as Mister claps on and Jin and Himiko cry an awed WOOO HOOO, though. In fact, his legs that he’s using as something to lean on now are about to finally give in under him.

Hawks also just about gives into the temptation of collapsing on the spot as his momentum dies off at last… if not for some fucker capitalizing on the situation and dipping him for good measure.

Dabi also adds a hearty chuckle while doing so, certainly pleased at the mess the other is right now. “And here I thought you couldn’t be shaken.”

“I saw… my life flashing before my eyes, asshole,” he breathes between wheezes, contemplating whether he should grab onto the guy, because just hanging around doesn’t make for a stable setup and he’d rather not risk one of the concussions he's been thinking of.

A cock of the head aside, all he gets is an eyeroll. “Sure seem happy about it, don't you.”

Well, now that the villain points it out… Hawks certainly is grinning like an idiot, and has been for a while. For whatever reason, he also starts giggling uncontrollably at that.

“Shut up, will you,” he snickers while trying to find something to hang an arm onto.

It’s little use in the end, because Himiko decides to slide right into Dabi’s leg, both ruining a chance for a comeback and collapsing the unbalanced circus act.

He keeps giggling through Dabi’s moans of discontent and more, though. These few minutes were the most fun he’s had in a decade, if not more.

He's coming over tomorrow, too.

#ctabb ss 2019 #Kate writes #dabihawks #but only low key #Takami Keigo #Dabi #Sako Atsuhiro #Toga Himiko #Bubaigawara Jin #bnha hawks

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claihn · 5 years

Text

[Bal/Cry] LF LTRP for New Character aka “Candlelight”

“Candlelight” is the word I am using for tags and references for this new character. I am extremely excited to RP her, as I am indulging in some of my favorite designs and personalities. While she will be new, please do not fret as I plan on investing quite a bit into her. She is a creation I have been working on for admittedly sometime, but is at the stage where she is a bit dependent on some key long-term connections that I am hoping to establish before Shadowbringers or sooner!

SNIPPETS

♟ Candlelight‘s race and name are pending, given that I am waiting for the benchmark. She will either be a Viera or a Miqo’te, as both races work just dandy with her background, so it will be completely dependent on looks!

♟ She is a young adult that has a great deal of room for personal growth. Her strengths lie in supportive magic meant specifically for buffing and aiding another individual and is lacking in any sort of personal strength meant for herself. Hooray for twisted upbringings!

♟ Her entire life was dedicated to supporting her prodigy sibling, who is now MIA.

♟ She is a neutral character that teeters upon the line. Her codependency (both past and present) make her vulnerable to outward change and give some fun with the layers of her personality of what is true inner change or not. This makes her open to latching onto individuals of any alignment without care if they’re a murdering psychopath or a heroic savior. So long as she’s allowed to follow and is useful, that’s all that matters. I am super interested in seeing how she will change over time!

HOOKS

♟ “Candlelight” - She needs an individual to follow, whether they are a villain/antagonist, a neutral adventurer or the epitome of good. There are so many scenarios that could be spun up to strike this connection that can be established or role played out! Maybe an antagonist discovers how willing she is to be manipulated or help with unsavory tasks? An adventurer might like to have someone who’d use support magic for practically nothing. Or maybe a more stalwart individual takes pity on her and she just... keeps following them. ** This is a high priority connection for me. Please only consider this if you’re wanting a long term, meaningful connection for your character! I will not assume anything about how the dynamic of the relationship grows either, so never fear! **

♟ “Taxes” - This is more for characters of questionable morality. She is a rather meek and malleable individual from a social standpoint. Perhaps your character has convinced her that she has to pay taxes and stops by to collect coins once and awhile. Or that she should keep an ear out for certain tidbits of information and occasionally prods her to see if she’s picked up on anything. Etc!

♟ “Donations” - This is more for characters of “better” morality. Maybe your character saw how out of sorts she was with the city/land. (The invisible neon sign of “GULLIBLE” could have been a giveaway too.) So perhaps your character checks up on her once and awhile and keeps an eye out, offering advice or a trinket or two. Of course, she’d feel like she has to pay such kind acts back and doesn’t have much of a gauge for what the appropriate response would be. Etc!

♟ “First Aid” - She is not a healer on the scope of a full fledged conjurer. However, her entire life was dedicated to supportive magic. She can heal and perhaps more uniquely, provide invigorating magical boons that last for a decent amount of time depending on the scenario. Perhaps your character was down on his or her luck and seeing this, she offered some assistance. Or they were completely outmatched in a fight and she threw a little spell your way. Etc!

INEVITABLE OOC

♟ I am more than happy to divulge more details to anyone who might be interested in this sort of RP! I left out the basics (personality/background) to keep this shorter and geared more towards the concept. No worries or hard feelings if you are not interested after our discussion or ideas do not mesh after inquiring.

♟ Candlelight will be a serious character that I am looking forward to watch grow through stories and interactions. I LOVE ANTAGONISTS AND VILLAINS- so please don’t be shy! However, valiant knights and others are just as valid too! Her themes (and my RP preferences) range all over the board, with an emphasis for dark fantasy, drama & adventure. The only genre I am not too inclined for is pure comedic fluff and no AU’s.

♟ In-game RP is my main preference! However, I do not mind RPing on Discord if scheduling gets wonky sometimes and definitely love it for just chatting/throwing ideas/random inspirations. My hours of operation tend to be 6PM - 2AM EST on most days except Saturday! Not including Discord randoms.

♟ I generally write 1-2 decently (? xD) descriptive paragraphs, but will sometimes shorten it for events, lengthen it for personal or adapt if the moment doesn’t require it. Quality is more important to me than quantity. My past partners can attest that sometimes I do get carried away though- but usually only over Discord! >>;

♟ I LOVE communication and I like to think that I’m friendly. I’m hoping to get some connections for long-term RP that can be consistent. I do not generally lurk around hubs waiting for RP because I’d much rather actively be doing something, but please do not mistake it for being too busy! ^^

♟ Both my RP partner and myself having fun is the highest priority for me.

THE END

Did I mention I’m bad at summarizing? Ah...anyway! If you have any questions or are interested, do not hesitate to give me a poke. Messaging via tumblr works (I’ll keep an eye on it more due to this post haha) but you are also more than welcome to add my Discord: Lain#0004 . I know this kind of LFRP is a little unconventional, but thanks for at least giving it a glance! I’ll keep my fingers crossed that this little idea strikes some fancies!

#lfrp #-breathes into a paper bag-#ooc #balmung #crystal #rp #ffxiv

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nymphl · 5 years

Note

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with Bloodbound? F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it!!!!!!! I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)??

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with Bloodbound?

I’ve actually created a playlist to write BB on Spotify. It’s not open for others, but it can be changed if anyone is interested xD Anyways, the song that I always associate with Bloobound is Blood Like Lemonade by Morcheeba. It’s truly superb!

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Well, it’s easy. I really enjoy last chapter of Lie to Me and most of dialogues in In the General’s Bed. But here goes my fav dialogue scene and it’s actually from Bloodbound xD Sorry if it’s too big xD

“I see no military confrontation taking place anytime soon between the First Order and the New Republic, unless…” There was a slight pause as he brought the glass of water to his lips. You almost snorted. His lips and throat were no drier than Cantonica’s superficial ocean. “The New Republic attacks the First Order. However, Lanever Villecham has in its best interests to seek a peaceful alliance with the First Order.”

His answer had you narrowing your eyes.

Bastard.

Kriffing bastard.

You honestly didn’t know which was worse. If the Emperor and his political ability to turn any enemy into a potential ally… or the current Chancellor — a corrupt man capable of abandoning the democratic ways to join a tyrannical organization.

Biting your bottom lip, you risked a glance at him only to find his eyes set on you, watching your every reaction carefully.

“Supreme Leader, if both the New Republic and the First Order are on talking terms now and planning an alliance, we can assume the use of a superweapon will no longer be necessary.” It was the journalist’s turn to make a brief pause. She adjusted herself in her seat and drank a bit of water. Part of you couldn’t help but wonder if it was poisoned.“ The public is entitled to know when it will be deactivated .”

He returned his attention to the holocam fluttering above him.

“It won’t.” His response had you holding your breath. He didn’t pause this time, quickly amending his sentence, “The Galactic Republic insisted on not establishing a military branch, which costed them greatly during the Clone Wars, not to mention, it left the Chancellor with no choice but to trust the Jedi. The New Republic followed their steps with the Military Disarmament Act. The First Order won’t commit the same mistake. As Supreme Leader, I can assure you and the public our aim is defense and not attack.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

He nodded, “By all means.”

There was another brief pause, as if the journalist, with her with big and starry blue eyes, needed time to think about her next question. You shook your head, quickly catching on what just happened. Although the Corporate Sector Newsfeed professed their inclinations towards an independent planet and system, it was clear they’d already changed sides. That’s why they sent the novice. If she was to simply disappear, they could blame it on the growing violence. If an hour ago you thought she was doing great, now you knew she was simply… reckless. And reckless in your profession oftentimes walked together with disposable.

The Emperor didn’t let her ask her next question. He continued, as if he was giving a highly important speech, and couldn’t be bothered with interruptions. Rather, he wouldn’t tolerate any interruptions.

“The Galaxy’s been shown no mercy since the fall of the Galactic Empire. As the representative of the First Order, I acknowledge the many flaws and corruption growing inside the Empire and the reasons why it fell, but I also do recognize the very same signs within the New Republic.”

“And the First Order doesn’t have any flaws?” she asked bluntly. You held your breath. She had the courage to say things you weren’t sure you’d dare. But then again, she didn’t have two children who depended on her. Any wrong question and maybe your children would grow up without a mother — needless to remind anyone of the fact they didn’t have a father. No matter how much you fought for justice, you were usually… subtler in your approach. “Are you saying that an organization that advocates for strict control could possibly make it work for the entire Galaxy?“

He wetted his lips. You didn’t know if the glint in his clear irises reflected amusement or annoyance. On what you’ve re called of him — and you honestly didn’t know where it came from; you didn’t know him at all —, he wasn’t a man known for controlling his rage very well.

“What about freedom of speech?”

There was silence for a moment, as if Armitage Hux was gathering his thoughts.

“Freedom of speech for whom?” He devolved in the same blunt tone, but with the schooled facial expression of a man who was used to talk to the masses … or that had been through many interrogatories — as the inquirer, you couldn’t picture him as the one interrogated — and knew very well how to school his features in order not to give away any information to his enemy. “The New Republic advocates that through the sheer existence of a Senate everyone can have their opinions heard, which cannot be farther from the truth. While Populists and Centrists fight over petty politics, the forgotten corners of the Galaxy suffer with poverty and unending violence. The First Order seeks to bring equality to all and promote peace through absolute order. However, to achieve this goal, we must destroy all forms of tyranny that disguise themselves in the form of this rotten and decadent democracy.”

He was a great orator, you ’d to give him that. For a moment, he almost had you believing he cared. Then you recalled that the First Order had invaded planets— destroyed them and made their people slaves — just to build their military prowess. And it was only the surface — only what you knew. Their secret archives probably had so much more to say than the meaningless data you gathered so far about their Starkiller superweapon.”

I think it’s one of the best scenes I’ve ever wrote. The next scene, between Hux and Reader, is one of my fav as well. But I chose this one because for me, it summarizes how I see Hux and how I think he’d behave in a different setting. He’s an Emperor here, so he’s giving an interview for a HoloNews regarding the First Order and the Starkiller Superweapon, which hasn’t been fired yet in this time-setting. I see Hux as a military mastermind and very skilled at politics. Even though the FO isn’t known for actually commune with their enemies more like destroying them but I think that if it would benefit him in the long run, he’d play along for a while. To me, it’s obvious that Hux don’t mind playing along as long as it bring him the wanted results, I see it in how he waited so long to get rid of his father and how he endures endless sessions of humiliation by both Kylo Ren and Snoke, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike back a pity we’ll never see it happening, I think That’s what he’s doing here. He’s playing along with both the media and The New Republic. Well, at least that’s what I tried to convey with this scene, don’t know if I managed though xD

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)??

I don’t actually have a guilty pleasure for writing, at least I don’t think so xD because if I want to write it, I just write it. Simple like that xD As for reading… I do love reading monster stories. As in monster x human stories, such as Orc x human relationship, be it in a Modern or Medieval/Fantasy Setting.

Thanks for the ask, dear! I’ll do my best to reply to the others soon. I’ll watch GOT soon so maybe I’ll answer the others tomorrow xD. Love you ^^

#ask #anon #fanfic ask game #ask game #general hux #armitage hux #hux #writing #my writing #military mastermind #politics #star wars politics #starkiller #star wars #hux x reader #hux x you #monster x human relationship #monster x human #orc x human

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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 6 years

Text

"You should stay with him tonight," Thomas whispered in James's ear.

James pulled back. "Oh? And where will you be?"

"In our bed, sleeping peacefully, I should think."

James gave him a long look. "You could join us, you know."

"No," Thomas said, kissing behind James's ear. "Not yet. He's not...there yet."

"But you are?" James held Thomas's head in his hands.

More summarized summary: Germs and pining. Snippetfic, silverflint/flinthamilton/silverflinthamilton. Angst, humor.

(snippet is over at AO3 too but like every other thing I’ve tried to post today anywhere on earth, the AO3 share function isn’t working correctly. wow this year! just keeps going.)

The knife clattering to the table punctuated the end of the paragraph Thomas was reading, and he sat his book aside.

"Carrots fighting back," he asked, "or are we about to be invaded?"

James was squinting out the window like he'd expected it to be sunny and fair instead of falling dark now for at least two solid hours. His posture was that of a man about to pick up the knife and charge at whatever attacker might kick down the door.

Of course it would be Silver arriving home for the evening. They hadn't seen him since the day before yesterday. He'd come home late and so had they. The sounds of him getting ready and leaving in the morning had been proof of his being alive and Thomas hadn't thought to worry. Before, anyway.

"What the hell happened to you?" James said the instant Silver had breached the doorway.

Silver paused in removing his outer garments only enough to throw him a puzzled glance. "Nothing?"

Thomas was puzzled as well, likely for different reasons.

James strode over and grasped Silver's shoulders, patting him down as Silver tried to finish unwinding his scarf. "Are you hurt somewhere else?"

The banked panic in James's tone would have amused Thomas if it hadn't been so plaintive.

Silver, for his part, continued to look baffled -- but also strangely younger than the last time Thomas had seen him.

"I'm not hurt at all," Silver said, shaking off James's grip. "Have you gone mad?"

"What the fuck happened to your beard?" James demanded. And then he hiccupped, as if hearing how histrionic his question had been.

Thomas took a sip of scotch and tried not to laugh out loud.

"I shaved it off two days ago," Silver said. He had hold of James's hands, to keep them otherwise off his body. "Well, the razor slipped, actually, while I was trying to trim one side, and my attempt to, um, even up the other side didn't really work, so anyway, it was just easier, in the end, to shave all of it off and start over."

James took back one hand to rub a thumb over the little scab low on Silver's right cheek. Thomas held his breath, watching the way that smallest of touches made Silver go utterly still, his eyes on James's as if they were negotiating the next salvo in some long-standing argument. Or: something else entirely.

Thomas could not quite believe how different the lack of beard -- well, the old beard of two days ago -- made Silver appear. Silver was young, younger than Thomas had realized; young with so little effort. It made Thomas feel desperately old, for reasons he could not begin to understand, while inversely the sight of James's hand cupping Silver's now only slightly rough jaw just made Thomas feel warm, like someone had snuck in and built roaring fires in every room, had lit three dozen candles in the kitchen alone.

James's voice was now tempered with something like wonder. "It's been a long time," he said to Silver, "since I have actually seen your face." He smiled, as though at some joke he and Silver shared.

Silver breathed out a small laugh. He still seemed a little confused, but game. "Well. It's been here the whole time." He broke the eye contact with James to wave at Thomas. "Good evening, Mr. Hamilton."

His eyes were exceptionally blue, Thomas thought. But he'd known that already, hadn't he?

"Good evening, Mr. Silver. Nice to see you."

James spent the rest of the evening glancing at Silver with barely concealed lust that far outpaced anything the lively debate over card games should have caused. (Thomas was officially on the record as finding lanterloo stupid.) Silver didn't mind James's attention, Thomas could tell. But within Silver's return glances were also an odd sort of timidity that ought to have been out of place by this stage in his relationship with James. Silver, Thomas deduced, was good at pretending, and in the absence of the need to do that he was being forced to confront the continual fact of someone's genuine desire. Thomas almost wanted to tease him about it.

That was not all Thomas increasingly wanted.

"You should stay with him tonight," Thomas whispered in James's ear.

James pulled back. "Oh? And where will you be?"

"In our bed, sleeping peacefully, I should think."

James gave him a long look. "You could join us, you know."

"No," Thomas said, kissing behind James's ear. "Not yet. He's not...there yet."

"But you are?" James held Thomas's head in his hands.

Well, Lord Hamilton, are you? In the corner of the kitchen Silver was putting away bowls and trying not to look like he was eavesdropping. Thomas felt a surge of affection for him.

"Soon," he told James. He picked up his papers and pen and bottle of ink. "Goodnight, Mr. Silver," he said on the way out.

"Goodnight, Mr. Hamilton," Silver called back.

From the hall Thomas could see James take Silver's hand, could see Silver's mouth just before James kissed it.

Soon, Thomas thought again, and closed the door.

James snuck in an hour or two before dawn and climbed in bed rumpled and positively glowing.

Thomas rolled over and grinned at him. "Exhausted, love?" James gave a noncommittal hum and rubbed his hand up under Thomas's nightshirt. "Ah. Would you like to be?"

James smiled, very wickedly.

The next evening, as occasionally occurred, Thomas and Silver's paths crossed in town and they made the walk home together.

"You returned to this godforsaken wasteland on purpose?"

When Silver spoke, his words echoed, both literally and with incredulousness. His disbelief was warranted, Thomas thought; the weather had turned brutal in the last hour, and the two of them were picking their way to the house on a path half snowed and half iced over, against wind cutting down through the trees like a sword wielded by an angry, clumsy giant.

"I missed the long hours of English sunlight," Thomas said, as though musing on it, and took pleasure in the sputtered laugh Silver made.

(What had he missed? Miranda, James. Mornings of woolen fog and tea served in delicate china; fat, inquisitive robins perched on branches, who would quirk their small heads from side to side if he whistled at them from an open window; the corner of the garden behind his father's house, where the cabbage rose bushes crowded out the cobblestone path; his sister Pene, and the way she jabbed -- not dabbed -- at her watercolors when enraged with one tutor or another, which had been most of the time. Debates with guests who raised their voices to argue for or against his points, sloshing wine out of exquisite long-stemmed glasses. The bustle on London streets, and the quiet in his old study where he had once gone to his knees and made James blush and swear and relent. The festive scent of plum pottage served by the old cook, Fiona; Fiona herself, and the jolly way she used to bang her wooden spoon on the lip of the iron pot, barely missing his fingers as he tried to sneak a bit of beef. He missed polished wooden floors, candles trimmed by servants, fussy hors d'oeuvres. He missed his life sometimes, and sometimes hated that he missed it, because much of it had been bought with more blood than he could ever atone for.)

An icicle from a tree branch stabbed itself into the snow piled to Thomas's left. At the same moment Silver slipped, and steadied himself by bringing Thomas to a fast halt with a hand like a vise around Thomas's elbow, which hurt. It would be worse if one or both of them fell: this logic led Thomas to put an arm around Silver's waist and haul him toward the house. By the time they were at the doorstep the idea had proven to be a regrettable one, since Silver was making a truly indescribable noise, his crutch was dragging the ground like a claw, and Thomas was exhausted.

"You sound like a mangy cat my grandfather once tried to bathe," James commented, upon opening the door for them.

Thomas pushed Silver at him, and slammed the door shut with a satisfying whump. "He is heavier than a cat."

Silver started, "I didn't ask--"

"Shall I put you back?" Thomas discovered there was no way to take off his coat and scarf without a spray of melting ice pellets flying from his body. Most of them hit Silver, which was gratifying.

James had stepped away, leaving Silver propped against the kitchen table, where he had enough balance to take off his own coat in as violent a manner as possible. Snow pelted Thomas as though he had not succeeded in closing the door.

"No biting," James called out from wherever in the house he had taken himself off to, the scoundrel.

Narrowing his eyes at Silver, Thomas advanced slowly. Silver did not cower; he pushed himself up to full height, everything about his expression a dare. Thomas took a second to be impressed, since he held no illusions about what Silver was capable of if threatened. Thomas wondered if Silver would be shocked at what Thomas was capable of -- he doubted it. They had seemed from the beginning to recognize something about each other, voiced or not; they were not men to be trifled with.

The lump of snow that had coagulated in a fold of Thomas's scarf created such a perfect weapon he was almost sorry to destroy it by crushing it on top of Silver's head, and the rules of genteel behavior should probably have dictated he not afterwards try to dash away. Nevertheless. Live for the moment, that was one of Thomas's mottos in his new life.

Possibly Silver had more experience putting such things into practice. He was far more talented with that crutch than Thomas had anticipated. The crutch did wind up under the table, but so did Thomas. Somehow. He'd lost a few seconds of comprehension in the descent. By the time James wandered back into the room Silver had sat down in the nearest chair and Thomas had regained the ability to take a full breath.

"Actually, maybe biting would have worked out better for you," James suggested.

The floor was hard against Thomas's back. When he stretched his legs out his spine seemed to crack in an agreeable way. "I was only trying to help." He reached over to unbuckle Silver's boot, on the theory that while he was down there he may as well make himself useful.

"By hitting me with a snowball?" Silver asked.

"By getting you into the house in one piece, before you caused us both to break a hip."

Silver wiggled his foot out of the boot. "Ah. Yeah." He held out a hand, and Thomas let him pull him up to a sitting position.

"Well?" Thomas said. He narrowed his eyes at Silver again.

"All right, yes." Silver scratched at his jaw. "Thank you, Mr. Hamilton, for your valuable assistance traversing the inclement elements," he muttered while looking anywhere but at Thomas.

"You're welcome, Mr. Silver." Thomas used Silver's leg as leverage to stand up. His elbow was still his sorest point, so there was a valuable lesson, he supposed. Why they weren't having Silver chop wood more often was beyond him.

It was easy, possibly too easy, to brush the last remnants of snow out of Silver's hair as he passed by. Out of the corner of his eye Thomas could see James watching him -- and not smiling but wanting to smile -- and Thomas flicked the snow off his fingers with as much nonchalance as he could muster. Thomas was almost out of reach when Silver wrapped one of his freakishly strong hands around Thomas's elbow again; Silver's grip was gentler this time. If the gesture wasn't exactly an apology, it was, Thomas thought, close enough to count.

Silver kept hanging on.

"Yes?" Thomas asked.

Silver peered at him. "Do you feel well?"

Bit of a bruised ego but all in all right as a line, Thomas started to say. James was beside him with a cool hand on his forehead, and a concerned wrinkle sketched between his eyes.

"You have a fever," James said, sounding shocked.

"Oh." Thomas patted Silver's hand, then kissed James's cheek. "That might why be I'm so bloody tired." He felt heavy and irritatingly hot, as if from nowhere: one minute hale and the next hobbled.

James said, "You should rest. I could bring you a bite to eat in bed. Do not say something lewd in response."

Silver let go of Thomas, smiling as he rolled his eyes at James. "May I assist anyone?"

"Hmm," James said, before kissing Thomas's cheek in turn.

Then he and Silver set to tasks as though able to read each other's minds, a thought that might have frightened Thomas more if they had not proven in the past to be so spectacularly bad at it when it came to certain things. Thomas took himself out of the kitchen and indeed put himself in bed. He listened to their knocking around each other as they chopped food and chatted and took what was surely a brief interlude for kissing, before Silver said "SHIT," and James -- it was obviously James -- raced from one point to another and the sound of a lid being thrown on a pot rang throughout. Thomas meant to stay awake just a while longer, just to see what they might bring him for sustenance. James laughed at something, and Silver said something in response that made him laugh again.

Thomas fell asleep against the pillows.

In the morning, he woke first, his fever discarded. James was plastered to his side in large part by Silver pinning him against Thomas, and neither of them stirred a bit. For some reason, from nowhere, he remembered Miranda's hair like iron gall ink spilt across a white sheet, her eyes sharp as she recited, "'Past cure I am, now reason is past care, and frantic-mad with evermore unrest.'" He missed her, oh; he missed their life.

Slowly the knife-edge of the memory faded, such that he could think of her without cutting himself on it. James spread his hand on Thomas's stomach; Silver made a soft trill like he was being surprised in a dream. Thomas watched them wake as dawn lit up the room, James blinking and Silver stretching, the bed creaking, everything muffled and warm. What would I pay to have the past again, Thomas asked himself. Would I be able to give this -- them -- back? There were no bargains to be made.

James said, "Are you feeling better?"

"None the worse for a good night's rest," Thomas said. He kissed James's mouth, and rose to start the day.

A few days later it finally happened.

"It's none of my business," Silver said, and like most people who said that sort of thing then continued, "but I am curious. What made you return to England? Flint's not really said." He was unwrapping a wedge of Dorset blue and held it up like he'd expected it to be something else. "I can ever tell when this sort of cheese goes bad. It smells like moldy feet even when fresh."

Thomas took the second comment first, trying to recollect the rhyme. "Something, something, 'covered with scales, not weepy, white, or blind, but weighty and firm with a crusty rind.' Something like that."

Silver looked at him like he was insane.

"I vote we let James eat a piece and if he lives the cheese probably hasn't gone off," Thomas said. "We came back to England because it seemed. I don't know. Like the right place to start."

Silver crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter. "You didn't want to forge another path in the new world?"

Thomas steadied the wood he'd been stacking by the hearth. "It was never going to be as simple as all that, not for me. Not after. Well."

He rearranged a few of the logs to make the ones at the bottom a more stable foundation for the stack. What he felt about England, the colonies, what England had done; what his father had done and how he had benefited from it-- What England was continuing to do; the new world; those roughly ten years of his life struggling to stay alive, to figure out a way to wrench himself free again-- His feelings on each and every topic seemed to change five times an hour, and the harder he tried to grasp something final on the matter the more they seemed to fly through his fingers like chaff. The escape had been one thing, the journey to England something else.

He had wanted to come back because he could not stay where he was; it hadn't meant he would stay in England forever, or that he would force James to. And eventually, Thomas thought, a path would present itself. Before, he'd considered himself tenacious. Bold, perhaps. He hadn't always felt brave. He had mostly felt compelled, destined; propelled forward to progress and for progress. He had been a man who marched forward, and the world had seemed to welcome his advances.

...Until it hadn't.

There were only so many truths he believed in his marrow now. He loved James; James loved him.

"I'll confess, I haven't quite figured everything out, nor what I hope to achieve now we're in England again. It has been a mercy, of a sort, to not have to have an answer right away." He slapped wood dust from his hands. "That could change eventually; for now, this is home."

And you are part of that, Mr. Silver, Thomas didn't say.

When he looked over Silver wore a thoughtful expression. "What?" Thomas asked.

Silver shook his head. "You're." He shook his head again. "You keep not being what I expected." He said it like he knew it was an admission of something. He cleared his throat a little. "In some ways."

"Thank you?" Thomas wondered which pieces of himself appeased some prior speculation Silver had made. "It's. Mutual." Thomas chose not to elaborate on that.

Silver didn't seem to mind; he'd returned to poking at the cheese with his knife-tip. Perhaps Thomas was imagining it but something bleak seemed to have washed over Silver's face.

"When you do decide what to do with the rest of your life, you mustn't not leave if you need to," Silver said quietly.

Thomas wasn't certain he'd followed that. "I--"

"Not that you need my permission either way," Silver said. "But if you ever need to leave, to storm the palace or what-have-you, leave. He'll follow you, without question."

Without thinking, Thomas replied, "I've no preliminary plans to start an insurrection, but if we ever leave, you're coming with us."

Silver stilled. When he looked at Thomas again, Thomas looked back with as much composure as possible.

He'd meant what he said, and he hoped Silver would interpret it as a simple statement of fact instead of a threat -- although, in a way, it was the sort of promise that could be construed as less than benign. Thomas was striving to be a good person, and on the other hand he would be, if not happy, then immensely capable of denying Silver a variety of God-given freedoms if it meant James would not suffer. And James would suffer, greatly, were he parted from Silver again.

Thomas could practically hear Silver running through various scenarios in his head, fast as a hare tearing through underbrush to escape a fox. He liked that about him, that mercurial cleverness, and had to acknowledge he would be foolish to suppose he could best Silver at any number of challenges, should it come to that. Thomas was determined to leave his own naivety as far in the past as possible and perhaps a wiser man would already have plotted the means by which to secure as much of a coveted future as possible; some might implore him to never assume Silver would fit, or could be corralled, into such plans.

But Thomas could see Silver's eyes. Those were the eyes of someone terrified at the mere thought of hurting James again. You are spending too much time, Thomas told himself, looking into those eyes. A smaller voice said, James isn't the only person he's scared of hurting -- and don't be daft, of course you know the others aren't only himself and Madi.

Silver blinked slowly. He'd seen something on Thomas's face.

"To clarify, I should say James and I have no intention of absconding with you to other places of residence at this time," Thomas said, attempting to lighten the mood, "but should our circumstances change you will be given plenty of notice in which to tie up any loose ends you may have here, write to Madi -- to let her know the rebellion's rendezvous point, since you know she'll want in on that -- make arrangements for the tavern, pack up the house, that sort of thing. No bolting in the dead of night for us." Charming, Lord Hamilton; you used to be charming.

"I look forward to appreciating your courtesy on the matter," Silver said, tone very dry, "when, as you say, such a time arrives."

Thomas picked at the spine of the book he'd brought home. Samuel Hooke, the local bookbinder, had demonstrated to Thomas that morning the sewing of end bands. Thomas mostly just wanted to know how to bind books so that he could make some for his own library. Samuel, aged 85, had been a teacher and took bookbinding seriously. His wife Ina was doting and chatty. Thomas liked them both very much.

(They had no idea who he'd been, and for the time being he rather liked that too.)

"Fables?" Silver asked, sitting down with a plate of grapes.

"Folk tales." Thomas opened the cover to show off the marbled end papers.

Further conversation on the subject was disrupted by James throwing open the door. As he came in he was chomping at the air, contorting his face as though possessed by demons, and tugging at his earlobes.

"What the hell," Silver said, eyes wide.

"You sound like you're in a cave," James said. He sounded like he'd spent all day screaming, which was not, as far as Thomas knew, a regular requirement of ship building. "My stomach itches."

It was such a bizarre thing for James to say Silver gaped at him like a fish.

Thomas took the lead, standing to help James out of his coat. "Oh dear. You're sick." He brushed James's hair back from his eyes. James's forehead could've cooked an egg.

"I hate being sick," James said as Thomas walked him into the bedroom.

After undressing and leaving most of his clothes on the floor, James was taking up the entire bed by lying across it diagonally. He was also shivering and writhing like he'd had too many cups of too strong tea. He'd been increasingly pitiful as the evening progressed. Thomas, sorting out the discarded clothes, was sympathetic and entertained both. He would not, however, be able to sleep in the tiny unoccupied wedge of mattress James wasn't flailing around on. Silver was coming to a similar conclusion.

"These pillows are prickly," James said. He punched at one with a weak fist and a few downy goose feathers puffed up into the air.

Silver gave Thomas a look. James's legs were twisted up in one of the blankets. It took a deal of strength for Thomas to unwind it out from under him, and James groaned like Thomas was doing him no favors. Silver left the room just as James tried to roll over and only Thomas prevented James's skull from being split on the edge of the bedside table.

"Could you help," Thomas said as Silver returned with more blankets and pillows.

Silver let the armload fall to the floor and plucked a pillow from the pile. "This one is softer," he explained to James, taking away the hated pillow and putting the new one under James's sweaty, irritable head.

James thrashed around some more and threw off his blanket. The chattering of his teeth could clearly be heard.

"We could just smother him," Silver suggested.

"Noooo," James said, as though anyone were seriously considering it.

Thomas toed the pile of extra blankets on the floor. "What are we doing with these?"

"Thought I'd sleep in here." Silver was trying to tie his hair back with string and his hair was behaving about as well as James.

Those delinquent curls were distracting. Thomas made himself focus. "Sleep in here where?"

"On the floor."

"Really."

"I've slept rough on far worse. Imagine you may have as well." Silver managed to get most of his hair pulled back, save one missed lock. Thomas's fingers itched to tuck it behind his ear.

James had thrown an arm over his eyes like a lady swooning in a terrible theatrical.

Silver took a patient breath and knelt down beside him in what had to have been an uncomfortable position. "Do you need some water?" he asked James. "Or perhaps some opium?"

James perked up. "Do you have some opium?"

"No." Silver's mouth was a line set grim.

"No fair," James said.

Silver stood up gracefully. "He'll be fine," he told Thomas, and then set about making a pallet on the floor between the bed and the room's small hearth.

Thomas busied himself fetching mugs of water and a wet cloth for James. When he arrived back in the room Silver had completely taken away the first pillow James had tried to mangle. Whatever had happened in the three minutes Thomas was in the kitchen had resulted in an isolated snowstorm of feathers. Silver gave Thomas another look and went back to raking the feathers into a pile, which he stuffed into the remnants of the pillow, before tossing the lot under the bed to be dealt with, presumably, another time.

"Please close your eyes and try to rest," Silver said, unfolding another blanket on top of James.

Thomas laid the cool wet cloth across James's hot forehead and patted him on the chest.

"Where are you going?" James asked.

"We'll be right over here," Thomas said, hoping Silver wouldn't be surprised they'd be sharing a pallet. "Try to sleep, love." He kissed James's cheek and James nodded, eyes already slipping shut, like he'd be dreaming soon.

"Hearth side, or bed side?" Silver asked. He was lowering himself to the floor.

"No preference." Thomas waited for him to stretch out in front of the hearth before sitting down beside him.

The wooden floor was not made appreciably softer by the padding of a quilt and a blanket but it would do. Silver was right: Thomas had passed more than one night on far worse surfaces. No good reason to dwell on it, Thomas told himself. Silver laid down, curled on his side facing away from the small fire. It felt oddly rude to lie down with his back to him, so Thomas curled on his side facing Silver. That one loose lock of hair proved too tempting -- he tucked it behind Silver's ear and took his hand back right away. Silver blinked at him, sleepiness showing in shadows under his eyes, and for a few minutes everything was peaceful.

Then: "'Of the same metals they likewise make chains and fetters for their slaves.'" A grumble as James scooched around on the mattress. "Listen, Thomas, go fuck yourself."

Thomas meant to explain, in an aside, that he was not the author of or reason for James's recitation. Before he could, Silver pinched the bridge of this nose and said, "Should we expect him to critique Utopia's shortcomings all evening, do you think?"

"Short," James said. Stopped up or not, he had ears like a bat. "Silver is shorter than I am and I am shorter than Thomas." He sounded fond. Thomas couldn't tell if he knew everyone else could hear him, but what did it matter. "Tuck tuck tuck, you can tuck Silver under your chin, you can nearly put him in your pocket." James cough-laughed. "But don't forget his enormous hands, ha. Which, mmm, made much more sense once I discovered his other, mmm, endowments. Blessings from the lord, ahh." He sounded fond and delirious.

Silver had put his enormous hands over his face by this point. Thomas couldn't really blame him.

"Thomas's is also, well, whew," James murmured, as though the topic required great thoughtfulness. Mournfully: "I missed him so much when he was dead." Less mournfully: "Also his prick."

Thomas and Silver looked at one another with stoic, somber expressions.

"Why are you on the floor?" James whined, because he had apparently just noticed where they were.

Silver sat up and looked at James with an expression of truly kind tolerance. "Mr. Hamilton and I were afraid the collective weight of our gigantic cocks would prove too much for the bed frame to bear."

What was breathing? Thomas didn't know. He was too busy crying with laughter with his hands over his mouth, as if that would stopper the sound. At some point Silver joined in, and it took them both several minutes to get themselves under control; they keep looking at each other in brief lulls and unhinged mirth would burble back up again like a newly tapped spring.

"Oh my god," Thomas whispered eventually, stomach sore. He was flat on his back, trying to keep his eyes on the ceiling until he thought he could go ten seconds without laughing. Silver seemed to be taking the same measures. In his peripheral vision Thomas could see him smiling and wiping his eyes.

Thomas counted to twenty and sat up to look over at James -- he was finally asleep, thank the saints. And not particularly pretty about it either, with his mouth open, his blankets wadded up again, and the last pillow somewhere other than on the mattress. Thomas let out a long breath, before going up on his knees to move over to the bed. He took the cloth off James's head and kissed him beside his eye. Satisfied James was in no further need of attention, he crawled to the pallet and laid back down.

Silver was curled on his side again, his gaze steady and soft. Thomas pulled their blanket up over both of them and closed his eyes.

James began to sing, off-key, "'Some cut their hats, and some cut their caps in the Neather-lands; some cut their hats, and some cut their caps in the Neather-lands, for to stop the salt-water gaps, sailing in the Low-lands...'"

It wasn't singing, per se. It was more like wallowing the words around in his mouth with a random Scottish accent.

"If he sings all forty verses, I'm leaving," Silver said, without opening his eyes.

Thomas sighed.

Five or six hours later he woke with Silver tucked up under his chin. It wasn't the first time Thomas had felt evidence of -- how had James put it? Silver's endowments? -- since the beds they often slept in were, after all, not very roomy. It was unfortunately too late for Thomas to will his body not to respond in kind.

Someone dropped something in the kitchen and Silver jerked awake. He looked at Thomas for a only a second before scrambling to sit up. They blearily helped each other up off the floor. When they stumbled into the kitchen together they found James sitting there at the table healthy as a stable of horses, eating buttered brown bread and a mug of tea steaming away beside his plate. Silver ran his hands over his face while Thomas tried to stand up straight, to the absolute screaming fury of his lower back.

"You look awful," James said.

"Your fever broke," Thomas said, like it wasn't obvious.

"Yes." James nodded and chewed. "I slept strangely well."

There was a long pause.

"Kill him now or have breakfast first?" Silver asked Thomas finally.

"We'll try some of the new quince preserves," Thomas said, "before we decide."

James was fighting every instinct to be angry, and Thomas felt a swell of pride for him.

"Were you ever going to fucking grace us with your presence again, or have these last four days been your way of telling us to go and never look back?" James asked Silver.

Well. James's instincts were a work in progress. At least his tone had been mild. Thomas, as he often did, elected to not put himself in the middle, if only because he wanted to watch what would happen next.

(Also, putting away clean clothes was perhaps the only household chore Thomas liked doing. There was something comforting about a tidy drawer of freshly laundered shirts.)

Silver, for his part, did not seem ruffled, though he did seem off, somehow, and not just because he'd been like a ghost for the better part of a week, since James's one night of sickness.

"I thought the two of you might enjoy some quality alone time," Silver said. It was his scratchy voice that gave him away. That and how heavily he sat down on the edge of the bed, as though too tired to argue with James standing up.

"Are you ill?" James immediately knelt in front of Silver, frowning, reaching out to touch Silver's forehead.

"It's just a fever," Silver said, shaking him off. "We've all had fevers."

"Recently, even," Thomas said. "Apologies for that." It seemed whatever he'd brought into the house was determined to meet all residents.

Silver was wan, his eyes glittering. "Ada's also had this, and four of her five children." He waved a hand around. "Everyone's survived, don't be alarmed. We closed the tavern tonight and posted notices that we're staying closed for a few days out of an abundance of caution." He took a breath as if three whole sentences had exhausted him. "As they say."

James's hands were fidgeting; the effort he made to not touch Silver made Thomas's throat ache. "Do you need anything? Have you eaten?"

Silver shook his head. "I'm going to sleep, and no doubt will be better in the morning."

There was something in his manner Thomas could not place, something more than illness.

James had noticed too. He stood up to move to the mattress beside Silver, an arm around him as he nosed at Silver's hair. Silver was shivering. If he'd consumed anything in the last few days it had been a poor effort. Thomas felt again that pang of remorse, that while at most he had tolerated the malady for a few hours, it had intensified as it passed from him to James, and now, it seemed, from James to Silver. Finished in the bureau Thomas pulled the bedroom door shut and went to stir the fire.

Silver had his eyes closed tightly and held himself stiff, as if to blot out everything and everyone.

"John," James said very gently, "look at me."

Thomas laid the poker atop the mantel. He caught James's eye and felt almost as badly for him as for Silver. When Silver opened his eyes Thomas perceived some battle of wills, but couldn't for anything explain why it was occurring. The way Silver looked at James was so vulnerable it didn't seem a mere fever should be its origin. A creeping cold ran down Thomas's back. James had alluded to things he believed Silver might have endured long ago. Avicenna, that great thinker, believed fevers were 'kindled in the heart' -- a fine phrase, Thomas thought, and what he knew of Silver's heart was at once vast and minute. But Thomas knew longing, and fear, when he saw it.

"Do you want us to stay with you tonight?" James asked Silver.

Every second ticking by before Silver nodded seemed an eternity. He's this wary of our intentions, Thomas thought, because life has taught him to be.

And what has life taught you, Lord Hamilton? Pleated in the shadows Thomas could almost imagine any number of nightmares lurking, growing, ghouls he did not wish to confront. His wrists itched as if still bound. He thought of some of the men he'd known in the asylum, or in Savannah, their skittish eyes and resigned postures, their lonesomeness worn like a moskered cloak; how fragile they had seemed when he touched them, and when in their grasps how desperate his own release had been. It was much easier to simply refuse the past entry into this room where he was no longer being harmed, where James was alive and with him, where Silver needed them and the rest of the world could not intrude.

Silver said, "You have started wringing your hands the way Flint does. Or perhaps he learned it from you." His ruined voice was somehow tender.

It took Thomas a long moment to be able to look away from those burning blue eyes. "Come," he said to Silver and James, "it's too chilly in here to linger atop the blankets."

An hour later he wanted to kick himself for such a statement. Silver was asleep in his usual dead to the world sort of way, half curled on James, and James was sweating. Thomas knew better than to laugh about it. He sat on the mattress and laid a wet cloth on the back of Silver's neck -- just moving his hair aside Thomas could tell his fever had intensified, heat wafting off him like a sunbeam -- and another one on James's forehead.

"Thank you," James whispered, before wiping his whole face. He handed the cloth back to Thomas. "He's getting worse. Suggestions? And don't say Woodruff."

"Not sure bloodletting is required yet." Thomas laid a hand on Silver's back. Through the thin shirt Silver was eerily warm. "We could carry him outside. Or prop him up in the kitchen; without a fire burning it's almost as bad in there as being outside."

"Mr. Hamilton just wants to rub snow in my hair again," Silver rasped, pressing his face against James's chest.

"Yes, Mr. Silver," Thomas agreed. "Sounds like a plan." He kept his hand on Silver's back. "We didn't mean to wake you."

"Yes, we did," James said, moving around so that his sternum was being pierced by Silver's chin at a slightly different point than it had been. "You fell asleep mid-sentence."

"Sorry," Silver said, and then he was asleep again.

James fell asleep soon afterwards; Thomas went to the brisk kitchen with a blanket and read for another hour, returning when the words started to swim around on the pages like leeches. He tiptoed into the bedroom to find James awake again and Silver restless. Thomas took the washcloths away to rinse them. When he returned, he sat on the edge of the bed and wiped Silver's wrists and palms with a freshly wet cloth.

Silver was talking like Thomas had been there the whole time. "Everything Flint told me, there on the island. It all would have come true, you know," he murmured to Thomas. He was looking up, or back, at some invisible distance that must have been floating above the bed in whatever waking dream he was in.

What did he tell you? Thomas wanted to ask, curiosity flaring in his mind like a Roman candle, but as soon as he thought it -- and without even looking at James -- he could guess the sort of things James might have said. He wiped Silver's forehead. James sat up and brought Silver with him, such that Silver roused a little as James resettled them both. Thomas presumed James would have something to say; apparently not. Silver swayed against him like there was a tropical breeze lulling him back to sleep. James had on his determined-not-to-cry face, looking at Thomas helplessly. Thomas laid the cloth aside and moved up the mattress to sit with his back to the headboard. For lack of anything useful to do he rubbed Silver between his shoulder blades, keeping his touch light as Silver gave off a distressing amount of heat. Silver hummed, more a sigh than a note, and reached back with his left hand to clutch at Thomas's thigh.

Silver said something into James's shirt.

"Hmm?" James asked, smoothing a hand down his arm.

"A tether," Silver said. Or at least that's what it sounded like he said. There was also a yawn in there.

Thomas didn't know what tethers had to do with anything, other than the obvious fact of the three of them in the bed like drowsy links in a chain, day by day bound more tightly together by more than close proximity. Silver was looking at James with one of those lost, unfocused expressions that made Thomas feel short of breath.

"I miss her," Silver said. "But."

"I know," James replied, kissing his forehead.

"But. She knew because I told her," Silver said, as though it explained anything, "it wasn't them. The crew. But later. I didn't tell her... Because it was her, or I thought it was her. I thought. She would be enough."

He looked over at Thomas, like this was a lucid conversation they were having. "You understand," Silver said. His eyes glimmered with fever.

Thomas felt a rush of empathy for Silver strong enough to make it hard to speak. "It was James all along," he told Silver, "wasn't it?"

Silver nodded, closed his eyes, pressed his face against James.

"It what? All along what?" James said, sounding comically disoriented.

"He's loved you a very long time," Thomas said to James quietly.

"Oh," James said, before ducking his face into Silver's hair.

"He hasn't, of course, loved you as long as I have," Thomas said. "But we cannot fault him for having not met you earlier."

James gazed at Thomas. He laid his hand at the juncture of Thomas's neck and shoulder; it provided a restful weight. Tethered, Thomas thought. Silver slept against James and James was touching Thomas and Thomas kept his hand, still, on Silver's back. Thomas also kept his eyes on James, with James sweeping his thumb against his collarbone and James's dimple about to show.

"What?" Thomas whispered, almost certain he knew what James was thinking.

James kept gazing, pleased, but said nothing. Thomas had never been a good liar. There was a heartbeat beneath his palm that he already knew he would miss when he took his hand away. They stayed that way until Thomas lost track of the time, and sleep pulled them all down into its depths again.

"Are you all right?" James kneaded the back of Thomas's neck and sat down beside him at the kitchen table.

Silver's fever had broken in the last few hours. Thomas and James were letting him sleep.

"I have been thinking about the staff at my father's house," Thomas said. He threaded his fingers through James's. "They were kind to me when I was a child. They were supposed to be kind to me, of course. I was an Important Legacy." He laughed a bitter little laugh. "But do you know, I believed they loved me. Even now, even knowing what I know -- how complicated, how compromised that love might have been. They were servants, most from families of servants. It's all they had ever known or hoped to know of employment or advancement. They took care of me, not just my nursemaid or tutors, but the footmen, the maids, cooks, our butler William. The gardener and his wife Maria." He squeezed James's hand and James squeezed back, watching him as he spoke. "It was a lousy lot they drew. The house was safe, they were given the means to earn what they needed to survive, yes, but it wasn't-- None of it was theirs, and they had no real say in the matter. And yet. And yet, I believe they loved me, taught me, fed me, played with me, smiled kindly at me not because I was the eldest son of an important man, but because I was a child, an innocent child. I have never known a day when I was not loved. I knew love when I saw it, experienced it." James looked as ready to cry as Thomas felt. "I knew you loved me, that Miranda loved me; that I loved you, and her. I never once doubted either of you, all those years."

James waited a minute. He thumbed a tear out from beneath Thomas's eye. "Why have you been thinking about this?"

Thomas pictured Silver asleep in their bed, eyelashes dark against his pale cheeks. "Someone hurt him, didn't they? When he was just a child. And it shaped his whole life."

He didn't say Silver's name. He didn't need to.

Thomas sighed in an elaborate way. "And then, god help him, he met you."

"Hey," James said. But he was smiling, small and rueful. He held on to Thomas's hand.

"I'm glad we're here," Thomas said.

Silver had recovered in another few days. He moved more gingerly for a while, like his bad leg ached more than usual, and he was slow to regain an appetite. Otherwise he emerged unscathed. James fussed over him, and Thomas chose to leave them alone on the fourth afternoon, hoping that like the fever James's anxious grouchiness would burn itself out before Silver had to throttle him.

Thomas explored a patch of forest nearby, where the ice had dwindled to only a few scabby patches here and there and the ground was damp but not sloppy. He worked up a sweat hiking back up a brambly hill and scraped his arm against a pine tree trunk that had appeared from nowhere. (Pay attention, Thomas told himself.) When he was back on the road to the house he took a couple of deep breaths of cold air and felt more awake than he had in an age.

He returned home to find James thankfully in a less fretful mood and Silver looking brighter, with color in his features.

"That poor higgler Jean tells us the Adley farm is to be sold next week," Silver said in greeting.

This was news to Thomas. "Ina will be interested in that."

"She wants a farm? Isn't she's 107 years old?" James asked.

"She's a woman of a distinguished age. I believe their son-in-law may have designs on becoming a land owner," Thomas said.

"Don't we all." James kept sharpening his favorite butcher knife.

"Apparently he's done well for himself in Sussex." Thomas picked up a new purchase that was sitting on the counter. "Was our other masher inadequate?"

"I took it to the tavern and never saw it again," Silver said.

"Ah." Thomas rolled up his shirt sleeve and poked at his scrape. It looked like the sort of thing a youth would acquire falling out of a tree.

Silver and James each seemed abruptly to notice Thomas was injured. There was purpose in the way Silver picked his way over to the hutch wedged in the corner of the room. Items rattled as he searched for something; he moved a crock to a lower shelf and reached up to the back of the top shelf. A pestle rolled out and bonked him in the head. James joined him, though Thomas was certain he had no idea what Silver was looking for. Being an inch or two taller should count for something, right?

"I almost have it," Silver said, refusing to move aside as James crowded in.

"Here," James said, reaching over him.

It didn't work as well as he'd probably expected, because it knocked Silver off balance and Silver briefly stepped on James's foot with his peg.

"Could you not," Silver said between gritted teeth.

"Ow," James said.

Thomas joked, "No daylight between you."

James whipped around.

"Same cloth, same coin, same blade. I couldn't separate the two of you with a hatchet and a team of wild oxen," Thomas said, feeling uneasily like this wasn't an exaggeration.

James took a breath to respond -- maybe even to deny? -- when Silver groused, "What are you on about? Ah-ha!" He turned, a ceramic jar held out in his palm. He was smiling in triumph.

Whatever he saw on Thomas's face made his smile fade. He locked eyes with Thomas and Thomas felt his stomach lift.

"I could no more separate the two of you," Silver said, tipping his head to Thomas and then to James, "than I could pluck the sun out of the fucking sky."

Thomas blinked. "What--"

"You're his heart, Thomas," Silver said.

The words, so softly spoken, crashed over Thomas like a storm-driven wave. His eyes burned, for a moment, as he looked at Silver, looked at James; as they looked at each other and then him. Watching Silver now as Silver stared back Thomas began to smile. He bit his lip to prevent it from getting out of hand.

"Would you like some help?" Silver asked, holding up the jar.

"What is that?" Thomas asked, sitting down in the chair James had vacated.

Silver pulled another chair closer to Thomas. James poured himself a drink of rum, splashing some in two more mugs. After clunking his mug against James's Silver downed his rum in one swallow. Thomas, eyeing James, sipped his. Something had shifted, Thomas thought; they were coming to a precipice.

He turned his focus to Silver. "It's green," he said when Silver took off the jar lid. "It even smells green."

"Elder leaves," Silver said. His small grin was crooked. "Well, four parts lard and two parts suet."

"So, fat and fat," Thomas said.

"To three parts elder. Good for sprains and bruises and grievances inflicted upon one's person." Silver scooted nearer.

Thomas pushed up his bloody sleeve and bent his arm, still watching Silver.

Silver dipped his fingers in the ointment and smoothed a glob of it gently up Thomas's arm. Thomas winced and Silver mouthed, "Sorry." He ran his fingers along the scrape several times, until the salve had started to soak in. He sat back to survey his handiwork. Finding it satisfactory, he dipped his left middle finger into the jar to bring out a dab.

He scooted ever closer, until like a puzzle piece his knees and Thomas's were somewhat interlocked. With the pad of his finger he patted at something below Thomas's eye.

Thomas placed a hand on Silver's shoulder. "Didn't realize there was another scratch." The ointment stung a bit. He remembered being smacked in the face with an oak limb earlier, at the beginning of the day's walk.

"Only a little one. You likely won't go blind from it." Silver wiped his hands on his trousers and put the lid back on the jar.

Thomas saw it when Silver realized just how closely to Thomas he was sitting. The light cleared in Silver's eyes; his mouth parted as he inhaled. Oh, Thomas thought. Hello. He tightened his hand, then skimmed it along Silver's shoulder to slip his fingers into Silver's hair. (Oh. Yes. It was still the most luxurious hair.) Thomas leaned further into Silver, drawing their heads closer together. Silver did not pull away.

"Thank you, Mr. Silver," Thomas said, quietly thrilling at the way Silver's eyes had darkened.

Silver smiled at him without actually smiling. "You're welcome, Mr. Hamilton." He paused for a second, then brushed his mouth against Thomas's, the touch so light it could almost have been mistaken for something other than a kiss.

What Thomas returned to Silver was a kiss equally light, brief, and again perhaps someone, had they wished to, could have described it as accidental, or incidental, or merely friendly. Careful, Thomas thought. You must be careful. He kept his forehead against Silver's for a moment, letting Silver decide, and their third kiss was quick, practically chaste. But the fourth one: Thomas suddenly had Silver's head cupped in his hands and Silver was pressing ever closer, opening to Thomas on an almost silent gasp. Thomas had to close his eyes against the sweetness of it. When he slid his tongue into his mouth Silver made a quiet, wounded sound, and Thomas flushed hot as if he'd awakened on an island beneath merciless sunshine. He hadn't felt his own thirst so acutely since the moment he'd first seen James again. Silver's seemed to match Thomas's; his mouth was nearly painfully soft, his beard rough, and one of his hands was wandering lower. By the time he reached Thomas's--

"I am going into the bedroom now," James said in a loud, impatient voice.

Thomas and Silver broke apart to stare at him and pant.

James's left eyebrow said some very tawdry things. "I trust you'll both be joining me."

"Yes?" Thomas said, feeling astonishingly overheated. He mustered the courage to look at Silver.

Silver looked every ounce as bothered. He also looked unguarded, and kiss-bitten. He nodded at Thomas and then looked to James. "Yes," he said. He looked back at Thomas. "Yes."

Thomas took two seconds to say, "Oh thank fuck," before kissing him again.

#my continual struggle with technology and coherency #fic #silverflint #silverflinthamilton #black sails

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uterusclub · 5 years

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The very moment we discovered Moulin Rouge was being made into a stage production, we KNEW we had to see it! Unfortunately, the debut occurred in Boston, which well, was expensive to fly to, but we were also, unsure of the ‘reviews’ for the show. It was decided, thereafter that whence it went to Broadway in NYC, we would make the trek. Thus, our adventure begins . . .

Our kick-off to NYC was not without it’s complications. My parents, fortunately, informed us that ‘work’ was being done on the blue line and therefore, offered a ride to an open station with which to catch the ‘el to the blue, then orange line (damn you Southwest for being so damn far). Rousing at 2:30 a.m. was fairly delirious due to Christmas Eve-ed sleep but we rallied as best we could and eventually arrived at Midway Airport with approximately 1/2 hour until boarding. It is at this point; we thanked the transportation Gods or rather, ourselves, for being pre-check TSA members as we quite literally waltzed through security in a matter of minutes. Booyah! Chicago to New York travel time is not terrible – approximately 2 hours. We amused ourselves by using the on-flight, Wi-Fi entertainment to watch Crazy Rich Asians, which was good enough to pass the time.

Off the plane and on our way to public transportation, I left all the work to Sharon who had watched a video about catching buses from the airport to travel into the city. First step, get a ticket to catch a bus to a connecting bus/train. Next – get on appropriate bus to take us to . . . oh wait – is this the correct bus? Yep, immediate confusion. Sharon’s phone kept re-routing which caused her ultimate reaction to be ‘let’s just go one more stop’ as we could see our pinpoint on a map begin to divert from our destination. Long story short, we got off in, who knows where, and caught an Uber already housing a very nice couple who bid us well in our travels once they departed.

We were dropped off at our first, essential stop – a gift and luggage store in Times Square to relieve ourselves of our burdensome baggage. Sketch-tastic to say the least but the concern grew less worrisome as we noticed a multitude of said shops along the streets of Times Square. Luggage-free, we headed to our first endeavor: Madame Tussauds Wax Museum! There was quite a line outside but surprisingly, it moved along quickly and we entered without a hitch (thanks Groupon). Naturally, we grabbed a bunch of awesome pictures – despite the fact that I was unfamiliar with a good portion of the figures we observed. It was delightful surprise to see a commemoration of Cats since we’d seen the production recently (refer to previous blog), however the best part of the entire exhibit was most definitely the Phantom of the Opera shtick where you could pretend you were singing as Christine and also stand/sit on a fake chandelier! Let me not forget the mirror maze as well which, at one point, I lost Sharon and careened into glass with my phone on several occasions.

Following our wax museum adventure, we walked next door to the conveniently situated Ripley’s exhibit (again, thanks Groupon). Now I’ve never, personally been a huge fan of these since I don’t care to reach much but I guess this is a Sharon nostalgia thing. In any case, it was pseudo interesting. We took a few pictures and Sharon disappointingly found a Zoltare machine that provided no physical fortune. There was a cool, trippy, tunnel in the middle of the exhibit, which was cool for a minute but nothing to write home about (irony). Towards the end of our walk through, it became pretty apparently that we were both STARVING. We had made reservations at a little French restaurant down the street; however, we were a bit early but proceeded there anyway.

Le Rivage was our first food stop for our trip! I did minimal research on this place but based on location, reviews, and the fact that they did a show pre-fix meal option, was pretty much sold. We were both pleasantly surprised that the restaurant appeared casual and ‘classic’ – if that makes sense. This place was definitely not ‘hopping’ and had a more ‘old-school’ feel to it that we both dig. Upon being seated at our table, I noticed a can-can picture in an adjoining seating area and made my way over there to grab some pictures. We pre-faced our meals with mimosas and indulged in a French Onion Soup Burger and Boeuf Bourguignon – both DELICIOUS! Swooning in culinary satisfaction, it was now time to get MORE physical uncomfortable. Up to this point, I have failed to mention our ingenious plan on packing our Moulin Rouge-designated outfits in our purses. A much-debated discussion, it made much more sense to dress sensibly for the plane ride and then change into said outfits right before the show – especially since mine involved a tulle skirt and corset! Post-meal, we both took turns walking downstairs to the restroom to change. I’m not sure how Sharon’s transition went but it was quite the production getting in a corset and tulle shirt in a tiny, bathroom stall. Once I excited the stall and begin adding my accessories at the sink, an older lady entered and quite literally gawked at me. She complimented me and just continued to stare before mentioning that she’d heard the producer of the movie Moulin Rouge raved that the stage production was ‘spectacular.’ Transition complete, I headed upstairs to rejoin Sharon and was met with silenced stares all around the dining room. Quite honestly, I did NOT think the outfit was THAT unusual. It probably didn’t help that I was filming the entire area for the duration of the stare-down. Almost felt like I should have choreographed something as part of my exit! Next time.

Get-ups secured, we were now set and ready for Moulin Rouge situated just about a block or two down the street. It was about an hour til show time but upon arriving at the Al Hirschfield Theatre, there was already a line down the block. For the next 40ish minutes, we stood in line with beaming hot sun and bellowing scalpers antagonizing our wills to live. At one point, I peered into the restaurant we stood outside of and saw a girl conveniently dressed in what I’d consider Moulin Rouge attire. She would eventually be seated nearby us like some groupie conspiracy. Once inside the theatre, complete chaos ensued. Sharon immediately went to grab some very expensive sippy-cupped drinks while I perused the gift-shop area – convinced I would pay anything for something Moulin Rouge-inspired. But a $100 hoodie was not in my budget. So I opted for a magnet. When we finally entered the seating area, our minds and eyes were BLOWN! The stage was BEYOND gorgeous! I was most impressed and grateful that everyone was allowed to take as much video and pictures as they liked – although that eventually became annoying when we attempted to take a selfie with no one in the background (impossible)! We received MANY compliments on our outfits and ended up sitting towards some like-minded Moulin Rouge fans who raved about it being their favorite movie. As the minutes neared show time, performers began slowly slinking about the stage in scantily clad outfits – staring Legolasy at the audience.

Once the show was underway, it was magic – but with some drawbacks. Sharon and I would later have a full-blown, extended conversation about the show but to summarize our feelings on it, it could have been better or perhaps, different. As purists, we honestly just wanted a replication of the movie on stage. This, was not as such. The main story line was there, sure, but the adaptation felt a bit forced – almost TOO much freedom was taken with it, I fear. To be more specific and assuming you’re familiar with the movie, the original does throw-backs to a few contemporary songs. This show took that concept and multiplied it by a thousand ie there were a lot MORE snippets of a lot more RECENT songs which, again, I feel lost any sense of integrity. Every time a throw-back clip was initiated, audience members laughed in recognition, which to me, makes a mockery of the movie. Sharon internally lost her shit when Satine began singing Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’ and I couldn’t agree more. I wont knock it and say there weren’t SOME good additions – for instance, Christian singing Gnarls Barkley’s ‘Crazy’ but all in all, it didn’t work for either of us and I’m fairly sure we were the only ones in the theatre feeling that way.

With a slightest defeatist attitude, we made our way back to the gift and luggage store to re-burden ourselves with our belongings. It was at this point, Sharon realized one of the wheels on her luggage bag was defective and not moving. Scraping her back down the street, she ultimately began carrying her entire case in her arms like a massive, dumb baby. While we were, fortunately, not going too far, the walk, still in our uncomfortable outsides, felt long. We eventually arrived at our next stop: Bibble & Sip which is an ADORABLE coffee/tea/pastry shop that is Alpaca themed! With the combination of luggage frustration and scrunchiness, Sharon remained in the distance while I got in line to grab some goods to go. I opted for a Good Luck Hazelnut Alpaca dessert and Black and White Mouse cake which were, oh my god, AMAZING!!

Our desserts weren’t consumed until we arrived at our Airbnb which again, was trekked to under blistering heat, faulty luggage and air-constricting clothing. But we made it! Sharon had found this joint situated at 50th and 3rd Avenue in East Manhattan. The ‘renter’ was a Japanese man who, based off of the amount of signage and locks on things, appeared to be a bit OCD but it tolerable. We had a bed and couch, ability to access a/c and well, minimal tv capabilities. All in all, not a bad set-up and for the price and location, no complaints! After arriving, we changed and ‘regrouped’ for a minute before deciding NOT to venture out for a late-night, rooftop silent-disco we had acquired tickets for. Instead, we decided to slum it for the remainder of the evening – and by ‘slumming,’ I mean grabbing drinks and getting some dinner.

During the course of our very, extensive research, one of us had come across a place called Ophelia Lounge that was conveniently located a few blocks from our Airbnb. We headed there for a celebratory, evening drink and were very impressed with the elevated view, delicious cocktails and unpretentious hospitality! We had only wished it had been later in the evening for an even more spectacular, night view. Following our drinks, we attempted to pre-order our food for pick-up but the restaurant we called was busy so we walked over to Hide-Chan for ramen that I’d read wonderful things about. The restaurant was confusingly situated next to another Asian restaurant that we accidentally venture into first. We then headed next door to the ascending stairway at which time, the hostess informed us they didn’t do ‘take away’ requests. Huh. Odd. We then asked if the adjoining restaurant was there was well but couldn’t exactly make out the response but upon going next door, the men was most definitely, NOT ramen. We then decided it was in our best interest to hike back UP the stairs and just eat there and I’m very glad we did. This was the first time I’d ever seen/ordered garlic butter edameme and it was AMAZING! This was also the first time I’d been asked about the firmness level and shape of my noodles. In any case, food was STELLAR. My only complaint would be the SUPER boisterous, young Asian men seated next to us who were having the time of their LIVES! Ramen in bellies, we headed home and passed the eff out. Day one = complete!

The next morning, we roused fairly early with plans of walking to Central Park, which was about 30 minutes away. After heading out, we grabbed coffee at a Dunkin Donuts and made our away to Central Park Zoo to see their red pandas and penguin feeding. The zoo, while quaint, was comfortable and their employees, very helpful. While in line for our tickets, Sharon inquired if there were any bats and were told yes! Making our rounds once inside, we up the bats first which was nothing short of a glassed, dark room with flittering figures. At one point, I asked Sharon to use her phone flashlight to see if the bats were hanging on the ceiling and sure enough, they were! Walking clock-wise, we hit up the red pandas next but sadly, saw nothing. We continued on our way to came across the seals that were super adorable and rambunctious. We then circled back to the red pandas and were pointed out one, hidden and barely moving, shrouded in foliage. Our last stop off was the children’s petting zoo, which contained guess what – an Alpaca – and some sheep’s that were cool. Sharon was offended the Alpaca walked away from her after supplying some food.

After our fill of animals, we now headed through Central Park in order to see Belvedere Castle. On the way, Sharon bought a hot dog from a vendor who attempted to up-charge her. She was offended with both the hot dog and the altercation. Once we reached the castle, we were both pretty underwhelmed. The joint was swarming with people and it was a clusterfuck attempting to ascend the narrow, winding staircase to get to the view-top. Continuing on our way through the park, we were now headed towards Astro West Fine Minerals, Fossils and Meteorites shop, however finding an exit out of the park became problematic. We kept walking, soaked in our own, hot juices, for what felt like forever. On several occasions I suggested scaling the walls in order to reach actual ‘street.’ And of course, once we asked where an exit was, it was a few feet ahead of us.

Making our way to the streets, we eventually found Astro West Fine Minerals, Fossils and Meteorites, which, our sole purpose was to split a geode for a souvenir. I had called the shop a few days prior to inquire if they had an ‘abundant’ available since I’d read complaints about them being out of stock. When we arrived, there were maybe 15 available – all ugly blobs situated inside a marked barrel. I selected one based off solely based on its symmetry and we watched the machine in action that was really just a glorified saw. Once split, the attendant showed us the inside which he described as a ‘light blue.’ I’d describe it as a bunch of bullshit, personally. Definitely NOT worth $25. But I guess you win some, you lose some.

Next on the agenda was Grand Central Station. Arriving in style via Uber, we immediately made our way upstairs to the Campbell Bar, which is allegedly haunted. Our bartender was pretty awesome and gave us some free shots. The decor was outstanding. To keep on schedule, we then headed back downstairs to find the Jacque Torres Chocolate shop on ground level. On our way, I caught an amazing ceiling in my peripheral view and followed it to an outstanding, horoscopial view! We then continued on our original journey, found the chocolate shop and nibbled on some free samples before grabbing another Uber for our next venture!

Remember Stomp? Yes, I know, it’s definitely been a minute. I haven’t thought or heard of it in a very long time but it is most definitely alive and kicking! I should know. We bought tickets. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect with this show – not that I wasn’t familiar with the basis for the show – but the longevity of its existence made me a bit leery. When we arrived, we were told no photos or videos were allowed. Ok, fine. We took our seats at the far, back end of the theatre but were eventually upgraded for ‘good behavior’ to the second row! Once the show began, I was in COMPLETE awe. I think that a good portion of the show, I was imagining myself a part of it – like, I actually started considering trying to audition for it! I was blown away by the talent and attitudes of all the performers. Everyone appeared to be having such a good time with each other but also as solo performers. Talk about an inspiration! Next time you’re in NYC, definitely make a point to see the show!

Just around the corner from Stomp was our highly anticipated dinner reservation at Beetle House! Which reminds me, I dressed for the occasion – ie I bought and wore green, light-up suspenders for a good portion of the day. In any case, we were far too early upon arrival and as such, loitered outside the restaurant a bit. Eventually we were let in and seated. The restaurant was cool, yes, but very tiny and a bit understated for what I had anticipated. We had both seen video clips promoted the restaurant that entailed costumed performers. We saw none of this, which sure, it was still relatively ‘early’ but nonetheless, the emo-inspired work staff didn’t really convey much of a Burton feel to me. Our meal option was a pre-fix appetizer and main course that we were both pretty underwhelmed with. We did order some cocktails, which apparently all come with dry ice for major points for smokey drinks! All in all, disappointed. I’d go back – but only for the drinks.

Following our dissatisfied meal, we then took a transit-commute from hell in hopes of reaching Brooklyn. After being given opposing directions from pedestrians and Sharon’s wonky, ever-changing GPS assistance, we eventually ended up at a witch store and then eventually at Urban Jungle – a thrift store. Again, unimpressed with this underwhelming Ragstock wanna-be, we continued onto Brooklyn Cider House. This place, well, seemingly pleasant, left us wanting in terms of customer service AND cider. Our waiter was less than helpful with recommendations and most of the drink options appeared to be ‘dry.’ As our spirits continued to dwindle, we then headed to the bookend for the evening – Theatre XIV for burlesque! And if you haven’t yet caught the trend, we were again, far too early to be admitted so we walked down the street to a bar called the Johnson for some $6 ‘Painkillers’ ie. frozen, pina colorado concoction. Four drinks later and claw-machine defeated, we were buzzed back to a state of satisfaction. Making our way back to the theatre, we entered and marveled at the Fifty Shaded Wonderland surrounding us.

Adorned to the nines, this show, Queen of Hearts, was eccentric, to say the least! I have NEVER seen such a mind-boggling burlesque show in my LIFE! There were obvious, classically trained dancers involved, not to mention, MANY male performers. Dancing, singing, hooping – there was no end to the extravagances our eyes beheld. Speaking of, we spent a good portion of the show staring at the couple seated in front of us which entailed a very uncomfortably, molesty dude who we could only assume, was sloppy rich. We discussed trying to corner his companion in the bathroom to find out what the deal was but we were both far too lazy. Sharon bought me an expensive, gingery cocktail that was god-awful. We followed up the rest of the night’s consumption with canned ciders from which we both got pretty blitzed! While we awaited our Uber, we saw the aforementioned creepoid with his girl being photographed by police officers. We can only begin to wonder whatever came of them but I’d be very confident picking him out of a lineup. For the duration of our Uber ride home and still beaming from booze, we spent the entire ride arguing over the virtual trivia game situated in the backseat area. Sharon doesn’t recall giving me bad/wrong answers and/or giving me crap for being incorrect but it was boisterous and most likely, very annoying, fun.

Ah, good o’ hungover Monday. Yikes! With a slightly rough-start to the morning, we took our time getting ride in order to avoid the hectic, rush-hour commuter traffic. After pre-GPSing our route, we successfully public transited to Supermoon Bakehouse for some blueberry and Pomegranate croissants! Sharon was mind-blown by this place – simply based on not only the aesthetic peel of their goods but also, the deliciousness! High recommendations for this joint – although, I’d suggest taking your food items to go since the tables and chairs were that of children.

Continuing our route, we now headed towards what would appear to be Chinatown for a confusing stop-off at a gorgeous, Jewish Temple museum called Eldridge Street. I’d literally come across this place during research and noted that Mondays were their pay-what-you-can. Being non-religious and certainly non-Jewish, my interest was all about the glorified ambience and were were NOT disappointed. There was a calm, safe, feel to the temple. Definitely one of the more beautiful things I’d high recommend when visiting NYC.

Next on the roster? Catacombs! Oh but wait, this isn’t what it sounds like, unfortunately. The description was giving us Catacombs by Candlelight, which we both assumed, would somehow involve ghosts. This was not as such. We were met with quasi-interesting, New York history involving politicians and rich families that were memorialized in the underground passageways. The highlight of the tour was the Australian couple we spoke with briefly about koalas – duh. I’m sure under different circumstances (not tired, hung-over, bored, hot, wanting ghost stories), one would find this tour highly interesting (my mother) but ‘twas not as such. The tour even ran a bit over-time so we bounced early to catch an Uber to our lunch at Thai Villa.

I researched this restaurant and loved it solely based on its gorgeousness. Unfortunately, we caught this place during the boisterous, lunch rush and weren’t entirely able to enjoy any sense of calm. We could barely speak due to the deafening sound – including the pretentious, vapid couple next to us. I did not enjoy my pai thai but was also suffering from post-laxative discomfort, to be fair. We ate as quickly as possible and headed out towards the next item of our agenda: Rose Wine Mansion.

Once again, with reservations at 2pm and us far too early, we killed a minute or two buying an I Love New York, pink onesie for Bear (yeah, yeah, he loves it) from a souvenir shop before standing restlessly in line for admittance.

When we were finally hustled in, accompanied by an ear-drum throbbing, security alarm, we took an elevator to the entrance of the exhibit. As we were basically the first people in ‘line,’ we got first dibs on every single room. We also didn’t care too much about the ‘interactive elements’ of most rooms, which killed a lot of time. We pressed on fairly quickly as we are want to do, indulging in our favorite, Cleopatra-endorsed red wine, Banfi Rosa Regale. Case in point, we drank some last night (8/2/2019) as you can buy it at Binny’s (SO good)! Other than that and taking a bunch of free photo-booth pictures post-exhibit, it was a quick in and out for us.

Making our way down the street, we stopped off at the free Houdini Museum situated, strangely, inside a high-rise building. The ‘museum’ was quite small, though we were told it was the second largest in the world. We took a once-around stroll while some magic nerds exchanged card tricks in the center of the room. Disinterest in tact, we caught another Uber with a delightful, Asian man who almost got pulled over for running a light but played off his foreignness to get out of it and eventually showed me his uncompleted dragon tattoo. He dropped us off near Enchantments – an occult store we’ve previously ordered, personalized candles. The store was awesome – cute, black kitties sleeping and hilarious, witchy employees who seems very down to earth. We requested personalized, carved candles and hung out for the duration of their creation. Once obtained, we headed over to one of the many bars on our roster for the afternoon: Mother of Pearl. Hawaiian-themed, this joint, wasn’t, again, open when we arrived so we pre-drank at a hookah lounge down the street. Once we re-attempted Mother of Pearl, was ordered their well-known ‘Shark attack’ drinks which I found unimpressive. I also can’t recall what type of alcohol they entailed but definitely, not my jam. Our bartender though, was pretty awesome.

The evening continued with an Uber back to where we had been for the Rose Mansion for two more bars: The Magic House Rooftop Bar & Lounge and The Fleur Room. Now the Magic House Rooftop Bar & Lounge sounded and looked very impressed from the videos I’d watched. There’s rotating carousal seats, mini-golf and an awesome view. But in all reality, the in-person was not up to snuff. All the carousal seats were ‘reserved,’ the ‘mini golf’ consisted of maybe four rounds revolving around sexified animal statues and the drinks were, well, at least mine, expensive and just terrible. Waste of time and money – not to mention all the effort to actually get UP to the joint! Security is completely elaborate and unnecessary – I felt like the goddamn FBI was running the entire thing! Not a fan. Next up – The Fleur Room. To be fair, we were both kind of at our wit’s end at this point in time. Once we made our way up to the bar, again, beautiful, poshy views and the decor was GORGEOUS but after looking at the drink menu, I just couldn’t do it. I was super over the expensive, elaborate drinks that sounded and inevitably, tasted like garbage. Maybe I’m not sophisticated enough to get the appear or maybe these places are just trying too hard. Either way, we refused to spend more money on drinks we’d end up hating and just took our necessary pictures and videos to supply to ya’ll.

As our final stop-off and NOT on our original agenda (we cut a bunch of stuff), Sharon researched a pizza joint nearby our Airbnb for an easy, chill dinner at the home front. She came across Patsy’s Pizzeria. I called in a large, garlic and cheese pizza for pick-up during which time; a lovely Jamaican woman named Diana who complimented my tattoos and pants accosted me. This woman kept on talking about her brother being a dance choreographer and professional in Milwaukee and eventually tried to network us. I gave minimal interesting and effort in the exchange on account of exhaustion and hunger. Eventually, pizza was on hand and we made it back home to consume said pizza that was actually pretty decent.

Our final day in NYC was quite a doozy. We woke up fairly early and again, killed time to avoid the rush hour, commute traffic. Luggage in tow, we caught some pre-GPS-ed public transit to NYC’s Magic Jewelry to get aura photographs. After once again, standing in line, waiting for the place to open, a little crowd began to form behind us. Eventually, one snap and a brief explanation later, we were done! Side note: Sharon is now obsessed with purchasing the equipment to start her own business. We then walked over to the nearby Ghostbusters Fire Station that became a clusterfuck due to the gapping tour crowd and the fact that the firehouse is ACTIVE. We stood and waited for a truck to pull into it before snapping a few pictures and heading immediately away.

After once again, catching pre-GPS-ed public transit, we now headed towards of lunch-stop: Cafe Colette. This place got awesome reviews and also had beautiful pictures of the inside. When we arrived, the staff obligingly took our luggage from us for storage. I was once again, underwhelmed by the atmosphere, however, the food was definitely on point! Sharon apparently ate some orgasmic chicken sandwich while I consumed some delicious, fish tacos. We were both quite satisfied. Trudging along with our luggage we continued on our way to the Williamsburg Hotel for their Hightea Teapot cocktails we’d seen advertised videos for. When we arrived at the bar, our bartender, Angelo, advised that it was not available during weekdays. After a polite plea by Sharon, he agreed to make us a cocktail anyway which we shared and was MOST delicious! With time to kill and dessert on my brain, I suggested we find a place for dessert. Sharon quickly googled a nearby French pastry shop by the name of Caprices by Sophie. We shared a delightful, chocolate éclair before ultimately deciding that we should forgo any additional, scheduled plans and head straight to the airport.

One very long Uber ride later, we were at LaGuardia several hours early for our flight. Once we again, fast-tracked through security via Pre-check TSA and began to get settled, Sharon noticed our flight had been canceled! And queue confusion and anxiety. Never have I had this happen to me before. As we had already checked into our flight, I was unable to attempt a reschedule on my phone. We ended up lining up at the Southwest desk in order to speak with an attendant. Throughout the chaos, we realized there was an earlier flight boarding for Chicago. With attempts and determining if the flight was booked, Sharon called Southwest and was told, they could not advise as such. We were, safe-net, booked into a later flight that would eventually connect in St. Louis with an arrival in Chicago at midnight; however, we were still hoping to hope on this flight about to leave. Eventually, amidst the chaos and confusion and annoying and anxiety, we were allowed onto the earlier flight home which, with it’s own delays; brought us home at approximately the same time we were originally scheduled to arrival. The hellish commute involved sitting on the runway for takeoff for god knows how long and my discomfort with a very antsy, obnoxious, Alabamian seated next to me. Despite the very, very long commute, the dadness grabbed us at the Montrose blue-line, accompanied with Bear whose distress meowing ironically comforted me. When we reached our wonderful, sweet, home, we showered to rid ourselves of the New York stink, downed some food and barely absorbed some background television.

It’s crazy to think about how fast-paced Chicago is and yet, New York feels even faster! Or perhaps it’s the abundance of things and people and the distance between places that makes it feel so much more arduous. It could also have to do with our inclinations of packing in as much funness as possible into every single trip. Regardless, Chicago was most definitely missed. We were a part of you, New York, New York, but you can keep your hot, street garbage.

Where the Streets Have Hot Garbage The very moment we discovered Moulin Rouge was being made into a stage production, we KNEW we had to see it!

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shadowsong26fic · 7 years

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Coming Attractions!

First Monday of the month! So, if that’s my new date, I’m actually on time for once hurray!

Fanfic:

Precipice:

::singsong:: This is the arc that will not end… (j/k, I’m having fun. It is taking longer to get through everything than I thought it would, though.)

We are in good shape, ish. I did miss one week this month, and I was late a couple times due to IRL stuff [a thrilling saga involving two car insurance companies, the registrar’s office of the university where I got my BA four years ago, HR and IT at my current job…]

Anyway. I’ve got about 2-3 more chapters to go, I think? Need to check in w/Coruscant again of course, and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are definitely gonna yell at Anakin after the Poor Life Choice he made in last week’s update. We’ll also hear from Leia and Beru, so that should be fun.

Then we’ll finally start Arc Five,is tentatively titled Lessons and will probably focus mostly on the kids—the twins, of course; Lavinia; probably Winter; possibly Biggs and Leia’s other friends… It’ll be a quieter arc, probably; more along the lines of Homecoming, where we’re getting people situated/positioned for future plotty shenanigans. Although we will most likely spend some time with Darth Infernalis, too.

Also, the next chapter will probably put me over 100k (omg). I feel like I should do Something Special/a bonus to mark the milestone. Any suggestions/requests?

Distaff:

The next chapter is coming, no really. Like I mentioned earlier, this month was A Mess, IRL-wise, so, in dealing with all that, I didn’t get as much writing done as I wanted to on anything, including/especially Distaff. This coming month, though, I swear.

Auxiliaries:

I got the entry bit up this month! Or, well, the first of three parts of it, anyway. Part 2 of said opening might take a while, because it involves people shooting at the boys and I need to iron out who is shooting and why. I actually have most of Part 3 written, but Part 2 obviously needs to go up first.

So I might do that Part 2 later this month, if I get it finished, or I might post Ahsoka’s entrance, since I have that mostly finished and I’m very fond of it. We shall see!

AU Outline:

This month was Ventress accidentally adopting tiny time-travelling Luke Skywalker! She was so annoyed, I love it. As always, all five of these can be found in the #au outlines for the win tag.

Next month will probably be the Mask of Zorro/California Gold Rush AU Fusion No One Asked For, but that I may change my mind.

Masks:

…sigh. See aforementioned “RL was a disaster” comments. I’m almost tempted to just finish this one out as an outline and jump to Machinations at this point, but IDK.

For those of you who don’t know (because I’m not sure I’ve summarized it properly on this blog yet), Masks is the first installment of Masks!verse (ha, I’m creative), which is basically what I call an In Spite of a Nail AU, where Lavinia from Precipice exists in a canon-adjacent timeline. I say ‘canon-adjacent’ because it’s sort of a…weird hybrid of Official Disney Canon and Old EU/Legends Canon? It picks up in the immediate aftermath of Yavin and is a true In Spite of a Nail AU for the OT timeframe (i.e., the story focuses on locations/people that the movies don’t, and, while she does some specific things that change some details, no major plot points during these four years are changed). However, I tend to stick closer to Legends for post-Endor developments (for several reasons, mostly relating to I like the way things played out with the remnants of the Empire and the New Republic in Legends, politically/government-building wise; better than the parts I’ve read in the tie-in canon novels on the same subjects. Which is probably a large part of why I haven’t read all that much of the new tie-in novels; also Mara Jade, also Pellaeon, neither of whom has been recanonized yet sooooo yeah).

Anyway, some of the content from post-ROTJ novels is therefore excluded (as is Rebels, still, for unrelated reasons). But Masks!verse does eventually link up w/TFA (the third part, Martyrs, picks up shortly after the end of said movie). Canon may be locked at that point; it all depends on how much TLJ throws what I have planned already, and how much I decide to care.

Original:

As with everything, did not get as much done as I would’ve liked this month. Did not work on The Caladrius or any other crossover piece, but I got a few short bits out, for all three worlds I post to RF. Sadly did not work on anything potentially publishable/unrelated this month.

Other:

So, I’ve been thinking about doing an open question night once a month. I mean, I’ll of course answer asks/whatever that come to me outside of an event like that, but I’d be online/available for active interaction if I did this, if that makes sense? Considering holding these on the fifteenth if I do this. Or maybe the third Monday of the month, to alternate with the Coming Attractions posts? Something to think about.

I’ll also take prompts (for short/under-5k stories), which I’ll plan to fill by the next Open Question Night, barring RL shenanigans or something.

Thoughts?

ETA: On a semi-related note, I do have a meme open; feel free to send me one of the things!

Monthly Goals:

July Recap:

1. Keep up with Precipice updates.--well, like I mentioned above, I missed one, so...not really.

2. Get the friggin Opera House done and posted already.--...oops.

3. Debut Auxliiaries.--Yay! An accomplishment!

4. At least write some Masks. In order. Bits from Machinations or the timeskip between them don’t count. Even if it’s not a full postable chapter.--Yeah, not so much.

5. Do another crack outline :D--I did it!

6. At least 1k on Phoenix!verse.--Again, not so much.

7. Work on another origfic crossover.--Nope.

9. Seriously, Shadowsong. The archives.--Nope.

10. At least 10k on any/all projects.--uh....::quick tally:: Looks like I did actually make it! Huh, I didn’t think I had... But this was also a long month, so to speak, and a couple of my Precipice chapters were on the long end, so.

August Goals:

1. Keep up with Precipice updates.

2. Opera House.

3. Another Auxiliaries snippet

4. Work on Masks.

5. Another crack outline

6. At least 1k on Phoenix!verse

7. Work on another origfic crossover

8. The archives are sad and lonely and three years out of date. I should fix that.

9. At least 5k on projects that are not Precipice.

10. At least 15k total on any/all projects. [considering that even this month I met my goal, I figured I should up it and see what happens.]

#shadowsong26fic #miscellania #coming attractions #shadowsong writes star wars #shadowsong writes original fic

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scioscribe · 8 years

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on writing depression, writing while depressed, fantasy, and utility

I’ve been in a mild depression lately and most of the writing I’ve done over the last two weeks has been disorganized and incomplete: snippets rather than stories. None of it is for anyone else and none of it even could be for anyone else, because it’s all disgustingly well-tailored to my own sloppy emotional needs and, even beyond that, thoroughly rooted in intensely designed AUs of canon that are vivid to me and undoubtedly ridiculous and unrecognizable to anyone else. Even my wife thinks they’re self-indulgent. But what they all are, when you come right down to it, is a very particular brand of hurt/comfort.

I’m especially brutal to my favorite characters when I’m depressed, because, dammit, I just want to read about well-deserved comfort, and I don’t have the time or even the emotional complexity in these periods to work out how to do this in any kind of subtle, plausible way that would actually be consistent with good, emotionally nuanced writing. This isn’t the time for that. This is the time for “the characters have inexplicably been kidnapped by torturers with some random and likely unmentioned motivation.” It’s the time for impractical kidnappings, for (at least feigned) betrayal, for public humiliation, for strange magical harms done to people in decidedly non-magical canons. I find this soothing.

[More real-life depression talk under the cut, as well as discussion of fictional/literary CSA, domestic violence, death, bereavement, suicide, self-harm, car accidents, sexual trauma, and medical trauma.)

And I used, I think, to be able to write about a kind of fictionalized depression that way, in a manner that I can’t do now that I have an unfortunately close personal relationship with the fucking thing. For the record, I, at least, have no problem with fictionalized, simplified, and even sentimentalized depression: different stories fill different emotional needs for different people. (And it would, in any case, be massively hypocritical of me to rail against it even if I wanted to, because nobody is fonder of fictional, soap opera-style amnesia than I am.) But I can’t write it myself now, because it feels like I’m breaking some kind of inner logic.

What breaks it isn’t the portrayal of the depression as it’s being suffered but rather the way in which the depression is exited, which usually happens when some other character notices how deeply, horribly sad Character A is and provides comfort and support. And Character A then starts to make their way out of the murky, muddy emotional place they’re mired in. Something at last feels sort of good. Something doesn’t hurt. And then, thankfully, beautifully, they’re pushed down a greased slide to a place of greater emotional stability.

Whereas in my experience, someone notices I’m depressed and extends sympathy and support, and I... I don’t know. Say it helps? They are good people for trying to help and I am, when depressed, fundamentally aware of my utter lack of good personhood, so I don’t want to be a trial, which will only make me feel worse anyway. So I end up in this weird pattern of opening up to someone and then panicking because I realize that there is nothing they can say that will actually help me, that I will in fact move the emotional goalposts on what I want to hear anytime they say what previously seemed like all I needed, and why would I put them in that position? Why am I so awful? The solution is to pretend like they have, in fact, totally fixed me, or at least pushed me up onto dry land where I will gradually fix myself, and in the meantime, I make a mental note to try extra-hard to seem normal and happy around them, because I don’t want it to be weird. I don’t want them to have to keep expending effort and worry that will do nothing.

At the same time, of course, I desperately want them to expend effort and worry, because I’m an asshole with no currently functioning barometer of self-worth, so the only way I know how to feel even marginally better for even a minute is to provoke someone else into telling me I matter. Provided I can convince myself for at least five minutes or so that they really think that and that they aren’t just saying it to be nice. They’re probably saying it to be nice.

So I say the thing, I express the self-loathing, I get comforted, and then I tell myself to never, under pain of death, ever mention to that person ever again that I hate myself.

I had this thing at work a couple months ago, when I was doing okay, where a coworker and I were mourning the fact that we’d missed a chance to attend a particular conference.

“I can’t believe we both forgot to register,” she said.

“Well, you had all those meetings around then,” I said, “and I think I had something going on, too, but I can’t remember--oh, yeah! I was super depressed. I was really busy trying not to kill myself.”

We actually had a pretty good laugh about that, because I have an unusually cool workplace.

But I get one of those things--one disclosure that I’d sat at work trying to talk to someone on a suicide chat system--and then I’m done, then it has to become a joke. God knows I haven’t told anyone here that the same thing is happening now. (Not nearly as bad, though, thankfully.)

People don’t make me feel better. Love hasn’t fixed me. So if I tried to write that story now, Character B would bring Character A a blanket and then nothing would change. In the morning Character A would be the same. And Character B would try again. And try again. And then start to get a little impatient: I mean, fuck, I gave you the fucking blanket, didn’t I? I hugged you. I told you that you mattered, that I loved you, that there are so many people who love you. Why do you not feel better. How long am I supposed to do this.

...And then one day Character A would either get a prescription that worked or for some other reason come out the other end of the tunnel blinking at the light, and Character B would be like, “What changed?” and Character A would just shrug, especially if it’s the second kind of situation. I literally once had a terrible, suicidal bout of depression and right at the end of it I watched The Hateful Eight, and it was the first thing I was conscious of enjoying in a really, really long time. It is probably not true that The Hateful Eight, which I genuinely (and, in addition, a little superstitiously) love, cured my depression, but it did kind of feel like that. This is not a satisfying resolution to a story unless your story is ad copy for The Hateful Eight and you are marketing it exclusively to the mentally ill.

A satisfying resolution to the story is that pain that is felt by someone else--love that bridges the fundamental loneliness of suffering--cures things. I like that. It’s the kind of thing that should be true even if it’s not, and it’s the kind of thing that I consider myself lucky to still be able to enjoy in other formats. Keep writing those stories, if you’re doing that, because they matter. (And some of them are probably written by people who are depressed, or who have been depressed, the world eerily enough not being endlessly composed of carbon copies of my experiences.)

But where I was going with all this is the kind of ridiculous depression story currently living in bits and pieces on my hard drive, and also the ridiculous, professionally published, over-the-top depression story that I find oddly convincing as a fantasy of suffering by the suffering.

Me first, because it’s simpler. In addition to the blatant, implausible hurt/comfort I talked about way up at the top of the post, I also keep writing this incredibly weird thing where I can write the traditional depression story by making it a magical depression story. It makes no sense. It’s a character who trades a year of happiness for four years of his little brother’s tuition, that’s the level of WTFery we’re talking about here. But. It’s about the idea that the sadness has some kind of profundity to it, that it’s been incurred for a reason, and even a noble, self-sacrificing reason. It’s about how eventually his brother will find this out and figure out a way to fix things, so love will cure the sadness after all. It’s about there being a comprehensible, emotionally valid reason for why the sadness just won’t leave: buddy, your contract’s not up yet. This is gloppy, sentimental wish-fulfillment wrapped all around characters I love and want to be okay.

The over-the-top, professionally published fantasy of suffering story is Hanya Yanagihara A Little Life, aka, the Story of How Literally Every Awful Thing in the World Happened to the Beautifully Sad Jude St. Francis. (Spoilers follow.) A Little Life gestures vaguely in the direction of being an ensemble story where the narratives of its three other primary characters--Willem, an actor and part-time Norse god of handsomeness; JB, a talented avant-garde artist and eventual acclaimed photographer and part-time drug addict who suffers way less beautifully than Jude and so consequently gets shit on by everyone; and Malcolm, a successful architect and the group’s resident normal--will actually matter, but it gives up on this after not very long. Which it kind of has to do, because you almost literally cannot tell an in-depth story of even a ridiculously glamorous and successful life alongside Jude’s life, which will dwarf it to the point of making it seem ant-like in its insignificance.

Oh, boy. Jude.

I was going to summarize it, but the Wikipedia summary is hilarious in its Perils of Pauline approach to it all and is recommended reading, so I’ll just do bullet-points.

* Jude is an abandoned child with no knowledge of his parents (the novel dwells at slightly discomfiting length on how no one can even tell what race he is, which... gets a little weird after a while).

* He is raised in a monastery, because apparently that’s a thing that can happen, where he is treated mostly cruelly and routinely physically abused and neglected, until he reaches an age where the abuse becomes sexual and widespread. If not every monk participates, no one actually does anything to prevent it.

* The closest thing to kindly intervention he gets is from Brother Luke, young Jude’s only source of comfort, and, naturally enough for this kind of novel, also interested in raping him, just with the illusion in place that they really love each other.

* Brother Luke abducts Jude and takes him on the road and then--oh-so-tearfully--explains how they’re going to have to start paying their way by renting out time with Jude to a series of strange men.

* Mentally disintegrating under the weight of all this, Jude begins to brutally harm himself by slamming his head into the wall; Brother Luke decides to teach him to cut himself instead, as that process is more controlled. This habit will last the rest of Jude’s life.

* When Jude finally gets away from Brother Luke, he’s put into a group home where the sexual abuse continues. After a chance at living in a more stable and less horrifically traumatic environment (of course) falls through, Jude succeeds in running away.

* He is picked up by a doctor who promptly imprisons him in his basement and rapes him for months.

* Then the doctor runs him over with his car and leaves Jude for dead. In fact, Jude is not dead, but he has acquired a lifelong limp and significant nerve damage, conditions that will a) worsen over the course of his life and b) keep him in nearly constant pain.

* Then handwave-handwave, Jude finally finds where the non-rapists live and receives just enough therapy that the novel can vaguely indicate how he’s still functional after all of this. He gets into a prestigious college and makes a group of lifelong friends, named above, but is especially close to Willem, because Willem is a Perfect Human and Endlessly Patient Best Friend. They move in together while Willem looks for acting jobs and Jude attends law school.

* Now, not all of this backstory is revealed at once, which is good, because even when spread out over seven hundred pages, there’s still an “oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me” feeling when you get to the part about the doctor. The novel actually begins with Jude and Willem moving into their first post-grad apartment, and for a while, it seems like this will be a novel primarily about living on and trying to make a life in the aftermath of a horrific past. Jude’s life is good for a while, though understandably enough continuously shadowed. He still cuts himself, and he still has mental breakdowns that lead to him making gourmet catering and desserts for everyone (the BEST kind of mental breakdown, bar none), but... he’s doing okay. He becomes a lawyer. He acquires A Perfect Father Figure Who At Last Does Not Want to Sexually Abuse Him, a wonderfully kind law professor accompanied by his wonderfully kind wife, who are always ecstatically happy to invite him into their home and in fact even adopt him, formally, when he’s thirty, and start calling him their son.

* If you’re thinking it sounds like the other shoe is about to drop, you are correct.

* JB becomes addicted to crystal meth, but this is not Innocent Suffering Like Jude’s but instead Something He Brought Upon Himself, so when Jude tries to help him and JB lashes out by imitating Jude’s limp and occasionally slurred speech, both Jude and Willem find it unforgivable and sever relationships with him, though they’ll drift back into contact later on.

* After years of everyone talking about Jude’s possible sexual orientation behind his back instead of just fucking asking him like any normal person would do (especially since no one has any real idea of his past), Jude finally ends up in a relationship with a high-powered fashion executive named Caleb whom he meets at a party.

* Caleb promptly begins showing creepy danger signs--he’s especially critical of Jude’s increasing need for a wheelchair and thinks it’s a sign of weakness and Jude “giving in” to his deformity--and before you can say “many survivors of childhood abuse find themselves in abusive relationships later in life,” Caleb has become the abusive husband in every Lifetime movie ever made. When Jude--with kindly law professor and surrogate dad’s help--sort of succeeds in severing things with him, Caleb breaks into Jude’s apartment and rapes him and throws him down a flight of stairs. (Actually, Wikipedia tells me this is the second rape in their relationship. That’s how often Jude gets raped in this novel. I have forgotten entire instances of it.)

* Jude then tries to kill himself, which prompts Hollywood star Willem to move back in with him. Jude cherry-picks a few of the less cataclysmically awful stories from his childhood to finally tell and Willem is horrified by them while the reader leans back and smokes a cigarette and says, “Will, you wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve seen.”

* Willem, despite having been straight to this point, then begins to fall in love with Jude, and you know, I’m all for flexible models of sexuality and sexual desire that proceeds from romantic connection that proceeds from the realization that this person is closer to you than anyone else in the world, but also: come the fuck on. This could not get any ficcier if it tried.

* Anyway, Jude of course loves Willem back, Willem being a Perfect Human and all, so they begin an honestly very touching relationship, marred only by Jude’s continued self-harm (which he can’t bring himself to stop for good, though Willem does provide him with enough stability that he’s able to minimize it) and their problems in bed. Willem is highly satisfied with having sex with Jude, but Jude’s life has left him entirely sex-repulsed, and his continued assent to their encounters and his continued concealment of the pain and distress they cause him leads to escalated self-harm.

* Willem finally finds out and Jude at last reveals to him at least 90% of his childhood as an explanation for his hatred of sex. They cut it out of their relationship entirely and have a honeymoon phase--Willem goes back to sleeping with women in no-strings-attached arrangements that don’t bother Jude in the slightest, and their life together is exceedingly happy and romantic.

* AND THEN WILLEM, MALCOLM, AND MALCOLM’S WIFE ALL DIE TOGETHER IN A CAR CRASH.

* Also at some point in here, Jude lost one of his legs. I don’t even remember when. There was a medical reason for it, related to maybe the initial damage or the subsequent damage from Caleb throwing him down the stairs or him burning himself severely on his leg, it didn’t just fall off like the legs of the cows in Cold Comfort Farm, but really, in the wash of all this trauma, who can keep track of the odd leg or two?

* Well, Jude practically starves himself to death, gets help temporarily, and then finally succeeds in killing himself and leaving his devastated adoptive father behind to close out the novel.

It’s actually a good novel if you like this sort of thing. There’s no real character depth to anyone, because all you need to know about Jude is that he suffers beautifully and nobly and all you need to know about anyone else is that they either love and admire Jude or have raped/are currently raping him. (The one exception to this is JB, who seems to have escaped from a more complex novel, as he is allowed the occasional spot of selfishness and realistic misreadings of situations, and I seriously considered requesting post-Willem Jude/JB for Yuletide just to see this story travel towards a more nuanced, textured view of life going on and people reconciling themselves with imperfections.) But Yanagihara writes well and there is a melodramatic but genuine emotional intensity to it all. I was involved throughout. But just as Oscar Wilde said it would take a heart of stone not to laugh at the death of Little Nell, I have to admit that my reaction to Willem’s death was a combination of raw sobbing and horrified laughter. But again, if you like over-the-top hurt/comfort, this is your kind of thing. It’s my kind of thing. I mean, I did finish. I do actually own this book. It’s sloppy and hyperbolic, but I like crying and can cry around my criticisms of the text.

I laid all that out, though, not to defend or condemn A Little Life but to contextualize why I think it has an odd power as a fantasy of suffering by the sufferers themselves. That it’s a voyeuristic fantasy of suffering is pretty obvious. But it works inwardly, too, or at least it works inwardly for me. (I’ve talked about this elsewhere, so forgive me if you’ve seen it before.)

No one in A Little Life ever loses patience with Jude. His pain never exhausts them; his refusal to explain the cause of his pain never genuinely frustrates them. They wish he would tell them, but his not telling them doesn’t get on their nerves, doesn’t strike them as unfair emotional withholding. In fact, everyone loves Jude. His professor adopts him. His friends stay loyal over decades. His doctor continues to treat him even after giving up the rest of his practice. His straight best friend considers him the exception to the romantic rule and has no problem at all at adjusting to a romance without sex. Anyone who is cruel to him is judged harshly by the other characters, even if it’s the cruelty of a moment. No one ever tells him to get over it.

It’s not that none of these things never happen, or could never happen, but the unalloyed kindness with which Jude’s suffering is largely received is the melodramatic counterpoint to unalloyed evil and pain that slowly destroy him.

And I’ll go on: there are proximate and instantly comprehensible causes for Jude’s pain. There are even physical and undeniable signs of his pain. His trauma is so profound as to justify, for any listener, a lifetime of suffering expressed however he likes. His depression and self-loathing does not descend randomly, leaving him poleaxed by feeling awful and feeling worse because he has seemingly no reason to feel awful. He doesn’t talk to people about it, generally--he has nearly perfect self-control around his friends, his pain makes him ungenerous and unfair and snappish on really only one occasion--but if he did, they would concede, automatically, the righteousness of his pain. They would be amazed at how well he’s doing.

A Little Life provides, for its readers who are hurting, a story where suffering doesn’t come from nowhere, where their emotions are an understandable response to a history of terrible trauma, where loved ones are never tired of dealing with them, where debilitating emotional and physical pain is never enough of an inconvenience to interfere in providing the markers of success and even glamour, where you don’t have to cry your eyes out in a shitty apartment, where you will never lose your job because you don’t show up for three days, where everyone would understand how you feel if only they knew, and where they really do want to know.

And, for that matter, where you don’t have to strain yourself into saying that yes, all of this has helped, yes, you feel better now. Jude never separates himself from this hypothetical reader by recovering, which would seem, in this light, not like a victory but a hateful cheat. That bastard--what does it say that he can get better and you can’t seem to? How, after this steamy bath of melodrama, are you supposed to wrap your brain around normalcy? His interlude with Willem is an interlude, its happiness so complete as to signal its coming downfall, its happiness so complete as to signal that we have not left this fervently emotional Expressionism. The car crash is devastating, but it’s also, come on, total confirmation. Yeah. That’s how it goes. It’s okay not to recover--you don’t have to worry that there’s something wrong with you, or weak in you, for not recovering--if you’re Jude, whose every escape is another fall off the cliff. It lets you indulge in the fantasy of not having to do the exhausting and difficult work of trying, because each effort, on its failure or collapse, only further justifies the preexisting pain. It’s okay to stay down if every time you stand up, someone punches you in the face. Just lie there a while. Just breathe. People will admire you for it. People will love you. No one will say that this has gone on long enough and they just don’t know if they can do it anymore. They know what’s happened to you. If they don’t, man, won’t they have egg on their face when you tell them.

If my snippets of self-indulgent fic are about the fantasy of suffering that says that the suffering is somehow profound, that there is concrete proof that the person suffering is good and kind and undeserving of this, that everyone will worry and love you, and that the love will fix things because magic, A Little Life is the fantasy of complete and utter validation of seemingly endless agony. What I’m writing right now is what I can write because, though I’m not doing great, I’m on medication and I’m doing okay. The book, on the other hand, is a fantasy for the times when it does not seem like there is any possibility of okayness anywhere on the horizon, when you could not believe in recovery or even treatment and all that will comfort you is a story where it is 100% fine to feel like that because it’s true.

It’s not hard to see ways in which that fantasy could potentially hurt someone--that there could be someone who sees, in that story, not comfort but an awesome rationale for making the same eventual decision as Jude himself does--but life and literature are complicated. Umberto Eco said that “a novel is a machine for generating interpretations,” and that’s something I find true as well as heartening. No story runs only in one direction. People interact with narratives in messy, challenging, lopsided ways; we respect stories, we fall in love with stories, we curl up with them, and we also hit them over the head and leave them to wake up in a bathtub of ice with their kidneys missing because we’re just going to take what we need from them and go, thanks. I say this because this has been, for me, an oddly utilitarian look at literature--it’s not my normal approach to textual analysis--and I want to pull back from that at least a little. To draw attention to the complexity and weirdness of people’s relationships to art: that things can work on us in unpredictable and uncanny ways. And that also, for that matter, you can probably read A Little Life purely for the bits about cooking.

Utility is all you can see, and all you can properly care about, when you need the fantasy.

And then you get better. And your relationship to those stories changes. Maybe you come back and say, “Okay, in the clear light of day, I cannot stand this, glad it was there for me earlier, but yikes.” But maybe, and beautifully, you get Erich Fromm’s mature love, in a literary sense: not “I love you because I need you” but “I need you because I love you.” I’m in the tunnel between those two places at the moment, and this is the view, looking back and looking forward.

Also, I just wanted to tell everyone how batshit A Little Life is.

#meta #personal #depression #a little life #literary criticism #the uses of enchantment I suppose if I want to steal from Bettelheim #comfort reading and comfort writing

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spacegaywritings · 4 years

Text

Communication of Silence - Chapter 5: The Dynamite next to the open Flame

Summar: Virgil has reflection time wth a friend. Patton comes home from work and Roman is worried about his social skills.

ao3 link *clicky*

Story under the cut:

It was dark outside. The sky was slowly merging into a slightly more azure colour that almost edged into a hue of camel yellow.

Dreams and wonder were floating in the air. The silence seemed to whisper of promises about strange worlds and better homes. But nobody talked at all.

Virgil was curled up on his mattress to the feet of Logan's bed. The latter was also very much fast asleep.

Both probably dreamed of nice calming things. The end of exams, the successful graduation. The smell of freshly baked biscuits made in collective family activities when Christmas was just around the corner.

The dreams were so close yet so far away. The peace in the small room was heavy on them like a weighted blanket tucking them in and keeping them not just warm but also safe. Almost like an embrace. Sheltered.

It was amidst the deep slumber the two students were in, that a sound started ringing through the air.

Vibration and the tunes of drums being hit and guitar strings being strummed could be heard. The noisy sounds ripped through the calm and the figure on the bed started moving a little while the little bundle of the mattress latched himself over the screen that started lighting up.

Fuck, it was time.

In a rush, he quickly took his phone and clothing and - as silently as possible, moved out of the room. His hand sobered the speaker and quickly shut the door behind him. Virgil carefully balanced the clothes in his arms to the other side and answered the phone with his left while he walked over to the bathroom, flipping the switch and disappearing with the door being pulled shut by his right elbow which he pressed down onto the handle ungracefully.

The door shut down and Virgil walked over to the sink to drop his clothing into it.

"Hey. Sorry, I overslept", he apologised as the call started. The punk's voice was a slightly hushed whisper, akin to a later autumn breeze. His feet walked over to the door to make the lock click shut.

Maybe Princey was asleep but he didn't need to challenge another time to have this shit happen like the last time. And he was scared of meeting him by himself.

The voice on the other side of the phon let out a little chuckle. "Just text me where to go to. You told me you kinda moved", the friend asked and Virgil nodded as he undressed and somewhat dressed up. He had only one hand so it was a lot of hopping into clothing and sinking down onto the bath tub and awkwardly adjusting one side, then the other, then the original one and the other again until he was fully clothed around his leg area. Socks were on and his shoes were at the front door where Patton looked to keep them in order to have the floor stay clean.

"Moved? Oh, yeah. Sure. Give me a moment", he mumbled and hung up. He placed his phone aside and slipped into his shirt. There was no jacket this time. It might be cold outside but it wasn't the right time for a jacket now.

His fingers quickly grabbed the phone again and danced over the touchscreen, typing his little message. The tapping sound coming from this action sounded like the delicate tip tap of average rain drops plopping agaaint the barrier of a closed window when they only tried to get into the warmth of someone's safe space.

Message sent and phone pocketed, he quickly got around to wash his face and brush his teeth before he heard a thumping sound. Were the neighbours awake?

A rush of speedy lightning shot through his body as he heard a knock on the door. Patton was still at work. Apparently he hallways took night shifts to have more time to spend on his research group and writing his postgraduate dissertation. Roman started kind of late at work but you usually heard and felt him being awake because of his presence. Logan was still asleep and if he wasn't, then he wouldn't knock because he would have the common sense to see the light under the bathroom door.

Virgil picked his things and mentally scraped together single sentence snippets to make up a panicked apology in case it was Roman. The idea of meeting him alone pushed his breathing into flat, thin sucks for oxygen in the air.

He slowly approached the door. Another knock. .... THAT WAS NOT ON THE BATHROOM DOOR!

Virgil felt his breath speed up rapidly and he stared at the bathroom door, unmoving and steady as always. This door wasn't moved from knocks and there was no sound to it, no other person.

Maybe... Maybe someone was trying to get into the apartment? It could.. It could be Patton! Patton may have left his keys inside!

Virgil exited the bathroom, turning off the light and quickly grabbed his phone with his right. He clicked onto torch and snuck over to the front door, carefully opening it.

That... That wasn't Patton.

His breath caught tangled up like long curly hair of a wig after merely looking at it. It ky took him a moment to release his breath and a tension flew from him when he hunched over, scoffing until his giggles got the best of him.

"Virgil, what the fuck?", the smaller person said, their pumpkin coloured hair thin and reaching down to their shoulders only and ending in fuchsia tips. The person looked around and pushed the door further away, curiously looking into the dark room that was their living room and kitchen. The sterily white light from Virgil's phone illuminated the visible parts of the apartment and his friend frowned down at him.

"I told you to give me the address. What did you expect? A stone to your window?", they whisper yelled, the voice a soft echo of a delicate lily, "I don't even know which of the rooms is yours!"

Virgil shook his head and reached for the keys in the little key bowl. Patton had gotten him a key on the first day even before Roman said he would allow him to stay for a day let alone longer than that.

He was sur he just let him stay for a while because of the financial issues that went with that implication. And Virgil very much did pay a fourth of bills and such. It was so much cheaper and nicer than his previous home...

However, he did not have his own room and it wasn't so ideal but he was too stubborn to have something else. And too dignified to return. Actually, he had visited the police the day before and he was rather sure that going back was sort of impossible.

The punk pushed through the door and quickly grabbed his shoes with his right hand while his other shooshed his friend from the frame and pulled the door shut.

"I didn't expect you to be so fucking fast", Virgil admitted.

He squatted down to slip onto his shoes and pocket his keys before he made his way down with his friend so they could get out of the multi story house.

"Vi, you absolute idiot. My fiance lives right above you, on the second floor. I spent the night at hers", the pumpkin head answered and hopped down the stairs, opening the door and letting the icy breeze of the night into the building.

The adolesecent stepped outside, following them and instinctively crossing his arms in front of his thinly covered chest. Maybe the missing jacket was kind of stupid after all. It was rather early after all and the morning was still far away even though the starts of more azure shades already teased the idea of an approaching morning. Knowing the winter nights, he knew it would take hour to really start getting light enough to feel a difference to the everlasting winter night that rested over the world during these days.

"What the actual fuck. You gave me a fucking heart attack with that!!", Virgil finally admitted, his volume matching the regular person speech by now since they were outside and not exactly in a building of sleeping people. It was okay to talk outside. That was what the streets were made for after all, right?

" Huh, why?"

Virgil started rubbing his arms and gestured towards the street as a car started pulling up right in front of them.

Well now. This had to be Patton. He hadn't been too far off.

The car seemed rather great. Middle sized and all but size Virgil didn't know too much about local brands and honestly didn't care too much about cars anyway, considering he didn't have a license anyway, he had no idea what to make of this. Anyway, Patton got out, the headlights turned off and for the first time, his new roommate met more than just Virgil but also one of his friends.

The car door was shut with a rather silent plop sound and the walking hug walked around the car, the tight jawline and prominent freckles appearing in their field of vision. The usual smile looked rather strained and a Patton's eyebrows narrowed in that way that nurturing caretakers did when their little protectees were crying for what seemed to be no reason.

The ginger giant approached them and Virgil's friend. The latter moved in front of Virgil like a right hand man would. A loyal shield indeed.

"Virgil? Good morning", Patton slurred softly, his stance a little wavering. He smelled of a bit of sweat but this was just the underlying note. Patton mostly smelled if alcohol and strong perfumes yet they seemed to be different ones.

Once again, his mind assumed him to be a bartender of some sort or maybe a bouncer with that killer appearance. Patton looked like a waking hug but when dressed in anything other than his soft sweaters, Virgil has learned that the soft student was more than enough able to intimidate someone with his outer appearance.

The man yawned and his his gaping mouth behind his large hand - also slightly freckled and somewhat pale with a rose tone to it. Virgil smiled and nodded at the obviously tired man. Working all night must have been a strain, especially after being awake during most of the day as well.

"Hey, I wanted to go for a run with a friend. Uhh...", Virgil stopped for a moment and looked over at the little dwarf before him. Literally, he had always thought a person even tinier than him was impossible but their height was truly misleading.

"Kyle", they introduced themselves with a side glance to Virgil before waving at Patton. A serious expression was in their usually softly features. Their rather delicate face was looking like a mask of a serious soldier preparing for battle.

Patton looked down at the person, a bit taken aback but he let the perplexed expression disappear being his understanding face with a smile that gave you a mental hug and the reassurance your heart asked for.

"Nice to meet you, Kyle. I am Patton and I live with Virgil. I hope you'll have fun together. I'll go to sleep because I just came from work", Patton explained and squeezed his cheeks into a soft grandparents expression as he curled his lips further into an even deeper smile.

Kyle's expression wavered a bit and they nodded, their shoulders untensing.

"Good night, Patton."

Virgil joined in and gave Patton a little smile. The usual soft hug was skipped over.

"Hey Virgil.. I'll hug you later. Ill just shower and hop under my covers first", he explained and smiled back at his small friend. The height difference was a true joke. "And please go inside or take a jacket, you look really cold!", Patton advised again before taking his sports bag and carrying it over to the house door.

He disappeared with the jingling of his keys and the thud of a shutting door.

Kyle gave Virgil a look and smirked.

" Alright my gay disaster, let's get you worked up with some work out. You already seem pretty warmed up from all that affection."

And with that, they started running, Virgil quick to follow suit and catch up to their quick speed.

His arms were not covered in bandages anymore so it was finally time for his usual runs. And oh, had he missed the burning in his lungs and the elevated feeling of flying through the streets with a friend by his sides. The little high of running beyond his original ability and energy would eventually come, kick his resistance down and give him the dopamine he needed in life.

"So, spill the tea. How's living with your peers?"

Virgil glanced over at his friend as they jogged through the streets. He had taken some days to have his arms recover (because they insisted on giving him a break) and now he felt a little overwhelmed without the routine of having a run with them every other day.

The streets and buildings passed and since this was the first time running in this neighbourhood, he just wondered where they were going and whether they knew about any places or parks around. Well, he'd find out but Kyle was usually a person to surprise him. And others. Generally, they were this kind of person to seem like one thing but actually be a whole other personality.

"Well", he started, taking as much of a deep breath as he could. Virgil wasn't so sure.. Patton was nice and Logan was retreated, like him, but he was rather kind and understanding and seemed almost to try too hard to have him comfortable. Almost like some couple of Foster parents who didn't know how to handle the new child just yet. "I mean, Patton.. You just met him. He's like a dad and really nice. I don't need a dad, you know but um.. It's just nice to have someone be attentive and caring. I wish all people were like thag.. Just, giving you some space and all and being kinda respectful. "

Virgil shrugged. There was Roman.. He didn't know how to talk about Roman.

" You're not just living with Patton. You said something about your colleague from work. That guy has gotta be a saint if he just takes you in without ever spending too much time with you outside of work.. I mean, people usually stray from being that welcoming and such. "

Kyle looked at him, their grey eyes seemed to see something in Virgil that he himself didn't see. It was like analysing a work or art but in a way the common dork didn't see yet the trained eye was just so used to these hidden truths that he felt himself being taken apart and read like a book - page by page.

Truths were clear and lies would be detected like drugs in a plush toy by the airport security. Not that he needed to hide anything. Way too much work, anyway.

"Um, I guess Logan is alright. I mean, he started this while thing and all and I'm really glad because he didn't have to but he did.. He kinda really kicked my ass into some realisation and self care and I bet if he hadn't done that, you'd have by the next day, latest. " Virgil looked at the passing ground below his feet and slowed a little.

All this talking had him breathless and he needed to inhale more and talk less. Seriously, how did Kyle do that? Then again, they worked out more than he did. He just ran with them and he had only started a few months ago (but it really did help). Anyway, they kept saying that the ideal running pace was when you could still talk because it meant you could comfortably breathe enough to have excess oxygen for some blabbering.

Kyle muttered under their breath and waved Virgil over as they prepared to cross the street with him and made sure the road was clear before they ran to the other side together. A park. There was actually a park! So they did know their way around here. Well, that wasn't too surprising given that their girlfriend lived here or something. At least that what Kyle had said.

"Something is off. Logan is nice but he's kinda tense. Maybe it's exams and all that, uh.. That Christmas thing or whatever. I mean, isn't that sorta stressful? I don't know, never really did that", he explained. His shoulders pulled up into a shrug and he looked at the passing green fields and many trees. The absence of car noise and people walking around in early aimlessness and disorientation was less common and it sort of eased him up.

Even the air seemed clearer. The nearby park felt much more like a forest than a little park and it was.. Nice.. It was nice to be outside and have someone with him and have no people around at this moment.

Logan was nice. Patton was great. Both were great but he wasn't use to as much... As much social interaction.. Not without any cool down time.

"Hey little riot, you do know I know how many people are living in the the fucking house?"

Virgil looked over at his friend, a smile on his lips that seemed just as apologetic as surprised. There was a hint or exhaustion in him.

Fuck, running.. They had been running for several minutes now. Maybe ten or fifteen only but he just wasn't so used to it and all that traffic had offended his little lung capacity. His lungs were burning but his friend and he weren't done. This was only half of it and there was much more to go for.

OH dear spider god, they were speeding up... They were speeding up!

His heavy legs slowly adjusted to his friend who started picking up the force of running and it started going uphill.. Oh why.. Oh why.

"Yeah, sure i.. I didn't know but like.. Okay, there's one more, just let me", he breathed out and inhaled more. This was torture. Why did he run again? Fuck, this was stinging ugly and the icy air in his lungs didn't make it better because it made his throat feel icky and like something in there was pushing against his skin, trying to get out of his throat. It felt strange.

"uh... There's Roman.. Why did you pick this fucking hill", he admitted, his voice breathless but they kept running.

The punk didn't know whether it was getting easier or harder for him to keep up.

"Roman is... I don't know",he said and shrugged. Sweat was coating his skin by now despite the icy air biting into his exposed airs like little bugs. His head looked at the ground. It felt like he was being pushed and he was flying again rather than dragging himself over the ground in order to stay next to the little pumpkin head.

Did all artists looked weird like he and they did? Dyed hair and weird clothing that just earned them strange looks.

"I get odd vibes.. I think I met him before, uhh.." Virgil looked at Kyle and picked up the speed. His legs felt like sort of funny but much lighter by now like he had funny wings around his ankles.

The smaller student let out a scoff but followed suit. The sky before them was slowly rolling from blue into a more greenish tone, like an ocean wave changing its colour in the alternating light.

"Was he kinda like one of my little mistakes? But, you know, your mistake?", they asked eventually. Their eyes wandered over Virgil's running form as they quickly moved to catch up to the small man.

The art student was breathing more heavily and shook his head albeit a somewhat defeated look pulled down his features and his golden brown eyes scanned the ground that was passing by like time during leisure activities.

"I'm...I mean.. Yes?", he mumbled softly and shook his head, a flushing crimson creeping ont his cheeks. "I don't know.. How to call that.. Him..."

The two kept running after that, the speed going up and down but the conversation was left behind like an abandoned life choice.

It was about another twenty minutes later until they stopped, Kyle having lead them to a little café to enjoy some breakfast.

The two settled in the small place, both red and sweaty as well as bitten numb by the merciless cold out in the world.

Virgil curled up on the sitting bench with Kyle and the two breathed heavily from their exhaustion. "Worth it, little riot", they hummed softly and pushed the menu over to their friend who was inhaling the warm air around him like his life depended on it. "Do you need more time? Or help?"

He carefully shook his head and closed his eyes. His lungs were still burning. They felt flaccid and weakened from the incredible strain but he was still content. The punk's face was crunched up in soft delight and his lips were tugged into a soft smile as he curled up and leaned against his friend.

" 'm good...", he breathed softly and chuckled ever so lightly. His voice was full of holes from his missing breath. "... Fine." Virgil rested against his friend's shoulder whine they patiently placed an arm around the slightly shivering youth as they both waited for his lungs to recover and breathe to fill with the sweet sweet relief of oxygen again.

Several more minutes went by before Virgil opened his eyes again and mumbled something. Kyle got up and ordered some water and breakfast for them before returning and cradling Virgil close again.

"Now listen up. I don't know what happened exactly but if anyone lays hand on you, you know how to reach me. You know where and I and Armada live. Now, you also know that you just gotta climb to the top story of where you live to get to Jo. We'll take care of you whenever you need it. "

A server came, dressed in black and white and a brown apron with a sunflower yellow stitching on the left side to it. The water was placed onto their table in two medium sized cups and they were left in their dual-solitude once more with the warm smiled yet rushed promise of the rest of their order soon.

Virgil asked for hot chocolate and the pumpkin haired beauty next to him chuckled into their olive-tanned elbow.

"You're the cutest little shit ever", they stated and tested their orange mane against Virgil's purple hair. His head shook in objection but the movement was minimal enough to count as mere disturbance to their current position if regaining their energy.

"I'm lucky to be here..", he mumbled and brushed over his left arm. The cool skin was gradually defrosting like the sun baking the frozen grass and turning the whitish veil into dew in the early morning hours. Coloured ink and black swirls curled over his upper arm and shoulder. An elaborate amount of curves seemed to collectively make up a scaled snake that was buried in his skin and visible whenever he wore anything shorter than long sleeves that reached down to his elbow. The greenish colour sparks and crystal like hue combinations gave the snake a realistic look, almost as if it was about to slither around his biceps and slide down his wrist.

But this tattoo looked about the most dangerous whenever someone glanced over Virgil's appearance. And, well, that wasn't too wrong.

"We're all lucky to have met you. But you're anything else other than lucky, rather since you tried your hardest to move on and you, frankly, deserve some reward for all you had to go through." Kyle sighed and carefully squeezed Virgil's side before the making some space between them so they could nudge him.

The minor got the clue and nodded softly before taking on the task of drinking some water. The cool liquid had made a sweaty film of cooling water appear on the outside skin of the glass. Virgil's left curled around the cup and chased the milky cover away with his little touches as he brought the container to his pale lips and angled it so the cooling liquid could run down pipe and hydrate his abstained body.

"Please don't tell me you forgot drinking was a thing, oh dear moon, you're funny, Vivi", they chuckled softly and grasped the cup with their own right to take a few sips. Virgil had already downed his water completely and Kyle pushed their own cup over to Virgil's side with a little smile. "Go on, little one", they encouraged.

Virgil scoffed but accepted the cup with a smile. "You know you're smaller than me. In size and height. And you're also younger than me", he argued before picking up the water and gulping it down at once. The soothing liquid seemed to settle his lungs at once. It wasn't just the breathing but apparently his lack of hydration had him quite weakened previously.

''Now, listen kid. I love you and all but you have something on your mind and we will get to it whenever you are ready but until then, you know where I live and Josy is just above your head. You can always come to any of us, no matter what and if it is just being mad about a crumbled piece of paper or if you feel like taking down the government. I am your partner in crime and if someone comes to close to you, I will give them nice face stickers with my fist.''

Virgil smiled. This was so nice.. he knew that, he had known that even before but hearing it again just filled his heart with warmth. It was nice to be reminded of being loved and appreciated. To know that someone was out there caring about him.

''You got some time tonight or tomorrow night? We still need some time to work on your self-defense skills, preferably without breaking someone's nose this time~''

The two giggled and the server came over to bring the hot chocolate over. Virgil has never seen a person leave as quickly and look just so horrified without too much context going on.

Drinking a hot beverage together with someone who cared about you made the drink taste even sweeter. It was, in fact, nearly sweet enough to make him cry. His heart was certainly sobbing in the touchiness of the moment. Never had he dreamed of situations like this to be appropriate to his life.

The punk was sitting in a cafe, in a morning before his university class, a friend with him and they just finished jogging and now shared some steaming cocoa. Sweeter than any other word was the gesture between them.

***

Virgil sighed when the door behind him shut with a click. It was nice to be social in the morning and run around like crazy but he felt a little lightheaded still.

It was time for breakfast.

but.. he also needed to shower.

His mind debated on which to do first as he checked out the fridge. Maybe there was something he could eat while taking a shower like an apple or perhaps there could be found a piece of bread to snack on in order to satisfy his hunger and stabilise his circulation. Stomach growling and hands on a pepper, he retreated from the fridge and shut the door once more.

''Good morning, stormy knight, how-'', a voice started and he suddenly realised just how much he had ignored his surroundings when he had been so deep in thought, so distracted and absorbed in thinking and deciding. Roman had busted out of his room with one single movement and he was standing before his opened door with a dramatic pose, almost as if ready to slay a dragon.

This guy took ''seize the day'' way too serious. No matter how Roman he was, the was absolutely no reason to be so energetic and put it into people's faces with all that shiny, gooey ''carpe diem''. Yes, Yes Virgil very much knew the Latin origin of this proverb because he sometimes did have common sense or read a book or more.

He was frozen, however, his graceful and proud stance wavering as he looked at Virgil, his eyes stripping him off his comfort. Something was on his mind and his face showed it with the nose that was slightly scrunched up and his auburn eyes seemed just a tad squeezed together. His mouth was slightly pursed up in a way that made Virgil think he was about to spit out some mean words.

A deep rush of cold settled into his body and suddenly he regretted not just having rushed into his shared room with Logan just to get his jacket that he should have taken with him even in the morning.

''Virgil, honestly, I do not mind your presence'', he started and the guest felt his mood turn sour.

He turned back to the sink and washed his green pepper before he dried the vegetable and bit into it with unimpressed eyes. A bitter taste flooded his tongue but his face remained untouched still life

The pepper was about as shallow as Roman seemed to him so he simply shrugged at him, his golden eyes glaring at the rude implication of whatever he presumed was about to come. It certainly did not seem to be a precious nice thing Roman had sprawled over on his tongue. Words draped delicately, nearly like decoration but Virgil knew them to be the poison that was produced by the actor's evil tongue.

He swallowed. Now, the deep breeze of inner cold seemed to glow into the catastrophe of a wildfire. Once his chest was warm, the heat increased and jumped into his arms, bouncing right into his fingertips where the discomfort of intruding beats and punches teased his tactile touch. The familiar feeling of acidic adrenaline forcefully breached through his veins and his grip on the pepper seemed so foreign and strange all of a sudden, as if the extension of his body was, in fact, not his but a thing without any connection to his body at all.

''Listen, I do not need any comment for the morning because I am having a moment with myself. Just leave me be and I will be out for class in a few.''

Roman dropped his hands and looked at his sworn enemy, his eyes an unreadable mix of dark, nearly reddish brown. It resembled the glowing ember buried under half-burned logs of forest wood.

''I just wanted to tell you that you smelled horribly, I mean- I do no mean that in a mean way, please let me talk'', he continued anyway, his mouth just going on despite the warning, ''are you okay? Did you have a long night or anything?''

Virgil bit into the pepper again as he passed him, aiming for the bathroom door he knew was a safe space, at last. The vegetable cracked and crunched under the pressure of his teeth and he gave Roman a cold look.

''Yes, it is called morning work out, Princey. Maybe that would do you some good, huh?''

The art student let himself into the bathroom and shut the door tight, locking it up and jumping into the shower. He did not have towels, right? Well, Patton usually kept enough in the room but that did not solve his even better issue: Clothing was with Logan and that man was fast asleep still and did not have to wake up to Roman and him arguing yet again - exactly what would happen if he stayed outside just even for another moment.

Virgil took another large bite of his pepper. It tasted of nothing.

Well, fuck.

Virgil was trapped in the bathroom but at least, he could take a shower in the mean time and hope for Roman to be distracted at the moment of him leaving the bathroom and resurfacing from behind the door that shielded his despair at the moment. Well, there was not much to do but .. wait, a distraction should do! Maybe Logan would wake up until then and he would be able to sneak back into the room without too much trouble.

He just really did not feel like being completely nude before the self-declared princey or whatever.

Ugh, well. Whatever.

He got his butt naked. As he stripped himself off the garment that protected the sight on his skin that somewhat seemed too yellow and dark for a regular person from this area, he realised that his phone was still with him.

A smile spread over his face as he unlocked it and typed away on it before he dismissed the device and got his sweaty body into the shower. The rest of his bell pepper was with him, still.

***

Roman was still rather... unnerved, to express his feelings in a rather neutral way. Patton believed that positive words for feelings and less negatively charged terms would go easier on the mood. Especially when sad, these words were supposed to take the intensity of the emotions away. Of course, only if that was the sense of the talk in the first place. When it was about showing just how distressed you felt at this very moment or about a certain situation, then all the words were fine. But Roman did not need a situational assessment of his feelings right now.

It had been a few days already - actually, it had been nearly a week and he still felt like on the first day. Was Virgil still angry at him because of his first comments when they had met? He did not know but if so, he had tried to apologise and not just once. He had done it alone with him but the emo would just look as if he was about to be stabbed and whatever. Come on, maybe the thespian was taller and had broader shoulders but that was because of theatre and exercise and not because he wanted to eat Virgil alive! He was not interested in hurting the other and he had told him that as well! He had tried his best to get along with him but he just did not know how to approach the new roommate in ways that would make it somewhat okay for them to interact. Or at least more likely to have regular exchanges. Like normal people did.

It felt almost as if.. even the slightest word into his direction broke off a fight and triggered his opponent in ways that Roman could not grasp. Did he hurt him so much during their first exchange?

Roman sipped his coffee and sighed into his steaming mug. The heat entering his system left him smile. At least the bitterness of his beverage would be proportional to the amount of coffee and water he used in order to make it. His coffee was predictable and logical.

Maybe that was why Logan enjoyed programming and his whole IT stuff. It was something that worked according to known rules and expectations.

The theatre lover put his mug down as he sat alone at the table in the kitchen. He could ask Patton for advice on this. Sure, he has never been the best with people since he just tended to impulsively talk without further thinking or literally any filter but he was not that bad and he certainly had improved! When he and Logan had first met, they had alternated between sworn enemies and mutually tolerated disasters.

It was like a bad smell you just get used to but instead, the two kinda turned their attitude to the smell to a much more enduring one and now it was like they enjoyed each other’s company. At least like 49% of the time. But it was much better than before!

What if Roman was the problem ? What if he was the one who made social interactions end up in the most terrible situations possible?

Ugh, no. Cognitive distortions or whatever Logan would say about these things. Patton had taught him that, he was sure.

Man, seriously, he got along with other people so much better- maybe it was really just a matter of time and bonding. Patton had suggested a film night exactly this evening and maybe that would fix up some things and make living together easier. Logan and he certainly had profited from sitting together and enjoying some productions together. In the years they had lived together, even Logan had come to watch some of his plays (as much as he had managed to attend but he usually paid one visit at least).

He remembered how Logan had congratulated him with his usually stoic face that was ruined by little smiles and adorable cackles. After his first show Logan had attended, he had made sure to get free tickets for Patton and Logan for at least one show (usually the debut) that fitted their schedules. And it had become a tradition to go out for a late-night dinner after that and discuss the execution of performance, the costumes and the accuracy of certain lines and emotions or about the authors and the era.

He did not say it out loud but Logan was much better at literature than he presented himself to be but being a librarian and an in-door nerd probably had its perks of teaching the other some literature.

Roman would never forget the glistening sugar in Logan’s fierce eyes of endless night skies when hey had discussed his first performance. This had been the day Roman had not just received the sweetness of Logan’s admiration and praise but also the admirable fire of his passion. It was the night he had debated with Logan for the first time and Patton had watched them in awe and thrown questions of clarification and genuine curiosity at them.

It had been a festival of interests and fireworks of historical knowledge with special regard to literature and symbolism.

Speaking of which, Logan was still not up.

After the day Virgil had officially moved in for a period of trial, Logan and he had not gotten into too many conversations. While he knew that Logan and he were not best friends like either one of them was close to Patton - just as example - he also knew that there had been something in this exchange between the two when Logan had fired his cold arguments at him without hesitation or consideration.

Well, he had not been that soft with Virgil either so maybe he had deserved that. Probably, very much likely he had deserved it with the soft talks and gazes Patton had chastised him with but... but he had the feeling that Logan and Virgil were more than just roommates. He had not once seen the nerd get so upset over something..

Well, actually that was not too true. He had experienced him pretty upset at Patton the other year and up until now he still did not know what had happened between the two but the exchange left him in the brutal tension of an unspoken gunfire between the two. It had been like the cold war of a subtle divorce when parents thought the kid was too self-absorbed and immature to notice the change in atmosphere.

It took only some more minutes for Logan to leave his room. Roman could have mistaken him for a corpse but experience has taught him better than to make any rude comment about that. Not that Logan cared too much about his experience but living with him and Patton, he just knew that Logan seemed to get iffy about too much concern being sent his way. Patton had once told him that he looked pretty tired in the first year they started sharing a flat. After that, they had only had arguments and sometimes it felt like the cracks in their relationships still were not fixed. But that might just be Roman being sensitive or whatever.

The two greeted each other and silently exchanged some usual morning banter without any enthusiasm. Maybe he could not say that Logan looked dead but talking to him certainly felt like a thirsty person arriving at a fountain only to find the area to be desolated and dried up.

Roman shivered when he felt Logan's bloodshot eyes pierce into his soul.

He had never been so relieved about the door bell ringing and at some point, Virgil joining just to remind the nerd that they would work together again. They left together and Roman was abandoned, feeling as if he was about to drown as the emotions around him sucked him in.

#virgi #virgil sanders #ts virgil #sanders sides virgil #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fanficion #ts fanfic #OC #joey writes #writing #writblr #ts fanfiction

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isearchgoood · 5 years

Text

A Breakdown of HTML Usage Across ~8 Million Pages (& What It Means for Modern SEO)

Posted by Catalin.Rosu

Not long ago, my colleagues and I at Advanced Web Ranking came up with an HTML study based on about 8 million index pages gathered from the top twenty Google results for more than 30 million keywords.

We wrote about the markup results and how the top twenty Google results pages implement them, then went even further and obtained HTML usage insights on them.

What does this have to do with SEO?

The way HTML is written dictates what users see and how search engines interpret web pages. A valid, well-formatted HTML page also reduces possible misinterpretation — of structured data, metadata, language, or encoding — by search engines.

This is intended to be a technical SEO audit, something we wanted to do from the beginning: a breakdown of HTML usage and how the results relate to modern SEO techniques and best practices.

In this article, we’re going to address things like meta tags that Google understands, JSON-LD structured data, language detection, headings usage, social links & meta distribution, AMP, and more.

Meta tags that Google understands

When talking about the main search engines as traffic sources, sadly it's just Google and the rest, with Duckduckgo gaining traction lately and Bing almost nonexistent.

Thus, in this section we’ll be focusing solely on the meta tags that Google listed in the Search Console Help Center.

Pie chart showing the total numbers for the meta tags that Google understands, described in detail in the sections below.

The meta description is a ~150 character snippet that summarizes a page's content. Search engines show the meta description in the search results when the searched phrase is contained in the description.

SELECTOR

COUNT

4,391,448

374,649

13,831

On the extremes, we found 685,341 meta elements with content shorter than 30 characters and 1,293,842 elements with the content text longer than 160 characters.

<title>

The title is technically not a meta tag, but it's used in conjunction with meta name="description".

This is one of the two most important HTML tags when it comes to SEO. It's also a must according to W3C, meaning no page is valid with a missing title tag.

Research suggests that if you keep your titles under a reasonable 60 characters then you can expect your titles to be rendered properly in the SERPs. In the past, there were signs that Google's search results title length was extended, but it wasn't a permanent change.

Considering all the above, from the full 6,263,396 titles we found, 1,846,642 title tags appear to be too long (more than 60 characters) and 1,985,020 titles had lengths considered too short (under 30 characters).

Pie chart showing the title tag length distribution, with a length less than 30 chars being 31.7% and a length greater than 60 chars being about 29.5%.

A title being too short shouldn't be a problem —after all, it's a subjective thing depending on the website business. Meaning can be expressed with fewer words, but it's definitely a sign of wasted optimization opportunity.

SELECTOR

COUNT

6,263,396

missing <title> tag

1,285,738

Another interesting thing is that, among the sites ranking on page 1–2 of Google, 351,516 (~5% of the total 7.5M) are using the same text for the title and h1 on their index pages.

Also, did you know that with HTML5 you only need to specify the HTML5 doctype and a title in order to have a perfectly valid page?

<!DOCTYPE html> <title>red</title>

“These meta tags can control the behavior of search engine crawling and indexing. The robots meta tag applies to all search engines, while the "googlebot" meta tag is specific to Google.” - Meta tags that Google understands

SELECTOR

COUNT

1,577,202

139,458

HTML snippet with a meta robots and its content parameters.

So the robots meta directives provide instructions to search engines on how to crawl and index a page's content. Leaving aside the googlebot meta count which is kind of low, we were curious to see the most frequent robots parameters, considering that a huge misconception is that you have to add a robots meta tag in your HTML’s head. Here’s the top 5:

SELECTOR

COUNT

632,822

180,226

115,128

111,777

83,639

“When users search for your site, Google Search results sometimes display a search box specific to your site, along with other direct links to your site. This meta tag tells Google not to show the sitelinks search box.” - Meta tags that Google understands

SELECTOR

COUNT

1,263

Unsurprisingly, not many websites choose to explicitly tell Google not to show a sitelinks search box when their site appears in the search results.

“This meta tag tells Google that you don't want us to provide a translation for this page.” - Meta tags that Google understands

There may be situations where providing your content to a much larger group of users is not desired. Just as it says in the Google support answer above, this meta tag tells Google that you don't want them to provide a translation for this page.

SELECTOR

COUNT

7,569

“You can use this tag on the top-level page of your site to verify ownership for Search Console.” - Meta tags that Google understands

SELECTOR

COUNT

1,327,616

While we're on the subject, did you know that if you're a verified owner of a Google Analytics property, Google will now automatically verify that same website in Search Console?

“This defines the page's content type and character set.” - Meta tags that Google understands

This is basically one of the good meta tags. It defines the page's content type and character set. Considering the table below, we noticed that just about half of the index pages we analyzed define a meta charset.

SELECTOR

COUNT

3,909,788

“This meta tag sends the user to a new URL after a certain amount of time and is sometimes used as a simple form of redirection.” - Meta tags that Google understands

It's preferable to redirect your site using a 301 redirect rather than a meta refresh, especially when we assume that 30x redirects don't lose PageRank and the W3C recommends that this tag not be used. Google is not a fan either, recommending you use a server-side 301 redirect instead.

SELECTOR

COUNT

7,167

From the total 7.5M index pages we parsed, we found 7,167 pages that are using the above redirect method. Authors do not always have control over server-side technologies and apparently they use this technique in order to enable redirects on the client side.

Also, using Workers is a cutting-edge alternative n order to overcome issues when working with legacy tech stacks and platform limitations.

“This tag tells the browser how to render a page on a mobile device. Presence of this tag indicates to Google that the page is mobile-friendly.” - Meta tags that Google understands

SELECTOR

COUNT

4,992,791

Starting July 1, 2019, all sites started to be indexed using Google’s mobile-first indexing. Lighthouse checks whether there's a meta name="viewport" tag in the head of the document, so this meta should be on every webpage, no matter what framework or CMS you're using.

Considering the above, we would have expected more websites than the 4,992,791 out of 7.5 million index pages analyzed to use a valid meta name="viewport" in their head sections.

Designing mobile-friendly sites ensures that your pages perform well on all devices, so make sure your web page is mobile-friendly here.

“Labels a page as containing adult content, to signal that it be filtered by SafeSearch results.” - Meta tags that Google understands

SELECTOR

COUNT

133,387

This tag is used to denote the maturity rating of content. It was not added to the meta tags that Google understands list until recently. Check out this article by Kate Morris on how to tag adult content.

JSON-LD structured data

Structured data is a standardized format for providing information about a page and classifying the page content. The format of structured data can be Microdata, RDFa, and JSON-LD — all of these help Google understand the content of your site and trigger special search result features for your pages.

While having a conversation with the awesome Dan Shure, he came up with a good idea to look for structured data, such as the organization's logo, in search results and in the Knowledge Graph.

In this section, we'll be using JSON-LD (JavaScript Object Notation for Linked Data) only in order to gather structured data info.This is what Google recommends anyway for providing clues about the meaning of a web page.

Some useful bits on this:

At Google I/O 2019, it was announced that the structured data testing tool will be superseded by the rich results testing tool.

Now Googlebot indexes web pages using the latest Chromium rather than the old Chrome 42, meaning you can mitigate the SEO issues you may have had in the past, with structured data support as well.

Jason Barnard had an interesting talk at SMX London 2019 on how Google Search ranking works and according to his theory, there are seven ranking factors we can count on; structured data is definitely one of them.

Builtvisible's guide on Microdata, JSON-LD, & Schema.org contains everything you need to know about using structured data on your website.

Here's an awesome guide to JSON-LD for beginners by Alexis Sanders.

Last but not least, there are lots of articles, presentations, and posts to dive in on the official JSON for Linking Data website.

Advanced Web Ranking's HTML study relies on analyzing index pages only. What's interesting is that even though it's not stated in the guidelines, Google doesn't seem to care about structured data on index pages, as stated in a Stack Overflow answer by Gary Illyes several years ago. Yet, on JSON-LD structured data types that Google understands, we found a total of 2,727,045 features:

Pie chart showing the structured data types that Google understands, with Sitelinks searchbox being 49.7% — the highest value.

STRUCTURED DATA FEATURES

COUNT

Article

35,961

Breadcrumb

30,306

Book

143

Carousel

13,884

Corporate contact

41,588

Course

676

Critic review

2,740

Dataset

Employer aggregate rating

Event

18,385

Fact check

FAQ page

How-to

Job posting

355

Livestream

232

Local business

200,974

Logo

442,324

Media

1,274

Occupation

Product

16,090

Q&A page

Recipe

434

Review snippet

72,732

Sitelinks searchbox

1,354,754

Social profile

478,099

Software app

780

Speakable

516

Subscription and paywalled content

363

Video

14,349

rel=canonical

The rel=canonical element, often called the "canonical link," is an HTML element that helps webmasters prevent duplicate content issues. It does this by specifying the "canonical URL," the "preferred" version of a web page.

SELECTOR

COUNT

3,183,575

meta name="keywords"

It's not new that <meta name="keywords"> is obsolete and Google doesn't use it anymore. It also appears as though <meta name="keywords"> is a spam signal for most of the search engines.

“While the main search engines don't use meta keywords for ranking, they're very useful for onsite search engines like Solr.” - JP Sherman on why this obsolete meta might still be useful nowadays.

SELECTOR

COUNT

2,577,850

256,220

14,127

Headings

Within 7.5 million pages, h1 (59.6%) and h2 (58.9%) are among the twenty-eight elements used on the most pages. Still, after gathering all the headings, we found that h3 is the heading with the largest number of appearances — 29,565,562 h3s out of 70,428,376 total headings found.

Random facts:

The h1–h6 elements represent the six levels of section headings. Here are the full stats on headings usage, but we found 23,116 of h7s and 7,276 of h8s too. That's a funny thing because plenty of people don't even use h6s very often.

There are 3,046,879 pages with missing h1 tags and within the rest of the 4,502,255 pages, the h1 usage frequency is 2.6, with a total of 11,675,565 h1 elements.

While there are 6,263,396 pages with a valid title, as seen above, only 4,502,255 of them are using a h1 within the body of their content.

Missing alt tags

This eternal SEO and accessibility issue still seems to be common after analyzing this set of data. From the total of 669,591,743 images, almost 90% are missing the alt attribute or use it with a blank value.

Pie chart showing the img tag alt attribute distribution, with missing alt being predominant — 81.7% from a total of about 670 million images we found.

SELECTOR

COUNT

img

669,591,743

img alt="*"

79,953,034

img alt=""

42,815,769

img w/ missing alt

546,822,940

Language detection

According to the specs, the language information specified via the lang attribute may be used by a user agent to control rendering in a variety of ways.

The part we're interested in here is about "assisting search engines."

“The HTML lang attribute is used to identify the language of text content on the web. This information helps search engines return language specific results, and it is also used by screen readers that switch language profiles to provide the correct accent and pronunciation.” - Léonie Watson

A while ago, John Mueller said Google ignores the HTML lang attribute and recommended the use of link hreflang instead. The Google Search Console documentation states that Google uses hreflang tags to match the user's language preference to the right variation of your pages.

Bar chart showing that 65% of the 7.5 million index pages use the lang attribute on the html element, at the same time 21.6% use at least a link hreflang.

Of the 7.5 million index pages that we were able to look into, 4,903,665 use the lang attribute on the html element. That’s about 65%!

When it comes to the hreflang attribute, suggesting the existence of a multilingual website, we found about 1,631,602 pages — that means around 21.6% index pages use at least a link rel="alternate" href="*" hreflang="*" element.

Google Tag Manager

From the beginning, Google Analytics' main task was to generate reports and statistics about your website. But if you want to group certain pages together to see how people are navigating through that funnel, you need a unique Google Analytics tag. This is where things get complicated.

Google Tag Manager makes it easier to:

Manage this mess of tags by letting you define custom rules for when and what user actions your tags should fire

Change your tags whenever you want without actually changing the source code of your website, which sometimes can be a headache due to slow release cycles

Use other analytics/marketing tools with GTM, again without touching the website's source code

We searched for *googletagmanager.com/gtm.js references and saw that about 345,979 pages are using the Google Tag Manager.

rel="nofollow"

"Nofollow" provides a way for webmasters to tell search engines "don't follow links on this page" or "don't follow this specific link."

Google does not follow these links and likewise does not transfer equity. Considering this, we were curious about rel="nofollow" numbers. We found a total of 12,828,286 rel="nofollow" links within 7.5 million index pages, with a computed average of 1.69 rel="nofollow" per page.

Last month, Google announced two new link attributes values that should be used in order to mark the nofollow property of a link: rel="sponsored" and rel="ugc". I’d recommend you go read Cyrus Shepard’s article on how Google's nofollow, sponsored, & ugc links impact SEO, learn why Google changed nofollow, the ranking impact of nofollow links, and more.

A table showing how Google’s nofollow, sponsored, and UGC link attributes impact SEO, from Cyrus Shepard’s article.

We went a bit further and looked up these new link attributes values, finding 278 rel="sponsored" and 123 rel="ugc". To make sure we had the relevant data for these queries, we updated the index pages data set specifically two weeks after the Google announcement on this matter. Then, using Moz authority metrics, we sorted out the top URLs we found that use at least one of the rel="sponsored" or rel="ugc" pair:

https://ift.tt/1sYxUD0

https://ift.tt/1Hfe2Dy

https://ift.tt/2JW6rPF

https://ift.tt/1jm7smN

https://www.ccn.com/

https://www.chip.pl/

https://ift.tt/2yUaHd2

https://ift.tt/35ixPDu

AMP

Accelerated Mobile Pages (AMP) are a Google initiative which aims to speed up the mobile web. Many publishers are making their content available parallel to the AMP format.

To let Google and other platforms know about it, you need to link AMP and non-AMP pages together.

Within the millions of pages we looked at, we found only 24,807 non-AMP pages referencing their AMP version using rel=amphtml.

Social

We wanted to know how shareable or social a website is nowadays, so knowing that Josh Buchea made an awesome list with everything that could go in the head of your webpage, we extracted the social sections from there and got the following numbers:

Facebook Open Graph

Bar chart showing the Facebook Open Graph meta tags distribution, described in detail in the table below.

SELECTOR

COUNT

meta property="fb:app_id" content="*"

277,406

meta property="og:url" content="*"

2,909,878

meta property="og:type" content="*"

2,660,215

meta property="og:title" content="*"

3,050,462

meta property="og:image" content="*"

2,603,057

meta property="og:image:alt" content="*"

54,513

meta property="og:description" content="*"

1,384,658

meta property="og:site_name" content="*"

2,618,713

meta property="og:locale" content="*"

1,384,658

meta property="article:author" content="*"

14,289

Twitter card

Bar chart showing the Twitter Card meta tags distribution, described in detail in the table below.

SELECTOR

COUNT

meta name="twitter:card" content="*"

1,535,733

meta name="twitter:site" content="*"

512,907

meta name="twitter:creator" content="*"

283,533

meta name="twitter:url" content="*"

265,478

meta name="twitter:title" content="*"

716,577

meta name="twitter:description" content="*"

1,145,413

meta name="twitter:image" content="*"

716,577

meta name="twitter:image:alt" content="*"

30,339

And speaking of links, we grabbed all of them that were pointing to the most popular social networks.

Pie chart showing the external social links distribution, described in detail in the table below.

SELECTOR

COUNT

6,180,313

5,214,768

1,148,828

1,019,970

Apparently there are lots of websites that still link to their Google+ profiles, which is probably an oversight considering the not-so-recent Google+ shutdown.

rel=prev/next

According to Google, using rel=prev/next is not an indexing signal anymore, as announced earlier this year:

“As we evaluated our indexing signals, we decided to retire rel=prev/next. Studies show that users love single-page content, aim for that when possible, but multi-part is also fine for Google Search.” - Tweeted by Google Webmasters

However, in case it matters for you, Bing says it uses them as hints for page discovery and site structure understanding.

“We're using these (like most markup) as hints for page discovery and site structure understanding. At this point, we're not merging pages together in the index based on these and we're not using prev/next in the ranking model.” - Frédéric Dubut from Bing

Nevertheless, here are the usage stats we found while looking at millions of index pages:

SELECTOR

COUNT

20,160

242,387

That's pretty much it!

Knowing how the average web page looks using data from about 8 million index pages can give us a clearer idea of trends and help us visualize common usage of HTML when it comes to SEO modern and emerging techniques. But this may be a never-ending saga — while having lots of numbers and stats to explore, there are still lots of questions that need answering:

We know how structured data is used in the wild now. How will it evolve and how much structured data will be considered enough?

Should we expect AMP usage to increase somewhere in the future?

How will rel="sponsored” and rel=“ugc” change the way we write HTML on a daily basis? When coding external links, besides the target="_blank" and rel=“noopener” combo, we now have to consider the rel="sponsored” and rel=“ugc” combinations as well.

Will we ever learn to always add alt attributes values for images that have a purpose beyond decoration?

How many more additional meta tags or attributes will we have to add to a web page to please the search engines? Do we really needed the newly announced data-nosnippet HTML attribute? What’s next, data-allowsnippet?

There are other things we would have liked to address as well, like "time-to-first-byte" (TTFB) values, which correlates highly with ranking; I'd highly recommend HTTP Archive for that. They periodically crawl the top sites on the web and record detailed information about almost everything. According to the latest info, they've analyzed 4,565,694 unique websites, with complete Lighthouse scores and having stored particular technologies like jQuery or WordPress for the whole data set. Huge props to Rick Viscomi who does an amazing job as its “steward,” as he likes to call himself.

Performing this large-scale study was a fun ride. We learned a lot and we hope you found the above numbers as interesting as we did. If there is a tag or attribute in particular you would like to see the numbers for, please let me know in the comments below.

Once again, check out the full HTML study results and let me know what you think!

Sign up for The Moz Top 10, a semimonthly mailer updating you on the top ten hottest pieces of SEO news, tips, and rad links uncovered by the Moz team. Think of it as your exclusive digest of stuff you don't have time to hunt down but want to read!

via Blogger https://ift.tt/2OvFbNV #blogger #bloggingtips #bloggerlife #bloggersgetsocial #ontheblog #writersofinstagram #writingprompt #instapoetry #writerscommunity #writersofig #writersblock #writerlife #writtenword #instawriters #spilledink #wordgasm #creativewriting #poetsofinstagram #blackoutpoetry #poetsofig

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