#but it rhymes an uncanny amount

[musclesandhammering]

It makes me crazy when people argue that he’s not the god of stories in the mcu. There couldn’t possibly be a more direct parallel between the series’s plot metaphor and the comic’s plot metaphor. They’re telling the same story.

"I'm the God of Lies. What's a lie, Verity? A lie is a story told. That's all. And we can rewrite our stories. All of us. Write our own happy endings. Our own redefinitions. We don't have to be what we're told to be. Even by ourselves. I'M THE GOD OF STORIES"

– Agent of Asgard, Issue #13

[rubyreading]

The Deceptive Complexity of Murakami’s “TV People”

Haruki Murakami is a renowned Japanese author who has garnered a fair amount of praise from the West, which is particularly rare. One of my favorite novels was also from a Japanese author (No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai), so I was eager to dip my toes into more literature from that part of the globe. I was not disappointed when I sat down to read Murakami’s short story “The TV People.” It opens to a lethargic man lounging around his house and staring at the ceiling. His wife is spending a day on the town with her high school friends, leaving him alone to his usual Sunday headache. Suddenly, uncanny, miniaturized versions of people walk into his home unannounced. These are the “TV People”, and they dutifully install a Sony color television (that doesn’t even work) before being on their way. The man does not interact with them, but only observes. The TV People act as though he is invisible, leading him to doubt if he is even real or visible. His wife returns home later and does not acknowledge the new television in the living room. The man continues to adopt a flabbergasted but non-confrontational attitude as bizarre events progressively happen to him throughout the coming week. He sees the TV People again during a work meeting, where they set up another television set. No one acknowledges them, and when asking a coworker about them later in the day, he is met with a cold shoulder and uncomfortable silence. After a horrific nightmare, the protagonist wakes up one night while his wife is out unusually late. The television set is turned on and works this time, showing a TV Person who steps through the screen and into the man’s house. The television depicts a large object under construction, and it is an “airplane” according to the TV People, despite it not looking like one at all. The TV Person argues it must be an airplane, then ominously mentions “it was a shame” what happened to his wife. The story drops off ambiguously when the TV Person says the telephone will ring in five minutes. 

This Murakami story was so oddly complex and ethereal that I know for a fact that I have not fully grasped its many facets. Even now I believe the story has more to say that I have not discovered. Perhaps this is more indicative of my own near sightedness, but I did not see any real rhyme or reason for the story’s eccentricity at first. It is one of those stories that should be reread or at the very least mulled over for a time after the fact to allow you to truly appreciate its moving parts. Little things like the protagonist repeatedly staring at the living room clock (it was an anniversary gift) and the way that other coworkers shower him with undue praise (most likely due to his decaying marriage), are just a couple of details that helped keep the story uniform and consistent in its themes throughout. And yet, no obvious attention was drawn to these well-crafted details. This humble and unassuming style of writing is something I believe a lot of Western authors could learn from, treating the reader as someone who can think for themselves and does not need everything spelled out for them on a silver platter. 

I adored the Kafka-esque tone of the story, often feeling strangely uncomfortable and claustrophobic, and as far as I can tell, it was symbolic just like many of Kafka’s own tales. With this particular story of Murakami’s, I strongly believe the man’s failing marriage was being broken down into uncanny symbolism between the TV People and the “airplane” they were busy building. The protagonist has an obvious struggle with communication, especially confrontation. His initial reaction to many of the fantasy elements in the story is overt meekness and an inability to speak up for himself. The one time he does speak up, to his coworker, he is shot down and most likely discouraged from genuinely speaking his mind again. Instead of confrontation, he desperately clings to the notion that announcing the elephant in the room would spell doom for himself and everyone involved. This unwillingness to “connect” and start a conversation about the TV People may be a parallel to his inability to connect with his wife and address potential signs of her cheating on him. The gears are already in motion for a divorce (at least in the protagonist’s head) by the end of the story. The “airplane” is being built and the product is almost complete. 

Earlier I mentioned how Western authors could learn a thing or two from Murakami, and I will expand on that now, going as far as to say that any writer could learn from the way this story is crafted. It is so beautifully pieced together, despite it being a translation from Japanese to English. Writers in the West would benefit from delving into the structures and dynamics of literature across seas to gain an understanding of this universal story telling. The writing style Murakami utilizes is easy flowing and natural, which I am certain contributes to how easy it is to overlook its subtleties. It is descriptive and colorful in its narrative techniques, but never flowery and unapproachable. Maybe it is me being a bit too overly analytical, but Murakami’s writing feels akin to a paradox. It says so much, but somehow so little, allowing every phrase to be critical to the overall story. There is no fat, so to speak.  

I had to let go of my presuppositions going into this story and essentially allow Murakami to work his magic, allowing myself to be uncomfortable for a bit as the story was woven in a very unfamiliar and unpredictable way. Maybe it is giving Murakami too much credit here, but I wonder if even this was intentional. I found it practically impossible to predict the story’s next steps, leaving me to experience a spectrum of different flavors of anticipation: anxious one moment, fascinated the next, and speechless at the last. I have not read a voice quite like Murakami’s before, and I am eager to dive into his other works. The patience and foresight to map out stories like this is something I admire, and I hope someday I can write something a fraction as profound and multilayered. 

Review by Ruby Carpenter 

CITATION 

Murakami, Haruki. “TV People.” The Big Book of Modern Fantasy: The Ultimate Collection, edited by Ann VanderMeer and Jeff VanderMeer, Vintage Books, a Division of Penguin Random House LLC, 2020, pp. 486–496. 

[scribblermerlin]

Here’s some more ghosts!!! Sorry this took so long😅!!!

Aurora

Appearance: Eyes and mouth are stitched shut, glows either blue, green, or red. Bramble scratches cover her body and her fingertips are constantly bleeding. Feet are bare and briars are wrapped around her ankles, going all the way up her legs. The briars climb over her body when she’s agitated, or grow roses when she’s happy.

Unique Haunting Behavior: Briars spontaneously grow and coat things at a surprisingly fast rate, increase in animals attacks, victims are afflicted with narcolepsy, things randomly changing color, strangely colored lights floating around, and mysterious pinpricks on victims’ fingers, in particular, the pointer fingers.

Snow White

Appearance: Hits the uncanny valley of pretty. This is an illusion of sorts as she is the most unsettled by her ghostly appearance. So she forces an unnaturally beautiful appearance on herself. Her real appearance is withered and gaunt, with wild hair and mirror-like eyes riddled with cracks. The only part of her with saturated color is her lips, a shocking red. She’s sometimes seen holding a partially eaten apple in blackened hands.

Unique Haunting Behavior: Increased animal aggression, completely trashed houses, warped or heavily altered reflections, food tasting off and causing nausea, comas, and a choking sensation, vaguely disturbing and somewhat prophetic rhymes whispered in victims’ ears as they fall asleep.

Cinderella

Appearance: Looks like a scarecrow with a completely shredded, yet billowing silver and blue dress. Wears cracked glass slippers, causing her feet to bleed. A ticking noise is always heard in her presence. Looks like she’s ‘filled’ with mice and/or birds.

Unique Haunting Behavior: Mice infestations, clocks going off at the wrong times, broken glass appearing out of nowhere, clothing ripped to shreds, the smell of rotting pumpkin permeating everything. Eerie humming is also heard, usually at midnight.

Alice Liddell

Appearance: Head is often tilted to an uncomfortable angle, occasionally looking like it’s about to fall off. An unsettling, too-wide smile is frozen on her face. Dress is bloodstained and has ornate card designs on it. Hands are stained with red and white paint. Often dangles a broken pocket watch on a mangled chain in one hand and holds a tiny glass bottle in the other.

Unique Haunting Behavior: Strange laughter, whimsical music playing at odd times, unnerving grins flashing at the corner of your eye, mangled flowers or shattered teacups appearing out of nowhere, a strange and hypnotic odor permeating the area.

Mulan

Appearance: Has two looks. The first is used to set victims at ease, an image of a young woman in a beautiful pink and red dress. Her long hair has peach blossoms in it and the half of her face that’s not obscured by said hair is elaborately made up. It’s when the hair is removed that her true self is revealed; a soldier, severely wounded and battle-weary, her hair in a bun with a solitary withered blossom. To add to the strangeness of her appearance, she has several draconic features. Dragon scales dot her skin, her mouth is filled with fangs, and her clawed hands are wrapped around a flaming sword.

Unique Haunting Behavior: Bloody peach blossom petals and snow appearing in greater and greater amounts, a strange rag doll appearing, sensations of being stabbed, claw marks appearing on surfaces, shattered mirrors, muscle cramps, strange reflections, and the occasional firework going off.

Mowgli

Appearance: Claw and teeth marks all over his body, which is a perfect mix of wolf, boy, panther, and bear, with traces of python and tiger. Wears a bright red loincloth. His eyes are two concentric circles of blue and green, that rotate in a vaguely hypnotizing manner. Holds a flaming branch.

Unique Haunting Behavior: Strange animal sounds in the dark, victims going into a haze and waking up in a different place, fire spontaneously igniting on flammable objects, scratches appearing on random objects, victims feeling like something’s squeezing them.

Tiana

Appearance: Almost completely covered in swamp vines, mud, and frog mucus, which form a vague impression of clothing. Glows with an eerie green light. If one were to somehow peer beneath, they would see a humanoid figure somewhere between frog, firefly, alligator, and human. Wears a stained wooden amulet around her neck.

Unique Haunting Behavior: Kitchens being trashed, food spoiling, mucus appearing on objects, strange lights appearing, trumpet music that only the victims can hear blaring out at random intervals.

Jasmine & Aladdin

Appearances: Jasmine is an unnatural mix of tiger and human, wearing faded red clothing. Aladdin is made of engraved brass with sand constantly seeping out of any and all of the holes in his body.

Unique Haunting Behaviors: Carpets floating, large quantities of sand and false riches appearing, flashes of other locations appearing in the corner of your eye, the feeling of suffocating, cats behaving strangely around you, objects seemingly changing into others. A monkey often appears randomly before disappearing along with an item you value.

Andy Davis

Appearance: Has never actually shown his face, instead showing his presence through a strange assortment of toys. While the toys themselves are barely similar, they all share a similar state of bedraggled decay, with the occasional bloodstain. Their expressions are either sad or furious. The toys don’t move unless you look away, doing their best to avoid line of sight.

Unique Haunting Behavior: Strangely, the haunting behavior is entirely tied to the toys. They show up one day at the haunting victim’s house and cannot be removed. They are impervious to any damage, save for fire. Any attempts to remove them by forcible eviction or burning only results in them appearing in the attic or on your bed, preferring the former. This also speeds the process. In contrast, repairing the toys results in appeasement and they will then disappear. Otherwise, you begin to hear voices, the toys start moving when you’re not looking, and strange ‘accidents’ begin happening.

[theficpusher]

curiosity, kitten by 1000_directions | T | 1328 “I don’t like cats,” Louis says, frowning at the five different cooking competition shows in their Netflix queue. Bucky definitely added that shit. He deletes all but one of them out of spite. “I didn’t like dogs,” Bucky reminds him, “but I got over that. You’ll like this guy, Lou. He’s so cute and little.” “Sounds stupid,” Louis says. “Get us something cool. Let’s get a snake.” “We can get a snake, but we are also getting this cat,” Bucky says. “I’m not leaving him here. He’s asleep in my lap right now, and his ears are wiggling for no reason, and I love him.”

sat with the echoes by BeforeEternity | T | 3219 A short fic about navigating the world as someone who has, for all intents and purposes, recovered from an eating disorder. There’s a cat too.

Are You Missing Underwear? by grapenight | G | 4093 Are You Missing Underwear? Just to keep things brief, my cat has stolen a large amount of socks and underwear from a neighbor. I am very sorry. I live on Cherry Street. If these are your clothes, please call 112-358-1321 I promise I will give them back, I wasn't the one who wanted them, it was my asshole cat. Or, Harry's cat frequently steals Louis' underwear.

sweater paws by hattalove | T | 6585 In retrospect, Louis should have grabbed the yarn and run. also known as the classic tale of Louis's struggle with a hippie boyfriend, a ginger cat, and a lot of wool.

Olivia by haloeverlasting | nr | 7915 There was no rhyme or reason to Louis’ disdain for cats. Harry hadn’t even heard him explicitly say he hated them, but his tone had said it all. He was completely dismissive of cats. This could only lead Harry to one reasonable conclusion. Louis can never meet Olivia. Harry has a cat. Louis thinks he has a secret husband. It's as ridiculous as it sounds.

show me how by wallstracktwo | M | 11000 When Louis is hired to take care of the prince's cats, it comes at the perfect time - his life is in ruins and he's been feeling down and out. He thinks it'll be fun and easy money. How much trouble could a couple of cats actually get into? But it's not only the cats bringing chaos and disruption into Louis' life - it's also the prince.

start me over by camiii | E | 44104 "Nick’s funny when he’s not being a knob, and has good taste in music and Louis really likes his hands. Not to mention that he’s tall, tall enough to have made Louis spend a minute or two imagining what it would be like to have Nick pin him to a flat surface and snog him senseless. The only thing keeping him from a full grown crush at this point is sheer will and the threat of humiliation. So, Nick’s a dickhead but unfortunately Louis is kind of into that."

i must admit i thought i'd like to make you mine by disgruntledkittenface | M | 50645 Louis fell apart when her ex broke up with her and moved across the country. Just as she’s starting to move on, Zayn comes back to town for their mutual friends’ wedding – with a new girlfriend as her plus one. Blindsided and scrambling to save face, Louis lets herself get talked into a fake relationship with her new friend Harry. Their arrangement makes Louis feel pathetic and embarrassed, but it’s only going to last a few weeks. She just has to get through the wedding – what could happen?

Emperor's New Clothes by sunsetmog | E | 92072 The fact that Louis’s most precious belonging was a cat with a face like thunder and an uncanny ability to cover every single inch of Louis’s clothing with cat hair was something that Louis chose not to think about too much. or: Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship.

[krenbotvt]

What The Fans Of (Almost) Every Scarecrow Design Are Like Just by Surveying Rogue Tumblr for Approx: 5 Months. (Not in any particular order. Also this is a meme.)

Year One: You probably needed a childhood to relate to/needed a justifiable reason to stan one of Gotham’s biggest criminals. (but if your childhood involves being half-eaten by crows i am VERY concerned)  BTAS: The gateway drug Scarecrow. You’re probably a gremlin, and also really like the Dork Squad(tm)  TNBA: He’s under-appreciated, and you know this very well, but you’re also thankful that you get some of the coolest artwork of your favorite spooky boy. (Also the voice. 11/10 you want him to read sleepy hollow to you.) TAOB: You are one of the only 3 living fans of Adventures Of Batman Scarecrow, but you give absolutely no shit. You love that uncanny valley, near on clown-like scarecrow, and i feel bad for you, because you’ll probably never get art of them. Super Friends: I...Wow. Y’all really do exist... Galactic Guardians: YOU GUYS ACTUALLY EXIST TOO??? BATB: JAZZY. You like his hat, and his voice. You also probably enjoy a lot of older scarecrow designs as well. You get sad because you wish there were more content.  The Batman (TV series): PFFT HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (But seriously though, you poor, poor things...There, There...) Assault On Arkham: AA Scarecrow in an otherwise good movie. Basically, you’re sad he didn’t get more screen-time. At this point, just stan: Arkham Asylum: ABSOLUTE GOBLIN OF A HUMAN. One of the gateway drug Scarecrows that lead you to The Rogues fanbase in the first place. You either love the serious artwork of him, love him drawn/written as a gremlin, or are STILL offended by his lack of footwear. Either way, you adore him and will remind everyone of it. Arkham Knight: OH FUCKING BOY. This can go one of two ways. 1.You love his writing (or don’t, but still stan), his poetic dialogue and his voice, and you also love how much he hams up the fear factor. You probably adore every artwork of him you see, and you REALLY love reading any fan-written material of him. You have many headcanons, and probably have googled A LOT of stuff to make them more genuine.  Or 2. You are very, VERY horny... (But as a good friend once said, “these are not mutually exclusive.”) Nightwing And Robin: Aw, y’all are so cute! Here, have some tea with the SF AND GG Fans, I think they have Earl Grey over in the CORNER OF IRRELEVANCY. (But I feel bad for y’all too.) Unlimited: BEEF BOY. You’re either in the group of people that love Scarecrow designs that use scythes, or you like how strange, yet fun his appearance is. Most art of him is super colorful too. There aren’t very many of you, but the amount of you that I’ve seen seem like super cool people. You all probably also enjoy the next one: Batman/TMNT: You knew the movie was a wild ride from start to finish, but you love it. You probably also like birds (I know, really obvious.) There aren’t many of you, but you like the idea of a corvid-like Scarecrow, and you wish for more. Or...You may be a furry that also likes DC stuff, and that’s ok too! We too also oddly love that weird ass cobra joker anyways.  Salecrow: You love his rhyming (which is arguably the best thing about him), but are also annoyed by the fact that most content of him use the same 3 images every time. You’re probably in the same boat as all the other scarecrow fans that genuinely want a proper medieval themed version of him. If you write/draw him, you’ve googled endless nursery rhymes. Its like Dr.Seuss up in this bitch. Also, them hands. Blackest Night: Chances are you’re still amazed that your favorite bag-headed master of fear even HAS that thing. You REALLY want him to wear that damn ring again, and will probably pay an arm and a leg to see it happen in a form of animated media. You also have very interesting artwork/writings of him. And your head canons are outlandish, but in the most fun way. (Seriously though, Hatter with a ring, huh...) Injustice: You either love the concept of The ScareBeast, or you’re here for the fact that hes voice by FREAKING ROBERT ENGLUND. Admittedly, you probably aren’t all too good at fighting games, but you still insta-lock him despite that.  The Dark Knight: Cillian Murphy portrays the character rather well, but you either are unnerved by his strangely dreamboyish face, or would wish for a slightly older actor. But!!! Despite all that!!! You love him, and probably still quote “WaNnA sEe My MaSK???” (Although I see some of you get absolutely tired of that lol) I don’t see any loyal fans of him, but everyone seems to agree that he’s not too shabby (heheh... shabby...) Gotham (Tv Series): ...Hello? Where are you guys? I KNOW you exist! Show yourselves! Jokes aside, you either love him or hate him. Live action scarecrows seem to be a hit or miss for some.  Harley Quinn (Tv Series): Softies. You adore everything about him. His dialogue, his humor, his very surprising accent, and his, albeit a stretch, questionable sexuality implications. Most art of him is very wholesome and good, probably because you’re STILL not over...Well... Maybe its better if I not mention it (all fans of him are the “If I see anything happen to them I’ll kill everyone in this room and then myself” meme.). Detective Comics: Hroo Hraa, my friends. Hroo Hraa. Whether it’s his “Queer grasshopper leaps” or his strange laughter onomatopoeia, you can’t get enough of his antics. Nothing beats a classic, and the fact that there are still many of you that are fans of him makes me smile. New 52/Prime Earth: One of the few scarecrows that greatly changes his childhood, but you welcome the idea of it. He’s a very unsettling looking guy, but you’ll remind everyone that his writing makes up for it. He’s mostly treated like a semi-C tier villain in the continuity, but every time you see him you’re like “!!!!!!!”.You most likely have a list of every issue he appears in so you don’t have to suffer, and your heart still breaks when you read the scene with him and that one girl. (He said he was sorry, guys.) Batman:Hush: 2 and a half sweet and savory minutes of this guy, only for him to get kicked in the face? Nay, Nay, you say! A crime, you holler! You go to your keyboard to tell your friend about how good his character design is, and how well animated he was, but alas they say “that’s nice, bud.” Blast it all... The Lego Batman Movie/Lego in general: Our boy at his most gremlin. Sure, you know this is a 99% children’s medium, but that doesn’t stop you from smiling like a dummy every time you see him. He’s funny, he’s delightful, and he has... a weird obsession with planes? What is it with them and putting him in planes? Maybe he got a pilot’s license before he attended university? What a smart little block person!  Obviously, I left out quite a few here, but these seem to be the most popular. There are SO many comic renditions of him, so It’d take my forever. (My poor fingies already hurt!) But please enjoy this silly little thing :’] 

[askkrenko]

Krenko’s Guide to Pokemon: Mr. Line

“If a tree falls in the woods, and nobody is around to hear it, and it hits a mime, does anyone care?” ~ Gary Larson

DESIGN

Mime Jr.’s actually pretty cute, looking like a tiny little silly clown. The design is a bit generic but also very effective, making it a creature with just enough clown parts so that you know it’s a clown without so many clown parts to look terrifying. It also manages to look a lot like one of those clown-faced ice creams you can get at some places, where the cone is upside down as a hat. The point is, Mime Jr. is a small, cute pokemon that works perfectly fine.

Next is “Kantonian” Mr. Mime, and I put that in quotes because this Pokemon isn’t actually Kantonian. As with Farfetch’d, Mr. Mime is called Kantonian because that’s the first region we as players could get it, but the only ones available in Kanto outside of Let’s Go are either from trades or from the game counter, plus a very tiny amount that appear in the grass patch south of Pallet Town in Gold and Silver but not Red and Blue, implying that someone in Pallet Town has been breeding and releasing Mr. Mimes, and I’m not going to say who, but we all know these Mimes are a certain protagonist’s half-siblings, don’t we?

So where is Mr. Mime from? Well, we’ve established that the first Mr. Mime we met, Marcel, didn’t come from Kanto, and there’s no Mr. Mime in Johto, Hoenn, or Unova. Alola’s a weird one, as they don’t appear in Sun and Moon but they do appear in both Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon. Still, they’re only in one location and Alola is known for having many imported Pokemon.  Sinnoh’s a possibility- while the Trophy Garden is clearly cultivated, Mr. Mime and Mime Jr. both appear in the wild in Diamond (but not Pearl). Still, I think the actual natural habitat of this Mr. Mime is the Reflection Cave in Kalos. Not only would a mime Pokemon make the most sense in the Kalos region, but it’d make far more sense for it to be living in a hall of mirrors than simply wandering grasslands as it does in Diamond. Further, this is in much closer proximity to the Galar Region, where Mime Jr.s and Galarian Mr. Mimes wander freely.  Thus, for the rest of this article I’m going to refer to this creature as Kalosian Mr. Mime.

And Kalosian Mr. Mime is terrifying. This thing is so Uncanny Valley that it goes down to becoming some sort of Uncanny Trench where light vanishes and there’s no hope for escape. It has all the most terrifying aspects of a clown, with a vaguely human form that isn’t quite right, hair that resembles horns, and an uncomfortably close relationship with your mother. Its bright coloration and curly feet are just sort of haunting, giving the illusion that it’s wearing clothes while in actuality that’s all just part of it’s horrible, horrible body.

In contrast, Galarian Mr. Mime is much friendlier looking. The pants help a lot, but so do the big gloves and the nose. It looks less like a monster and more like a cartoony man, and while it’s still weird to see a Pokemon that’s so humanlike, this version doesn’t feel inherently wrong and unsettling. Much better design here, unless the goal is to freak people out. That said, I just don’t buy this as an evolved form of Mime Jr. Galar really needed a Galarian Mime Jr. to finish the set, because as is Mime Jr. turning into Galarian form in Galar and Kalosian form anywhere else just feels off.  The other weird thing is that Galarian Mr. Mime, with its new focus on tapdance, doesn’t still feel like it should be called Mr. Mime. It’s something I complain about a lot with alternate forms, but if a creature’s called Mr. Mime it should be miming, not dancing, and if a creature’s called Sandshrew it should be sand based. 

Visually, I love Mr. Rime. He’s got all the charm of Galarian Mr. Mime but now has a silly hat and an ice cane. He also gets the red bubble on his stomach back from being a Mime Jr. which makes me question why Galarian Mr. Mime doesn’t have it. Mime Jr. links fine to Mr. Rime, but through features lost along the way, like its hat and its big red poofs. Mr. Rime is also clearly Charlie Chaplin, and I love the pun of its name in that it’s both Rime and Rhyme.

EVOLUTIONS:

Oh god this line is a mess.

First we get Mime Jr, which has first form starter stats, but evolves when knowing the move Mimic. With no TM or TR, Mime Jr. learns Mimic at 32, finally evolving into a Pokemon whose stat total is still a bit small for a final form. If it’s not in Galar, it stays a Psychic/Fairy type. If it is in Galar, it becomes a Psychic/Ice type, which then evolves again at 42 into something that’s not actually that big a boost over its previous for, making Galarian Mr. Mime a good user of the Eviolite.

And then Mime Jr. is an incense baby, so if you breed two Mr. Mimes (and you can because despite the name half are female) you get a Mr. Mime if you’re not using incense. This is a stupid mechanic that they need to get rid of. 

As with Farfetch’d, the fact that the original doesn’t get a new evolution while the regional form does bothers me, because it doesn’t do anything to bring the original back into playability, it just gives us a new different Pokemon that makes the original less relevant.

I will say Mime Jr. was a good addition. While some baby Pokemon are a waste of time, Mime Jr.’s actually a really solid early-game Pokemon, and Mr. Mime’s strong enough that it shouldn’t be appearing until mid to late game anyway. Adding Mime Jr. adds a lot of playability to this line in PVE.

Art by Zerochan923600

TYPING:

Kalosian Mr. Mime spent a lot of time as a Psychic type until we actually went to Kalos and found out it was a Psychic/Fairy type this whole time. Defensively, this is decent. It only has three weaknesses, and while it only has three ‘resistances,’ one of them’s a double and one of them’s an immunity. Offensively, it’s super-effective against four types and neither type works well against Steel… but that’s Steel, and most things don’t work well against Steel.

Galarian Mr. Mime and Mr. Rime are Ice/Psychic types, with their only competition in that type combination being Jynx and the legendary Ice Rider Calyrex. Defensively, this is a really bad combination, with six weaknesses and only two resistances- Ice and Psychic themselves. Offensively, this gives super-effective options against six types with only Steel as a shared resistance. 

Art by DarkraiLady

STATS

Kalosian Mr. Mime has a whopping 120 Special Defense, but a mere 40 HP, seriously inhibiting its ability to actually tank, and only 65 physical defense. It’s 100 Special Attack is respectable, but Speed 90 isn’t really enough to make a sweeper out of it,  even with Nasty Plot.

Galarian Mr. Mime balances its stats a bit, trading Special Attack and Special Defense for a bit more HP and Speed, but the only thing here that really works out in its favor is that it can equip an Eviolite, turning it into an actual defensive Pokemon, albeit one that still has poorer HP than most. 

Mr. Rime brings up most of its stats as evolutions do, but weirdly drops its speed from 100 to 70. It manages to be more defensive than average post-evolution, but its key stat becomes its 110 Special Attack. Overall, its stats are fine, able to dish out hits and take them, and its worst stats are only a bit below average.

Singin’ in the Snow by Pizapioart

ABILITIES

Kalosian Mr. Mime and Galarian Mr. Mime have entirely different abilities, with Mr. Rime having another.

Like Electrode, Kalosian Mr. Mime can get Soundproof, and there’s plenty of Sound based attacks out there, making this a decent defensive option. This improves in 2v2 where you can pair it with Boomburst.

Filter, a near-Signature ability of Mr. Mime, is another powerful defensive option, reducing the damage of supereffective moves from 2x to 1.5x. As you can reasonably expect most opponents to have Poison, Steel, or Ghost moves somewhere in their lineup, you really can’t go wrong with this.

Technician increases the power of any of Mr. Mime’s moves of 60 power or less by 50%, and in theory this is a good ability, but Mr. Mime just learns all the good moves anyway. There’s no reason to use a Technician’d Confusion when you can learn Psychic, or a Technician’d Magical Leaf when you can learn Energy Ball. Skipping this should be easy, because it’s Mr. Mime’s Hidden Ability.

Galarian Mr. Mime (but not Mr. Rime) gets Vital Spirit, which grants immunity to sleep. This is fine and usable and plenty of enemies will try and put you to sleep, but this isn’t the reason you’d be using this Pokemon.

Mr. Rime gets Tangled Feet, which is a garbage ability for garbage Pokemon. Nobody needs raised evasion when confused, what they need is to not be confused.

Ice Body, hidden ability of Galarian Mr. Mime and Mr. Rime, causes a Pokemon to heal in Hail. Of course, every Pokemon that can get this, other than the not-fully-evolved Seel, takes no damage in Hail anyway, and it really takes a fully defensive playstyle to worry about using your ability on sometimes healing 1/16th max HP a turn. There are ways to build Mr. Rime for this, but it’ll involve other Poekmon on your team setting up the Hail and wanting it, too.

Besides, Galarian Mr. Mime and Mr. Rime have the signature ability “Screen Cleaner” which negates Reflect, Light Screen, and Aurora Veil upon switching in. This ability is honestly the best reason to use these Pokemon, more than anything they’ll actually do once on the field. Any ability that has an effect on switch in tends to be good, because as long as it’s something you wanted done, you basically just got a free action. 

Art by  PeregrineJazmin, formerly Retkikosmos

MOVES:

Psychic and Psyshock are both great options for your primary attack form. Psychic is a bit bigger, but as you’ll have a special move of your other element to fall back on, Psyshock adds a bit more versatility.

Kalosian Mr. Mime’s only Fairy attack is Dazzling Gleam so you take Dazzling Gleam. Galarian Mr. Mime/Mr. Rime gets your choice of Ice Beam, Blizzard, or Freeze-Dry. Freeze Dry has the drawback of being weaker most of the time, but extra strong against Water Types, which are rather common. Blizzard is more likely to outright end something, but without Hail its accuracy is rather poor.

Coverage options are pretty wide for the mimes. Thunderbolt, Energy Ball, Shadow Ball, and Focus Blast are available to both, with that last one being super effective against the Steel types that resist Psychic, Fairy, and Ice. 

If you think you’ll get a moment to build up, Nasty Plot is always a great move, as is the more defensive Calm Mind.

Mr. Rime gets two particularly interesting options: it can Rapid Spin, which combines well with Screen Cleaner to reset the field, and it can learn Slack Off, the normal type equivalent of Recover. 

The Mime family’s move pools are actually rather deep, and there’s plenty more options in there, like Hypnosis, Reflect and Light Screen, Baton Pass, Iron Defense, Stored Power, and, via older gens, Healing Wish.

Art by albrt-wlson, which I have to assume is short for Albert Wilson, but might actually be Alberta Walesong.

OVERALL:

I love to hate Mr. Mime, though overall the whole family winds up in the range of ‘fine.’ Mr. Rime’s speed loss is its biggest hit, but other than that there’s a lot of good stuff it can do, especially with both Screen Cleaner and Rapid Spin.  Having below average speed on a Pokemon with so many weaknesses is a problem, but with such a strong variety of moves there’s a lot that can make up for it.

Kalosian Mr. Mime, unfortunately, really needs that stat boost that Mr. Rime got or the ability to use Eviolite like Galarian Mr. Mime, and it just doesn’t have either. 

The other thing that really bugs me about Kalosian Mr. Mime is its abilities or lack thereof. In flavor, Mr. Mime is THE Barrier Pokemon. Reflect and Light Screen are supposed to be what it does better than anyone else… but it just isn’t. Sure, Soundproof, Filter, and Technician are interesting, but I’d have loved to see Mr. Mime have something like Prankster or an ability that mimicked Light Clay, anything to say ‘this is the Pokemon that is best at Reflect.’ Honestly it’s a problem I see in the game a lot, a Pokemon having a specifically mentioned ability or a clear signature move that the Pokemon just has no reason to use. At least Mr. Rime clearly wants to use Teeter Dance with Tangled Feet, even if that strategy isn’t a strong one.

It just really bugs me when a Pokemon isn’t good at what it’s supposed to do, even if it’s good in other ways.

[cinnaminsvga]

Wish on a Fish | Namjoon

→ summary: namjoon’s got fish-shaped pastries on the brain, and you’ve got namjoon-shaped space in your heart. you both learn to make do. → genre: fluff, humor → words: 3.9K → a/n: i had this in my wips since october 2018 and i decided to finish it because it’s loving namjoon hours (but when is it not?) also this was inspired by this galaxy brain quote from the man himself: “ain’t no fish inside”

“Y/N has a crush on you.”

The owner of the voice giggles when Namjoon lifts his head up in confusion, a sticky note with various mathematical equations hanging precariously from his forehead. An unflattering doodle of what appears to be a worm with Yoongi’s face has imprinted itself like a makeshift tattoo from where his cheek had rested upon his notebook. None of that information explains what year he has woken up in, what dimensions he has slipped into, nor why Hoseok has decided to tell him this very unlikely factoid when he was clearly busy with his guilt nap.

[guilt nap (n.) when Namjoon has kept his eyes open for an extended amount of time, to the point where colors start making noise and numbers start looking like letters, so he sleeps in various public places to reboot his brain; hardly ever works but he still tries.]

“Whuzzat?” Namjoon asks, verbose. The sticky note is on its last dredges of stickiness, and Hoseok watches it flop down from its perch and into his friend’s agape mouth. Hoseok plucks it away kindly, but Namjoon doesn’t even seem to have noticed its disappearance.

“You look like shit,” Hoseok replies instead, pulling a chair beside Namjoon and carefully pushing aside what appears to be a glass of curdled milk. Hoseok’s nose crinkles in disgust. “Dude. Was this the milk tea from free Boba Tuesday?”

“Yeah?” Namjoon blinks owlishly. It appears that his brain hasn’t fully awakened yet, because he goes to grab the cup and bring it to his lips when Hoseok saves him by plucking the offending object out of his hands too.

“Namjoon. Free Boba Tuesday was three days ago. It’s Friday evening. This is three-day-old milk tea.”

“No way. You’re kidding,” Namjoon says, peering into the cup and making a startled face at the solidified mass. He jiggles it in wonder, beholding in its jelliness. “Wow. Do you think I could donate this to the bio labs? I heard they were looking for more e. coli samples.”

“Why the fuck would this have e. coli in it? Unless you took a shit in—“ Hoseok begins, but clamps his mouth shut when it looks like Namjoon is about to defend himself. He backtracks, “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

“Why are you here again?” Namjoon grumbles, trying to salvage his crumpled notes by smoothing them with his hands. He rips one of them in half, and he gazes at the mess with the eyes of a defeated man. He sighs. “Look, I’m really busy right now. I don’t have time to get roasted AND study for finals at the same time. You’re gonna have to schedule an appointment with me.”

“As much as I enjoy making fun of your poor hygiene and self-care skills, I have a reason for being here. Like I just said, I came here to tell you that Y/N has a crush on you,” Hoseok repeats, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Heard her talking about you in the labs this morning.”

Namjoon stares at him. Hoseok watches in worry as his friend’s irises start to become unfocused slightly.

“Dude,” Hoseok says, waving a hand in front of him. “Did you hear what I said?” Namjoon thankfully blinks back.

“Yeah. Okay, thanks.” Namjoon finally says, before grabbing his notebook to see where he left off. He doesn’t notice that his notes are upside down when he begins to write gibberish that must only make sense to him. Hoseok thinks he can see the word ‘churros’ somewhere in there, but he isn’t 100% certain.

Namjoon continues, “Do you think the cafeteria is still open at this hour? I don’t think I’ve drunk water in two days.”

“Okay, thanks? That’s all you have to say to my jawdropping discovery?” Hoseok exclaims, pinching Namjoon’s cheek. The Yoongi doodle on his cheek smudges from his fingers, making him appear even wormier than before. “Y/N is in your Chemistry class, right? The one with the serial killer professor?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon hums, scratching out the word ‘churro’ and replacing it with ‘grilled cheese’ instead. The amount of concentration on his face is disconcerting, to say the least. It looks like he’s writing down a grocery list beside his calculus homework. “Professor Kang isn’t a serial killer, by the way. He’s just stressed.”

Hoseok gives his friend a once-over, disbelieving. “Yeah, I can see why you’d defend him. Takes one to know one,” he snorts, grimacing at the pit stains lining his friend’s gray shirt. “Honestly, Y/N must be a serial killer herself if she thinks you’re worth any sort of attraction. You smell like the market, dude.”

“Speaking of, do you know what I want from the market right now?” Namjoon drops his pen, leaving an unfinished doodle of another portrait of wormy Yoongi screaming in terror under the heat of a magnifying glass. Hoseok reminds himself to tell his hyung to lock his doors later that evening.

“Uhh… No?”

“Those silly fish cake things, with the red bean,” Namjoon murmurs, determination set in his jaw. He stands up suddenly, slamming his notebooks closed and stuffing them into his backpack. In his hurry, he knocks over the cup of curdled milk tea all over the library floor, and Hoseok half-expects it to start melting the carpet like acid. “It’s funny though, because why the hell would they shape them like that? Ain’t no fish inside… Why would they try to deceive us like that?”

“Dude, you okay?” Hoseok asks, slightly worried for his friend but not worried enough to feel bothered to stop him from potentially running into oncoming traffic.

“Need a snack. Be back,” Namjoon says, rushing out of the library in a speed uncanny for the long-legged man. Hoseok watches as he reaches the front entrance of the library exit, before he inadvertently stops in his tracks, and looks back at the still seated Hoseok.

Hoseok raises a brow. “You forgetting something?”

Namjoon opens his mouth. Closes it. Scrunches up his face like he’s just released a fart. Then, “Hey. I just rhymed. That’s cool,” he says in awe of himself, before finally making his way out of the library without waving goodbye.

Left behind to contemplate his friend choices, Hoseok heaves a heavy sigh, staring forlornly at the abandoned doodle of worm Yoongi. He shakes his head, defeated. “I tried, Y/N. I really did.”

——***——

Namjoon makes his way to the market, after a quick stop to his apartment for a change of clothes. He had only thought to change when a woman and her young daughter had taken one sniff from his general direction and ran quickly into a nearby shop to avoid his cloying stench. He at least had the decency to give the duo a sheepish look before scuttling off to his apartment in embarrassment.

Now slightly better smelling but not any less sleep-deprived, Namjoon enters the nearby open market with an agenda. He passes numerous food stalls, almost being tempted by the loud aunties to buy every single food product that he can fit into his ink-stained hands. He can’t afford to settle for any other sugary product, not when he already has his eye on the main prize.

His torment does not last long because over in the corner of the street where a long line has formed, he sees the sign for freshly cooked bungeoppang.

He hurries over, almost tripping over his own feet when he makes it to the end of the line. For whatever reason, the entirety of Seoul has also decided that they’d also like to eat some bungeoppang today as the line was over 30 people long. Namjoon glances at his watch, seeing that he only has 5 hours left until his next final and he desperately needs to finish revising the last chapter of his notes.

He sees the stall for hotteok close by where the line is significantly shorter. He’s partially debating on switching lanes and settling for his second favorite treat when he sees a familiar head of hair standing by the bungeoppang stall, seemingly debating the same thing as himself.

It’s you.

“Damn, what a line…” Namjoon hears you say to yourself, gazing longingly at the piping hot red bean goodness. Shaking your head, you sigh deeply, ready to leave bungeoppang-less. You’re just about to walk out of sight from Namjoon when he finally thinks to call out to you in greeting.

“Y/N! Over here!” He calls out, and he wonders if you’ll hear him over the sound of the crowd. Surprisingly, you turn around swiftly at the sound of his voice, able to pinpoint his hoarse voice anytime and anywhere. Your cheeks darken when you see him, apparently blind to the fact that he did not look the least bit decent with his dark eyebags and the telltale sign of dried drool on the side of his cheek. To you, he’ll always look gorgeous, even underneath the dingy fluorescent lights of the night market.

“Namjoon? What a coincidence to see you here!” You greet back, walking towards him with a skip in your step. To the chagrin of the five other people behind Namjoon, you insert yourself beside him and into the line for the bungeoppang. Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind, but that could also be the fact that his brain was running on 2 hours of sleep and three cans of energy drinks, but who can say?

“Same here. Are you here for a pre-exam snack too?”

“Sorta,” you hum, smiling. “I was about to ditch this place for the kimbap place near the Arts building because of this line, but then I saw you here so I guess I’ll brave the wait time with you.”

“Oh, sorry to interrupt you from your plans, then.” Namjoon sounds genuinely remorseful, and you have to force yourself not to coo at his crestfallen face. “I just wanted to say hello, you know?”

“It’s no problem, really. I really did have a craving for some bungeoppang, so it’s not like I’m losing anything. Besides, I miss talking to you, so it’s no big deal,” you say the last part quietly, eyes turning downwards in embarrassment. “It’s just… I haven’t seen you in so long.”

However, you’re not really embarrassed––not quite. It is well known around your circle of friends that you have a massive crush on the Biochemistry major, much to the confusion of everyone who knows you. Not to say that Namjoon was terrible, but when you stop to think about how… out of it he was, it’s kind of hard to imagine why you would want to pursue a relationship with him. Dozens of people have already tried their hand at confessing to him, but to no avail. The dude is as dense as a rock, and perhaps that is part of the appeal to you. You always have been a bit of a morosexual.

Besides, you have an advantage: you’re blinded by a misplaced determination for all things Kim Namjoon. In your eyes, all it takes is a few psychological tricks to get his head out of his ass, and you are set for life. If treating Namjoon like a psychology experiment seems unethical to others, well. Let’s just see who is crying when you eventually snatch his heart and win his hand.

If Hoseok had promised his end of the deal, you know that he’s planted the seed in Namjoon already. Assuming things are going according to plan, then Hoseok should have told him about your not-so-secret crush on him, so Namjoon should be aware of your attraction to him. At a glance, Namjoon doesn’t seem to be treating you any differently, but that could just be his way of being polite. Or, you know. He could also be an idiot. Passing him at the market only means another opportunity for you to butter him up and make him yours.

“I miss talking to you too,” Namjoon replies, dimples showing from how hard he’s smiling. You feel your heart jump up to your throat and fall back down to your ass.

“Really? Could’ve sworn that you’ve been avoiding me. Haven’t seen you in two weeks!” you say accusingly, both as a joke but also for real. The hurt is probably evident on your face, even to the likes of Namjoon.

He pouts ruefully at you. “Aw, you know I don’t mean to. I have six finals this term, and I’m terribly behind because of all the extra-curriculars I’ve had to take. You know I could never avoid you on purpose,” he says, brows furrowed in concern. If that isn’t enough, he pulls the rug from under you by brushing a stray strand of hair away from your eyes and tucks it gently behind your ear.

Unbeknownst to the lanky brunette, his words and actions have caused you to start combusting on the inside with unbridled endearment. How the actual fuck could he say that shit with a straight face? And to your weak and fragile heart? Right in front of your bungeoppang? The nerve of this guy! There’s no way that your feelings aren’t unreciprocated––your plan must have worked!

You take a shaky breath, gathering your thoughts. As much as his words seem like an indication of his feelings, you have to make sure. You didn’t survive all these years as one of your university’s top student researchers without knowing the importance of testing your hypothesis. You need to run some tests first before coming to a conclusion.

“Speaking of avoiding friends… I haven’t seen Hoseok in a while. I miss hanging out with him and Yoongi,” you say as nonchalantly as you can, observing Namjoon from the corner of your eye. Namjoon nods in agreement, stepping forward as the line begins to shorten bit by bit. You can almost see the vendor flipping the cakes in their flat iron griddles from where you stand.

“Me too. I saw Hoseok just a few minutes ago before I left to go here. Haven’t seen Yoongi since that party at Seokjin’s, but that’s about it.”

“Oh? You just saw Hoseok? Did he say anything… in particular?” you ask. You feel sweat beginning to build along your palms, and you have to grasp the ends of your sweater to keep yourself from fidgeting. You wait with bated breath as the boy thinks of a response.

“Yeah actually. He mentioned something about you too––wait, hold that thought,” Namjoon stops himself, and you only realize then that you’ve arrived at the front of the line. He turns to you expectantly. “You wanna order first?”

“Huh?” You stare at him dumbfoundedly, your brain fighting to catch up with your surroundings. It isn’t until you hear the irritated sounds of the impatient customers behind you that you manage to snap out of your trance. “Oh. Right. Yeah, I just want one original flavor please.”

“I’ll have three,” Namjoon says, and neither you nor the vendor says anything about the amount he has ordered. Who was anyone to judge him and his fondness for fish-shaped pastries?

Just as you are about to hand over your own payment to the saleslady, Namjoon shoves a bill over yours, nudging your hands away. You squawk indignantly, your protests bubbling underneath your tongue before he gives you a firm look.

“No buts. I’m paying this time as an apology for ignoring you over school,” he says, grinning. You hear the vendor giggle at the two of you, remarking how cute the two of you are. “Thanks,” Namjoon replies, leaving the change for the auntie as a tip. The flush enveloping your face refuses to die, even as the two of you exit the market together.

“You really didn’t have to pay for me,” you mutter, nibbling the treat and letting the warmth envelope you in the cold weather. When you glance at him, you see Namjoon take a huge bite of his first fish cake, cheeks bulging in what most might have found unattractive. You, on the other hand, have to keep yourself from swooning in delight.

“Of course I did,” Namjoon says, or at least, he tries to. He speaks with his mouth full, but luckily you’ve lived with rambunctious males all your life and have learned the fine art of deciphering words even with chunks of food in the way. He successfully swallows the pastry down thickly, and you have to stop yourself from ogling his throat for too long. “You’re my friend, and I care about all of my friends.”

At his innocent admission, your mood is shot down almost immediately, the icy feeling of disappointment running down your back. You’re just his friend, your brain echoes unhelpfully. Your excitement a while ago had been premature––he had only said those sweet words as a friend. At that realization, you drop your gaze down to the pavement, unwilling to show him your sorrow.

Namjoon slows in his walk, noticing your sulking almost immediately. “Hey, you alright?” he asks, patting your back as the two of you stop at a crosswalk. You force yourself not to flinch at his touch.

“Um. I’m fine. Sorry, I just started thinking about the final I have tomorrow,” you lie, keeping your voice steady. The fact that your plan had failed before it even had the chance to begin makes you wonder why you had even thought you would be able to get Namjoon to like you back in the first place. What is the point, when others have tried before you and have failed miserably? What makes you special?

It’s hard to let go though, not with how gentle and kind his touch is as he smooths his hand over your shoulders, rubbing gently. It’s hard to not fall in love with this gigantic dork, with his wire-framed glasses and his ill-fitting flannel shirt. Hell, even the stupid doodle of Yoongi as a worm on his cheek is cute as fuck. Everything about this stupidly endearing genius makes you want to try and try again, even if failure is just around the corner.

Maybe the biggest idiot at the end of the day is yourself. Love really does make all of us stupid, and you are just another victim of one of Cupid’s arrows. That bow-wielding diaper-wearing man can kiss your ass, you surmise.

“Finals suck, but I know you can do it,” Namjoon says with painfully genuine confidence. You ignore the way your heart seizes, biting the head of your fish cake with much more force than necessary.

The two of you cross the street in silence, your forearms touching occasionally as you get closer to the library. You know that Namjoon is probably going to head back there, so you’re about to say your goodbyes and run to your dorm and sing along to some sad Adele songs when Namjoon’s voice stops you once more.

“Hey. I forgot to say a while ago, but I was just about to tell you about Hoseok before we got our bungeoppang,” he says.

You freeze immediately. In those crummy k-dramas, this is always where the girl gets her heartbroken, you realize. Under the streetlamps of a cool spring evening, with no one else in sight. Just you, him, and the remains of your dignity all over the floor.

You brace yourself for the inevitable rejection that you are sure that will follow. You grit your teeth, already rehearsing the jokes you’ll have to say to numb the incoming pain. You’ll have to pretend that everything Hoseok said was just a stupid rumor, that there is no way that you could ever have a crush on him. The both of you will laugh, with him unaware of the way your heart has begun to crumble into tiny pieces with every huff of air you inhale in his presence. You ready yourself, and you tell yourself that you’ll get over it.

But the rejection doesn’t come. Instead, you’re hit by a freight train.

Namjoon is totally serious when he says, “Hoseok told me it was Friday today and that Free Boba Tuesday was three days ago, but I checked my watch and it says it’s February 20, which is a Wednesday. Do you think he was messing with me?”

You gawk at him. You clear your throat. “I-I’m sorry, but what?”

“I’m not crazy, right?” Namjoon pulls out his phone, showing you the home screen where it clearly says the supposed date today. He points at it, finger trembling with an inordinate amount of vigor. “Am I blind? That says February 20!”

Your heart, which once was ready to burst, slowly reassembles itself with frightening speed when you finish processing his words. No, it is not because you have been reinvigorated with the hope of possibly having your attraction reciprocated, but rather, because you can’t believe you have ever decided to give your heart away to a man who didn’t even know that today was, in fact, April 5. Oh my god.

There is absolutely no need to fear that Namjoon might be swept away by someone else, because only you would be dumb enough to have a crush on someone so absolutely, mind-bendingly, idiotic as him.

“Namjoon?”

“Yeah?” he looks at quizzically, neck tinted a soft pink from the cold. The soft glow of the streetlamps gives him a soft halo as he proceeds to stuff his mouth with a large bite of bungeoppang. He smiles through the fullness of his cheeks, dimples ever-present and endearing as they always have been.

Your mouth opens, then closes. Your resolve to confess to him has long since dissipated, but your adoration for him does not waver in the slightest. All you feel is fatigue and a dire need to snuggle into your warmest blankets and dream about fish pastries and a lanky, bespectacled man. Pursuing Namjoon can wait another day, maybe when both of you are a bit more lucid and free from all your pressing assessments. For now…

“Namjoon, I want you to go home and take some rest, okay? If I hear from Hoseok or anyone that you’re still cooped up in that library, I’ll ban you from bungeoppang for the rest of the semester, is that clear?” Your voice is authoritative, but the tenderness in the way you caress his cheek gives you away. Namjoon swallows his bite, blinking owlishly at your sudden display of gentleness.

“O...okay?”

“Good,” you nod firmly, patting his cheek once more and swiping away some stray red bean on his lips. Your fingers burn where they touch him. You step away from him, heading towards the opposite direction. “See you soon, Joon?”

“Y-yeah?” Namjoon stutters out, still at a loss from your odd behavior. “See you, Y/N.”

When you are nothing but a speck of blue amidst a sea of darkness, Namjoon brings a hand to where your fingers had brushed his lips, tapping against it thoughtfully as he stares after where you had been moments ago.

He smiles to himself, shaking his head. “Nice rhyme,” he chuckles, walking away from the library and towards his own apartment. Even with his mind still foggy with math equations and chemistry nomenclature, his heart still manages to do a flip at the thought of seeing you again soon.

Only two finals away.

[onigirii]

MESSAGE. [ guard ] @johtei​​​​

NONVERBAL MEMES. ( closed )

for your muse to step between my muse and danger

IT WAS RANDOM &. UNEXPECTED, occurring in the middle of the night when most of the Kuja population was asleep, vulnerable to malicious intent ; a pirate crew, a pack of men, infiltrated Amazon Lily, inducing terror &. violence in their wake as the onslaught shouted a deafening battle cry with swords in hand, some staying on-board to load their cannons in the island`s direction.

Fortunately, Nezuko was on watch --- a demon child that rises when the sun falls, highly alert unlike those that were on-guard alongside her. As soon as the pirates were on land, on the sandy beaches by the shore, that`s when she &. the remaining guards on night watch took off where the invaders stood, with Nezuko taking the lead among the pack --- quiet, relying on the element of surprise. She was the quickest, with enhanced strength &. vitality as a result of her demonic status. Her goal was ambitious, but she hoped to stop them before they could come close to reaching the Kuja village.

A one-track mind, her vision was red, 'Kill them ... Kill them ... Kill them all.' The mantra repeated in her head like a desperate prayer as she was heaving, practically salivating with rage. Veins protruded furiously from her forehead &. enclosed around her eyes. Tunnel-visioned. Too tunnel-visioned. After all the loss she endured in Wano, after all the months she spent in Amazon Lily ... Nezuko cannot, will not, allow anyone to take her newfound family away from her, never again --- she will protect everyone with her life, a meager price for all that the Gorgon Sisters has given her &. her brother without demanding anything in return. The moment her feet touched the sand, course against her calloused soles, she swiftly removed her long-sleeved haori before her nails made a clean cut through her delicate skin, tearing off flesh, jumping up immediately towards the front-lines the moment her blood began to seep out, spilling onto the numerous faces &. uncovered skin of the unsuspecting pirates as they grunt in shock, a chorus of disgusted groans. Then, a fiery explosion. A grand entrance. Without a second to lose, her blood burst into flames, burning up the men engulfed in a scorching heat, unlucky enough to come headfirst into battle. The display was brutal ; most of them were screaming out a blood-curdling cry as they burned alive. One particular pirate fell to his knees, wheezing his last breath before presumably succumbing to the burns. Soon, the remaining pirates changed their trajectory &. turned their attention towards Nezuko, directing their focus to attack her rather than ambush the village. &. Soon, she was surrounded. She was a threat, a deadly one, &. she cannot be stopped.

Her kick-based attacks were just as striking as her demon art, having trained to incapacitate anyone with one, single swift kick, equally beautiful as it is powerful. A true Boa Hancock incarnate. The resemblance was uncanny as she handled the legion on her own, precise where her foot landed as she aimed for the pressure point on the chest or neck of any pirate that dared to get close to the demon. Before long, the Kuja guards joined Nezuko &. her assault on the invaders, aiding her where she failed. Her rage predisposed her to attack indiscriminately, occasionally aiming for an ally that was fortunately skilled enough to block Nezuko`s kick with ease before piercing the pirate sneaking behind the girl with their lance. Precise, but too sloppy. Her feet were painted red with foreign blood, unable to recall how many men fell by her rage. Her view was not 360 &. her vision was red. She lacked focus.

Tunnel visioned. Too tunnel visioned. Nezuko was too late to realize a pirate had his gun pointed directly at her head --- conniving in his dirty methods to take her out, too far from her reach. &. When she finally did notice his weapon, she faltered, feet planted on the ground as she shut her eyes, bracing for impact --- heartbeat quickened, banging in her eardrums ; she forgot to breathe. Panic ... panicking. The pandemonium increased after the deafening bang of the gun shot.

Then ... silence. Before the loud ringing heightened in her ears. &. Nothing ever came.

Nezuko opened her eyes to find that she was still alive. Still breathing. Air reached her lungs in short breaths.

She saw that Hancock now stood in front of her, her leg in mid-air after kicking away the bullet that was nearly a breath away from claiming her, directing it back at her assailant before it struck him square in the forehead. A grand entrance. "Stay behind me," she heard the older woman command ; at least, the general gist of it. It was still hard to hear with all the ringing in her ears. Following instruction, she did as Hancock said, latching onto her arm. &. Just as quickly as Nezuko took down the front-lines only moments before, Hancock petrified a great number of the invading pirates to stone, undoubtedly lusting after the beauty pirate queen. For those that averted their eyes, she maimed with one, single kick --- the force carried an immense amount of strength to blow out a whirlwind sharp enough to cut a knife. The pirates that once surrounded the demon were now lying on the ground, either dead or paralyzed. &. Hancock did not look down once ; the pirate invaders were unworthy of her gaze. From the distance out at sea, there was an explosion, then another, then another. Consecutively. It seems like Hancock`s sisters were able to immobilize the pirate ships before they sank. Those few that survived surrendered in defeat, clearly unmatched by the Kuja tribe.

If anything, the incident solidified the girl`s hatred towards pirates --- hostile &. inexplicably proud of their cruelty, indiscriminate without rhyme or reason. But more than anything else, she appreciates &. is wholly devoted to Boa Hancock, the only pirate that has ever offered her &. her brother any semblance of kindness. The assault was over &. she can now relax. Hancock then covered Nezuko`s shoulder with the haori she abandoned earlier, enveloping her with warmth. Gradually, the ringing in her ears stopped, &. she was grounded back to Earth. The hard grip she had on the woman`s arm relaxed to a light touch, before sliding down to hold her hand, a soft grasp as a display of her relief with a desire to never let go.

[larryfanfiction]

Cat Owner  AU

🐾 be with you day and night by ballsdeepinjesus (10k)

“Maybe not,” Ed pipes up. “This sounds weird but I have a friend who might be able to help you.”“Is it a priest? I think an exorcism is the only option here, mate.”“Right, so like, remember my kitten Graham?” At everyone’s nods, he continues, “Well when I got him he was a bit of a prick. He was just scared, but he wasn’t very pleasant to be around. So my friend Harry comes around one day to hang out and he just, like, bonds with him. After an hour he had him snuggling in his lap. He’s going to school to be a vet I think, and he volunteers in an animal shelter so he’s got lots of experience I guess. But anyway, he developed a bit of a reputation after that and now everyone calls him the Cat Whisperer.”“You have a friend everyone calls the Cat Whisperer,” Louis says, “And you’ve neglected to tell me this until now.”

[louis inherits a demon cat. harry is a cat whisperer.]

🐾 Won't You Please Come Around by allwaswell16 (5k) @allwaswell16

Harry has lived in London for a month, and so far the only friend he's made is his sister's cat, Mr. Whiskers. When the lock on the window breaks, Mr. Whiskers begins exploring his new neighbourhood a bit too thoroughly and brings back mementos of his escapes.

Or a Valentine's Day story where Harry has a really fit neighbour, and his cat is a thief.

🐾 Olivia by haloeverlasting (7k) @haloeverlasting

There was no rhyme or reason to Louis’ disdain for cats. Harry hadn’t even heard him explicitly say he hated them, but his tone had said it all. He was completely dismissive of cats. This could only lead Harry to one reasonable conclusion.Louis can never meet Olivia.

Harry has a cat. Louis thinks he has a secret husband. It's as ridiculous as it sounds.

🐾 Think How Much Pussy You're Gonna Get by LoadedGunn (8k) @loaded-gunn

They're all coping with the break in their own ways. Liam's learning new skills, Zayn's joined a charity that has him on another fucking continent, Niall's working out, Louis' growing a beard and Harry has a cat.

Two months in, their house is overrun by cats and kittens, Harry is transforming into a feline, and Louis can't get head without interruption. The break is going great.

Or, the canon fic where One Direction go on a six month break and Harry adopts a billion cats and that's it that's the fic.

🐾 hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss by icedwaters (27k)

Louis would like to know when his life became a huge romantic comedy, because he’s starting to get tired of being the butt of every joke. Harry’s already at the club when he, Zayn, and Liam arrive. He’s got on the tightest jeans Louis has ever seen in his life (including his own), and this flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, the buttons mostly undone to reveal the majority of his chest and a few tattoos. Louis’ eyes are first drawn to the big butterfly inked above his abs, then to black lines drawn on his shoulders, partly hidden by the edge of his shirt. He can’t help staring, his eyes clinging to Harry’s exposed skin.

(or louis is a 22 year old photographer in his third year of uni, and harry is his 19 year old cat-loving neighbor.)

🐾 Is it so wrong that you make me strong? by SilverShadow1 (31k)

Harry goes to college and gets comfortable in his skin and thrives. He is majoring in women’s studies, has a cat that he hides from residential life and is the president of the LGBTQ club on campus. During his sophomore year, he organizes a welcome party for the LGBTQ first years and meets Louis.

OR

Harry and Louis meet at university and bring out new sides of each other.

🐾 sweater paws by hattalove (6k) @hattalove

In retrospect, Louis should have grabbed the yarn and run.

also known as the classic tale of Louis's struggle with a hippie boyfriend, a ginger cat, and a lot of wool.

🐾 Are You Missing Underwear? by grapenight (4k) @louiswolves

Are You Missing Underwear? 

Just to keep things brief, my cat has stolen a large amount of socks and underwear from a neighbor. I am very sorry. I live on Cherry Street. If these are your clothes, please call 112-358-1321 I promise I will give them back, I wasn't the one who wanted them, it was my asshole cat.

🐾 you look so good in blue by patdkitten (20k)

“You don't believe in ghosts, do you, Mr. Styles?”

If he's honest with himself, Harry's not sure what his stance is on the subject. So he just smiles and shrugs before leaving. After all, he's never actually met a ghost, that he knows about. Besides, even a ghost wouldn't bring him down on how affordable the rent on the flat is.

Or: Harry Styles hears about a perfect flat from his roommate Zayn's boyfriends and decides to sign the lease. The only problem is: the flat has a reputation for being haunted. It certainly doesn't help that Harry's cat is seeing things as soon as they move in...

🐾 Emperor's New Clothes by sunsetmog (92k) @magicalrocketships

The fact that Louis’s most precious belonging was a cat with a face like thunder and an uncanny ability to cover every single inch of Louis’s clothing with cat hair was something that Louis chose not to think about too much.

or: Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship.

🐾 sugar in a plum by suspendrs (4k) @suspendrs  

“I’m your dad,” Harry says softly, extending his hand to Plum for her to have a sniff. Plum considers for a moment, looks up at Louis, and then bites Harry’s finger.

“Ow!” Harry shrieks, pulling his hand away quickly. He’s not bleeding, but Plum’s teeth are incredibly sharp, he feels like he’s been stabbed with ten tiny needles. “Jesus, Lou, I thought we were getting a cat, not a demon.”

Or, Harry's new kitten is out to ruin his life.

🐾 and you can lie with me with your tiny paws by sopattable (5k) @harrybirthdaytoya

Niall’s door bursts open unceremoniously, and he hastens to grab the duvet to cover himself. “What in the hell, Harry—“

“Louis is a kitten,” Harry says seriously. He’s wrapped in a shockingly short house-coat and Niall refuses to think of how little he’s wearing underneath.

“I know you think he’s cute, but seriously guys you—“

“No, I mean it. Like, I woke up, and Louis was gone. But there was a kitten.” Or, a fic in which Louis is a kitten, Harry is trying to figure things out, and Niall is along for the ride. Shameless fluff and absurdity may ensue.

🐾 meow or never by velvetnoodle  @velvetnoodle (3k)

Harry is having a terrible, no good, very bad day.

He’s holed himself up in the back of the university library, stealing an entire sofa for himself. The fact that no one has said anything to him about it just goes to show how much his feelings must be on display. That’s nothing new; Harry’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. And cried easily. Not that he’s crying yet, but he’s close. It’s been a right shit day, and Harry just wants to go back to his room and bury his face in Evie’s soft fur. Unfortunately, he no longer has that luxury.

When Harry is forced to choose between getting kicked out of student housing or giving up his cat, a moment of self-pity leads to the discovery of a third, and much more appealing, option

🐾 Af-fur-mative by  rainbowslovehl (Larrymateforlife) (2k)

Harry is anxious about the first meeting between his moody cat and Louis.

Other Masterposts 

[t-underneaththeradardancing]

home early ish from playing - the moon all evening  - it mightta snowed in sf last night - i didnt write a thing this morning did i 

a mille -second behind myself - trancing in and out - moon became visible sometime while i played  - tinnitus a bit everything sound brittle i stepped on the cord and unplugged derp - luckily i hadnt even started playing yet - an omen - nah - borrowed acoustic more or less in tune decided not to fuck w it - part of mind on something - else 

no fucking clue i have - thot i waz kinda herky jerky all over the place - forgetting lyrics - the arrangement imma play on watchtower dylan kinda relies on a certain amount of virtuosity - iffy onna coustic fur sure yah i go for it anyway - oh yah i drop my pick on the 1st song - find it quick after over - i do find the mic more often than usual - sing w a confidence that surprises myself considering no idea wat coming outta my mouth half the time - i try and get a groove and do in fits and starts 

3 ppl tell me i wuz better than usual tho nicer than that  

i played - took chances - went somewhere - else - i only go to playing - in glimpses - could feel the audience come along then get confused  - mea culpa maybe not maxima tho 

its been so long since i have played a good guitar onstage  - i  thought about the gibson - truth - holding a light acoustic supported by a strap - i had difficulty climbing onstage - needed to hold something for support - im gaining strength again but never seem to gain all the lost - thinking about more phys therapy  even if i hafta pay  full cost for it - dealing w social security isnt always ez 

still  ‘i feel pretty good but i could feel a whole lot better “ b dylan doncha know sums up more or less 

 i miss playing w others tho  - jim the bass player came by after i played 

thot about the existential and the rice  - wait - had a word play then forgot but it rhymed w - sub wise 4 why’s  

thot about the existential and the y’s  - guys  - but not too much or long  - at least not on the surface  - the uncanny valley of consciousness and un - stream thru - filtered by abstract meetz consensus and all things remembered  - time slips to the future steve miller sing - dont like the song much if only cuz overheard once too often but thats a good line tho i misquoted w some lie sense of the poetic 

roundabout in the grocery - yes - i dont no how to process that serving let me know when they start playing zappa - then i might freak out 

ok if u still reading 

a kitty a good one surely head in the radiator when i come home 

[thesinglesjukebox]

MADONNA + MALUMA - MEDELLíN

[5.00]

More like Madame V, right?

Ian Mathers: Depending on where your personal digital vocal manipulation uncanny valley is Madonna sounds fine, but it's hard not to feel like she's pretty surplus to requirements here. Maluma sounds great though, wouldn't be at all surprised if he gets a boost out of this. [6]

Alfred Soto: Sturdy, dense, and weird, Rebel Heart was Madonna's best since 2005, but pop radio abandoned her and -- at last -- a new generation had no interest in her confessions and prayers. Dependent on programmed cha-cha-cha and Maluma's slithery patter, "Medellín" will change little, I suspect. Credit to her, though, for going Latin electro pop instead of, I don't know, Travis Scott synth mumble. No one else can write twaddle like "We built a cartel just for love." No one else would have nipped and tucked her vocal so opulently. [6]

Thomas Inskeep: I like that this is nowhere near what I expected Madonna to return with: for starters, it's kind of subtle. I feared a Zedd-style "banger," and this is nearly the opposite; you sway to this more than anything. She hands vast swaths of the record ever to Maluma, who sounds almost obscenely sexy on his verses, again helped by the slow-and-low tempo (Madonna and her old pal Mirwaïs produced this, quite nicely). You know what "Medellín" is? Dreamy. [7]

Camille Nibungco: In the year 2019 the only way to stay relevant in the pop music industry is to throw in a A-list Latin/reggaeton artist sp the "Come to Brazil!" Youtube superfans will continue to fund your music career. [2]

Katherine St Asaph: I dreaded more faux-Latin bullshit like "La Isla Bonita," but besides the chorus, this isn't that. What it is instead is weird. Madonna's voice is past overprocessed and well into 2010s Petula Clark unworldliness. The cartel line is getting all the press, but it's also predictable; how about the ouroboros of a rhyme "sipping my pain just like champagne," delivered in all sotto-voice seriousness, or perhaps the unintentional hilarity of this exchange "I feel so naked and alive--" "show me!"? It's all very strange, but not very exciting, a Madonna single with no hooks and no zest. [3]

Pedro João Santos: It's charming how little "Medellín" has to do with the notion of a life-affirming, boisterous comeback, and would rather stay in a more transitional state. Lyrically, the statement is the non-statement, which at times amounts to a disjointed, uneven embarrassment -- the less written about "we built a cartel just for love" the better. The epiphanic narrative Madonna guides us through is lovely, only for her infectious rejuvenation to be compounded by Maluma (who's saved by how delicious his timbre sounds) and his inexplainable, carnal mess of commands including horseback riding (which could never scale the controversy of Madonna's whim to bring horses into a Lisbon palacete -- "I'm sorry, my Queen," her agent reportedly begged after getting the memo). The interaction gets going during the chorus and goes into overdrive with the glorious post-chorus. This is also where Mirwaïs and Madge (who sounds a touch too fragile with all the vocal processing) get smart: taking a reggaeton track and modulating it between the status quo effusion of dembow and -- the weird, best part -- a groggy, luminescent, tentatively tactile parcel of sound, a microscopic mood for -- or that brings it to -- euphoria. [8]

Edward Okulicz: I'm rather partial to Madonna's voice at her most machine-processed (say, "Die Another Day" or "Impressive Instant" -- Mirwaïs is an underrated foil for her) and it's easy to imagine falling into "Medellín" and its soft but deep and inviting groove. But this is a five minute song that's carrying a lot of flab -- all that heavy-breathing-counting, and the verses drag with uninspired melodies and some annoying interjections from Maluma. Of course, when Maluma gets a few seconds to himself, the song lifts, and it's got a serviceable chorus. But inoffensive and unmemorable isn't a criticism for most artists, because most artists aren't Madonna. Is Madonna even Madonna now? [5]

Will Adams: From a distance, it would seem the most misguided aspect of "Medeillín" is that it's a five-minute long lead single released in a pop era where sub-3:00 singles are rapidly becoming the norm. But there's much more to unpack, whether it's Madonna's voice, processed into Jell-O, clunkers like "I sip my pain like champagne," Maluma sounding like he's trying to wrestle the song away from her, or the leaden step-count hook. But perhaps the worst part is that there's no end to all these bad choices, no stakes, and ultimately nothing to care about. [3]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[makerofmadness]

I swear when/if I feel like it I will pair all of these up with fictional characters: 

"Only for the freakiest handshakes."

"Extremely unsettling, and somehow even worse than the regular kind."

"It's chocolate, I swear."

"Ah, yes. These help quite a bit. Somehow."

"Questionable efficiency, but spectacular nonetheless."

"Time is infinite, yes... But what if, nestled within each second, were even more infinities? Every moment an eternity! Think of how many scheduling troubles this solves!"

"Slackers will be terminated."

"Semi-synthetic organisms don't slack off, don't unionize, and have 20% shorter lunch breaks, making them ideal labor fodder."

"If you're bad at something, always do it for free."

"In this house, I guess we don't care much for the laws of thermodynamics."

"It's really quite simple; you make all currency too delicious not to eat, solving world hunger and inflation in one fell swoop!"

"Enough spiritual inadequacy! More divinities than you'll ever need, or your money back! 100% guaranteed!"

"With their ill beat and radical rhymes, these way-hip religious tunes are sure to get all the youngins who thought they were 2 cool 4 church back on the pews and praying for more! Wicked!"

"Haven't you heard? The beard is the word."

"Contain interesting spells such as "Turn Water To Drool", "Grow Eyebrows On Furniture" and "Summon Politician"."

"Eldritch forces are at work behind these spells - you get the feeling you really shouldn't be messing with those. But I mean, free cookies, right?"

"My god. It's full of chocolate bars."

"It's been a long road, getting from there to here. It's all worth it though - the sights are lovely and the oil prices slightly more reasonable."

"Careful with the dosing - one drop too much and you get muffins. And nobody likes muffins."

"Made by people, for people, from people and ready to unleash some righteous scorching pain on those pesky insects that so deserve it."

"Pushing alchemy to its most extreme limits, you find that everything is transmutable into anything else - lead to gold, mercury to water; more importantly, you realize that anything can -and should- be converted to cookies."

"There's no such thing as over-watering. The moistest is the bestest."

"Either something happens or it doesn't. That's a 50% chance! This suddenly makes a lot of unlikely things very possible."

"It's almost like, say, an elder god could fit through this thing now. Hypothetically."

"It turns out that our universe is actually the twisted dimension of another, saner plane of reality. Time to hop on over there and loot the place!"

"That's twice as many seconds in the same amount of time! What a deal! Also, what in god's name!"

"These can uncollision particles and unspin atoms. For... uh... better flavor, and stuff."

"Pierce the heavens, etc."

"When even the universe is running out of ideas, that's when you know you're nearing the end."

"Bask into its cocoalesence. (Warning : may cause various interesting albeit deadly skin conditions.)"

"No giant monsters here, just a whole lot of lucky grass."

"Counter-intuitively, grandmas have the uncanny ability to become more powerful the older they get."

"Tip the scales in your favor with 28 creative new ways to cook the book"

"You've finally become accepted among the local leprechauns, who lend you their mythical luck as a sign of friendship (as well as some rather foul-tasting tea)."

"A substance that displays useful properties such as fractal sweetness and instant contact lethality."

"[cursory flavor text]"

"Forever eating its own tail and digesting itself, in a metabolically dubious tale of delicious tragedy."

"Well now you've done it. Good job. Very nice. That's 3 galaxies you've just converted into cookies. Good thing you can hop from universe to universe."

"The answer, of course, is a definite maybe."

"Huh, was that always there? Whatever it was, it's gone now. And what was behind is yours for the taking."

[marginalgloss]

to cleave the sea

Gene Wolfe wrote a story called The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, which in turn enabled him to put it out in a collection earnestly labelled The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories. As a literary joke this is rather fun. Was it only a joke? The more I read into Wolfe’s fiction the more sure I become that for this author nothing is ever really just a matter of wordplay. Later he wrote stories called The Death of Dr. Island and Death of the Island Doctor, both of which are also featured in this collection. All three are quite different in style and apparently unrelated.  

In The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, a boy comes upon a paperback novel in a drugstore. The boy has the pleasingly odd name of Tackman Babcock, though he’s mainly referred to in the second person singular — as if he were you, the reader. 

Tackman is fascinated by the book:  

‘The covers are glossy stiff cardboard, and on the front is a picture of a man in rags fighting a thing partly like an ape and partly like a man, but much worse than either.’ 

Jason, the older man he’s with, says: ‘That’s camp. Did you know that?’. Is it camp? Tackman doesn’t really know what this world means, but in this context it would seem to be Jason’s way of dismissing what he sees as meaningless frippery. 

The story unfolds at first in direct quotation from the books: a somewhat butchered version of The Island of Dr Moreau, complete with a sinister vivisectionist and his half-human, half-animal creations. It is not long, however, before those characters become part of Tackman’s world in a very immediate way. Jason is not his father, and there is something strange going on at the costume party that evening.

The story assumes a shape which is somehow comforting, even through the chaos. Adult life is complicated, even incomprehensible, to you; but a white man’s adventures on strange foreign soil somehow make sense of it all. The story has it all — even pleasant moral platitudes, like ‘the evil are always foolish in the final analysis’. It is an appealing balance.

And it ends on a strange note: a sudden tragedy — or a sudden crime — and Doctor Death at the boy’s elbow, reassuring him that when he starts reading the story over again the characters will resume all their old roles. You’re too young to realise, he says, but it’s the same with you. The dominance of these archetypes is eternal, it seems. It’s hard to decipher whether this is a promise or a threat. 

***

The Death of Dr Island works a little differently. It is a science fiction story, though that much takes a while to become apparent: at first it appears to be about a boy on a desert island. His name is Nicholas Kenneth de Vore. Something has happened to Nick. Paragraphs of description are peppered with uncanny details: initially he emerges into the world via a hatch; his body is marked with traces of sutures; he hears voices which seem to come directly from the flora, fauna, and waves. 

Sometimes he screams: 

‘His screaming was high-pitched, and each breath ended in a gibbering, ululant note, after which came the hollow, iron gasp of the next indrawn breath. On one occasion he had screamed in this way, without cessation, for fourteen hours and twenty-two minutes, at the end of which a nursing nun with an exemplary record stretching back seventeen years had administered an injection without the permission of the attending physician.’ 

And he is not alone on the island. There are at least two others there: Ignacio, a violent and unpredictable older boy, and Diane, a strange young woman with whom Nick becomes involved. The island is part of a facility designed to contain the mentally ill. Nick has been through surgery to separate the two sides of his brain. 

What is this story? It’s a wild, strange, linguistic safari. Wolfe’s prose has a tendency to skip lightly along, as if he had written it out then carefully excised every alternate excessive concrete detail. He seems to encourage that feeling of being slightly lost. At its best it is mysterious, but sometimes it is slightly confounding. Writing about this now I find myself slightly at a loss to explain what this story is about, or even approach a satisfactory description of it. 

The story ends with Nick destroying the island — with the literal death of the thing, Dr Island. Is it a metaphor for how fighting against mental illness sometimes entails the destruction of the system of treatment itself? I don’t know. There is an elusiveness here, a resistance to interpretation, that makes me think of Nabokov in its playful textual manipulations; but also writers like Cormac McCarthy in terms of that muscular, allusive, dark, and wholly American style. 

***

Death of the Island Doctor is only a few pages long. It describes a retired professor, a man ‘a little cracked’, who is given the opportunity of running a seminar by his university. His name is Dr Insula and he asks to teach about islands:

‘I may also decide to include isles, atolls, islets, holms, eyots, archipelagoes, and some of the larger reefs…it depends how they come along, you know. But definitely not peninsulas.’

It is not especially clear whether this is intended to be a history class or a literature class. But at first, the question turns out to be irrelevant; the university awards the course no credit, and so of course no students attend. Insula goes on teaching his none-existent class for six years until, by a happy administrative accident, it is awarded a tiny amount of credit, and two students show up. 

They are a young man and a young woman, and since it is only them they go to his house to receive the seminar. He serves them tea, and talks to them:

‘He told them of Lucian’s travels to Antioch, Greece, Italy, and Gaul, and this led him to speak of the ships of that time and the danger of storms and piracy, and the enchantment of the Greek isles. He told them of Apollo’s birth on Delos; of Patmos, where Saint John beheld the Apocalypse; and of Phraxos, where the sorcerer Conchis dwelt. He said, “‘to cleave that sea in the gentle autumnal season, murmuring the name of each islet, is to my mind the joy most apt to transport the heart of man to paradise.’” But because it did not rhyme, the young man and young woman did not know he was quoting a famous tale.’

He gives them homework, too: Dr Insula tells them to take a little boat to an actual island, a specific place in their locality. He instructs them to come to their next meeting prepared to describe what it is they found magical there. And so they go, and nothing at all of note happens. The reader knows, I’m sure, that when the young man and young woman return for their next seminar they will find that old Dr Insula has since died; but how much more mysterious for him to be found sitting in the old boat in his garage, as if to set out to sea again one last time. 

This is one of Wolfe’s more comfortable stories, I think. In some ways it is gently conservative. It has a tone reminiscent of Calvino or Borges: that sense of a bibliophilia beautiful for its own sake which regardless becomes a sort of mental prison, a labyrinth of its own making, in which the protagonist is never quite sure if he is Theseus or the Minotaur. Dr Insula will never do anything again other than teach this non-existent class. He there in perpetuity. I don’t know if there isn’t something horrifying about this. 

Hope is manifest in the young man and young woman. (They are pointedly described as ‘young’ throughout.) The final line implies that they formed a relationship, and that later they came to realise Dr Insula wasn’t wrong about the island at all. It’s an echo of the final lines of The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories — a reminder that life frequently happens in spite of our best intentions, and that the shape of our lives tends towards archetypes which we find reflected in fiction and myth.

[septic-dr-schneep]

JSE Fanfiction - Just Around The Corner

Summary:  Anti, just like the other Egos, always looks forward to the holiday season, especially Christmas. For him, the fun begins as soon as the clock strikes December 1st. For the rest of them, that's when they need to brace themselves for whatever the Glitch has planned to make them suffer.

Jackieboy noticed something wasn’t right as soon as December 1st rolled around. Whereas Anti would—should be prowling into the kitchen for his breakfast of bloody meat like any other day, today he strode into view with a spring in his step, one which set off several of Jackieboy’s internal alarms. The rest sounded the call as soon as the Glitch peered around at the other Egos, his fangs bared in a smile.

“H͞a̶pp̢y ̵holi͝day͜ ̷season̵,” he purred, his voice crackling and breaking with a much more noticeable amount of static than usual.

The older Egos didn’t answer him, of course. They could scarcely dare to wonder what he meant by those words; their minds were already racing for an explanation of his optimism, but they couldn’t help being distracted when Jameson made the mistake of tipping his hat in response to the “well-wishes”. Chase gave Jameson a warning look, but it was too late; the young gentleman’s gesture had caught Anti’s eye.

“At least so̸m͝eone͡ here has s҉ome͢ c͢ommon co̶urt̵e̴sy̷,” he remarked, his smile widening as his head tilted. A glitching half of his head stayed contorted, flickering against his shoulder even when he moved, flinging open the fridge and grabbing his meat plate, strolling casually back out to eat alone.

“JJ, Anti doesn’t deserve you being polite around him. You may not remember it, but he tried to attack you when you showed yourself to the fans. He’s evil,” Chase began in his firm “dad voice” to Jameson as Jackieboy glanced uneasily at Marvin.

“Okay, I know he glitches more and more as the holidays get closer, but that was worse than usual,” the magician announced what they were both thinking. “He shouldn’t be like that until…what, two weeks from now?”

“That’s how it was last year, but you know him. He likes to keep us guessing,” Jackieboy mused grimly, moving to sip his coffee and then hesitating when he noticed how Schneep’s cup was shaking between his hands. “Hey…” he murmured, reaching across toward him. “This doesn’t mean—”

“He did not need a holiday to attack me,” Schneep reminded them shakily. “Take me away from you for weeks ’till you find me…It was August. There was no reason, rhyme…What if it’s like that for one of you? Chase, last year—it was nothing for Anti to poison his eggnog, was it? He spent Christmas in hospital!” Looking a bit ill, he peeked down at his coffee and abruptly pushed it away. “And the year before that, he sabotaged my sled…I nearly break my neck, and I’ve heard of the year before, when he tried to strangle Marvin with the tinsel—”

Marvin winced at the memory, instinctively tugging on the knot to his cape, and Jackieboy growled, “That’s not going to happen again. We’re all gonna be safe because we’re gonna protect each other with everything we have.” Schneep didn’t look convinced, so Jackieboy softened his tone, explaining, “That’s the difference between then and now, Henrik: last year, the year before that, the year before that, not all of us were here. Now, I can’t think of a better group. We know what he’s capable of.” He looked around the table, meeting each pair of eyes and concluding emphatically, “Not even Anti is strong enough to take on all of us.”

***

Seeing as all of them had been rather unsettled by Anti’s “holiday cheer”, the next few days were spent on edge and their nights were spent sleeping very lightly. As such, it was no surprise that Jackieboy immediately lunged upright in bed, reeling back a preemptive fist, as staticky strains of “Silent Night” echoed through the halls.

Not so far away, Schneep stared with terrified eyes toward the door of his lab, his late-night reading falling through his fingers to land with a thump on his desk.

Chase, meanwhile, curled tightly into himself and covered his head with his blankets, not quite waking but sensing in his subconscious that something was wrong.

Marvin padded gingerly out of his room, his wand casting the dim hallway in an eerie green glow. Every shadow, any shadow, could very well be Anti, taunting him with a game of hide-and-seek. Who was seeking who? The music, hauntingly slow, continued looping as Marvin crept through the tunnel of darkness just outside the light’s reach. That was when he felt fingers brush the back of his arm. Yelping, he whirled around, already poised with a spell—only to slump in relief when he found the wide-eyed Jameson standing behind him.

“Oh, it’s you! Make some noise when you’re coming, why don’t you?!” he hissed. He knew JJ’s aura would have canceled out any noise the gentleman might have made, but at the moment he was too high-strung to care about semantics. Jameson didn’t object to it either; in fact, he didn’t mince any words, as he might have under any other circumstance. His sepia speech slide was bright in the darkness.

“Marvin, is this Antisepticeye?”

Marvin blinked at the question for a moment or two, startled by it. It was uncanny…He forgot about Jameson sometimes. Not the man himself, of course, but sometimes he forgot that Jameson was new at this. It was only now, with his hands wringing in front of him, moustache twitching nervously, tousled hair hanging in front of his eyes, that Jameson looked his age.

At last, with a sad smile falling onto his face, Marvin sighed, “Don’t you worry, JJ. You’ll learn to sense it. When it comes to things like this, it couldn’t be anyone else.”

Jameson looked as if he was about to reply, but a squeal of static stopped both him and the music. As soon as the last echoes of “Silent Night” faded away, Jameson looked back to Marvin with cautious anticipation.

“It’s stopped…” his slide stated the obvious.

“That doesn’t mean he’s done,” Marvin warned, moving to skirt past him but unprotesting when Jameson spun around and clutched at his arm, keeping pace with him. The pair of them scoured each room of Egos Central again and again until dawn broke, but they found nothing.

***

A few days later, Chase pried his eyes open with a struggle, wanting nothing more than to sleep for another few hours. A promise was a promise, however; he was going to spend this morning helping Marvin decorate. Jackieboy had left to patrol the city in the wee hours, he knew, and they were planning to surprise him with a Christmas message on the top of the roof, one he would instantly see when he flew home.

He would get to show Jameson how it was done, he realized, and that thought made him pick up the pace just that much more. As he flung open his door, however, he stopped up short just before tripping on something that had been left outside his door.

Bewildered, he crouched, picking up the beautiful white poinsettia and examining it from every angle. When he found the small golden card peeking through the leaves, he couldn’t help but wonder if his kids had insisted their mother send him a gift. That was something they would do. The calligraphy printed on the card did say, “With Love from Me to You”.

The signature underneath it was as sloppy as a child’s, but once Chase deciphered the first two letters, he dropped the card and the plant as if they had burned him. Leaping to his feet, he sprinted down the hall and round the corner, only to see Marvin standing motionless outside his door, an identical white poinsettia at his feet.

“Marv,” Chase gasped, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “Anti—”

“I know,” Marvin murmured, gesturing to his left with nothing less than revulsion. “Jackie got one too. I wouldn’t be surprised if—” The door to the lab slammed only a moment later and Marvin winced. “That’s what I was afraid of. Chase, check on Jameson; I’ll try and calm Schneep down until Jackieboy can take over. I’ll see if he can come home early; we need him.”

It wasn’t too surprising that they had all received the strange gifts, Chase discovered when Jameson met him halfway between their rooms, thrusting the plant out helplessly for him to examine.

They ended up surprising Jackieboy with quite a different message when he got home, but as much as they poked and prodded and pulled at them, there was nothing special about them as far as they could see. If Anti was giving them, there had to be a reason. What could he gain from this? Was it just to make them paranoid?

“What should we do with them?” Chase asked quietly as Jackieboy paced the length of the kitchen. “I…don’t think he’d appreciate it much if we threw them away.”

“Set them right where you found them,” Jackieboy ordered tersely. “He’s playing some sort of game and if we skip our turn, he’s bound to take it for us.”

Thus decided, they planted their gifts next to their doors and left them there—ignored, but certainly not forgotten. A light coating of dust fell over them and the cards that went with them ended up smudged and sticky on the floor as the Egos walked over them. Four days later, on December 11th, Chase stepped in another sticky substance. It was a dark puddle, one which he recoiled from immediately as he glanced wildly toward his poinsettia.

It was still white in some places, but others were now stained red—dripping red.

Chase bolted, leaving streaked, bloody shoeprints in his wake, but before he could even stretch out his hand to bang on Marvin’s door, he was shocked to find that both his and Jackieboy’s poinsettias were still purely white. When he looked further, toward the lab, Schneep’s was untouched too. Jameson’s was unstained as well.

Why him? Chase wondered frantically as he pommeled Marvin’s door in an effort to wake him. Why him? Why him?

***

Three days later, on December 15th, he was no longer alone. Schneep’s explosion of panicked German could be heard in every part of the house and for once, none of them had to wonder what he was saying.

***

On December 18th, it was Marvin’s turn.

***

December 21st, Jackieboy came unspeakably close to punching a wall when he found the same, and his red boots were stained an even darker red.

***

On Christmas Eve, Jameson was quivering where he sat on the couch between Schneep and Marvin, staring wordlessly at the sullied plant he had set on the coffee table. There was no explanation for it, no taunt, no attack…They had hardly seen Anti at all this month and during whatever fleeting glimpses they had gotten, he had been glitching and fizzing so violently that he was practically intangible.

All they had were bloody plants.

“I…I don’t know what we’re supposed to do about this,” Jackieboy admitted at last, his gritted teeth making it clear that he hated admitting his helplessness. “I can’t pound him into the ground if I don’t know where he is.”

A long silence followed these words, but eventually Chase ventured weakly, “T-Tomorrow’s Christmas. I know this isn’t like other years, but…he’s never hurt us on Christmas. All we can do, at this point, is try to salvage it, right?”

No sooner had he spoken those words did the first notes of “Silent Night” begin to play, very low and muffled, as if they were almost out of earshot. Bare seconds later, the noise faded back out, and the group shared a moment of sheer astonishment.

“Call me crazy,” Marvin breathed, “but I think he might’ve just agreed to that…”

Chase huffed a small laugh and Schneep quietly slid an arm around Jameson, who looked significantly more reassured, ducking his head in relief.

Jackieboy wasn’t about to buy that for a millisecond.

***

Christmas Day passed without incident. Jackieboy did his very best to enjoy it the way the others did; there were a few precious moments when he was able to keep his attention on them, smiling at their reactions to their gifts and accepting their hugs of gratitude, but it wasn’t where his attention ought to be and he knew it. The game wasn’t over. It was never over and they had taken their turn by enjoying their holiday. It was Anti’s move.

One by one, they made it through the stockings…the gifts…the dinner…the cleanup…and, at long last, their goodnights. Each of them wanted nothing more than to stay with the others and hold onto the lingering warmth and joy of Christmas Day, but eventually they all had to sleep.

None of them would, for each returned to his room and froze dead in his tracks when he saw that the stained white poinsettia had vanished—replaced by a big, beautiful red one. Jackieboy clenched his fists so tightly that his palms bled inside his gloves and he lifted his head slowly as his enemy assembled himself across from him.

“It’s al͜mo̡s͞t ͡t͝i͘me,” Anti chuckled, playing with his knife and shifting his weight back and forth. “Are you r̢ea̶dy̸ to rin̢g ̶in t҉h̨e New ͡Y͝ea͘r? I wonder what’s w̶ai̕tn҉g̸ just around t̴h͢e cor̢n͝er…especially for t͜͢h͏a͟t̢ J̛͘a̵m̡͜e̕͠͡ş̡o̴͡n.”

“I wonder,” Jackieboy agreed venomously. “What I do know is that if you come anywhere close to him, I’m going to hunt you down and it won’t matter if you try to glitch your way out. I’m not going to stop until I shove my fist down your throat so far and so fast that I cauterize that nice little slash of yours from the inside.”

Anti laughed again, sounding almost impressed with the threat, and then his form convulsed and dissolved into nothingness. He wasn’t gone; Jackieboy could still hear his static buzzing around the room, circling him, predatory, and the hiss that followed was mocking.

“No, ͟yoų ͝won’t, hero. ͡You'͘re j̧us̵ţ l͝i͘ke ̡th͞e҉m. You'͟l͏l jus̴t ͜wa̷tch̷.͟”

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 7: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A 120 piece puzzle in a large oak box, inlaid with jet. The pieces are made from different pieces of rock crystal and quartz, that form an abstract pattern when assembled.

A 7 sided die made from magnetic wood

A badge from a forbidden order of fallen paladins.

A bag of very large hazelnuts.

A belt pouch filled with cleaned sloth claws.

A belt pouch filled with cleaned sloth teeth.

A bit of malleable, red metal that generates constant, soft static noise

A blood-stained set of manacles.

A blue blade shard that hums. If a creature holds the piece for long enough they will start hearing voices that urge him to kill and claim souls for it.

A blue sash cut from perfectly hydrophobic cloth.

---Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

---Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A 120 piece puzzle in a large oak box, inlaid with jet. The pieces are made from different pieces of rock crystal and quartz, that form an abstract pattern when assembled.

A 7 sided die made from magnetic wood

A badge from a forbidden order of fallen paladins.

A bag of very large hazelnuts.

A belt pouch filled with cleaned sloth claws.

A belt pouch filled with cleaned sloth teeth.

A bit of malleable, red metal that generates constant, soft static noise

A blood-stained set of manacles.

A blue blade shard that hums. If a creature holds the piece for long enough they will start hearing voices that urge him to kill and claim souls for it.

A blue sash cut from perfectly hydrophobic cloth.

A bobbin of thick string with which it is impossible to tie knots

A bone clip inlaid with gold that resembles the teeth of some long dead rat.

A bone ear peg fashioned from the tooth of a desert tiger.

A bottle of clear liquid whose flavor changes to match whatever you most desire

A box of twenty oddly shaped stones in different shades of red that can be used like chalk but never run out

A box of wooden toothpicks that each have a different and sometimes strange flavor

A brass bracelet stolen from a very minor deity, whose holy symbol is etched on the inside of the band.

A bronze insignia of rank from some long-forgotten military force.

A bundle of ripped and torn links from a chain mail vest. They seem to glow with a royal brilliance, but do not emit any actual light.

A cameo pin which displays a woman’s skeletal visage in relief.

A candle that never goes out in high wind and must be deliberately snuffed out.

A cat skull whose shape was warped by fel magic

A ceramic coin minted by a long dead merchant house

A ceramic jar of ointment made from animal fat and various herbs that protects from sunburn or frostbite when smeared on the skin.

A ceramic tile that etches itself with strange markings whenever someone speaks to it

A ceremonial wooden short sword that is bestowed upon gladiators of the nearby kingdom, who won their freedom through combat.

A chunk of a strange green glass. Occasionally dark patterns seem to swirl below its surface.

A cleaned skull of a dire chipmunk

A cleaned skull of a dire squirrel

A clear gemstone that seems to reflect back an oddly distorted view of whoever looks into it.

A clear glass cup that changes the colour of any liquid poured into it. The colour shift randomly but the user can start and stop the shifting at will. The liquid will revert to it’s natural colour five seconds after leaving the glass.

A cloth mask that gives anyone who wears it itchy hives for one hour

A coin of purple metal, etched in strange runes

A coin stamped with the profile of a man that changes each month

A crystal that glows and pulses in time with the heartbeat of anyone holding it

A curious looking pair of goggles with the words “Property of Ice! DON’T TOUCH!” scrawled into the side.

A curved blade fashioned from a jaw-bone designed for cutting fat from meat.

A dagger’s hilt. The pommel is carved in the form of a lion.

A dog skull whose shape was warped by unholy magic

A doll-sized sword of masterwork quality. It is useful as a razorblade.

A dozen small stones in a narrow, tin box that burst with vibrant colours when tossed into a fire

A drum made from animal hide that creates a hollow, echoing sound when struck.

A dwarven iron bracelet inscribed in runic dwarvish “Our bond is that of metal”

A eight-inch length of invisible steel cord

A face mask made from the tanned skin of an orc.

A faded writ of trade from the city-state of Kurn

A feathered arrow embedded in a perpetually frozen potato.

A fire drake scale that is always warm to the touch

A good luck charm bracelet made from the teeth of a giant lizard.

A good luck charm made from the skulls and bones of three small corvids tied together by leather cord. Each has a symbol painted on them - the symbols are life, death, and fortune.

A handful of small metal tiles that taste good but are inedible

A large dried, hollowed gourd filled with dried herbs and vegetables. If an amount of boiling water is poured into the gourd, stirred gently and left to sit for a few minutes, the result is a tasty and nutritious vegetable soup.

A large, tattered flag with silver, green, and black stripes.

A leather eyepatch with a cat’s eye painted on it.

A leather eyepatch with a goat’s eye painted on it.

A leather eyepatch with a stylized eye painted on it.

A leather eyepatch with a wolf’s eye painted on it.

A leather pouch containing a board etched on one side and a dozen coloured pebbles used for a popular local game.

A leather pouch containing a handful of dried beetles. When crushed and added to saliva they make a bright blue pigment.

A leather satchel containing twenty-seven marbles.

A long arrow, with the tip hollow as if it once contained a message.

A map carved onto the back of a piece of hide that seems to show to location of a hidden oasis, however there is what looks like a cloud of smoke and a skull etched beside it.

A mirror made from polished stone. Occasionally when it is used a demonic burning face can be seen staring back out of it.

A mithral key about six inches long.

A model bronze weapon rack with six detachable polearms. Each is three inches long and decorated with a red horse-hair tassel.

A much-loved child’s doll embroidered with gold thread. It’s been through a lot.

A one-foot length of silver cord with both ends neatly cut

A one-inch square of folded black paper that can be unfolded until it becomes a three-foot square of paper

A one-inch tall pewter elf soldier, armed with a shield and longsword; the base reads “4 of 7”.

A pair of bone dice with a different card based gambling game on each side.

A pair of bone dice with a different colour on each side.

A pair of bone dice with a different constellation on each side.

A pair of bone dice with a different type of alcoholic drink on each side.

A pair of bone dice with a different type of sexual position on each side.

A pair of bone dice with the arcane rune of a different school or type of magic on each side.

A pair of bone dice with the holy symbol of a different God on each side.

A pair of bone dice with the symbol of a different melee weapon on each side.

A pair of drum sticks made of oak

A pair of stone dice with the coat of arms of a different noble family on each side.

A palm sized crystal with a face that bears uncanny likeness of whichever creature is currently holding it, etched in its center

A pencil-on-paper schematic of a crossbow-like contraption of tubes, triggers and optics.

A perfectly round black obsidian orb two inches in diameter.

A perpetually wet whetstone.

A piece of crystal that lightly vibrates

A piece of stone on which someone has expertly engraved a portrait of a young man.

A pipe made from the leg bone of an animal. When played it creates a series of high-pitched shrieks.

A portrait of a figure sitting astride one of the Great Desert Worms. The portrait changes over time so the figure resembles whoever possesses it.

A pouch containing dried brown grass that when, smoked it gives off a pungent spicy aroma.

A queen piece from a chess set with a hidden compartment. Inside is a human finger bone.

A scrap of hide engraved with the first half of a child’s nursery rhyme.

A scroll that chronicles the adventures of Zhataru, an infamous thief of legend who vanished mysteriously.

A set of chimes made from hollowed bones. When hung up on a leather cord they make a low whistling sound when the wind hits them right.

A set of colourful glass beads on a silken cord, designed to be worn as hair ornamentation.

A set of leather saddlebags with two concealed pockets inside them.

A set of stone divining tiles used by shaman for foretelling the future.

A set of wood and leather sandals that appear sized for a halfling, gnome or small child.

A signal horn that was made from the twisted shell of a burrowing creature.

A sloth’s tooth on which is etched the image of a halfling village

A small bone statuette taken from the nearby shrine of a minor God of a Random Evil Domain

A small bottle filled with dark sand from the Black Desert

[corvidprompts]

Hey! I've got a question, if you wouldnt mind helping me out a bit. So I'm writing a short horror story. How do I maintain a sense of background suspense and tension while my two main characters are just doing normal things? the story starts with a brief glimpse of the antagonist's perspective, then transitions to a thirdperson narration of the two characters. I want to maintain a background of slight suspense during this so that the transition later back to horror isn't so jarring. Any advice?

Bruh. I got you. Ish. this isn’t my genre exactly but it certainly is @smolkitsuneposts and she’s been tormenting me for weeks.

(i swore a lot in this tutorial. forgive me)

Basically the trick is to keep things feeling just on the edge of too normal- my favourite trick is to use too many fucking adverbs, and to give just a little too much descriptions- this makes everything feel hyperaware, like the characters are taking in too much stimulus from the outside world so they can react to something.  

You ever notice in horror movies, especially old hitchcock films, that they’ll zoom in close on something, or linger just a little too fucking long on some inane detail? Do that. The Lottery (you know, the short story where someone is stoned to death to appease a farming god?) Opens up with an absolutely excessive amount of detail on how nice a day it is. My english prof was like “This? This here, where the author is telling you everything is fine? Never, ever trust that.”

Make sure all the inane details you really leave your focus on are relevant later- spend three pages describing a bland cafe that’s just on this wrong side of uncanny valley? That cafe is later where someone gets murdered. Loud gasp! Or something. All of a sudden that shiny chrome countertop is stained and ugly.

Speaking of which- since you’re doing a third person narrative, the speaker can foreshadow shit. X had a habit of leaving xir car keys in odd places, and Y was forever warning xir about losing them under the fridge, beneath the counter, or some other hard-to-reach spot.

Later on, of course, the car keys are absent and hard to find just as X needs them. Have you ever read The Fall of the House of Usher? Fucking Poe spends a good page and a half describing an unseen fissure in the house, and then at the end has the house completely destroyed.

Don’t name characters- leave everyone but the most absolutely essential characters unnamed and undescribed. It’ll leave your main characters feeling isolated and alone even in like a supermarket or some shit. That said, make sure there are other characters around, they’re just empty and background (again, in the lottery very few characters are given a first and last name. One of them is the unlucky winner, of course)

I like to use the counting crows rhyme right before big events in my stories- right before a key scene my main character notices crows, and the number corresponds to this old poem. People who know the poem get a hint, but those who don’t can still pick up on the fact that something’s going to happen. The Godfather movie does the same thing if I remember correctly- whenever you see oranges, someone is either about to die, or about to almost die. Pick a thing and have your characters talk about it right before an event.

*crow noises*