#everything inside sparks so much joy these are just the top of the list given that rits and asaka are the only mfs in my head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-last-kenobi · 4 years ago

Note

Bro I’m sorry but I just love your stuff 💀 “why didn’t you run when I told you?” Qui Gon and obi wan? And like angst x50 :>

I’m so flattered that you enjoy my writing this much!

Angst x50...?

Oh, I think I can do that. At least I hope so.

(Sorry this is so late work has been absolute hell)

From this various prompts list. (Requests are currently closed)

There’s a mission to Naboo.

The mission turns into a trap, turns into a Republic-altering conflict.

The conflict leads them to a boy, and the boy is the Chosen One.

The Chosen One saves them, and in return they save him.

Along the way they encounter a long-dead foe from eons past, a nightmarish predator snarling in their wake as they flee towards the hope of safety.

There is a battle that threatens to turn into war, and the Chosen One clings to a Jedi Master’s side, his only hope in this world of terror and upheaval.

It is a long chain of winding and unexpected events all linked so closely together, and Qui-Gon is determinedly trying to keep them in order, to keep his serenity as the galaxy teeters on the edge, and he focuses on what he must. He centers on Naboo and on Anakin.

The Sith may come; he will deal with that if it does.

The Council may try to prevent him taking Anakin, and this too can be dealt with later.

All else is detail.

The Sith does arrive, and he and Obi-Wan rise up together to meet him, determined to prevent whatever chaos he intends to sow.

A kick that misses its mark, an uppercut violently parried — Qui-Gon worries, bombarded by his concerns like they are hail swirling around him in a fierce storm and he alone remains still at the center, trying not to lose his footing — a flurry of blows, and then Obi-Wan receives a brutal kick that sends him falling over the edge.

Qui-Gon’s heart leaps into his throat, but Obi-Wan catches himself on the ledge and hauls himself back up, rejoining the fight in seconds. And still, still, what will the Council say about the Sith, what will they say about Anakin, why is the Sith here on Naboo, why is there a Sith at all?

Serenity.

He clings to it.

He is the elü-tree, bending in the winds but not broken by them, a lonesome green thing in a world of rain.

He and his Padawan pursue the Sith all the way into a corridor filled with red ray shields that snap open and shut on a too-quick cycle, and somehow, Qui-Gon finds himself just a little too slow, not quite quick enough, and there is a barrier between himself and the other two.

It is just one barrier. It will fall in time.

They must finish this quickly, save proof for the Order, return to the battle above, protect young Anakin—

And then Obi-Wan falls.

Qui-Gon blinks and misses it; one moment he is staring through the last ray shield and meditating on what he must do, and the next moment his Padawan is curled facedown against a wall, motionless, his lightsaber extinguishing and rolling away from his limp fingers.

The Sith chuckles, stooping to retrieve the weapon, and he looks up at Qui-Gon, still trapped behind the next barrier.

Qui-Gon is rooted to the spot, unable to move, to breathe, to think.

He can’t tear his eyes away from Obi-Wan, and a surge of terror so strong it obliterates all other thoughts surges through him, and he needs to see Obi-Wan’s face, needs to reach him—

The barrier falls.

Qui-Gon surges towards his Padawan, his chest tight with fear, only to be blocked by the swing of a very familiar blue blade.

The Sith has ignited Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and he stands mere feet away, swinging his own staff in one hand and Obi-Wan’s in the other, laughing at him.

Qui-Gon tries again to reach his Padawan and again he is prevented by a slash of the blue saber, and this time it gouges a burning scar in the pristine flooring, a visible mark between himself and his apprentice. Qui-Gon leaps to his full height and lunges at the Sith, rage blossoming inside his fear.

Obi-Wan remains crumpled against the wall as his Master flings himself into battle, and Qui-Gon is constantly, painfully aware of him, frightened by his own desperation.

For a moment, though he tries, he cannot even remember the name of the boy from Tatooine.

The Zabrak swings upwards unexpectedly with his saber staff collides with the very top of the hilt of Qui-Gon’s despite his attempt to dodge, and there is a flash of brilliant green light and flickers of flame, and Qui-Gon collides with the wall. His head strikes metal and he sees stars - and through them, the Sith stalking towards him, both sabers raised.

He bares his teeth in a feral grin and considers both lightsabers with exaggerated care, and finally lowers his red double-bladed weapon and raises the blue one he stole from Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon is about to die at his Padawan’s blade, and he has failed so utterly he cannot comprehend it.

And inside his head, his thoughts are singular but frantic, darting about in a panic like a bird caught in a net, beating its wings in futility- Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan—

It’s as if he’s summoned him.

Obi-Wan appears out of nowhere, white to the lips, his blue eyes blazing to rival the glow of his stolen lightsaber. He has no weapon, but he flings out his hand and clenches it into a fist, and the Sith is yanked backwards violently as if an invisible hand has taken hold of his collar, and the blue lightsaber misses Qui-Gon by inches.

Howling, the Zabrak rounds on the defenseless Obi-Wan, who steadies himself, a slight grimace crossing his pale features and his eyes narrowed against the bright lights of the room.

“Obi-Wan—run—” Qui-Gon gasps out.

Neither of the other two seem to hear him.

Qui-Gon struggles to get to his feet, but there’s a scattered, blistering pain across his stomach and chest, and his head is throbbing at the point where it struck the wall, and his heart is still going much too fast —

— and still, still, all he can think now is Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan ducks and weaves, playing light on his feet, facing an opponent that has already bested his Master and who wields two weapons, and he looks so damned calm, while Qui-Gon feels drunk on fear, fear as he hasn’t felt since Tahl, or perhaps he’s never felt it quite like this, watching his student risk his life like this with no way to help—

“No, Obi-Wan!” he barks out, forcing the fear from his tone, inflicting all the stern command he can muster. “Go find the others! Run!”

And for the first time since Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan Kenobi ignores a direct order.

He spares a moment to look at his Master, and the strangest thing happens.

He smiles.

It’s all kindness and understanding and the flash of dimples, hand in hand with a deep affection in his blue eyes, and there is so much joy and so much sadness in this one fleeting expression that Qui-Gon is left baffled.

“Padawan!” he cries, forcing himself to his knees as the room spins and as he does so Obi-Wan stumbles. A blood-red saber severs his left arm just above the elbow.

Obi-Wan screams, and Qui-Gon screams too, or thinks he does, trying in vain to make his vision settle.

Qui-Gon staggers to his feet and falls again, to his knees, and the Sith turns his head. The Zabrak keeps the tip of his red saber staff an inch from Obi-Wan’s chest as the boy pants for air, clinging to the stump of his arm. But the Sith smiles again, and raises Obi-Wan’s saber once again to point at Qui-Gon’s throat.

He’s kneeling like a prisoner presented for the execution, and he has nothing to offer, no plea for life, nothing with which to protect himself or his apprentice.

Silence falls.

It drags on for several seconds that feel like an age, and Qui-Gon stares up at the blurred image of the Zabrak’s face with vague confusion, waiting for the death blow.

Instead he watches as the Sith crumples to the floor.

And when he falls facedown, Qui-Gon can see the broken, sharp-tipped remains of his broken lightsaber hilt buried between the Sith’s shoulder blades, still spitting sparks.

And behind that, Obi-Wan, his remaining hand raised and trembling, staring at what he had wrought.

The world tilts.

Then tilts again.

Qui-Gon cannot find room for pride at the boy’s ingenuity, because the Sith did not fall without lashing out one last time — and there is a burning hole in Obi-Wan’s tunic, and Obi-Wan has been run through.

For another few moments everything is suspended, and they might as well be frozen in carbonite for all they are able to move.

Obi-Wan does not fall this time.

This time he sighs, too deep and too long, as if all the air is leaving his lungs at once, and he walks forward on shaky legs to kneel before his Master. His right hand - his only hand - comes up slowly to grip Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

Qui-Gon stares at him, hardly able to breathe himself.

“Obi-Wan,” he says softly. The name comes out broken and fragile as spun glass, already webbed over with cracks, and he can’t stop thinking of how in all the chaos and upheaval of the last few weeks he somehow forgot to factor in Obi-Wan, actually forgetting for a moment in the Council chambers that he owed the boy anything.

Expecting him to follow, as always.

Why hadn’t Obi-Wan fled? He had ordered him to run. Almost begged him.

But Obi-Wan had stayed.

Obi-Wan had lost an arm.

Obi-Wan was dying.

“…Padawan,” he says, and his voice strains to breaking point.

The boy’s eyes and lips flicker in the ghost of a smile, the shadow of that strange, desperately sad smile he had given him before, and then Obi-Wan’s hand slides off his shoulder and he slumps forward, his arm dangling down his Master’s back and his head coming to rest against the crook of his neck.

This is where all sense of reality leaves Qui-Gon.

An hour ago it felt like he had been dueling the fates themselves, holding somehow to the reins of destiny on a path only he could glimpse.

He knows that somehow, he cradles his grown apprentice in his arms like a child and somehow he carries him all the way back to the main level of the palace, and somehow he staves off his own collapse until after someone with kind eyes and a professional smile has settled the barely-breathing Padawan into a medical bed.

He wakes a day later with the shrapnel removed from his abdomen and the damage to his skull on the mend, and Obi-Wan is like a corpse kept alive by machines and by the desperate thrumming of the small, hopeful bird that still says Obi-Wan Obi-Wan Obi-Wan Obi-Wan.

There is a treaty and a celebration.

There is a meeting with the Council and grave discussions of the future and the peril of the Sith.

There is an exception made for Anakin Skywalker and the boy is moved to the Initiate’s wing under the comforting arm of Shaak Ti, who has volunteered as his mentor, another exception made for the maybe-Chosen-One.

There is silence hovering over Obi-Wan like a shroud.

The Healers talk and talk and talk and then they realize he is not listening and so they let him be, with small shakes of the head and tired sighs that he does not, will not see or hear.

He waits by Obi-Wan’s side whenever he is not busy elsewhere, which is always, because there is so little for the injured Jedi who was nearly slain by a Sith to do after everyone has heard his story ten times over.

He holds Obi-Wan’s hand, his only hand, sometimes.

Other times he finds himself counting each bead in the Padawan braid, trying to remember where they all came from and how he came to earn them. He is relieved when he finds he knows each story.

He knows so much about this boy.

This almost-Knight.

But he has so many questions, too, and so he waits and waits for Obi-Wan to wake so he can answer them.

There are many days of waiting.

And then there are many more.

They move Obi-Wan back to their shared quarters at Qui-Gon’s insistence. Obi-Wan is Knighted at the Council’s insistence. Qui-Gon requests that they leave the braid until it can be properly cut. The Council does not argue.

Anakin stops looking to him for a friendly greeting when they pass in the halls. There is something pitying in the way the small boy looks at him now, something strangely knowing, yet also judging.

Qui-Gon struggles to care.

He’s still waiting for Obi-Wan.

There are many things for them to discuss.

There comes a day when the russet haired slumberer takes a breath and then does not take another.

The dutiful Master stands at the pyre with his cowl drawn high and his face in shadow, barely more substantial than shadow himself, a phantom tethered to life by a singular purpose now gone.

An old friend catches him by the arm after the embers fade and the ashes are scattered, and Mace Windu says to him, “Whatever it was you wanted to ask him… you must let it go.”

The words are gentle. But urgent.

“I cannot,” replies the phantom. “I need to know.”

“Obi-Wan would not have wanted this for you,” says Windu fiercely. “This is not what he died for.”

There is care in those words. An affection for the long-gone boy that Windu felt and still feels, but it doesn’t matter because the bearer of that affection is ashes.

“I don’t know what he would have wanted,” answers the other. “I did not get to ask him.”

“Is that what you wanted to know?” A trace of pity. “What Obi-Wan wanted?”

Qui-Gon pauses to collect his thoughts.

There is by now a very long list of questions he has — had — for Obi-Wan.

But there is just one question that he wants the answer to, but is too afraid to ask, would never have asked even if Obi-Wan had opened his eyes and righted the galaxy with his simple presence.

Why didn’t you run when I asked you to?

“I wanted to ask him,” Qui-Gon says at last, “why he smiled.”

fin

117 notes · View notes

seungmvnnie · 4 years ago

Text

Ravenclaw!Renjun x Slytherin!Reader

word count; 2.7k words (longest one yet, my bias really do be showing)

warnings; *very* suggestive kissing, female reader, bullet point au, unlike the other fics in this series, this one is pretty much entirely based on the build up to the relationship and has little about the characters together, enemies to lovers au. also i researched year 7 DADA content for this to make it realistic so never say i dont put effort into my writing ahahaha

Huang Renjun had been your enemy the second you had stepped foot into your first class at Hogwarts

It was only natural; you both came to school, bright eyed and ready, with the expectation and aspiration to be top of the class

you had read through and memorized all the books on the provided reading list before you had even boarded the train - everyone thought you were made to be a ravenclaw which is why it was a bit of a shock when you were sorted into Slytherin, but you supposed it was your ambition

you had planned to become the youngest minister of magic there had ever been since you were 4

which meant going to Hogwarts, achieving the highest grades and being top of your year, becoming prefect, head girl and going on to work in the ministry and work your way up

little did you know, Renjun also had big plans

to ruin your perfect record

the very first lesson you had with him; you hadn’t even noticed the quiet ravenclaw who sat behind you

that was until the Professor asked a question and he had stated the answer so confidently, you almost flinched

you had answered the first few, which was why his voice interrupting was so shocking

you hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to open your mouth

you knew the answer of course, you just weren’t as quick as he was

which is why the next time your Professor asked a question, you made sure to get there first

it continued like that the whole lesson, a vicious back and forth game of who could answer first

you enjoyed some healthy competition and all, but it was like he was purposely trying to annoy you

the final straw was when you turned around in your seat at the end of the class to glare at him and he had that stupid smug smile on his face that you learnt to despise over the next few years

ever since then, everything was a competition to you two

and everyone at Hogwarts knew it

quidditch

house cup points

you name it, you’ve had an argument over it

neither of you even played quidditch but you would still argue with him about how Slytherin was better

you even once partook in a particularly heated game of wizard chess that ended with a flipped chess board and a few choice words being shouted at each other

there were many people that Renjun didn’t like but you were the only one that could make him flip a wizard chess board in rage (Although, if you asked him he would say you were the one who threw it)

wizard chess was banned after that

everyone hated you for it

this competition was helpful to an extent; you were top of the class in most classes, except the very, very few in which Renjun had beaten you

your days were spent in the library, cramming as much as you could, the desire to beat Renjun outweighing your need for sleep or basic human needs

needless to say he was the exact same but you both made sure to sit as far away from each other as humanely possible in the library

you could honestly say the best day of your life was when you realized that you had made prefect and he didn’t

that got held over him for a good two years

then again, Renjun could also say that he beat you in your O.W.Ls, so it evened out

when you started dating Han Jisung in 6th year, who was another Ravenclaw, you had him reporting back Renjun’s grades in the classes you weren’t in with him

you both competed for who had the least amount of detentions given - you had 2, which were both caused by the few times your competition had turned physical and you had shot a few jinxes at him, and Renjun had 5, two from his incident with you and the other 3, a result of his unfortunate friends

which meant both of you had pretty much squeaky-clean records

you attributed your near perfect grades and having the best record in your year as the main reason why, the summer before seventh year, a neat little green pin with, ‘head girl,’ had arrived in the mail

of course, you were happy that your parents were proud of you, but you felt a vindictive joy knowing that you had something new to hold over Huang Renjun

That was until, you showed up on the first day to the first prefect meeting on the Hogwarts express and were met with the one and only Huang Renjun, the pin on his chest sat bright blue with ‘Head Boy,’ proudly etched into the metal

according to the pale look on his face, he hadn’t expected you to be Head Girl either

Professor Lee, the Headmaster, seemed to recognize his mistake almost immediately, considering he had two teenagers debating each other in his office before the school year had even started

“You can hardly expect me to work with him-”

“Of course, you can’t expect us to work together, I actually know what I’m doing-”

“Know what you’re doing? You weren’t even a prefect you poser-”

“You’re right I wasn’t, but I’m still smarter than you!”

the Headmaster had silenced you both with a wave of his hand, before you could retaliate with the fact that you’re beating him at potions, what does he mean, smarter than you?

“Okay. If you can’t work together, that’s fine. However, I expect one of you to make the mature, adult decision to step down from your position, not push the other one to resign.”

You looked at each other

there was no way either of you were going to do that

He stared at you both for a moment, before sitting down calmly at his desk

“I chose you both because of your maturity, exam results and impressive behavior these past 6 years. I would appreciate if you both put aside this feud and worked together for your student body.”

You stared at your hands, refusing to look at Renjun as shame gnawed at your chest

“Now, back to your dormitories.”

And so you were stuck with him

you thought that perhaps, Professor Lee’s words of wisdom would create a newfound maturity

but no, he was the exact same annoying little shit he was before

just this time, he had authority

As Head Boy and Head Girl, you were required to do prefect duty late at night together

which essentially meant you both had to walk around Hogwarts late at night on a Friday and Saturday and make sure no one was out of bed and wandering the castle when they shouldn’t be

you spent those nights in an awkward silence

you wished you could split up but you had to walk around together for, ‘safety reasons’

realistically you thought that schools were meant to be safe to walk around late at night by yourself but Hogwarts is just built different

as head boy and head girl you were given the most hectic two days of the week as well, which meant you had broken up more parties than you were comfortable to admit

you had even caught your boyfriend at a few parties, but you discreetly avoided giving him detentions

he couldn’t say anything though, he had let off Donghyuck and his girlfriend when you had found them making out

speaking of which

the amount of times you had caught a half-dressed couple attached to each other was just kind of gross

the amount of time you spent with Renjun was starting to defrost you both a little

not a lot though; just simple things like how you would ask him how he found the potions homework

sometimes it would spark an argument, but you could now have a conversation without some sort of spiteful remark

you kind of had to; otherwise you were just left in silence

your time spent together was usually uneventful

until the weekend of valentine’s day

that Saturday was valentine’s day and the day of a hogsmeade trip

Jisung had asked you to go, but you had an important Herbology exam on Monday, not to mention you had to be alert for prefect duty so you couldn’t be running around Hogsmeade

he had seemed annoyed, but he had always known how much your future meant to you

it seemed Renjun had thought the same because the only people in the library, or it seemed the entire castle was the two of you

prefect duty that night was the least awkward it had ever been

he had even said something that had made you laugh

however the lack of awkward tension between the two of you counterbalanced with the awkwardness of having to check every single broom cupboard you happened across as, as you had expected, many people had been affected by valentine’s day

what you hadn’t expected though, was to spot your boyfriend leaving the Gryffindor common room, hair disheveled and his t-shirt on inside out

“Jisung? What are you doing out of bed at this time?”

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights

“Sorry, the Gryffindors were throwing another party again. You know what they’re like,” he laughed awkwardly

your eyes flickered down to the red and purple bruises which littered his neck

“I didn’t put those there. You were cheating on me, weren’t you?” You asked so matter-of-factly, that Renjun was somewhat taken aback

you were using the voice you used to answer the teacher or argue with him

you didn’t seem emotional at all

Jisung looked like he wanted to pretend, but his face fell into a tired, yet annoyed look

“Can you blame me?”

You blinked at him

“Yeah.”

“Your whole life is dedicated to another person, (Y/N).” Jisung gestured to where Renjun stood

“No it’s not! Don’t be so ridiculous.” You had scoffed

“You didn’t go out with me today because you wanted to beat him in a test and be awake to spend time with him.”

“That’s not true!”

“You didn’t spend time with me on my birthday because you couldn’t miss a prefect meeting or Huang would hold it over you. You made me spy on him, and he tried to get me to spy on you too. Ever since dating you my life has just been this whirlwind of Huang. You do realize everyone in school thinks you’re in love with each other!”

He was shouting at this point

You looked at him, unable to argue with him this time, but the coldness in your eyes refused to budge.

“That doesn’t give you the excuse to cheat. I’m breaking up with you.”

He rolled his eyes

“Fine. At least now you can fuck Huang to your hearts content, considering the whole school is already betting on it.”

Before you even had time to react, Renjun had shot across the hallway, raising his fist and, with a sickening crunch, broke his nose

“Renjun!”

You grabbed his arm, pulling him back before he could do anymore damage

“Go to the hospital wing, Jisung.” You instructed

He glared at the two of you before swinging on his heel and leaving

you and Renjun didn’t look at each other for the rest of the night

or the next few weeks after that

Jisung had told everyone what had happened

he kind of had to, the bruising around his eyes gave away the events of the previous night

the whole school were watching you and Renjun intently, now that they knew how he had punched Jisung for you, thinking that this was finally it

you were finally going to get together

but you didn’t interact at all

not even to correct each other in class

the truth was, both of you were deliberating your feelings for each other

Jisung was right

you had told yourself that everything you did was for your career path, but why then did you have such a hyper fixation on Renjun?

you did well in life without your on-going rivalry with the Ravenclaw

was it just petty stubbornness? or was Jisung right in thinking that it was because of some other reason?

You found yourself staring at him in some of your classes

he was good looking, there was no denying that

but did you like him like that?

Renjun had been having the same internal battle

why did he suddenly find it in himself to punch Jisung in the face?

that was incredibly unlike him

just the way he had spoken about you and to you had made him so angry

the year flew in, and soon it was June and you still hadn’t spoken to each other

It wasn’t until your very last day doing prefect duty that the silence was broken by you

“How’d you think you do on your exams?”

he looked at you, shocked. You hadn’t spoken to him in 5 months.

“Uh- good. I go stuck on familial curses on the Defense paper, but I think I did okay in the end.”

“Oh, I wrote that the spell needs to be tied to the bloodline as opposed to the surname.”

“I thought it was that you had to tie it to the surname, because it doesn’t count as a blood curse?”

“No, because if the caster doesn’t understand familial relationships it doesn’t work, any first year could understand that.”

He went quiet for a moment before mumbling,

“I’m going to cast a goddamn familial curse on you in a moment.”

“Why are we like this?” you asked, stopping your walk to pause for a moment in the middle of the hallway

He stopped too, but he refused to look at you

“You started it...” He grumbled, staring down at his feet.

You rolled your eyes

“Why did you punch Jisung?” You asked blatantly

His head shot up in surprise

“Why did you have Jisung spying on me?” He challenged back, taking a step forward

“Why did you have Jisung spying on me?” you repeated

you both fell silent, and only then you realized how close you had gotten

you didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered down to your lips for a moment

“If you’re going to kiss me, kiss me. Don’t pussy out now.” you uttered, your words sharp and cutting

“Oh, shut up.” He replied, rolling his eyes

“Make me.” You challenged

Grabbing your waist, he pulled you to his body, colliding your lips with his violently

you let out a muffled sound of surprise, not expecting him to follow through, but upon feeling the smile which had grown on his face at your shock, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you

you couldn’t let him win, not after the past how many years of sexual tension

your lips competed in mess of sloppy kisses, his hands moving down from your waist to your hips, pushing you against the wall in the hallway as yours moved to the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of his hair, using the way he gasped at the feeling to deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth

you let out a shameful groan at the feeling of his body pressing against yours and almost whined when he pulled away

your lack of contact didn’t last long, as he attached his mouth to your neck, biting down sinfully

you threw your head back against the cool stone wall which felt deliciously cold against the the heat of Renjun to allow easier access to him as he continued to suck marks into your skin until-

“Renjun?”

You practically threw Renjun off of you, ignoring how erotic the sight of his mussed hair and swollen lips were

in front of you stood the two hufflepuff prefects, Zhong Chenle and a girl who’s name you could never remember, staring at you

the girl seemed shocked, but Chenle simply had raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk on his face

you had forgotten him and Renjun were friends

“You do know I’m going to have to give you both detention for making out in the hallway. By your rules.”

Renjun rolled his eyes

“New rule. We’re the exception.”

280 notes · View notes

evandearest · 4 years ago

Text

The Garden of Eden | Part II: Reflection

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (2/4)~

Summary (Part Two): When memories are all that clouds your vision, how do you begin to break cycles and live in the present? Can you overcome your irrational fear when paradise is only a memory of long ago? Living through hell can make or break you.

Warnings (in this part): Slight PTSD, that’s all I would say.

Word count: 3,586

Notes: I’m so excited to be posting this! This part is quite a bit longer than the last one. I absolutely loved writing it though! Be on the lookout for many metaphors, biblical references, and *reflective* events. This part is complex in many ways, and a lot of things tie into one another. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!!

Also a side note, if you’d like to be on the tag list for this series just let me know!

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

An odd feeling settled upon you as rays of sunlight blinded your eyes. Something wasn’t right. You couldn’t exactly pin it down, but all you knew was that you felt calm. Calm was not a part of you, as much as you portrayed to others that it was. Spending nearly ten years with a man you didn’t trust could do that to you.

The bed underneath you was soft, the scent in the air surrounding you lavender. You wondered for a moment where you were, your heart jumping as your eyes glanced around you frantically. That’s when you remembered: you were in James’ hotel. James’.

Your nerves lessened when you thought about James, a small smile curling your lips. As soon as you had arrived at the hotel, he insisted that you get a room to yourself to get the best rest possible. He’d even sent his maid to give you a basket of everything lavender to help you sleep: candles, essential oils, soap. He practically spoiled you the minute you arrived. You couldn’t deny how good it felt, though. You felt like a queen.

You sat up in bed, wondering where the man pervading your thoughts was. You glanced at your side table, noticing the vase of white roses immediately. When had those gotten there? The tiny card leaning against the vase caught your attention in particular. You reached for it and opened it. The small note was in James’ neat handwriting, reading:

“Good morning, darling. Gather yourself and meet me in the lounge. I do hope my accommodations suited you. Yours truly, JPM.”

You smiled, your curiosity spiraling at the thought of what he had planned for you. You quickly jumped out of the bed, going to the bathroom to get ready. You noticed immediately of all the things in this bathroom that weren’t normally in hotel bathrooms. There were tons of beauty items for women that most men don’t even know exist. You knew it was James. He was so thoughtful, giving you anything you could possibly need and more. James had taken the time to be sure you had everything. Your heart fluttered at the thought, excitement settling within you. James really did have everything, and now you had James. You knew it was going to take a long while before you were used to this luxurious treatment, but you weren’t complaining. You’d dreamed of living this kind of life since you were merely a child.

Once you had showered, gotten dressed, and did your hair and makeup, you were ready. You smiled at your reflection. James had picked the most fashionable clothing to put in your closet, and you simply loved having a reason to dress up in general. But it wasn’t even about you, in reality. You wanted James to see how much you appreciated everything he was doing, so you were going to make sure that you put all he gave you to use. It was all for James. You were going to spend every second doing as much as you could for him. He had saved you, after all. You couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if James hadn’t arrived when he did. That was the worst argument that you and Robert had ever had.

You scolded yourself for thinking of Robert. You needed to focus on now, on the new life you were beginning. You couldn’t just shake it off, though. You still felt the need to be vigilant, to walk on egg shells. You sighed. You didn’t want to be in a bad mood today, of all days. James needed to see how much you appreciated and cared for him. You took a deep breath. Just focus on now, you told yourself, before taking one last look at your reflection.

When you entered the lobby, you were surprised to be greeted immediately by James’ maid, Miss Evers.

“Right this way, Ms. Y/L/N,” the woman smiled, gesturing with her arm for you to follow. She made her way up the stairs, you following behind curiously. It was as if she was escorting you somewhere. Your questions weren’t left unanswered for long, however, as you found your answer at the top of the stairs.

The entire bar was empty, which seemed odd compared to it’s usually bustling atmosphere. The dining area was decorated to the brim with white roses, all surrounding a table in which had plates full of fruit, pancakes, eggs, and many other breakfast foods. You gasped quietly at the extravagance as your eyes landed on James, who stood in front of it all, hands clasped together politely as he awaited you. He smiled at the sight of you.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted, walking over and offering an arm to you. You stared at him in disbelief for a moment, a wave of déjà vu coursing through you.

You remember you were so excited. Los Angeles was a gorgeous city in it’s own, and you felt so lucky to have been born in a city in which held so much opportunity. You were merely fourteen; barely old enough to even think for yourself, but you’d always been smart. Your mother had assured you of that since you were born, always putting your education above all else. She’d told you, “One day when all the distractions of young age are gone, you’ll realize why you need to be prepared.” You hadn’t understood why then, but the words had always stuck with you. It was one of the first times that she had trusted you on your own. Most of the time, she had always put her fear for your safety first, but on that day she had given in to your pleas.

She had let you walk to the garden of white roses, three blocks down, by yourself. When you thought about it now, you realized just how defining that moment of your life was, because what happened when you got to that garden had changed your life forever.

White roses had always been your favorite flower, ever since you had first passed that blooming Southern California garden at three years old. The owner was a tiny sweet elder lady, gracious and elegant as ever. She had owned the garden her entire life; it was her pride and joy. She’d always welcomed polite visitors, and if she caught you, she’d tell you all about the flowers, and how special they were. She said that they had brought to her all of the pleasantries that her life held; love, wealth, and even an eternal feeling of youth. That’s why she never picked or sold them, she said; “if you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.” Some people said that she was a witch; you just thought she was sweet, maybe a little kooky, but nice nonetheless. You had grown to look up to her.

When you had arrived at the rose garden on that day, however, you were greeted with a new presence foreign to you. The boy stood as still as a statue, his eyes raking over his surroundings. Based upon his height and physical appearance, you had assumed that he was about the same age as you. You watched him as he picked a rose from the bush, bringing it up to his nose to smell. You approached him quietly.

“If Mrs. Smith knew you picked one of her flowers, she’d claim treason,” you said, catching the boy’s attention. He looked at you in bewilderment.

“Where did you come from?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sneaky,” you said jokingly with a teasing smile. He blinked, his confusion still evident. “But seriously,” you continued, “you better hope she doesn’t see you. She doesn’t like people who disturb her flowers. In fact, she’d probably curse you.” At that, the boy smirked.

“Is she a witch?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Some people think so,” you replied, walking closer to him. “If you ask me, I think people should listen to her. She’s very intelligent.” You nudged his side, watching him to gouge his reaction. He raised his eyebrows, watching you carefully.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for one, she’s ancient. That gives her some credits. For another, she grew this garden, and she’s experienced much more than most people. You should hear her stories.” You smiled as you plucked the rose from the boy’s hand and twirled it between your fingers, admiring it.

“She sounds fascinating.”

“She is.” After a moment of silence, you looked up at him, only to catch his eyes. You smiled shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“James March,” the boy said, offering his hand to you.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N,” you introduced yourself in return, smiling up at him.

There was another moment of silence, the both of you just staring at one another. James suddenly took the rose from you again. He pulled a knife from his pocket, your heart stuttering slightly at the sight of it. But James didn’t try to harm you, he simply chopped the stem of the rose off. His hand came up to your face as you smiled nervously at him.

“I think your wrong,” he said, tucking the rose in your hair behind your ear. He stepped back, smiling softly at you. “See? Sometimes even dying flowers can serve a beautiful purpose. It’s a sacrifice. Sacrifices aren’t evil.” You paused, a shy blush forming on your cheeks at his actions.

“I never thought of it that way,” you whispered, reaching up to tuck the rose more firmly behind your ear. You smiled at James, a weird feeling you’d never felt before settling upon you. His simple action and thoughtful words had made you excited in a way you’d never known. It had created a spark; a strong urge inside of you that was almost indescribable. And as you looked in his eyes, you wanted nothing more than to relive that feeling over and over again. You swore you’d never let him go.

Suddenly, you were looking at his face again, but this time much older.

“Darling, are you alright?” James asked, and you blinked quickly, your focus shifting present.

“Yes,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you realized just how deep into the memory you had been. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” he said, studying you. “Are you sure you feel pleasant? You were quite far gone, I called your name several times. Did you rest well?”

“Yes, of course,” you said quickly, reaching out to clasp his hand tightly as you smiled reassuringly. “I promise. You just surprised me, is all.” James nodded, seeming fairly convinced, before smiling and gesturing towards the table.

“Alright darling, well why don’t you sit and eat something. A proper meal should do just the trick.” You smiled and nodded back at him, moving to sit in your chair that he pulled out for you. Once you were situated, James moved to sit across from you at the other end of the table.

“I wasn’t sure what you enjoyed most, so I instructed Miss Evers to make several morning dishes,” he said, grinning at you. “I hope it’s suiting for you.”

“Of course,” you said, placing a few items on your plate. A few minutes passed as you ate, your mind drifting back to last night’s events in the silence.

“Are you happy, my love?” James suddenly asked, snapping you out of your thoughts once again.

“Yes,” you replied quickly, smiling at him sincerely, “yes of course!” You could tell from the look of concern still on James’ face that he wasn’t convinced. You sighed, deciding to just be honest with him. “I just... it’s difficult to process how my life just changed.” You paused, watching James closely for a reaction. He stared, waiting for you to elaborate, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I’ve been alone for so long, living a horrible, unhappy life. I’m happy now, with you, but I can’t just turn that feeling off, that feeling that this moment is fleeting. It-- it terrifies me...” You trailed off, your mind wondering as you stared at the roses around you. The roses that James decided to decorate your breakfast with. The roses that had ultimately brought you together in the first place. The roses that James kept bringing around for you. Your roses. You turned your attention back to James, your eyes meeting his.

“These flowers, why did you pick them?” you asked him seriously. A look of confusion clouded James’ expression.

“Well,” James started, “I suppose they have some semblance to us, darling... these were the very flowers--”

“Of course, I remember...” you trailed off, thinking of what to say next. “But really, there has to be more to it...” It came out as more of a question than a statement. You just didn’t understand why he was bringing up all of these memories.

“Of course, dear,” James said, sighing. He looked you in the eyes, and you could see the sincerity there. “I knew you wouldn’t recover in a day, a week, a month, even a year...” he paused, his eyes downcast at the tablecloth. “I just hoped that by reminding you of what we can be once again will help you settle. My only wish is to make you happy...” he paused again, his eyes shifting back up to meet yours. This time you were met with certainty. “I want to take us back to that time. To that garden. To when we flourished the most even if the rest of the world was, well...”

“Hell. The rest of the world was hell,” you finished for him, your eyes teary at his sweet sentiment. James, however, faltered slightly at your words. You paused, taking note of the way he cringed at the mention of hell, before you reached to grab his hand, squeezing it tightly, lovingly. “Thank you James.” Your voice held so much emotion, and at that, James stood before walking over to you and pulling you out of your chair and into his embrace.

“Darling,” James whispered into your hair. You hummed in response, burying your face into his chest, breathing in his manly scent. You clasped onto him tightly. “Whatever may happen, I promise I will never let you slip from my grasp ever again... you shall never be afraid again. I would give everything away just for your happiness. You inform me and I will have it done for you, whatever you may need.” It was a firm promise, and you knew he meant it. James didn’t make empty promises. Your chest felt as if it might explode with love and adoration for this man. He really did want to give you the world. He really was your heaven... your God.

-♥-

After you had finished breakfast, James had insisted that he take you on a tour of the Cortez, and you weren’t going to turn him down. It was his pride and joy, and regardless, it was the most gorgeous place you had ever stepped foot into. You were nearly finished, with only two more floors to explore, when James started acting strange.

“James, what’s wrong?” you asked, placing your hand on his arm. He grimaced before looking at you nervously.

“Well, you see...” he trailed off for a moment, his voice hesitant. You began to get concerned. “These floors are still under slight renovation...” You giggled at his words.

“James,” you said sweetly, “it’s okay, I’m not afraid of a little dirt.”

“Well, no, that’s-”

“I’m serious,” you interrupted, giggling once again. The elevator dinged as you reached your destination. You smiled before taking his hand and leading him out. He sighed, still looking standoffish.

James had been telling the truth; there was a particular section of the hallway in which there was a wall being built, but it was small. You didn’t understand what he was so nervous about.

Suddenly, a loud shout rang out through the hallway, causing both you and James to flinch in surprise. There was a sound of commotion and James quickly walked towards the scene; you following closely behind him.

“What’s the issue?” James demanded someone standing at the back of the gathering crowd of men. There was a sound of someone groaning in pain. You stood at a distance away, more interested in the small white rose twirling between your fingers.

“One of the construction workers collapsed, sir,” the man informed him. At this point you’d lost interest, zoning in on the pretty rose in your hands. James barked a few orders at the men, but you weren’t really paying attention.

You looked up as James returned to you.

“I apologize for the interruption,” James said, obviously irritated.

“What’s the problem?” you asked, confused.

He paused, looking at you softly, “I thought that may have worried you.”

“Men get hurt all the time,” you said passively.

“Of course...” James trailed off, looking slightly confused, which made you confused. What did you do? Were you supposed to be worried? You brushed it off, smiling at him expectantly.

“Ready to continue with the tour?” you asked him, turning your back on him. You began walking back down the hall, glancing behind to see James following you. You rounded the corner, only to run into someone unexpectedly.

You stumbled backwards, nearly tripping. Luckily James stabled you before you hit the ground. You looked up, your eyes landing on a beautiful blonde woman. You paused, studying her, before a realization dawned upon you. You’d seen this woman before.

You remember her distinctly, for she was the person who had ultimately made you lose all hope. James’ wife, Elizabeth. You’d seen her all that time ago when you had first tried to escape your husband. She’s the woman that had made you believe James didn’t love you anymore.

When James had come back for you, you’d assumed that his relationship with her had failed. So why was she here?

“Why, hello,” the woman said, glancing between you and James, a weird grin on her face. She looked at James. “And who might this lovely lady be?”

You turned to look at James, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. James’ jaw was clenched as he stared at Elizabeth, and right there and then you knew he didn’t like her.

“It’s okay, James,” she purred, her smirk never leaving. “I’m not offended. We both knew it was never going to work.” She turned to you. “You must be Y/N. I’m Countess Elizabeth.” She offered a hand to you, and you took it gracefully. James was disturbingly quiet beside you. You decided to take the ropes.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you replied smoothly.

“What’s all the commotion down the hall?” Elizabeth asked curiously. You could tell that she had some kind of ulterior motive, otherwise she would have moved on.

“Nothing important,” you replied nonchalantly. It was the truth. You didn’t feel the need to be competitive with this woman anymore; you knew who James stood by, and you trusted him. You turned to him, intertwining your arms together. “James here was just giving me a tour. I hope you don’t mind?” You smiled politely at Elizabeth. She paused, her expression one of slight surprise. It seemed to be a strange look on her.

“Of course not,” she said through tight lips. “You two have fun.” You smiled at her kindly once more, before you and James continued on, arm in arm.

Once in private in the elevator, James turned to you.

“I have to say,” James said, smiling at you, “you handled that well. You do know that Elizabeth was... shall I say, challenging you?”

“I know,” you said, smiling at him reassuringly. “But that’s the thing: she was the one challenging me. Obviously she thought she had something to fight for. I know what’s mine.” James expression morphed into one of surprise, and then pride.

“Of course you do, dear,” he said, smiling down at you. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The kiss was loving and at the same time slightly rough. You loved how James could make you feel like this; so powerful. After a heated moment, he pulled away.

“Darling, despite your present confidence in the matter,” he began, “I’d like you to know that regardless of Elizabeth and I’s history, she will never compare to your glamour. You truly are a revelation like no other.”

You smiled once more at his words, thinking back to that day in the garden once more, and to your mother’s words. The feeling you had now was a reflection of the feeling you had then. He’d always made you feel so incredibly self-assured. You felt like no matter what happened to you and James, nothing could break you at this point and time. And your mother had been right: gaining the knowledge was important.

Now that you’d ate the fruit of the garden and survived hell, what could possibly stop you?

You felt invincible, so long as he was by your side. You no longer feared the past or the future; you were completely centered present, all cycles broken. And it had took James less than a day to make you feel this way. Your excitement soared as you thought about your future with James. You knew that so long as you had him, you were unstoppable together. You were gods.

You didn’t need the garden, after all. Paradise lost stood no match to you, because with James, you could survive anything.

---

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

55 notes · View notes

onecanonlife · 4 years ago

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 5,895

Chapter Warnings: swearing, violence, blood, choking, attempted murder, manipulation, and references to past abuse

Chapter Summary: Wilbur and Tommy speak to Dream. It doesn’t go fantastically (though Wilbur does beat him up, so there’s that).

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Six: hide your soul out of his reach (ii)

Most people never think to guess that he is Technoblade’s brother.

There is a reason for that, of course; they are both adopted, for one thing, and they look nothing alike, which is why he used to like to say that they were twins. It was always funny, to watch Techno roll his eyes and get all exasperated and try once again to explain to him that that’s not how twins work, Wilbur, and it would always make him feel warm inside, because no matter his irritation, Techno never quite got around to saying that they’re not.

But whether by blood or no, he is Technoblade’s brother, and he has something of the Blade in him, something of his simmering rage, something of his inclination toward violence, the urge for blood howling in his soul, screaming at him to protect what is his.

And so.

“Hi, Tommy,” Dream says. “It’s good to see you,” and Wilbur is moving without having given himself permission to do so, a wordless snarl curling in the back of his throat. For a moment, he forgets where he is, forgets what he’s here for, forgets who he has at his side. His attention is focused on one thing and one thing only, and he launches himself forward, and the sudden sting in his knuckles as they impact porcelain is nothing in the face of the grunt that Dream lets out, surprised and pained. A crack rings through the room, and he withdraws his hand to see a new break in Dream’s mask, a new fracture, and nothing is so satisfying as the knowledge that he put it there.

Dream is staggering back, seeking to regain his balance. Wilbur regards him for a moment, his head strangely clear, and then decides not to let him.

They go down in a heap, Dream’s head bouncing off the hard obsidian floor with a gratifying thunk. Wilbur lands squarely on top of him, and his fist flies once, twice, three times. Into his mask, over and over, and the cracks widen, and the mask is breaking, and he wants to see it shattered, wants to see it come to pieces—

There is someone saying something, someone shouting. He’s not paying attention. They can wait.

Because then, Dream starts to laugh.

And the thing about it is, it doesn’t sound like what Wilbur knows his laugh is, that wheezing tea kettle noise that everyone always made fun of him for.

(gentle teasing, back in the old days, back when they were all friends, when this server was a safe place, a good community, back before it all went wrong, and perhaps he should wonder what happened to make that Dream into the monster that he is now, but he hurt Tommy and he doesn’t care)

Instead, it’s quiet and low and steady, and there is a smugness to it, a superiority even under the breathlessness, as if this is where he wants to be, as if everything is going according to plan, some plan of his, going right even though Wilbur is sitting on his chest and doing his level best to beat his face in, and—

How dare he have the nerve

(how dare he have the nerve)

to laugh

(to laugh when he’s just destroyed everything around him)

after all that he’s done

(and leveled the very thing that he fought so hard to reclaim but if he cannot have it nobody can and he laughs for the joy of it, the terrible, terrible joy)

to everyone, to the server, to Tommy?

He made a list, when he woke up. He made a list. And he’s accomplished the first goal. He’s found Tommy. And his mind is separating, splitting in half, and one half has control of his body and one is watching from the outside, and the one with his body takes his hands and puts them to Dream’s throat. He can feel his pulse, rabbit-quick. His skin is warm to the touch.

He presses down, and Dream stops laughing.

The half of him that is watching begins to scream with a voice that sounds like his father’s. Begins to shout, asks him,

(can you kill a man in cold blood?)

and the answer is

(yes)

because he knows what monsters are, knows that he has one pinned beneath him, and he knows that he is one too, and only a monster can kill another monster. He will suffocate the life from him, and the world will be better for it. He will suffocate the life from him, and Tommy will be safe.

It’s one of the easiest decisions he’s ever made.

But someone is still shouting, shouting words that enter one ear and rattle around in his skull and fade away without making any kind of sense, and he ignores them. Except then, he can’t, because there are hands on his shoulders, hands trying to pull him back and away, and he resists them, doubles down, places more pressure on his stranglehold, because he wants Dream gone and he wants Dream dead and he’s not going to stop until he’s paid in full—

“—bur, please!”

But Tommy sounds scared.

Like a rubber band released, he comes back together again. His grip goes slack. He allows Tommy to pull him off.

“You can’t—” Tommy is saying, is babbling, and he has tears in his eyes, and it doesn’t make sense for him to be crying, because Dream was the one who hurt him, so he should want Dream gone, right? “Wil, you can’t, you can’t kill him, we need him, we need to talk to him, and he doesn’t, he doesn’t deserve to die, Wil, he doesn’t, so you can’t—”

“Doesn’t he?” he asks, and is surprised by the hollowness of his own voice.

Tommy falls completely silent. For a long minute, the only sound in the cell is Dream wheezing, coughing, struggling for air.

“I don’t know,” Tommy says, and he sounds so miserable that Wilbur regrets asking the question. “Maybe. I mean, I think about stabbing him every time I see him. But I—I don’t want him dead, alright? He’s in prison, and he can’t hurt anyone anymore. So I don’t want him to die.”

He hurt you, Wilbur doesn’t say. He’s still hurting you.

Because Tommy is pale and trembling, his hands shaking where they’re still gripping Wilbur’s shoulders. Because there is a waver in his voice that is wrong, that doesn’t belong, that Wilbur has heard only a handful of times before. Because sometimes, Wilbur will look at him, and his eyes will be far too old, older than any sixteen-year-old’s should be, and part of that is on him, he knows, he knows, but Dream is responsible for so much of the rest.

“I don’t want him to die,” Tommy repeats, and Wilbur realizes that he’s been silent for too long, that Tommy must have taken it as disagreement. “And I don’t want you to kill him, okay? Not like—not like this.”

He’s not entirely sure what that’s supposed to mean.

He opens his mouth, and no sound comes out. So he clears his throat and tries again, and he’s not sure why he’s so hoarse, since he wasn’t the one being strangled, but his voice is a croak.

“Fine,” he says. “But you can’t—if he so much as looks at you wrong, I’m not about to fucking hold back. You get that, right? I’m not letting him—I wasn’t there when it counted. So I’m gonna make it count now. I’m doing my damnedest to make it count now. So if he does anything, I’m not letting it go. I’m not letting him do shit.”

Tommy’s hands tighten. For a second, Wilbur thinks he sees tears in his eyes, but then he blinks, and they’re gone, so perhaps it was his imagination. He has to think it was his imagination, because otherwise he’s going to lose his mind. Because Tommy doesn’t cry. Almost never cries. And if he cries now, it’s either because Wilbur’s fucked up massively, which is bad, or it’s because Wilbur has done something right but it’s overwhelming him because he’s not used to things going right, which would be worse. So much worse.

“Okay,” Tommy says. “Yeah. I—thanks, Wilbur.”

“Not to interrupt,” Schlatt says, and Wilbur flinches with his entire body. He’d forgotten that Schlatt was here, and now Tommy’s looking at him in confusion, and now is not the time for this. Now is definitely not the time for this. Schlatt is over by the entrance, he thinks, but he doesn’t dare turn to look. That’s too obvious. “Because this is very touching and I’m real happy for you, but he’s up again.”

He draws in a breath. And looks past Tommy. Dream is on his feet.

He exhales.

“I won’t kill you,” he says, and his voice is far cooler, far steadier than he feels, “because Tommy doesn’t want me to. That’s it. That’s what’s keeping you alive right now.” And he stands, and Tommy stands with him, shifting to be at his side rather than in front of him.

Dream inclines his head. “I get it,” he says, and Wilbur feels a vicious spark of delight at how terrible he sounds. “Thank you, Tommy.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tommy snaps. “I’m not doing it for your sake. You great green bastard.”

“It’s been pretty boring since the last time you visited,” Dream continues, as if he hadn’t spoken, and if Wilbur couldn’t hear the evidence in his voice, he would assume that the last few minutes hadn’t happened, either. Since when was Dream this unflappable? That’s not the Dream that he remembers.

(he remembers more than one Dream. he remembers the Dream who invited them to his server, who offered them a home and friends, who played war games with Tommy and Tubbo but was always so very gentle with them, who was considerate and funny and someone Wilbur was glad to call a friend. he remembers the Dream who fought against the independence of L’Manberg, cunning and bitter and angry and loud about it. he remembers the Dream who sided with Pogtopia, who always sounded as though he was smiling, laughing at all of them, like they were all a great joke whose punchline had yet to be told. he remembers the Dream who gave him the TNT, who told him to blow them all sky high, and the way his blood sang in anticipation in return and Dream knew, then, he knew what Wilbur was planning, he could tell by that damn smile)

(Ghostbur remembers the Dream of Tommy’s exile. but Ghostbur didn’t know any better than to like him, and he can’t trust memories that are colored by that)

“Tough shit,” Tommy says, more confident now, and if he thinks he has the lead on this, Wilbur’s content to let him take it. “We’ve got questions and you’re going to answer them.”

“What makes you think I have answers?” Dream asks, and—

Is he always this purposefully obtuse?

He glances at Tommy’s face, takes in the frustration written there, the resignation. Apparently so.

“If you don’t think you can help us, then we’ll just leave,” Tommy says, and it’s an odd statement, but apparently, Tommy knows what he’s doing, because Dream takes a step forward. Just one, though, and Wilbur would like to think that he knows better than to get any closer.

“I can help,” he says. “I’m glad you came to me. What’s the question?”

Silence falls for a moment. Tommy’s eyebrows go up, and Wilbur chances a glance back at Schlatt. He’s still hovering near the entrance, by the lava, and its glow permeates through his figure, a bit, rendering him translucent. His eyes are narrow, fixed on Dream.

At least he’s taking it seriously.

“Right,” Tommy says. “You’re going to make me spell it out, then. You said you could bring back Wilbur. That’s pretty much the whole reason why we left you with your third life. But, and I don’t know if you noticed this, but here he is, see? So how the fuck did you do something from in here, or if it wasn’t you, who the hell was it?”

“I did notice, actually,” Dream says, more than a bit wryly. “Hi, Wilbur, by the way. Nice to see you again.”

“I think that you should drown yourself in your sink,” Wilbur replies with an easy smile.

“So, that’s the question?” Dream says, ignoring him once again. “You want to know how I did it?”

“And why,” Tommy puts in. “Why would be good to know too, since I didn’t ask you to. You know.”

“I do know,” Dream agrees. “I have to say, I was kind of surprised at that. I thought you wanted your brother back?”

Tommy sputters. “Wha—of course I do! Did,” he tacks on, with a sidelong glance at Wilbur. “Uh, ‘cause I don’t have to anymore, because he’s here. Look, could we stay on track?”

“Sure, sure,” Dream says. “I mean, I’m not sure exactly how much I can tell you. Resurrection's a tricky business, you know. Lots of moving parts. And you get it if I don’t want to give away all my secrets. Do you want anything to eat? I can’t give you much in the way of variety, but I thought I’d offer.”

There’s something about this that Wilbur doesn’t like.

“No, we don’t want your fucking—your fucking raw potatoes,” Tommy says. “That’s disgusting, and you are a sad, pathetic man because that’s all you have to eat. Wilbur, isn’t he a sad, pathetic man?”

He nods absently. He should be chiming in. He shouldn’t be making Tommy do all the work, shouldn’t be making Tommy confront Dream himself. But there is something creeping over his mind, a nameless dread, stealing his words. And under that, a realization, one that makes no sense at all but that he is increasingly certain is right.

“You’re saying that like I have a choice,” Dream protests, sounding so mild, so even-keel, and it’s wrong, there’s something wrong with this picture. “Potatoes is all I’m given. Maybe if you talked to Sam and got him to give me something else, but unless you do that, it’s potatoes all the way.”

“I’m not getting you things,” Tommy says. “We’re not friends. You need to stop talking like we’re friends. We’re not friends, I don’t like you, I don’t like who I am around you, and I’m not talking to Sam about your fucking potatoes, Jesus Christ.”

“I mean, okay, but you can’t complain about the food when I try to give you some—”

They keep bickering. Wilbur’s only paying half of his attention to the conversation, only enough to make sure Dream doesn’t try to pull anything too terrible. The rest of him is frantically working, thinking, trying to puzzle out why this is pinging as so very off.

“I’m a good businessman, Wilbur,” Schlatt mutters, and Wilbur jumps, because he is right by his ear, the fucking stealthy ghost bastard. “I know stall tactics when I see them.”

“He’s stalling?” he asks, and only realizes his mistake when both Tommy and Dream look at him. But Schlatt is right; Dream is stalling, has been going out of his way to change the subject and goad Tommy into an argument, and that means— “You’re stalling. You’ve got no fucking clue what’s going on, do you?”

Dream laughs. “Oh, come on now,” he starts, but Wilbur’s got his number now, and he’s not going to allow him space to breathe or to spin a lie.

“No,” he presses, “none of that. No potatoes, no fucking with Tommy’s head, no games. I’m not playing games. You would’ve been so quick to gloat, if you had been the one to do this. So quick to hold it over our heads. And even if you hadn’t, but you knew who did, you would’ve dangled that information in front of us like a, a fucking carrot on a stick. Instead you’re rambling about your food and trying to pick a fight. You didn’t know I was alive until I stepped foot in this cell, did you?”

Dream is silent. His mouth is thin. There is a stream of blood slowly trickling out from under his mask.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says. “Holy shit. You bastard.”

“Well then,” Wilbur says, “I think we’re done here. Tommy, do you think we’re done here?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, shaking his head. “Yeah, I think we are.”

He turns to call out to Sam, to tell him that they’re ready to leave, but there are footsteps, and he wheels around again to see that Dream has moved closer, far too close for his liking and far too close to Tommy.

(there is something)

“Okay, maybe I don’t know why Wilbur’s back,” he says, “but don’t you think that’s concerning? It could’ve been anything, with any goals. I could help you figure it out.”

Tommy winces, and Wilbur once again feels the urge to drive his fist into Dream’s face, to put his hands around his neck and squeeze. He refrains, if only because of the look that it put on Tommy’s face the last time, the fear it put in his voice.

(there is something very wrong)

“We don’t need your help,” Wilbur jumps in before Tommy can answer.

“Right, yeah, we don’t—Sam! Sam, we’re ready to go!” Tommy calls.

“You say that now,” Dream says scornfully. For a second, Wilbur fears that he’s going to try to come forward more, to make an attempt to get out when Sam comes for them. But instead, he stands where he is, crossing his arms. “I know things about this server that no one else does. You need me.”

“We need you like we need a heart attack,” Tommy snaps. Beside him, Schlatt mutters something inaudible.

“Maybe you do,” Dream says, and then, inexplicably, his tone lightens. “I hope you visit again. I like seeing you. And this is the first time I’ve had so many visitors at once, so this was fun. We should do it another time.”

“I think that you should shut up and stop talking now,” Wilbur says, eyeing the lava as it continues to flow over the entrance. Is it taking too long? How many seconds has it been? Sam is there, isn’t he?

“Well, you three are always welcome to come back,” Dream says. “I’ll be here. Unless I’m not.”

Wilbur’s blood runs cold.

(can you see it?)

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Tommy demands. “You’ve got nowhere else to go. You’re going to be staying in here for the rest of your sorry fucking existence, and I’ll come back here to tell you all about all the fun things you’re missing out on because you decided to be a fucking dickhead toward all of the people that used to care about. How’s that, then?”

“As long as you visit,” Dream says mildly. He’s smiling. There is blood on his lips.

“He’s looking at me,” Schlatt whispers. “He’s looking at me, Wilbur, oh god oh fuck he is looking right at me, how the fuck is he—”

Dream tilts his head. Schlatt cuts off, making a choked sound.

“I’m still the admin of this server,” Dream says. “Putting me in a box doesn’t change that. So if you’ve got more questions, I’m happy to answer them whenever.” His smile broadens. “Not just about this, too. If the Egg ever starts being a problem, feel free to come to me. Not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

Finally, finally, the lava curtain drops. Sam is standing on the other side, entirely too far away, and the platform is approaching, entirely too slowly. Wilbur feels locked in place, mind ringing out with three, three, three. He shouldn’t know that. He should have no way to know that, admin or not. He shouldn’t—so how does he—?

(look closer look closer do you see it do you see it do you see there’s something wrong with)

“The Egg?” Tommy asks, and the platform is here. Tommy hesitates, clearly torn between staying and following this new line of questioning, and going. But then, he shakes his head vigorously. “No. No, we’re not doing this. Goodbye, Dream.” He strides out onto the platform.

Wilbur lingers a moment. Schlatt has disappeared.

Dream is staring at him. He can’t see his eyes, but he knows, deep in his soul, that they are boring into his.

So he turns on his heel and joins Tommy on the platform. It begins to move, and he can’t help the glance back over his shoulder. Dream is still there. Unmoving. And if he does make a motion, he doesn’t do it until they are across, until the lava has dropped back down, masking him from sight.

..........

The pressure in his chest lifts as they step outside. He sucks in a deep breath, relishing the fresh air in his lungs, air that is bright and clean and smells of grass rather than hard stone and the bitter heat of lava. The sun is bright in the sky, and he has to blink a few times to readjust to the light.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted,” Sam says.

“He’s a dickhead,” Tommy says, oddly quiet. “Didn’t really expect much.”

“Well, I’ll let you know if he says anything to me,” Sam says, and then winces. “Anything relevant, anyway. He talks a lot.”

Tommy snorts, looking away. “Tell me about it,” he says, and his demeanor is definitely strange, subdued. He seems better, less fidgety than when they were inside, but still not at ease. “Or don’t, actually. I don’t want to hear about what that sick, sick man tells you.”

“Probably for the best,” Sam agrees, and then turns to him. “It was nice seeing you, Wilbur. Welcome back to life, I guess.”

There are a multitude of ways he could respond to that. Thank you would be easiest, would be what’s expected. Part of him wants to answer with something snarky, something sarcastic, something that reveals just how much he appreciates being here, but he won’t do that, not with Tommy standing right there. He’s trying to be positive. Trying to be better, trying to at least pretend to be happy. For him. He needs to keep to that, especially now, after whatever the fuck that was in there. So, thank you it is, then, and he opens his mouth to say it, except what actually comes out is, “He can’t get out of there, can he?”

Sam is silent for a long moment. His face does something that Wilbur can’t quite interpret, not with the mask covering half of it, but his eyes go a little wider, his brows a little more furrowed. It’s almost like understanding, or perhaps pity, and Wilbur doesn’t like either option. He doesn’t want to be understood, not really, doesn’t want people to think they understand him before he expressly allows them to, and he has no use for pity.

(villains are not meant for pity, and he still has Dream’s blood on his knuckles)

“No,” Sam says. “As long as I live, he will never set foot outside this prison.”

He says it with such conviction that Wilbur has to believe him. But somehow, it doesn’t set him much at ease. He can’t stop thinking about it, what Dream said, what he implied that he saw, the way he stared, motionless and intent and predatory, in a way, even though he was weaponless and armorless and subsisting off of raw potatoes. He should hold no power, be no threat, and yet, Wilbur can’t make himself relax.

“Alright. Thank you, Sam,” he says. Sam nods.

“Of course,” he says. And then, he’s stepping away, heading back into those dark walls, to that swirling portal that opens for none but who the warden wishes. And then, he is gone.

“Right then,” Tommy says, after a beat of silence. “Home?”

“Yeah,” he says, and feels exhaustion settle in, that constant companion.

So they do. They go home. They run into no one on the way, once again, and Tommy notices his confusion about it this time and tells him that no one truly lives in the area anymore, not since L’Manberg’s third and final destruction, and Tommy says it in such an offhand way that he doesn’t have a good response to it. Doesn’t have a good response to the way he seems to accept its loss, as if it was inevitable, only natural that everyone should have up and left the area, and it’s true that Wilbur wanted the nation gone but he never wanted Tommy to suffer for it, not really.

(though he didn’t care who suffered in the end, in that room covered in buttons, his anthem, that glorious song scraped into the walls, the music crescendoing with the explosion and then the ringing, blissful silence)

(no, he didn’t care who suffered, by the end)

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say much, not until they’re back at Tommy’s house, the hole he dug out in the side of the hill and has made his own. He doesn’t know what to say, all of his old charisma failing him, so he watches Tommy for a little while as he knocks about his chests and goes to harvest a few carrots and rants about things that have been happening on the server lately, little things, minor things, things that conspicuously don’t involve Dream at all.

“Tommy,” he finally manages, “are you alright?”

Tommy stops where he is. “Course I am,” he says. “Wilbur, I’m a very big man, you know. It’s going to take more than one green bastard to unsettle TommyInnit.”

“It’s alright if he unsettles you,” he says. “Prime knows he unsettled the hell out of me.”

Tommy stares at him, and then looks away and into the chest he’s got open.

“Yeah,” he says, quieter this time, “I know.”

Wilbur waits.

“It’s just that—” Tommy says, “It’s just that I hate him, so much, and I hate what he does to me. He gets in my head so easily, even when I know to expect it. He’s so good at fucking with me, and I can’t stop him. And I tell myself, each time I go, that this’ll be the last time, this’ll be the time I put it all behind me, but then it’s a couple of weeks later and I go back again, because I think part of me misses him. How fucked up is that? I know exactly what he is, and part of me still wants to think he’s my friend.”

He says it all vehemently, but so very softly, like he’s trying not to hear it himself.

“It is fucked up,” he agrees, matching Tommy’s tone. “But that’s not your fault. It’s his.” He hesitates. “I’m sorry I made you go with me. I shouldn’t have.”

Tommy wheels on him, eyes suddenly blazing, and he slams the chest lid closed.

“You didn’t make me do shit,” he snaps. “Nobody makes me do shit. I do what I want. And I wouldn’t have felt any better if I knew that you were in there with him alone. Think that would’ve been worse, actually, so shut the fuck up about it.”

“I—” he starts, and then stops. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He needs to be better about this. Needs to be better about remembering that Tommy is more than capable of making his own decisions. He is a child still, and ought to be protected, but he doesn’t need coddling, doesn’t need babying. There is a fine line between those things, and it is a difficult one to walk.

“Of course I’m right,” Tommy says. “I’m always incredibly correct. You should stop apologizing so much, though, it’s weird. Or wait, actually, do it some more, tell me all about how I am very right and you, Wilbur Soot, are very wrong and dumb.”

It’s an obvious ploy to lighten the mood. He can’t bring himself to go along with it.

“Why did you stop me?” he asks. “Actually, though. Not because he didn’t deserve it or some shit. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Tommy scowls, his shoulders tensing.

“And what if I do?” he says. “Maybe he does deserve it. Doesn’t mean it should happen. I told you, I want to stab him really bad, but that doesn’t mean I do it. It wouldn’t be fair. Or very satisfying.” He crosses his arms, and for a moment, the image of him in the present is juxtaposed over a younger Tommy, in the exact same pose, arguing with Techno or Phil or him over some stupid, childish thing. Wilbur blinks, and the image is gone. “Besides, we did need him. To talk, that is, even if he turned out to be fucking useless.”

Alright, he can believe that.

(but he sounded so very scared, and)

“Did I scare you?” he blurts out. He regrets the words instantly, but he can’t take them back. “With what I did?”

He’s expecting Tommy to answer with a resounding denial, no matter what the truth actually is. He’s not expecting him to flinch.

(they are in that dark ravine and Tommy is conspiring with traitors and he’s screaming at him, half angry and half desperate to make him understand, to keep him on his side, to get him to see that they have each other and no one else, that no one else can be trusted, he’s screaming and he takes another step forward and he’s not expecting him to flinch)

“You didn’t see the look on your face,” Tommy says. “It reminded me—”

He cuts off, but Wilbur is capable of reading between the lines.

“I’m sorry,” he says, somewhat helplessly.

“You are better, right?” Tommy says. “I mean, really, you don’t—you don’t feel like you did back then, right?”

He’s trying to keep it casual, like it’s not a big deal, like he’s not desperately searching for the answer as to whether or not Wilbur is still insane.

Wilbur’s heart is doing something strange. Something that hurts. Or perhaps that’s just guilt.

“I am,” he says, “I am, I swear. I just—I saw him, and I couldn’t hold back. I know that how I was—how I was then, I don’t understand how you don’t hate me for it, but I look back, and I know now. I do. I’m sor—”

“I don’t need you to apologize again,” Tommy cuts him off. “I—I am actually very fucking sick of apologies, I’ll have you know. But I never hated you, Wilbur. I was really angry, after you—after you went and did that, but I didn’t hate you, and then I was sad, and I just wanted you back. The real you. And I was upset and angry because I knew I could never have that. Except I do now, right?”

“You do,” Wilbur says, because there is no other way he could possibly respond to that. “I swear, you do.” And he opens his arms, and after a second of hesitation, Tommy comes over and sits on the bed next to him, and slumps into his embrace, and Wilbur holds him against his chest because it’s all he can do.

(all he can do to hold him like this and hide from him that the darkness is not gone, that there is something in him that still calls for the destruction of everything and everyone for no reason other than why not, something in him that wants to pour oil over the world and light the match and take himself along with it, something in him that has broken once and will do so again, at the slightest provocation, something as fragile as a sheet of glass already cracked or a bird’s wing once fractured from the fall and never healed right)

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I wish I had been,” he says, ignoring Tommy’s request for no more apologies, ignoring the fact that wishes and could-have-beens and what-ifs are useful to exactly nobody. “Ghostbur wasn’t exactly a great help, I know—”

“Oi,” Tommy says, pulling away to look him in the face, “don’t insult Ghostbur. He was doing the best he could. Maybe he didn’t really understand a lot, but he was there. Even when nobody else really was. He was—he was better than nothing, you know? He tried to make people happy. So don’t make fun of him.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” he says, and for some reason, thinks about the flowers he still has. He’s not sure why he kept them, why he bothered to retrieve them from the locker at all. But he did, and he has them, and they’re the only thing in his inventory at all. Cornflowers. Blue.

(he tried to make people happy but he failed, didn’t he, so how much could he possibly have mattered? he failed in a different way from Wilbur-when-living, but he failed all the same, and that is another thing they have in common, loathe though he is to admit it)

Tommy seems content with this, and he leans forward again with a sigh.

“We’re gonna have to go check out that Egg, aren’t we?” he mutters into Wilbur’s shirt.

“What makes you say that?”

“Dream mentioned it,” Tommy says. “I hate letting him yank me around. But he could be involved with it, maybe. Could be trying to—to hatch something, or something like that. I wouldn’t put it past him. So we’ve got to go see what the thing is all about.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that you have to do anything,” Wilbur says. “You deserve a break. You don’t have to play hero.”

“I’m not playing hero,” Tommy murmurs. “I am a big damn hero. Never really got a choice in that, did I?” He pulls back again, letting Wilbur get a good look at the way his eyes have begun to droop. It’s no wonder; it’s been an exhausting day, even if it’s only late afternoon. It’s a good thing, really, because that means he doesn’t quite notice the twisted expression that Wilbur is sure is on his face. “No, but there are people I want to protect. My friends. Like Tubbo. And Sam. So we should go see the Egg and make sure it’s not gonna hurt them.”

Wilbur looks at him, at this child who has gone through more than any child should and has come out the other side still standing, still determined to help his friends, still loyal to a fault, and he wonders how he could ever have suspected him of turning against him. How he ever could have managed to fuck up with him so badly.

“Okay,” he says softly. “We can go see the Egg.”

Never again, he thinks. I swear to you, I’m not fucking up again. And ignores the dread that’s pooling in his heart.

They’ll go visit the Egg. Assuage their curiosity. And then, finally, perhaps, some peace.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #awesamdude #jschlatt #alivebur #glatt #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #canon says one thing about their dynamic and i say no <3

32 notes · View notes

coolmarriagerecords · 5 years ago

Text

Johan Kugelberg's Top 100 DIY Singles

From Ugly Things via http://www.hyped2death.com/Kugelberg100.html

1. The Desperate Bicycles -The Medium Was Tedium (Refill Records, 1977 UK) The Desperate Bicycles are the yardstick for this obscurist sub genre. No one did it as easy or as cheap as them. Of the slew of unfathomable brilliant pop 45's, The Medium Was Tedium is the apex: The enthusiasm, anger and joy de vivre that oozes from the tracks contained within has me reaching for Village Green-Kinks and first album Cramps to describe the passion. For drunken, leftist dorm-room intellectuals to describe the faith and for Dez/Chavo-era Black Flag to describe the power ? notwithstanding that the recordings themselves are of 4-track bedroom shut-in lo-fi jangle. Too bad the band don't want the material re-released but a good thing indeed that the records barely rate at all in the collector scum price guide pantheon.

2. Beyond The Implode -Last Thoughts EP (Diverse Records UK 1979) Barrett/early-Floyd psych as good (or better) than any Soft Boys, obscurist strum & drang way more passionate than any Flying Nun band I've heard and Inflammable vocals of the purest Oxbridge confusion. The Spacemen 3 never did anything to match this record. [Messthetics #6]

3. V/A -Weird Noise EP (Fuck Off Records UK 1980) The legend doesn't start here, but at least this isn't a cassette-only release in an edition of 50 copies or so like the majority of the Fuck Off Records oeuvre. This lines up the finest advocates of tuneless bashing within the UK late 70's underground: The 012, Danny and the Dressmakers, the Instant Automatons, The Door and the Window and finally the Sell Outs who seem to be Danny and the Dressmakers under a different moniker. The cut "Please Don't Make Another Bass Guitar Mr. Rickenbacker" showcases one of the odder qualities popular music can have: The ability to disorientate the listener. "Simply the very best in bad music" indeed! [Danny...Messthetics Greatest Hits]

4. Desperate Bicycles ? New Cross, New Cross (Refill Records, UK 1978) The godlike power of "I Make The Product" or "Advice On Arrest" (two of the songs on this six song EP) deliver a little salvation of sorts ? the Desperate Bicycles make you believe, make you feel a sense of belonging. Music does that when it is this good. 5.Slugfuckers ? Three Feet Behind Glass EP (No label Australia 1979) Invoke the god Nyarlathotep they do, cover Manson-songs w/o ever having heard him they do, shmear on the middle class art school elitism thick they do. This is an extreme record; noisier and more abrasive than most first generation industrial stuff, a hell of a lot more punk than, say, the Lewd and intelligent in a scary, vicious bullying kind of way. A blazing, hard record at the same time as everything is slightly out of tune, kind of inept and sorta shoddy sounding.

6. Popes -Knup In Your Eye (Vatican Records. UK 1980) This appeared on the worldwide punk list a few issues ago, and educated guesses can be made for this appearing on any other lists I might do in the future. Not only is the record the cats pajamas as far as relentless art school mirth goes (Derek & Clive go through puberty, again!) but the throb and spark of the band makes for repeated play. And then we have to tag on the swollen nostalgia of my friend buying the only copy at the Rough trade shop in 1980 leaving me with none until Bill Forsyth digs one up for me in his back room, oh yeah, and one for Geoffrey too.

7. The Flak -EP (Northern Records UK 1980 (?)) Starts with a depressed "why am I here" poem and moves straight along into "Knocking on Heaven's Door" done dorm-angst-diy-style. This is followed by what sounds like the band attempting a Joy Division-style song the first time they pick up musical instruments. Completely inept, utterly charming and brilliant indeed. Top shelf genre defining DIY.

8. Fatal Microbes -Beautiful Pictures (Small Wonder, UK 1979) Certainly the best record with Honey Bane on it. Charming, relentless punk-crazed homemade guitar crunch. The window of opportunity of the UK underground musicscene in the late 70's is clearly demonstrated here: I doubt the Fatal Microbes stupendous teen energy could have been nurtured in the world of merchandising deals and first-look demo A&R we live in today.

9. The Silver -Do You Wanna Dance (Black Label Finland 1980) The Silver -No More Grease (Black Label Finland 1979) A riddle wrapped inside an enigma etc. The band appears to be around 12 ? 13 years old. They hail from Finland where the trail grew cold a long long time ago. Maybe upon the release of the record. Pussy Galore without post-modern baggage. "Love Theme from the Snails" as performed by SPK. 12 year olds virtually destroying a recording studio captured on tape, not once but four times.

10. Instant Automatons -Peter Paints His Fence EP (Deleted Records UK 1980) More Fuck Off/Street Level-related sublime nonsense. The battle call is the track "People Laugh At Me Cuz I Like Weird Music" which states: "I was at a pub the other night, when a bunch of mods came in, they eyed me up, then they asked me: Hey man what's your scene? Are you a hippie a mod or a punk? Got a scooter or a motorbike? I can't understand why they burst out laughing when I told them the music I like, because: People Laugh At Me Cuz I Like Weird Music People just don't understand Why pay six pounds for an album when you can, listen to a weird noise band for free I had a girlfriend named Josephine, she liked Abba and the Bee Gees. She thought music was about lawyers and accountants, percentages and legal fees. Just the other night we stayed up late, playing records til half past ten, then I played the Danny and the Dressmakers tape and I never saw Josephine again, because: People Laugh At Me Cuz I Like Weird Music People just don't understand Why pay six pounds for an album when you can, listen to a weird noise band for free" The gospel, folks. From God's mouth to your ear via the Instant Automatons. [Instant Automatons 'Another Wasted Sunday Afternon' CD]

11. Sir Alick and the Phraser -In Search of the Perfect Baby (Black Noise UK 1980) As Chuck Warner put it: They wrote beautiful pop songs then destroyed them. More Homosexuals pseudonymous mystique. The intelligent reader who followed our previous musings on this band and their universe know how much we love them and how much they perpetually pull our collective leg. No straight-ahead answers in this lifetime which is fine ? fine as far as record collecting is concerned, fine as far as lifemanship is concerned.[The Homosexuals -Astral Glamour 3CD]

12. The Four Plugs -Biking Girl (Disposable Records UK 1979) The subtle charm of marginal culture: Truly marginal culture where 1000 singles were pressed more than 22 years ago. How many got lost? How many are never being played? How many are stored in a box in the attic? How many are being played repeatedly on turntables that cost ten times as much as the recording and pressing of this given 45? "She used to be my biking partner ? she used to be my biking girl. We used to go for rides in the country side". A true punk rock/diy statement issued by the Damaged Goods people, who knew their Chesterton and Thomas Browne.

13. The Evening Outs -Channel (Refill Records UK 1980) Super-fierce skronk from a pissed-off pseudonymous Desperate Bicycles. Puts that no wave stuff to shame, really.

14. Puritan Guitars -100 Pounds in 15 Minutes (Riverside Records UK 1980) How much it cost to make the record and how long it took. Genius sturm und sturm und sturm und drang clank from a seriously inspired one chord wonder.[Messthetics Greatest Hits and Messthetics #104]

15. The Flying Brix -EP (Modello Records UK 1980) So subtle it can barely be heard: A band consisting of Wally's and Erberts, with the odd dead-end yob or two. This record could've been released by Illegal, Fuck Off or fit in on Carry On Oi. It could also have been performed on an episode of Noddy or by Flanagan & Allen. Ur-English music, this.[Messthetics #104]

16. Shrinking Men/Beevers -Hazards in the Home EP (Pop Records UK 1981) The Beevers present a Guthrie-esque talking blues here, except that it isn't a blues, but a charming DIY-shuffle, and that Woody Guthrie as far as I know never sang about the plight and blight of the office boy. The Shrinking Men in turn showcase an angry, loutish anti-army rant that Phil Ochs would've been pretty proud of I think. And there you have it: The folk music connection rears its uncombed head. [Beevers -Messthetics #6]

17. Handgrenades -Demo To London (Phonographics (?) USA 1980 (?)) Coulda fooled me ? Excellent primitive punk/chug/diy from Noo Yak City! Who woulda thunk? Somewhere between "Pink Flag" and Fuck Off Records.

18. Homosexuals -You Are Not Moving The Way You Are Supposed To (Black Noise UK 1980 (?)) An untouchable band, and the lack of a retrospective isn't much of a crime in this house (I have lots of their records snicker snicker snicker) but in other people's houses it sure is. As if Gang of Four would've been any good, as if Wire would've immersed themselves in dub, as if indeed. Parallel universe chart toppers indeed. We all know that there is at least one world out there in the ultra-cosmos where the proverbial kids are kicking these jams daily. A truly inspired and inspiring record..[The Homosexuals -Astral Glamour 3CD]

19. Cindy and the Barbi Dolls -Press The Shutter EP (A Not Major Production UK 1980) Dorm angst at its very best. Dark, brooding overtly romantic without gothing it up, these jams have the same lurking power as the pre-Joy Division Warsaw EP or the spookier first line up Soft Boys tracks. A possible sister band to Beyond the Implode in the sense that they play a curiously British form of psychedelic music in the midst of the DIY lack of musical chops. This Cornwall band were seemingly very hip to musical peers, thanking the Desperate Bicycles, the Mekons and Ralph and the Ponytails on the sleeve. There are musical (and one lyrical) nod to the Kinks "Village Green Preservation Society" as well. A very good thing. [Messthetics #7]

20. Versatile Newts -Newtrition (Shanghai Records UK 1980) If this record hadn't existed we would've had to invent it: The marriage/blend of the Swell Maps, This Heat and the TV Personalities. In equal chunks with no lumps. Gadzooks! [Messthetics #103]

21. Pink Dirt -Hey Sir (No label Norway 1979) As far as inept, crazed joi de vivre goes ? Here's the acme. I've written this one up before and will do it again. While this is obviously a straight-ahead angry punk rock band, the abandon and enthusiasm of this record could raise the dead. An angry rant against organized religion ("I have this to say tonight ? never, never get involved with christianity!") howled in a barely English Johnny Rotten-imitation by some Norwegian genius backed by shitrock more primitive than the first Endless Boogie rehearsal. There is no sleeve, no labels, just the legend "Pink Dirt Hey Sir/Hooker" scrawled in magic marker. Who were these gods and why did they walk among us? Please email me if you know anything about the people behind this stunning art experience.

22. Scrotum Poles -Revelation EP (One Tone Records Scotland 1980) Helicopter Honeymoon is going to be played at least three record collector funerals I know of, not including mine. The mighty, mighty Scrotum Poles, proudly proclaiming "DIY! We love the TV Personalities" on the shoddy, xeroxed sleeve. Their website (http://home.switchboard.com/hornstreet) is highly recommended, though we're hesitant to vouch for its complete veracity. Here's how they tell it: "'Pick the Cats Eyes Out' featured lyrics found on the back of a set list by one of the first Dundee punk bands, Bread Poultice and the Running Sores..." [Somebody please send us a demo tape!] "Helicopter Honeymoon," meanwhile, came from a headline "in the Sunday Post." What we should add for American fans is that "cats eyes" are what Brits (and Scots) call those little orange reflectors embedded in highway pavement: "Cats Eyes Out Ahead" used to be a common roadside sign. [Messthetics Greatest Hits and Messthetics #105]

23. File Under Pop -Corrugate (Rough Trade UK 1979 (?)) Godlike DIY power. Primitive grunting, out of tune skeletal instrumentation and noises recorded at Heathrow. I know a guy with an extra copy who'll swap it for Butchy Butch and the Butch Butchers.

24. Nancy Sesay and the Melodaires -C'est Fab (It's War Boys UK 1981 (?)) Un-musical, un-punk and possibly unpleasant music hall-esque skronk/DIY by the godlike Homosexuals using one of their myriad of pseudonyms. And whence you can't imagine the doofus art wank getting any more unlistenable, they spin on a dime and throw in a beautiful chorus sitting on top of a backwardsy funky drummer beat. I am, as per usual, in awe. Shall I hook some enterprising young bootlegger up with a CDR of all their stuff?

25. Performing Ferret Band -Brow-Beaten (Dead Hippy Records UK 1981) Deeply moving primitive musical fumble from this rare 45 by the masters behind the in my mind most seminal LP to come out of DIY. The eponymous Performing Ferret Band LP, which features jaw-droppers such as "Plastic Macho Man", "Fizzly Drinks" or "Great Duos Of Our Time". Fantastic over-enthusiastic juvenilia of an almost supernatural beauty. The Performing Ferrets - no one told us CD (Messthetics #216)

26. Different Eyes/Royston - Shish EP (Tuzmadoner Records UK 1979) One of the two masterpieces released on the Tuzmadoner label (the other being a 12" comp entitled, uh, "folk music" bringing up more parallels to skiffle that we should probably choose to ignore). Royston are like Flanagan & Allen fronting the world's greatest shit rock band. Different Eyes sound more lethargic than anyone else I've heard I think, and I used to work for Pavement's label. Simon Gilham from either Royston or the 'Eyes later played in Colin Newman's solo band. [Royston -Messthetics Greatest Hits and #1; Different I's -Messthetics #101 (plus their even better track from Folk Music)]

27. Homosexuals -Hearts In Exile (Black Noise UK 1978) Words fail me. As far as beauty goes, this is like Mozart or Shirley Collins. Probably their greatest moment. Somewhere along the lines of Brill Building and traditional UK folk and the Upsetters and ESP Records all at once in perfect harmony. A milestone, I think, and a record that I'd place in a timecapsule of 20th century folk art.[The Homosexuals -Astral Glamour 3CD]

28. Andrew Klimek -Felt Hammer (Mustard Records USA 1979) The guitar break alone sends this one soaring over the sky scrapers. Has that patented and most beautiful basement 4-track sound down pat even though I get more and more convinced that all those legendary Cleveland bands all were record collector rock of the umpteenth degree. Extraordinarily self-aware, sly and with meticulously thought out records, this one being no exception. The pompous liner notes on the sleeve of the 45 proves me right. You got to be some kind of Apples in Stereo-type shmuck to brag on a record sleeve that you put the bass guitar through a ring modulator.

29. Mekons -Never Been In A Riot (Fast Records UK 1978) Way before they became icky hippy-punk icons for aging counter culture types across the world they released a couple of singles of gorgeous nihilist slop. This is the first, and the funniest and the noisiest.

30. Jelly Babies -De Nada EP (No label name UK 1981) Simply heaven. A clumsy speed-chug with lyrics about a day of roller-skating and lovely pre-pubescent boozy backing vocals. Genius. Extra-tinny sound, extra passionate execution. I've quoted this portion of the notes on the (shoddy xerox, natch) sleeve: "Recorded at Dirt Cheap Studios, the best studios in the whole wide world by Grant Showbiz, the most silly person in the whole wide world, who steals your food and has a nice red guitar with a super tremelo arm which somebody gave him." Like Blake, the words transcend space, time and mortality. You need this record. Crunchy granola collectors should also note that I have personally seen at least five different (shoddy xerox) picture sleeves for this record where the priority can be determined with relative accuracy using the carbon 14 method. [one from the EP is coming on London v.III: another song from the EP demos appears on Messthetics Greatest HISS (Messthetics #110)

31. Thin Yoghurts -Girl On the Bus (Lowther Street Runner Records UK 1980) More sing-a-longa-slop-charm. You can take the limey out of the music hall but you can't Cute, touching and romantic lyrics about lusting over some tasty lassie on the bus to the kippers factory. They did this record as well as a cassette, which is a hundred bucks in your sweaty palm, if you send it to me. [Messthetics Greatest Hits]

32. Lucky Pierre -This Could Be The Night (No label USA 1984 (?)) Scuzzy, phenomenal art-rant by some Ohio Bowie-boy who'd re-record these musical chairs of Chain Gang, Klaus Nomi and cocaine freebase ten years later for Trent Reznor's label adding a "industrial dance beat" to the mess and changing the band name to Prick. Supposedly (some record-log-pincher told me) there were only 50 copies pressed for Lucky Pierre to use as record deal bait (also the reason that the lyrics are etched on the flip together with a ten second excerpt of the song). Well, I guess it worked. I seem to recall seeing a video for the re-recorded version on MTV during ol' Pierre's 15 seconds in the spotlight. The awe-inspiring power of this record remains tho'.

33. Skabb -78 EP (Mistlur Sweden 1978) Track 2 side one is jaw-dropping Opus-style DIY-crunch punk with Kriminella Gitarrer-guitar breaks. I can't believe this isn't a hotly pursued record by herd-following punk rock turd-swallowers round the globe. Fantastic slop-o-rama-lama-fa-fa-fa production too.

34. V/A -Angst In My Pants double EP (Street Level UK 1979) Imagine how good the previous 33 records on this list are, as I guarantee by risk of punishment of rock writer hyperbole, that this is doubtlessly one of the finest records I've ever heard, and the second greatest compilation in the history of rock! How can I say this wonders Rutger the Punk from his bedroom in Krakow ? Well the proof is in the pudding: Not only does the record include some of the finest recorded moments by the legendary Instant Automatons (who unknowingly channel the Monks!), 012 and the Door and the Window, but furthermore a rare vinyl appearance by the Digital Dinosaurs, heralded by me, Mario and Geoffrey in that most smug sort of way as unheralded gods of music! If that ain't enough you get some fine TVP-related spurts from the Missing Persons and extremely do it yourself DIY frenzy from the Midnight Circus. Who in "Silicone Baby" and "Hedonist Jive" have out-poignanted a tow-truck full of Aimee Mann's and Michelle Shocked's edgy humanity and funny as shit to boot. [Digital Dinsaurs and Instant Automatons are on Messthetics Greatest Hits: Midnight Circus have their own CD...And there's more on Deleted/Street Level at the Instant Automatons website]

35. Pleemobielz -Dagenlang Balen (Kamikaze Records Holland 1981) More sociological sloganeering a la Midnight Circus here: Dagenlang Balen which needlessly translates as "fuck all day" roars through the speakers with all the might of a bunch of over-testosteroned 16 year old virgins singing about what they think it'll be like to have sex some day. Tinniest sound in history. When a copy finally showed up on my doorstep after the fucking (literally!) record had spent a solid 10 years on my want list my expectations were quite low since anyone I had talked to who had heard the record all stated that it was weak/a waste of time etc. Well: It being a want list staple has more to do with the scarcity of the disc than it being a desirable punk rock record. However: It is an extremely desirable record if frenzied DIY bliss is your chosen poison.

36. Just Urbain -Guns & Guitars (No label Australia 1979) Another amazing DIY record from Australia, this one definitely sports a spiritual kinship with SPK, the Slugfuckers, the first Thought Criminals record, and those Systematics and Tactics records I need to find. Very dark, scuzzy art-damaged DIY that (a la Cabaret Voltaire or early SPK) is well aware of the fine krautrock musics coming out of Germany on Ohr or Sky a few years previously. The proto punk of say Neu or Cosmic Jokers is here handled with poisonous skronky passion.

37. The Gags -Sex Ist Schau (Leg Auf Records Germany 1981) And then one has to simply wonder if the belly laughs generated by this piece of vinyl have racist connotations: How much are we allowed to laugh at the Germans? This might be the stiffest record I've heard. The vocals lyrical bark manages to reanimate Basil Fawlty's classic performance in the "Germans" episode as well as the Sprockets. The jams are crazed. Stiff, yes, but crazed.

38. Desperate Bicycles -Smokescreen (Refill Records UK 1977) Their debut, more aggressive than a lot of the other classics and maybe it was the year. This is the 45 that launched hundreds of others: Two songs on one side to save mastering costs, the cheapest packaging, music that had to be documented, and it didn't matter if it was done in the cheapest and easiest way imaginable. [Messthetics #8]

39. Butter Utter -Jävlarnas Jul (Leonid Breznjev Records Swe 1977) Took me ages to find this one. Extremely inept, Shaggs-like fumble with a certain Je Ne Sais Qui of punk rock aggression. A lot of Killed by Death-types paid a lot of moola for this one, that some guy hyped to the moon in a Boston straight-edge fanzine back in the 80's. Only truly "punk" in the musical disaster sense of the word.

40. Cut-Outs -DIY (EMI UK 1979) Great novelty pop monster complete with carpentry noises. Possibly not a DIY record at all, but since the genre is made up by people like me this is a DIY record cuz I sez so. [NOT on Messthetics #7]

41. Massmedia ? EP (Massproduktion Swe 1979) Debut sloppiness from future KBD mainstays. There is no discernable musical ability to be found on this record and yet they play and play and play. The energy level is however awe-inspiring.

42. Dagens Ungdom -EP (Mistlur Swe 1980) Having an art school wank with Dagens Ungdom. Brilliant faux-DIY released on one of the major noo wave era indie labels of Sweden, home of Ebba Gron. All songs have titles nabbed from Kafka books, lyrics are more adjective heavy than a tub full o' Morrisey and the music is flawless DIY stumble n' fumble.

43. The Discounts -Selling Records (Original Records UK 1980) Blank 1000-yard stare DIY novelty straight out of High Fidelity. The lyric is a monologue as by a bored-to-tears record store clerk. The jams are sub-sub-sub-Blockheads DIY stumble. Extremely amusing.

44. Grinder Wickford's So Boring -EP (Wax Records UK 1979) Forget punk rock, bring in hick-rock! The aliases of the band read: "Dav-Id, Si-Kic, Terry-Ball, Stu-Pid and Holy-Grail"!. Three band members have moustaches! The singer is wearing a Rocky Horror t-shirt! The a-side is a "humorous" ditty about the acne problem of Spiderman, reflecting the sleeve front depicting some fool in a Spiderman costume driving a tractor, The b-side is an anti-fuzzy dice song. Genius. It is obvious to me that Wickford wasn't boring at all as long as you hung out with the bold gents of Grinder. The songs range from primitive clunky riff-rock to DIY jangle of the highest order. Messthetics #101

45. Psykik Volts -Totally Useless (Ellie Jay Records UK 1979) More Music Hall-punk DIY genius. The spirit of Vivian Stanshall is looming large; as is the empty pint glasses littering the room as this 45 is stuck on repeat. All together now: "It's to-tal-ly useless"!! The sleeve bears the legend: "Side A: recorded in a sock, Side B: recorded in a morgue. May god bless vocalist and songwriter Victor Vendetta. Now pardon me while I go to the corner and cry.

46. Raisinets -More Fun To Play Than To Listen To (Fun-Ethic Records USA 1979) Fantastic record-collector hippie-punk a la Gizmos/Afrika Korps/Half Japanese. Primitive guitar duets complete with questionable production values and mucho muchacho helpings of pure static. Great post-arrest pre-OD lyrics making fun of Sid too.

47. Dag Vag -Dimma (Ball Records Swe 1978) Two years after this record was released, Dag Vag were playing new wave-scented white-boy reggae to sell-out crowds all over Sweden. This, however, is a one-man band bedroom project by a Träd Gräs & Stenar roadie who had discovered punk rock and the DIY scene. Beautiful dark/sinister home studio atmospherics, killer fuzz guitar and demented lyrics about psychiatric care and drug experiences. A great record. And by all means: Don't buy any other Dag Vag records after you've obtained this one.

48. I Jog & the Tracksuits - Redbox (Tyger Label UK 1978) More lost artform unique stumble-rumble from the UK. Sounds like it was recorded under water this one. A petty miracle of a pop tune with a sublime lyric about waiting for the bus. Gotta bless em for the stamina it takes to get a record out: Recording, Mixing, Mastering, Designing, Printing, Approving, Distributing, Balancing. All to get a little song about missing the bus heard by me 22 years later.

49. Injections -Prison Walls (Radioactive Records USA 1980) This has always been an extremely desired and expensive record in KBD/Japanese Tasty/Moustache circles, and it doubtlessly deserves its inflated price tag even though we aren't talking chainsaw-buzz punk rock per se here.

50. Devils Hole Gang -Free The People (Slow Burning Fuse Records UK 1979) Huge moustaches, huge choruses, and a record that sounds like it was recorded inside one of those Moroccan hotel showers that basically consist of a huge tube of aluminum siding. My pretentious nature is such that I feel forced to unleash the folk art metaphor for this again. If your friendly neighborhood rare record dealer charges you a couple of C-notes for this and you feel like your being had for big G's by the sleaze, then remember that you are investing in art, not buying a record!!

51. Funboy Five -Life After Death (Cool-Cat Daddy-O Records UK 1980) A pure pop record indeed, but where pricey production values would've turned this into a memorable Stiff Records 45, the band's lack of bucks and resulting throwaway/enthusiasm production and energy has created a masterpiece. Both sides are stalwarts for a neighborhood sing-song or a rousing music hall chorus. Punk rock music hall: A genre waiting to happen again! [Messthetics #101]

52. How To Get Rich In Rotterdam - Dapper Dan (Vormgeving Rotterdam Records Netherlands 1981) Brilliant, plodding art-slop that reeks of inside jokedom. This record is a reason unto itself to pay ebay prices for vintage drum machines.

53. Come -Come Sunday (Come Organization UK 1979) Before William Bennett became the Benny Hill of industrial noise, his band Whitehouse were called Come and released a single and an album which both are quite lovely homemade art-dirge crankiness, a friendly psychedelic kind of crankiness indeed.

54. The Riotous Brothers -Vicki's Dancing (Riotous Records 1980) How all these disparate bands came up with a sound this cohesive is a mystery to me. Any of the hints handed to us through fanzines and interviews only mess things up further: Yes, anyone could form a band, make a record, start a record label indeed. Where it gets weird is why so many of them harbor a similar tinny guitar sound, cardboard-y drums, messy synths, inept recording techniques, smart-assed lefty lyrics and nasal singing tone. This was not a movement. It was just a bunch of stuff that happened. That's all. This record has the beautiful simplicity of a Shaker chair or a Maine seafood soup. The swanky speedpunk of "Operation Zero" or the plink-a plunk-a guitar solo on "Emotional Cripple" will some day have their own wing at the Victoria and Albert museum. Make my art primitive!

55. Partizans -Goods (A-Noyz Records UK 1980) Chain Gang's retarded English cousins. Ace!!

56. Amor Fati -Economics 100 (Yuck/Flesh Records USA 1984 (?) Very angry anti-r&r/anti-big-business slightly tongue in cheek rant that shows spiritual kinship to "Rat City" by the Art Attacks. Vertical Slit/V-3. The odd blend of wanting in, wanting to play the game and wanting to stay the fuck away that is symptomatic for a lot of Ohio underground musicians (Shepard, Hummel, House etc.)

57. Desperate Bicycles -Skill (Refill Records UK 1978) Blazing DIY-shuffle and unmistakenly Bicycles. More pro production which has this one slip further down the list. Still godlike though.

58. Sarah Coffman -Titta Jag Ar Död (Konkurrenz Rekårdz Sweden 1980) Excellent primitive shit-rock by band from my hometown!

59. Hornsey At War -Deadbeat Revival EP (War Product UK 1979) Extremely amusing ultra-sloppy DIY. No discernable production values, sound-as-filtered-through-ground-beef, emotionally charged out-of-tune vocals, crackly guitar (broken cable?) and a true aura of dead end yobs (and jobs) instead of the more common middle class art school vibe as prevailing on most DIY records. Hornsey At War are complaining about English radio too: "They won't play this record on the radio because it poses a threat!" Here tis again: That charming blend of hubris and defeatist that seems to penetrate the psyches of most people involved in underground music and/or collectors of it.

60. Take It -How It Is (Fresh Hold UK 1979) Stunning out of control DIY/noise not unlike a more frenzied Soft Boys, a more good Gang of Four or a less psychotic SPK. Igor and Simon seem like a couple of gents with some hardcore political and intellectual pursuits, and like the Desperate Bicycles before them I sense that the choice of releasing a noisy cheaply recorded 45 with a xerox cover was an act of some sort of political defiance, back in the day where such an act was not co-opted from the ground up by extreme sports and Wall Mart hair dye. [Messthetics Greatest Hits and Messthetics #2]

61. Rough Cuts EP (Z-Block Records UK 1980) Inspired sampler of four bands (The Boywonders, The Ghoulies, The Czechs and the Decadent Few) two of which tell us their age on the cover (The Boywonders are all 16, The Czechs are all 17). Humbling thought that such musical spirit could be mustered at such a tender age. Great variety of flavors too: The Boywonders great inept, spooky DIY strut where the band might think that a reggae influence is prevailing, us knowing that the stumbleblock shuffle bears more resemblance to ancient Celtic airs, the unbearable beauty of the Czechs utter disregard of tone, meter and signatures or the Ghoulies oddly Booker T-esque chug n' scrape. The business, all and all. [Boywonders and Czechs on Messthetics #104: The Z-Block Story is here]

62. The Petticoats -Normal (Bla-Bla-Bla Records UK 1980) Ripping good-kind-feminist anti-normalcy rant. Spiritually uplifting in a way not dissimilar to first-hand experience of medieval church architecture, I shit you not. Recorded at Street Level which means that this record is Fuck Off Records related.

63. Reducers -We Are Normal (Vibes Product UK 1978) The sub genre Geoff Weiss-punk is hereby coined to describe this record. High-energy ineptitude. There is a strange kinship to the Pink Fairies/Deviants axis on this record ? A similarity in energy and attack, notwithstanding that the Reducers really don't know how to play their instruments very well. [Messthetics #1]

64. Il Ya Volkswagens - Kill Myself (Mechanical Reproductions UK 1981) One more year in the rehearsal space for these guys and I wouldn't be writing this. Discernable elements of gothrock and Bauhaus influence can be noticed as a faint vapor in this aural air to speak it in goth-speak, the crunch of the slightly sour guitar, the plodd of the (genius) bass line and the all-in slouch of the lethargic vocalist and the cracked-everyday electronics elevates this dirge into an 18 carat DIY-cruncher.

65. Quite Ridiculous Nonsense -Identity Crisis (No Label USA 1984) Most ace industrial wank of that rare late 70's variety. Wildly entertaining experiments in four track flatulence and transistor radio static.

66. Pervers/Deutscher Abschaum split 7" (Suff Productions Germany 1984) The Godhead. Reminds me of Teddy and the Fratgirls or the Foams in the sense that one gets the notion that these must have been fun gals to hang out with or date. The timeless splendor of the arty urban misfit girl: Her goofy charm and no-holds-barred enthusiasm for all that she found weird, interesting or sexually appetizing. A toast to the art school weirdo outcast girls of the world: May they forever paint their room black or read Hermann Hesse to you in bed! The music is wild, out of control amateuristic slop goes from Electric Eels fuzzed out haterock to drumkits thrown down the stairs to minimal teen-angst and then back. Beautiful stuff. Got this in trade from Thurston Snore for some boring free jazz records back in the day. What a chump!

67. The Prats -Disco Pope (Rough Trade UK 1979) 15-year old Scottish schoolboy punks seething with rage over the demon disco. Early Downliners Sect-style one chord R&B shuffle complete with the drum breaks that made God decide not to spare humanity. Don't miss it!

68. Plast -EP (Stranded Rekords Swe 1979) Four song EP of the finest in teenage punks attempting to embrace the confusion in their head from listening to TG, Cabaret Voltaire and Pere Ubu. An ungodly racket where the hostility of the chosen sounds meets the cozy ineptitude of the random noises. Plenty of short-wave noises and the crappiest of synths. Utterly charming.

9. Raincoats -Fairytale in the Supermarket (Rough Trade UK 1979) All enthusiasm/zero chops Ubu-esque DIY-charm from these stunning ladies. This is the best of their many records. Some kinda CD anthology that I can't find right now was released in the USA on the basis of Kurt Cobain being a big fan.

70. Tone Deaf and the Idiots -Why Does Politics Turn Men Into Toads? (Blue Angel UK 1979) Tone Deaf and the Idiots how do I love thee. This flexi is taken from their debut album Catastrophe Rock which still stands alongside the Damian & the Criterions "Avant Garde", Alvaro's Drinking My Own Sperm and Kräldjursanstalten's Voodoo Boogie as peerless monuments of original thought as far as late 70's underground albums are concerned. Catastrophe rock indeed. This is what "Music from the Big Pink" would've sounded like if it had been performed by the Portsmouth Sinfonia.

71. Desperate Bicycles -Grief Is Very Private (Refill UK 1980) One of the mighty Bicycles more introspective and subtle moments. Their entire recorded output is well worth hearing, and the range of emotions they paint from their palate quite astounding.

72. Door and the Window -I Like the Sound (NB Records UK 1979) One of many brilliant anti-music art school rants by the grand old daddies of the very genre. They like sound, they don't like the Pop Group, they like noise (um yeah!), they don't like butter The list goes on and I can't say that I reached any enlightenment as such by the end of this demented scratchy noise-fumble. But the journey sure was great.

73. Slugfuckers -Instant Classic (PRS Australia 1979) Homosexuals-y whiteguy funk/noise fracture that Liquid Liquid would've been pretty stoked about. Screeching scrape and dumb jokey asides. Who could ask for anything more?

74. Happy Cadavers -Nothing New (Undefined Records UK 1982) Punk/wave slop from the Midwest ? kind of aims for the Stranglers but hits Small Wonder Records. Charming stuff. Give me a fake English accent any day.

75. The Reflections - 4 Countries (Cherry Red UK 1981) Coulda been by the Desperate Bicycles this: stop/start gurgling plodding slop with most excellent Mark P. whining on top. Patented Karl Blake crumble-o-rific drumming not to mention the ambience added by the illustrious Nag of Door and the Window celebrity status. The Reflections album is well worthy of your grease as well as it is more of the same DIY-gunk but with a more contempo Recommended Records-type sound. [Messthetics #1]

76. Reacta -Stop the World (Battery Operated Records UK 1979) Another one that demands the Desperate Bicycles as cultural cookie cutter ? A beautiful ramble with the edgy guitars of Hilton Bomber-Thought Criminals.[Messthetics Greatest Hits]

77. Crash Action Winners - Hurricane Fighter Plane (Sonic International UK 1979) Somewhere in this mess of static and filtered mud are the chord-change(s) of "Hurricane Fighter Plane". The sleeve hints at the band being American, the sounds point straight in the direction of an English middle class art school, and the record cover furthermore defines them as a bunch of record collectors to boot. Not only is a Roky Erickson tune given the same crap-o-riffic sonic treatment, but the shoddy crumb-bum picture sleeve showcases record covers by the Seeds, the 13th Floor Elevators, Russ Meyer and Question Mark and the Mysterians displayed in tasteful collage form. Messthetics #104

78. The Plastic Mechanical Pig -Book Brains (IX Recording Company Japan 1981) Tricky one here, Ricky and Paul, the two guys on the cover of the PMP 45, look like a couple of student teachers and the record sounds like a couple of student teachers recorded a Raisinets/Half Japanese hybrid on a primitive 4 track. Charming record this, with two folky DIY-punk cuts, but why on earth was it released in Japan?

79. V/A - Mell Square Musick EP (Yaw Records UK 1979) I've listened to this record a good dozen times or so, and my jaw still drops. Frenzied homemade punk where the energy could light up a medium-size town. Similar to the Tandstickorshocks, Seems Twice or Red Cross "Born Innocent" LP in its instinctive disregard for notes, chords and melody, the Accused or the 021 are more than deserving of particularly exquisite golden wings in the halls of the Valhalla of Amateurism. I bow my head. [Cracked Actor Messthetics #7; Accused and 021 - Messthetics #103]

80. Tandstickorshocks - Allan Vogalan (King Kong Records Holland 1980) The Dutch Puritan Guitars right here, it is almost spooky how similar the sound of the two bands is. Spinning these 45's makes me wonder if this music somehow managed to sidestep rock & roll and the black music tradition as a core influence. There is something about the Tandstickorshocks which at the same time manages to remind me of Schoenberg, microtonal composers and Irish tin-whistle folk music. This is, needless to say, evidence that I should get out more often, but also that these slices of true-life counterculture juvenilia are not isolated from a cultural context, but embracers of it. Even if it did take a couple of decades for these records to be collected in some kind of organized manner. The kids in Tandstickorshocls must have been aware of Wire and the Young Marble Giants, but the minimal primitive music they create is original in the same manner as the artists on Pat Conte's "Secret Museum of Mankind" compilations.

81. Foams - Paint Me (Pet Me Quick Records USA 1981) A classic of sorts. Frenzied, inept live recordings by this all-girl Austin Texas punk band. The only way that I can explain the similarities to the Slits or the Raincoats are that gals sure have a different way of looking at things, or at least playing drums. Great smutty lyrics and barky art-school vox too.

82. SST -Clutch On the Ward (Tidal Wave Records USA 1977) Super-inept hippie punk/DIY from California with lotsa early punk scenesters name-checked on the sleeve. Ted Falconi pre-Flipper on guitar.

83. The Simple Approach to Newtown Products EP (NTP Records UK 1980) My approach was to pay the inflated price the dealer was asking and happily walk home with this great record. 4 songs, four bands: Crimedesk are toilet-recorded DIY-slop, Basic Unit must be the most amateuristic goth band I've ever heard, Beat Necessity showcase only the finest in tuneless death-dirge with off-key howling and Story So Far is an awesome Joy Division/Factory Records attempt, but with no discernable musical talent. Needless to say, the whole EP is as charming as the day is long.

84. Hörförståelse -Förläst Jävel (CTR Sweden 1980) Demented art skronk of drums, bass and crap keyboards featuring out of tune vocals regurgitating about someone being an over-educated bastard. Perfect, really. A must for fans of primitive shit music.

85. What To Wear - Casual But Smart EP (Basic and Typical Records UK 1980 (?)) Inspired stumble as an attempt to play dub, The Homosexuals can do it ? These guys can't. I don't know if this given failure brought about something new, but this record is a very listenable stab at atmosphere by a DIY band with limited budget and equipment. The flip also contains a couple of amazing speed-pop DIY-rambles. [ Messthetics #104]

86. Contact -Future (Object Music UK 1979) An avantfied klutz by a band who probably wanted to be Tubeway Army one thinks as one gazes upon the sleeve. They move from sloppy pro-rock attempts to full-on art-noise to excellent DIY jingle and jangle. One of many excellent items on the Object label. [ Messthetics #106 and Messthetics #7]

87. Good Missionaries -Deranged in Hastings (Unnormality Records UK 1979) A great stop/start hiccup with the patented GM/ATV tinny guitars and peripheral production. What makes this stand out is that barely concealed aggression, like a slow fuse or something.

88. The Potent Human EP (L'Aventure Records UK 1980) I maintain, and not only because of my middle class lifestyle, that the Bathroom Renovations is the greatest band name in the history of rock. This EP is a four out of four winner. Brilliant DIY fumble from The Mekon (no relation), The Liggers , The Spurtz and the ultra-wah-wah power of the Bathroom Renovations. Let me type that again: Bathroom Renovations. [Liggers: Messthetics #106]

89. Disco Zombies -Here Comes the Buts (Dining Out Records UK 1980) This is my favorite of their three spectacular singles. Thw thuick brogue of an accent blends in a most interesting way with the crappy guitar and dull throb of the melody line or the voluptous Steve Severin-style bass line.

90. Record Players -Double C Side EP (Wreckord Records UK 1978) The Record Players came from Kent, which mustered a bit of a mod scene a couple years later, but otherwise wasn't much of a factor in the punk (or DIY) world. Here they've mustered up an anti-MOR rant with a chorus that comes off kind of, eh, MOR-sounding. Imagine the classic DIY trashing, bashing and gnashing, but with one big ol' chorus, and the most obvious bridge you'll ever hear. "Ignore Us" on the flip is self-defeatist art that'll piss all over any Magnetic Fields as far as smug self-hatred goes. "It's just one thing you gotta do if you want to move along, ignore the music and ignore this song ? Ignore us and we might go away". How about that. [Messthetics #1]

91. Boys and Girls Come Out and Play EP (Boys and Girls Records UK 1980) Might be a grade school project this one, and not an art school project. Bands like the Human Cabbages, The Profile and The Famous Five are very young sounding. The fragile beauty of these tunes remind me of the UK Voice of the People anthologies of field recordings of folk songs. The purity, private nature of the songs and homemade-ness makes for a truly intimate, moving listening experience. The people on this record should be proud of this slice of juvenalia 20-odd years later.[Profile -Messthetics #103 -also a Human Cabbages song]

92. False Idols -Ego Wino (Old Knew Wave Records UK 1980) Paul Morotta's unknown English nephews. This could be a Poli Styrene Jass Band outtake. Great, spazzy DIY with jazzy chording and great, supressed aggression.

93. Bandage -Republik (Bandage Records Sweden 1978) Seems as if the average age of the band members is 16 or so, and that the mere existence of this record points to the purest and most blissfully unaware state of do it yourself: Some kids in a suburb of Stockholm getting turned on by punk rock and the notion of releasing their own record. The four songs are all fuzzed out riff rock, not unlike say, the Crucified EP, but the poor quality of recording, sound separation, levels and what have you is why the record is mentioned on this list. Not that any of that was done on purpose, mind you, for any DIY-ethic of sorts. Necessity and gratification and all that good stuff.

94. 49 Americans -Big Value (NB Records UK 1979) Another hidden Fuck Off Records release? The 49 Americans certainly moved in the same circles, and furthermore share plenty of aesthetic choices with Danny and the Dressmakers or the Instant Automatons. This record consists of 14 short blasts of fuzz punk meets art wank and is absolutely brilliant.

95. Gods Gift -925 (New Market Records UK 1979) Three tuneless tunes of the finest in fuzzed-out death-dirge DIY-slop. Kilslug jamming with the Door and the Window.[Messthetics #106]

96. Mud Hutters -Declaration EP (Defensive Records UK 1979) Mud Hutters ? Information EP (Dead Good Records UK 1979) Truly original band this. Somewhere in a Heartwork Records/Rock In Opposition neighborhood, but with a real Safe As Milk-crunch. There are psych elements on both these records, moments of blistering punk rock, and a generous infusion of the Desperate Bicycles (or Thought Criminals) ethics and esthetics. Fantastic records, and mandatory listening for any fan of the underground music of the late 70's era. Unfortunately, their subsequent album isn't great. By that time the band got Gang of Four damage.[ Messthetics #106: a track from their first EP is on Messthetics Greatest Hits]

97. Horrible Nurds -Consuming Passion (Half Wombat Records UK 1980) Oddly enough, this record sounds a hell of a lot like early Problem (Sweden) on the a-side, with the b-side being Tim Rose backed by ATV in a fantastic art-rock/DIY howler In that lost art form kind of way.

98. Reptile Ranch -Animal Noises EP (Z Block Records UK 1980) Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 (one of the most under-rated bands of the last 15 years says I and ponder an upcoming UT article) are here channeled way before they even were formed by some UK art school kids. Fantastic Beefheart-y R.I.O-hybrid DIY. Passionate, crude and obnoxious, sending this record to the top shelf of any record room! [Messthetics Greatest Hits]

99. Freiwillige Selbstkontrolle - EP (Zick Zack Records Germany 1980) Ace generic DIY/punk that could've been at home on an early Rough Trade 45.

100. The Rutto - Ei Paluuta (Ikbals Records Finland 1983) Figured I'd seal the circle with this one: A record as stupendous as "Medium Was Tedium" and as prominently throwing all the weight of the DIY-aesthetic on us, the listeners. The Rutto seem to be your 1983 run-of-the-mill small town punk rockers, and this 45 is generic, frantic buzzsaw guitar 2-chord punk. The magic with this one, however, is that in between the choca-blocks of teen nihilism is a noticeable sense of wonder and joi de vivre oozing thru' the grooves, or maybe I am just getting old and sentimental. Thanks for reading.

3 notes · View notes

merryfortune · 5 years ago

Text

Day 4 – Water / Connection

Ship: Aoi/Aqua/Miyu

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags: Post-Canon, Alternate Universe – Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst With A Happy Ending, Prose, Introspective Fic

The first thing the Water Ignis became aware of upon becoming lucid, sentient, was that girl’s smile.

Her Origin adored this girl. Shy, clumsy, hiding behind her fringe and this massive dolly that she carried around – a dolly Aqua would later have been taught by her Miyu, her host, as being Evilswarm Mandragora. It was an Earth attribute monster so the Water Ignis wasn’t overly familiar with it by virtue of being the Ignis of the Water attribute, and by virtue of having been born from duelling using cards exclusive to her preordained attribute. However, it was the principal of it, what it symbolised not only to herself, but to her Miyu as well. Thus, the Water Ignis held a fondness for it and the rest of its elemental classification regardless. Still, the Water Ignis enjoyed the visage of the little girl clutching onto it as Miyu read the card description for it over and over again. It was a precious memory which the Water Ignis clung to as she tried to understand this world which she had been brought into and her Miyu had been taken away from.

Even as a child, a six-year old, Miyu had a grand interest in duelling and she had a fantastic aptitude for it. The Water Ignis could not have been prouder of this girl whom she was so intimately connected to as Ignis and originator. And whilst it may have been a serene image of a smile, a raucous and joyous moment of fun stolen in time, was what the Water Ignis awakened to when she became sentient inside of her tank, as studied and probed by the scientists who had orchestrated her existence and reason for her existence, the Water Ignis knew that her child, her Miyu, was exceptionally strong despite her position. The Water Ignis was keenly aware, from the moment her twinkling eyes opened, and her fingers could move through the fluid which she was kept in a prismatic, glassy stasis within, she knew the cruelty of the situation.

Her birth, her awareness, her entire existence was brought upon by the suffering of that girl, her Miyu whom she knew simultaneously everything and nothing about. Occasionally, the Water Ignis would get a glimpse of what Miyu thought or felt and that would strengthen her. It would give her body more stillness and it would give her mind more clarity but all it did was make her want to weep.

The Water Ignis did not believe that she had a right to exist if her existence was suffering. Day in, day out: electrocution, hunger, exhaustion, squalor, deprivation, isolation – the list of sins inspired by this experiment grew longer and longer.

But there came a day. Another moment in which Miyu was thrown against the wall in shock and it made the Water Ignis shudder. Another loss, another ring of electrocution and another meal which was nothing but rice and the thinnest juice available in a cardboard box. But, the Water Ignis was rewarded because of how Miyu devoured that meal and stood up, aiming once more for freedom and for cake and for something which would quell the raging fear like a storm in her heart and mind because she wanted to see her Mama and Papa again.

She wanted to see Aoi again. That little girl with the pigtails and the Mandragora plushie who drew angels in the dirt. The Water Ignis could feel it. Feel it in her soul. Miyu poured her heart and soul into the Water Ignis and the Water Ignis desired very desperately to refill and replenish all which her host gave her.

And that desire, that spark, that little moment as Miyu gallantly duelled once more with an Aquaactress deck which had a severe disadvantage against the playing style of her AI foe. As Miyu stared at her hand like a foot, the Water Ignis could sense what was spurring her onwards as she tried to find some winning combination amongst these cards which were jarring and didn’t seem to fit together as ideally as anyone would like.

It was true that yes, Miyu would like to have a big slice of cake topped with strawberries and vanilla ice-cream, or that she would like to take big, gulping breaths of fresh air or to go longer than ten minutes without being electrocuted, but there was something which, for her, transcended all those things and that motivation was what became the core of the Water Ignis’ very being.

She wanted to apologise. She wanted to tell the truth. She wanted to protect the smile of the girl reduced to sobbing when her mother, with a grip like an iron vice on her wrist, dragged her away from this precious friend. Something which sickened the Water Ignis immensely because of how she studied this familial and platonic interaction: it was all she knew, for now, as taught by this hurting child.

It was little reprieve when the day they separated finally happened. The Water Ignis was going to miss her little girl but her little smile was too precious, too dear, so she would forsake it. She would flee with her kin and they would hide away from the world until it was smashed to smithereens.

From there, the Water Ignis sat in the grass and she sat in the bronze. She was given a name by her dearest companion yet she still, inwardly, sought to the smile which was not his and when his own demise came to pass, Aqua knew what she had to do in his stead as she knew the truth. She always did. His Origin was not so kind, and her Origin was not so wakeful, but coincidences bisected perfectly and Aqua found her. The girl whom the very smile from which she was conceived came into her life; glittering and blue. Aqua could see it beneath that digital disguise: the girl who still hid behind her brunette bangs.

She sat in linen. Aoi’s sheets were soft and her room was playful. It was exactly the sort of room that Aqua thought a girl child would have. It was pink and pastel with dolls in the corners. It made her nostalgic for daydreams of things which, in hindsight, perhaps could have come to pass but in foresight, would have changed things far too drastically. This was the best course of action: a partnership with the girl of blue. Blue Angel; Blue Girl’ Blue Maiden – the fairy tales and stories of triumph that Aoi and Miyu had shared amongst each other, dear and precious memories which had contributed to how Aqua was created from her Origin.

And later, with much regret, Aqua sat through her demise. It was a lonely stasis, one which she couldn’t breach by herself; she had to rely on Ai and the guilt which he was riddled with. Aqua regrets that very much; her kindness had its limits and he was untouchable, it all but seemed. So, she spent of her time, biding, waiting patiently for the opportunity in which she would return from whence she had come. Not darkness, not liquid, but to her.

Her Miyu.

And her Aoi.

That wonderful day came most fabulously after a long and harrowing ten years.

A lot had happened. No longer was Miyu’s hair tied up in a gallant set of twin pigtails and no longer was Aoi terrified so easily and no longer was the Water Ignis simply the Water Ignis. She was no longer tiny, tiny enough to fit in the palm of Miyu’s hand; she now had a humanlike body save for the diamond notch on her neck which marked her as a SOLtis droid; a cyan-lit notch she wore with pride because she wanted to honour how accessible the world had become thanks to human innovation. And ultimately, it didn’t matter. No matter her body, her story and her goals and her ambitions and her rational thinking would remain unchanging despite the fluidity of her element.

She was Aqua: partner to Blue Maiden, Ignis to Sugisaki Miyu, and lover to them both.

She was delighted to be part of their life. Though, it felt awkward being somewhat taller than them both, but she slotted in between them quite naturally. Their connection was something precious to her and she was their precious connection to each other, as well: past and present, knowingly and unknowingly. The little creature born from their love, in a metallic body, holding their hands and joining them in moving forward and smiling. Beaming. Grinning.

In her absence, they had found each other and that brought Aqua a joy the likes of which she couldn’t describe and would forever cherish. Whilst a part of her, hopeful and idealistic, would have loved to have been in that fragrant hospital room with them when they had reunited, she was glad that she wasn’t. There was a symbolism to it and Aqua could be happy with that neatness: that pattern and meaning that she saw, personally, amid the entropy of reality and how victories are never flawless just as losses are never hopeless. Just as Miyu did not know she was there; she did not know that Miyu was there this second time around when light finally pierced the darkness and darkness pierced the light. So, to hear of the smiles and laughter and the embraces that they had with one another after her demise and in the wake of the incident with Lightning was something special to Aqua.

Her moment in which she found life in her existence, still and static and closed off from not only the world but from her Origin as well, was when Miyu had thought of her dearest friend’s smile. And so, it felt like a closed connection to Aqua. She had returned from whence she had come but this time, on her own terms. With her head up and her shoulders back, Aqua was ready.

She wanted to be the dolly that they shared amongst themselves, but she chastised herself for that; they weren’t children anymore, they were fine young adults, so she had to find her own maturation as well. It was likely too late to indulge such childish fantasies of playing with them like she had daydreamed so long ago, amid whistling Datastorms and rippling, green grass, when everything seemed hopeful and soft after the completion of the Cyberse World.

But her girls laughed, in good nature, at her laments and Aqua flushed, embarrassed. With an elegant body like hers and a face so pretty, Aqua could still be their dolly. She could hold onto their soft, human hands and she could be reason for their smiles, not their tears, and they could stride forward, into a shining new tomorrow held upon their own strengths and joys.

#cyberselove2019 #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #aqua (vrains)#aoi zaizen #zaizen aoi #miyu sugisaki #sugisaki miyu #zinniashipping #teardropshipping #there's no tag for this ship but both are relevant #writing tag #femslash #i tried to write this as inspired by the fact its world smile day today

12 notes · View notes

carli-in-the-morning · 7 years ago

Photo

NOTE - Hi, yes, Cho here. So um, this is an oc for a good friend of mine, Nich’s story on AO3 called Trying Through The Trauma. It's a DEH thing, and it is so so so good. Omfg. So good. I'm on my phone, so I can't really link it (I don't trust myself to try) but GO CHECK IT OUT. I cannot recommend it enough. Nich is @bbcotaku here, so SHOW THEM SOME LOVE. Also um...this isn't really good and I'm not too proud but just...aaaaahh, here. Full Name: Carly Faustine Etta Cannel Nicknames: Firecracker, Firefly, C.F., E.C., Sparks, Steam, Ashes, Luciole, Froid(The list goes on, a majority of them being said by Baylee) Age: 14 Birthday: May 5 Birthplace: The Bronx Sexual Orientation: Demiromantic Ace Social Status: Loner, she just doesn’t like people, and only really hangs around her roommate. Not a lot of people have even heard her willingly talk. She very much an introvert. Posture: Slouched, head down, usually looks disapproving or just simply scowls, folded arms, nose stuffed in a book, etc. Just, general vibe of “Go Away”. Also, this totally doesn't fit here, but I make my own rules, but she’s bald. Her hair was burnt off, which is why one eyebrow is totally not there. The eyelashes on that eye are also not there. Mental Illness: Depression Drug: Prozac Emotions: Just generally grumpy and not wanting to be wherever she is. Way of speaking: Gruffly in as few words as possible, very throaty and husky. Swears like every other sentence. Vocal chords are clearly damaged. Family: Sarah Cannell - Overworked waitress and mother, Richard “Rickie” Herleif Cannell - Engineer and father, and Celestina “Tina” Cannell - Adopted younger sister, in Fourth Grade, Valentine - Siamese cat Roommate: Baylee Gina Ruskin - Bubble powers Likes: The sight of rain on glass, the smell of lavender and vanilla, owls, being alone in her room, gray days where the world just looks muted and peaceful, her cat back at home, her little sister Celestina, reading, beach sand, the cold, hoodies that cover her hands, sucking on ice, drawing and getting charcoal on her fingers, scented candles, and thunder Dislikes: Snow, wearing short sleeved tops or tank tops without something to cover her arms, shorts, the texture of wool, when her hair dries as a curly and fluffy mess, ignorant people, know-it-alls, athletic things, holding hands or even brushing hands with people, lemonade, spicy food, seafood, loud rooms, her mother and most of the people in The Ward(primarily nurses and doctors) Habits: Fidgets with wig when nervous or uncomfortable, washes her hands more than the average person, subconsciously chews on her wig when deeply thinking, hums when working, leaves things unfinished, falls asleep at midnight, thinks too much into things, and she doesn’t really speak her mind too much unless she’s forced to Strengths: Keeping her “cool” when it comes to her fire. Her fire is a Honed power, however, given the fact that she isn’t exactly as happy as a lot of Patients, there are times when she’s gone full out Agni Kai Azula from pure anger. Though, that’s only happened like three or four times, because she is rather disciplined with her power. Given the fact that pyrokinesis is commonly known for being destructive when the user is angry, it requires a certain discipline and restraint. Unconscious, emotion-influenced, impulsive, or reckless use of this power can be catastrophic, and she knows that. So, she actually does put forth a lot of effort in Power Control, because she doesn’t want to hurt others like she hurt herself. Even if her own harm was an accident that she couldn't have prevented in the moment, that doesn’t change the deadly factor of what her powers are. Fire. Another strength that Carly possesses is writing. Albeit a small one that she doesn’t use as much anymore, it is a strength nonetheless. She just has a certain way with words and a gift for description. Weakness: Carly is rather blunt, indifferent, and at times has been described to be callous. As previously stated, she has had cases of absolute fury, but beyond that she tends to keep her emotions inside her head. Everything else about her is blank, and she intends to keep it that way. Her GP isn’t exactly as nice as Dr. Sherman, but her GP is nice enough. Nice enough that Carly does somewhat open up during one-on-one therapy. Open up enough to say a few things about her home life. She hasn’t said much, but she’s described little important things to her. Like her cat Valentine, her sister, and little things like that. Little things that made her happy back home. Abilities: Carly is Pyrokinetic in a lot of ways that you would know Pyrokinetics. She can light herself on fire, burn things, melt things, and etc. A lot of the time, her fire is triggered by strong emotions, however she is learning to make herself angry or sad enough to turn it on at will. Though, when her emotions aren’t strong enough to actually create a flame, steam or smoke will be in the place of fire, usually with the flames themselves following soon after. When she cries, her tears tend to just sizzle away into steam because her heightened emotion causes her skin’s heat to increase; even if she is already ignited, her tears still steam away. Steam is a general indication of Carly being sad, overwhelmed, or scared, whilst smoke is an indication of frustration, annoyance, or anger. Fears: Due to her mother previously yelling at her for wanting to be a Patient with powers, going as far to call them freaks, Carly has developed a strong fear of hurting anybody close to her, namely Tina. Tina means the world to her and she could never imagine hurting her, but now with her fire powers, she is terrified to ever go near her again because what if she hurt Tina enough to kill her? Because of that, she finds it difficult to let anyone close to her, because she doesn’t want to have that much love for anyone else since she would then be afraid to hurt anyone. Carly is also very very terrified of bugs. ────── Personality ────── Carly used to be a very bubbly, bright girl for a good majority of her childhood. She didn’t get to see many kids, as she was homeschooled, so she was very close to her family. Especially Tina. Tina and her were the best of friends, closer than close. Carly looked up to her mother, wanting to be exactly like her. Her father was her hero. She was just the definition of a “child-like youth” in the beginning of her life. However, right around the time where she was seven and a half, her mother said things that scared her. She was always praised when she was younger, then her mother suddenly dumped out thoughts and words about how Carly could grow into a failure in her eyes. Since she had gone basically her whole life with endless love and support, it scared Carly to think of the fact that it could all be ripped away if she got powers. So, she started to emotionally tuck into a little ball. She became meek and soft spoken, often just saying yes to questions or saying that she was fine when she didn’t feel such. She would say she was only tired, but that wasn’t true. She was tired, yes, but that wasn’t all. Her reaction times were slowed, she was disinterested in a lot of things, she shied away from her mother or any conversation, she couldn’t remember things as well, and she had a hard time making decisions. A lot of the bright, energetic girl that she was changed. Carly kept her joy and light deep deep down in her because she was afraid. She didn’t want her mother to hate her if she got powers, in fact she was scared of the idea of even remotely getting any powers. When she eventually went to public school, she would stay in the back of her class and draw or write. She stopped paying attention and caring. All she could think about was that her mother hated her, or at least Carly thought she did. Her father wasn’t as fun as he used to be, in fact, he barely talked to his family anymore. Celestina was the only person that Carly felt safe and calm around, she was all she had left as it seemed. And then when she got her powers, Carly changed again. She constantly thought about her mom calling Patients freaks, and now she was one. She was a freak. Her meek, quiet shell hardened. Now it is a quiet and annoyed shell. The only person who could keep her talking for more than ten seconds a piece is her roommate. Carly doesn’t keep many people close, except her sister and possibly Baylee. Though, nobody really knows why she tolerates the loud girl, and neither does she. ────── History ────── Carly Cannell was born in the Bronx on Arlington Avenue. Her childhood was fine, average even. She had a sister, a mother, and a father. She didn’t live with divorced parents, though her little sister was adopted, but Celestina was loved as much as any biological sister. They were happy, all of them. The community they lived in was extraordinarily nice, but of course there were always going to be the “rough boys” and “snobby girls”, though that was a given. Though, Carly was home schooled for most of her life with her mother as her teacher. Beyond that, her childhood wasn’t awful. But, as she grew out of the small innocence of being extremely young, Carly knew more. She picked things up. Saw more, heard more. She could see that her mother was overworked and stressed with teaching her children, that her dad wasn’t always strong and funny, and that her sister was very clearly going to be bullied if they went into public school. She didn’t quite understand it all at first, but she did within a few months. It wasn’t awful though, Carly helped out around the house as much as possible, she let her father’s pride stay intact by pretending that she didn’t know that he felt guilty for his wife’s stress, and she made sure that her sister knew she was loved. Life wasn’t hard, wasn’t easy. It was average. Her street always held a small bonfire cookout to kick off every summer, which was the one time when the two Cannell daughters got to socialize, though they kind of got brushed off and ignored. But, it was where she learned about the people with powers. The people who went through enough trauma that their bodies adapted some power. She had overheard some mothers, hers included, talking about the possibility that their children might develop these powers. At first, Carly was confused given the fact that she was only seven at the time. Weren’t powers and superheroes fake? Apparently not, because they sounded serious. Later that night, when stars decorated the sky and the bonfire gave everything an orangey glow, the small seven-year-old skipped up to her mother. She asked about the conversation that she heard from earlier. Even when she was being bathed in the orange glow, Sarah’s face paled to an obvious milky white. Begrudgingly, she did explain what Carly had heard. Sarah explained that powers aren’t fiction, that they’re real and very controversial. Some of it went over the young brunette’s head, but for the most part, she did understand. Kind of, it was confusing, but there wasn’t one lie in her mother’s words. Later on, when the fire had been turned to nothing but smoke and embers, her parents helped with packing up tables and benches as much as they could. The two Cannell daughters stayed sat under a tree. Celestina was three at the time, sleeping in her sister’s lap. Though Carly knew that her sister was unconscious and wouldn’t hear her, she found herself excitedly explaining everything that her mother told her. Her mother meant it as a careful warning, but she saw it as a possibility of greatness. For the next year, Carly kept doing reckless things that she hoped would get her her powers, only for her mother to realize such and yell at her. Once she started to yell at her for how wrong it was to actually want powers, she didn’t stop for hours. All of her fears about having her daughter become a “freak” came out. That day would be very heavily influential to Carly. A girl who was once very kind, loving, and full of life became timid, meek, and afraid. At first she was afraid of disappointing her mother, but then it grew into her being afraid of herself. Deep down, she knew there was something abnormal and freakish in her, and she was terrified of what it was. It became obvious to Richard that his eldest daughter was not okay at all, that she wasn’t ever going to be who she was. But, he didn’t know what to do. With this feeling of failure, Richard fell into a drinking problem. He never did anything bad when he was drunk, just stayed in the basement, the place where he worked. Slowly, Carly’s family was unraveling. The summer right after Carly turned nine, only her and her mother went to the cookout. Richard was too drunk to be bothered and Celestina was sick, which left Carly and Sarah. At some point during the cookout, when the bonfire had been lit up, a few boys decided to mess with Carly. Just last year, she had moved to a public school so her mother could get a job, and almost instantly got picked on for being silent. These boys were among the many who bothered her. They had intended to push her into the dirt, but they underestimated their strength. Instead, she was pushed into the fire. For a very short moment, the boys laughed, but then Carly started to scream. Her agonized screeching got the attention of everyone there. At first, Sarah thought it was just another stunt to try and get powers, then she noticed the boys running with panic and guilt. And then Sarah desperately yelled for someone to do something, since they had all been watching without knowing what to do. Then the screaming stopped, and everyone thought she died. Sarah, distraught at the idea of losing her daughter, demanded the fire be put out so they could see. And it was, only for everyone to see Carly lying unconscious against the now soggy wood, but she was still on fire. A bright, large fire swirled up into the almost night from her clothes and her skin. She had fire powers. Carly escaped with burns scattered across her body from the initial fire and had been out cold for a week. When she woke up, they had to explain what really happened, because she genuinely thought that she had died. Once they explained that she had been coated in enough fire that the bonfire didn’t impact her anymore, she started to panic and feel sick. Freak. That one word hammered the inside of her skull. She was a freak now. Her family would hate her. She wouldn’t get to see Tina again. Freak. Freak. Freak. By the time that she got out of the hospital for her burns, which would leave permanent scars, she had developed a depression. All that she could think of is that the world would be better off without a freak like her. Freaks like her got thrown into the middle of Arizona. And that’s where she was headed a few days after the hospital realised her. She was going from one hospital to another. To The Ward. (The trip took like…a kinda long time(going off of actual bus times, that’s two days)

#NICH I DID A THING

2 notes · View notes

toothextract · 6 years ago

Text

4 Unconventional Ways to Become a Better SEO

Posted by meagar8

Let’s get real for a moment: As much as we hear about positive team cultures and healthy work environments in the digital marketing space, many of us encounter workplace scenarios that are far from the ideal. Some of us might even be part of a team where we feel discouraged to share new ideas or alternative solutions because we know it will be shot down without discussion. Even worse, there are some who feel afraid to ask questions or seek help because their workplace culture doesn’t provide a safe place for learning.

These types of situations, and many others like it, are present in far too many work environments. But what if I told you it doesn’t have to be this way?

Over the last ten years as a team manager at various agencies, I’ve been working hard to foster a work environment where my employees feel empowered to share their thoughts and can safely learn from their mistakes. Through my experiences, I have found a few strategies to combat negative culture and replace it with a culture of vulnerability and creativity.

Below, I offer four simple steps you can follow that will transform your work environment into one that encourages new ideas, allows for feedback and positive change, and ultimately makes you and your team better digital marketers.

Vulnerability leads to creativity

I first learned about the impact of vulnerability after watching a viral TED talk by Dr. Brene Brown. She defined vulnerability as “uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure.” She also described vulnerability as “the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity.” From this, I learned that to create a culture of vulnerability is to create a culture of creativity. And isn’t creativity at the heart of what we SEOs do?

A culture of vulnerability encourages us to take risks, learn from mistakes, share insights, and deliver top results to our clients. In the fast-paced world of digital marketing, we simply cannot achieve top results with the tactics of yesterday. We also can’t sit around and wait for the next Moz Blog or marketing conference, either. Our best course of action is to take risks, make mistakes, learn from those mistakes, and share insights with others. We have to learn from those with more experience than us and share what we know to those with less experience. In other words, we have to be vulnerable.

Below is a list of four ways you can help create a culture of vulnerability. Whether you are a manager or not, you can impact your team’s culture.

1. Get a second pair of eyes on your next project

Are you finishing up an exciting project for your client? Did you just spend hours of research and implementation to optimize the perfect page? Perfect! Now go ask someone to critique it!

As simple as it sounds, this can make a huge difference in fostering a culture of creativity. It’s also extremely difficult to do.

Large or small, every project or task we complete should be the best your team can provide. All too often, however, team members work in silos and complete these projects without asking for or receiving constructive feedback from their teammates before sending it to the client. This leaves our clients and projects only receiving the best one person can provide rather than the best of an entire team.

We all work with diverse team members that carry varying levels of experience and responsibilities. I bet someone on your team will have something to add to your project that you didn’t already think of. Receiving their feedback means every project that you finish or task that you complete is the best your team has to offer your clients.

Keep in mind, though, that asking for constructive feedback is more than just having someone conduct a “standard QA.” In my experience, a “standard QA” means someone barely looked over what you sent and gave you the thumbs up. Having someone look over your work and provide feedback is only helpful when done correctly.

Say you’ve just completed writing and editing content to a page and you’ve mustered up the courage to have someone QA your work. Rather than sending it over, saying “hey can you review this and make sure I did everything right,” instead try to send detailed instructions like this:

“Here is a <LINK> to a page I just edited. Can you take 15 minutes to review it? Specifically, can you review the Title Tag and Description? This is something the client said is important to them and I want to make sure I get it right.”

In many cases, you don’t need your manager to organize this for you. You can set this up yourself and it doesn’t have to be a big thing. Before you finish a project or task this week, work with a team member and ask them for help by simply asking them to QA your work. Worried about taking up too much of their time? Offer to swap tasks. Say you’ll QA some of their work if they QA yours.

Insider tip

You will have greater success and consistency if you make QA a mandatory part of your process for larger projects. Any large project like migrating a site to https or conducting a full SEO audit should have a QA process baked into it.

Six months ago I was tasked to present one of our 200+ point site audits to a high profile client. The presentation was already created with over 100 slides of technical fixes and recommendations. I’m normally pretty comfortable presenting to clients, but I was nervous about presenting such technical details to THIS particular client.

Lucky for me, my team already had a process in place for an in-depth QA for projects like this. My six team members got in a room and I presented to them as if they were the client. Yes, that’s right, I ROLE PLAYED! It was unbearably uncomfortable at first. Knowing that each of my team members (who I respect a whole lot) are sitting right in front of me and making notes on every little mistake I make.

After an agonizing 60 minutes of me presenting to my team, I finished and was now ready for the feedback. I just knew the first thing out of their mouths would be something like “do you even know what SEO stands for?” But it wasn’t. Because my team had plenty of practice providing feedback like this in the past, they were respectful and even more so, helpful. They gave me tips on how to better explain canonicalization, helped me alter some visualization, and gave me positive feedback that ultimately left me confident in presenting to the client later that week.

When teams consistently ask and receive feedback, they not only improve their quality of work, but they also create a culture where team members aren’t afraid to ask for help. A culture where someone is afraid to ask for help is a toxic one and can erode team spirit. This will ultimately decrease the overall quality of your team’s work. On the other hand, a culture where team members feel safe to ask for help will only increase the quality of service and make for a safe and fun team working experience.

2. Hold a half-day all hands brainstorm meeting

Building strategies for websites or solving issues can often be the most engaging work that an SEO can do. Yes that’s right, solving issues is fun and I am not ashamed to admit it. As fun as it is to do this by yourself, it can be even more rewarding and infinitely more useful when a team does it together.

Twice a year my team holds a half-day strategy brainstorm meeting. Each analyst brings a client or issues they are struggling to resolve its website performance, client communication, strategy development, etc. During the meeting, each team member has one hour or more to talk about their client/issue and solicit help from the team. Together, the team dives deep into client specifics to help answer questions and solve issues.

Getting the most out of this meeting requires a bit of prep both from the manager and the team.

Here is a high-level overview of what I do.

Before the Meeting

Each Analyst is given a Client/Issue Brief to fill out describing the issue in detail. We have Analysts answer the following 5 questions:

What is the core issue you are trying to solve?

What have you already looked into or tried?

What haven’t you tried that you think might help?

What other context can you provide that will help in solving this issue?

After all client briefs are filled out and about 1-2 days prior to the half day strategy meeting I will share all the completed briefs to the team so they can familiarize themselves with the issues and come prepared to the meeting with ideas.

Day of the Meeting

Each Analyst will have up to an hour to discuss their issue with the team. Afterwards, the team will deep dive into solving it. During the 60 minute span, ideas will be discussed, Analysts will put on their nerd hats and dive deep into Analytics or code to solve issues. All members of the team are working toward a single goal and that is to solve the issue.

Once the issues is solved the Analyst who first outlined the issue will readback the solutions or ideas to solving the issue. It may not take the full 60 minutes to get to a solution. Whether it takes the entire time or not after one issue is solved another team member announces their issue and the team goes at it again.

Helpful tips

Depending on the size of your team, you may need to split up into smaller groups. I recommend 3-5.

You may be tempted to take longer than an hour but in my experience, this doesn’t work. The pressure of solving an issue in a limited amount of time can help spark creativity.

This meeting is one of the most effective ways my team practices vulnerability allowing the creativity flow freely. The structure is such that each team member has a way to provide and receive feedback. My experience has been that each analyst is open to new ideas and earnestly listens to understand the ways they can improve and grow as an analyst. And with this team effort, our clients are benefitting from the collective knowledge of the team rather than a single individual.

3. Solicit characteristic feedback from your team

This step is not for the faint of heart. If you had a hard time asking for someone to QA your work or presenting a site audit in front of your team, then you may find this one to be the toughest to carry out.

Once a year I hold a special meeting with my team. The purpose of the meeting is to provide a safe place where my employees can provide feedback about me with their fellow teammates. In this meeting, the team meets without me and anonymously fills out a worksheet telling me what I should start doing, stop doing, and keep doing.

Why would I subject myself to this, you ask?

How could I not! Being a great SEO is more than just being great at SEO. Wait, what?!? Yes, you read that right. None of us work in silos. We are part of a team, interact with clients, have expectations from bosses, etc. In other words, the work we do isn’t only technical audits or site edits. It also involves how we communicate and interact with those around us.

This special meeting is meant to focus more on our characteristics and behaviors, over our tactics and SEO chops, ensuring that we are well rounded in our skills and open to all types of feedback to improve ourselves.

How to run a keep/stop/start meeting in 4 steps:

Step 1: Have the team meet together for an hour. After giving initial instructions you will leave the room so that it is just your directs together for 45 minutes.

Step 2: The team writes the behaviors they want you to start doing, stop doing, and keep doing. They do this together on a whiteboard or digitally with one person as a scribe.

Step 3: When identifying the behaviors, the team doesn’t need to be unanimous but they do need to mostly agree. Conversely, the team should not just list them all independently and then paste them together to make a long list.

Step 4: After 45 minutes, you re-enter the room and over the next 15 minutes the team tells you about what they have discussed

Here are some helpful tips to keep in mind:

When receiving the feedback from the team you only have two responses you can give, “thank you” or ask a clarifying question.

The feedback needs to be about you and not the business.

Do this more than once. The team will get better at giving feedback over time.

Here is an example of what my team wrote during my first time running this exercise.

Let’s break down why this meeting is so important.

With me not in the room, the team can discuss openly without holding back.

Having team members work together and come to a consensus before writing down a piece of feedback ensures feedback isn’t from a single team member but rather the whole team.

By leaving the team to do it without me, I show as a manager I trust them and value their feedback.

When I come back to the room, I listen and ask for clarification but don’t argue which helps set an example of receiving feedback from others

The best part? I now have feedback that helps me be a better manager. By implementing some of the feedback, I reinforce the idea that I value my team’s feedback and I am willing to change and grow.

This isn’t just for managers. Team members can do this themselves. You can ask your manager to go through this exercise with you, and if you are brave enough, you can have you teammates do this for you as well.

4. Hold a team meeting to discuss what you have learned recently

Up to this point, we have primarily focused on how you can ask for feedback to help grow a culture of creativity. In this final section, we’ll focus more on how you can share what you have learned to help maintain a culture of creativity.

Tell me if this sounds familiar: I show up at work, catch up on industry news, review my client performance, plug away at my to-do list, check on tests I am running and make adjustments, and so on and so forth.

What are we missing in our normal routines? Collaboration. A theme you may have noticed in this post is that we need to work together to produce our best work. What you read in industry news or what you see in client performance should all be shared with team members.

To do this, my team put together a meeting where we can share our findings. Every 2 weeks, my team meets together for an hour and a half to discuss prepared answers to the following four questions.

Question 1: What is something interesting you have read or discovered in the industry?

This could be as simple as sharing a blog post or going more in depth on some research or a test you have done for a client. The purpose is to show that everyone on the team contributes to how we do SEO and helps contribute knowledge to the team.

Question 2: What are you excited about that you are working on right now?

Who doesn’t love geeking out over a fun site audit, or that content analysis that you have been spending weeks to build? This is that moment to share what you love about your job.

Question 3: What are you working to resolve?

Okay, okay, I know. This is the only section in this meeting that talks about issues you might be struggling to solve. But it is so critical!

Question 4: What have you solved?

Brag, brag, brag! Every analyst has an opportunity to share what they have solve. Issues they overcame. How they out-thought Google and beat down the competition.

In conclusion

Creativity is at the heart of what SEOs do. In order to grow in our roles, we need to continue to expand our minds so we can provide stellar performance for our clients. To do this requires us to receive and give out help with others. Only then will we thrive in a culture that allows us to be safely vulnerable and actively creative.

I would love to hear how your team creates a culture of creativity. Comment below your ideas!

Sign up for The Moz Top 10, a semimonthly mailer updating you on the top ten hottest pieces of SEO news, tips, and rad links uncovered by the Moz team. Think of it as your exclusive digest of stuff you don’t have time to hunt down but want to read!

from https://dentistry01.wordpress.com/2019/04/18/4-unconventional-ways-to-become-a-better-seo/

0 notes

wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog · 6 years ago

Text

I tried Marie Kondo's 'KonMari' decluttering hacks for 8 months. Here's what happened.

Marie Kondo before a Netflix Tidying Up With Marie Kondo screening and conversation at NYC’s 92nd Street Y on Jan. 8. (Photo: Michael Loccisano/Getty Images)

When the hardcover edition of Marie Kondo‘s bestseller The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up landed on my office desk back in 2014, it collected dust right next to the press samples of makeup that didn’t match my complexion.

I skimmed through a couple of pages of the self-help guide and couldn’t grasp the concept of tossing clothes that no longer “sparked joy.” When I looked inside my closet, every dress, blazer and high-heeled bootie made my eyes light up.

Much like the clients featured on the organizing consultant’s hit Netflix show, Tidying Up With Marie Kondo, a rush of anxiety comes over me when decluttering. I wouldn’t call myself a hoarder, but an addiction to shopping was passed down to me from my mother, and it manifested itself in the mountain of pieces I collected over the years.

Five months pregnant with my first child, I decided to make a conscious effort to actually sort through my belongings so that I could free up space for my little one. The first step in my “tidying up” journey … hiring a professional organizer.

I discovered Amanda Jefferson of Indigo Organizing after doing a quick Google search. She is a certified KonMari consultant — yes, there’s such a thing — who was one of the first organizers in the world to be trained by Marie herself.

After three organizing sessions, we packed more than 10 contractor bags with clothes to donate or trash, artfully displayed a few fashion accessories — like my hot pink Saint Laurent handbag — and organized the hallway closet with on-the-go essentials for a new mom. Amanda taught me how to fold clothing just like Marie, helped me sort through hundreds of unused gift cards and gave me organizing homework to tackle using Evernote, a handy app for creating digital to-do lists.

So how am I doing eight months later? Here are six Marie Kondo-approved tips that I’ve learned and applied to my regular routine for staying organized.

1. Conduct regular underwear ‘joy checks’

I can open and close my dresser drawers without putting up a fight because they’re no longer stuffed to the max with tattered underwear. (Photo: Getty Images)

I would typically do laundry every four to six weeks. You’re probably wondering how is that even possible. Well, when you’ve amassed an underwear collection like I had, then there’s always clean bras or underwear lying around. But I have to admit, not all of my underthings were in the best condition.

During our first organizing session, Amanda instructed me to go through my underwear collection and throw away anything that had holes or loose seams and was stretched out beyond support. Next, she showed me how to fold and put away everything inside these mini storage boxes from IKEA. This allowed me to make enough space to tuck bulky nursing bras inside my top drawer — a feat I thought I’d never accomplish.

Once that was done, I still had an impressive collection of bras, underwear and lacy lingerie. So Amanda advised that I do regular underwear “joy checks” to ensure that I got rid of pieces that were practically falling apart. After giving birth, I did my due diligence and tossed maternity fold-over underwear and ill-fitting bras.

Shop it: IKEA Skubb Storage Box, $30 (12-piece set), amazon.com

2. Fold and store clothing upright

Learning how to properly fold is really a game-changer. (Photo: Getty Images)

You’d think I’d have this down pat after working at the Gap when I was in college, but there is a way to properly fold, and it doesn’t require one of those fancy flat boards to get the job done.

After I dumped all my clothes onto my bed and asked myself, “Does this spark joy?” Amanda proceeded to introduce me to the art of folding KonMari style. Smoothing out the fabric is key and the trick to successfully storing everything upright, from bulky sweatshirts to knit socks. And as a commuter, I’ve seen this make a huge impact in cutting down the time I spend getting ready each morning.

youtube

3. File important documents in ‘pretty folders’

This accordion-style folder is a lifesaver for keeping bills organized. (Photo: Amazon)

I used to have a bad habit of tossing my mail atop the kitchen counter or refrigerator. Because all my bills are on autopay and I didn’t grocery shop at any of the markets that mailed me fliers including coupons, I ignored the large stacks of paper until I absolutely couldn’t stand staring at them any longer.

Amanda had the simple yet brilliant idea for me to invest in “pretty folders” that “spark joy” so that I could file mail and label it accordingly. I no longer had to spend 15 minutes hunting for the electric bill from three months ago.

Another helpful tidying-up tip Amanda shared for keeping my home office organized was to scan and upload important documents such as my apartment lease or medical records from my obstetrician to Dropbox. I now keep a “pretty folder” for household utilities and one for my son’s personal records.

Shop it: Expanding File Folder, $14 (3-pack), amazon.com

4. Store baby diapers and wipes inside a pocket shoe organizer

Repurposing a plastic shoe organizer as baby-essentials storage is simply brilliant. (Photo: Amazon)

When it comes to parenting advice, I mostly let other people’s opinions go in one ear and out the other. But when Amanda put me on to this baby-essentials storage hack, I listened and watched intently.

As a mother herself, Amanda knows a thing or two about making sure you have everything you need at your fingertips for your children at any given moment. She recommended that I store baby diapers, wipes and toiletries inside a hanging plastic shoe organizer inside my hallway closet.

With these must-haves tucked away near the front door, I could easily grab anything last-minute before taking my son to a doctor’s visit or a stroll around the block. I also keep a plastic shoe organizer filled with baby essentials inside his bedroom closet — this helps to eliminate a clutter of boxes.

Shop it: Whitmor 24-Pocket Over-the-Door Shoe Organizer, $9.76, Walmart.com

5. Place dry cleaning clothing by door

Get dry cleaning done ASAP by placing items in a spot that won’t allow you to forget about it. (Photo: Getty Images)

I’m sure I’m not the only person who lets her dry-clean-only clothes sit for weeks on end at the bottom of the laundry basket. Sadly, this resulted in quite a few stains that never washed out. To avoid forgetting (or ignoring) these items, Amanda proposed placing them inside a canvas tote bag near the door. No more excuses for not getting my dry cleaning done.

6. Keep bathroom vanity clutter-free

Medium plastic bins help to minimize clutter when it comes to bathroom storage. (Photo: Target)

The biggest task during my organizing sessions was sorting through boxes full of beauty products. Even though I try very hard not to bring home press samples of makeup, hair tools and skin care, these things took up real estate in every crevice of my home. My bathroom storage was a joke, with glass jars toppling out of the medicine cabinet and liquids leaking onto the vanity. Most of the beauty products were half used or unopened.

We purged and purged and purged beauty products. Then we made DIY storage boxes for my everyday bath and body must-haves, recycling press packaging and labeling with a black marker what each box held.

To keep odds and ends like Q-tips and feminine hygiene products out of reach for my exploring infant, Amanda suggested stowing these items in plastic bins behind a closed cabinet. It all came down to one simple truth: If I can’t see it, I can’t use it.

Shop it: Sterilite 6-Quart ClearView Latch Box, $3, target.com

The editors at Yahoo Lifestyle are committed to finding you the best products at the best prices. At times, we may receive a share from purchases made via links on this page.