#felt like the end poem is important right now. go read it if you want

[mspaintshurifin]

Day 222

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have played the game well

and the universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

[smiletimeisrunningout]

Ben's words and expression reminded Emma of the way he spoke of his youth, of his lack of experience with women, how he believed himself to be not quite the looker as a boy. He clearly didn't enjoy being easily embarrassed now, especially when it came to bedding people, and she knew as a man he'd hardly find people encouraging that side of him. It was so silly, to think of how they were encouraged to act like they had no weaknesses, and she may have felt the same about the matter, had she not been raised by a man like her father.

"Make no mistake, I would not want you to be any different," she decided to say then, bringing a hand to his cheek and cupping it gently, "Even the parts of you I can't read because I'm all sorts of confused by my own feelings. If you'll ever choose to come home with me, you'll be welcomed to spend your days reading to kids and looking for new poems and books. You'll never have to be calm and collected unless you wish to be."

Although there was something funny about thinking of Ben living the life of retirement and lazy days that she had planned for her hypothetical future old husband, and instead of that happening because she only needed a husband to have her throne it would be because she had a husband she liked.

"Or you could do whatever you want, I'm making it sound like I'm going to... hold you hostage like some sort of beauty in the tower." God, she had almost said 'marry you'. So much for going as slow as possible. "I just meant to say that I don't want you to change one bit for me, I like you the way you are. Besides the part where you grow double the patience you have now, so you can withstand my moods."

"Oh, come on, it can't be that bad, I would love for you to show me and prove me wrong."

"The side of my bed has a few canvas, you have my permission to check because they are landscapes and, unlike faces, they actually look decent," she offered, adjusting her position on the bed; it hurt, again, and Emma wondered how long it would take before she'd be able to just kiss him as much as she'd like. He was so interested, and so damn kissable. "The next time I'm not dying and we can go out, we'll find a place where I can sing, then. I doubt the rest of your army would be keen. They have more important things to deal with... you don't, anymore, because you have chosen to court me and you must act accordingly," she teased, giving his cheek a light tap.

"I'll finally convince you that books aren't so bad -- or at the very least, listening along to a good story?"

"See, the compromise is right there: you read a book you like, you tell me about it. Much better if you want me to pay attention from beginning to end. Plus, it won't harm me like reading. The headaches just aren't worth it, when I can be told the story." She was surprised whenever she met people who were so dedicated to books; her father loved reading, but he didn't have enough time to do so, so she figured he didn't have to battle with the inevitable headaches as much, but August and Ben? Masochists.

I'm not so sure I can reciprocate, but that's because I only tend to fall into bed with those I...w-well, I prefer meaning to my dalliances-" "Oh, sweetie," she whispered, smiling in reassurance. "-And clearly, I hadn't found that before you, since you were...y-you were my... My first."

"No, I know that, and that's lovely, really. I would never expect you to drop your values for me," she assured him, "There is nothing wrong with you waiting, you know that. In fact, you should be proud: you did it the way you wanted, when you wanted, and not because you felt you had to. That takes guts. I may not share the... uh... philosophy behind it, but I will defend it until the end of days." Though it was still odd to her that he hadn't been taken aback by her history. "I don't... I think I don't really kiss much, if there is no feeling behind it? Even if, in my case, generally the feeling was friendship, I suppose to me it's kissing that required some meaning. It feels so intimate. Like holding hands."

She took his hand, not just to make a point but to feel just how natural it was. She may lay with a stranger, but she certainly would not hold hands with him.

"In fact, I've been told I'm rather hotheaded, and despite my father's valiant efforts, I'm not the best with sharing, either. Not that I intend to."

Her gasp was far too intrigued, "You are jealous?" she asked in delight, "Oh, that sounds fun. We have to revisit that once I have healed enough... Naturally, you know you don't need to worry about me looking at other men, I find the thought of cheating repulsive." That and when she had met Selah Strong in passing and had properly ogled him, she had almost died on the spot after Caleb had explained he was married to their friend Anna. Her horror at having looked at the man for too long had even entertained James, who had apparently expected her 'not to care' on account of her being 'so carefree', which he had not meant as an insult, but had horrified her even more. No, taken men were off-limits, and so was she as a taken woman. "But if you wish to deck someone because they cross a line with me or something of the sort, please make sure I'm there."

"Perhaps my fear made you appear more... calm and collected about the whole ordeal than you actually were," she suggested, which wasn't an unfair assumption. "I do hope I'll get to see that... gollumpus you speak of. He seems just my type."

Benjamin grinned, his eyes shining self-consciously. "Trust me: no one has ever called me calm and collected, and least especially when it comes to protecting those I love. But if my gollumpus side is the one you're yearning for, I just might have some competition on my hands."

All the naked things?

Yet again, Benjamin felt a damnable spread of heat searing across his face as he laughed, darting his eyes in between her face and the ground. He wasn't sure why after all this time he was still shy at such talk -- especially since she'd never exactly been withholding when it came to her candidness -- but with a shake of his head, he softly reassured, "No, I...w-well, according to Caleb, I'm very much like an open book. If I like someone, or dislike them, it's plain as day... But apparently not to those who truly matter."

Emma was quick to dismiss any artistic pursuits. Despite her typical self-deprecation (something that he, himself, tended to mirror in his own behavior), Benjamin found himself laughing at the idea. "Oh, come on, it can't be that bad," he said. "I would love for you to show me and prove me wrong."

When she brought up singing, he perked up. "I've heard you were fond of it," he allowed, "but I've never actually been privy to a concert. I was always out and about, or busying myself with papers, and...other tasks."

It occurred to him then that Emma wasn't wholly privy to the ring. Perhaps he should tell her someday, he thought, if she wished to be given the ultimate sign of his trust and admiration.

Seemingly oblivious to his inner conflict, Emma continued, "Considering that, it's odd that I miss painting. But I... like the idea of doing that while you read... doing that sort of thing together, as in sharing a room. Or tent, in this case."

"I like that too," Benjamin softly reassured. "And maybe one day, one day, I'll finally convince you that books aren't so bad -- or at the very least, listening along to a good story?"

Emma appeared rather embarrassed, but before he could ask what he'd done, she was quick to turn around and embarrass him. "I assure you," she coyly said, "had you been inclined, I would have taken you to bed long before knowing you as a person. Just because of your looks. Multiple women being interested in you is not out of the realm of possibilities."

"I...thank you?" Benjamin stammered, his brows scrunching with a self-conscious chuckle. "I'm not so sure I can reciprocate, but that's because I only tend to fall into bed with those I...w-well, I prefer meaning to my dalliances. And clearly, I hadn't found that before you, since you were...y-you were my..." Awkwardly, he waved a hand before shyly concluding, "My first."

Emma rattled off all the ways other women could be jealous -- the idea seemed absurd to him, if he was being honest -- yet she was quick to denounce such thoughts. "That sounds horrible," she decided. "I hope my status will scare them away. You are lucky no one has tried to woo me here so you don't need to witness it, but I'll have to prepare so I can have a proper ladylike reaction, it's not as if I can fight them, they are ladies."

Benjamin scoffed. "You are lucky for that, too," he challenged. "I confess, I've never had to keep menfolk away from a woman, but I do know I'm not much for jealousy. In fact, I've been told I'm rather hotheaded, and despite my father's valiant efforts, I'm not the best with sharing, either. Not that I intend to." He flashed a lopsided smile. "I'll share your time here and there, but anything else risks that gollumpus we talked about coming into play."

[unadulteratedkr]

~Let's talk about credit~

(not financial credit trust me you don't want to take financial advice from me lol)

No, today I am inviting y'all to the table to talk about the importance of crediting other creators in fandom!

Because, listen. We don't have a peer-review system. We don't have to submit our stuff to a plagiarism checker or go through stringent editing when shitposting on tumblr; we operate in an honor system of crafting folklore using our favorite blorbos, and that means that inspiration and using the specific words and images from canon creates a grey area on what ought to be credited, and how to do it in a way that creates a solid, strong community.

Here's a little of my philosophy and how I give proper credit where it's due, so I figured I'd share them to hopefully encourage others in making sure no one out there ends up becoming fandom's James Somerton

1. Links are your friends, use them enthusiastically

Drooled over a gifset that made you write a poem? Read a fic that made you pull out your embroidery hoop? Saw some art that made you write a song? Link to the original! Tag the original artist, hyperlink to the giffer, share the fic via the amazing shortcut button on Ao3, it's what those creators deserve! Even if it's a shitpost, that creator is where your idea started, and it's the right thing to do to share directly where your audience can connect with the person who inspired you.

This holds INFINITELY true if you are directly quoting someone. If you've used someone else's words to create your own work, link back to the original. No one wants to be sent a fic or a funny post on tumblr and then feel the sinking pit in their stomach when they realize that post is their own words with someone else's name on them.

2. Ask for permission when you can

Now, the reason I threw the addendum on this with "when you can" is because knowing when to ask for permission is more of an art versus a science. I myself have written more than one fic inspired by art where I didn't reach out to the artist before I shared the fic because I had no contact with them (the joys of me refusing to touch the garbage that is the bird site). BUT this is why point number one is to always link back to the original inspiration, because I believe that should always be the bare minimum.

THAT BEING SAID.

If you have a way of contacting the original fellow fandom person who inspired you? Reach out and ask them if they'd feel comfortable with you creating something! 999 times out of 1000, they're gonna be over the MOON you want to create something inspired by what they made, and they'll be really fucking pleased you reached out to check.

3. Ask yourself: is this a "two cakes" situation or am I putting my name on someone else's cake?

This is another one that can absolutely fall into a bit of a grey area. I have written many a fic that started out with me reading a take or a fic that went in a WILDLY different direction from what I was expecting or wanted, and I went "okay, fuck it. I'll write my own." And that's absolutely been a great motivator for me to start a project!

HOWEVER.

That is me creating a different flavor of cake, putting my own frosting on it, and probably adding something weird like lemon zest and instant coffee for a lemonade cappucino chiffon that shouldn't work (but definitely does, trust me)

If I were to have read a fic or a take and then gone, "Oh, yeah, definintely, here's the same idea but now I've rephrased it juuust a little and now it's under MY username on my blog".... that's slapping a different color of frosting on the same cake and claiming it's mine. If you find yourself doing that, I really invite you to pause and consider why you felt the need to do so instead of sharing the original post.

Like, not to bring Shakespeare into it (they say, poorly concealing their icon), but fandom can be exactly like how Juliet views love. Sharing joy in what others have created absolutely can be as "boundless as the sea [...] the more I give [...], the more I have, for both are infinite". It does not take away from the joy your fellow fandom friends will have in your own original work to share the work of others.

4. Hyping up your inspiration is FUN

Finally, this is more of me going "no really, proper credit isn't going to mean people love YOU less" because I truly believe in the power of how much FUN it really is to give credit where it's due. I was buzzing for WEEKS in anticipation of publishing Objection! and The 'I Duoy' Newlywed Special because the marvelous @jackuntiljune had brainstromed with me on the name for the boat my boys eloped on. And I get so fucking giddy when I see someone comment on those fics about the name of the boat because I get to take a giant breath and go "MY FRIEND JACK CAME UP WITH IT, AREN'T THEY AMAZING?!"

If you practice giving credit where it's due, I promise promise PROMISE it will become a joy. It's FUN getting to bring more people into the sandbox to play, and I know I love it when there's more than one person out there I can yell at (affectionate) when I've been emotionally destroyed (again, affectionate) by a gifset or art or fic <3

Thanks so much for reading this far! I can't wait to keep sharing inspiration with all of you out there

[siriuslydeadfr]

The thing about Luca is that. And I say this as a writer, I suppose, but also as a queer person, that he exudes a certain feeling of safety, and comfort. Like, to have him play something will mean he's going to give you his everything. No matter the character, you'll see a sincerity that isn't just the product of the script, or the demand of it, but also the mind of the actor.

To know that a person of his calibre is out there playing queer characters so effortlessly, and without a doubt in their mind, without any prejudice blinding his artistic choices and who he is as a person, it's obviously a ray of hope, but it is also, then, a kind of trust, even if it is just parasocial in many ways.

I know if it's Luca playing a certain queer character - regardless of what happens to them in the script, that is if the script is stupid and insincere to the queer perspective in certain ways - I'd still easily trust him to do justice to the queer experience, for how sincerely he plays everything.

The whole every-character-of-his having a underlying homoerotic quality to them is all fun and cool and great and beautiful, but also, it's so fucking refreshing

It's been decades of asking for the correct representation in media, it's been years and years of queerbaiting and, if not that, just general lack of care

I've been accustomed to just wanting some of my favourite characters to be gay. Just thinking and wishing and hoping that someone someday will let them reach the full scope of their personality, let them have the right sort of ending, see first the fabric of their person, and not just the thread of their sexuality, and maybe then write the script. There have been all sorts of emotions, and so to find now a person who is doing just that? It's pure beauty.

For a while now it's been changing, more and more shows and films are becoming inclusive and accepting and understanding of the queer gaze, and it's so beautiful that Luca contributes to it with his whole heart, and has been for a long while.

Many must remember how it used to get with artists and makers always denying or trying to tip toe around the obvious queerbait, or shying away from the conversations that involved that queer perspective, or outright rejecting the very idea- it happens still - but then you see the likes of Luca and Marwan being comfortable in each other's company and also about the love they shared on screen (especially, i think, it begs to say, with them being men), talking happily about their characters, making playlists for them, recommending poems for them

A lot many actors now are open to these conversations, a lot of them now talk about it with nuance and care, with just the right words, and though it's in no way any less a contribution to the conversation, or any less genuine, but again, there is something to be said about the ease Luca shows.

Again, as I said before.. it feels safe, with him.

In a lot of his interviews, he doesn't bat an eye before saying things like - I was lucky to have him as my husband. And he means it, you can tell that by the smile on his face. When people are focusing on the movies' objective and the friendships in it, he easily goes and says it's not only the friendship, but also the love.

In another of his interviews, there was once this question about Roberta, about if he knew what was demanded from him and how he prepared for a transsexual character. I remember it because I was almost sure I'll be hearing some generic answer like I studied trans people for this role and this that blah blah, something ignorant, basically. I was braced for it. But he just said. (And he was talking in english, and all that he was trying to say was conveyed more through his face and gestures, it was super cute actually) - I read the script, and I just felt something. I didn't think about playing a transsexual, but a woman, with a friend. It was important for me to show the love she had for him. So. I just played a woman helping out a friend :)

And I was like ?? wait that's? That's all? You're not going to go deep into the character's psyche and the great moral upstanding you must be feeling for doing a role like this? You're not going to talk about how you "prepared" for this role or how it was "different" for you?

I was so used to people doing that, his simple answer took me by surprise.

and that's what's so refreshing, so comforting.

There's no hesitation in him, no prejudice or preconceived notions or activism, even, compelling his choices and words.

It's just him, plain and simple.

He's committed to his art in a way that people rarely are. Especially in media, where even big companies and huge hollywood stars often fail you.

I wish more people in this world were like him. So gently open in his ways, so effortless in his understanding and acceptance that it becomes intrinsic to him.

He's one of the few people, I would say, who are an artist not just by work, but also by nature.

[yexiwuu]

230702 lastyvesniin translation

12

may contain inaccuracies please credit @yexiwuu when reposting

From, blogssi It's July when the summer becomes even hotter! Do you have any activities you definitely want to do in July?

To. Blog ssi

As I was thinking really hard about what to write down I only wrote down really productive things So I deleted everything and now I am writing again...

I want to go to a cafe during the rainy season and read a poem book. As a person who only stays at home when it's raining, it is a huge decision of mine to carry around a book on a rainy day. And I must sit by the window. Since I am a romanticist. And since it will rain a lot, the owner will turn on the air-conditioner to get rid of the dampness. As I am sensitive to the cold, I will have to pack a jacket! Sometimes, when I am reading poetry, there are times when I get surprised and I'm like "Wow! How were they able to express it like this!" When I just flip the book pages, it feels like the words that land on my hands feel like they've been taken away. Whatever type of paper it is, or even if it's a receipt, Once I have written it down and put it away That when I clean my room sometimes, and open that up like a present, I think like that again "Wow! How were they able to express it like this!" Whenever that happens, it feels like someone left it at my home secretly, like a package without a sender. To me, who is like a maximalist, this notebook is like an item that I don't know when I will lose, but Let's stay together.

The texture of the apple notebook which looks better under flash

I bought it together with this book too

As if I was possessed by the first page, I bought it "I should have written down a memo"

2. I want to watch movies and chatter all night in Dohyun's room while eating Kkandori This is where we will be needing the important 'electric fan.' Not long ago at Dohyun's house, we were talking to each other about the different ways of expression Then, we fell asleep at 7 am. As the sounds of the electric fan was whizzing around us, we were slightly leaning towards each other with our ice creams melting in our hands. Both of us went "Wow! It's really like the summer time right now!" at the same time. In the summer, we felt the summer-like feeling. Of course, since it's the summer. But it is really quite different from crunching across the cold snow and reminiscing the past summer.

dohyun is eating a big ice cream by herself;

And Dohyun is a film enthusiast who has written About 1900 movies, all separately. Even if it is about little worries or dull topics She relates them back to movies when talking about them Somehow, that becomes such an interesting thing to me. So usually when I hear about an ending from Dohyun, I go on Netflix to find the movie. Some might think of it as boring, but talking to Dohyun as stuff appears one-by-one is quite fun to me. Thanks to her, I have been watching 'The Good Place' Every morning while going to sleep.

I'm on Season 2 now

3. Being safe and sound When I was younger, our house was directly hit quite hard by the Typhoon 'Maemi.' After that, summer became like a butterfly hiding a knife behind someone's back. (There is a Typhoon Nabi too..) So by any means, the people around me, actually no everyone around me My biggest wish is for them to be safe and sound in the summer. Somehow, 'summer' is glorified to the extent that even the word Feels like it is blazing strongly with the youth full of sun. However, some people become depressed during the rainy season And others become anxious at typhoons inching by closer. Is there something great about happiness~~~~~~ As long as you will be safe and sound Even if the sores inside of our hearts keep poking us And even if this summer is more humid than the past summer We have many more summers coming up, you know~ Let's spend this summer well~ together, too. Bye!

An image without relation to the post

[twistedtummies2]

The Price May Be Right - NUMBER ONE

Welcome to the final installment of “The Price May Be Right!” I’ve been counting down My Top 31 Favorite Vincent Price Performances & Appearances! The countdown has covered movies, TV productions, and many more forms of media…and now, it’s time for the finale. My All-Time Favorite Vincent Price Performance! NUMBER ONE IS…Tim Burton’s “Vincent.”

If you haven’t seen this short stop-motion film, you should. It’s interesting and important for a LOT of reasons. This short film was the official cinematic debut of Tim Burton; at the time, Burton was working as a concept artist and in-betweener for the Disney studios. While his work was never really used, some people on the administrative staff felt there was potential in the young animator, and decided to throw him a bone, so to speak, and see what he could do. This led to the production of a simple six-minute animated piece entitled “Vincent,” based on a poem Burton had written. “Vincent” is a strange piece, in that it is both very simple and very ambiguous. The poem tells the story of a young lad named Vincent Malloy: “for a boy his age, he’s considerate and nice…but he wants to be just like Vincent Price.” The youth imagines himself as a mad scientist, going on dark adventures inspired by multiple Vincent Price movies, including “House of Usher,” “Pit and the Pendulum,” and “House of Wax.” It seems to be a humorously Gothic piece…up until the ending. I won’t give away what the ending is, but it’s a very odd and unusual way for the story to end, as you can’t really tell what’s going on. But that’s also part of what makes it so impactful: it leaves things open to interpretation, and any answer you come up with is interesting. Burton was – and still is – a lifelong fan of Vincent Price. The poem, and the short, were a tribute to the actor and his career. It was fitting, therefore, that Price himself be asked to perform the reading of the poem, as narrator for the short. Price said that the short was one of the greatest tributes he ever received as a performer, and that the experience was “gratifying” beyond compare: “It was immortality – better than a star on Hollywood Boulevard!” (It should be noted that Price had no less than TWO stars on Hollywood Boulevard, so that is saying a lot.) It might seem odd that I’d place something like this at number one, but for me, “Vincent” is just something so rare and beautiful: it’s a tribute to a great actor being performed BY that same actor, and it’s something that feels deeply personal to all parties involved as a result. Tim Burton made no secret of the fact that the character of Vincent Malloy was sort of meant to be a stand-in for himself, to the point where the character is actually meant to resemble both Burton and Vincent Price put together. However, I’m tempted to say Vincent must have seen something of himself as a child in the character. Even if he did not, you can feel the honesty in his performance of the narration, as his own sense of sardonic with and dark elegance permeates every frame. And the fact it was something so intrinsically connected to his life and his work only adds to the power of the result. Like the short itself, the overall result is both humble and grandiose at the same time; something so simple and yet so complex to describe. Bottom line…for me, “Vincent” is SYNONYMOUS with Vincent Price: when I think of one, I think of the other. That is all the reason I need to name this short subject as My Favorite Vincent Price Performance. Thank you all for joining me! And Happy Birthday once again to the great Mr. Price! I hope that you, Peter Cushing, and Christopher Lee are having a blast putting on that marvelous mystery movie in the sky.

[reira-layla]

I Knew I Loved You

Requested by anon on my AO3

Plot: Shigure's POV on the day of Akito's conception as well as his conversation with Hatori that day.

"I'll see you soon." 

He dreamed of her and that was the beginning and end of everything. It was the beginning of a lifetime devoted to her but it was also the end of an existence that had felt empty. The boy had often found life to be rather dull, always feeling as though he was waiting for something and yet, he hadn't the faintest idea what he'd been waiting on. All it took was a dream and he'd found the missing piece. 

Although still young, the boy had read his fair share of fairy tales and poems. The concept of love was foreign regardless of how many times he'd read those stories, but he assumed that what he felt now was something comparable to love. Was this love? But how could he love someone he'd never met? It was as if his soul recognized hers on a level much deeper than just the dog spirit within him recognizing its god. This was something else entirely and although he couldn't put a name to this feeling, he knew it was something he wanted to feel forever. 

The tears he'd cried that morning were the most tears he'd cried since birth. In fact, the boy wasn't particularly big on displaying emotion. Shigure was an enigma to his friends and his parents. Hatori and Ayame spent more time with him than anyone else but neither of them had ever seen him weep the way he wept for her and the feelings that consumed him. 

The dream had been so vivid and he'd replayed it over and over in his head as he got dressed, eager to meet the other zodiac children. Surely they'd all had the same dream, but did they all feel the way Shigure had? It was hard to imagine that any of the others felt the way he did and honestly, he hoped they didn't. Whatever this feeling was, he didn't want it to end. 

As expected, the others were waiting for him outside of his house. No words needed to be exchanged given that they all knew what this meant, how important this day was for all of them. As they ran to the main house, Shigure led the way. He took note of the fact that the others didn't seem enthusiastic in the same way that he did and that alone was enough to assure him that his feelings ran much deeper than a bond.

When they saw Ren walking out, they stopped in their tracks. She looked confused but didn't move away at first. The four boys reached out and each placed a hand on her stomach. "We've been waiting for you," they said in unison. Shigure felt as though the breath had been knocked right out of him. This child, his god, the one that had finally made his life make sense… he'd meet her soon. Touching Ren's stomach seemed to bring out even more emotion in all of them but Shigure was convinced that none of the others felt what he was feeling. It was surreal and overwhelming for them all, however. 

With wide eyes, Ren finally backed away from them. She gasped and began to walk fast in the opposite direction. Their hands reached out once more as they watched her leave. Unbeknonst to them, they would not see her again that day or hardly ever over the next few months. 

"What now?" Kureno asked, breaking the silence. 

"We wait, I guess." The sadness that came along with the deep sense of longing could be heard in Shigure's voice.

"Do you think Ritsu had the dream?"

"Stop asking so many questions, Kureno." No one cares. Shigure couldn't help but feel some jealousy knowing that the others had shared the dream with him. He wanted the reality of the dream for himself and didn't want to share this feeling with anyone. Kureno's incessant talking was distracting him from getting lost in his thoughts. Shigure had never liked Kureno much. The rooster enjoyed following him around and tried too hard to be his friend and for whatever reason, that made Shigure dislike him even more. 

"Maybe we should all go home." Hatori was, as always, the voice of reason. It was mid-March and there was still a chill in the air as spring moved in slowly. Being the only responsible one in the group, Hatori didn't want anyone getting sick. 

They each went their separate ways but Shigure had no interest in going home. He knew his parents would likely ask where he had been and he didn't feel like explaining anything to them. Shigure took enjoyment in keeping them on their toes. 

The boy found himself on the roof, looking up at the sky. Something about knowing that she now existed in the same world that he did made him want to cry once again but he held back his tears. Again, he found himself questioning how he could feel this strongly for someone he'd never met.

"Shigure, what are you doing up there?"

He looked down to see Hatori and chuckled softly. "I don't want to go home yet. Let me guess, you didn't want to go home either."

"It's not that. You were acting strange. I know that the dream… It was a lot for all of us. We've all acted a bit strange today but it's different for you, isn't it?"

A sigh escaped the other boy's lips as he searched for a way to answer his best friend's question. It was different but given that these were new feelings, Shigure wasn't confident enough to completely vocalize what he was feeling. 

"I don't want it to end. I want it to last forever. I want to give it form and make it mine. I will."

There was silence between the two. 

"We all feel strongly about-"

"It's not that. It's not just the strong emotion. It runs much deeper than that. This is the feeling I've been searching for my entire life and I never even knew such a feeling existed until today. I know it sounds… crazy but I won't question it. How does it feel for you?"

"Not how it feels for you, I guess. It's different. The animal spirits in us are overjoyed. I can sense that and yes, it does make me feel content as well but what you're saying… I couldn't say the same." Hatori was always so serious. In moments like this, Shigure appreciated it given that he knew he could never have a conversation like this with Ayame. 

"You're right. The animal spirits are overjoyed which explains the tears. That girl though… there was something about her."

Hatori sighed. "Yes, Shigure. She's god. Did you miss the point of the dream?" 

The confusion his friend had expressed was amusing to Shigure. "I'm not talking about god. I'm talking about the girl and what I feel. I don't know how to explain it. No words I've ever read in any of my books can help me put a name to this. I just don't want to ever stop feeling this way. I feel as if I were to go inside or see my parents, I'd forget this feeling. I know that's stupid because soon the dream will be real."

This was a lot to take in, even for a precocious boy like Hatori. He understood some of what Shigure was saying but most of it didn't make sense to him. It was as if Shigure was talking nonsense, which wasn't unusual. Still, Hatori had never seen his friend like this. It was almost unsettling. 

"Shigure, I think you need to go home. Nothing will change. You know it's real. We have school tomorrow so you'll have to go home eventually. You probably have homework you haven't done."

Although Shigure had no desire to go home, Hatori was right. Nothing would change. She was real and he would cling to the feelings he'd felt that day for as long as he lived. Hatori was also right about him having homework that needed to be done. 

The two said their goodbye and Shigure finally went home. The memory of this day would stay with him until the end of his days.  He didn't know it yet but this would forever live on in his memory as the day he was made aware of the existence of the woman that would be his wife someday. 

[squidkidnerd]

Operation Atlantis Notes - “Squid for Hire” (chapter 4)

Hey! So, if you’re here from Chapter 4, you get the gist. These notes are gonna be a place for updates, rambling (lots of rambling), and maaybe the occasional insight into my writing process. I hope you enjoy reading them as I much as I did writing them lol (rest under the cut!).

Anyways, this chapter was pretty hard to write.

Much like chapter 1 actually, I knew exactly where I wanted “Squid for Hire” to end. Three getting hired at Calamari Coffee is, of course, a major plot point that affects basically everything going forward, and it’s been in the works since the very beginning. However, getting there... getting there was more of a struggle. Funzone, Mihoto Records, and Grateful Grocers all had to be built practically from the ground up for this chapter because before that they straight up didn’t exist. It was daunting, at first, figuring out all the locations and making up a reason as to why Three wasn’t hired there. This gave me some writer’s block that slowed down my progress. But hey, here we are. I made it.

Of course, the chapter itself wasn’t the only problem I encountered. A good chunk of my already-sparse free time was dedicated to another fic, “Valentine’s Day Blues.” During January I suffered a tired spell that made it infinitely harder to write at all. AND, apparently I can’t catch a break because of course my left ear had to act up right before February break. So, yeah. Life got in the way. But hey, I’m here now. On with the notes.

Opening poem: Hoo boy, I think this one is one of the favorites I’ve written so far. I took a lot of inspiration from the Mr. Grizz mem cake poem for this one, which I think has some similar ideas to what I delve into this chapter. Specifically, I wanted to highlight the sense of personal duty and “looking the other way,” that comes with having a job of Atlantis.This is something we’ve only really scratched the surface of so far and is sort of a larger theme within Operation Atlantis. If there’s one thing Kamabo likes to do, it’s putting people into boxes. What happens to them in those boxes? Who knows.

Small character interactions: Yay, more Calamari Coffee gang banter! I missed writing that in chapter 3. Anyways, Miyo, Gregory, and Madame Katrina all get a little time to shine here. With Miyo, I’m trying to be careful that “teasing Eight about Three all time” isn’t her whole personality... can’t say she doesn’t do that during this chapter, but hey. Don’t worry, her character will eventually be explored in more depth. Same with Gregory. The small scene with the wipes was a little bit of a spontaneous addition I put in because, why not? Writing their language barrier was interesting here. And then, Madame Katrina. Her tidbit actually went to Miyo initially, but I changed it because it felt more in-character for her to do that rather than Miyo. She doesn’t know much about the octarians’ *ahem* situation, but hey, she knows enough. Certainly more than Eight at this point.

The diner scene, the Octarian Society, and Eight’s memories: More Iso Padre! The man is incredibly hard to write, but I tried my best. Anyways, Eight’s original plot for this chapter was actually the Octarian Society meeting Iso Padre mentions here, but it seemed like too much for now (and too much it would’ve been—this chapter is the longest yet!), so I moved it later on. Anyways, Eight has a lot of feelings regarding her past, and I wanted to show them here. It’s hard, and certainly confusing, to lose all your memories and thusly, your entire sense of self. It’s even harder because your memories often give you a sense of belonging, a belonging especially important to the octarians given their circumstances. So yeah, Eight hasn’t even gone there and she already feels left out :(. We’ll see how that meeting goes...

Job hunting with Cap’n Cuttlefish: And here, we get to the bulk of the chapter! Yeah, Cuttlefish is... one of my favorite characters to write, honestly. It’s a shame he doesn’t get used more often, because I think he’s a really great foil for Three in a lot of ways. The paragraph of reflection I wrote after his lines about Calamari Coffee is probably my favorite passage of this entire chapter, and I tried my best to fit in logically. Anyways... Funzone. And Merriweather’s. They don’t show up for very long, but I still wanted to give them distinct character and flavor. Atlantis is a city after all, just like Inkopolis. And if there’s one thing cities have a lot of, it’s distinct places. So, that’s why I included them.

Eight’s eavesdropping: This was a more recent addition, actually. Anyways, Teo, and to a lesser extent, his grandma, are both characters that appear later on, so I thought why not and decided to drop hints here. Yeah, there’s a lot of hints here. I am quite proud, in fact, that I revealed what DOHU stands for in Teo’s dialogue as fluidly as I did. Trust me, they are... relevant later. They’re not antagonists, per se, just perhaps a little misguided.

Six: Six!!! Another little hint. I’ve always found it very strange that the ramifications of the Deepsea Metro (aka: at least hundreds of people getting blended into a smoothie) are never really explored in fanfics. I mean, they must’ve had no idea! They thought they were going to the surface, for God’s sake! And of course, their loved ones wouldn’t even know! The angst potential is off the charts! And yet, I’ve only seen it explored like once. Once. And I've read a lot of Splatoon fanfiction. So yeah, Six is my attempt to rectify that. Trust me, we’ll be hearing a lot more about him later 😏

Mihoto Records: Remember that records shop I mentioned very briefly in chapter 2? I do, because surprise! It was Mihoto Records! Yeah, this was a fun setting because it’s so different to Funzone and Merriweather’s. Definitely more octarian roots. I liked writing Nikko, even though I didn’t really get to write him because Three couldn’t understand most of his dialogue anyways. Oh, and because Three’s in an octarian-dominated space, I of course had to bring up her whole (very understandable) anxiety about that. Poor Three. It will get better eventually, I promise. Eventually.

Calamari Inkantation: Hoo boy, I WAS WAITING TO MENTION THIS ONE. If you couldn’t very obviously tell, I’ve been using the Inkantation as a sort-of motif (hehe, ‘cause it’s a song) for Eight’s memory loss and resulting lack of direction. Unlike Three, who has very clear and well-defined motivations, Eight at this point has no idea who she is or what she wants. Given that the Inkantation plays in the very beginning of Octo Expansion (and Cuttlefish mentions hearing Eight hum it before they wake up), it makes sense to assume it’s the only thing she can remember. And she doesn’t even remember the whole song! It’s like getting one part of a really annoying song stuck in your head, except you can’t even remember where it’s from! Thusly, I think the Inkantation represents how Eight currently feels about her memories in general: she can’t remember them and it frustrates her beyond belief. She can only hope that Iso Padre is right in that it will all come together in time.

Grateful Grocers: Oh, would you look at that! The belonging theme is back again! Yeah, this scene was initially intended to be more along the length of Mihoto Records’s, but hey. More characterization to the denizens! Given how isolated everything in Octo Expansion is from the outside world, it only felt reasonable that the native residents themselves held isolationist views. It’s something we’ll see more of, of course, with the DOHU and even Tazo’s character.

Biscuit Baking: Yay, my favorite part of this chapter! I got the idea for biscuits specifically because it's mentioned somewhere that Cuttlefish likes eating them (and crab cakes as well), so I figured it'd be something Three has made a lot. So much she knows it by heart. So, I used a biscuit recipe online as reference for this lol. I come from a family of avid bakers, so I had to used some of that knowledge in this fic. And by knowledge I mean learning what a pastry cutter is because the recipe I looked up mentioning it. Anyways, the Eight and Three interaction.The Eight and Three interaction. Aka my favorite part of pretty much any chapter. By this point Eight’s feelings are supposed to come off more as “this person is so cool I want to be friends with them” then “gay,” but hey. Gayness is the direction we’re heading, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

“You’re hired”: What a way to end the chapter, huh? Yeah, Three getting hired at Calamari Coffee was the plan since the beginning. The very beginning. Fun fact: very early on Three and Eight actually worked at a weapons shop instead before I realized 1) COFFEE SHOP AU and 2) I would have to headcanon how weapons work. So, yeah. Three can’t escape from her destiny now >:)

So, that’s a wrap! As mentioned in my note on the fic itself, I am unbelievably excited for chapter 5. I’ve been looking forward to writing it since I first started. I already banged out a (quite detailed actually) outline the other day (if chapter 5 ends up being the longest so far I wouldn’t be surprised), so... hopefully I can get it by the end of March? Beginning of April? We’ll see.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this. Have a good rest of your day/week/month/whatever!

[jessicafurseth]

Reading List, Art is Sustenance edition.

[Image via Kelly Beall]

*

"I've been holding off on writing this particular story until I knew how it ended, but it occurred to me the other day that that's exactly the wrong instinct. We pretty much only ever hear about failure when it's been redeemed by success. And maybe that'll happen eventually, but it doesn't seem likely right now, and anyway, the point isn't what's coming. The point is how it's felt to sit here for the last two years, trying to make something happen that just does not seem to want to go." Zan Romanoff

"I was sure that a coffee shop in my hometown would change my life. I would have more friends, more zines to read, more bands to listen to, and other cool things to get into. The coffee itself was a secondary, even tertiary, aspect of this desire." [Alicia Kennedy, Yes! Magazine]

"When I was a teenager, avoidance was not an option. Sometimes, I would just resolutely not do things, because I was physically unable to. But many, many other times I just had to do the things that made me feel anxious. I’m not advocating for this approach entirely: believe me, sometimes nothing good came of it. But sometimes, and this is the really important bit, I did what made me anxious – and good things happened. Interesting things. Exhilarating things. Hilarious things. Useful things, too: GCSEs, A-levels, getting a driving licence, a place at university. If I had been told from the age of 10 that I could get out of doing things that worried me, I would simply never have done anything at all." Treating anxiety as a permanent problem might just make people feel worse [Lucy Foulkes, The Guardian]

"They keep telling us to move on; to accept that Brexit is done. The problem is, Brexit isn’t done with us. It isn’t a single disabling event. It’s a degenerative disease." The next phase of Brexit will be bad for our diet, health and wealth [Jay Rayner, The Guardian]

"I cannot overemphasize how little there was to do before we all had smartphones. A barren expanse of empty time would stretch out before you: waiting for the bus, or for someone to come home, or for the next scheduled event to start. Someone might be late or take longer than expected, but no notice of such delay would arrive, so you’d stare out the window, hoping to see some sign of activity down the block. You’d pace, or sulk, or stew." What Did People Do Before Smartphones? [Ian Bogost, The Atlantic]

"As flawed as the idea of “selling out” was, it captured one incontrovertible truth: only a fool would write a song to make money. You write a song to surprise yourself, to give other people what they never knew they wanted. Perhaps what is missing from popular culture in the 21st century is sufficient contempt for those who give us what we asked for already." On "selling out", a concept lost to history [Dan Brooks, The Guardian]

My first laptop [Rachael Maddux]

The last vestiges of roadside Americana [Sam O'Brien, Gastro Obscura]

The strange survival of Guinness World Records [Imogen West-Knights, The Guardian]

'Felt presence': Why we sometimes feel invisible others [Claudia Hammond, BBC Future]

"This mundane view of a perfect life elevates tedious activities to the status of aspirational living. Your best life will be accessed by taking “pretty pictures”, wearing matching pyjama sets, cooking dinner at home, working out at 5am, buying flowers, lighting candles, stretching." Beware the ‘beige-fluencers’ [Sarah Manavis, The Guardian]

"Most people don't spend a lot of time thinking about poetry. Right? They have a life to live, and they're not really that concerned with Allen Ginsberg's poems or anybody's poems, until their father dies, they go to a funeral, you lose a child, somebody breaks your heart, they don't love you anymore, and all of a sudden, you're desperate for making sense out of this life… 'Has anybody ever felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?' Or the inverse…something great. You meet somebody and your heart explodes. You love them so much, you can't even see straight. You know, you're dizzy. 'Did anybody feel like this before? What is happening to me?' And that's when art's not a luxury, it's actually sustenance. We need it." - Ethan Hawke, via Nitch

[diary-of-a-teenage-cultleader]

Diary Entry #5

Today's Date is Sunday Oct. 15th, 2023. Current time: 12:42 a.m.

Dear Diary, and to anyone who reads this,

So, I'm back, maybe for good, maybe not.

Let's start our story with what's happened in the last 2 years...

J and I fell in love, and we've met twice in person now, even visited his country. He asked me to be his on December 1st, 2021. Our 2 year anniversary is coming up, though he did reject me in the beginning between fear of commitment and my mental instability, which in retrospect, I understand. Which I will explain now.

I've been diagnosed with Bipolar type 2, the type of Bipolar where your depressive episodes last longer than your manic episodes. My emotions fluctuate heavily and I tend to switch up daily, though I've been stuck in a depressive episode since I've returned from Europe.

Doll, Leaf, GT and I have started work as sex workers, though GT is taking a step back due to a traumatic event that I'd rather not explain, even if no one reads this.

I've made at least $150 in the last year from sex work alone, and even gained a sub, he's friendly enough but I'd rather not talk about that right now.

I've moved in with my biological father, I basically have the apartment to myself since he's never here and frequently leaves me on my lonesome. I have to learn new hobbies and activities to keep myself from losing my mind.

I've learned to play ukulele, which I'm very proud of, and I've learned to paint, and wood carve. I've discovered a passion for language I never knew I had. I've grown an interest in DnD and hope to create a group soon.

I believe I'm non-binary, I've been having these feelings for the last year and a half now, dressing and flipping between gender presentation really makes me happy, but I still don't relate with the girl identity enough to be genderfluid, though I may be overthinking it.

But enough about me, well, at least talking about random things. I'll tell you about today, if you're still listening:

Today, I chatted with J for a short time today after I woke up late, he seemed reasonably stressed since his mom tends to randomly dump her feelings in random breakdowns recently, making my boyfriend feel as though he needs to constantly do better and he has to help her, I can't tell him that he might be traumatized from always being the emotional step stool for his mom.

So, I've been holding in my emotions about everything I've been feeling lately, as to not burden him, both good and bad. I don't want to be overbearing with my love, and I don't want him to worry about my mental breakdowns over missing him so much. He was upset that I didn't suggest something I should do for him when I left, I think he was stressed about wasting time because I was busy getting ready to go carve pumpkins with my dad's girlfriend's family. I felt terrible since he cancelled his family plans for me, but I even offered to stay and he said no, I just don't know how to help him sometimes, I accidentally got really blunt with him about needing to go to therapy, I just feel like I'm supposed to be his emotional support but he doesn't tell me upfront what he needs sometimes. I get it, it's annoying if you have to do it all the time, but I'm trying my best, and still learning. I'm just scared he's gonna realize that I'm not the best possible partner and leave. Everyone who was important to me left without a word of why. I know I can be problematic sometimes but I swear with every fiber of my being that I am working to make a better man of myself. Especially to him. I even wrote a little poem explaining my feelings over my life at the moment.

I know it may be a bit harsh to read but it's the truth of how my life has been so far, I recognize to others, I will be a burden. I hope to fix this, but if not, I'm not even sure what I would do with myself.

My boyfriend said he wanted to make me feel bad, to help him, I'm not sure if it's toxic or not. I feel like there's some toxic traits from both ends that need to be worked on. I need to stop changing myself for him, I've before put my whole schedule around him, defied my parents for him, nearly abandoned my friends because he didn't like them. I wanted to spend so much time with him. He makes me feel bad sometimes, that I keep him from having friends because I can be a bit jealous, but I told him that I'm not worried about it anymore, I've grown over it. I'm scared I traumatized him. I'm scared that I manipulate him. I don't want to do those things. I never want to hurt him... I'm just so stressed with the idea that I'm a terrible partner. I apologize, this was meant to be a diary entry, not a vent. But back to the entry, I went pumpkin carving and talked with my dad about stuff and it went about as well as talking to my dad usually does, he over shares, but at least I made a cute pumpkin and got s'mores. Which was nice. I'll include pics here:

So I suppose the day didn't end too bad, it just hurt that my bf left me on delivered. He may have fallen asleep. I'll talk to him in the morning but hopefully things can be talked about. Thank you for listening to my rant, whoever could get through this whole thing.

Thanks, Diary

STRD:

RIIST:

[0721am]

(Sending you a virtual bouquet and a cake!)

16th July, 2023

Dear gentle Ami,

Your lovely friend has returned with the letter for your birthday. how have you been, darling? the year has been a journey, full of tides, ups and downs. yet, that smile of yours never disappeared. indeed, the very charm of yours is that serene smile.

I hope your heart is at peace. 🤍

Yesterday, I perused the previous letter and realized I am writing my fifth letter to you. The number 5 signifies the middle point of anything. Now, I am closer to a decade than before. In complete sincerity, I can not wait to see how much will change in these letters and our lives.

Let's go for a ‘10!’ 🤍

Now, you shall start the new season with my letter.

Dearest, Happy Birthday! Welcome to 24. (Perhaps, should I welcome you to a mid-life crisis? I rather not!) I hope you had a lovely day. I sincerely wish all your wishes come true.

However, there is one wish which I want to come true — Meeting you. I have no idea kab, kaise, aur kahan — but I really want to meet you. Countless times, my mind filled with the thoughts of our meeting — from what we would have dressed to the kind of hangout we would have. I want to hold you close and cherish your presence. I need to know what it is like to be in your presence. Hopefully, soon, this wish of mine come true! 🌹

Spring Sunshine.

You're so cute. Each and every time I see your stories on Instagram, my first thought has always been, “You’re so cute like a button!” I must say, as the days go by, you get cuter. Despite the thorns you faced, the rose bloomed within you. 🌹

You're the cutest muffin evah! 🤍

With all my heart, I thank you for listening to my concerns and softening them for me to cope. I felt lighter.

So, Thank you, darling!

Since you've been learning Korean for the past few years, I found this poem for you —

꽃은 시들 줄 알면서도 핀다 그래서 사람들은 안다 지금 피지 않은 꽃이 있다 해도 곧 활짝 필 거란 걸

❝Flowers bloom even though they know they will wither

So people know

Although there are flowers that are not in bloom right now

They will be in full bloom soon.❞

Though this poem speaks about the light within the soul, I felt this poem may resonate with you in terms of dreams, dearest. We dream and put in the effort, knowing they may or may not come true. Yet, we continue to dream. For the inner child who has been wounded by 23, I hope 24 brings the marham she longs for.

May your soul and dream bloom courageously, despite.

My love...

Welcome to the thirst trap section! 🤍✨

How can I end the letter without involving THE KIM TAEHYUNG!? Huh, that's impossible. I shall make you sinner with my curation.

Allow me to spice up your new season! ✨

Amisha, my munchkin, I hope you enjoyed a delightful time reading the letter. Pardon me if this did not meet your expectations! I still have not recovered from my writing block. However, writing a letter every year means a lot to me. This is an important business!

Honey, once again, Happiest B'day! 🤍✨

— yours, Teeeeee! 🌼

[lunarian-anarchist]

First, let me start this off by saying I will not be replying to this more than once and that’s it.  You’re free to reply if you’d like but I will not be responding as I have a lot of stuff to do today and all of it’s more important than arguing with some stranger who thinks they know more than they do. Alright let’s break this down.

First, while Israel has many, many, many problems (which include the oppression of Palestinians) it is not a “ethnostate”.  An ethnostate is a state that restricts citizenship to certain racial or ethnic groups.  In Israel there are people of different cultures, skin tones, languages, and ethnic backgrounds. According to Central Bureau of Statistics estimates: On 31 December, 2022, Israel's population is estimated at 9,656,000 residents. 7,106,000 are Jews (73.6% of the total population), 2,037,000 - Arabs (21.1%) and 513,000 Others (5.3%) https://www.cbs.gov.il/en/mediarelease/pages/2022/population-of-israel-on-the-eve-of-2023.aspx Do not presume to educate me about Zionism.  I’m in the process of converting and over the course of nine months I have been reading, watching, and listening to Jewish people and Jewish books/media/etc.  I have read at least ten books on Judaism and still have many more to go.  I know what Zionism is.  I know what it is more than what you think you know what it is.  It’s incredibly arrogant to assume you know more than someone who has to study countless hours to become Jewish.  Also “colonialism” didn’t have the same negative connotation as it does right now back then. 

For 2000 years Jewish people have longed to return to Israel.  You can have your opinion on this but that’s the truth.  Reading and studying Judaism shows how many poems, songs, story's, etc are about longing for Israel and how disconnected from their land and G-d the Jewish people have felt for thousands of years since exile. I’m begging you to actually be as educated about Judaism and Jewish people as you believe you are.  Please go read books and study it.  You’ll be surprised at how wrong you are.  Zionism can mean anything from “I support Israel and everything they do” to “I hate Israel but I still want a state where Jews won’t be oppressed”.  Just coming to Torah study quickly reveals the differing opinions on Zionism Jews have.  I can’t count how many times an argument broke out between people because of this. Regardless of the state of Israel’s current actions; back when the idea of Zionism was first proposed it was not some “right wing” movement.  Many Jews having been oppressed and murdered in the countries they called home expressed a desire to return to Israel and end the exile.  Studying history shows this.  Back then “nationalism” was actually a more left wing idea.  The idea of an oppressed people finally having a say in how they want to live was revolutionary for it’s time.

Today there are similar movements that express nationalism.  Like black nationalism.  After 400+ years of being enslaved, r*aped, murdered, etc by white people, many black people wanted a state where they could feel safe and the laws in place didn’t oppress or discriminate against them.  Who am I to say that they shouldn’t have that?  Finally let’s address your blog, cause you’re being very misleading in your answer.  Anyone can look at your blog and search “Zionism” or “Jewish” and notice two things very quickly.  First that if you tag “Zionism” you tag it along with “Jewish” and second that many of the posts under those tags aren’t you replying to Zionists but you randomly complaining that you can’t appropriate Jewish culture or how you think Jews are being “paranoid” when it comes to antisemitism.  Which is funny considering you say someone made a comment that sounded like a threat and you got paranoid. You think you being paranoid over a threat on the internet is fine (Do you need a safe space?) but G-d forbid Jewish people be paranoid about another Shoah, right?  That’s just being paranoid!  Nevermind that antisemitism is on the rise and both the right and the left are doing it. “in my case I went from being indifferent to hating Zionism with passion because of the way they treated me, and it wouldn’t surprise me if people who are dumber than me, turn to antisemitism because the way Zionists act convinces them that the conspiracy theories are true” So what you’re admitting here is that you didn’t become antizionist because you care about Palestinians but because a few Jews were mean to you. Wow.  If you think Zionism is inherently oppressive, why didn’t you “passionately” hate it for Palestinian people?  Instead of your own hurt feelings?  Let me sign off with this.  Nazi’s aren’t the only antisemitism out there.  Yet your comments at the end make it seem like you believe this.  Antisemitism is a unique type of bigotry that can change it’s form depending on who’s saying it.  Right wingers think Jews are evil commies and left wingers think Jews are evil capitalists.  In the end, antisemitism is whatever bigots want it to be.  They will twist their beliefs on Jews and Judaism in accordance to their own worldview to blame everything on Jews. Hope you educate yourself more on this and become a better person.  Have a great day.

In my experience, Jewish people who go around calling everything antisemitic and shut down people tend to be Zionists

[collecting-stories]

Two-Headed Calf - Eddie Munson

Summary: You and Eddie are soulmates, but neither of you knows how to tell the other.

A/N: I got the idea for this when I was writing my Steve Harrington AU drabble. I love love this poem and I was thinking of Eddie and it made me think of this poem and I had to write this. Also I am EXTREMELY nervous because this is my first Eddie fic so handle me with kid gloves. My feelings are fragile.

Stranger Things Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this 

freak of nature, they will wrap his body 

in newspaper and carry him to the museum. 

-February 1982- 

Some people waited decades to meet their soulmates. You had waited a mere six hours, if even that. You’d woken up on the morning of your 16th birthday to a warmth on your arm, the kind that made you rush to the bathroom and look in the mirror.

And there it was, your soulmate tattoo, exactly at the time you had been born, sixteen years prior. A two headed calf with a moon and stars that looked oddly soft and gentle for being a tattoo. You recognized the meaning because it was your favorite poem and the thought alone made your entire heart feel like it was swelling. Maybe it was silly and wistful but you thought the whole notion was romantic and you’d read what felt like thousands of accounts of people finding their soulmates. So you knew, when you saw the tattoo, that it was something different, something you’d only heard about happenings handful of times, something extremely rare, that whoever your soulmate was, you had the same tattoo.  

It was common knowledge that each person’s tattoo was unique, a symbol that was meant to encapsulate something important about their soulmate. But when a tattoo said as much about you as it did about the person you were bound to, that was something deeper. Whatever was more binding than a soulmate, as if you’d been truly cut from the same cloth.  

When you saw the two-headed calf you were excited, bewildered, nervous, happy. It was a rush of emotions coursing through you that didn’t fade away until you were in first period math, sitting in the same seat that you always did, staring at the chalkboard in the front of the room as other students filed in. Getting your tattoo didn’t mean that you were going to find your soulmate right away.  

Your mom had never even met hers. Your dad had, ten years into their marriage, and now he lived in Denver, Colorado with a new wife and family. Your aunt and uncle finally met five years after college. You didn’t know anyone who had met their soulmate right away but then Eddie Munson came in, looking tired and maybe a little burnout for eight in the morning on a Wednesday. He dropped into the seat next to you, like he did every day of the week, and you noticed (for the first time maybe) a familiar tattoo peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt.  

Eddie Munson had turned 16 three days before you. You knew because you were the only February birthdays in Mrs. Prescott’s third grade class and your mom had brought in double the cupcakes on your birthday and Eddie had handed them out with you. When you’d walked down to the office and specials classrooms he’d gone with you and the two of you had giggled about getting to skip math that day.  

“Did you get the invitation to my birthday party?” You had asked as you made your way back through the halls. Music was next and you didn’t want to miss it, even if your teacher was weird. “I’m gonna have a bowling party.”  

“My uncle’s not sure if he works that day.” Eddie had gotten it, the crisp white envelope sitting in his backpack at the end of the school day. Mrs. Prescott had been teaching cursive since January and you had written out Eddie’s name in neat, looping letters. It was the first birthday he’d been invited to that school year.  

“My mom could pick you up.” You suggested, pausing in the hallway. “Oh! We could have two cakes!”  

“Two cakes?” Eddie looked completely bewildered by the suggestion, “what for?” 

“Me and you.” You bumped your hip against his and smiled when icing from his cupcake smeared on his nose, “we can have a joint birthday!” 

There was an extra cupcake in your locker right now, waiting for you to work up the nerve that you’d sworn you would every February since sixth grade and give it to Eddie during lunch. He subconsciously pushed up the ¾ sleeve and itched his arm over the tattoo, giving you a better look at what you knew was there…a soul mark to match your own.  

“Did you get it?” Your best friend dropped into the seat in front of you and turned to look at you eagerly. Lizzie’d gotten hers at the beginning of January, the first of your friends to get a soul mark. She’d gotten a bumblebee on her wrist, much smaller and more delicate than yours. More immediately noticeable as well, though you weren’t sure you really wanted yours to be on display. Eddie wasn’t paying attention, or if he was he did a good job of looking disinterested.  

“Yeah, I’ll show you after class.” You promised.  

You weren’t entirely sure that you’d spoken to Eddie since third grade. You always wanted to talk to him, thought about it after the talent show in middle school when Corroded Coffin preformed a Black Sabbath song you’d never heard of. Your mom was on the PTL that year and went to bat for Eddie (after you’d insisted that he was your friend)  with the other moms who thought the music was satanic and disgusting. It wasn’t a stretch to say you had a crush on him. It wasn’t like you were popular by any means, if anything you were skating just below the surface, invisible to most people and happy with that status. Eddie liked the attention, you thought sometimes, he liked everybody looking at him, even if it was because he was a social pariah.  

But Eddie was...Eddie and you just weren’t sure you stacked up. You didn’t have a cool taste in music, you didn’t dress edgy, you’d never played Dungeons & Dragons (though you knew how, in case the moment ever presented itself and you had the chance to talk to Eddie again). You weren’t interesting enough for him, you’d decided that long before you knew he was your soulmate, when it was still just a meaningless crush that you harbored.  

“Where is it?” Lizzie was still pressing for a sneak peek but there was no way you were going to pull your sleeve up and show her when your soulmate in question was sitting right beside you.  

“I’ll show you after class,” you repeated, stealing a glance at Eddie as he rubbed at his arm again. You could feel the slight tingling across the inside of your elbow and forearm, as if goosebumps had erupted across your skin. As hard as it was to concentrate on math, you tried desperately to ignore the feeling on your arm, too afraid to itch your freshly visible tattoo for fear that Eddie might notice.  

After class felt like it would never happen, your knee bobbing nervously under the desk as the minutes ticked on. You weren’t sure how long you had zoned out for but one minute you were listening to the teacher talking over linear equations and the next you were envisioning what it might be like if Eddie knew that you were sitting there beside him with the same tattoo.  

Would he kiss you? You were pretty sure you’d give just about anything to kiss him. You’d spent plenty of time thinking about the soft fullness of his lips and how pretty he looked when he smiled and how much you wanted to run your fingers through his hair and sit on his lap and make out with him until you were short of breath.  

“You okay?” 

You turned to the side, looking at Eddie like a deer caught in headlights. The bell for the end of class had rung and you had jumped practically out of your seat when the sound jostled you out of your daydream. Eddie was looking at you with all the concern in the world while Lizzie tapped your desk with her knuckles. 

“Lets go,” either she hadn’t seen your jump scare moment or she was so used to you fazing out in class that she wasn’t bothered in the slightest, more so, she was eager to see this tattoo and wouldn’t stop bugging you until you showed her.  

“Uh, yeah, okay,” you still felt dazed as you stood up, Eddie standing up at the same time, retrieving your backpack off the floor and holding it out for you. “Thanks, I’m okay.” You promised, taking the bag, your fingers brushing against his.  

A soft jolt, like the after effect of an electric shock, ran up your arm. A warm sensation surged through you and you pulled your hand back quickly, avoiding eye contact as you heard Eddie call your name. If you turned around and looked at him you were liable to tell him your secret, that he was your soulmate.  

You couldn’t though. You couldn’t do that to him. People like Eddie moved to New York City and played gigs at CBGB’s and had gorgeous groupies hanging all over them. They didn’t stay in Hawkins, saddled to some starry-eyed kid who shared a birthday month and a tattoo with them.  

Lizzie pulled you down the hallway and into the bathroom, pushing the stall doors open to make sure no one else was in there with you. While she made a final inspection you dropped your bag to the floor and pushed off your jacket so you could take your shirt off for her to see the tattoo.  

The two headed calf looked back at you from the dingy mirror on the wall, half obscured by Lizzie’s head as she inspected the tattoo. “Weird.” She mused, “I don’t get it.” 

“Who knows, it’s just a cow.” As much as you loved Lizzie and as close as you were, there were things you’d never share with her. Like favorite poems about conjoined cows.  

“With two heads. Figures you’d get some weirdo as your soulmate.”  

“You don’t know that,” you sounded more offended than someone who’d just gotten their soul mark that morning and had little to no way of knowing who it belonged to.  

Lizzie didn’t seem to notice though, “I thought it’d be something cool.”  

You rolled your eyes. Who was she to comment on the ‘coolness’ of your tattoo? A bumblebee was hardly ‘cool’. It was just a bumblebee. There wasn’t even any originality in it. You shrugged your shoulders before you could say anything you regretted and grabbed your backpack. Lizzie had cut into your time to grab books and you really didn’t want to be late to class. Nor did you want to continue any conversation with her that would include making fun of the tattoo you were so fond of.  

- 

The bell for lunch sent your stomach back into a spiral. You’d gone through Spanish and Science without Eddie being physically beside you, though he’d taken up plenty of space in your mind. It was in the middle of biology that you decided you were going to finally, actually, go through with the plan that you came up with every year on your birthday. You were going to get the confetti cake cupcake from your locker and you were going to broach the Hellfire table and you were going to give him the cupcake. It was a little late for his birthday but you didn’t think he’d care either way.  

But now you were staring at the tupperware container with the cupcake in it and feeling self conscious about giving it to him. What if he thought it was stupid? What if he made fun of you? That one seemed unlikely. You’d known him since kindergarten technically and you’d never known him to be mean.  

Deep breath in, you reminded yourself, you could do this. Even if he didn’t know it yet, you were technically destined to be together, in all the universe no one would ever love you as much or understand you as deeply as Eddie Munson, so surely he’d accept a cupcake. Even if he didn’t know yet, he had felt the same jolt as you. You knew he did because when you looked back into the math class he was staring at his hand like it’d caught fire.  

“Happy birthday,” you announced, stopping beside his seat and holding the Tupperware out to him. He was in the middle of a heated music debate with one of the other guys you recognized from the talent show. Eddie’s head whipped around so fast you half expected it to turn all the way like an owl. It was his turn to look like a deer in headlights, spooked and confused all at once.  

“What?” His mouth was slightly agape as he stared up at you, eyes practically sparkling as he put two and two together. “A present? For me?” The boyish wit and charm returned in full force like a sucker punch to your heart as he placed his hands over yours and pulled the Tupperware toward him, “why, I am just beside myself,” his voice was high-pitched, his accent a caricature of a southern belle. Still, that familiar gleam in his eye couldn’t be missed as he opened the lid and looked down into the container, a cupcake (the top a little mashed in) with rainbow jimmies.  

“My mom made them for my birthday,” you explained, “I figured, since it was just your birthday too...” As you spoke you crossed your arms in front of yourself, tucking your hand against your forearm and itching at the tattoo as inconspicuously as possible.  

The playfulness that had been in Eddie’s eyes a moment ago flickered away, another emotion, something like surprise mixed with happiness, took its place. The boy you’d known to always have something to say, said nothing. He just stared at the cupcake, almost transfixed, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  

“It’s confetti...well it’s vanilla but you know, with jimmies baked in.” You further explained, unsure what to do with an Eddie that wasn’t loud and goofy and theatrical.  

Finally Eddie looked back up at you, “thank you, I uh...thank you.” 

“Yeah, hope you like it. I uh,” you looked back toward your usual table, Lizzie already sitting down with her lunch, “I have to go eat.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” 

You turned around and walked back to your table as quickly as possible, trying to breath in and out to stop the warm throbbing in your side. You’d read once that ignoring the tattoo, if you were near the person that was your soulmate, could lead to eventual pain in the area of your soul mark. You almost wondered if it was starting already. A quick glance back to the table and Eddie was eating the cupcake, some icing smudged in the corner of his mouth. When he put the tupperware down for a second and itched at his arm you thought for a split second about walking right back over and kissing him and seeing what would happen.  

But then Lizzie called your name and you were pulled back into reality. 

-

-June 1983-

It was the end of the school year when Eddie found his soulmate. The two-headed calf tattoo on the inside of his forearm and elbow was one he’d spent hours staring at since it first showed up in February. He’d read the poem for the first time in seventh grade, leaning over the back of your chair in the library with his head on your shoulder and his cheek pressed against yours.  

He remembered the afternoon perfectly, as if he had a television in his brain and he was watching a rerun of an episode of his life. Or at least the highlight reel.  

You were waiting for your mom (who was always nice but also always late) working on your english homework, when Eddie came in. He’d been on the run from the same basketball playing future sociopaths that still tormented him now, at the end of junior year. The library doors looked like the gateway heaven, or at least that’s what he told you later on when he recounted what had brought him into your personal space (literally, you were convinced that Eddie lacked spacial awareness along with a few other things that probably should have made him less endearing).  

But the library doors, like a gateway to heaven glowing at the top of the ramp to the second floor. He booked it, his old converse squeaking in protest, and entered the room with a flourish only Eddie Munson could harness.  

“Holy shit!” He’d been laid up against the door trying to catch his breath when he saw you. It wasn’t the first time he had talked to you since third grade but every time left butterflies in the pit of his stomach. He pushed off the wooden door, heading straight for your chair. He pressed his hands down on the back rung and crouched down, leaning over you and placing his chin on your shoulder.  

You’d seen him come in, heard him call your name when he saw you, so you didn’t jump when you felt him practically draping himself over you. By seventh grade you were more than used to Eddie and his antics.  

“What’re you doing?”  

“Homework.” You replied, not turning your head for fear that you’d be in a predicament that you both wanted to be in and wanted to avoid. You imagined all those trashy romance novels you smuggled from your mom’s room; the main characters catching each other off guard so one could kiss the other.  

Eddie groaned, stumbling away from you as if you’d shoved him, practically tripping over the table as he threw himself into the chair beside you. His elbow collided with the tabletop and he rested his head against his palm, “boring!” He exclaimed, drawing out the word.  

“It’s not boring Eddie,” you insisted as he took the poetry book from you. The English assignment had been fairly cut and dry, discussing the meaning of a favorite poem.  

“What poem is this?” He asked, reading the one that you highlighted. There were notes in the margins, you annotated what you could and Eddie got that stupid little grin on his face as he read your handwriting. It had gotten smaller since third grade, neater too.  

“The two-headed calf.”  

On your sixteenth birthday Eddie had sat beside you in class, hopefully when Lizzie mentioned the tattoo but you wouldn’t say anything about it. He wanted to demand that you show him, wherever it was, because he’d been thinking of you for the last three days and he desperately wanted to know if it was you. It had to be you, didn’t it? But did you even remember?  

It was June and it was hotter than usual and Lizzie, who lived a few trailers away from his humble abode, had invited you over to sun bath. (“I need to be tan for summer.” She had insisted) You had walked passed his place and he was outside smoking and you stopped.  

Eddie knew it wasn’t unusual that you did, you’d always been nice to him. You’d always been nice to everyone but that didn’t stop the thudding in his heart every time you looked his way, it was like winning the lottery when he hadn’t even entered. Normal people didn’t get so lucky.  

“Hey, Eddie.” You say his name like you’re always happy to see him and for the briefest second Eddie imagines that it’s him you’re coming to see and not Lizzie. That you’d sit on the stoop with him, kiss his cheek so gently it’d turn up to his ears, and maybe finish the joint he’s smoking. You’d listen to him talk about D&D and when you talked about the books you liked he’d understand every word.  

“Ah,” he smiled, “tell me fair maiden, what brings you to this hobbit hole?”  

“Aren’t hobbit holes meant to be clean?” You teased, kicking an empty can of beer that had fallen out of the trash cans on the edge of Eddie’s sorry excuse of a lawn.  

He felt his heart swell at the comment and suddenly he wished he could usher you inside and spend the whole rest of the afternoon talking about Tolkien with you. “You know your hobbits then.” 

You opened the tote bag hanging off your shoulder and pulled the slightly worn copy of The Hobbit up far enough that Eddie could see it, pressing your lips together as if you were fighting off a smile but smiling anyway. “I was uh,” you dropped the book back into your bag and nervously shifted your weight as you stood there a few feet from him, wondering if he would think you were stupid if you told him, “I was thinking about you the other day.”  

Eddie tried to keep whatever composure he was still clinging too, “well, I can’t blame you, there’s a lot to think about.”  

You laughed and nodded as if you agreed with him, “I was wondering how many times you’ve read the hobbit and trying to decide if I was anywhere near as close.”  

“At least ten,” he admitted, “I’ve lost count.”  

You didn’t mention that you imagined him sitting there with you in your room, the two of you reading together. That you thought about how he’s jump up on the bed and perform every song that Tolkien had penned, shouting out the goblin song so loud he no doubt disturbed all the neighbors. “I have the movie…I mean, when I’m done rereading I’m gonna watch the movie again. We should-“ 

“Oh my god!” Lizzie shouted, “of course you’re over here!”  

Eddie perked up at the comment, his mind racing at what she could’ve meant. Of course, the words replayed in his mind, you’re over here. When he looked up at you, you were looking at Lizzie and for the first time he realized he could see your soul mark, the grayish-black drawing etched on your skin on full display for him as you stood there apologizing for stopping to talk, it was the same as his and he realized then that he’d been holding a hand over his arm this whole time. The dull ache in his arm felt warm, like a soft fire had spread from his fingers all the way up his shoulder and down to his heart.  

He should’ve told you right then, as you turned back to him and adjusted the strap of your bag. He should’ve grabbed you and told you that you were his soulmate and wasn’t that perfect because he was so in love with you anyway, but he just smiled awkwardly as you apologized for Lizzie.  

“I was saying,” you were saying something and Eddie had to force himself to pay attention to anything other than the itch, “we should watch the hobbit together. You could come over and we could have pizza and stuff. Are you still reigning champion of Oreo stacks?”  

Eddie was pretty sure he was going to explode. Or that lightening was going to come down from the sky and strike him where he stood. “No one’s taken the crown yet.” He replied.  

Lizzie called your name again, having walked away and suddenly realized you weren’t beside her. You bit your bottom lip, looking apologetic and incredibly beautiful all at once. Blow off Lizzie and her dumb obsession with being tan, Eddie wanted to say, come inside and we’ll watch the hobbit now. He would watch whatever you wanted, name it and he’d get it.  

“I’ll see you later Eddie,” you waved, his name like honey dripping from your lips. When you reached Lizzie she said something, looking back over her shoulder at him and he heard you giggle. It had his cheeks flushing to his ears and he quickly swatted at them, as if he could tamper down the feeling in his chest.  

You’d been so close, just feet from him, just lingering there and he could see your tattoo. He knew, he’d known since the morning the two headed calf appeared on his arm that it was you. There was no one else it could be and how convenient because he’d been in love with you since you made him a cookies and cream birthday cake in third grade and made everyone at your party include him when they sang ‘Happy Birthday’. He swallowed the lump in his throat, thinking about it. If he told you, that you were his soulmate, that out of everyone in the entire universe you’d been saddled with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, would you be pissed? Would be fake nice about it? Tell him that was good and you didn’t mind while you just about died inside at the news? No, you couldn’t know. He wouldn’t tell you.  

-

-December 1984-

You took another deep breath as you stood outside the door of Eddie Munson’s trailer. You hadn’t seen him since graduation in June but you’d spent more time with him on your mind than not. New York had never been your first choice for college but when you’d been accepted to NYU it was like all you could think about was some parallel world where you and Eddie graduated and moved to a shitty loft and he played gigs in the city with his band and you blew off classes to sleep in with him.  

But you were alone in New York and Eddie was repeating senior year at Hawkins and you thought about him every day and collected a million stories that you hoped would impress him. And right now, two weeks before Christmas, you were standing outside his trailer because you had gained enough perspective to decide that (if you could get your brain to cooperate long enough) you were going to tell Eddie that you were his soulmate.  

You still weren’t cool enough for him but he’d have to get used to that bit cause not seeing him every day made you feel like you were going to go insane.  

He’d called out that he was coming five minutes ago when you first knocked on the door and it’d been followed with a series of loud curses and what sounded like furniture falling over. You thought about knocking again when the door swung open, cheap wood slamming against the wall of the trail and Eddie was staring at you looking very much like he’d just woken up. 

“Hey, sorry I didn’t like...call first or something. I uh, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to but I brought snacks and I figured we never watched The Hobbit like we said we would.” You rattled off your reason for being at his house as quickly as possible as he started at you with wide eyes. You weren’t even sure he remembered that conversation.  

“Come in,” He unlatched the screen door and pushed it open, letting you in passed him. He looked a little bewildered by your presence but didn’t question it. Afterall, who was he to argue when you willing were choosing to spend time with him.  

Eddie’s tattoo was on full display in his short sleeve Black Sabbath shirt and you knew that when you took your jacket off, he would see yours too. But you had come over here with a plan and you were (somewhat) determined to see it through. You set down your tote bag on the coffee table, taking out the package of oreos, two jiffypops, The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.  

“Sorry to like, force you to hang out with me.” You apologized, turning back to look at Eddie as his hand dropped to his arm so he could itch at the tattoo.  

A deep frown, something more akin to a comical pout, crossed Eddie’s face as he shook his head. “You could probably force me to do anything.” He said and then his eyes went wide, “I mean...uh, it’s fine. No problem.” 

“I was thinking about you-” 

“You were?” 

“I uh...yeah,” you nodded, “I didn’t say anything before graduation but...” You felt like you were moving in slow motion, like maybe you should’ve played some kind of music you were taking so long to unzip your jacket. Eddie was still looking confused, licking his lips nervously and rubbing at his cheek as your coat came off. “Ta-da!” you held your arm out awkwardly so he could see the matching tattoo on your arm.  

A slow smile spread across his face, cheeks turning red up to his ears as he stared down at the tattoo and then, suddenly, he jumped. You stumbled backward a little, startled. Eddie grabbed your arm though it was gentle, “I knew it!” He exclaimed, “I fucking knew it! I said to myself, Eddie, it’s gotta be them. The minute I saw it I knew.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t you say anything?” He replied.  

You bit down on your bottom lip to stop from smiling at him, “I kinda thought you’d be disappointed...” you admitted. “I mean, you’re really fucking cool-” 

He pressed his free hand to his heart, “ugh, flattery. The way to my heart.” 

“I’m being serious Eddie. I knew it was you and I wanted to tell you so many times I just...I chickened out, I don’t know. I mean, I...tattoo or not, I love you. I really really love you and I went all the way to New York and the whole time I was there I just kept thinking, I wish Eddie was here. I wish we could share this. And I should’ve said something sooner I just...I thought you wouldn’t want to find out that it was me.” You replied.  

“Are you kidding?” He asked, “like seriously, are you joking right now?” Eddie felt like he was being forced through a round of mental gymnastics, trying to decipher how anyone at all, let alone you, could think that he was the catch, all while figuring out what exactly it meant that you were so nervous. It wasn’t bad, he had already determined that there was nothing about this situation (the being soulmates, that was) that you seemed disappointed or upset about. “God!” He let go of you finally as he spun away, hands going to his hair as if he was trying to pull it out. “Oh my god! It’s just...I’ve just...god!” 

“You said that.” You pointed out, tucking your arms in to cross infront of you. The moment you did, Eddie was back to grabbing your arm, his touch warm, the way it had been the morning of your sixteenth birthday. It almost felt like you had some kind of weight holding you down.  

“Can I just...can I kiss you?” He asked, desperation evident in his voice. His heart was beating erratically, or at least he felt like it had to be. He was sure that his brain wasn’t processing any of this and half expected to wake up in some dream-state where Wayne told him that he was still that loser who hasn’t graduated.  

The kiss was...every moment of anticipation since the day of your bowling party in third grade. It was every smile that you gave him in the hallway, the time in fifth grade when you stuck your tongue out at him after the teacher told you to be quiet in line, the day he found you in the library in seventh grade. It was cupcakes in lockers on birthdays and that anonymous Valentine's card that he was sure was just a malicious joke but that he kept in his nightstand just in case it was real. It was the time in sixth grade when you told him his taste in music was cool. It was every wave in the hallway or the lunch room, it was a hall pass to the bathroom just so he could see you in art class as he passed by.  

The kiss felt like warmth spreading throughout your entire body. The kind of warmth that consumed you after you’d bundled up for a cold winter morning walk to school only to have Eddie slow his van to a halt and offer you a ride. The kind of warmth that settled on your cheeks when he told you he liked the poetry you read or that he’d used his allowance money to buy that book by Laura Gilpin. It was the kind of warmth you got from alcohol when your dormmate took you to CBGB’s for the first time and you pretended all night that it was Corroded Coffin on the stage.  

His held your face in his hands, fingers calloused from the guitar brushing against your jaw and neck. You wanted to pull him closer but you weren’t sure that was physically possible. He was pressed against you already and your hands were twisting wrinkles into his Black Sabbath shirt. You’d never kissed anyone before and you weren’t entirely sure you were doing a great job but he wasn’t complaining.  

When you finally felt yourself running out of air, you pulled away. It felt like a chore to detach yourself, even for a moment. “How’d you know?” You asked, Eddie’s comment from earlier popping into your head. He said he had known and he said it with such assuredness you hardly doubted him.  

“It’s your favorite poem,” he replied, “how could I not know?” 

-

But tonight he is alive and in the north 

Field with his mother. It is a perfect 

Summer evening: the moon rising over 

The orchard, the wind in the grass. And  

As he stares into the sky, there are  

Twice as many stars as usual.  

-

Taglist: @teelagurl558 @truewdw1 @kenzi-woycehoski @bookfrog242 @milkiane

[married-to-google-translater]

Who is your top 5 charaters?

Werty's official top 5 husbando list. This usually doesn't change at all.

#5 Juuzou Suzuya

This boy needs a hug. A really big and warm hug.

By the way, the important question is does Juuzou count as an albino? I only realized it while writing this.

But to the point. I really like Juuzou's backstory and how his "madness and murderousness" are given reasons. Juuzou is just a good character who has experienced hell. Just the kind of character who does "bad" things but who you still want to succeed. Also, he has a really good voice actor.

Juuzou's character is just well executed. And now I know I'm not the only one who likes to poke holes in them skin with a needle.

.

#4 Kanato Sakamaki

Kanato is just really relatable. And I don't mean that I carry a teddy bear with me inside which I keep my mother's ashes. I mean asperger traits that Kanato clearly has.

The following asperger traits are taken from the everydayhealth website, the source material can be found here.

Fascination with certain topics, Problems expressing empathy, controlling emotions, or communicating feelings, Tendency to engage in one-sided conversations (about oneself), Lack of common sense

I think these fit the Kanato character well. He doesn't understand sarcasm, is obsessively interested in his "dolls", Not really good at showing empathy or controlling his emotions, can't stand touch and assumes others think the worst of him.

And no, I'm not going to start diagnosing Kanato now. I'm just saying that he has many traits that an Asperger person can identify with.

( Honorable mention to Idia who held the #3 spot for over a year. )

#3 DOUMA

Ladies, Gentlemen and others Douma is here and he is really hot.

Werty has been a Douma simp since 2020.

Yes Douma Finally made it to this list. I have always liked Douma.

His backstory and character is just really well done. Douma has always been something that interests me. Even at the beginning, when I really hated his desing and eyebrows. But no matter what I did, I always ended up reading Douma fanfiction. I could start watching Hentai and then after half an hour I found myself reading Douma yandere writings. I still don't understand how it happened. I just really love him.

# 2 Leviathan

I remember at first I hated him too. "Once again someone is making fun of us anime/manga enthusiasts" I thought.

But the more I played the game, the more relatable Leviathan's character felt. I actually didn't even know what an Otaku was until I met him.

Leviathan also has autistic traits and is one of my comfort characters. I have never identified with any character so much. He is also funny and his voice actor does a good job.

#1 Azusa Mukami

Roses are red, violets are blue i love this masochistic vampire more than i ever can love you.

A poem I would recite to my boyfriend if he ever asked if I loved Azusa more than him. No wonder I'm single.

I have been an Azusa simp since 2018 or 2019.

And let's be clear right away that I like Azusa 100,00 times more than Leviathan. So there's really no competition for the number one spot. The day I say I love a some character more than Azusa I've lost my mind.

I love his personality, his backstory, how he really gets a lot of development throughout the game, and how masochistic he can be in creative ways. Also, the fact that Azusa thinks pain is love is really sweet.

His voice actor does a really good job and I can even listen to the English dub without internal bleeding.

Azusa is love Azusa is life

......

I guess I have a thing for characters with mental health problems.

[writingdotcoffee]

5 Ways to Challenge Yourself During NaNoWriMo This Year

NaNoWriMo is great, but it isn’t for everyone. Perhaps you don't have the time or energy for it right now. Or maybe this just isn't how you work — there's nothing wrong with being a slow writer. You don’t need NaNo to write a book.

At the same time, NaNo generates a lot of momentum in the writing community. It creates a wave that, if you get on it, will carry you forward. It would be a shame to sit on the sidelines and not take advantage of the extra motivation.

Why not take the opportunity to challenge yourself in a different literary way? Here are five things you can do if you're not feeling like doing a full NaNo this year.

Write a Novella

The obvious way to go about this is to lower the goal. Why not do a National Novella Writing Month this year?

Instead of aiming for the full 50k, you can write 10,000 or 20,000 words and finish a shorter story that can either become a base for a novel or can stand on its own too.

Particularly if you're planning to write a series, starting with a novella can be a great way of testing the waters — both for your long-term interest in the characters and the world, as well as how hard it will be to find an audience for it. Finding out that nobody wants to read your 180,000-word epic is a lot harder than when it happens with a 15,000-word prequel novella.

Write Short Stories

If you have even less time on your hands, consider writing short stories. You can do one story per week at between 1,000 — 2,000 words. Experiment with different things or make all of them about the same character.

Short stories are great training grounds for writers for so many different reasons. The feedback loop is an order of magnitude shorter than when you're working on a book.

You can do single-scene stories that feel more like chapters in a novel or more complicated ones. You can practice almost any storytelling technique by writing a short story.

Write Flash Fiction Every Day

In case you're completely slammed, there's still stuff you can do. Loads of people challenge themselves to write tiny stories every day. You can probably write one in less than 10 or 15 minutes. The important thing here is that you get to engage your writing and storytelling brain and practice every day.

If you take public transport to work, write a flash fiction piece about someone who's on the same bus or train as you. Where does the man in the suit sitting in front of you work? Is he sweating because it's hot, or because he expects his boss to yell at him as soon as he arrives at work? Perhaps he's a secret agent following a drug dealer who is on the same train?

The more you write, the easier it will be for you to find interesting ideas. Perhaps you'll discover the protagonist of your next novel while writing a very short story?

Read a Short Story Every Day

A few years ago, I worked on a different project during NaNo. I didn't feel it quite fitted the pace of the challenge. Instead of writing, I decided to read one short story every day during NaNoWriMo. I felt like I wasn't reading enough of them, and I could definitely read one every day.

It worked out pretty well. I finished the challenge and kept the habit going for many months afterwards. I ended up reading hundreds of new short stories because of this.

Write a Poem Every Day

If you enjoy poetry, why not write a few lines of a poem or some lyrics every day? Instead of focusing on storytelling, use those to capture your feelings that day.

Write down whatever comes to mind in the spirit of NaNoWriMo. It doesn't have to be perfect, but you have to finish it.

Create a Habit with Writing Analytics

The goal of all of the above is to establish a routine. The beginning is always the hardest, and that's why starting during NaNoWriMo can help so can feed off the motivation of others. When NaNo ends, you'll be in the best position to keep it going. One novella per month will become 12 per year. One short story per week will turn into 52 stories in a year's time. One poem a day will easily become 365 poems per year.

If you're planning to be writing anything this November, check out Writing Analytics. It's a writing app designed to help you stay focused and create a sustainable writing routine.

The app is FREE to try until 4 December 2021 — plenty of time to kickstart your writing habit.

Use *this link* to sign up to make sure you get the extended trial!

[from-a-reckless-writer]

9 Supercorp

1 new message.

The notification reads. This is odd. Nobody ever sends Kara any messages on this account, for the sole reason that it doesn't have much followers.

It was Nia's idea initially. She's told Kara to buy herself a journal. She keeps one herself, where she writes all the dreams she doesn't know how to interpret yet.

"You should write down whatever it is and let it lie there for a while you know?"

Kara thought about it, had mulled it over and over in her head. A journal is indeed a great idea. An outlet of sorts. But the thing is, a journal is too private. If Kara wrote in a journal the only person who would ever read it would be herself.

Kara didn't want that. Kara hungered for an audience. She wanted to write and put it out there, out in the world where somebody will maybe one day read it and come to her--tell her, "Me, too. Me, too."

She wanted to write and be read by people.

And so, the journal idea became the Instagram poetry account idea.

A handful of original poetry posted in between aesthetic photos.

Nia and her sister are the only two people in her life who knows about it. That's why she is genuinely shocked when she reads the notification.

By the time, she's collected enough courage to open the app.

There have been more than 10 notifications. First, was the follow, next was a series of likes and then finally the message.

Kara clicked on the profile first.

It was a bookstagram account it turns out. There was only the username display, kieran. All in lowercase. No location, no bio, no nothing. The icon was of a single, black, loopy 'K' on white parchment.

The feed was of book covers, pages, spines and some quotes here and there.

The thing that Kara noticed about it though was how sad everything looked, once she's looked at it all in one grid.

It looks beautiful but melancholy.

She opens the message.

"I don't usually do this but...I just have to tell you that, your poetry has more of an impact than you will ever know. Thank you making me feel like I'm not alone. Thank you for sharing your words."

It was signed with a single heart and a 'k'.

And that's when it hits Kara.

Kara writes out a reply.

I'm out there.

I'm out there, in the world. And somebody is reading my words. They're reading what I wrote and it made them feel something.

"Thank you for taking the time to write those kind words to me. I hope you know you've made me want to write now more than ever. Thank you."

She added a heart at the end too. Kara didn't check her phone for the rest of the day.

They didn't reply it turns out. Kara tries not to feel too disappointed at that and tries to go on with her life.

Although, two weeks later after their first interaction, Kara posts two new poems, she discovers that kieran didn't stop reading.

Kara would usually get a like or a comment of a single heart then and again, and if she's lucky they'll comment a 'Beautiful.' underneath one of Kara's longer poems.

Kara collects all those crumbs and keeps it close to her heart.

******

"had a shity day ur peom made my night. thbk you."

Kara reads the message at 7 am, it was sent at 3:36 am. It isn't till she's halfway through, that her groggy mind realizes that they must've been drunk when they sent her this.

There's a twinge of worry in her chest, so she writes.

"I'm glad I made your night. And I don't want to overstep, but I think you were drunk when you sent this. I hope you're alright today. Drink lots of water! Thank you for the kind words."

She doesn't check her phone for the rest of the day.

Kara's knee-deep in Snapper's column assignment when her phone pings.

"Don't worry, you didn't overstep. I think you're the kindest person I've ever met."

Kara can't help the feeling of concern when she reads the message. Imagine thinking an Instagram poet who you've interacted with, two times in total, is the kindest person you've ever met. Never mind the fact that she's the Instagram poet.

Kara feels intrigued by this person.

Maybe it's because they're making her feel important. Maybe it's because Kara doesn't know who they are and the mystery appeals to her. Maybe it's because with them, Kara isn't anything. She's just a poet.

Maybe it's all of those or maybe it's none of those reasons at all.

Nevertheless, Kara sees her fingers fly across the keypad before she can even realize what she's doing.

"And you, IG user kieran, I think are the most interesting person I've ever met : )"

She puts her phone facedown on her desk.

Kara stands up from her station, walks around, pokes her head into Snapper's office, asks if he needs anything, gets yelled at, bothers Nia, walks around the entire bullpen, refills her tumbler, sits back down on her desk.

1 new message.

Kara lunges for her phone.

"Interesting huh?"

Just that. Just that and nothing else, yet it makes Kara feel like she's being observed, judged, weighed.

"Your feed is beautiful, your books. What I wouldn't give to get a peek in that beautiful mind of yours."

Kara exits the app, her thumb gliding through the screen so fast, it's a miracle it didn't break under the pressure.

She stands up from her desk and does a whole 'nother round.

1 new message

Kara takes a deep breath before opening the message. She doesn't even know why she's nervous.

"my mind is a lot of things, but i doubt beautiful is one of them."

What does she mean by that? Well, Kara guesses, everyone's brain is a mess right? She's pretty certain she's fucked up herself in more ways than she even knows.

So that's what she says.

"Everybody's a mess i think. Doesn't mean they're not beautiful."

Kara waits and waits and waits.

The reply doesn't come.

*******

Life goes on, her IG account gains more followers, her poems get stacked upon each other each week.

She always notices which ones kieran likes though.

They never message each other again.

******

And then, that one fateful day comes—Kara falls in love.

She meets Lena and Kara falls.

Hard.

Lena catches her and together they write what Kara thinks, is the most beautiful love story in existence.

Lena's her soul mate, her best friend, her one true love.

Her poems become lighter, happier.

She's so caught up with living in the real world with Lena, that sometimes she doesn't even have the time to write poems anymore.

Why would she? When she's living a brand new love poem each day she wakes up to Lena by her side.

One night, Kara is putting on her pajamas, and Lena is taking a picture of some book in their bed, her hair in a bun, big nerdy glasses perched on her nose.

Kara is in the middle of climbing into bed when Lena asks her, "Hey, have you ever read poetry and felt like it was speaking to you directly. As if the poet wrote it with you in mind??"

Quietly, Kara answers, "Yeah."

Immediately, Kara's head travels through all the snippets of conversations she's had with kieran.

All her IG posts, the one account, the one thing that Lena does not know about.

"Why?" Kara follows-up.

Lena's sat, leaning into the pillows, her phone in her hand.

"There's this- you know what? Why don't I just show you? You'll get what I mean, when you read it."

Lena shows Kara her phone screen and Kara freezes.

There on the screen, is her Instagram poetry account. @kz_elwrites.

Her entire collection of verse all lit up in Lena's phone.

"I-" Kara doesn't know what to say. And Lena notices, of course, she would.

Lena always notices. ,

"Kara?" She asks. "Is there something wrong?"

"I wrote that." Kara lets the words hang in between them.

She meets Lena's eyes, reads the shock there.

Kara grabs her phone from the nightstand and opens her IG app--shows it wordlessly to Lena.

Lena takes the phone gently from her hands, flicks up and down for a couple of minutes.

Kara feels like something important is going to happen. Everything feels to quiet. Lena is too quiet.

Lena hands Kara her phone back, still not speaking.

And then, Lena turns back to her phone, swipes a couple of times.

"Come here," Lena whispers. "Take a look."

Kara's eyes land on the screen.

kieran.

"You're-"

"I am."

prompt list here