#in my mind the writer is insulting himself here. that the chorus is insulting him in that teasey child's tone

[dazzelmethat]

*reaches out my hand and grabs you* I have the power to subject non vocaloid people to pinop..

TW: for flashing lights

Mushroom mother analysis in my tags. ..

[orange-waterfalls]

Say It Back(Part 1/2)

Host x gender neutral!reader

@thekillingjoke-haha ty for the request!

Part 2

A/N: BRO I FUCKIN LOVE THIS ONE. I was on a writer's block and then CAVETOWN MY LORD AND SAVIOR apparently made a song called "Sweet Tooth". I took a lil bit of inspiration from the chorus(hence, the title). You took inspiration from a song, so did I lol. It took me a bit to find the mood for the story, but once I found it I couldn't stop lol. So. Two-parter. Uh a bit of cursing, Rated T. Slight angst for a minute. The names I used are not people I actually know, they're from a random name generator website. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.0k

Requests are open!

--

The Host stares at them from across the room.

Well… less ‘stares’ and more ‘keeps his head facing their general direction’. Even so.

They are beautiful. Even with the loss of his sight, he knew they were beautiful. On the inside, at least. He smiles in content as he hears their angelic laugh from across the room. Bing is making jokes again. The Host might’ve been jealous if he were a lesser man and if he weren’t so focused on how their happiness made him happy.

He doesn’t very much understand what he is experiencing. He’d seen movies, he’d read books, he’d listened to songs. He knows what love is. He knows it well.

What it feels like, however, was a completely different ballgame.

Host more focused on his work than on romance. Besides, he just doesn’t like people. He wanted to fall in love at times, but he just couldn’t.

Y/N on the other hand makes him… feel things. He’s not sure if it’s love, he just knows he really enjoys everything they do.

He doesn’t even care that they barely talk to him anymore.

Well… he cares, obviously, but…

You understand, don’t you? Good.

“Host? Hooost. Host!” A voice calls from his side. He hums in response. Bim rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. “Have you been listening to me for the past ten minutes?”

“No,” Host answers flatly. Bim smiles when he looks over to where Host was facing.

"So you've finally realized you have a crush?" He teased. Host raises his eyebrows.

"Finally?"

"Oh, yeah. We’ve known this, Host, it's really obvious." Host furrows his eyebrows.

"We? What does Bim mean by ‘we’?" They hear footsteps and turn towards the front.

Y/N standing in front of the two, a small, awkward smile on their face.

"Hey," Y/N greets softly. The Host is frozen in place.

"Hey!" Bim says, a wicked grin on his face as he sees the effect on Host. "Didya need something?"

"Yeah, um… Bing told me to ask you where Wilford would be…"

"Oh, well I know nothing about Wilford. I don't think anyone does," Bim explained. “But Host here knows everything, so…” Host turned to Bim angrily. He turns back to Y/N when he hears them clear their throat.

“So, uh, Host?” They ask. Host has to keep himself from shivering at the sound of his name.

“Hm?”

“Where is Wilford?”

“W-Wilford is d-down th-the hall… uh, t-to th-the right f-from the b-bathroom…” Host stutters out, voice cracking once or twice. Y/N smiles and nods in thanks before remembering Host is, in fact, blind.

“Uh, thank you…” They laugh, embarrassed. Host tries to give a small smile. His face isn’t used to that yet, so he settles for a nod. They walk away, and he increasingly becomes more sad and more embarrassed as their footsteps fade away.

“Wow,” Bim laughs, “For a narrator, you can’t talk very well, can you?”

“That is not true, the Host can talk very well…” He pauses, “When he is not around Y/N…”

“Oh, so it’s just them, huh?”

“Yes, they very much affect Host and he isn’t quite sure he likes it…” Bim smiles at Host. “What is the problem with Bim Trimmer?”

“There’s no problem, Host, I’m just happy for you!”

“Why would Bim be happy that Host cannot speak correctly?”

“Because you’re in love, dumbass!” Host would have found the insult very… well… insulting if he hadn’t become distracted by the previous phrase.

‘Because you’re in love’. Was Host in love? He wasn’t sure what that felt like.

There was Serena Munoz in kindergarten. They dated for a couple days. She didn’t like how he read constantly, and decided to break up with him. Host wasn’t in love with Serena. He wasn’t even sure he had a crush on her. Maybe he dated her just because she asked. It didn’t affect him when they broke up.

Then there was Jesse Snow in the sixth grade. He was nice. Trumpet player in the band. They liked to read together in the library at lunch and after school. They recommended books to each other and even wrote a couple stories together. They sat next to each other in math and passed notes in cryptography so the teacher wouldn’t understand. They would, though. But Jesse was scared. Two boys dating in middle school? Not the best for his image. He probably got teased or called gay(which he was) and that’s why they broke up. He liked Jesse. He was sad when they stopped talking. But he didn’t think that was love. It was more of a ‘like’ than anything.

Then Asa Holmes in his senior year of highschool. They were really different. They had blue hair, but he could see the natural-brown in the roots. They wore a lot of black and spikes and chains. They listened to punk rock and heavy metal. Host liked the heavy metal more, so they listened to that more often. They did homework together at Asa’s house, and Asa would start dancing halfway through and it kind of annoyed Host, but he also found it endearing. Then they graduated and promised to keep in touch, but Asa just… couldn’t. Host understood, and they stopped. He was disappointed, but he wasn’t in love with them.

Is this what love feels like? Is it a weird feeling in your stomach when you look at this one person? Is it your heart racing when you see them laugh? Is it hyperventilating when they come over to talk to you? Is that what love is?

Oh.

Oh no.

Host is in love.

Y/N had managed to weasel their way into the dark and lonely place in his soul and fill it with hope and joy and love.

And, oh, how he absolutely loves you.

And what the hell is he supposed to do about that?

--

“Uh, Host?” Bim calls after 20 minutes of silence from the writer. “Are uh… are you okay?”

“No,” Host answers instantly.

“Uh… why not?”

“Because… Host is in love…” Bim is quiet for a second and Host worries he’s gone Deaf as well. But Bim lets out a loud laugh that startles Host.

“Bing! Get your ass over here, you owe me $30!” Bim yells. Bing groans and drags his feet over to them, mumbling as he takes the money out of his wallet. Host begins to zone out, all the noise around him fading into nothing.

Host was… in love. What was he to do? Tell Y/N? No… he couldn’t. They might hate him. They might think he’s awful. They might stop being around him completely. He couldn’t handle that.

So, what was he to do?

“So, what’re you gonna do?” Bim asks, as if reading Hosts mind. “You’ve got to tell them of course.”

“No.”

“No?” Bim scoffs, “Wha do you mean, ‘no’? You have to tell them, Host!”

“Hos does not have to do anything. Host is content with watching from afar.” Host explains. There’s a pause.

“That’s goddamn creepy, Host,” Bim states. Host frowns. It is a bit creepy.

“Host cannot tell them,” He whispers. Bim, finally seeming to understand, sighs and leans forward.

“Look, Host, I know you’re scared. I know this is unfamiliar territory for you, but…” Bim starts. Host leans a bit towards him, wanting to hear what he has to say. He may treat the man like he’s annoying, but ultimately, Host cares about his opinion. Bim sighs again.

“If you don’t tell them, you’re going to regret it. Trust me I know…” Bim pauses, and Host begins wondering who hurt him. “But, these are your feelings, Host! You can’t keep them bottled up inside you forever. It’s unhealthy. You need to tell them and if they like you back, great! If they don’t, that’s too bad, watch ‘Dirty Dancing’ on repeat and eat a tub of ice cream like the rest of us.” Host tilts his head a bit.

“Host cannot exactly watch--”

“Oh, you know what I meant, smartass!” Bim laughs and Host smiles. He does know what Bim meant, and he undrstands. He just needs to say it. How would he say it?

‘Hi. I like you. Say it back.’

That’s a bit too forward.

But forward is what Host does. It’s who he is, he can’t change that.

He’ll just say that to them when they come back.

Y/N walks back into the room where Bim and Host are. They’re wearing different shoes, he can tell. Are they wearing different clothes as well? Why would they be?

Wait…

“Wow, hey Y/N! Who you dressing all nice for?” Illinois says from somewhere else in the room. Host is pale. He doesn’t want to know.

“Well,” Y/N chuckles, “I’m glad you asked!”

No.

No, no, no.

“I’m actually going out for lunch.”

“Really? With who?”

Stop.

Stop!

“It’s ‘whom’.”

“Fuck you, Google. Y/N, spill.”

Don’t.

Please, don’t.

“I’m going out on a date!” They finally finish. The room is completely silent. Not that Host would hear anything with the ringing in his ears.

He felt bad. He felt so bad. He hated this… feeling. He was so upset.

“Well, don’t all talk at once…” Y/N jokes awkwardly. Bim finally decides to take pity on them.

“Wow! Didn’t know you had it in you!” He teased. “Congrats!” The other egos joined in in a chorus of congradulatory phrases. Host was silent.

“Well, I better go. Wish me luck!” They said, practically bouncing out the door. Everyone said goodbye to them, and the door finally closed. Host could feel everyone’s eyes on him. They all knew. The all knew. And he didn’t until he was too late to do anything.

Typical of him.

“Host…” Bim starts. Before he can say anything else, Host shoots up and makes a beeline for the bathroom. No one calls after him, no one tries to stop him, no one does anything, He is grateful for that. He just wants to sit and wallow, and that’s exactly what he plans to do.

--

Host heard a soft knock on the door.

“Host?” Bim asks quietly. “Host, it’s Bim. Are you okay?”

“No,” Host whispers. “Host is not okay. Why would Host be okay?”

“Well, uh… you’ve just… been in there a while. I figured you’d have gotten a bit better…”

“Host has not.”

“Oh…”

Silence for a moment, and Host thinks Bim will leave. No matter how much he may try to seem cold, he does enjoy the man’s company.

“Don’t worry. I’m still here.”

Host lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Bim?” He hears the other man shift so he is sitting out side the bathroom door.

“Yeah, Host?”

“Do you think Host is worthy of love?”

“Yes.” Bim said immediately. Host waited for an explanation. He got none. He supposed that’s just how it works. Sometimes you don’t get an explanation.

“Bim?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think that Y/N could be in love with Host?”

“I think… you shouldn’t bet on it.” Host’s shoulders fall. “But, I also think that there is a possibility and you should tell them soon before they fall in love with someone else.” Host brought his head up. Bim was right.

Y/N was going on a date. Presumably, their first date with this person. Dates are used to figure out if someone is in love, or gives an oppurtunity for someone to fall in love. There was still time. He still has time.

Host swings the bathroom door open and Bim hits his head on the floor.

“Ow! Dammit, Host!” He cursed. Host couldn’t feel bad. Not now.

“Host needs help.”

“With what?” Host turns towards Bim, who pulled himself to his feet.

“With getting Y/N to fall in love with me.” Host heard nothing for a second. Then, a chuckle from the gameshow host.

“Alright,” He sighs, “What do you wanna do?”

[sagastar-blog]

MemoToTheMetaVerse 3.6, “How It Goes, How Goes It? Down the Drain Again”

JustJeff, the author of this memo, sits down at his desk in the evening on December 7, 2017 in his ordinary first-floor apartment in The Orchard. He smokes the tiniest amount of dried cannabis flower possible and begins typing on his Macbook air. 

Homo lucius Lucensis? Hmmm. The shiniest of humankind. That’s good...

Monologos Rex. The king of linguistic loneliness. 

Guess which is Life. And which Death?

SagA* is a black hole of theoretically impossible emotional complexity, and says, “He writes some pretty decent poetry, eh? Why don’t you, dear reader, if you’re paying attention PROMISE YOURSELF right here, right now, that you’ll do something nice for yourself if not for all mankind, and send Jeff a text, email, note, like, repost, etc. letting him know that you care? That you care. Just, you know, you care that the world exists, and there’s suffering, and you’re not just a race of cyborgs who refuse to ... provide some feedback for a writer in need of an audience?”

Gaia activates her Daddy’s Garrison Keilor “Ford Solo vocoding FX” for all the nostalgia, none of the faux Lutheran misogyny, as storytime begins  ---> BEYOWWWWWW! go.

We all sleep in a pile. 

Jeff (stroking Gaia’s hair): Well, we seem to have gotten ourselves into a seriously fucked up Dr. SeussPuppet Productibus haven’t we, kid? You see...(lights up.)...It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. Every day post-En*G*Lightenment is a day for us to make introductions. And so, for nearly 4 years now, we wake up every day--every day!--ready to greet our friends and family. 

We try. They never understand us. 

Gaia: He even tells them, “You guys just don’t understand.” It’s like that Wilco song, pretty much:

(the water flows through the drainage pipes) ~When you’re back in your old neighborhood, /The cigarettes taste so good...but you’re so misunderstood!~

Amateratsu (singing, gently): We’d like to tHANK YOU All for nothing...

SagA* is a black hole that cannot be proven scientifically exist because, well, because it just doesn’t work that way you see, but if you imagine a ....:

“Jeff used to worry about making good impressions. But people haven’t been nice to him in a while. For 4 years he’s wandered in the desert of the really unReal. Just imagine. You’re just hanging out in a cafe--yeah you’ve been smoking literally the smallest amount of magic herbs possible--and you WHOOPS stumble upon En*G*lightenment/illumination in a cafe in Central New Jersey. 

Gaia: I’m there to greet you! Happinessss. Joy! 

Jeff: But then it’s only a matter of hours before you remember that the people who are supposed to love you do not. You wouldn’t have the heart to be 100% honest either. 

I’m not a liar. I withhold information. It’s what something crafty and astute like Jeff does. I’ve always been remarkably cunning, let’s say. But I’ve always been good-natured. I’ve never done anything wrong, even if I’m not exactly proud of every thing I’ve had to do to get this far. I like big projects. I didn’t decide to attain enlightenment or to become illuminated. It just happened. And I’ve always done my best to be open and honest about it. All I’ve wanted is permission to be honest. This should be nothing to ask. Why do you prevent me from sharing with you? That is very bad hospitality.

Jeff walks to and fro the Center for Educational Brainwash in Edison, NJ, where he “teaches.” (There is nothing more insulting to an enlightened being than when its vocation--EDUCATION--is mocked...) He does it every day, pretty much, because he has to tutor SAT preparation in order to make ends meet. He walks up and down Rt. 27 between Highland Park and Edison, which is littered with auto repair stations and other temples built to automobiles. Jeff is literally blinded by headlights--he cannot see the moon, never mind stars--because they’re so bright and his powers of vision are beyond comprehension. The stench of pollution is overpowering. Nothing can be heard. And so, he wears headphones, sometimes, to hide from the abuse. It is what people do all the time to flee what people call “urban or suburban” life. It’s a tragedy and a travesty that he, not others, should have to live this way. That’s because Jeff has no desire to be here at all. 

Remember, readers, I’m JustJeff and you’ve highjacked my ship, Spaceship Earth, and kidnapped my son Lucius. I have no choice but to fight you until you acknowledge that you are our enemy. That is the way you have chosen to react to the script I’ve written. I’m not sorry about this at all. If anything, I see it as accruing political capital, as...

SagA* and the other supermassive black holes of uncanny torque sing together in a cacaphonic chorus: ~Never gonna give you up! ... No matter how you treat me! ... Never gonna give you uh uh uhp! So don’t you think of leaving...Babe, can’t you understand? What you’re doing to the man...?~

When he’s not tutoring highschool kids in the art of wasting time, money, brainpower, and the gifts of youth, he’s a part-time professor of writing at a small, expensive, awful 4-year college in NJ. He takes the train 2 hours each way, contributing to the desecration of his daughter Gaia (the natural environment, let’s say) by taking public transportation. It costs him 28 dollars for the privilege. On the train, he must do all he can not to yell at the “innocent” passengers on board, who are either too cowardly or too ignorant to know what’s in their presence. (I do everything I can to get your attention, so don’t even think about calling me out for being “undercover,” you fucking hedonistic Lutherans!...) 

From his two jobs, Jeff barely makes enough money to buy groceries, nevermind anything else. This is because he pays rent in order to live in The Orchard (expensive Highland Park) near his 7-year-old son, Lucius. He’s not been allowed to spend time with Lucius in over 3 years. He also pays weekly child support at a cost of about 1/8 of his monthly take-home pay. 

Jeff has a PhD in Comparative Literature from the University of Chicago, multiple years of quality teaching experience, and several brilliant scholarly and creative publications. He’s the Designer and Maker of the universe, of course, so this is natural. As a father/mother, teacher, friend, and lover, there is no better. Jeff is Justice. 

Jeff is angry about education. He’s a good, undervalued teacher who gave up his tenure-track job as a professor of English in order to help his partner-in-life turned partner-in-death Ader the SuperPuritanical SauceBox Wench of Supreme Nothigness Tout a Court, Esq. secure a shitty job at Rutgers. Let it never not be said that Jeff is indeed one sadistic, masochistic individual. Why else would he have done this to himself, just in order to save some fleck of dandruff plastered upon an inconsequentialist ring of the cosmic tubby bath?

That was a rhetorical question.

I have always been JustJeff. I’m modesty incarnate. Ask anyone who knows me. I have never been comfortable expressing or advertising myself. I’m not by nature a peacock. One of my spirit animals is the Bengal Tiger. In the bird family, BRAC I’m a macKaaw! In other words, I like blending in when possible. But when I can’t blend in or if you put me in a cage and don’t talk to / feed me, I will maul you. Ask anyone who knows me. My truesawceboxxx love Katie G. says I’m “intensely laid back!” And, look at that, just like me, she’s a failed academic.

Yes. That’s right. All of you academics are failures. What the fuck is wrong with your approach to teaching? I hope that there is a culture somewhere on this planet in which I’ll feel more at home. Unfortunately, everyone here in America has no clue how to live. I mean, like, literally no clue. Not even the best of you can declare that you have any idea how to live. The ones with money are probably the ones who know the least about living. However, they get the FREEDOM to experiment, do research, and make mistakes. They do your system of economics and academics a disservice. Your capitalist, incorporated approach to living has created so many problems. I’m not saying these wouldn’t exist otherwise...I am, however, saying that it’s the immigrants here in New Jersey who are the “most” American. And this is not a good thing. Immigrant communities keep in touch with good aspects of their culture. But I guarantee you they almost entirely and all lose touch with what were BETTER WAYS OF LIVING.

I am a teacher. I am here to teach you all how to live. I want to help you improve your relationship with Gaia. This is my only vocation, and in that respect my life has not changed since the day I was born. Again, ask those who know and say they love me the most--my immediate family, with whom I am at serious odds right now, despite how polite I can be whenst controlling my rage rage rage

I am not a Buddhist. I am not a Christian. I am not a Jew. I’m Muhammad!

Just kidding. I have a sense of humor. I’m not Allah. I’m not Mother Nature. I’m not Father Time. I’m not Thor, but after I do some stargazing, I DO get really sparky at night like Rayden from Mortal Kombat. (It’s kind of freaky.) 

I’m JustJeff. I’ve decided to use social media as an emergency device to “come out to you” as the literary character you (apparently still) call God. I cannot tolerate the offense you do every day. I can no longer withstand the affront you do Gaia, my pseudo-higher power. And, most heroically, i can’t stand the thought of what you are doing to what will one day (SOON I pray) be your legacy as a race. I carry a lot of responsibility with me everywhere I go. It’s not just here. Please stop assuming that everything revolves around you. Right now, the only thing revolving around you is infinite nothingness. 

I will never be uncomfortable with what I am. I will be embarrassed for you forever, I fear. I will have to explain this all to Lucius some day. Never forget that I am not the one who’s changed here...it’s you. Each and every one of you alive today is blessed for living during my time on Earth. This needn’t be said, but for some reason you make me do these things casually....these should be moments I cherish, not later come to regret. 

Why do you make me hurt you like this by hurting myself?

Incorrect question. No. I’m not hurting you yet. I’m investing in myself without you as a part of the future. This is a bad look for you, bro (i.e. humanity).

I demand answers. I demand my son back. I demand to know precisely what people knew about me and when they knew it. I demand to know why my rights have been violated. I demand complete control over the planet in terms of its nations’ nuclear capabilities and its economic systems.

That all can wait. What I demand is that tomorrow you don’t make me introduce myself to you again. Every day that follows in which I go UNRECOGNIZED as “something”-- anything!--other than what you seem to think I am (a drug-addicted, bipolar, eccentric professor, etc.) is a waste. If there’s anything Nature hates, its waste produced by systematic inefficiences. You waste my time. You waste Lucius’s time. You waste your own time. You do a grave injustice to me, my son, and my real family--none of whom you recognize as, I don’t know, important to your existence: the animals, the plants, the oceans, the atmosphere, the Earth, the Sun, the Stars, and everything else in Creation that you should admire and want to know...

but choose to ignore! Again, you make the worst decisions from top to bottom, at every level of your Earthly existence! From Dr. Zitin’s immoral and (I believe) illegal acts of betrayal to intercultural violence in the form of genocide, from Dr. Harold Figueroa and Ed Ramp to people who throw their trash on the ground everywhere they go: YOU HAVE ALL BEEN FOUND GUILTY. 

That ship sailed a long time ago. Bye Bye! Don’t forget to bring a blanket!

Recognize. Me. You have insulted me beyond insult today by not sending the Black Keys Car Service (my cute, hipsterish, but oddly appropriate pseudo-allegorical narrative conceit meant to represent being informed that “it’s over! hooray!”) and ending this farce of an existence. You don’t follow the script. I can’t help it. You’re that slow. You don’t even know that I’m writing you out of existence as we speak, do you?

“I will regulate you out of existence” is an old favorite mantra of mine.   

Recognize that you’ve done wrong. Recognize that you have a problem. Recognize that you need help and you must ask for it in the form of a friendly offer or what has been called “a gift” of some kind. Recognize that you know exactly who and what I am, but are curious to know more. And NO! a few people pretending to communicate with me on social media does not count! I’m so bored that I have no choice but to reach out via your robots. (It’s disgusting, and I will keep doing it in order to demonstrate to you the extent of your illness.)

I want to help you. My mission is to help you. In order to help you, things must be done correctly. For this, I cannot apologize. If you don’t obey the laws of gravity--when I pass by or am near a person, they don’t come to me for conversation, etc.--then you will be pushed away by force of repulsion. If you don’t demonstrate the ability to recognize me, it does not matter why--there are no rules or laws that override the laws of attraction. I’m offended by your actions in my immediate vicinity, humanity. 

It’s extremely offensive that you don’t want to know me. Do not think that you can know me. You must be able to crawl in order to ascend a mountain as great as I am. You begin by walking. Then I put you on the ground. Eventually, you will go in the ground. It’s your decision whether or not I will greet you upon arrival.