#or actually nightdreaming i guess

[goldiebeams]

Girl help, I’m regressing to that point in my childhood where I’d imagine a fictional crush standing by my bedside as I try to fall asleep, gazing lovingly down at my resting figure in awe of the raw beauty and honesty that comes with the peaceful stillness of slumber

[dayseternal-blog]

🤡📌💡❓

without context this ask is so weird hahahahaha fanfic ask game

Thank you bunny for sending me a few :D💕💕💕

🤡 What’s the dumbest thing you’ve written? - probably the dumbest thing I've written is...well, actually, hmmm... Maybe "Honeymoon at the Hot Springs" my first fic, and I'd call it dumb because I really wrote it just for the sake of smut and practically nothing else? Fluff and smut, like tooth-rotting fluff and smut!!! But I think another "dumb" fic I wrote is "Fan Service" only because it's sooo silly, I wrote it for giggles!!! ohh and "Proper Introductions" is a silly fic, too x) That one's also dumb because I wrote it for funny points!!! I just mean "dumb" in an endearing way! I love everything I've written.

📌 If all your fics/WIPs fell off a ship and were drowning (go with it), and you could only save one, which would it be? - ahhh it would be one of these 3: "It's No Secret," "White Lilies," or "Nightdreams." I worked the hardest on White Lilies, I had the most fun with "Nightdreams," and I learned a lot and grew the most with "It's No Secret." So....yep. I'd probably save "It's No Secret" because I wouldn't be able to recreate that Beginner Writer feeling.

💡 What’s the weirdest thing you’ve been inspired by? - Probably Senny's Maid!Naruto fanart... yeah. That one wins in weirdness for inspiration!

❓ Write an alternate summary for a published fic without using names. (Points if your followers can guess the fic.) -

Neither are who they used to be.

When words failed and disillusionment already settled in the cracks between them, why continue to watch each other, only to be disappointed every step of the way?

Answer linked here haha. It's one of 3 posted stand-alone fics for which I never wrote the summary myself. Someone else wrote the posted summary!

[fabien-euskadi]

21. How was your day today?

26. What are some seemingly childish things you like? 

34. What’s your favorite flower?

21.How was your day today?

I guess I could (and - probably - should) say it was an okay day… but that has to be considered a blatant lie, and lies are among the things that I hate the most. So, let’s go for the truth and nothing more than the truth shall we?

It was a pretty horrid day, a day pretty much like any other day during the last few… weeks? Months? Years? Lifetimes? However, what makes this Monday an especially horrid day was the fact that it all started with one of those nightmares that simply leaves you with an awful humour and a heavy heart. To make things (a lot) worse, it was the first time in years that a certain ex appeared in my dreams, like a ghost from the past haunting my sleep, and stealing all my will to live and smile.

To make things even worse, by accident, I latter decided to check my secondary email account, and, somehow, I discovered an old audio file that she (I am still talking about that ex that turns my nightdreams into the worst nightmares) had send me years ago; sadly, I didn’t have the good sense of not listening to that file… well, let’s say that it felt like someone was sticking a dagger on my chest. I lie: an actual dagger on my chest would have been a lot less painful.

So, in the end, it was not a good day, was it?

26.What are some seemingly childish things you like? 

In many ways, you can say that I am, basically, a child hidden on the body of a grown-up man. And I could give you countless examples of some of my childish behaviours, even if several of them are, basically, related with a rather adult feature of mine: because I can. And that includes splashing on a brooklet that crosses my farm.

Still, my real seemingly childish traits are my idealism, my ability to never stop dreaming (like most adults do), and, most of all, the enthusiasm regarding the things that make my heart beat faster.

34.What’s your favorite flower?

I suppose I love all flowers, even the most pathetic ones. So, as long as there are flowers, I feel good – and since I live on the countryside, I have always plenty of them. Still, as we speak, there are oxeye daisies on my pergola, and, so, I chose them as my favourite flower. After all, she loves me, she loves me not (and so on).

Thank you very much – and may your Tuesday be full of smiles.

[jadethest0ne]

In need of Refueling, Chapter 32 - Nightdreams and Daymares

Summary:  “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the  White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red  Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 2801

Ratings/Warnings:  Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents, panic attacks, abuse.

Notes: Red Son's nightmares get worse...

Credits: Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo  for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep  some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!  

Read on AO3

———-

Everything burns. His surroundings, his clothes, his hair.

It hurts.

Red Son clings to himself, trying to protect what he can, but the fire just holds on tighter.

The fire is blue.

"Why?" he questions, though he's not sure to whom. "Samadhi Fire?"

There is a form that walks through the curtain of flames, and towers over him.

"Father!"

The Demon Bull King snorts out the flames from his nostrils. The True Fire of Samadhi billows around him and washes over Red Son in a blue wave.

He wakes up screaming

"What, what is it!" Red Son's eyes snap open to see Mei jump up, brandishing her sword. Though if there were truly any danger, Red Son isn't sure she'd actually be able to take it on since she still looks half asleep. She also seems almost in pain, one hand over her chest, gripping the fabric of her shirt there, tightly.

"Red Son! Are you okay?" Red Son's vision flickers over to MK, who looks at him nervously. "You were dreaming."

At this point Red Son had been hanging out with Mei and MK much more. Sleepovers were a common occurrence. Unfortunately, so were the strange dreams he was having, and he supposed that sooner or later the two would coincide yet again… Red Son moans and puts a hand up to his head, rubbing his hand through his hair, and putting out any errant sparks that flickered as a result of his tumultuous emotions. "I-- yeah. I was having a nightmare."

"You wanna talk about it?" MK asks. Mei seems to have realized that there is no danger and slowly crawls back over to the pillow pile. It's now bright outside, but Red Son can't be sure how early or late in the day it is, and Mei seems content to just sleep again. Red Son isn't sure if she's even fully awake or listening, but he decides to answer MK's question.

"There's honestly not much to say,” Red Son says. "I've been having this dream for the past few weeks or so... Ever since we defeated Spider Queen."

"The one with The Fire?" Mei asks. Guess she was still listening, Red Son muses.

He nods. "Yeah, but this time..." He hesitates. "It was, uh, I don’t know, more clear? I could see my father more clearly… and it felt–" He peters off, and Mei looks a bit more awake. MK looks nervous, but also like he's thinking of something.

"At least it didn’t affect my powers this time," Red Son says, trying to brush the awkwardness off.

"Yeah, but you've been having this kind of dream for a while," Mei says. "That sounds like an issue in itself, dude."

Red Son puts his head in his hands and groans frustratedly.

"Have you checked in on your parents recently?" MK asks.

Red Son's head snaps up. "Uh.. no actually." He had completely forgotten. Or maybe "forgotten" isn't the right word. "Avoiding it" might be a better choice of words. They were aware that he had a way to spy on his parents, but he hadn’t been open about how little or how often he did.

He takes out his phone, but hesitates before opening the program he uses to spy through the bullbots.

"What's the holdup?" Mei asks, she still seems sleepy, but engaged in the drama.

"I just-- I don’t want to look because I was trying to put the past behind me." Red Son says.

"Yeah?" MK says.

"I thought I was with you guys now, so I don't need to look, right?"

"Well something in your subconscious must be bothering you about that," Mei says.

"It's not just that..." Red Son squirms. There's something about his dreams and the fire that he'd been trying to avoid thinking about. As if he was afraid of speaking it into existence. "It's the Samadhi Fire. It feels... kind of alive. I was worried that I might be awakening it in my dreams."

"Why's that so bad? Maybe that means you can control it again or something." Mei pushes.

Red Son sighs dramatically and looks at MK, who still seems a bit nervous about this whole talk, but genuinely curious to what Red Son has to say.

"If I awakened it or if my parents found out where I was... Well, I didn't want to subject that to any of you again..." Red Son says quickly.

There is a beat.

Then Mei, now fully awake lets out a big "Awwwww!!! Red Son cares about how we feel!"

"Ugh, shut up!" Red Son rolls his eyes.

MK’s nervousness changes to laughter at the display, and he finally says, “I think you should check this out if it’s bothering you this much. It’s better to talk about it than keep it bottled up,” MK says. “We’ll be here to support you!”

Red Son can't help but smile slightly. It does feel good to have people in his corner for once. But there's also the annoying feeling that he now has people he doesn't want hurt over something he started. And then there’s that underlying fear of what facing his parents would mean. He thinks for a moment. If he can’t go through with it, he can at least be honest with his new friends as to why.

“I haven’t actually spied on them for some time now… If I did - if I thought about them more - then that means I’d have to think about actually facing them. Explain why I’ve been away for so long. Talk about The Fire. I just, I’m not ready yet…” he says the last part in a sigh, like a puff of air letting out his insecurities.

“You know you’re probably having those dreams because you’re keeping yourself from thinking about it, right?” Mei says bluntly.

Red Son rolls his eyes and snaps back at her, “Yeah, I know!” His tone had a bit more annoyance than intended, but she didn’t seem bothered by it.

“You know, if you did face them, you wouldn’t have to do it alone. We’d be there for you,” MK says reassuringly.

“DBK is dangerous. I wouldn’t want you all to have to face him as well because…” Red Son again, looks nervously at MK and Mei.

"Because you CARE about us!" Mei says with a giant grin.

"Ugh!" Red Son rolls his eyes heavily, and throws his hands up. “Listen! I’m just not ready to deal with this yet! And not on a day when -” he finally looks at the clock and sees the time, “-when we have to be at work in a half an hour!”

MK also looks at the clock and makes a clicking noise with his tongue. He turns back to Red Son and looks him hard in the eyes. Red Son looks back somewhat pleadingly, though he’s unpracticed at a puppy-dog-eyes look, so it probably just looks strained and awkward.

MK finally nods. "We can respect that you need your time," MK says. "But we'll be here when and if you need us!"

Mei affirms with her own nod.

“Now let’s get ready for work!” MK exclaims, back to his usual boisterous self. He loops an arm around Red Son, who rolls his eyes, but doesn't protest the motion.

Yes, he'd wait a bit. But if he can resolve the issue with his parents, without bringing the others into it, he'd prefer that. He started it, so he'd end it.

Unfortunately, if there's anything that Red Son has learned it’s that things don't always go as planned.

- - -

Luckily, Red Son and MK make it to work on time and with little fanfare. Red Son is currently in the kitchen seasoning some noodles and broth. Pigsy is stirring up some noodles boiling in a large vat next to him. MK had just come back from a delivery and was waiting on the two of them to finish with the soup so he could bring the product to the appropriate customers. Mei and Tang are chatting with him at the counter, with Pigsy and Red Son throwing the occasional comment out to them from the kitchen area.

Red Son is in the middle of a minor tirade about the differences between various noodle types and the appropriate spices to go with them, when he is cut off mid-sentence by a low rumble and the room suddenly darkening around him.

In the next instant, columns of blue flames launch out of all the burners on the stovetop, bathing the entire kitchen and himself in a sapphire light. Somehow his friends are no longer there, but the dark void that had replaced them is then filled by the overwhelming booming voice of his father; a rage-filled yell echoes around the area. Red Son’s breath catches in his throat, and he freezes, unable to move, until a pressure appears on his shoulder and literally shakes him out of the state.

As quickly as they had appeared, the flames, the voice, and the darkness are all gone, replaced again, with the gentle warmness of the kitchen, and the worried faces of his friends. Red Son is finally able to suck in a breath, and he lurches forward, holding his chest and pulling in deep breaths. He is coached through it by Pigsy, who he now realizes is the owner of the hand on his shoulder. He focuses on the pressure there and on his voice, and it helps ground him. He looks over and notices that the Dragon Girl looks equally stressed out, hand to her chest, and looking almost in pain. MK has a hand over her shoulder and is looking nervously between both her and Red Son. After a few tense breaths, Pigsy worriedly asks, “You okay, kid? What happened?”

Red Son looks around confusedly and answers honestly, “I– I don’t know… I just - um–”

He catches Mei’s eyes, which are staring into his own with such intensity, as she clutches at MK for some stability. Red Son stares back for a moment, searching, and he practically feels her own searching gaze. Did you see the same thing? Red Son thinks hard, as if hoping she hears him, but his tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth, so he doesn’t say it out loud. Mei doesn't respond, just keeps on looking at him intensely. His thoughts and practical staring contest with Mei are interrupted by a voice to his side.

“Maybe you should lay down?” Mr. Tang is there, too.

Red Son nods slowly in response. Still confused about what happened.

Pigsy hands him off to Tang, as he takes over the stove. MK seems hesitant to separate himself from Mei, but she nudges him encouragingly and he helps Tang with guiding Red Son into another room. Mei trails almost cautiously behind him. Or at least Red Son thinks she seems cautious, he’s still a little hazy. He is brought to a sofa and given a glass of water.

He drinks slowly, and it gives him time to think. What was that?! That had never happened before, and yet it felt familiar-

Something clicks into place.

He turns slowly to MK and Mei. MK is sitting next to him, and Mei had slung herself over the edge of the sofa, giving an air as if she was not bothered, nor ever was in the last few minutes. Maybe Red Son was wrong about the look she gave earlier. Tang hovers by the entrance to the room.

“I– I think I’d like a moment to myself,” he tells them.

“Sure thing,” MK says, giving him an extra pat on the shoulder. “Just call if you need anything.”

Red Son nods as they take their leave. Once they are out of the room, Red Son takes out his phone. No one had turned on a light in the room, and now that the door had closed it is much darker. The only light in the room is the eerie glow from the phone that illuminates his face. He’d turn on a light, but his thoughts are stuck on what had happened.

Whatever vision he had seen, felt a lot like the dreams of the Samadhi Fire he had been having. Like before, he is certain the dreams were just inner anxieties, and maybe that was just a hallucination - a sign he is falling further down the mental rabbit hole. But despite that being somewhat terrifying in itself, a part of him thinks maybe it is wishful thinking that it was just in his head, and not the even more terrifying alternative… That what he’s been seeing were true visions or premonitions, not merely dreams.

He quickly opens up his Bullbot app, takes a deep breath in, and checks in on his parents. What he sees confirms his fears. He sees his father, with blue flames wreathed around him. His eyes have a blue glow to them, and there are wisps of fire floating out of his mouth and nostrils. He can’t get sound on the bullbots without potentially clueing his parents into his spying, but he can see that his father is talking to his mother. The Demon Bull King doesn’t look crazed like he initially was when commanding The Fire. Instead, he seems to just be talking with Princess Iron Fan. He does seem angry, however; some of the fire is kicking up from beneath his hooves, and the two look to be having a heated discussion. Eventually Princess Iron Fan storms away, and Demon Bull King sits down in a huff on a large throne-like chair. He casts a look over to the bullbot that Red Son is commanding, starts breathing heavily, cool flames puffing out and being sucked back in through his teeth, before he yells angrily and the entire screen is covered in blue.

Red Son jumps in his seat and quickly exits the program.

He sits there in stunned silence for a moment, processing the information. His father still has the Samadhi Fire somehow. It is only a matter of time before they come looking for him, and potentially try to take their anger out on the Monkie Kid crew. If Red Son could somehow connect to The Fire and see visions about it, there is a possibility that they could find him through it as well, which would put a target on his friends.

Red Son sits there for a few minutes more mulling over what to do. He’s not sure how long he sits there, but it’s MK poking his head into the room, bringing a ray of light from the kitchen into the dark room, that stirs him into action. He stands up, suddenly.

“Oh, um, I was just about to come and see if you were okay…” he hears MK from behind.

Without looking at him, Red Son says, “I’m fine, but I think…” He pauses, then turns to his friend and says with an earnest expression, “I think I should go home and rest.”

MK raises his eyebrows. There’s an odd sort of glint in his eyes, but Red Son can’t tell if it’s just from the odd lighting of the dim room or something else. “At the boathouse..? Uh, sure.”

Red Son holds his phone tightly, and hopes that the Noodle Boy can’t see the tremble in his hands. He quickly skirts around him, voices some curt goodbyes, and takes his leave.

- - -

“Everything okay?” Mei asks MK, when she notices his worried expression as he watches Red Son leave the noodle shop.

“Oh, um, yeah…” MK’s voice trails off. Mei had given him a scare almost as much as Red Son earlier, but she had brushed it off and seems all right at the moment. He’d push her about it more later, but right now he had a more pressing question on his mind. “Hey, Mei,” he asks her, “Has Red Son ever called the boathouse ‘home’ before?”

She puts a finger up to her lips and hums in thought. “Hmm, no I don’t think so. Why? Did he just do that?”

“He said he was going ‘home.’”

“Awww, Red Boy really does care about us! He’s finally seeing Sandy’s boathouse as home, that’s super sweet! I’m definitely going to bring it up when he’s feeling less out of it, haha,” Mei says, all too eagerly. She hops happily onto a seat by the counter and starts talking to the others.

MK continues to look out the door where Red Son just left, with a nervous rumbling in his stomach, due to the fact that Mei didn’t quite catch onto what MK was getting at. He said he was going “home”. But the way that Red Son had left the shop was not in the direction of the boathouse…

start || <– previous // next –>

[meyhew]

hi <3 I wanna help that analysis anon

I tend to get really deep when I'm talking to myself. like I'd be discussing a book with myself while doing dishes and accidentally discover, realise, notice think of something new. but that may be just my adhd brain that only doesn't daydream when it is nightdreaming lol. it just happens naturally if I'm enjoying whatever it is that I'm consuming (hyperfixations my beloved)

also like don't just constantly consume I guess? give yourself time to actually have some thoughts about the piece of media before moving to another one. I read a lot and it physically pains me to not have a book to burry myself into, but after finishing a book I always give myself time to digest it before starting something else no matter how motivated I am by finishing a task to start another one

that's it I think, sorry if I made any mistakes, not my first language and all that 🐻

oh yeah im a big fantasizer. huge fan of thinking abt characters while doing mundane everyday tasks

[watching-pictures-move]

Put On Your Raincoats #35 | Through the Looking Glass (Middleton, 1976)

Sometimes you get stupid ideas. Sometimes those stupid ideas are borne out of your immediate circumstances. Sometimes you see a certain film is leaving the Criterion Channel at the end of the month and you think, "Hey, wouldn't it be a great idea if I made a double feature out of this?" and think of ending the outgoing year with Jan Svankmajer's Alice and kicking off the new year with Jonas Middleton's Through the Looking Glass. Sometimes those ideas are also borne out of ignorance. Sometimes you just read the title and assume that Through the Looking Glass is a pornographic version of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, so of course it would make for a great, off beat double feature. Sometimes that ignorance is deliberate. Sometimes you look at the high Letterboxd ratings but avoid reading the actual reviews for fear of spoiling too much about the movie, blissfully unaware that your assumptions about the movie are wildly off base. Sometimes the cosmos conspires to persuade you out of this course of action, yet you move on undeterred. Sometimes a late night blowup at work (on New Year's Fucking Eve, of all nights) threatens to foil your plans to get through a number of movies before they leave the Criterion Channel. Sometimes you just end up letting that last movie of 2021 spill over a little bit and just watch the other movie the following morning (it's a double feature in spirit, dammit). Sometimes you realize how ill advised this all was, but chalk it up to the costs of adventurous movie watching. At this point I'd like to take my hood off, Vince-McMahon-style and reveal that all of this happened to me.

As you can guess from above, Through the Looking Glass is not exactly a porno Alice in Wonderland. It is instead a dark fantasy about incest and sexual abuse. The film follows a wealthy woman who, growing detached from her day-to-day existence, repeatedly retreats to the attic of her mansion to relive her incestuous relationship with her dead father. She does this with the help of a mirror, and the movie cleverly realizes this dynamic by cutting between her and her reflection as she converses with her father and masturbates. (When we do get glimpses of the father, they're timed to be as jarring as possible.) This isn't the Taboo series, where incest is supposed to be fun and great and solve of all your problems. The movie knows this is upsetting, and frames the heroine to enhance her sense of mental isolation and trauma, surrounding her with shadow, while accompanying the proceedings with tense music. The situation takes an even more disturbing turn when her father reveals that he has plans for her teenage daughter, and the movie culminates with a trip to hell, presented as a wasteland bathed in red lighting where she's threatened by all manner of freaks caught up in uniformly unpleasant sexual activity (a man jacking off into his own mouth, another man thrusting into a hole in the ground, two women bathing in what looks like bodily waste, and the rest in an orgiastic frenzy while a woman in a cage looks on). This isn't the hell scene in Nightdreams, which is supposed to be kind of hot. This is a legitimately bruising, unpleasant sequence.

When you have subject matter like sexual abuse and assault in a porno, it poses a certain challenge to viewers, in that this is supposed to be upsetting material, but the genre is also intended to titillate. I respect the movie for doing away with genre demands, as the way it presents this content makes it difficult to fathom anyone finding this arousing. The movie owns up to the unpleasantness of the subject matter and plays it up fully for that effect. This is considered a classic of the Golden Age, and it's the kind of movie that could only have been made in an era when explicit sexual content was paired with serious artistic ambition. I'm glad it exists, but at the same time, I can't say I enjoyed it sitting through it very much. If I can say some nice things about the movie, it's that it's realized with a great deal of artistry and visual imagination (one scene gets a memorable jolt out of vaginoscopy footage), even if that is greatly hampered by the crappy video transfer I watched this on. This was shot by the great porn (and future mainstream) cinematographer Joao Fernandes, whose talent you can see at 100% on the Vinegar Syndrome release of Memories Within Miss Aggie. It's a credit to his abilities that the visual style comes through even in the less than ideal state I watched this movie. (Also, I'm not sure if this was the movie or the transfer, but the stereo audio became unsynchronized between left and right, leading to a slight echo effect. Probably not intentional, but it did add to the waking dream atmosphere.) The ominous, eerie music by Harry Manfredini is also integral to the movie's effect, sounding like a cross between Ennio Morricone's giallo soundtracks and John Williams' theme for Jaws. And in terms of casting, Catharine Burgess may or may not be a great actress, but she has the delicate features and sense of trepidation (one might call it a "deer in the headlights" expression) that make her an effective lead for this story, while Jamie Gillis, in makeup that resembles (at least in this crappy transfer) Dolph Lundgren's in the 1989 Punisher, is appropriately demonic as the father (or is he?).

Very well made. Watch at your own risk. Happy new year, folks.

[thevioletcaptain]

BELATED WRITER ASK. 9, 18, 23. ❤️

BELATED WRITER ANSWER! ❤️

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration

To blatantly steal the first part of your answer,  I talk to my awesome friends about Supernatural (or insert fandom here). I read poetry and novels and fics and the news. I read interesting studies that catch my attention online, and look up old news articles from small-town local papers. I hit the “random article” button on Wikipedia and let myself go down a research rabbit hole. I watch TV and movies and take note of what works and what doesn’t. I listen to music and curate playlists that Feel Right. I collect visuals I want to emulate. In a non-pandemic year, I people watch in public, and when I have the ability to drive myself there, I spend time alone in nature or near a body of water—water really does the trick for me. Daydreams, nightdreams, nightmares, shower thoughts. I meditate and do the five-senses mindfulness exercise.

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

Not consciously, but I think it’s impossible to read good writing and not have it influence you in some way. There’s a post that goes around from time to time where the writer talks about how they are a patchwork of all the people they’ve loved—they make ramen the way their friend showed them when they were a kid, and they love certain movies because people they care about loved them first, and so on. I think writing is kind of the same.

Every story that affects me in some way, however small, becomes a part of the way I write. So I guess my answer is just… all of them. Eek.

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing? So, this is probably going to make me sound like a real weirdo and/or enormous wanker, but I think that ship already sailed a while a go. So here goes: for a while in my early twenties, I wrote anonymous letters and left them for people to find on the train.

Sometimes it was poetry or a story, sometimes just a one-sided conversation or a series of observations about the other people on the train, or a long list of questions for the person who found it to answer. Sometimes it was written in code, with the key to the cipher on the inside of the envelope.

I’d write “a letter for you” on the outside, slip it into the gap beside the seat, and leave it behind. 

I had an email address that I included in every letter for people to respond to—a hotmail address I can’t remember, long-since lost to the ravages of time—and sometimes people would write back. I left substantially more letters than I received responses to, but there were still enough replies that I kept doing it for a long time.

When people responded to the long lists of questions (which ranged from what’s the best movie you’ve seen this year? to describe what love feels like to you? to have you ever seen a ghost? to write me a haiku about pickles) it was like having a secret window into another person’s head.

The anonymity meant that most people responded with a level of honesty that is generally uncommon for anyone but close friends. A lot of them almost seemed to treat it like therapy, venting to a faceless stranger. It taught me a lot about the different ways that people think, and particularly people who I otherwise wouldn’t have an opportunity to get to know that well.

I also always included some version of this question: what compelled you to open this letter, and what were you expecting to find?

The range of responses was wide and fascinating, and I don’t think that anything else has ever helped me to write characters more. Because I think about it pretty much anytime I’m writing. If this character saw an envelope in a public place, would they pick it up? Would they leave it there? Would they open it immediately, or take it home and avoid it for a week like that one man who emailed and confessed that he’d worried that it was somehow crime related? If they found one of the coded letters, would they be excited about it? Freaked out? Would they pass it around the office like that woman who said she worked for the bank and needed something to make the day less dull? What would they do, and how would they answer the question, and what would that tell me about them?

So I often think about the answers people wrote, the poems they sent, the few emails that just contained photos of random landmarks. Incredibly, I never received a dick pic. It’s only just occurring to me now how surprising that is. There was a person who responded with a code of their own, though I’ve forgotten what it translated to. Actually I think there may have been a couple who did this. It was a long time ago.

There was another one who found a particularly depressed letter that I’d left, and emailed back a series of ISBNs. When I looked them up, the book titles put together spelled out a sentence, though I only remember two of them: [It’s A Lovely Day Tomorrow] [Dogs Everywhere]

There was a man who had been a doctor somewhere in South East Asia, then immigrated to Australia to be near his kids, and found himself unable to get anything but minimum wage work. There was a woman who had been so personally offended that I’d criticised The Da Vinci Code in the letter she’d found that she didn’t bother responding to anything else I’d written. There was someone who emailed to say “this is psycho” and nothing else. Oh well.

So. Yeah.

That’s probably the most obscure thing I can think of that has affected me as a writer. It just opened my brain up, I guess. Helped me to understand a bit more about how different people approach things, how they react to things. I try to hold onto that when I’m writing to make my characters feel more real. More flesh-and-bone than a collection of tropes and personality traits, so that they react to things, hate things, love things. Make choices that surprise me, and push against the story when it doesn't go their way.

[the get to know your writer ask meme]

[girlofmanyfandoms]

Awesome Saucers Pt. 1

A/n: So this is part 1 of the Neglected Side Characters Band headcanon turned fic, if that makes sense. This acts as an intro and I literally just finished typing it. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

Word count: 1,110

Warnings: I am mediocre with the music lingo, sorry if I’m a bit inaccurate

The moon was rising up over Havenfield, and Sophie, as per usual, could not sleep for the life of her. Neither somnalene nor slumberberry tea would help her rest tonight. Giving up on a good night’s sleep, she walked barefoot on her flowery carpet and decided to grab her IPod and her Imparter before calling Dex.

“What are you doing up this late, Sophie,” Dex grumbled. “I was having an amazing dream.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“Tinker and I were both working on this huge project with our tomples, and we got to show it off with the Councillors in Eternalia. I woke up when they were about to reveal what it was.” Dex paused to think, looking off to the side. “It was probably just a massive tomple.”

Sophie laughed. “Alright, Dexinator, calm down with the daydreaming.”

“Nightdreaming, actually.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that. I actually have a reason for calling you. Remember how you helped me out with my IPod?” Dex nodded in response. “Well, when I lived with my human family, I loved listening to music with it. Now that I live in the Lost Cities, music just isn’t the same. Since I can’t sleep, can you call the others and we can have a mini-party? I’m sure Edaline wouldn’t mind. It’s only 9:43.”

“Let me ask my dad,” he said, before walking out of frame. A few minutes later, he skipped back, grinning triumphantly.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“You betcha,” Dex said, bubbling with excitement. “It took a bit of convincing, but I got there. I can’t wait to hear what human music’s like. From what you said, it’s nothing like our music.”

“Yeah,” Sophie sighed. “There’s nothing quite like it.”

————

After Dex hung up and arrived at Havenfield, Edaline was downright perplexed. Glad to have him, but perplexed nonetheless.

“So, Dex, what brings you to Havenfield at this hour?” Edaline wringed her fingers nervously.

“Sophie said the crew was welcome. She’s going to show us human music,” Dex exclaimed, bouncing on his heels.

“Oh!” Edaline glanced at Sophie for clarification, for which she received a nod. “Well, we weren’t expecting such company, I’ll have to make mallowmelt, tidy up, and…” She trailed off, rushing to the kitchen to complete her agenda.

Grady answered, and Linh, Marella, and Tam arrived together. Minutes later, Fitz and Biana knocked, followed by Keefe and Maruca. Just as they were all about to head upstairs, another knock came. Everyone looked to Sophie in expectation. 

“Um, I’ll guess I’ll go get that.” Sophie walked over to the door and opened it. She had to stop herself from squealing in shock. “Oh, Stina, Jensi! What brings you guys here?”

“Weren’t going to invite us to the party, Foster?” Stina crosses her arms. “Typical.”

Jensi stares at his shoes in embarrassment. “Linh told us about it,” he mumbled. “We thought it’d be fun. We never hear human music.”

Sophie didn’t have the heart to deny them entry, and stepped aside. Stina strutted past her, but Jensi dragged by, still not meeting her eyes. Sophie realized this was the first time she had seen Jensi in a while. A pang of guilt filled her heart, but she did her best to ignore it as everyone found a comfy place in her room. Sophie let her old playlist play. After about 13 songs, Marella spoke up.

“What’s that sound?” she mused. “That loud, steady one?”

Sophie took a moment to try and identify the sound she was speaking of. “You mean the drums?”

“Drums,” Marella repeated, lying back and closing her eyes. Stina was glaring at her, but no one knew the reason. It was just Stina being Stina.

“Woah, woah, wait,” Sophie said, oblivious to the glaring. “You guys don’t know about human instruments? Oh no, we’re going to change that right now.”

Sophie started playing sounds of different instruments, helping them learn to identify each one. Eventually, she learned more or less what most of them leaned towards: Linh liked the strings instruments, Marella enjoyed drums, Stina took an extra liking to drums but liked the way guitars sounded as well, Jensi, from what he showed, liked the range of pianos, Maruca, strangely, liked flutes and clarinets, Dex liked anything techno, and Biana came to like vocals in general. Fitz was very miscellaneous, Tam liked emo music, and Keefe would vibe to whatever was playing.

Sometime in between, Edaline brought the kids some mallowmelt, but even this delicious treat was not enough to steal Sophie’s attention. She couldn’t help but feel like a proud mother. She now had a group of musical obsessed children looking to her for more human tune-based knowledge. This was a good use of her hours. Finally satisfied, her body let out a large yawn. 

Fitz checked the time and tugged at Biana’s frilly sleeve. “It’s getting late, we should head back before Mom gets worried.”

A chorus of “yeahs” and nods filled the room as everyone gathered their belongings and began to file out. Biana lingered behind, telling Fitz that she’ll catch up. He nodded and strolled out, saying goodbye to Edaline and chatting with Keefe.

“I like your music more,” Biana told Sophie with a sad expression. “Thank you. I mean it. Just because our world seems glittery and rich doesn’t mean it’s not hiding cracks and flaws. You helped me see that, through everything you do. And I know thank you will never be enough to express my gratitude for what you’ve done for me. Just know that you’ll always have a friend in me. Forever and always.”

“That’s more than enough, Biana,” Sophie responded sincerely, wishing she had more words to say. “Gosh, you’re certainly better than me with words.”

“Don’t mention it. Just… realize how much you mean to me. How much you’ve changed for me today.” Biana left Sophie like that, and ran in her pumps to catch up to Fitz. Sophie smiled softly, having a feeling that she wouldn’t need slumberberry tea to sleep that night.

__________

Echoes. Echoes were all Biana had left of the wonderful sounds of human music. The way every instrument worked in harmony with the others, and the way words, despite not being able to understand them all, were emphasized and used awakened a passion in Biana’s soul. She would not, could not wait to be possessed by the magic of song. So, at dawn, she told the group to meet her at a shop in Atlantis.

“Project Awesome Sauce in effect,” Biana smirked, before listening to what she had just said to herself. “Goodness, Dex IS rubbing off on me.”

Taglist: @imaramennoodle @bookwyrminspiration @holesinmyfalseconfidence @a-lonely-tatertot @an-absolute-travesty @ladyfoss-boss @krispykreeme  @percabetn @ anyone interested

Let me know if you want to be tagged or if I forgot you, and I’ll add you to the taglist!

[ladymelissaduthe]

Challenge #0.5

Aka The fic where Missy overthinks and Meets Jackson

a/n: Hello, this was supposed to be posted prior to challenge 1 but I.... didn’t like the opening HAHAHAHAHA so I reworked it and I like this version better. (get’s into Missy’s mindset a little better... I think... and her priorities too HAHAHAHA) 

Anyways, this is set in the first night in the palace. Thank you Bri (@jackson-graham) for this RP (this was the first ever RP I actually did as Missy BSJNDJNJ very illuminating in terms of speech style and mannerisms) , (as always: just saying,,,, Jordan Fisher makes me, ~swoon~ LMAO). Anywhos! enjoy hehe (2704 words)

If you ask me about things that keep me up late at night, I never would have guessed that Arin Schreave would have been somewhere in the top 3. 

Well, meeting Arin Schreave to be more specific.

In the top 2, was what I was going to wear tomorrow. In the top 1 spot was “are people going to like me around here?”

I could have been lying on the most comfortable bed, with a beautiful view of the ocean and it could be the dead of night in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever had the opportunity to visit, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was going to meet the prince and what exactly I’ve gotten myself into.

For the past two weeks, I’ve been waiting to wake up from all of this, half expecting that this was all some strangely long dream. That /I/, of all the girls from Midston, was picked to meet the prince. Oh gosh what was I doing here?

I suppose the greater question was why was I walking to the kitchens in the dead of night in the palace?

I sigh, wrapping my arms around myself as I continued walking down the hallway I knew where the kitchen was. My maids were kind enough to show me where they placed some of the packed meals I brought with me.

Stressing over meeting a prince really did work up an appetite.

Everything’s fine. Everything’s cool. You’ve already picked out your dress, you’ve taken the time to already practice in the shoes you were going to wear tomorrow. You’ve practiced some of your answers for the interview tomorrow! You’re ready. I mean, come on. You’ve talked to boys before. All this stressing about meeting one boy was definitely going to give me stress lines in the morning. Oh shoot, do I make a right or left by the painting of Danielle Schreave?

Right. I had to make a right then go straight. Huh, the palace was even lovelier in the daytime, and a lot easier to navigate too, but just a few steps more… and I finally find myself at the door Campbell showed me earlier.  

Back in Orleans, I was surrounded by a group of people who liked me—but over here? I had to build up my entire image here from the ground up… and well, I hoped the cupcakes daddy made would help me make friends but… wait, was there someone else in the kitchen?

“What the—” I mutter, seeing someone sitting on top of the counter, munching on… were those the friendship cupcakes I brought with me?

He was… young. My age, I suppose? Familiar looking, but I couldn’t really pinpoint why. He blinks a few times at me, swallowing the bite he just took. 

“Oh, uh… hello” I hear the sound of his phone locking before he sets it on the counter.

I reach up to push some of my unbrushed hair back, trying to make myself look presentable before flashing a smile. Smiling always works, right?

“Hi! I’m Missy! I,” my eyes glance over to what else was in his hands, cupcake… yeap, before my eyes go back to him, “I just got here.”

He hops off the counter and I get a better look at him as he holds out his free hand for a shake, “Jackson. Been here for a while.” He flashes a small lopsided smile.

I maintain my smile, shaking his hand lightly. Jackson. Again… it was familiar. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jackson.”

Jackson shakes my hand firmly before letting go, “And yours, Missy.”

He holds up the cupcake in his other hand, “Would you like one?”

I can’t help but laugh, eyeing the fridge and make my way to it, a little ways past him.

“No thank you, I had something else in mind. Anyway. I’m glad you’re enjoying my daddy’s cupcakes.”

I catch him setting the cupcake down then rubbing the back of his neck from the corner of my eye. “I um, I’m sorry, I thought they were left behind from dinner.” A small frown appears on his face.

“Oh there’s no need for apologies,” I laugh, trying to put him at ease.

I open the fridge, looking for one of the couple glass containers I brought with me in this huge fridge. Grammy really did make sure that I wouldn’t go hungry over here. Ah here they are. I take the container out and close the fridge. Oh right, Jackson was still here. Cupcakes. Right.

“My daddy made me bring a couple of dozen of those with me.” My eyes look over to where the rest of the cupcakes were, smiling at the memory of my dad giving me those dozens of cupcakes with smileys drawn on them. “Have another one, if you’d like.” I offer.

Jackson’s lips press together, a finger tapping on his leg. He eyes the remaining cupcakes.

“They’re very good.” Jackson looks back to me. “Is he a baker?”

“Yesiree, one of the best bakers his side of Orleans.” I nod, trying to scan the room for a microwave, tapping my nails against my glass container. “And they’re not just god, they’re vegan.”

His brows raise, I wonder if they were threaded or just naturally nice. Why are guy brows always naturally nice? 

“Really?” He picks up the cupcake he left behind and takes a large bite, looking like he was taking his good time to chew before swallowing. Huh, he seems pleasantly surprised. “They taste every bit as good as non-vegan cupcakes.”

“That’s exactly what everyone’s been telling me too,” I laugh. “I don’t know how he does it.” I shake my head lightly, thinking back to the long and winded discussions daddy and I would have over dinner, asking me to try his new vegan cupcakes, then thinking back to the glass container in my hands.

“Mind pointing me in the direction of a microwave?” I ask.

“Sure.” Jackson walks towards me, he points to somewhere behind me. “That door slides to the right. You’ll find it in there.” He flashes a small smile. “Odd, I know.”

“Much thanks.” I grin back to him, turning and walking to the cabinet he pointed out. Sliding it. Why wasn’t it opening?

“Oh..” I was sliding it to the left. I laugh to myself then look to my hands. Right hand, yes. I nod to myself and slide the door to the right, revealing the microwave. “Sometimes I forget which side is which.”

Jackson chuckles, sticking his hands in his pockets. “It’s a wonder you made it here safely.”

“I know! I can’t quite believe how I didn’t get lost on the way here.” I giggle, turning back to the microwave to open it and put my container inside. Why did he look so familiar? Where have I heard that name before?

“So Mister Jackson, do you have a last name?”

He averts his eyes for a moment, then looks back to me. My brows raise at that. Was it weird to ask him his last name? ((“Waldia. Jackson Waldia.”))

“Graham. Jackson Graham.”

“It has a nice ring to it.” I reply to him. I press a couple of buttons on the microwave. Cook time. Uh… two and half minutes seems alright. The microwave starts to whirr. Jackson Graham did sound like a nice name.

Graham. Jackson Graham. As in… Jackson Graham…. The brother of Felicity Graham…? Ex-Fianceé to Prince Arin…. Oh. Could that be why he averted his eyes? If I met someone who potentially could be the replacement girlfriend to my sister’s ex-fiancé, I probably would have done the same. I wouldn’t know. I’m an only child. “You’re the prince’s friend, right?”

He nods quickly, “Mostly. More with Safiya though. Well, Princess Safiya.” A small smile appears. “Haven’t called her that in a while.”

“Guess someone’s Mister Popular with the royals…” I tease, turning fully to face him, leaning on the cabinet.

“A byproduct of being the younger Graham.” He tilts his head, his eyes moving to somewhere behind me. “A vegan meal I take it?”

“How’d you guess?” I give a quick glance back to the microwave.

“Luckily.” He meets my gaze again. “Did you follow in his footsteps? With the baking?”

I blink, but quickly shake my head. “As a hobby, yes. Professionally? Not quite.” I laugh. “I followed my mama’s footsteps in that department.”

“Weddings. I plan weddings.” I add, feeling a sense of pride saying it.

Jackson seems intrigued, but considers my reply before giving me a crooked smile.

“I think I’ve finally met someone in a business happier than mine.” He replies.

I grin at that remark. “And what business are you in, Jackson?” I put my hands behind me, what exactly are other happy occupations?

“Aspiring veterinarian. Right now I work at an animal shelter.” His smile grows ever so slightly, but I feel myself instinctively smile wider. I gasp, just at the thought of working with animals. That sounds super adorable.

“That sounds absolutely delightful! You must get to work with the cutest little critters.”

A small laugh comes from him, “Critters is definitely one word for them. You’re right though. I couldn’t love another job more.”

“If you ask me, I think your business is happier than mine.” I chuckle, pushing some of my hair back. “I mean, nothing’s more pure than that.” Comparing it to weddings, working with animals does sound more pure for sure.

His arms fold loosely across his chest. “I could argue love in a marriage is just as pure.”

Love in a marriage. I place a hand on my cheek. Oh, you could only hope for that. That feeling when you’re walking down the aisle to the person you know you want to spend the rest of your life with, that security, that love.

“Weddings are definitely filled with pure joy.” Oh I hope I could find that here. Here. Selection. Palace. Prince. I blink for a couple of seconds, pulling myself from my daydream… nightdream?

“You can only hope for that.” I shake myself out of it. I was hoping to find that here, maybe.

“Is that why you got into the business? To take part in the joy?”

“I’ve always loved weddings, even when I was little. Everything… everything about it so magical. The moment you see a bride on her wedding day and when she walks down the aisle.” I squeal unapologetically, feeling the secondhand butterflies in my stomach just thinking of it. I live for those moments. “It just makes me so happy to see everyone happy.”

Jackson points a finger to me and my fangirling over weddings, “Pure. See?”

I grin. “I guess you could say I’m just a die hard for weddings.” I laugh to myself. Was living on secondhand butterflies from weddings really that bad? Not actually. At least I wasn’t bitter over people’s happiness. Not at all. Okay… maybe slightly jealous but that’s beyond my point.

The microwave beeps as I continue to explain. “But maybe animals can make you just as happy. My mama has always told me that happiness can come in any shape or form.”

He hums at that. “Thankfully, so do animals.” He breathes out a chuckle through his nose.

“Oh definitely!” I open the microwave, talking about animals making me think of my own pet. “Huh, makes me already miss Pancake.” I take my container out, damn it was still hot. I quickly set it on the counter.

“Dog? Cat? Bird?” he asks, opening a drawer and handing me a fork.

“More like… a pet pig.” I laugh, taking the fork and waiting for his reaction. I wonder what an aspiring veterinarian would think of a pet pig…

He gapes for a moment, looking quite intrigued, “Do you really?”

“Now why would I lie about having a pet pig?” I lean my side against the counter, giving him my best amused look. “Pancake the sweetest little thing you’ll find.”

Jackson’s brows furrow, “Why a pig? Do you have other livestock?”

“Not really, we don’t have any other animals other than Pancake.” I shake my head, grinning. “Some people choose to have a dog, I just… got a pig”

Pancake was a gift from a client, and he’s been a part of my family ever since I was 15. Been the cutest little thing in the family since me.

“Uncommon.” He smiles. “I appreciate that.”

“Pancake’s the reason why, I kind of went… vegan.” I smirk, “I mean acon wasn’t the same after I got him.”

He chuckles, “I can imagine. I have a feeling I might go down the same path starting next year.”

I raise my brows. “Well if you need a recipe or two to start adjusting, you’ll know where to find me.” Did that sound… too cocky? Oh god. “Not that I’m implying that I might stay here long, I mean—I HOPE I DO!” I set the fork in my vegan pasta.

There were no guarantees that I was actually staying here. Oh I should stop rubbing my wrists, that’s not cute at all. I breathe out a laugh. Oh wow, even when I laugh it’s awkward.

“You know, it’s okay. To be confident about staying.” A small smile forms on his face. I appreciate people who try to smile to cheer others up. “Not everyone is confident in the good kind of context, but it seems like you have the right idea.”

I look to him after considering his words, trying to relax myself.

“Sorry,” I shake my head. “Tomorrow’s just a big day, and well, I guess you can call this first night jitters.”

I think to myself, why was I so worried? Maybe it’s because you saw your competition today, all 34 of them.

I’ve never felt so small before, and I was 5 foot 9! Still, I felt so small, even when having read the backgrounds on everyone in the magazines. They were beautiful, well-educated, and a lot of their names were scattered more than mine was when we got to the airport.

I press my lips together, trying to dismiss those thoughts. I was well-liked back home, everyone loved me back in Orleans. I was going to be my best self and let everything follow.

I straighten my back.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sure you’ll do plenty fine. I know…” he seems to pause ever so slightly, “the situation is precarious. But Arin is kind. Remember that, despite everything else.” He smiles kindly at me.

For the first time in a long time, I felt so small in the scheme of all things, like I didn’t have much control. Kindness was the only thing that could soothe my mind for now, or the guarantee of the presence of kindness. I hope Arin was as kind as Jackson said.

“Kindness is all that I can really as for here.” I feel my smile tilting, “or anywhere really.” I look down on my glass container and try to pick it up, but it was still too hot. Guess I’ll have to improvise. I grab a part of my dress’ skirt to act as a mitt and it surprisingly worked.

“I’ll be having this in my room.” I feel myself smile a little brighter as I walk to Jackson’s direction, and gesture my head to the direction of the cupcakes on the counter.

“Help yourself to more of the cupcakes. See it as an introduction to veganism 101.” I scrunch my face up, teasing him.

He chuckles a bit, “Thanks. I hope you um, enjoy the meal.” He gestures to what I’m holding.

“Thank you for showing me where the microwave is.” I say before starting to make my way back to the door I came in. “Nice meeting you, Mister Jackson Graham!”

“You too, Missy.” I hear him call back, seeing him offer a small wave from the corner of my eye.

Aside from the stylists and my maids, that was the first full conversation I’ve had here. Huh, who knew my conversation here was gonna be with the brother of the Prince’s ex-fiancee.

I wonder if his sister was as nice as he was.

[rabble-dabble]

🌙🔮🌻

🌙 - What is likely to be the last thing you think of before going to sleep?

Johnkat. :P But honestly? Just whatever I’m into at the time. I don’t stop thinking, despite the fact that some people say you “have” to stop thinking and clear your mind to fall asleep. I can’t! If I stay there without thinking about anything I’ll just be awake and bored for hours. Sort of “daydreaming” - nightdreaming?? Fantasizing? - about whatever or stories or just things I like kinda guide me to sleep.

🔮 - Do you believe in magic?

Hm, I’ve thought about this before. I don’t believe in the magic like spells or curses or stuff like that, but I believe there’s a special belief that we should keep when we “believe” in magic. Magic to me is like a hope - the fact that we have these little worlds of heroes and witches and wizards, of fantasy or universes or just stories where something is totally normal to that world is a special magic that makes me happy. I also like to believe the “abilities” one might have - talents or skills or just the outer world is a special type of magic we should learn to cherish. I find magic in that one memory I have of the cherry red sunrise walking my way to school that I have never seen before or since, and magic in the way visiting the ocean makes me think about life and what I want in it while I let myself be pulled and pushed by the waves. I believe in the magic looking at the night stars makes me think about how small I am, but how meaningful I am to exist; I believe in the magic that I get lost in when I envision entire worlds by the simple pencil marks I put in a sketchbook, or the way each word of a story has a soul stitched in it. Seeing the beauty of the world is a type of magic to me, and having the possibility of believing in it is magic. Maybe it’s not spellcasting or cool glowing powers, but I have my own special abilities that no one else can ever experience the way I do, and that’s magical to me.

🌻 - Share a random fact about yourself

I came from a very small town in a boring state that I had lived in nearly all my life. I won’t ever give out personalized names or details that could put anyone in danger (because duh, internet), but this town was full of very sad, very mean people. I was never bullied as a kid, but I was pretty much an outcast to other kids - whom I knew everyone, because I tried to become their friends and they...didn’t like me. Admittedly, I didn’t make myself very likable after a while because they already saw me as a lot of things I just wasn’t - but I did have to figure out who I actually was later one because of those kids. The friends I managed to make later on were either smart enough to move away or hurt me - and, well, if anyone ever asks, and if I’m ready to tell, I’ll tell my story about my ex best friend and the entire history with her. In any case, I was kinda a lonely, friendless kid who nobody liked, and it was hard to live in that town with that knowledge that everyone knew you solely because they didn’t want to know you. It was hard. 

My random fact, I guess, is that I came from a very small town in a boring state that was very sad, and very mean, and yet I’m pretty sure I’m the only happy kid that came out of that town. My mom likes giving updates to me about what happens in that old town and about the kids I knew there (which aren’t very..pleasant) from time to time and it reminds me about where I’ve come from and where I am. I still have a lot of work to do for myself, but I pride myself for being able to have made it through. Life’s hard, but sometimes I remind myself it’ll end up okay as long as I am strong enough to make it that way.

[a-cai-jpg]

if you’ll stay with me, we can rewrite the rules of the universe

"does she have to go away? can't they just live together happily?" - director son, melo is my nature

there's an idiom in chinese that i think about a lot.

天下没有不散的酒席

the first time i heard it, it was season 2 of a drama i loved as a kid--three years old, sitting too close to an old, heavy color television, my cousin warm by my elbow, and my grandmother's voice drifting in from the kitchen.

(it's a technicolor memory, filtered a little yellow with age.)

season 3 of this drama is something i try to never watch.

first of all, they changed the cast, and even though leo ku is a beautiful man, he couldn't replace the legend, alec su.

(we don't talk about the new female lead.)

second of all, shit hits the fan and the character i loved the most becomes the character i hated the most.

third of all,

the idiom becomes true.

(there is no such thing as a banquet that never ends.)

see, the drama is about two girls who meet each other in historical beijing and become sworn sisters despite being polar opposites of each other. where one is gentle and demure, the other is reckless and brash. one of them (guess which?) happens to be the long-lost daughter of the sitting emperor. the other girl promises to help her reach her father. after a series of unfortunate events, the emperor crowns the wrong girl as princess. season 1 is about the fake princess sneaking the real princess into the palace, their struggles with palace life and figuring out a way for the emperor to recognize his real daughter without executing his fake one, and them falling in love--one with the 5th prince and the other with a son of a palace official.

eventually, the misunderstandings are addressed, and the emperor realizes he loves both girls too much to have harm come to either of them, so he recognizes both as his daughters. more things happen, but eventually, the two girls get married, and it's happily ever after.

BUT.

but they decided to make a season 3.

(in hindsight, it makes sense, because the non-blood related princess could have never lived a happy life caged in the palace, but it's nice to dream ok)

season 3 ends with the non-blood related princess and the prince she marries (my childhood crush) leaving the palace for good, and thereby giving up the throne, to live in yunnan. many, many years later, a carriage arrives at their tea field, and it's the emperor visiting them during the last years of his very long reign.

even writing this really poorly-articulated synopsis can bring me to tears. it's not an ending i can watch without crying.

(i can still see the ending in my mind's eye. the scarf around her hair, the basket of tea leaves by her side, the sound of children laughing and the carriage rolling to a stop. they see erkang first. yongqi and xiao yanzi greet him and their laughter is wild from happiness. but then erkang lifts the curtain to the carriage, and the emperor steps down from the coach.)

(the moment yongqi drops to his knees and says 皇阿玛 is usually when i start bawling.)

(the end end is them riding the carriage together, singing, and the words 全剧终  appear on screen, and you can almost fool yourself into believing that the carriage just continues on until they are back in the palace, ten years into the past.)

i like endings where everyone stays in one place.

senior year of high school, i watched a drama where the ending was a group of friends, who had bound together to conquer evil, literally all going their own ways and the main character dying, and i was so traumatized, i cried for three hours, shakily typing up my english essay through a curtain of tears until 6am in the morning.

when i finally went to bed the following night, i rewrote the ending in my head.

maybe because i was so tired, or maybe because the pain was too raw and not something i wanted to face, i managed to convince my sleep-addled brain that the drama actually ended with the female lead gathering the remnants of the male lead's soul, finding an elder in the snow-capped mountains (which is the setting where the drama leaves us), bringing him back to life, and the two of them returning home, where their friends have gathered to welcome him back.

this remains my most successful daydream yet (nightdream?), because i can still see the fabricated scenes play out in my head, the imagined emotions on the actor's faces, the ghost of a soundtrack playing in the background.

there's still a very, very large part of me that likes for everyone to stay in one place. 

but maybe it's getting used to reality, or maybe it's me viscerally feeling how difficult it is to stay in a place for too long, i've slowly started to accept people dispersing.

i used to not understand those scenes in dramas where old friends who have moved away come to visit the main character for just one afternoon, because in my head, i would always think wow, i would've had them stay. my friends would've stayed the week.

but see, time doesn't move in a way that lets us stroll in the past for a very long time. now, i'm grateful for the hours taken out of a night to meet with familiar faces and make plans for a future we know might not happen. i swallow the faint wrenching feeling when we bid goodbye, and continue my own solitary journey home, and through life.

but in the end, we move through the world alone and with nothing.

there's still a very, very large part of me that likes for everyone to stay in one place, but i'm guilty of leaving.

you'd think after four years, i'd be used to not knowing what home is, but i'm still a little scared of going away.

i don't know what i'll do with my room when i do. i don't know what to do with the posters on the walls (magazines cut-outs from high school still posted above the living room desk that has long not been mine), or my mountain of books that spill into every room in the house, or my keyboard sitting heavily above my bureau, or my guitar stashed by my closet, or my upright.

i don't know when i'll play my upright again, and that thought in itself really hurts.

i used to do this thing where i count the number of hours i'll be able to spend time with another person. i used to do it with my grandparents and it's honestly the most painful exercise of all time.

i try not to do it now, and as i write this, i'm actively pushing the process out of my mind, because i know i'll be able to calculate the number of hours left i can live in this house.

in my final story for my creative writing project, someone says this to the main character, "You were banking on us to preserve this idealistic vision of the past--to stay the same--so that when you got tired of being an adult, you could return home to us. But, we were growing too. Maybe we were growing in tandem with each other, but out of sync with you."

this is a line buried in the text among many other sentences that i think are a lot more beautiful. but, this is the line that took me over two weeks to write. for the first time, i tried to put the anxiety and regret i felt for four years into words. 

(that sort of reckoning is akin to pulling out your chordae tendineae through your esophagus and wrestling them into something worth presenting to the world.)

see, i want to experience the world, get to know foreign lands over the period of a couple of years, call the hidden corners of large cities home, visit mountain tops and build a life there, but i don't want the world to change.

part of it is because if it does, i'll never get to know the world. the japan i'll see in the future will never be the japan i saw last year and the japan i missed this year.

part of it is because life is a long, tiresome process of getting used to the new. as i grow up and out of this two-story condo, i am constantly having to digest this larger, more nuanced picture of the world. but, sometimes i get tired and i want to fall back on something familiar.

sometimes, that something familiar changes, and you're left utterly, completely alone.

i'm more used to this process now. i'm no longer so bothered by it that i balk at the idea of my parents moving.

i still feel unsettled when i think about the coming four years and the years after that and the notion that really, this bed i'm sleeping in is not going to be my bed anymore.

and this time, it seems like it will be permanent.

i was watching this variety show with a singer i like very much yesterday night, laughing and crying, and wrote this next bit in chinese.

i'll translate it here.

hua chenyu is a very peculiar existence in my heart.

i don't particularly love his voice, but i view his music as a sort of standard for all pop music. he has changed a lot since 2013, when he first debuted, but he still has this aura of aloofness, maybe because of his single-minded obsession with music.

but, when i saw him lift his head to look at his college bandmates on a large screen, over a webcam, the love and happiness in his slightly reddened eyes were indisputable. in that moment, the look of nostalgia and wistfulness in his gaze suddenly made me think that he's grown up a little, aged a little.

(this following part i wrote in english)

they performed a song they used to play a lot in college over some sort of webcamming interface.

but, see, there is a difference.

i used to think that it didn't matter how far away my friends were from me, because technology has taken distance and shrunken it to a few lines of text or a phone call. but, there's something irreplaceable about the voice of a person you love without the tinny grain of the mic, about the warmth of another someone next to you that you can lean against. 

sometimes, we are lucky and for a few years of our lives, we have someone who can understand the messy scrawl over a few pages of our stories. sometimes, we are lucky, and that someone takes up chapters and arcs.

(isn't that a very nice thought.)

(华晨宇在我心中是一个很神奇的存在。我并不是特别喜欢他的声音，可是我就是会以他的音乐为目标，为典范。他从2013年 刚开始参加快男到现在 变了很多。但他一直有一种拒人于千里之外的感觉， 也许是因为他对音乐的执着。可是当我看见他抬头看着在屏幕上的大学乐队成员。。。他泛红眼里的爱和快乐是不可忽视的。在那一瞬间 他眼中的留恋突然让我觉得他好像长大了一点，老了一点。)

(i'm like weirdly proud because i couldn't have written this two years ago. see, reading in a different language really helps you learn that language. too bad my students never LiStEnEd.)

(i realize i talk about this creative writing story a lot. it's because it is my story. the story of me and my largest 心结. something like that.)

(maybe i'll post it one day.)

(or maybe not.)

song rec: kevin oh - mortifying love

glossary: the first drama mentioned is 还珠格格 (princess returning pearl erkang = son of the palace official, married to the blood related princess yongqi = 5th prince, one of the most tragic existences in chinese history xiao yanzi = the princess returning pearl, the non-blood related princess, married to yongqi 皇阿玛 = in the qing dynasty, princes and princesses who were sons and daughters of the emperor had to call their father by this greeting 全剧终 = the end the second drama mentioned is 古剑奇谭·(legend of the ancient sword) 心结 = literally, heart knot. i don’t know how to translate it, but i liken it to the freudian concept of a fixation...? 

[coelenterata]

BrickClub 3.5.5

A thing I’ve been noticing a lot, recently, is that with all we’re told, currently, to show not tell, and as much as I agree that that is a good thing to keep in mind when writing, Hugo tells instead of showing, a lot, and it WORKS. Of course, it works because he’s good at it, and also of course it works because he immediately follows it up with showing, and he does that well, too.

Anyway Marius really has changed in the past few years of his life, except in the areas where he has stayed a complete idiot, such as, the only friend he seeks out voluntarily he sees at most twice a month (of course he’s doing badly! of course he is! you need friends Marius!), and he never goes to parties unless the ground is frozen and his shoes will be clean when he arrives. Marius for the love of god. (But also he talks about this shoe thing without bitterness, and that’s... a change, possibly?)

He takes walks! This too will surely never come up again! He takes walks because of course he does, because that’s how you do a thinking, and he’s very distracted by his thinking. He stares at chickens for so long passersby get suspicious, same hat Marius, same idiot hat.

Anyway he lives in the Gorbeau house and has no last name there?? He hasn’t told anyone there his last name, which seems really weird, considering his whole situation about his dad?  And “Marius’s political fevers were over” apparently - he still has the same opinions but not very loudly, he cares more about books and feelings now or something, uh oh, and also he likes staring into the nightsky I guess??? (How old is he now.) Hugo goes off on a slight tangent I don’t get all of, except it seems like he’s talking about how people’s dreams, daydreams not nightdreams, are the best indicator of who they are, and that’s... yeah. Yep.

And then we actually get a complete little scene of Marius as he is now, because his neighbours can’t pay their rent, and he doesn’t even know his neighbours, but he gives them most of his money. He’s... good actually? Maybe? Marius is such a strange creature, and he’s gotten possibly even stranger, he’s gotten very very.... not soft, not quite incorporeal, but something like that.

[incorrectsaioumapitquotes]

Mod Intro!

hello, I’m..mod Shuichi. I’m known as NightDream#3716 in discord, and I’m..not very good at introducing myself, as you can see. I’m actually a she/her, and I’m..commonly known as an author in AO3. It would be nice if you could guess who i am.. but that would be asking too much, I’m sure. Please..do reach out to me if you’d like to suggest anything to me, such as ideas or prompts and the like. If you want to be friends with me..you’re very much welcome to. <3

I’m stressed 25/7, and procrastinate a lot, so please yell at me if I’m lacking in updates and such.

Hello.