#this is by far the coolest thing i’ve ever gotten to do

[cloudshapedpatch]

i finally got tickets to see my all time fave music artist!!! im going to california!!!

[manchestereyes]

it is you

summary: @/danisnotonfire: I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone D:

When Dan gets permission to spend a week with Phil in December, he has a stunning realisation.

rating: T

word count: 2.1k

tags: 2009, fluff, light angst, skype, falling in love

notes: written for the 2024 @phandomgiftexchange for @someone-stole-all-my-fruit! I hope you're having a wonderful holiday season! <3 2009 phan is always such a joy to write, so thank you so much for this lovely prompt!

Read on ao3

@/danisnotonfire: I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone D:

***

It’s not fair .

It’s so incredibly unfair, Dan thinks, that he should have to suffer this much when he’s already dealt with so much bullshit in his life. Why can’t Phil be right here? Or better yet, why can’t he be with Phil, far away in Manchester where reality can’t touch him?

Well. He knows the answer to that second question. But knowing doesn’t help the situation at all. Maybe that’s why his heart squeezes again when he glances back at the selfie Phil’s just sent him. Really, those puppy eyes should be illegal. It’s sure as hell making Dan want to do something that could land him in prison anyway…

His eyes flick back to the text he just sent, heart squeezing all over again at the insanity of it all. He should be happy he (barely) got permission to stay at Phil’s for a whole week, right? His mum’s breezy “Yeah, go ahead” shouldn’t be affecting him this much. It’s just how she is. Dan should know this after eighteen God-awful years.

And yet. And yet. After meeting Phil’s mum and dad last weekend, Dan can’t help but feel that old cavernous hole rip open anew. How come Phil got the perfect family and Dan ended up with his sorry excuse for a mum and dad who barely noticed if he was there or not? Sure, Phil’s regaled his own problems, how he doesn’t feel like he could ever come out to them, but Dan would still take a cordless hammer drill over the shouting that fills his sleepless nights. At least Phil’s parents actually like each other.

More than that, they like Phil. Dan knows he wasn’t planned, that he had thrown a baby-sized wrench into their world travel dreams. He can’t count how many times his dad had hurled those words at him when Dan fucked something up in the way only he can. 

Dan can’t remember the last time they looked at him with pride in their eyes. Meanwhile, Phil’s mum had greeted him with a hug that told Dan immediately where Phil had gotten his irresistible cuddle skills from.

His phone buzzes again then, a beam of light through his dark thoughts.

Phil: A week!!! I know it wasn’t the reaction u wanted but Dan we get a whole damn week together!

Ok, yeah. That was a pretty big thing to look forward to. Even if it still blows Dan’s mind that Phil wants to see him. Maybe that’s what pushes him to reply, despite the overwhelming pain weighing him down.

Dan: ur not gonna get tired of me before the end of it?

(He’s not being pathetic, he swears. It’s just all he can think about right now.)

Phil: Dan!!! Don’t ever say that plz. I could never get tired of u <3

And there it is. Seven little words, one emoticon. And somehow it means more to Dan than he could ever express. A smile crawls up his face before he can bite it back. (Not that he wants to.)

Dan: <3 thank u phil. i think i needed to hear that tonight

Dan sends the text before he can think twice about it. If these last few weeks are anything to go by, he shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Yet there’s still a voice screaming at him that it’s too much, that Phil doesn’t actually want to hear about all of Dan’s issues, that he’s just like his schoolmates…

Phil: Then I’ll say it a million times as much as u need. U really are the coolest person I’ve ever known. I can’t believe u wanna be with me tbh

Dan: rly? ur not just saying that?

Phil: Really honestly and truly. You’ve gone to reading festival when I still get stressed at youtube gatherings. You were a world of warcraft kid when I could barely tell my friends I liked buffy. I wish I had even a bit of ur confidence some days :3

Dan: rly? but u were in faintheart and the weakest link and you’ve been on youtube for years when i was almost too terrified to post my first video

Phil: So was I! But that’s the thing, Dan. I did those things scared shitless and they haven’t gotten any easier. I think u know by now that internet Phil and real Phil are entirely different people, yeah?

Dan: hmmmm ok. hey speaking of real phil can we continue this on skype?

No sooner had Dan sent the message than his laptop bleated with the old familiar ringtone. Like a figment from his wildest dreams, Phil’s pixelated face fills his screen in seconds, his positively giddy smile sparking a matching grin of Dan’s own.

“Really Dan, I can’t believe we get to have a whole week together!!” Phil claps his hands and his frame grows blurry for a few seconds. Dan can only guess he’s bouncing on his bed and his eyes squeeze shut at the adorableness of it all.

Yet a hint of that darkness still lingers, drawing bars across Dan’s heart. “I’m just glad to get away from here for a while,” he sighs. Then, hoping to erase the pout that appears on Phil’s face, he adds, “And to see you, obviously!”

Phil sticks his tongue out in response, the frame jiggling as his face comes closer until his ocean eyes take up half the screen. Dan is surprised to find his voice growing serious. “Dan. You know you can talk about anything with me. It kills me to know how rough you’ve had it. I wish I could’ve been there before but, well, I’m here now at least? And maybe that counts for something?”

“Phil.�� Suddenly, Dan’s shifting his laptop onto his propped-up knees, pulling it closer and wishing more than anything that he could jump through the computer screen and into Phil’s arms And maybe it’s the pain in Phil’s eyes, a pain Dan’s felt a thousand times worse yet would do anything to prevent Phil from feeling, maybe it’s the hope in Phil’s voice--something melts away any of the trepidation he had before. 

“Phil, are you kidding?” Dan bursts out. “Of course it counts! I mean, I think it’s safe to say we’re best friends now, and isn’t that what best friends do?”

“I mean… I would hope we’re a little more than best friends by now?” And good lord, the smirk that crawls up Phil’s face and fills the bottom of the screen should be illegal. It’s so much that Dan has to tear his eyes away from the screen and stare at his tiny TV and dresser for a minute.

Not for the first time, it hits him that he’s really here , speaking to Phil in the very room where he spent countless hours watching that same man. How many times has he dreamed of kissing him, of holding him, of dancing through the streets of Manchester? How long has his heart ached for someone to ease its burden? And now… that someone is here, giggling from his laptop speakers and fulfilling every one of Dan’s hopes and dreams far better than Dan ever thought possible. 

It should be too good to be true. And yet, after everything he’s been through, doesn’t he deserve this one good thing?

They’re both silent for a few seconds until Phil asks softly, “Dan? What are you thinking about right now?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Dan picks up the bear he’s had his entire life from the nightstand and strokes its ears absentmindedly, something he’s always done when he’s nervous. When he speaks again, he chooses his next words carefully. “Lots of things, I guess. It’s just wild that… well, you know how long I’ve watched your videos. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a best friend. Not until now. Not until you.” A blush rises in Dan’s cheeks then, but he means every word.

“Dan. I mean, I had kind of picked some of that up, but are you sure?” Phil’s voice is just as soft as Dan’s, almost reverent. And yet some nasty part of Dan’s brain expects to see those blue eyes darken when he whispers “Well, yeah” in response. Surely this was too much. Surely Dan was too much for Phil, like he was for everyone. Surely Phil was about to…

Melt into the purest smile Dan’s ever seen from him? “Oh my God, I--I feel the exact same way.” Dan is shocked to find Phil’s next words tinged with relief. “I think you know how I always had the same group of friends through school, right?” Dan nods. “Well, they’re all great, but I… never felt as close to any of them as I do with you. I never felt like they got me, you know? And then you come along in my Twitter replies and suddenly you’re the only person I ever want to talk to. And somehow, you want to talk to me too? I feel like I’ve won the lottery here.”

Dan wants to take those words and lock them up in a box that only he can touch. Never in his eighteen years did he ever think he’d hear something like this. He’d barely even let himself hope for it. His heart squeezes to a point where he knows he won’t forget this moment, not as long as he has Phil. It’s a perfect moment he so deeply wants to live in forever.

So is it any wonder his voice catches and tears prick his eyes when he finally finds the strength to speak? “Really? God, I had no idea. And here I thought you had this perfect amazing life, all because your parents clearly lo--clearly care about you so much and you’ve had the same group of friends pretty much forever. I don’t know what that’s like.”

Dan can’t say why he freezes up at the word love just then. He’s just discussing Phil’s relationship with his parents, not declaring his love for Phil. Right?

Wait, does he love Phil? The rapid pace of his heart and the smile fighting to break through his face tell him yes, yes, a thousand times yes but he can’t say that here. Not on Skype. Not when there’s 300 kilometres separating him from Phil’s arms. He just has to keep his heart locked tight until their week together.

Of course Phil’s response makes that impossibly difficult. “Dan. Fuck, you don’t know how much I wish you knew how that feels.” The ache in his voice combined with his anxious fringe tugging has Dan squeezing his bear with everything he has in him just to expel some of his overwhelming feelings. 

“And sure, my parents are great and all, but I feel like they don’t get me. My mum still thinks the movies and things I’ve done are just a fun little hobby that can’t lead to anything. She doesn’t understand why I’m travelling to Ireland every other weekend, and my dad keeps telling me about these boring jobs I don’t want. I wanna see what else I can do with this YouTube thing, but it might not lead to anything. And then I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

By now, the tears have broken free and are streaming down Dan’s face. He doesn’t know exactly why, but he has a feeling they have something to do with the fear trapped in Phil’s eyes.

And yet, they’re not only sad tears. Sure, Dan’s heart is breaking just a bit for the boy on his screen, but it’s also light and airy for the first time since he was a tiny child. That’s when it hits him.

This light, airy, snuggly feeling-- it’s safety . Here in this tiny bubble with Phil, Dan feels safe. It’s unfamiliar, sure, but it’s not scary. He’ll be okay, as long as he has Phil.

It’s this thought that he holds tightly onto over the next few years. Even when the walls are closing in on him and Dan can barely breathe, Phil is always there--in his phone, across Manchester, and soon across the hall. 

Even when he’s sure he can’t feel any worse, he’ll be okay one day. Because he has Phil. And in the moments Phil’s heart shatters hard enough for the both of them, Dan is right there with cuddles and sweets and whispered words of comfort, whatever Phil needs in that moment. Because they’re Dan and Phil. And whatever they go through, they’ll go through it together.

If only eighteen-year-old Dan could see how well things would turn out. Yet as Dan thinks back on this moment fifteen years later, he thinks some part of him did know in a strange way. So much has changed, yet Dan is still that bright-eyed little boy with a dream at his core. And he still has Phil by his side.

[jennilah]

I don't think I've ever fully read your about me thing until a few minutes ago, and I looked at the animation reel on your website, AND HOLY CRAP YOUR WORK IS AMAZING?? AND YOU'VE WORKED ON SOME OF THE COOLEST FILMS WHAT THE FUCK, It's so good I'm in shock, what's your job like? Does it ever get stressful? What's the best thing you've ever worked on in your job? And once more, HOLY CRAP YOUR ANIMATIONS ARE AWESOME OH MY FREAKING GOD.

Hope you have a good day, AND YOU ARE SO COOL, inspiring me to look at what job I actually want in the future.

ASHDHSHFHHG THANK YOU SO MUCH

i’m so happy you like it!! it’s weird to say but it’s hard to openly gush about my own work without sounding like i’m just bragging but I really do just enjoy what I do that much

it’s usually normal! whenever I get to actually slap some keyframes around and work on exciting shots, it’s a LOT of fun. because I find the act of animating genuinely enjoyable. and I love my teammates, the people I get to work with is some of the best parts. Many of my favorite experiences so far was just because the team was so fun to work with, with our team memes and jokes and outings and such. doing extreme overtime was made slightly worth it with such entertaining companions in the animation trenches by my side.

sometimes it’s incredibly stressful yes. the technical stuff isn’t as fun, or sometimes you get a shot that makes you want to rip all your hair out because it’s so goddamn annoying, or it’s just very difficult, or there’s technical glitches kicking your ass, or the clients just seem to never be happy with it. there’s def been some long nights with tears. but usually the rewarding stuff outweighs the bad. for me at least. 😬

oh god don’t even get me started on the industry halts, that’s a whole other beast that we’re dealing with right now.

ANYWAY

gosh well everything i’ve worked on is one of my children that i love in its own way………. but i DO love my children unequally LMAO

some of my top experiences have definitely been:

Godzilla KOTM- a dream come true as a big Godzilla fan and relatively new animator, and later again getting to work on Monarch

Prey- some of the most kickass shots i’ve gotten to say I animated. the predator fighting a bear? fuck yeah

Top Gun Maverick- the absolute jaw-dropping shock i had to the reception to the film, realizing what i got to be a part of. an incredibly surreal feeling.

and i’ll stop there bc i could honestly say something about everything and just go down memory lane like a cringe aunt forcing everyone to look at her vacation photos

again THABK YOU SO MUCH!!!! 😭 ❤️❤️

[youngveinsworld]

quotes from a fan's recap of the young veins' show at the masquerade in atlanta on 24 march 2010

(this is quite a long one but definitely worth it!)

We stood up close to the barricade- I guess second or third row if someone put it in a row perspective and it mattered. What mattered is it was ridiculously close and the venue is already tiny. Before the show started, I went over to see if they had merch even though I fully suspected that they probably did not. Turns out they had three shirts ($15 each) and I bought two of them because how could I not? 

While the next band was setting up, Ryan picked up an amp and carried it over to help. Everyone was mostly like, “He can carry that thing?” or “Show off” or “It‘s really hollow inside.”

Next was The Young Veins. They come out, Ryan wearing what he’d been wearing the whole tour so far and Nick Murray in a fresh shirt today, and start setting up the stage. I don’t think they got a sound check because it took a good fifteen or twenty minutes to get everything to sound okay -Ryan and Jon telling the sound guy what to turn up and down and so on. Most of us were just mesmerized enough to be cool with that.

Honestly, Ryan has more stage presence as a front man than I would have predicted (or probably given him credit for before this show). At one point Jon started talking about the album and then he told Ryan that he got the information off of their Wikipedia. Ryan obviously wasn’t expecting that answer because he cracked up. After listening to all the songs, I really think this album is going to be better than I was expecting. “Cape Town” is my favourite, possibly, but really, it seems like a solid, well-made bunch of songs. And Ryan has quite the lung capacity. I never saw it coming. There’s hope for our boys yet!

After the show, they were tearing down their equipment and some girls called him over to the side of the stage and Kelsey assumed they were going to ask for the set list. They didn’t though so she called out to Ryan and asked for it. He went over and got his for her and she handed it to me. He took Jon and Andy’s set lists and tossed them into the crowd where Andy’s was instantly ripped into pieces by vicious fangirls. It was a bit scary. When they were finished packing things up, Ryan went to head off the stage and tripped, but caught himself. 

Since the Masquerade is the coolest venue ever, I waited a few minutes, then walked right out back where the band had assembled. A few other fans went out back too and I walked out with Ryan’s gift basket.

“Ryan,” Kelsey called, then looked at me. “You wanna give it to him?” “This is for you,” is all I said and held it out. I was mentally flipping out because I’ve only been trying and failing when it comes to meeting this guy for years and now all of a sudden there he was. Ryan just smiled and said, “What did I do to deserve this?”

I told him I had just been trying to meet him forever so it was kind of like a gift to him because I had finally gotten to meet him and was celebrating. He’s a hard guy to get close to! I pointed to the fox in the basket and said, “That‘s your pet fox until you get a real one. This one will tour better.” He smiled and said, “I might feed it to my real fox when I get one. How‘s that?” I was pretty much like, “Fine with me!” because really, anything he wanted would probably be fine with me. He thanked me, all shy and sweet, and said he was going to set the basket out of the way.

Some other girls called him over and Jon, Andy, and Nick Murray were all standing around so I pulled out my bag and started handing out silly string. Of course the first thing Mr. Jon Walker does is shake it up and spray silly string all over Nick. Nick looked down at his shirt and got this very kicked puppy look about him. So I handed one to Nick and told him to retaliate. Jon ran off with his can and to some other fans, but he kept spraying people. In a few minutes, he had sprayed Nick, Will (tour manager), Andy, me, Kelsey, Ryan, and some people I didn’t know. Ryan saw his shoulder covered in silly string and proceeded to try to decorate his shoulder with it. I gave Ryan his silly string to retaliate and he forgot to shake it so when he sprayed it on Will it mostly just came out this watery liquid and soaked the guy’s shirt in a spot. FailRoss strikes again.

I asked if I could hug him and I’ve been anticipating hugging that boney kid for quite some time, but you know what? It was like the softest hug I’ve ever gotten. It wasn’t at all like I expected. It was delicate and fragile and soft. It was better than I thought though. Way better.

We saw Nick White and gave him his silly string. We told him the others had some so it was best to be ready to defend himself. He laughed and took it before running off with it in hand. A few minutes later, Ryan and Jon end up by the merch booth and a decent amount of fans gathered to meet them. We gave Jon his choice of the thread bracelets and he chose three of them and then said, “I can braid them together. Want to see me braid them?” He looked around for a moment then held the ends of the three bracelets up to me. “Here, hold these.” he said, so I did and he started braiding them really quickly. “Have you ever had braiding competitions to see who could braid the fastest?” he asked me, but honestly, I’d never even thought of having braid competitions. Apparently, Mr. Walker does this in his spare time or something. We then tied them around his wrist and got him to sign and take a picture with him. We gave him this green glow in the dark bracelet that he was excited about and instantly snapped it so it would glow and put it on. We got pictures with him and left him to the other waiting fans. One of the fans had a Foxy Shazam poster from the venue that had been up advertising the show and Jon drew himself into the picture as a stick figure. Pretty awesome.

We stopped Nick White before his family (who were at the show considering it was a home show for the Georgia boy) got to steal him away. He was awesome enough to sign three of my Bright Eyes liner notes that I had brought with me. I told him my mother was from Georgia and that her maiden name was White and he laughed and said, “Do we have the same mother?!” Pretty sure Nick White and I are unofficially family now. (Edited: Since then, we've found out we're distant cousins for real, but we fondly refer to each other as siblings. He knows us his sisters when he come to a show and we call him our brother so that's cool enough for us.) I asked him how they differentiate between the Nicks usually and he said Nick Murray commonly goes by Nicholas with the band. However, Andy and Will had also said earlier they call Nick Murray “Wildcard” and Will said he called Nick White “Peaches.” Take any of those as you’d like. We gave a glow bracelet to him too and he said, “Oowh, I want a pink one!” Dinosaur Grab-bag result: pterodactyl. It fit nicely into his pocket too with it‘s orangey-yellow head sticking out to confuse people.

Jon was now finished talking to the crowd he had had earlier and so we let him play Dino Grab-bag and he got a stegosaurus that he was quite happy with actually. (I don‘t even know what these guys are going to do with them, but they were too epic not to get them.) Kelsey mentioned his lack of flip flops and he said it had started when they were moving equipment because he has a tendency to tumble over his own feet a bit. He even volunteered to take his shoes off if Kelsey preferred, but the ground was wet a bit where people was tracked things inside so we let him keep them on. He said also something about how they didn’t get to shower as much since they were in a van. I said, “Yeah, and they only have one shower here.” Jon nodded and cringed and said, “And I don‘t want to use it after those dudes have been in there.” He said it like he was a pretty clean little girl and boys were yucky. It was fabulous. 

I gave [Ryan] a beaded bracelet. “Owh, it has my name on it,” he remarked, but almost instantly Jon appeared and held out his and said, “I‘ve got one too. Don‘t feel too special.” Ryan deflated a bit, but it was all playful as Jon wondered off again. I asked if it would be okay if he signed my Panic liner notes and he said, “As long as it‘s not their new album.” 

Kelsey immediately goes, “Are you going to ask him?” I’d forgotten my question so she had to remind me. “Birthday…”

“Oh yeah,” I remember, “Did you get the flowers I sent you for your birthday?”

Ryan smiled a little. “Yeah, I did. That was you?” he asked, “They came to the studio.” (It was the only address I had found that would reach him and it actually took some stalking in itself.) I told him my mom owned a florist so I got them wired out to California for him. He shrugged a little and looked down and said, “It was nice to get them. Made me feel like someone still cared.” My little Ryan Ross loving heart just broke. How could he think someone didn’t?! And if I remember correctly, all the card with them said was, “Hope your have a great birthday, Ryan! Can‘t wait to hear the new music! -Lindsey”

We let Ryan pick a thread bracelet and he looked over them and picked one that Kelsey had actually made on the way to the show with Ryan specifically in mind. It was turquoise, tan, and dark green and she thought it was so ugly that no one would want it. Ryan held it up to his pale yellow shirt and said, "It matches, see?" Who knew Ryan Ross was concerned with matching clothes?

When we left, our oh-so-awesome mother had parked next to their bus in the back alley (she always parks in that alley at shows so it wasn‘t like she was stalking them for us). We passed the bus and saw Ryan’s gift basket in the front seat and Ryan’s fort thing in the back seat (yeah, it‘s still there..ha!). Anyway, she had parked next to the bus and it was dark enough that they couldn’t see us so we sat there when they came out and packed everything in. My mom was all like, “That‘s Ryan, right? And that‘s Jon? Who is that?” and funnily, “That little guy is 24?!” and she seriously thought Nick Murray was like 14.

Over all, the entire band is humble and sweet and anything but self-absorbed like some people want to make them out to be. Each one thanked us multiple times for coming and for the gifts and for being so nice and everything. Really, they’re great guys. Go see them. Talk to them afterward. You’ll thank yourself. Seriously. Worth every minute.

(Also, the tweets about bracelets, plastic dinosaurs, glow sticks, play-doh, Ryan‘s puppy&kitty coloring book page, and the “vixen” were all gifts we gave them. Seriously, I don‘t ever want to hear about these guys being anything but amazing to fans. THEY.RULE.)

More information from the comments:

By the way I don't think it said it in there but before I left that night I walked past Jon and he was combing his hair with his dinosaur complain that it was all sweaty and curly. What a dork.

Haha...he was complaining about his hair all evening. I had no idea his hair was such a big deal to him. But if he wants to comb his hair with a dinosaur toy, who are we to try to stop him?

oh god @ me being in the bg of your picture with jon... anyway i was gonna tell you that we met jon right after you gave him the bracelets and he spent like ten seconds looking at it saying, "they gave me a bracelet, look!"

– from this Livejournal post

[moths-one-super-crazy-project]

hi, i really like the idea behind this au! wanted to share this here because, as somebody who gets obsessed with stories they write which literally nobody else cares about, i very much appreciate the feeling of yelling into the void so i would just like to say that i really enjoy hearing people yap about stuff they are passionate about and would definitely want to hear more about this au because the concept has intrigued me!

hey did you know that I adore you forever for this /silly /lh

I am. so insane about this stupid fucking AU. you’re going to regret giving me this opportunity /silly /hj

it was supposed to be one sixteen-twenty chapter fic. ONE. FIC.

if it wasn’t evident, that did NOT end up happening. the original “16-20” chapter fic is currently on chapter 94, with a total of 121 planned. it is also a part of a SERIES, with FIVE other fics, all with 20-30 CHAPTERS PLANNED.

how did I get here, you may ask?

well, I choose to scrap the original rau ending for reasons that will be explored later, but I chose to start the series for a different reason

i have a tendency to start fics and drop them really quickly. my brain can only focus on one idea at a time, and I constantly have over twenty bouncing around in this empty little skull of mine. I have so many not finished projects it’s embarrassing

I was looking back through a grumbo fic I started (now the second one in the series) that I really really liked what I had planned for it, but I just could not find the motivation to finish it

then, as I was rereading it, I had the thought

“Huh. This is like royalty AU Grian and Mumbo in a different life.”

and then immediately that idea would not leave my brain

if I remember right I immediately went running to my best friend to tell them about it, because I hoped if I told someone I’d realize how stupid of an idea it was and how big of a project it is and I’d give up

I sadly did not, and now we’re here

as it stands, I have six fics planned for this series.

in ever single one, Grian and Mumbo find each other and fall in love, but not ever story can have a happy ending

I don’t know if I’ve ever hyperfixated on one of my own projects this hard before. atyau Grian and Mumbo consume my every waking thought. I’ve started learning how to DRAW because of this stupid series lmao

each and every fic in this series is so so special to me. they’re all so vastly different but also eerily similar because they never learn from their mistakes. those two do everything in their power to be able to be together only for it to never come into fruition.

after all, there’s no way to win a rigged game unless you’re the one rigging it.

anyways! gehxjsjjxjwbxjwjxjx I’m so normal about this series. the most normal.

coming up with the ideas for the other universes was SO much fun. I’ve gotten to use so many random tidbits and headcanons it’s so joyous and whimsical.

one of my favorite things I’ve gotten to incorporate is my headcanons for a wither skeleton in the fifth fic. I really rambled about this in my friend finny’s ask box here but like. either hybrids are so cool :] the coolest :] forever doomed to be either alone, or the cause of their loved one’s suffering

another dynamic I’ve really liked playing with so far is from the third fic with the God Grian and Devotee Mumbo dynamic. It’s so much fun to play around with how that power imbalance would work, especially as their relationship grows and other things happen in that fic.

I don’t know dude. I love this fic. Thank you for the chance to yap about it you’re awesome <3 /p

[artylo]

Communicating About Culture is Pointless

I’ve been in a crazed kind of runt the past couple of years. It’s most definitely a ‘me’ kinda problem, so I’m not necessarily looking for sympathy or anything as benign as that. What I want to try and do instead is work through this in a way that ‘you’ (the hypothetical reader) could understand what I could possibly mean by such an inflammatory title.

Every once in a while, I feel the urge to recommend something to someone. Some fragment of culture, be that a song, a film, a video game, a blog post, a video. To do so, I give myself an aneurysm. Because I am so infinitely up my own ass, I feel like there is one abstractly ‘correct’ way to recommend something to someone, and that is usually with what I affectionately call “the bare minimum”. Nothing about the story, nothing about why it’s actually the coolest, most subversive kind of exciting thing ever grace your eyes, nothing about character, nothing about the circumstances in which it was made. As the kids say – no spoilers. However, in my mind, I take it a step further than simply “no spoilers”, and essentially demand that you go into it—preferably immediately, as we stand, here in the hypothetical white void—with nothing more than a name, and only once you come out on the other side of the experience can we have a conversation about it.

There is already a major kink in my thinking, because I imagine most fully formed humans out there, wouldn’t cross-dissolve into a smouldering pile of ash, if someone, on their recommendation, walks into a cinema, knowing that the film they’re about to see has a twist somewhere in it or that it is about some recognisable theme. My distaste for biographical criticism, also makes me unable to directly say that a movie is cool, because it’s directed or written by so-and-so in so-and-so period, despite this obviously being a meaningful addition to the experience for me, and if someone else were to obsess over such marginalia.

In reality, in totality, what I really want to say is: “You should have a look at X.”

If I wanted to make a more risky, personal assumption, I’d probably add an “I think you’ll like it.” or a “I think it’s really rad.”

You might very well think that that seems completely sufficient, but I, from my ivory tower, would leer and say that you have, in fact, wildly misjudged how effective this “bare minimum” is. The bare minimum should be enough, but never is. The crux of the method is that it completely relies on two completely unreliable things – reputation and the recipient’s will. Two factors that would make the average stoic take their own life in abject frustration.

If you’ve gotten this far into this here text, then those two requirements are already in play, in some part. You have already made an assumption on my character and on my intelligence, based off the wording and the menial wit on display in the first three paragraphs, so you’ve already made a value judgement as to whether or not I am genuinely capable of saying anything that is worthwhile to you, of value to your life, and of some use. If you didn’t like me, you wouldn’t have gotten as far as this sentence, and would have gone on to do something else. You have already exerted your will in a feat of patience and/or tolerance to deign reading what I have written, be that out of interest, morbid curiosity, or some other motivator. The same is likely to happen with the hypothetical recipient of a recommendation. The question of “Why should I listen to anything you have to say?” hovers sinisterly over nearly every aspect of inter-personal communication, because it is simply part of its nature.

So how do you overcome that punk-ish sentiment? How do you essentially, convince someone why a cultural fragment is worth experiencing, without saying anything about it; without them convulsing at the thought of taking your word for it?

Most would probably just cave at this point and give them a morsel of information, just to whet the recipient's palette. In a sense, circumventing the cultural fragment’s natural sequence of divulging information, and getting to the good part immediately for the sake of selling yet another valued customer on the gross market opportunity of seeing something they’d like by dangling it like a shiny carrot in front of their famished eyes.

I am of the opinion, that if the recipient, upon hearing my bare-bones recommendation, then goes on to read the abstract, or watch a trailer, I would be somewhat fine, just as long as this act of diminishing their own experience is something they do at their own peril. This sounds slightly self-defeating, considering that the end goal here is, in fact, them seeing the thing you are recommending. However, I want them to see the thing itself, not the marketing that comes along with it. If I wanted this to be an exercise of marketing—which it probably sill is anyway—I would have just shoved a trailer and some exciting pictures in front of their eyes, and be done with it, essentially outsourcing the problem to a third party of admen.

Ironically, the only way to deal with reputation is having one. The reason why people will want to listen to you, is because you’ve said something before and it turned out to be true for them as well. Establishing bona fides is all well and good, but walking up to someone and disclosing your impeccable series of correct guesses on whether or not they’d like the song you’re going to suggest they listen to isn’t necessarily moving in the right direction to achieve “the bare minimum”. In reality the sentence becomes: “As a years-long fan of this kind of thing, and after writing at least 700 pages worth of material on why you and others like you should see the thing, I think this thing is rad and you should see it, because I’ve been right about this kind of thing before.”

Yet, even after you’ve assertively established your credibility and stacked the deck in your favour, you will find that even from a position of authority, you simply can’t make someone do something, just because you said so – even if it is telling them to have fun.

I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve seen someone discover something I’d recommended them half a decade ago, and it’s suddenly a new point of obsession for them. Ideally, I’d be content that they’ve finally seen it, and that it has brought them so much joy; yet, I can’t help but think about that nagging “I told you so”-kind of rhetoric that goes on in my head. It feels like something has been taken from me. I think it has to do with being denied the acknowledgement. In a sense, the reputation that is in part a requirement for recommendations is also part of the reward. The one that recommends, gets to risk gaining or losing reputation with the recipient. By recommending, you gamble on your ability to do so again in the near future. If they kick the can down the road for long enough to where they forget that you made a recommendation to begin with, you simply don’t get to have that conversation that comes after them seeing your thing and you just have to live with it.

You’re simply trapped in the Catch-22 of possibly not saying anything, leading to them not having any real extrinsic motivation to see something, or conversely saying too much, leading to a lesser experience. This isn’t even accounting for the possibility that you could even build said cultural element up so much in their eyes, that it couldn’t possibly ever meet the expectations you set.

So what is the point then? You tell someone about something and they don’t see it – you don’t tell someone about something and they don’t see it. They’re all to busy with all that stuff that makes up life. Just keep all those precious little cultural treasures to yourself and let things be as they will. Is apathy the way out of this? Is becoming a mute, cloistered archive of all things interesting any less maddening that engaging in the psychological warfare of talking about culture?

I can’t help but think that most people nowadays don’t even need a recommendation. Not from other flesh and blood people anyway. They’d rather have the TV play its predetermined schedule for the day, the computer spit out an algorithmically divined selection of things based on their profile in a marketing firm’s database, harvested from internet trackers logging previous internet purchases and regional trends. Curation as a skill itself has widely become devalued. You can almost assume that if someone wants to go out of their way, break the mold, find something that is of interest to them – they will.

The only real way to maybe get someone’s attention nowadays is the rather loose New Journalism approach of talking more about your personal experience of the day leading up to, during, and after having seen the cultural fragment in question. This again, assumes that the reader, listener—what have you—is in fact aware of you as a person, and respects you enough to be interested in how this morning’s breakfast and the late divorce of your parents affected you while experiencing said thing of culture.

It’s kind of a joke, but you know exactly what I mean.

Sentences like “Ah, this movie helped me get through a rough breakup.” do have a certain power, because they don’t necessarily speak to the contents of the thing in question, rather the effect it had on you as a person in a particular circumstance. You can almost assume that recommending Wong Kar-wai’s In a Mood For Love to someone who has just been rejected from someone they loved will in some way resonate with them. The question them becomes in what situations is it OK to bring up things like Godzilla: Final Wars, Bringing Out the Dead, or The Men Who Stare at Goats. You can’t simply walk into someone’s funeral and put a boxed copy of Takashi Miike’s Gokudō kyōfu dai-gekijō: Gozu (Yakuza Horror Theatre: Bull's Head) on the casket for anyone who needs it, regardless of how functionally relevant and pertinent it might be to your dearly departed’s imminent resurrection.

Another way to approach discussing culture in general is to only do it if you and the other party are on equal footing – i.e. you’ve both experienced the cultural fragment at some point and, due to your general familiarity, you can now discuss it at any length you find satisfactory. Maybe this opens the gates to a more direct line of recommendation, which entirely relies on its relevance and close proximity to to the topic at hand. If someone engages you in a conversation about punk rock and mentions liking The Sex Pistols, you can sure as hell mention Amyl and the Sniffers, because it’s the right time and place to do so. This obviously comes with the preset expectations of “Is the thing being recommended even close to being as good as the thing that prompted said recommendation?” Yet another gamble that one must make in a vain attempt to appear cultured and draw parallels in between the arts.

Now we reach another morbid kind of blockade that rears its ugly head – relying on others to be cultured enough to talk about anything. This is obviously an incredibly snobbish assumption, but there is a statistical unlikelihood that two or more people in a given radius have experienced and are willing to talk about one common cultural fragment. This likelihood is obviously directly influenced by the cultural fragment’s recency and wider appeal. The more popular a thing is, and the more recently it has been experienced progressively increases the statistical odds of it entering the cultural zeitgeist and appearing in conversations. As a matter of fact, the more widely popular something is, the more likely it is to be recommended from one person onto another.

This leaves us in the rather precarious situation, where niche and foreign language cultural fragments are essentially delegated the label of “not worth anyone’s time”, and cannot in and of themselves be the seed for communication, simply because the likelihood of both parties having an equal familiarity with the fragment is so infinitesimally small, that it might as well be insulting their intelligence, by suggesting something so wildly out of their purview.

From this, I feel like on could extrapolate the nature of what it means to be cultured as a whole. Three people come to mind: one who is familiar with a large—likely eclectic—number of cultural fragments; one who is familiar with the currently relevant cultural fragments, which comprise the zeitgeist; and one who is intimately familiar with only one aspect of culture, be it one genre, art-form, etc.

I believe that the last one is easiest to be dissuasive of, simply because it could be considered a specialisation or an expertise. There is something borderline academic about someone who devotes themselves to a singular point of focus. Variety is the spice of life, so there must be some allure to subsisting only off of something that will inevitably grow stale and repetitive. This allure is completely unknown to me. Of those kinds of people, out of my own sheer ignorance, I’d say they are very intelligent, but they are not my broad definition of cultured.

The other two are a bit more interesting, because all that really separates them is a knowledge of history. Inevitably, the one who is only in step with the zeitgeist will turn into the other through the natural passage of time. This isn’t to say that all those who eclectically seek all forms of culture were once only interested in what was synchronically relevant, but there may be some behavioural correlation.

Oddly enough, time seems to be a large point of contention. Or rather, more specifically the age of a given cultural fragment. For some there is an invisible line over which they will not cross. As one film crosses the mark of being released forty or so years ago, it seemingly becomes “too old to be enjoyable”. I can somewhat see how the cultural and social sensitivities of the age can disagree, but most people just refuse to indulge in older things on a purely sensory basis – “it doesn’t look as good”, “they talk weird and it’s boring”. Shunned actors, insensitivity over race and gender, exploitation, suffrage – all now, apparently, so deep into the past, that anything that seems to bring them up is cause of distress and discomfort. The growing pains of an art-form, then seen as just the art-form, now revolting and unworthy of being experienced. Trying to talk to someone under the age of 30 about Sunset Boulevard might as well be asking a creature from the space age what the The Paleolithic Age felt like – not because of their inability to have seen and enjoyed it, but due to their sheer unwillingness to even entertain the thought of doing so.

There is genuinely no end to the reasons why you could not be interested in something. It’s infinitely easier to dislike something than to be indifferent about it, doubly so than be positive about the whole shebang. Yet, we do this song and dance, throwing around names of products, authors, trying to in some way elucidate in others the joie de vivre that is having seen or experienced something that provokes the mind and imagination in all sorts of wondrous directions. I wish more people would see the light, that there is more to mindless consumerism than meets the eye.

[arkin-oconnell]

Hearing her say that everyone screws up and makes mistakes was in a way comforting for Arkin to hear and yet it didn’t quite quell the storm in him. He wasn’t trying to think he was the biggest fuck up in the world but he never wanted his mistakes to impact other people. He never wanted to be almost like an infection to others and he’d just had rather kept things to himself and let himself suffer without letting others take on any of his issues. It was something he felt so guilty about all the time now and one day he was going to have to make peace with the fact his issues were out there now and others had to be part of it because that was just part of who he was now. “ I’ll always take care of you when you need me to. I don’t want to stop being someone both of you can rely on. And I am still working on everything. I promise when we get through a year of all of this it’ll feel a bit a bit better. Liek maybe I’ve accomplished something “ he admitted. He was always told the first year was the hardest and so far it was like climbing a mountain on roller skates. “ she knows. I’m worried i kind of sprung it on her on her one night but she’s been really supportive. I don’t think she really understood how bad of a situation Ive been in and I’m kind of grateful for that. I wouldn’t want to scare her away cause I really do like her” like she might be the one for him and Arkin was quickly realizing that fact the more he spent time with her.

“ come on. You’ve got this one easy.You’re already the coolest sister. And I’ve got pretty great opinions about the people I care about “ he smiled softly adding a moment of levity to things. Arkin always wanted Eden to know how great she was, because she deserved to know this. He wasn’t book smart but he knew people and Eden was as great as they came. “ I didn’t think anyone would want to have a kid with me so the fact that I am having one is kind Sid a lot to wrap my head around but it’s only made me more excited. I’m gonna be there no matter what. “ he noted before letting out a breath he’d been holding. He really missed acting and he wanted to go back but he knew he needed to take his time. He couldn’t put himself back in stressful places without the right foundation to do it again. It was easier in Aurora Bay because he had family there. He had a life removed from that work. But he still missed it. It was the biggest high he felt without ever having to touch drugs. “ it’s what my agents saying too. She’s under the belief that I need to take it way still, but also time away apparently helps with me maker a bigger comeback”

Arkins expression dropped and he really felt terrible that this was something Eden had been holding on to. It had been so long since his accident and he wasn’t sure just how this had been bubbling inside of his little sister. Arkin moved and went to hug her because he kind of just felt like maybe they both needed it in that moment. “ there’s is nothing on this world that would make me hate you Eden. Absolutely nothing and especially not something that was my own fault. I love you okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, you honestly did everything right. You did everything you could and then some. I am here because of you and you should never think you had a hand in how bad I had gotten. I can’t stop you from your own feelings but please don’t think I’ve ever hated you. You and Addie have been the only good in my life for a long time “ and now he had Sterling and their little family to add to the list now and he wouldn’t have had any of that without Eden’s intervention and saving his life. @edenxoconnell

“We’ve all fucked up, Arkin, there’s not a single person on this planet who hasn’t.” Sure, some fuck up more than others, but she didn’t want him to beat himself up over it. Doing that would do no good to him whatsoever. It wasn’t lost on Eden that she did that to herself, though. She beat herself up for what happened to Arkin and for her breakup with Robbie plenty. “They’re lucky to have you. I know shit hasn’t been great the past few years, especially this last one, but you’ve always been a great big brother. You always took care of me and you were there for me and Addie both. You’ll be a great dad, I just know it. Addiction… Well, it’s not easy.” The understatement of the century. “But I’m with you. Addie’s with you. I- I would hope Sterling’s with you… does she know?” Surely she did, right? If she did, Eden wondered what she thought. Eden would be lying if she said she wasn’t concerned about how Arkin’s struggle with addiction would affect her and the baby.

“I’ll try my best to be the coolest aunt.” Eden gave him a tiny smile, hoping to lighten things just a bit. “I think that’s great that you want to be there for them. I’m sure it means a lot to Sterling too.” It wasn’t a secret that Sterling had a baby so young and raised her as a single mom, so Eden was sure she’d be happy to have Arkin with her this time. “You’ll be ready again. It would be weird to never see you act again.” She knew how much he loved it. “But you can take your time, there’s no rush with it.”

The dreaded question had been asked and it was Arkin’s answer that made Eden let out a little breath of relief. She felt so relieved that her bottom lip even wobbled because it made her want to cry, but not only that, it made her feel like maybe she’d made a mistake breaking things off with Robbie. She’d only broken up with him because the guilt and hurt was eating her alive. “You don’t owe me anything. Just be okay, that’s all I want.” She sniffled, trying to keep her emotions at bay but she was failing. “I really thought you hated me. I really thought you were angry with me or hurt that I didn’t see it until it was too late. I’ve hated myself since it happened.”

@arkin-oconnell

[megheadable-blog-blog]

Day 4: Motifs

So today I’ve been thinking about various personal motifs. Many writers have them. Tom Robins (Jitterbug Perfume) has redheads. Other authors have other things. A third thing. And I definitely have my own. They’ve changed over the years. Early on, it was trios. If there were sisters, there were three of them. And redheads. I just think red hair is cool. I think as I’ve gotten older my motifs have taken on less symbolism and have become more grounded in whatever issue I’m dealing with. Instead of mystical triplet goddesses, I have the dark-haired feral antihero. The one that holds all the anger and resentment I’ve ever felt. Often paired with the softer, more fluid counterpart. The one that attempts to reassure and care for the feral inner child. This book is no different. I’m still in the brainstorming phase but I’ve already got the main characters. Yes, there is more than one. There are sisters, but only two. A dark-haired embittered witch and her red-haired sister of unknown magical prowess. I’m thinking Yana and Branka. I went with Y and B because the hut they live in resembles Baba Yaga’s hut in that it walks on chicken legs. I’m certain that if I never told another soul, they’d never get it but who knows. Maybe they would. I do love Baba Yaga. I love a character that is self-aware and pops up in several stories. A real witch within the story. And the image of someone trying to travel around in a giant mortar and pestle is ridiculous and rad. Is there a point to it? Not really. Is it the coolest visual ever? Yeah, probably. Plus the chicken house.

Look at this lady. This cannot be the easiest mode of travel but does she care? She does not. She stuffed her body inside this thing and she’s committed. This was the first image of Baba Yaga that I had ever seen from a book of Russian folk tales. I loved folk tales and fairy tales as a kid. I still do really. My favorites were often ones from far away, so divorced from my culture that they seemed almost alien to me which fascinated me more. My mind craved something different, something ancient and foreign, new and strange. That’s probably another motif in my stories. I draw on a lot of folk tales. Not the sanitized ones we tell children now. The ones where you give the hero a skull with eyes that light up and burn people who are mean to them. Off topic, but I also think this is why so many young kids are interested in things like Five Nights at Freddy’s. Somewhere deep within us, we need stories that scare us. We need to practice those emotions and learn how to deal with them. Especially now when the world feels so uncertain and unmeasured.

[tenebrius-excellium]

How To Seize A Dragon’s Jewel Liveblog Part 2

I lowkey forgot where I continued listening, I hope I remember everything (I did this over the span of several days)

the professional escape service is such a Camicazi thing to do!!! I’m so happy she makes an appearance and that she’s her usual badass self! Also, Eggingarde makes it out yassssss

Hnnnnghhhh. The scene where Hiccup gives himself up. Where he finally outs himself after a year of being on the run. The way his scrawny looks are described. His growing up and having gotten older. The way he gets surrounded by 200+ swords, which must be an amazing sight to behold, and the way the Witch wants to make sure he doesn’t escape. Everyone scooting after him on their yots (still don’t know how to spell it) as he aimlessly drives across the sand. Lol. It’s hilarious but so in character for the vikings. Stoick and Gobber finally openly supporting and rooting for Hiccup is such a relief too!!! It’s so deserved!!!

AND THEN THAT SCENE. Innocence, Arrogance and Patience my beloved. They shoot lightning. They are black with green eyes, and they are hovering over Hiccup roaring, preparing to kill him, yet sparing him because of his friendship to Fishlegs. The detail of Hiccup almost passing out, gosh, it’s the scene where Toothless pins Hiccup down in the woods! And since the book came out in 2012, this scene was inspired by the og movie!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!! Nevertheless, Cressida stayed true to her own vision and did not blindly copy the movie in return. Props to her for that. Having seen the movie first, it can’t have been easy.

The scene where the dragon gets caught in a trap on the Red Sands, and tells the story of Fishlegs. Oh my gosh Fishlegs. It’s so satisfying and such an oddly specific situation.

SANDBUSTER SANDBUSTER SANDBUSTER SANDBUSTER SANDBUSTERRRRRR

I don’t think the book!monster even gets a name. And it’s one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever heard described in literature. Cressida really loves horror. Welp, I don’t. I loved this book so far, but should I ever come back to it, I will most likely skip this scene.

However, the mirror tunnels were a beautiful sight to imagine!!! The treasures behind glass and Grimbeard’s red herring solved are sooo cool. Wait, I remember this episode in Rtte that dealt with a lot of amber as well. There was a connection to the Deathsong, I believe. To watch those amber/glass walls collapse and rain glorious, deadly splinters down on Hiccup was super satisfying. 

Fishlegs!!!! Poor Fishlegs. Again, the description. Of them both being cold, starved, enslaved, unrecognizable stickfigures in rags. Just the amount of things these two have been through together creates a feeling of real brotherhood right there in that cave. Awesome moment.

I personally would have just waited for the tide to withdraw before breaking out of the tunnel and having to swim?? I mean, the whole cool crystal cave got flooded. Plus, the underwater aquarium effect was so unexpectedly wholesome because it fit into the unlikely narrative.

Fishlegs, the runt, gets the coolest dragon!!!! Yass!!! This is such a personally important moment for me, actually. This is why I relate to movie!Hiccup so much. Because the coolest character alive thought he was worth protecting... because of who he already was. This may be a spontaneous emotional dump, but I have longed for the very same thing to happen to me my entire life. But I have not been worth this to someone, so when I became an adult, I had to learn how to be this person for myself. I’m still learning how to be okay with what went down, and that I’m not going to miss out on anything much important because of it.

At this moment in the book, all is well and the narrator literally tells you to take a break, drink a glass of water and consider sharply whether you want to keep going with the story. I took that as my cue to stop for now. There’s still an hour to go. Will do a Part 3.

Thoughts??? I loved this part of the book so much, it was so amazing!!!!

[greenjudy]

TROP notes

Some of these are love notes. Some are responses to criticism. Some of them are spoilers through ep 7, so proceed with caution.

-I still cannot wrap my head around why there is so much volcanic rage and hatred and contempt being spewed onto this vehicle. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever watched, ever (possibly the 2012 version of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, or maybe the 2003 anime Ping Pong), but in many respects I like it better than the PJ films. 

-This weird memey new critique “The writing is bad” seems to have gained currency on Twitter over the last few days, but I do not find it borne out by repeated viewing. 

-As I see the writing, there are a few places where the wagon wheels leave the road entirely, but not that many. 1) I thought that even the Stranger repairing the orchard wouldn’t necessarily have earned him the trust of the Harfoots at the level they demonstrated it, so that turn felt a little abrupt.  2) Disa’s ambition could have used some foreshadowing and preparation in earlier episodes. 3) Tar-Miriel’s real position about elves needed a little shoring up in a similar manner earlier on.  

-In general, I find the writing quite nuanced. Elrond’s character is outstanding. On the evidence of his writing alone, I am prepared to meet an equally complex Celebrimbor when we get back to this dude. Although I adore the dynamic of her character, Galadriel’s writing is not, I think, quite the triumph that Elrond’s is (Elrond is very obviously a proxy for one or even both of the showrunners; I do not mean this as a criticism, just an observation), but Morfydd Clark has done great, great things with the material. 

-By the way, maybe Galadriel isn’t actually assuming responsibility for the eruption of Mount Doom? I’ve seen criticism that she shouldn’t know how the Key works and what it did. 

I personally think there are two layers to her asserting that it’s her fault. First, maybe she is saying she should have bagged Sauron by now, and the fact that he and his minions are wreaking havoc is on her. 

I am more inclined, based on how the scenes feel in the last 2 episodes, that she’s in fact assuming responsibility for the people she drove to undertake this catastrophic mission. This is different than saying, “I should’ve gotten Sauron by now.” Instead, I think it’s this very intense quest for revenge that is starting to come under scrutiny inside her soul. Her vendetta has proven extraordinarily destructive. I feel she’s taking stock, in a deadly serious way, with where she’s been left. She is now looking in the mirror, as advised by Adar. 

So I loved the final shots of Ep 6 where we see her looking steadily into the chaos unfolding before her. And I love the way she interacts with Theo and opens up to him in Ep 7. We might call these preliminary steps on a journey to the Galadriel whose mirror can show what was, what is, and what may yet come to pass.

-There is nothing reasoned or sensible about virulently hating on this show because it ‘breaks the lore’. Tolkien broke his own lore. There are no rules about stuff like this actually. Maybe in video games, because player agency can get banjaxed if the lore is inconsistent. But not in fiction. Dude, the writer is making constant adjustments to the lore. Some of them are chiropractic; some are apocalyptic. 

-Adar is one of the coolest and most interesting villains I’ve ever seen, enabling us to take up, in real time, the kinds of questions that must have plagued King Elessar at the opening of the Fourth Age. “Uruk,” indeed. 

-The ‘who is Sauron’ question is being rather deftly handled. He is pre-eminently a shape-shifter at this point. I like how they have put a few character beats into place to make you really wonder (**cough cough Halbrand the smith**). 

-The vibe: the Harfoots scenes, so far, are some of my favorite views of Second Age Middle-earth. Poppy’s song is glorious. 

-I was not in theory happy about the Galadriel-Halbrand ‘romance.’ As it’s playing out, though, I think their relationship is marvelous. 

-To me, the Stranger might be the most concise expression of the deep melancholy at the heart of this show. The Second Age is anguish layered on top of anguish, tragedy on top of tragedy. And all of it is in the Stranger’s face: his yearning to do something positive, his shock and sorrow at the malevolent effects his good intentions have when they go to work on the world.

[squatch-and-stretch]

Chapter 3

Luckily, Stanford seems to not have gotten into too much trouble. Unluckily, Fiddleford found the man standing over his workbench, holding one of his prosthetic blueprints and glancing between it and the prototype.

“How does it articulate?” Stanford says, turning towards Fiddleford as he enters. His eyes are bright and intense, a familiar sight that Fiddleford can already feel drawing him in.

“There’s a Bowden cable running from the shoulder harness, but the fingers ain’t wired for articulation.”

“No wrist joint?”

“Didn’t find it particularly necessary,” Fiddleford says. “‘sides, it’d interfere with the blaster.”

“The… blaster?” Stanford echoes with uncertainty.

“The blaster?” Stanley repeats with an excited grin.

“Mmhmm,” Fiddleford says, digging out another page of blueprints.

Scrawled in Fiddleford’s shaky lines— he’d managed well enough with his left hand out of necessity, but it had taken some getting used to— is a diagram of a device he’d found pretty early in his time here. If comparing it to a gun, it was almost all barrel, a smooth copper-like cylinder with a pair of cables running along the top. The grip was too short to comfortably fit in a human hand, with two shallow grooves for the thick digits of this planet’s previous inhabitants. The rubbery cover of the grip had a biometric scanner to disengage the safety, as far as Fiddleford could tell, which he’d had to override in order to even figure out what it did. The trigger consisted of a rounded switch to be flicked by the ‘thumb’, releasing a single blast of energy. The gun analogy more or less fell apart after that, with the muzzle consisting of two glassy spheres that concentrated the energy into something powerful enough to burn through flesh and cauterize the wound along the way.

“Found this thing out there in the streets, disassembled it and put it back together a few times, and figured out how to incorporate it into the forearm of my doohickey here,” Fiddlefor explains, tapping a finger against said doohickey.

“That’s the coolest shit I’ve ever seen,” Stanley says helpfully, and Fiddleford can’t help but preen at the compliment. He thought so too, but never figured that anyone else would be around to appreciate his work.

“It looks heavy,” Stanford says, and Fiddleford’s good mood sours slightly.

“The figure-of-eight harness’ll do a lot to distribute the weight, and you know I’m a heck of a lot stronger than I look,” Fiddleford says, “and besides, mosta the scrap I put together’s pretty light, all things considered.”

“Do you know what alloys you’re working with?” Stanford asks, more genuinely curious than dismissive or concerned.

“I don’t exactly got an OES lyin’ around here, Stanford,” Fiddleford says, “and besides, who’s to say—“

“— that this planet’s alloys in any way resemble our own,” Stanford finishes, and Fiddleford desperately tries— and fails— to find the interruption more irritating than endearing. “We could be working with an entirely new periodic table! We can’t take anything for granted here!”

“Mmhmm,” Fiddleford agrees. “Pro’ly shouldn’ have an unknown metal pressed against my skin for extended periods of time, but I don’t reckon much’ll get through the scar tissue if it is dangerous.”

“Scar tissue…” Stanford’s enthusiasm immediately wanes. “Can I… what happened? Can I see the wound?”

“Somethin’ caught me by the arm and bit clean through it,” Fiddleford explains, as clinically as possible as he shrugs off his labcoat. “That let me get away, so it wasn’t all bad. Managed to make my way back here and burn it shut.”

Stanley takes a sharp breath in through his teeth. Stanford, for his part, just looks devastated.

The wound is rough, Fiddleford knew that, but it’s different to look down at it now and see how Stanley and Stanford must be seeing it. Despite the months that had elapsed since the injury, the scar tissue is still a bit red, folds of injured skin drawn tightly around the place his arm used to be. It’s not clean or pretty, not anything like an actual medical doctor would ever leave a patient with, but it had kept him alive. By some miracle, he’d even managed to keep it from getting infected.

“Fiddleford, I…” Stanford trails off, unable to tear his eyes away of his own volition.

Fiddleford does it for him, drawing his coat back over his shoulder. Once it’s out of sight, Stanford’s eyes find their way back to his face. His eyes are wide and dark and a bit glossy. For all Stanford’s issues with emotions, he’s always been so expressive.

“I’m glad you’re alive. I’m so—“ for a second, it almost seems like he’s about to apologize, but he just lets out a shaky breath and averts his eyes. “I’m so glad I made it in time.”

There's cruelty on the tip of Fiddleford’s tongue, that his life was only at risk because of Stanford, that he didn’t need him to come rescue him from Stanford’s own mistakes, that he’d rather they leave him here to die than risk letting that demon into their dimension, but it’s hard to say any of that when Stanford’s usual impeccable posture is lost in the slump of his shoulders, when he’s got his brows furrowed against the tears welling up in his eyes, when his hands are half-held out in front of him like he wants to reach out.

Damn the both of them, but damn Fiddleford most of all. He would say his time in this awful dimension has hardened him, but he’s just as soft as he’s ever been when it comes to Stanford Pines.

“… it’s good to have company,” Fiddleford admits after a long lapse of silence.

“So let me get this straight,” Stanley cuts in. Both Fiddleford and Stanford jolt, having apparently forgotten his presence. “You’ve been out here alone for six months, lost your arm to some giant monster, burnt the wound closed with a blowtorch, and have been making yourself a new arm with some sorta science fiction blaster built into it?”

“I s’pose that’s the long and short of it, yeah,” Fiddleford agrees cautiously.

“And you’re friends with my brother?”

Fiddleford glances cautiously at Stanford, who seems entirely preoccupied with glaring at his brother, to no avail.

“… yes?” Fiddleford confirms cautiously.

“Wow. It’s just… you’re way cooler than him, man,” Stan says with a smirk. “It kinda seems like you’re way out of his league.”

“Wh— I’m cool!” Stanford says, face flushing.

Fiddleford barks out a laugh, patting him hard on the shoulder. It’s been a damn long time since he actually properly laughed, and the noise is so loud and powerful that it startles him. Stanley’s grin widens, and Stanford’s face flushes darker.

“And Stanford claims to be the smart one,” Fiddleford jokes back, knocking his hip against Stanford’s before moving away. “It’s gettin’ late, I reckon the two of you could use some food, water, and rest.”

“That would be appreciated,” Stanford says, desperate to move on.

Stanley doesn’t say anything, but he touches a hand absently to his stomach and his eyes go a bit sharp as he tracks Fiddleford’s movement.

“How d’you know what’s safe to eat around here?”

“I’ll admit, it’s mostly been trial and error, and a bit of deductive reasoning,” Fiddleford says, reflecting on several instances of alien food poisoning with a grimace. “I’m makin’ some big assumptions about the rate at which things go bad, but it hasn’t killed me yet.”

“That’s… not exactly reassuring,” Stanford says slowly.

“Works for me!” Stanley says, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ve probably eaten way worse.”

“That’s a concerning thing you’ve said just now,” Fiddleford notes, shaking his head fondly as he turns towards the break room.

Stanford immediately followed him in, with Stanley taking up the rear with a bit more caution.

(Stanley was a large presence, and seemed to be coping well with the new world he found himself in. Still, he constantly carried himself with an anxious level of alertness that Fiddleford himself had grown personally familiar with over the past few months.)

“I dunno about the rest of the table, but I reckon this planet’s still got good ol’ H2O,” Fiddleford says, leaning over to open the fridge tucked up beside the couch.

Despite everything, it was still fully functional, and Fiddleford wasn’t about to look that particular gift horse in the mouth. He didn’t use it much for food, wasn’t confident enough in its continual function to risk gathering anything that needed constant refrigeration, but it was good for keeping packaged water cool. While Fiddleford had set up a contraption for gathering and filtering rainwater, he’d mostly been relying on packaged water for drinking, and it was more convenient to hand out those packs to the twins than try and gather enough clean vessels for all three of them.

Stanford took the packet of water— and it was a packet, more reminiscent of a children’s juice pouch than a bottled water, though the straw was built in, which Fiddleford thought took a lot of the fun out of it— without question, carefully observing the foreign characters of the logo. Stanley didn’t even bother to do that, twisting off the cap and downing the packet like a man dying of thirst.

Fiddleford opened his mouth to tell him to slow down, drinking water quickly when dehydrated was actually detrimental to its absorption, and could even make him sick, but Stanford was talking before he could.

“Have you made any progress on deciphering this language?” Stanford asks, pulling a notebook out of one of the inner pockets of his coat.

“Not exactly my biggest concern,” Fiddleford says, shaking his head fondly. “Besides, you know I was never good at those codes of yours.”

“You’re still writing in code?” Stanley interrupts with a grin.

“He did that as a kid too?” Fiddleford asks, delighted by this information.

“Yeah! We had a whole secret code!”

“It was juvenile,” Stanford dismisses, and even if he tries to hide it, Stanley visibly wilts a bit at the words.

Fiddleford fishes another packet of water out of the fridge and hands it to Stanley.

“Of course it was juvenile, you were juveniles,” Fiddleford says.

“I…” Stanford frowns, and finally twists the cap off of his own water. “I suppose that is a good point. It was… fun, at the time.”

Stanley relaxes a bit at that, but his smile takes on a sad edge. He avoids responding by opening his own water and taking a slow sip. Fiddleford figures that’s about the best they’re going to get out of Stanford, and allows himself to move on.

He closes the fridge and turns towards the cabinets, swinging one of them open.

“I hope ya don’t keep kosher, Stanley, because I don’t have any idea how any of this aligns with all that,” Fiddleford says, pulling out a handful of food bars.

They were fairly similar to a granola bar on Earth, but Fiddleford couldn’t quite recognize any of its components. The main body of it appeared to be large oat groats, with some mysterious seeds or nuts mixed in. Whatever held it together was sweet, but faintly floral and not as sticky as honey.

“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers, I’ll eat anything,” Stanley says, happily taking a couple of bars when Fiddleford hands them off to him.

“You’re certain these are safe?” Stanford checks, taking the ones Fiddleford offers him with considerably more caution.

“Never given me any trouble,” Fiddleford says with a shrug. “Eat ‘em or go hungry, see if I care.”

He does care, far more than he probably should, but Stanford doesn’t need to know that.

(Un)happy Reunion

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 3,143 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

Fiddleford reunites with Stanford and meets Stanley after 6 months alone in a post-apocalyptic city in some other dimension.

Chapter 1

see notes for future chapters!

If Fiddleford had to describe this world he’s spent the past 6 months in in a single word, he’d probably choose terrible. Other descriptors such as strange, horrible, post-apocalyptic, and dangerous also come to mind. Lately, though, he’s been putting a lot of thought into the word lonely.

There were intelligent species here, once. It’s clear in the almost-familiar design of this destroyed city, in the tattered books written in a language Fiddleford can’t make any sense of, in every little item he comes across. He even has an idea of what they looked like— he’s seen their art, their pictures, their mangled bodies— and Fiddleford has to wonder if Bill understood the cruel irony of sending him to a world that was once inhabited by pig people.

He wonders, sometimes, if he could have found a way to communicate with them, if any of them were left. Would his throat have been able to form the words of their language, or theirs his? Would they have tried to help him? Just being around another living creature that didn’t try to kill him on sight would be pretty nice right now.

Unfortunately, that’s never been what this planet has in store for him, and when he hears something move nearby, he knows it’s a threat.

It must be in the next alleyway, and it’s fairly big— most of the monsters Bill left here are. Fiddleford goes still, staring in the direction of the alleyway and listening for any other sign of movement. It’s quiet for a moment, until Fiddleford hears a loud crash and what sounds like hushed murmuring. So many things have sounded like human voices lately that he doesn’t put any stock into it, just dips into the nearest alleyway in an attempt to escape whatever is making that noise before it even knows he’s here.

It’s an attempt that fails immediately, as he crashes into a pile of shredded metal like an idiot. It slices through the worn fabric of his pants, but as far as he can tell it doesn’t reach skin. It does, however, make a very loud noise, and the not-voices go quiet.

“Son of a gun,” he allows himself to hiss, and he takes off down the alleyway without any further regard to the sound he’s making.

Something steps out in front of him, blocking his way. It’s taller than the previous inhabitants of this planet, but smaller than most of the monsters he’s encountered. It’s built a lot like a person, and not a particularly imposing one at that, so Fiddleford doesn’t slow his roll for a moment. He fishes a knife out of the tattered pocket of his lab coat, and slams his shoulder into the beast.

It cries out, still sounding a heck of a lot like a person as it hits the ground, breaking Fiddleford’s fall. He presses the knife to what should be its throat, and is almost surprised to find smooth, human-looking skin beneath his blade. It’s a familiar shade, even, and Fiddleford can’t help but let his eyes wander further up to its face—

“Stanford?” Fiddleford spits, downright baffled to see his big brown eyes looking up at him.

Stanford opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Fiddleford is being hauled off of him. Something has grabbed the back of his scarf and pulled it tight, tight enough that Fiddleford gags against the construction, tight enough that he’s reminded of Bill’s hand around him, crushing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he’s being slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway and crushed between Bill’s uncaring fingers and—

“Stanley!”

That’s Stanford’s voice, he’d recognize it anywhere, but how is he here?

“Who the fuck—“

A voice, closer than Stanford’s, unfamiliar but definitely not Bill. It’s a person that’s holding him, and even if he’s struggling to breathe against the arm pressed to his throat, he can deal with a person.

Fiddleford kicks out, slamming his knee between the legs of his assailant.

“Son of a—!” he shouts, but he lets go of Fiddleford to stumble back.

“Stop! Stanley, this is Fiddleford! He’s the reason we’re here!” Stanford says, inserting himself between the two of them. “Well, he’s the reason I wanted to be here. You’re the reason you’re here and we don’t know how to get back.”

Yep, that insufferable holier-than-thou tone is definitely Stanford.

“I’m the reason you’re here?” Fiddleford chokes, rubbing his throat as he tries to regain his bearings. “It’s your fault I’m here!”

“I know that!” Stanford says, turning to Fiddleford.

Stanford looks about the same as he left him, beyond the dark circles under his eyes. Fiddleford knows the same can’t be said about himself.

“Listen, Fiddleford, I—“

“Save it, Stanford,” Fiddleford snaps, shaking his head as he turns towards the other man in the alleyway. “You must be Stanley?”

When Fiddleford first heard about Stanford’s twin, he imagined a carbon copy of his then-roommate. Stanley is not that. They’re nearly identical in the shapes of their faces, the texture and shade of their hair, the slope and color of their eyes, but the similarities end there. Put simply, Stanley looks like shit, with long, tangled hair, an unshaven face, and dark circles to rival Stanford’s, all wrapped up in a ratty jacket over an even rattier shirt. Even the way he holds himself is worrying, the way he’s hunched in on himself like a coiled spring, turned to the side like he’s keeping something just out of sight, eyes weary, teeth grit.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Stanley grumbles, and he draws himself even tighter. Even in conversation he’s locked on the defensive, and with the brief glimpse of an interaction between him and Stanford, Fiddleford can’t say he blames him.

“Nice ta meet ya, Stanley. I’d offer to shake your hand, but mine seems to be missin’,” Fiddleford greets. “Well, not missin’ exactly, I know where it is, but it ain’t doin’ me much good inside the stomach of some rottin’ monster.”

“Your arm!” Stanford exclaims belatedly.

He grabs for Fiddleford’s shoulder, but Fiddleford quickly smacks his hand away, a shudder running through his body at the phantom sensation of someone grabbing at what remains of his arm. He steps away, eyeing Ford wearily, almost expecting him to try again.

He doesn’t. He brings his hand back, tucking it to his chest for just a moment, hurt in his eyes. After a moment, he clears his throat, straightens up, and tucks his hands behind his back.

“I take it that’s a new development?” Stanley says, watching Fiddleford carefully. The matching scrutinizing gazes of both twins sets Fiddleford even further on edge.

“I would never have allowed such grievous injury to come to him under my care!” Stanford huffs, glaring at Stanley.

Fiddleford barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“And who’s god-forsaken vanity project brought me here, Stanford?”

“Easy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley cuts in before Stanford can respond. “None of us are happy to be here, but he—“

Fiddleford raises his hand. “Shut yer yap.”

“Okay, rude—“

“I mean it, don’t ya hear that?” Fiddleford hisses. It’s barely audible, not like Stanford and Stanley’s rustling in a nearby alleyway. Something is moving through the main streets.

“I don’t hear shit, except some hillbilly interrupting me wh—“

“I hear it,” Stanford says, and Stanley throws his arms up in frustration.

Click-click, drag, click-click, click-click. Three functional limbs, one dragging along, moving at a gradual, unhurried pace. The time between each step suggests a step length of perhaps a meter. It’s large, too large for Fiddleford to deal with without his arm, but likely small enough to fit into this alleyway. Stanley seems pretty tough, and Stanford had somehow held his own for 6 years in Gravity Falls despite its many dangers, but he wasn’t about to trust either of them in a fight against whatever unknown beast was approaching.

“It’s coming from—“ Stanford whispers, and despite the low volume, Fiddleford cringes at the sound.

“I know,” Fiddleford snips quietly, “follow me.”

Fiddleford doesn’t bother to check if either of them listened— Stanford reacts well to confidence, and with any luck, Stanley would as well— before he’s slinking out of the alleyway, carefully watching his step this time.

“Come on, dumbass,” Stanley hisses, and Fiddleford spares them a glance. Both have moved to follow, but Stanford is hesitating, looking behind him even as Stanley grabs his arm and pulls him along behind him.

“I just want a look—“ Stanford mumbles, shaking Stanley’s hand off.

“This ain’t Gravity Falls, Stanford, an’ I won’t hesitate to leave you ‘n’ your brother for mincemeat if you don’t hurry yer asses up!”

Stanford immediately turns towards Fiddleford, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock. Fiddleford glares at him, lets him truly believe he means it (Fiddleford knows he wouldn’t leave Stanford or his brother, damn him) before he turns back around and continues on the way. This time, Stanford and Stanley follow without any further prompting, though Fiddleford hears what sounds like an amused snort from Stanley at Stanford’s sudden obedience.

[sunrisetune]

Censoring certain words here so I don’t accidentally end up in tags or attract any stray Ch-ck P-lnhu-k fans \o/

Just saw someone’s post about liking DE the same way they like F-ght Cl-b, and like, where’s the “Parody requires a clarity of purpose” sign so I can tap it

No but for real, I’ve barely gotten to Wednesday in the game but I have also had the thought that they’re have similar forms and some themes; Harry’s skill checks’ voices vs, “I am Jack’s [whatever the fuck]”, being left behind by a society that doesn’t care about you

I think DE actually succeeds in being a parody of hyper-masculinity though Partly bc as a game driven by your choices, there are options for reacting to situations other than “Ow my masculinity”; you have ways to,,, I don’t like using the word “interrogate” now bc it’s been internet-poisoned the same way I don’t like using ““anti”-literally anything even though it’s a perfectly good prefix,, but ways to interrogate whatever weird bullshit Half-Light is trying to sell you, and dismiss them Also, crucially, there are actually consequences of your actions if you do decide that being entitled and violent is how you want things to go (other than “everyone in your cult thinks you’re the best and coolest and most radical guy ever and you get to sleep with a hot woman”)

And with the second point, it matters that in the game the ones being “left behind” are people who are actually affected by society’s neglect; living in a poor area of a city that’s permanently in disrepair and being surrounded by violence, drug trade, badly upkept housing, it’s hard to tell if they have any medical care, etc. Instead of, like, lower-middle-class white dudes working in offices who decide to be homophobic and violent about it

tldr If you like F-ght Cl-b you’re not allowed to play DE anymore And yes I am making that decision unilaterally for everyone, it is in fact legally binding starting now (/that part’s a joke)

(Bc I got to the post in question through clicking on the ‘more like this’ link on their blog preview -

^ A screenshot from InnuendoStudio’s “Ship of Theseus” video that says, over a greyed-out slide of someone scrolling through tumblr, “woe betide those two travel too far from their dashboards”).

[tsuki-chibi]

MayBee Queen 2022 Day 21: Redemption

Read on AO3 instead

—

“I just need to – noooooooooooo!” Nino’s wail of anguish made Chloé grin. She watched in triumph as their battle ended, and her character was proclaimed the winner.

“Suck it, Lahiffe,” Chloé said smugly. “You just can’t win.”

“Ugh, this sucks!” Nino said, throwing his hands up. “I can’t believe you keep winning!”

“It’s because I’m better than you. Both in real life and in a video game,” Chloé said, grinning. Alya snorted and both Adrien and Marinette laughed as Nino pouted.

“I have to admit, I’m not a big video game person but this is the coolest thing I’ve seen in a long time. I never expected them to make a video game based off of us,” said Alya, picking up the cover. It showed a cartoon version of Ladybug and Chat Noir, but the video game included all the heroes. Actually, it even included some brand-new heroes with miraculous that didn’t even exist.

Chloé had gotten her hands on an advanced copy, having purchased it the moment that Marinette had called to tell her about it. The second she picked up the package, she’d headed straight to Marinette’s house. She wasn’t a huge video game person either, but watching an adorable cartoon version of Queen Bee kicking the butt of a cartoon version of Carapace was incredibly fun.

“I wanna go again,” Adrien declared, getting up.

“Yes! Go against Chloé! I need redemption!” Nino said, jumping up.

“Pass. I need to pee. Marinette? Alya?” Chloé offered her controller up, unsurprised when Marinette grabbed it and sat down next to Adrien. The two of them were by far the most competitive of the group, and Chloé fully expected the battle to be long and hard.

So she was unsurprised that it was still going when she returned from the bathroom. Both Adrien and Marinette had chosen new heroes: Adrien’s character had a Swan miraculous, and Marinette’s character had a panther miraculous. Despite the theoretical edge that a panther would have, Adrien still won by a slim margin.

“Yeah! That’s my man!” Nino said, clapping Adrien’s shoulder. “Redeeming your best bro. You rock.”

“Uh, I don’t think it can be considered redemption if Adrien wasn’t playing as Carapace,” Alya pointed out.

Nino frowned at her. “Rude. Adrien, play again as Carapace and redeem me.”

Adrien shook his head. “Sorry, but I gotta go. I have a thing to go to tonight.” He made a face as he spoke, making it clear that this thing wasn’t his idea.

“Oh right, the party,” Chloé said, vaguely remembering her father mentioning something along those lines. The mayor had asked if Chloé could be there, which meant that there had to be some journalists attending tonight too. Her father only ever wanted her around when there were ‘family’ photos to be taken.

“What’s the party for?” Marinette asked, and Adrien and Chloé looked blankly at each other.

“Someone’s… birthday?” Adrien said at last, clearly just guessing.

Chloé shrugged. “No idea.”

“Sounds fun. Shame we weren’t invited,” Alya said dryly.

“Well, one of us doesn’t have to go,” Chloé began.

Adrien reached over and grabbed her arm, looking at her with pleading eyes. “You wouldn’t leave your oldest and dearest friend there alone, would you?”

“I suppose not,” Chloé said, rolling her eyes. “Guess that means I’m out too. Your redemption will have to wait.”

Marinette reached over and took the video game cartridge out of her system. She put it back into the case and tried to hand it to Chloé, but Chloé shook her head and waved her off.

“Keep it.”

“What?” Marinette said, shocked. “Chloé! I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. I don’t even have a console to play it on. So you might as well keep it.” Chloé shrugged. Adrien could easily get his own copy, but she was conscious of the fact that the video game hadn’t been cheap. It seemed unlikely Marinette would be able to get her own copy anytime soon.

“But…” Marinette still looked stuck somewhere between shock and joy.

“Good. That means we can battle again, and I can earn my own redemption,” Nino said, pointing a finger at Chloé.

Chloé just rolled her eyes at him. “Bring it. Queen Bee will happily kick your butt any day.”

[motownfiction]

not a lot to give

Sam wishes his mother would leave three things alone: the Coke cans in his corner of the basement, the loose thread on her old favorite winter coat, and this idea that Sam isn’t living up to his full potential.

She says it to him all the time. When he brings home a C on a paper he should have gotten an A on, but he turned it in two weeks late. When he falls asleep during the mock-up psychology class at the Wayne State open house. When he skips SAT prep to wait in line for Billy Joel tickets. It’s always the same thing out of her. 

You’re not living up to your full potential. With all your brains and talent, you’re not living up to your full potential.

It’s useless to argue with her now. Sam used to do it all the time. He’d stand his ground and snap, “And what am I supposed to be, Mom? A doctor? A lawyer? A suit-wearing CEO of a company that steals from people who think I’m making their lives better?” She’d always shake her head and say something like, “You could be more than a 7-Eleven cashier.”

Sam sighs thinking of the way the fight would go. It was always the same, practically the chorus to a bad pop song.

What’s wrong with 7-Eleven cashiers? They sure help you get those Sno Balls you think you’re hiding from us.

That’s exactly what I mean! You’re smart enough to figure out I buy Sno Balls at 7-Eleven, even though I’ve never told you!

I just have to look in the trash.

But not everybody thinks about how to look around! Sam, you have such a brilliant mind. Such a way of looking at the world. Are you really going to work at 7-Eleven for the rest of your life because it’s easier?

Sam would never answer the question. He’d just march down to his room, where he is right now. It’s been a little while since he and his mother fought like that. A month and two days, when Sam thinks about it. He’s pretty good at remembering the dates he wants to remember. Tonight, he’s lying on his bed, listening to “You’ll Lose a Good Thing” and staring at the ceiling because he overheard his mother on the phone with one of her distant friends, somebody from high school, back when she was star-of-the-show Maggie Brady, back before she fell in love with Mike Doyle, the coolest guy in the world (as far as Sam’s concerned). Maggie was talking like a Christmas card. 

Mike and I are redoing the bathroom floor. Sadie’s getting straight A’s at Michigan, and she’s got the sweetest boyfriend. Charlie’s playing ‘O Holy Night’ at the Christmas pageant. Big centerpiece of the show. He’s got a beautiful girlfriend now, too. And Sam … you know, I was listening to him talk about some Star Wars movie with his friend the other day, and the things he notices … things nobody else would ever see. I just wish he knew there’s more he can do with his talents than just squander them.

His hands tremble when he remembers all those things she said. She means well. Mom always means well. But it’s like she can’t hear herself when she speaks (and worse, she can’t hear him). He closes his eyes and thinks back to the summer of ‘82, between ninth and tenth grade. In the middle of June, Lucy spent two weeks over in Ann Arbor, living in a dorm, writing and studying fiction with some hotshot English professors. Part of some summer program for high school geniuses. Almost impossible that any rising sophomore would get in. But she did. Lucy was always getting into things like that. When she came back to her friends two weeks later, she talked a lot about the criticism. The way people stared at her work and made every word feel like a question. She said there were times she thought about giving up. Times she was scared. Sadie said she couldn’t believe it. She didn’t think Lucy was afraid of anything. But Sam still remembers the look he gave her (and the look that she returned). To be talented is to be tortured.

So, he’s been trying to convince everybody – his parents, his siblings, and all of his friends – that whatever his potential is, it’s not a lot to give. It can’t be. He doesn’t want it.

His hands tremble in time with Barbara Lynn on the stereo.

(part of @nosebleedclub october challenge -- day xi!)

[incomingalbatross]

Part Three: Yes They DID Just Become Best Friends

“Hwoooooh,” Anne breathed out, lying on her back next to Sprig. “Really good thing you had those pain peppers.”

“I know, right?” Sprig pumped his fist in the air. “Vegetables one, monster zero!” He thought this over. “…Never tell Hop Pop. He’d definitely be unbearable.”

“Oh, buddy. I am not telling him anything that happened today.”

“Fair!” They should probably get home soon, honestly. And before that, Sprig should go grab his shirt where it was still abandoned on the shore (he was assuming the giant snake wouldn’t go that far. Probably. If Sprig was sneaky). But before any of that…

“Anne.” He rolled over, staring at the side of her face. He was on her left side, so he couldn’t see her marked shoulder - but he could see his, out of the corner of his eye. “Anne. Anne Anne Anne. Are we - are we really -”

She turned over too, facing him with bright eyes. “Soulmates?” She grinned at him. “Yeah, dude. Pretty sure we are.”

Soulmates. She’d said it out loud, and everything. Sprig and Anne were a real, actual, marked pair of soulmates. Sprig felt his eyes grow wide, his mouth fall open in awe.

“This,” he whispered, “is the coolest thing ever.”

Anne’s smile widened. “It kinda is."

“I mean - ” He sat up, clutching his head. “We’re from different universes! Most people never find soulmates, and we found each other even though we weren’t in the same world? That’s crazy.”

“I know, right?” Anne sat up too, wrapping an arm around her knees. “Oh man, I can’t believe you didn’t notice your soulmark until I literally told you to hold your arm in front of your face.” She was laughing, giddy and delighted. “I was waiting the whole time we were in the water for you to look around and notice it!”

Sprig laughed too, giving her a (light) friendship punch. “I don’t spend a lot of time staring at my own shoulders, Anne!” He paused. “Hey, when did you notice yours?”

“When I was changing into my swimsuit.” Anne looked away, hands on her forearms. “Sorry I didn’t tell you right away, I just…I didn’t know if you guys even had soulmarks? And then when we got in the water…” Her smile snuck back onto her face. “Well, I figured we’d only get to do the reveal once.”

Sprig absolutely got what she was saying. “And you got it on camera!”

“Exactly,” she said. “Though the giant snake is there too, I guess. Talk about photobombers.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Sprig said happily. “Buuuuut…” He fidgeted, then burst out, “CanIseeyoursoulmark? I still haven’t gotten a good look at either of them and I’m SO curious oh my gosh Anne I gotta see.”

“Oh yeah absolutely!” Anne hastily turned all the way around, so her right shoulder was next to Sprig’s and they were facing in opposite directions. “Can I see yours? I tried to take a pic of my earlier but I could not get a good angle, so I’ve only seen, like, half of it.”

“For sure!” Sprig chirped. “…Soulmate.”

She cackled, shoving up her sleeve and moving to take his right arm in her hand. “This is wild.”

And then Sprig stopped paying attention because he was zoned all the way in to the design on her shoulder - vivid color standing out against her weird, dry skin.

It was three or four inches across, in a light, bright sky blue. The design was surprisingly simple: two intertwined letters, a B and a P, both outlined in a slightly darker shade of the main color and surrounded by a circle of what looked like woven leaves.

Sprig poked it. The texture felt slightly different than the rest of Anne’s skin - smoother, maybe, or a tiny bit softer. He ran his fingers over it, poking and pushing just a little to see if he could pin it down.

Anne poked his shoulder. He looked up to see her examining his mark, too - but as soon as he looked up, she met his eyes, and grinned.

“Whaddaya think?” she asked.

“Cool!” he said immediately. “Weird.” He poked it once more. “I mean, obviously, it’s basically magic.” That got it both cool and weird points. “The mark’s…well, it’s a little…” He hesitated.

“Boring?” Anne supplied.

“Yeah, that!” The P looked like the one from the sign on their house, which was kinda cool, and identifying the plants could be fun, but it was mainly just letters. “What does the B stand for?”

“Boonchuy, I guess. It’s my last name.” Anne poked Sprig’s shoulder again. “You’d think it would at least be our first names, right? We’re the soulmates, not our families. We’re Anne and Sprig! Sprig and Anne!”

“Anne-Sprig,” Sprig agreed. “Sprig-Anne…OOH.” He felt his eyes go wide. “Spranne.”

Anne, shockingly, looked doubtful. “I mean…”

“Aw c’mon, you don’t like it? It expresses our deep soulmate bond, though!” He made his eyes go wobbly and looked up at her. “Would you like…Annig better? Asprig?”

She burst out laughing. “Okay, geez, put the puppy eyes away,” she said. “And no, actually. Spranne is good. Spranne works.” She smiled at him.

“Yay!” Sprig cheered. “…Wait. What’s a puppy?”

Anne, very suddenly, looked devastated.

Then, in a haunted whisper, she said, “I have so many videos you need to see.”

“That…sounds cool,” Sprig said cautiously. “Oh! But we should probably get back to the house first. Y’know, so Hop Pop doesn’t find out we almost got eaten.”

“YES! Good idea.” She pointed at him. “Lead the way, bud.”

He hopped to his feet, already heading back to grab his shirt, when something occurred to him. “You know what else we need?” Not waiting for an answer, he spread his hands out dramatically. “Special soulmate secret handshake.”

She gasped. Extremely seriously, she said, “You are the smartest person in the world.”

Then she paused a beat, and beamed at him. “Soulmate.”

Sprig jumped in the air. “Spranne! For! Life!”

“YEAH! Spranne for the win!”Sprig couldn’t believe, as he hopped toward home, that he’d come out here just hoping to get a friend. Now he had Anne.

Amphibia Platonic Soulmates AU Pt 1

(Draft)

I wrote a short intro for this AU and want to share it A) for itself and B) as an experiment to see if this makes me more motivated to write the next part. :P So here it is!

(If you read it and are up for commenting, I'd be interested to hear if the soulmate concept here seems intelligible. Hard to judge how much of the stuff in my head I put down on paper, especially from the POV of someone who considers it normal.)

---

At school, they’d been constantly doodling soulmark designs, drafting new variations on napkins and notebook pages, drawing them in marker on the backs of their hands (which wasn’t super realistic but was visible) and on each other’s shoulders (less convenient, but more like the real thing). It was the cool thing for all the girls in school to do with their best friends, but Sasha had come up with it first.

“It so doesn’t matter if we’re, like, fated soulmates,” she’d said one day at the start of middle school, sketching on top of her math notes during lunch. “We can make our own decisions, right? And show everyone else exactly who they’re dealing with.”

“That’s so cool, Sash!” Anne had agreed, leaning forward to look at her images. Marcy had beamed and nodded vigorously, already working away with her own pencil on design ideas.

Since then, they’d gone through dozens of “official” three-person soulmate marks - cheerleading pompoms, tennis rackets, dice, skateboards, musical clefs, names in English and Mandarin and Thai - drawn on their notebook covers, doodled during classes, sketched on their skin like the real thing. They’d do each other’s shoulders at every sleepover, letting the marks linger until the permanent marker wore off.

Every design had to be approved by Sasha before they put it on anywhere visible, of course - she had the best ideas - and usually the specifics were finalized by Marcy (“Your designs are just too…cutesy, Anne, we don’t wanna look like little kids”). But Anne had the steadiest hands in applying the marker.

“And we have to keep working on it,” Sasha would always remind them. “We want something really cool, really us, by the time we’re eighteen, right? Then we can finally get tattoos and they’ll never wear off.”

Anne…had maybe felt a little uneasy about that. Not that she didn’t want to! It sounded super cool! But the one time she’d mentioned it at home, her parents had looked disapproving in an uncomfortable way, and her mom had said gently, “Are you sure that’s something people should do for themselves? Soulmate marks are special, Anne, and if that’s not exactly what you have with your friends, I don’t think it would be right to pretend you do.”

But like…Shasha was right. Soulmates weren’t so super-rare that they had to be treated like some sacred thing! Soulmarks marked out people who were made to be your other halves, your kindred spirits, but not everyone had those. (Or at least they didn’t meet them, but the odds were way against you either way, so basically same diff.) And wasn’t it just as valid to have a mark for the people you’d chosen as your kindred spirits? The people you’d built those close bonds with by yourself, instead of by weird destiny-magic?

Anne thought it checked out, anyway. And Sasha and Marcy definitely did, and they were her best friends, and that was basically just as important as soulmates. To the three of them, anyway.

And then Anne got zapped to Amphibia (Sasha’s fading marker design still clear on the back of her hand), and met a little pink frog boy whose life she had to save, and who saved her life, and called her a hero and got her a place to sleep that wasn’t a cave…

And the day after meeting him, she was changing into her swimsuit, when she saw a funny patch of color on her skin out of the corner of her eye. A patch of bright blue, on her right shoulder…right where soulmarks were supposed to go.

"HUH."

---

Next time: "Did we just become best friends??"

[violenceenthusiast]

ok i had a thought that makes me wanna dip my head in acid but in a soft way...

dean and claire having a father/daughter saturday of fun and low-grade mischief, going to an arcade and joke-fighting over what stuffed animal to get with their tickets and getting slushies and while they’re taking a break to grab burgers claire says “yknow i’ve been meaning to go get- wanna come with me while i get a new piercing??”

and dean pinches in the direction of her ear a little and says “what, you don’t have enough of those already?” as if he doesn’t think they’re the coolest thing.

she waves him off, eyes flicking between the burger in her hands and the table “i don’t know i just thought it’d be something else fun to do today.”

dean’s only half teasing when he asks “you want me there to hold your hand?”

claire rolls her eyes and looks to the side with half a smile, “oh shut up.” but it’s true, she does want him there to hold her hand– she may be a hardcore hunter who will take a knife cut or a monster bite in stride, but she always gets a little nervous before each piercing. maybe having dean there will make it just a little more manageable.

––

they get to the studio and claire signs the forms, picks out her jewelry, takes a seat to wait while they get ready for her. dean is pacing, looking carefully in each case, at each display. the nice person behind the counter sees him looking and asks “did you want to get something pierced today too?” claire cracks a smile at that and dean looks up at the counter clerk a little wide-eyed, eyebrows raised and mouth half open in surprise, huffs out a breath and looks down as half a nervous smile pulls at the left side of his mouth. he sticks one hand in his pocket and gives one wave with the other as he says “ha. nah, no- just here for her today” as he gestures at claire. he goes to sit with her until the piercer calls them back to the room that’s set up for them.

claire is getting a conch piercing and it’s going more easily than usual- partly because dean is there with her, partly because there are shockingly few nerve endings in the middle of the ear cartilage, and partly because the woman doing the piercing is insanely pretty and insanely good at what she does (she used to be a phlebotomist so she knows a little something about blood, needles, nervousness, and a given person’s propensity for fainting). while the piercer is busy marking the ear, claire looks over at dean in his chair and unable to contain the question any longer asks him, “you ever thought about getting a piercing?”

“me? nah.. it’s just not- i mean they would’ve gotten ripped out for sure by some- by accident.” he was about to say ‘by some monster’ but caught himself before he really weirded out the nice piercer woman. he hadn’t thought about him and piercings in a long time. he had slowly stopped wearing even rings and bracelets as much over the years in case they got caught on something during a hunt (though now he had a new ring on his left hand that he never took off). a piece of jewelry actually in the body was even more of a ridiculous idea for a hunter. but he wasn’t a hunter any more, not really. hadn’t been for about a year. after chuck and getting cas back safe and human.. with sam and eileen running their witchy little hunter hub from the bunker.. it had just seemed like his opportunity and his time to break out of it all. wow okay in that split second he trailed so far off from where he started.. where did he start? ...piercings! right. he remembers being young and not being able to take his eyes off the men in bars with the metal glinting in their ears, noses, lips.. now he knew the staring had been more about the men than the jewelry but it hadn’t not been about the jewelry either. was this one of those things he got to think about now, again, for the first time in a lifetime?

claire takes a moment to make sure she isn’t woozy any more and gets up to go look in the mirror at her new adornment. she smiles and dean snaps out of his own little world to say “you like it?” 

she looks at him through the mirror “love it.” and then, mischievous, “your turn.”

“my turn??”

“oh absolutely.” a moment of raised eyebrows and incredulous silence then, “if you decide you hate it you can just take it out. c’mon i saw your face, you want one you can’t hide from me.”

she’s right. he protests weakly, but she knows him all too well at this point and she’s right and the goading from the piercer only encourages her.

“okay okay fine. but nothing too showy.”

they decide on a rook. it’s not too prominent but it’s definitely there, definitely unique, it will look okay on it’s own if he never gets another piercing, and if he has to jump in on an odd hunt it’s far enough into the ear that it would be hard for it to get caught on anything or ripped out. dean picks a simple, stainless steel piece with a lapis lazuli setting– blue for his husband (though if you asked him he would deny that’s why he chose it. but only at first).

he can’t believe how jittery he is about the whole thing, but this time claire holds his hand. it’s over before it’s begun and he thought it might be painful like the tattoo was, or like any of the number of painful little things that have happened to him over the years but it’s not, it mostly just feels strange. it’s nice to be surprised like that.

dean hops off the bench like claire did and goes to the mirror half expecting to hate what he sees. but he’s surprised for the second time in barely a minute. the glint of the metal in his ear doesn’t just look good, it looks right. like it was meant to be there and he had been awaiting it’s arrival but didn’t know it. something hard to name, something small, something he didn’t know was missing until he found it had just found its way to him, slotted into place and settled in his ribs. he feels quieter but also on fire– like he’d be satisfied to just sit and read a book, like he could face god and win (again).

from behind him claire asks, “like it?”

he smiles. “love it.”

––

they kick around for a little while longer, each of them forgetting about their new piercings until they catch sight of the other’s or until they catch their reflection in a shop window and take a second to admire the newness. eventually claire begrudgingly admits she has to get back to campus to get some work done. dean drops her off at her dorm with a hug and a “stay out of trouble”. 

dean makes the drive home to cas, just lost enough in happy thoughts and memories from the day that he forgets to put on any music until he’s already half way home. 

he gets to the house and finds cas watering the plants in the living room. he leans in the doorframe, watching his love gently tend to each plant in turn. dean doesn’t say anything, he knows cas knows he’s there and will greet him when he’s finished seeing to his darlings. in the meantime dean gets to delight in the sight of the curve of cas’ back as he bends this way and that to reach the plants, the delicate and reverent care he shows each leaf and vine.

cas finishes his routine, sets the water down and turns to greet dean. he freezes half way to saying hello because something is.. something.. something is... he can’t put a name to it, nothing is wrong but dean is.. shifted. not different.. but different. dean is holding his head oddly turned to the side and it doesn’t help either that dean is smiling around a secret and they both know it. cas narrows his eyes but brushes off the feeling long enough to cross the room and give dean a kiss, quick but whole and familiar. dean turns his head to look at a plant and ask a question about it and “accidentally” reveal his new addition. cas, who hasn’t taken a single step backwards since coming over to kiss dean, of course sees the jewelry immediately and exclaims before dean even has a chance to start his made-up question. 

after some very amusing joke-yelling from both sides, it’s revealed that cas just absolutely loves it. and not that dean was worried cas would hate it but dean was a little worried cas would hate it. or worse, that he would judge it. but cas loves that dean tried something new, loves that he chose something blue, loves that dean seems just that little bit more at home in himself. and from the slight blush in his cheeks and ears, dean can tell cas thinks it’s a little bit sexy too. 

––

dean keeps thinking about how much he liked getting a piercing. he gets it on a fundamental level now, gets claire and her array of silver and gold. he’s got the taste for it now, the itch. he’s thinking about going back for another one. or two. but what else, what next? he cheekily wonders about picking based on what would drive cas wild. 

...dean goes back in secret a month and a half later to get his nips pierced. it doesn’t stay secret for long. not from cas, at least.