#when i sat down to write this

[duck-in-a-spaceship]

The Inherent Violence of English Class

Went to another open mic last night, and read this fun little piece of prose poetry. It was dramatic enough that the old ladies in the front kept gasping at all the gore-y bits, which is about as glowing as a review as I could ever want.

This is a poem about poetry, English class, flies and, most importantly, dissecting great American poet Walt Whitman.

Word Count: 629

Content Warning: Dissection, mild gore, implied death

+++

Textbooks open to page 35.

Walt Whitman lies before me, splayed on a wooden table

Like a frog prepared for dissection

Limbs pulled back, skin pinned down

Eyes empty and glassy

They eat the sunlight streaming through the windows, instead of reflecting it back

"Do not look"

A voice instructs me

My head jerks up

To meet the face in front of me

It is thin and leathery, too little skin stretched over too much skeleton, worn strong like windswept cliffs

"Not like that, not there."

My teacher continues, tapping rubbery skin with the tip of my scalpel

She says simply

"Cut"

We cut

Blades split the wall of the small intestine, parting the tube down the center

"Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring"

There are flies still caught in the folds of the tissue, half-digested. If I squint, I can make out the words in their wings.

‘Oh lonely walks and words traced over in desks and pens taken apart and reassembled, over and over again’

"Take those out."

I notice that Miss has eyes like Walt Whitman- like the frog laid out in front of me. Drained of life and void of emotion.

I wonder if there would be flies in her stomach,

If I pulled back the skin and pinned it to the table

She walks away smoothly

Heels click on floors splattered with black

Ink spilled like blood

I replace my scalpel with a pair of tweezers

The smell of formaldehyde burns my nose, scrapes at my pores

It is in my lungs

And I fear that if I do not cough it up, it will kill me

I scoop the flies out, and push them to the side.

Their wings rip and tear, dissecting words to syllables to mere letters.

Snippets of alphabet instead of pieces of language

I peer into the space that they left

"Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish"

That is all.

The hammer strikes against its bell

Hands push papers into folders, zip pencil cases shut, pull tight the straps of backpacks

Shoes rush against the floors splattered with black

Each taking with them a drop of ink

They all fade into nothingness

A hand finds the lights, and flips off the switch

I fade into nothingness

The room is empty, yet I cannot stop breathing formaldehyde

I cannot unspill the splattered ink

I step closer to Walt Whitman

"O me! O life!"

He is glassy eyes that do not see

He is pale skin that does not feel

He is empty veins that cannot bleed

He is an idea of a man

Words without meaning

I hold the poet's face, thumbs resting on his cheekbones

"The question, O me! so sad- recurring- What good amid these, O me, O life?"

My fingers dig into the bottom folds of his eyelids

They press, and press, and press

They pop

I hold the eyes of Walt Whitman in my hands

They clink together like marbles,

Like the toys of children on a cool autumn evening

They hold that autumn air, cold and glassy

I cup my hands and lift them to my mouth, so that my breaths fog their surface, and I may polish them shiny and slick

So I may warm that cold center

So I may see my reflection through colored irises and blackened pupils

‘Oh poems scribbled in notebooks and ink-stained hands and tear-soaked optic nerves’

I tuck the marbles away, and push open the door

Walt Whitman sits in my pocket

"That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse"

Oh ink splattered on the floor

Oh broken words abandoned on the wings of flies

Oh English textbooks, closed and tucked into bags

[laundrybiscuits]

(ETA: now edited and up on AO3)

Look. Eddie knows he can be a little uptight about these things, but. There are rules. If you become a vampire, you don’t need to go full gothic Count Von Dickhead or whatever, but you absolutely cannot just wander around in a puffy vest and light-wash jeans. 

“Why not?” says Steve. He’s leaning back in an armchair, sipping on a bloodbag like it’s a goddamn juicebox. “What, are the vampire police going to arrest me?” 

He pauses. “Wait. There aren’t vampire police, are there?”

“No,” says Eddie. “Probably not. I don’t know. But there are standards which you are refusing to uphold, Steven.”

“Thought you were all about hating conformity, Edward,” Steve says. He’s got an obnoxiously cocky little smirk, the smug undead fucker. 

Eddie grimaces. “Don’t call me that, asswipe. Don’t you feel, like—the call of the night? The siren song of life coursing through fragile human veins? A hunger for destruction that those paltry plastic bags of blood can never truly slake?”

“The bloodbags aren’t so bad,” says Steve, around the straw. “Better than protein shakes.”

“I actually hate you,” Eddie tells him. “Vampirism is wasted on you.”

Steve noisily slurps the last of the blood out of the bottom of the bag. “Come on, you can’t really picture me in some Dracula getup, can you?”

The problem, of course, is that Eddie really, really can. When Robin had read him in on the whole situation, obviously he’d been horrified and concerned—but also, a whole wing of his brain had immediately been cordoned off to work overtime imagining Steve in elaborate Dark Prince regalia, maybe leaning elegantly out of a castle window on the moors, gazing into the foggy dusk. Velvet might’ve been involved.

“...guess not,” says Eddie. It doesn’t sound incredibly convincing to his own ears, but Steve just shrugs and gets up to throw the bloodbag away. 

“There you go, man,” he says, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he passes. “It’s the 80s. Vampires can be whatever we wanna be.”

———

It gets way too easy to forget about Steve’s condition, until Eddie ends up having to haul him out of a bar in Indy before they get banned for life.  

“Simmer down, buddy,” Eddie says, pulling him into the shadow of the van. “Let’s get those fangs packed away before any of the nice villagers wander by with torches and pitchforks.”

“I’m good,” pants Steve. “It’s all good. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

Eddie lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sure, that’s why your eyes are glowing red and you’re, like, fully vamped out. Which, by the way, looks extremely dumb with the whole clean-cut vibe you decided to rock tonight.”

“Fuck you, I look great,” says Steve, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s not wrong, it’s just not relevant to how he also looks extremely dumb like this, wearing a pristine henley with fangs hanging out in the parking lot for anyone to see.

“So what the hell happened in there, man? I was finally starting to get somewhere with Todd, and…” Eddie trails off in dawning realization.

“Holy shit, am I—I’m like your territory, aren’t I? Your stupid vampire brain got all screwy and decided to loop me in with Robin and the kids as part of your freaky human coven.”

“Uh,” says Steve. He looks unhappy in a shifty kind of way. “Something like that, maybe.”

“Wait, so, are Nancy and Jonathan—are you okay with them because they’re both already in the vamp pack? Is Vickie gonna have to be inaugurated before she and Robin can bone down?” Eddie perks up. “Shit, is there a ceremony? We could totally do a ceremony.” He bets he can get the kids to liberate some velour curtains from the drama club. With a few candles, they could get some serious atmosphere going.

“No, shut up, nobody’s doing a damn ceremony,” Steve groans. “Vickie’s fine.” 

“Okay,” says Eddie. “So…you gonna tell me what all that was about, then? Do I have to start running guys past you first so your vamp instincts don’t wig out? Or…hm, maybe Argyle’d be down to mess around sometime.”

Steve lets out an actual snarl with weird animal echoes, then claps a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” he says, muffled. The shadows around them seem darker somehow. 

“So I’m just not allowed to get laid ever again,” says Eddie slowly. “For vampire reasons.”

“Do whatever you want, man.” Steve’s still got his hand pressed tight over his mouth. 

“And it’s…just me?” Eddie peers at the tightness around Steve’s eyes; the way he’s scowling stubbornly at his feet. “Huh. Kind of…possessive, Harrington.”

“It’s—weird,” says Steve miserably, dropping his hand at last. “I know it’s fucking weird.”

“Maybe.” Eddie shrugs, biting down on the grin he can feel tugging at his mouth. “Lucky for you, I’m into that shit.”

“What?” Steve frowns. “You’re…”

“Always wanted a vampire boyfriend,” says Eddie. “Like, are you kidding? I would’ve sold my fucking soul at 15 for something like that.”

“I’m starting to feel a little objectified here,” says Steve, but he’s smiling, and he reaches out to snag Eddie’s belt loop and tug him stumbling closer. “Just in it for the fangs, huh?”

“Well, you’re kind of a shitty vampire, actually.” Eddie drapes his arms over Steve’s shoulders. “So I guess I must just be in it for you.”

Steve hesitates, searching Eddie’s face. Stray red lights are still sparking like embers in Steve’s irises. “Okay, but—you’re in it? Right?”

“Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Bunnicula. I’ll send the vampire police after you, just watch me,” says Eddie, and kisses him.

[pastafossa]

I love you guys. I hope you know that.

Like.

Ok so I posted the new TRT chapter the other day. Obviously. And I had to force myself to do it, to click that final, 'post' button because at that last moment, this big wave of imposter syndrome hit (that had already hit on and off as I'd started working on the chapter again). And it was just this cycle of, 'It's been like 6 months since you posted a chapter or anything other than a couple one-shots and you're out of practice, I bet it's bad, it's probably terrible, I bet everyone's left and no one cares about this thing you love so why do you? What if no one likes it, you're gonna drop this and everyone's gonna god 'wtf is this, pasta? what happened?'' And so I forced myself to post it, took my meds to ensure I slept, and then kinda just bunkered down and slept/hid because I was halfway convinced that all the trauma in the previous six months had just bopped any ability I had to write.

Instead I got this outpouring, of just like, 'WELCOME BACK' and people telling me they're happy that mom is ok (which made me cry but in a good way) and they're sorry Cato passed away (more tears, but comforted tears), but also delightful jokes about the funny lines I put in or screaming over that romantic line or about missing Jane and the dynamics and comments about being eager for the next chapter, and how now I can be one of those AO3 authors with those notes of 'yeah my life blew up so I was delayed, but hey I'm back!' which... yeah. And much like when I first started TRT, I didn't... really expect that at all, and it's made me really emotional.

So if you've dropped into my ask box or the comments or the replies, seriously, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, because the excitement and love and just you all being the best little fam and continuing on this journey of TRT with me - a journey that has now included both Matt and Jane's journey, and a real life journey through a pandemic, a huge move, a passing of two of my pets, my mom's hospitalization and recovery, some heart issues, the cancellation and resurrection of the show, me meeting Charlie Cox and getting him to hold a red thread, my first wood carving event, etc - and I know I say this a lot, but you all really, really help me keep going when things get hard. I'd write TRT for nothing, I would, because I love this story and I intend to see it through, but ya'll just... I love you all tons. I'm hoping to get through the asks and fic comments and replies in the next few days, but I just wanted you guys to know that.

[raiiny-bay]

the kids released a new album

[bi-scottsummers]

Hi, hello, just came here to say that I love your fic "trending in Japan". I was wondering if you had headcanons regarding Kenji or Emi or interpersonal relationships and stuff. Many hugs for you.

hi hello, thank you for the encouragement and hugs! After some thought ive realized I do in fact have some hcs about some of the character dynamics in the movie as well as just kenji himself, cause hes captivated my entire brain:

Kenji & Emi

Emi does not have teeth but she does inexplicably have a teething phase. kenji is forced to hide all his (salvaged) fancy cars in the garage bc the corvette's already been chewed to hell and his heart is gonna give out if he has to watch any more classics get wrecked

he reads her bedtime stories. A lot of aesop's fables, because theyre short and fun and hes trying to raise his monster daughter with good morals. emi goes hogwild for these but its unclear if she actually understands what hes saying; kenji's pretty sure she just likes the silly voices he uses for different characters

they go flying together! they go first thing in the morning before breakfast - it helps kenji shake off the grogginess of sleep and emi gets to stretch her wings. shes not able to go very far for very long initially, but as she grows and gets those cardio gainz she almost gets to be quicker than him. they have races and play air tag :)

while she doesnt have the vocal range to speak english herself, it becomes clear that emi does understand it well. (kenji also develops an ear for her chirping/squawks, though body language & facial expressions play a big part in communication for both of them) during her (much later) rebellious phase she'll simply pretend not to know what's being said when kenji is telling her to do something she doesn't wanna do, which frustrates him to no end

Kenji

developed a pretty massive chip on his shoulder after moving to the states. it wasn't just bitterness over his dad staying behind, though that was a part of it. this is canon but he was picked on in school for "how [he talked], how [he looked] and what [he ate]." he felt like he had something to prove to both his father and the world. he threw himself into sports - specifically baseball - and his academics, and he did so well that it forced everyone to shut up about how he was different from them and focus on how he was better than them

^ playing off this: kenji had a bonkers fucking yonkers routine when he was a kid/in highschool. he'd get up hours before school started to practice his swing, go for a ~1hr run, workout, study, etc. He'd go to school, come home, and do it all again. this is exaggerated but my point is that this kid was DETERMINED and had the discipline to see that determination through to the end

didnt have many friends because of all aforementioned things. he had acquaintances, and he was invited to parties and outings and stuff (never went), but he spent most of his free time hanging out with his mom. he never really had a "parents are so embarrassing" phase. he always liked to do anything with his mother: going to the bank, going grocery shopping, watching cheesy telenovelas till ungodly hours in the morning, etc. she was his no.1 supporter, confidant, and best friend

he played for his university's baseball team and got scouted at 19. his mom forced him to finish his bachelor's first so once he graduated with his degree in kinesiology at 21, he was drafted to the dodgers

Kenji & Ami

both of them, up until meeting each other, were totally dedicated to their career (and child) so they had basically 0 time for friends. theyre both borderline losers but theyre juuust good enough at what they do for people to admire them instead of finding them sad and lowkey pathetic

kenji is way more into the idea of being friends than ami is. hes pretty enthusiastic about it; he thinks that they have a kind of rapport, since they share a similar work ethic and are both (unbeknownst to ami) single parents. he calls her to chat abt random things. ami initially isnt superrrr into it; she thinks kenji is kinda lonely and desperate for human connection, & it isnt until her mom points out that she has not spoken to anyone outside of work-related reasons in 10+ years that shes like oh shit, i am also lonely and desperate for human connection. so she grudgingly acquires a friend. theyre both really bad at it

need to clarify that in my mind their dynamic is 95% kenji yapping about work and drama in his personal life (circumventing the 8m baby kaiju hes raising) while ami goes "mhm mhm" and takes notes until kenji notices and is like What are you doing. at which point ami is like...... right . nothing. im listening. and forces herself to put the notepad away. she has a hard time disengaging from the reporter mindset and just hearing something intriguing without turning it into an article. the other 5% are the rare moments where theyre connecting super well - ami's psychoanalyzing the hell out of whatever kenji just said and hes like what are you my therapist. over time she starts opening up to him, too, and eventually theyre comfortable enough to be having philosophical discussions over breakfast just for funsies

before kenji reveals that hes ultraman, ami thinks hes in a gang. he keeps showing up to their lunch "dates" with like bruised eyes and fractured bones and gets all shifty when she tries to ask about what happened. when she eventually confronts him about it, hes so offended that she thinks hed be involved in something like that that he tells her about being ultraman

thats about all i can think of rn, though im sure ill think of more after rotating all the characters in my head for a while. thanks again for stopping in, i appreciate the support :)

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Rangi's such an idiot. She was holding back pre-dating I know it. If she acted the same way she does post-dating Kyoshi, then Rangi would've literally exploded Kyoshi right out of the damn closet Kyoshi didn't know she was in sdjfklajfkjafk

There would've been no Fire Lily Incident. Kyoshi's eyes would've just been glued to that freaky little firebender TT0TT

[whos-hotter-jjba]

Hottest JoJo Character Bracket - Match 3-15

[puhpandas]

Decennial

(2,396 words)

Evan and Gregory, now age twenty-two, celebrate the tenth anniversary of their meeting in the comfort of their shared apartment.

Its already the afternoon when Evan meets Gregory at the couch in their shared apartment, smartphone in hand. Gregory glances up from whatever he was watching on TV, quickly grabbing the remote to pause the channel.

He doesn't even have a chance to greet him before he notices Evan's face. Worry quickly creases his brows, and he moves to get off of the couch. "Evan? Hey, what's wron--"

Evan tries to convey that everything's fine with no words. Because it's true. He just can't muster any up right now. When Gregory seems to understand enough, that's when Evan thrusts his phone into Gregory's line of sight.

Gregory shifts on the couch, taking the phone and studying the screen to no avail. Hes pulled up the calendar on his phone, the date reading March 4th, 2045. Gregorys brows furrow, then, "Uh. I dont understand."

Evan would have rolled his eyes if he weren't so emotional right now. He scoffs, tapping the screen and mumbling "The date. Look at the date."

It only takes another moment for Gregory to understand. Evan can almost see the gears turning in his friends head in the moments before he gasps sharply. "Oh!"

Gregory doesn't look away immediately, just taking it in as if it surpises him. "Its ten years since we met today."

Evan nods at that. A small smile stretching on his face when Gregory finally turns to look at him.

But he should know by now -really, it's been ten years after all- that Gregory knows him. Probably better than Evan himself.

"What's with that look?" Gregory questions, seemingly noticing how Evans smile doesnt quite reach his eyes. "You look sad."

Evan shakes his head immediately. "No-- that's not it." He replies, feeling a bit more fit to speak. "Its just..."

"Ten years?" Gregory prompts, and Evan nods. Gregory seems to get it. He sighs a bit, and Evan can tell hes not alone in reminiscing. "Jeez. Thats..."

"...A long time ago." "A big number." They say at the same time.

Evan joins Gregory on the couch, taking his phone back. Ten years. Ten years since he met Gregory. Ten years since Evan had been that little ball of anxiety. Ten years since the best thing that ever happened to him.

Nine years since their first holidays together. Eight years since they started high school. Four since they graduated. Three since they started college.

One year since they got their first apartment together.

Evan chuckles all of the sudden, loud as a jet engine in the seemingly silent room. "Do you remember what we always wanted to do as kids?"

Gregory only has to think for a moment. "You mean what we made a reality?"

"Yeah." Evan replies. "We got that apartment. Not exactly the college dorm we imagined, though."

"Psh. Are you kidding? Our apartment is way better than any dorm we could have gotten." Gregory scoffs. "We would have like. One room to our name, and we would have to share."

Its Evan's turn to scoff, this time. He smiles, the memories coming back easily. "You're acting like we didnt basically share your room when we were thirteen."

"You were always there." Gregory agrees, but Evan knows by now that Gregory doesn't mean it in a bad way. Never. That's one of the things that have changed since they met. Evan doesnt assume the worst first, and ask questions later anymore. "You got that right."

"Thank god we had Vanessa to tell us what to do." Evan says. "We would be lost without her."

Gregory snorts, shuffling on the couch. Evan glances over, and strangely, being here, in this moment, even though its nothing differnet from what he and Gregory do every day, reminds him so much of when he and Gregory would just hang out together on his bed. Drawing, watching videos, talking and laughing... all of it.

"Its a good thing she told us to get an apartment while we still could." Gregory says. "We would have burned down the entire dorm."

Evan giggles at the thought. It wouldn't be the first time he and Gregory would make a mess in the kitchen. He still remembers how scared he was as a fourteen year old, when he had burned some of the food meant for Vanessa's 'Welcome Home' dinner Gregory insisted they make. The Fazbears house had stunk of char and smoke for days afterwards.

He was terrified at the time. If he had ever done anything like that at his old house...

He shakes that thought away. He does that often. Thinking back to his time alone with his father and brother. His biological ones. It's been a challenge, shutting down his brain when it tries to recall the memories.

Its another thing that's changed. As a kid, he knew nothing about helping himself and his anxiety. He didnt want to. He never saw himself as worthy of deserving relief, and it was so subconscious, little Evan never even realized it.

Now, it couldn't be more different. Hes never been healthier.

Who knew all it took was a best friend for life?

He looks over at Gregory. Who's still recounting some of their old childhood memories. Evan doesnt talk to Michael anymore. The damage he caused is too much to ignore. Evan... Evan doesnt want to see him anymore. Despite Michaels wake up call, it had been all too late. The damage had been done.

Michael missed his chance. Evan had decided that a long time ago. Maybe he should have had his change if heart earlier if he didnt want Evan to find the brother he always wanted in someone else.

Because that's what Gregory is. Its nothing new, they were having these revelations when they were only teenagers. Probably even earlier for Evan. But Evan never stops thinking about how much Gregory truly is his family.

That suprise and shock of the kindness hed received from Gregory from little Evan ten years ago is hard to shake when all hed been taught his whole life is how to hate himself. How he deserved to be treated badly, because if he hadn't been the way he was, he could have made himself worthy. A respectable man. Tough. An immovable rock. Real men dont show their emotions, or even experience them. Real men can defend themselves. Real men start to toughen up at the ripe age of twelve.

Evan is twenty two, now. So is Gregory. This life they'd built for themselves, with such a bright future... little Evan never would have even dreamed of. Little Evan had thought there was nothing there for him. Little Evan had thought there was no light at the end of the tunnel. That he had been doomed from the start. That his nature nipped his figure at the bud before it could begin.

This life theyve built for themselves. When Evan had ran to the Fazbears as soon as he'd turned eighteen with only a bag of clothes, a binder full of drawings, and yellow bear to his name. When he'd shared the room that felt like his own as well growing up with Gregory. When they'd spent those few months together until getting into the same college and choosing an apartment.

This life theyve built for themselves. That Evan would have only seen as a fantasy when he was eleven.

Theyve changed so much. It always shocks Evan every time he sees an old photo, or really remembers what it had been like pre-Gregory. Evan is growing out his hair, now. Before, all hed ever had was a months overgrown generic slickback. But he gets to choose now. Like how he paints his nails. Gregory has never really cared about his appearance, but he saw a photo of his Dad as a college student and immediately went to go replicate the blue streaks in his hair when it was time for himself to go off to college.

Evan almost laughs sometimes when he thinks about how much Gregory really is just an older version of who he was when he was twelve. He's different, like Evan is, but he's the same as well. A constant.

He knows hes the same, as well. Just with longer hair, bolder clothes, and the power of experimentation. Gregory has never been one to care much about his clothes, but to Evan, its everything. To be able to wear what he always wanted as a kid. To not be confined to whatever annual clothes his Father would buy him from the back to school section. Its freeing.

It's in that moment that he thinks back, really thinks back to his life pre-Gregory, and the contrast of the before and after.

It's all too much, in that moment. The memories and the sentiments and the nostalgia. In true Evan fashion, he cries about it.

Gregory has long since learned how to differentiate Evan's tears between his emotionality and a genuine issue. So when Evan begins wiping silent tears away, he just smiles one of those smiles he does, and pats him on the shoulder, pulling him in for a side hug.

Its digging a hole in Evan's chest, this feeling. It's not bad. But it's not exactly good either. It's some kind of a loss, but a hope as well. Remembering how much he loved back then. As much as he loves right now.

"I--" Evan stutters, sniffling. Gregory hands him one of the many boxes of tissues they always have on hand in their apartment. "It... It feels like we need to celebrate, somehow. I mean... ten years is big."

Evans mind floats to a cake. Or a two person party. Or a collaborated drawing. Evan's mind floats to many things. Many options. Ten years is big, right? Something that big needs a big party. Something big to commemorate it.

But Gregory just hums, and lays eyes on the thick shelf of DVDs they have tucked by the wall right by their TV. "How about a movie night?"

Evan's about to interrupt, say something about the milestone, but Gregory continues. "Do you remember all our favorites as a kid?"

Evan stops himself short, almost scoffing, because of couse he does. How could he not, when he and Gregory had stayed up so many times to watch them together, alongside stifled giggles and ice cream straight out of the carton? "Of course I do."

Gregory gets off the couch, crouching by the bookshelf and picking out a select few movies. Evan catches the titles on the packaging from all the way were hes sitting. Every single one of them is special to him.

Gregory deposits the movies on their coffee table, three DVDs spilling out onto the glass surface. "Then I can't think of a better way to spend the night."

Despite Evan's attempts, he cant either. Despite watching these movies almost regularly with Gregory even now, opening the casing feels different in this moment. It feels special. Evan feels like hes thirteen again.

Before starting their marathon, they make a huge bowl of popcorn, pouring caramel on it just how they liked it as kids. As they continue to now. Evan gets the carton of ice cream out of the fridge, handing Gregory his spoon and taking his own.

All they need is a throw blanket and they're ready. It's the exact setup they've done for years. Starting ten years ago today. This tradition has lasted this long, and it will outlive the milestone.

It feels so familiar, Evan cant stop thinking. His emotions are dialed up to eleven tonight. It only increases when the sky darkens outside their windows. He remembers coming home from school with Gregory and just. Immediately piling onto his bed with snacks and pillows and turning the lights off before they'd dive into another movie. Only going to bed when Freddy forced them to.

Because that's what it was. Thats what it still is. Home. All Evan feels right now is home.

They laugh at all the same parts. They cry as well. They cheer. They point out the same things. Nothing has changed.

Sure, ten years is big. But Evan can't think of a better way of spending the anniversary than continuing to do what hes loved to do with Gregory throughout the years. This doesnt mark the end of an era, or a big change. It marks how long hes had the gift of his brother. His family. His real family. The fifteenth mark will, as well. So will the twentieth.

All the tenth mark says is hes had ten years worth of joy and growth. and He'll continue to do just that.

After the third movie, Evan takes a quick look at his phone. The numbers 12:03 look back at him from his lockscreen, a picture of him and Gregory. The date has switched to the 5th.

"You're my brother." Evan says suddenly to Gregory at the beginning of the fourth movie. Gregory pauses in stuffing his face with popcorn to look over at Evan's earnest face. "You know that?"

Gregory chuckles wetly. It seems Evan isn't alone in the sentimentality tonight. "Only since we were preteens."

Gregory pulls him into that same side hug he always does. "You're my family." Gregory tells him sincerely. "You always will be, too. Hell would freeze over before our family would ever say you aren't one of theirs."

Evan chuckles, eyes misty, because he knows its true. He can imagine his family's reactions so vividly. "I know."

They only sink further into the hug after that, the movie continuing on. Theyve long since stopped with the thank yous. Not since they got it through Evan's thick skull that they arent doing him a favor. They just love him.

It's in that moment that Evan realizes that tomorrow is another day. And there are more after that and after that. Theres more milestones to reach, more years to spend with his brother and their family, and he cant wait to experience them.

But right now, he's content continuing a ten year long tradition as a mundane celebration for a non-mundane achievement.

It's not mundane to him at all, anyway. It means the world to him.

Besides, he can't imagine a world where his family doesn't throw a suprise party for him when he and Gregory visit them tomorrow.

ao3 link

[renabe4life]

Something feels off as he goes through the motions, and it's not just that his neck is stiff from sleeping funny. Or that his knee still faintly hurts from knocking it against the tub last night. No surprise there, probably sporting the start of a lovely bruise.

Splashing water on his face, he then reaches for the hand towel. Fingers clutch at air, find an empty ring where one usually hangs. Odd, he remembers it being there yesterday. He shakes hands out over the sink, lets his face drip a few moments more before turning around to grab one from the shelf. Nearly empty. Right, he thinks as he dries his face. He'd done a load of wash last night.

Hopefully got all the blood out.

Blood…?

He drops the towel from his face, eyes darting to the tub. In the dim morning light that filters in through the window, he can see that it is half full with water. And it hits him like a truck that there ought be something else in there too.

[thejacketscloset]

Soap hates when he gets really angry, and i mean really angry. He always felt like anger was an ugly emotion, one that brought out the worst in people, and he knows there's no exception for what it does to himself.

When he really feels rage, it's almost hopeless for him to focus on anything else. All he knows in those moments is the way his mind feels like it's boiling and the itching need to release all the pent up energy in a blind rampage.

Nothing really seems to calm him down when he's gotten to that level either, but he has promised himself to never let that anger out around others. So, he holds it in as best as he can until he gets a moment alone, typically in his room. Then, the chaos is let loose.

There's nothing that is left in his mind when the frustration has grown so much it takes over, only a loop of who's to blame, what's gone wrong, different ideas of what he could be channeling his anger at. He has a physical need to get it all out. He pushes all the items off of his desk, letting them crash and fall miserably around his room. He rips up his own personal items, pictures he may have saved recently, pages from his journal, anything that he can get his hands on.

When the chaos finally settles, his anger turns to shame. His frustration only gets turned back on itself. He fights off tears as he picks up and repairs the mess he's made, guilty that he let himself cause so much destruction. He tries to sob as quietly as he can when he fails to fight them off, too ashamed to let anyone know what has happened. He mourns the drawings and pages he's destroyed, not understanding why he would ever want to ruin them.

[parkercore-69]

thank you J.R.R. Tolkien for writing the most devastating romantic subplot in your lotr books without even realising it

[neonjstr]

the most terrible scene in Fluids to me is the one with daniel's wife and lauren (you know the one). the first time i read the book i skimmed over that part but on my second or third read through i read it fully and genuinely felt physically nauseous. like light headed and everything.

11/10 book, have read it 4 times 🤗

[the---hermit]

me: i'm too tired to review my notes for tomorrow's philosophy exam again

also me: *spends one hour and a half studying Irish vocab and grammar*

[embyrinitalics]

Hi 😍

Hap hap new year!

How is the novel going? Are you enjoying the process?

This is so sweet! Thank you for asking!

Since this is the first original novel I'm actually approaching seriously and my process is totally different from normal, I'm going to use this ask as an excuse to journal about it. So, fair warning, you're probably about to get way more info than you bargained for. 😁 ONWARD!

I think first and foremost the process has been weird because I don't KNOW these characters. I've been writing Link and Zelda for 20+ years and even when I throw them into alternate universes or give them personality transplants I still can just dive right in. Starting this from scratch has been a lot of world building and a lot of taking my characters out on "dates" which aren't so much dates as they are writing excursions into the emotionally tormented unknown to see how they react. 😂

I jot down all the ideas that randomly strike me in this handy dandy notebook that I carry around everywhere just in case:

And that's a bit of a funny story. I love having notebooks to write stuff down in, but I recently discovered thanks to the course I took that I place very low value on my writing (and by extension myself in general I guess oops) so I never bought myself a nice notebook just for story notes because that would've been a waste of 5 dollars.

But between Emma Dhesi's course pushing me to assign appropriate value to myself and Ellen Brock's Intuitive Pantser video assuring me that my urges to compile all my notes into a notebook was good for my brain and not just a waste of time and paper, I eventually went out and spent that 5 bucks (actually $20—three notebooks for future endeavors!). And I LOVE MY NOTEBOOK! 🥰

Another thing I wouldn't have spent the money on in the past but took the plunge on is the Atticus program.

It's a project organizer, word processor, and book formatting software. I'm really enjoying it! It has a toggle window on the side where you can see how your book will look on various devices or in print, and easy buttons for things like writing sprints, word count goals, deadlines, and the like. It also makes me feel fancier than google docs ever did, so there's that. 😎

Emma Dhesi is also a big proponent of Goal Anchors—small things you accomplish and surround yourself with that cyclically trains your brain to believe that your dream is possible, and you are in the process of achieving it. (It also gives you goals you can do that move you closer to finishing your book that isn't actual writing, in case that feels intimidating.)

So I made an image of the title page the background on my phone, to remind myself that it's real and it's happening. I decluttered my writing room and started finding items to make it a comfortable creative space for myself. I went to the store for the express purpose of purchasing a special tea to drink while I write. I spent time making a playlist of songs with just the right vibes.

I also found the best candle scent ever, only wear these super comfy slippers in there, and just got myself this slammin t-shirt from Gideon's Bakehouse to wear. (Her name is Poppy. She's on a new path of self-discovery and adventure, just like me.)

But most of all, Emma insists that confidence comes from doing, and that the best way to write a book is to make a routine of it. She suggested starting with 20 minutes three times a week. I was up to between 1-2 hours a day starting at 7am, 5-6 days a week before I went on vacation and upended everything. 😂

So I guess that means I'm enjoying it! It's still scary and frustrating and directionless sometimes but more than anything it's just happening, which is the coolest thing ever.

[doublemyheight]

OLBA week 2024, day 1 Mer-folk, hosted by the lovely: @olba-week-event

There was a beach that Cove loved more than any other. His parents had said before that there were “better safer beaches” but he didn't care.

His favorite was special to him, and he would visit over and over again. It was sandy, nearby a human town, but few visited his favorite section of the long beach line. Shells would wash ashore and he liked searching through them, and the ones hidden under the water. He wouldn’t keep all of them, a lot of the time he would pick a few up, carry them around until he put them in a new spot. Sometimes he would like a shell so much that he would take it back home, but when that happened he usually took a shell from his collection and put it on the beach. Like a rotation of shells.

Cove’s actual favorite thing about the beach was you.

You were his favorite thing about the beach, he’d seen a lot of beaches, and a lot of human’s. But you were the best of the best, and the beach was where he could meet and talk.

And there was a lot to talk about. The two of you shared information about your separate worlds at the one place where your worlds connected.

You two would talk about the differences in schooling the two of you were in. How the different creatures of your worlds looked, and acted like, how humans and mer called a fish species a different name. There were a lot of animals on land, and Cove asked about a lot of them.

You asked about what it was like living underwater, Cove didn’t know how to describe it since it was all he ever had known, but you listened intently. Listening about mer homes, and culture, and the language, and food, pets, art even.

The two worlds you both lived in were so different, and both of you spent a lot of time talking about the differences.

There were some things that were the same, the both of you collected shells, hated the trash in the ocean, hated school at times, and lived in a town that was pretty small in comparison to ones nearby.

Cove loved one beach the most. Loved one human the most. And he would spend his days with the two things he loved whenever he could.

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I think I accidentally made Wriothesley AuDHD. fuck