#now i have my own fictional universe which i do plan on writing books surrounding it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seokiloquy · 4 years

Text

Pumpkin Spice - Miya Osamu

AU: Regular, coffee shop(?)

Server Collab (Linked)

Tags/Warnings: GN Reader, swearing, time-skip spoilers

Word Count: 9.2k+

Working at a cafe in the middle of the busy streets of Tokyo’s business sector often led to many customers in need of a nice brew and in association, tips. Lots of tips that often fell into your pocket at the end of the day. The pay was good enough and made up for the moderately long commute from your campus that you spent sleeping on the train. On top of that, your boss was the nicest and most supportive old woman in downtown Tokyo.

The interior of the cafe was soft and homey in comparison to the reflective silver exterior of the building outside. Seats with red vinyl cushions filled the open area leading to the wooden top counter that you worked behind, mixing up whatever ludicrous drink they asked for. The customers loved you. You loved the money. It was the best.

It was sunny that day, people were smiling for once as they walked to work for once. The traffic was light, people weren’t running late, and to top it all off you had just gotten an email that morning with the mark for your latest assignment, a perfect grade.

“We’re closing.”

“Like, just for today, right?” you asked Juri, brows furrowed as a disbelieving smile pulled on your face as if you were being pranked. She gave you a sad look. “Right?” you repeated, pouring in a measured amount of coffee beans into the espresso machine.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” Juri gasped. “The building owner jacked up the renting price and I just can’t afford it now.”

You reached behind you for the counter, gripping it tightly between your fingers as you pulled yourself closer to slump onto it. A dull ache began to grow right between your eyes. “Don’t apologize, Juri. There’s nothing you can do. I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” she spoke after a moment, skating over the thin ice that froze over your conversation. “You can spend more time studying now at least, university gets harder in your final year.”

“University’s the reason I needed this job though.” You walked around Juri’s stout form, reaching for the coffee machine, grabbing hold of a mug and readying yourself for the freshly pressed beans. “I have to pay for it somehow.”

“(Y/N), darling, maybe a three shot espresso isn’t the best thing to have right now.”

You gave the old woman a sour look over your shoulder before shooting back the mug of dark bean soup. Immediately, your tongue tried to escape your mouth. “Oh god, you,” you gagged momentarily. “You were right. That was horrid.” An uncomfortable shiver ran over your shoulders and through your spine.

Juri’s wrinkled hand came to rest over the black strap of your apron that hung desperately to your shoulder, squeezing it tightly to the point of bruising. She pulled you down roughly and flicked your forehead with her nail. “Stupid,” she chastised.

Walking to the sink, she grabbed the mug you held and rinsed it out before handing it back to you, filled to the brim with cold water. She rubbed your back, encouraging you to suck back the water to rid the bitter taste from the corners of your mouth. “If you want, I’ll write up a letter of recommendation for your resume.”

“I’m not sure whoever would hire me would take the time to read it, no one uses reference letters anymore. But thank you, I’d appreciate it.”

She smiled, making the wrinkles on her face shift slightly. “Anything for you sweetheart. Besides, you’ll need every advantage you can get with your horrid cooking.”

On your last day of work, Juri sent you off into the dark streets of Tokyo with a notebook filled with homebrew, baking and cooking recipes —the last two being one’s you have never and likely never will touch— and a container of cookies that she had made that morning.

The book, in and of itself, was innocent enough. A relatively mute earthy colour palette that made flowery designs from one edge to the other. But, you knew there had to be some secret spells of torture within the pages, or just something that you’d injure yourself with.

Not even a day later, far into the night, a sugar-covered cookie was left forgotten on your table as you scrolled through job listings on your computer, occasionally getting distracted by the scantily clad fictional characters that promoted a game on the edges of the webpage. You reached for the cookie, shooting your eyes back to the list and scrolling.

Your dorm was rather modest, more like a small apartment when compared to some of the other dorms on campus though. Which admittedly saved you money and made it more expensive at once. With your own kitchen and modest living space attached to a bedroom and bathroom, you successfully managed to isolate yourself from any other students in the building for just an extra fee. Luckily, having a kitchen meant that the school didn’t supply you with food, saving you money, but also leaving you starving since the only recipes you had in your head were for coffee. Moment’s spent in your kitchen alone with a grumbling stomach sometimes made you wish you were roomed with another person, or had taken the university's food plan. Curse your late teenage pride.

The walls were off white, surrounding a room filled with mostly dark furniture —namely navy— and reflecting the light that came off your computer screen. They made large shadows against your floor and walls. Your two fingers swept along the mousepad, moving the dry list up your screen. You bit into the cookie, quickly scarfing it down and clawing for another, mumbling to yourself as you skimmed over all the nanny jobs, and full-time positions. Corporations that would likely not give you enough pay were quickly forgotten, also.

The neighbours above you were playing study music rather loudly, letting the smooth sounds seep through the walls gently, it made you want to sleep, they probably had an essay to work on. You sighed, rubbing your eyes before sparing a glance at the time displayed in the corner of your screen. 1:32 am. Swallowing down the tired taste in your mouth, you swiped your fingers harshly against the pad, entirely too tired to do any more thinking and letting the loading screen of the website choose your job for you. You threw your head back, slumping into your seat with a worried wince, desperately hoping that you wouldn’t regret it.

You squinted at the top result of the most recent listings. “Huh.”

The black uniform wearing man scratched his head through his matching, logo crested hat, making it shift slightly to reveal his dyed hair underneath it. You sat silently on the plush stool at the counter as the older man —he couldn’t be much older than you, could he?— skimmed through your resume lightly before reading the reference letter Juri had written for you. The sweater he wore tightened at each opening, puffing out into what looked like a cozy crewneck. Definitely not the most common uniform for a food establishment, but you wouldn’t complain, it was starting to get colder. He rested his elbow on the counter-table, turning the top of his stool to face you directly.

“You’ve never worked in food before?”

The open-concept space of the man’s restaurant/cafe seemed to close in rapidly, making the light brown tables and decorations blend in with the white walls and red seats. The colours spun in your vision, blurring all your surroundings except for the tall, hunched man in front of you. He seemed to pop off the screen of your static vision with a halo of light surrounding him. You blinked rapidly, mentally shooing away the loopy visions. There wasn’t enough sleep in your system. That and it felt like you were about to be penalized.

Noticing his intense, stoic eye-contact, heat from your stomach rushed up to your cheeks and ears. He had pretty, grey eyes. Your lungs vibrated under your sternum as you tried to suck in enough air to speak. A bashful smile crept onto your face as your fingers fiddled together, occasionally dragging the pad of your thumb over the length of your nails.

“If I’m being honest, I’ve never been very good in the kitchen. Juri, my old boss, wouldn’t let me help her with baking the pastries because I would always burn myself. I’m working on it though.” That was a lie, a total lie. You weren’t working at it at all. You continued, laughing at yourself, “Because of that, Juri always had me doing beverages. So when I saw you were looking for a barista, I applied.” Well, that was only a partial lie.

The silver-haired man chuckled lightly, “I received your request for an interview, your request, 5 minutes after I posted the listing.”

Biting your lip, you reached for a napkin from one of the dispensers as you forced yourself to maintain eye contact. He seemed to enjoy watching your fingers fiddle with the limp piece of paper. You coughed, “Is that a good thing? Cause my desperate self is in need of a job. I’ll even risk burning my hands off if that’s what’s needed.”

He laughed again, taking the black, curve-rimmed hat off his head and set your papers down next to it on the sleek wooden counter. “(L/N), relax. I am looking for another barista, I had my previous one go work at our second location because it’s closer to home. So I’m short-handed and know only the basics about coffee, and with winter fast approaching I need help.”

You ripped the tissue paper in your hand in half before compiling it and stuffing it quickly into your pocket. “Does that mean I’m hired? Cause I need to pay for my tuition.” He watched, an amused smile pulling at his face, he stood up gesturing for you to follow him. With an awkward grin, you followed his silent instruction.

The rectangular counter you were sitting at wrapped around the back corner, creating a two-metre space walkway that led to the bathrooms and cut off an unlabeled wooden door from being easily accessed by customers. You followed his steps, watching his black Adidas sneakers step over the lines of the large wood floor panels. He opened the wooden door, gesturing you inside, before pulling a box off of the shelf that sat against the back wall and dropping it onto the counter next to a sink. Pulling out a cozy-looking crewneck sweater with a proud and yet desperate smile.

“This is the kitchen and break room,” he said, throwing out an arm to the rest of the large space, before walking back over to you, sweater and cap in hand. “Can you come in tomorrow? I can show you the ropes.”

“I’m sorry Miss, but we don’t have that drink here, it's not the season yet.” You smiled apologetically at the older woman who was digging through her bag in frustration. You hated telling customers little white lies, the feeling dug at the sides of your stomach each time you had to. It was becoming more frequent with October fast approaching.

“I’m sorry too,” she replied, letting her purse drop onto the counter with a smack. “My daughter has been nagging me all day to pick up one of these drinks and no one has it yet.”

You flexed and clenched your fist underneath the counter before adjusting your cap to try and give the woman a confident facade. “We’ll be getting the ingredients next week, so hopefully she can hold off until then. For now, would you like some onigiri? They’re freshly made.”

“Please.”

After ringing up the woman’s total and sending her out the door with a wave, you turned to your co-worker with an anxious grin. Taichi scoffed in response, openly laughing in your face. “You have to stop lying to our customers!” he berated with a lopsided expression.

“I know, I know! But I hate seeing them annoyed or upset. I can’t help it that they keep asking for a drink that we can’t make!”

The 1st year university student (who you quickly found out went to the same school as you) chuckled, leaning against the onigiri display. “What are the ingredients for it anyway?” he asked, watching you rest your hip against the counter next to the cash register.

“One cup of pumpkin puree, half a cup of sugar, half a teaspoon of pumpkin spice seasoning but that’s optional. That’s to make the pumpkin sauce. Then you need a quarter cup of pumpkin sauce, two ounces of espresso, eight ounces of milk, and then whipped cream and cinnamon on top,” you listed, staring off onto the floor.

“You have that memorized?” Taichi asked rhetorically, mouth hanging open.

You crossed your arms. “I’ve been working as a barista for over 3 years now. You start to remember things.”

Taichi lifted his hat, taking a moment to ruffle his straight cut black hair before setting it back down on his head. “Well, you can just ask Miya to order some, right?”

Snapping your finger, you sent the younger boy a finger gun with a pensive look pulling your eyebrows upward, “I hadn’t thought about that.”

On your next shift, after an early morning lecture about the global economy and stock market (which you tried not to sleep through), you walked into the break room to find your silver-headed boss curl over the edge of the small round table in the corner of the room while sitting on the old futon next to it, hair tousled in an oddly pleasant way. His hands moved quickly as he scribbled into the papers before him, the tight grip on his pen making his muscles flex slightly in his arm, that was made visible by his rolled up sleeves.

You quickly looked to your shoes, trying to calm your breathing down. “Um, Miya,” you called lightly, trying not to startle him. Nearly dropping the pen in his hand, he looked up. “Sorry,” you said, pulling your hands into the sleeves of your uniform.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m almost done,” he said, watching your fidgeting hands. “Did you need something?”

“Pumpkin sauce.”

He gave you a strange look, nose scrunching as a single eyebrow lifted. “Pumpkin sauce? Oh right, that’s a thing isn’t it?” Miya said as if just remembering the time of year, looking away from your wiggling fingers to the empty kitchen across from him.

You gulped. “Yes, for pumpkin spice lattes. A lot of customers have been asking about it.”

He raised the other eyebrow in your direction, trying to strangle down a teasing laugh. “You lied to the customers didn’t you?”

“I might have told a little white lie so they wouldn’t get upset.”

Miya sighed, holding eye contact with you for a moment, before signing the last sheet of paper in front of him with an entertained smile. He looked back up while gathering the papers into a neat pile. “I’ll get an order in by next week.”

“Thank you.”

Why did you ever decide that philosophy was a good thing to take in university? Seriously. What were you thinking? You stared at the empty document before you, blinking tiredly as you groaned.

Aesthetics. The first unit that your professor chose to discuss for a university-level because it’s likely the easiest to discuss. The essay itself was more introductory than anything. The instructions were to write an essay about how aesthetics and attraction to particular aesthetics are created, how society plays a role, and finally, your own personal stance.

You clearly remember glaring at the young professor when she said she wanted to gain a deeper understanding of each student. That’s for high school, you thought, mentally going over the three years of university you’ve already suffered through. Then again, maybe an easy grade. The only downside was that even though you’ve gone through nearly a decade and a half of school, you’ve never been good at writing an introspective piece.

“Professor Suzuki, How introspective should it be exactly?” you had asked her after the lecture had finished.

She gave you a sharp pointy smile with a light, slow shrug. “However much you think is needed. But I do want to learn about you and your experiences.”

Your brows were pinched together tightly, as you tried to understand. “So like an attraction autobiography?” That's deeply concerning.

She never did give you a clear response after that. Dancing around the direct answer you needed to hear. She must’ve been a high school literature teacher at some point.

A self-deprecating chuckle escaped you, making the younger boy who was lazing about on your couch turn his attention away from the tv. “What crawled into your pants?” Taichi asked, pouring the last remains of your chip bag into his mouth.

“I have to write about stuff for a philosophy essay.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of an essay?” The empty chip bag crinkled loudly in his hands as they folded the plastic messily.

You scowled at him. “If you’re going to be a smart ass you can stop eating my food and go back to your dorm.” Standing up from your kitchen counter, you scanned the junk-filled counters, eyes landing on the small carpet patterned notebook that sat sadly on the corner edge.

Taichi ran up from his seat, pleading for you to not send him out, claiming that his roommate was mean and hogged up the whole space. You partially ignored him, letting his yapping ring numbly in your ear as you flipped through Juri’s old recipe book.

“Wanna help me make cookies?” you asked, turning your head his way and effectively cutting off his rambling.

He paused, letting his bottom lip hang open before snapping it shut in a cautious sneer. “You’re deciding to bake? I’d rather risk getting bullied by my roommate. Bye.” He ran out of the dorm. Ran.

“God, my baking skills don’t warrant that kind of a reaction, jeez,” you huffed to yourself, slamming the notebook shut. No longer in the mood to experiment in the kitchen.

“Did the new rice come in?” the blond asked, letting his whole torso lie flat on the short table extension of the main counter.

The light click of a plate resonated in the empty restaurant. “You’re lucky,” the grey-haired one said, monotone response making the other look up to the large, meat-filled onigiri waiting for him on the porcelain plate. “Fresh shipment just came in this morning.” At the entrance of the building, the bell attached to the door sang lightly as it opened. Notifying your entrance, while a cool autumn breeze rolled past you. “Speaking of shipment. (L/N), the pumpkin sauce came in!”

You unravelled the scarf around your neck as you walked, giving your boss a large grin that made him gulp slightly. “Really? That's amazing, Miya..” The blond, noticing the other man’s reaction upon your entrance, spun in his chair, making his honey brown eyes meet yours. “There’s t-two. Two of you?” The scarf you had taken off sat limply in your hand as you stared off blankly at the two identical men.

“(L/N), this is my brother. You can call him Atsumu.”

The blonde sent you a small vibrating wave and a smirk, leaning his elbow against the counter as he tilted his head in your direction. With tightened brows and a tight, awkward smile, you nodded in response, bowing as your hand began to grip your colourful scarf a bit tighter. The blond followed up his brother’s introduction. “If you’re gonna call me Atsumu, you might as well address him as Samu.”

“Samu?” You questioned.

Over the table, ‘Samu’ smacked his brother with the black cap from his head. Hitting his shoulder with a loud smack before facing you. “Osamu is fine.”

You nodded hesitantly before bowing again. “Call me (Y/N), then. The both of you.” Facing your silver-haired boss, who still gripped his black baseball cap tightly between his fingers, you pointed to the back room with a meek smile. “I’m gonna go put my stuff down. Sorry for being a bit behind. I was up late working on an essay.”

Osamu nodded. “Sure thing, I have a new recipe for you to try out when you come back out,” giving you an understanding smile before ushering you off to the back, watching the folds of your jacket move with each step. He gulped. As soon as your back fell behind the door frame's edge, he weaponized his flimsy hat again, making the older twin howl as the top button hit his temple.

“What was that for?!” the fake blond screeched.

Osamu sent him a deadly glare. “Don’t flirt with my employee. They’re too young for you.”

“We’re the same age, Samu,” Atsumu teased, as he dropped his voice a couple of semitones. “I don’t see you restraining yourself.”

Atsumu left Onigiri Miya with a number of small bruises running along his hairline that morning. Though, he refused to leave without sending you a request to watch his upcoming game. “I want to have everyone watching,” he said, forgetting to even tell you what you’d be seeing, leaving his younger twin to take the burden.

You sat on one of the red plush stools, swinging it side to side and Osamu stood on the other side of the counter, onigiri filled plate in hand. He wore a hesitant grin as he set the plate down in front of you. Then, he started talking as he walked around the counter. “They’re slightly different than the ones I usually make so they look a bit weird, but we had the ingredients so I thought I'd play around with the different flavours.”

The store was empty. As expected for an early Saturday morning. It was also windy outside, making the inside of Onigiri Miya feel that much warmer as the howling wind ran loudly against the glass wall of the entrance, occasionally making the polyester awning above the entrance flap around like paper.

You gave him an encouraging smile as he walked around your seated form, nearest hand brushing over the length of your shoulders through the black sweater. A chill ran down your spine as his hand fell from the end of your shoulder. He sat down beside you, spinning the stool to face you head-on, much like how you both were during your interview. “I’m sure they taste great. What are the fillings?” you asked, reaching for one-half of the two pairs of onigiri on the plate.

“Well, since the pumpkin sauce came in, I figured I would play around with it a bit,” he said, reaching for one of his own.

Once you bit into the centre of the rice ball the smooth sweet flavour of the sauce rolled over your tongue. The orange sauce dyed the rice on the inside, making the colour soak in the individual grains. You let the flavour sit on your tongue for a moment. “Were you going for a sweet onigiri?”

Osamu chuckled a bit. “Kind of. I made the other one more savoury though.”

You looked at the other slightly misshapen onigiri on the plate, then up at the maker of them, meeting his eyes with a kind supportive smile. “The choice is yours,” you said, taking one off the platter and taking a large bite out of it. “But I think they’re both pretty tasty.”

“Really?” he asked, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning toward you in earnest. “Not too sweet or bland?”

“They’re perfect. Just like the chef who made them," you complimented happily.

Osamu flushed slightly, trying to pout as he chewed away at his onigiri. "You don't have to be so nice, they still look a bit lopsided."

"Does the appearance of the food really matter? I thought the taste was the biggest factor," you teased lightly. Whenever you made a brew for a customer, most never really cared if there was a cute design sprinkled on the top, or if the layers were visible from the side of their plastic cup if they took it to go. All you ever focused on was the taste, and when the 7 am rush comes through, patrons are typically too tired to even care about the look so long as they get their dose of coffee in.

"Do you never look at the exterior of things? Most consumers judge their first impressions of things based on their appearance. Like book covers."

You furrowed your brow. "I've never really thought about it. A lot of the books I read are digital now so there's no need for a fancy cover."

"What about people then," he prompted, leaning further forward, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. His normally grey eyes seemed to hold tints of the honey brown from those of his sibling. "Have you ever... let's say, been attracted to someone based on their appearance alone?"

Your gaze shot back and forth between his eyes and the fringe of his silver lightly brushing over his eyebrow before finally settling on his left, blown out pupil that started more directly at yours. "Maybe subconsciously." It came out in a light whisper.

The bell at the entrance rang, a ragged, tired looking suit-clad woman wobbled in. Eyes blinking slowly as she waved her hand in the air. "Light roast, double shot espresso with whipped cream! I am running late!"

You shot out of your seat, knocking off Osamu's hat by the brim with your own, before grabbing a mug from over the counter and rushing to the mixtures. "On it!"

"Thank you," she panted, handing her card to Osamu to ring up.

Your head and shoulder twitched as you bounced on your toes outside the glass wall of Onigiri Miya. The wet concrete and frozen air of the early morning made the idea of curling against the polished glass with your face tucked into your scarf all the more tempting. Another silver tickled your spine.

Groaning you spun around to face the golden brown and red streets. Wind carried the dry leaves over their drowned sibling until falling into a puddle themselves. You closed your eyes, trying to redirect the heat in your body to your hands that were tucked into your pockets, clenched tightly.

Something cold lightly smacked against your nose and eyelids.

Cracking your eyes open, your lashes pushed against a brown decaying wall that blocked out all the light of the early morning. When it was away, leaving a cold residue behind, the light made your squint.

“You're here early,” the silver haired man said, tossing the old leaf over his shoulder before pulling a collection of keys from his coat pocket and gently tucked you out of the door with his free hand. Opening it up, he placed the keys into his back jean pocket.

“Did you just give me a face mask with an old leaf?”

“Sure did,” he said, matter-a-factly. “Why are you here so early? You’re not a morning person.”

You followed him through the glass door, letting him take the responsibility of flicking off the lights as you pulled your coats and scarf off. “You said today was your brother's game, I didn’t know what time, so I figured I'd be here a bit early.”

Mouth open, Osamu stared at you without blinking, as if searching for a joke. “You know most post games happen in the evening right?”

“So I’m here early for nothing then.”

The two of you walked through the empty restaurant, coats slung over your arms as you conversed.

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he teased, hanging up his coat on the hanger in the back, lifting the bottom hem of his shirt slightly. “You get to work.”

“Yay,” you yawned, reaching for your uniform sweatshirt.

“For money.” He added.

He had trouble making you laugh throughout the morning, only receiving yawns and frustrated pout in response as you made coffee for all the equally tired customers.

You’ve never seen a volleyball game before, only ever having tried to play during gym class in high school. On top of that, you never understood the rules, but you blamed that on the phys ed teacher rather than your own inability.

The live recording of Astumu’s game was being played on multiple sports channels. It got pulled up on the large screen of the tv that sat against the wall 30 minutes before the game even started. Osamu stood with you and Taichi —who had made it to work at a reasonable time to watch the game—, explaining the rules and positions over layers of customer chatter, as he made onigiri in view of the game instead of in the back where he normally worked. He pointed to the screen.

“That’s Hinata in the opposite hitter position. He pretty much does the same thing as Bokuto,” he shifted his arms angle to point to the duo-tones haired player on the screen. “An outside hitter.” Then, facing you, he watched as your nose scrunched in thought.

“What makes them different, then?” Beside you, Taichi nodded along, handing a customer a plate of onigiri.

“Their orientation with the setter,” Osamu replied. Before letting out a loud cheer, fist clenched and elbow tucking quickly into his side as his brother scored another point.

You let out a loud, exasperated laugh, shaking your head slightly. “There are a lot of rules and stuff you want me to memorize.” On the other side of the counter, a girl came up to stand in front of you, asking for a pumpkin spice latte. “Sure thing. Taichi, ring her up for me would you?” you asked, making your way to the coffee machines that sat along the length of the counters, continuing to talk to Osamu.

You looked at the available ingredients. “We’re gonna need more pumpkin sauce.”

“I’ll order it. Is it that confusing?” He asked, following you to the machines.

Mug in hand, you gave Osamu an unsure look as you reached for the whipped cream, stretching your arm only to knock it farther away. “A little? But at least their mascot is cute.”

“The black jackal?” he laughed, taking hold of the whipped sugar and placing it in your open palm, to which you smiled in thanks. He quickly diverted his gaze, staring at the blank walls as he bit inside of his cheek. “Didn’t even bother to listen to me ramble then, too busy gushing over the cute mascot. I thought visual exteriors weren’t important to you.”

“Oh shut up, I was listening,” you scoffed haughtily, smacking Osamu’s shoulder as you walked past his tall figure to give the girl her mug. “And he was interacting with the young fans, it was cute.” You looked at the clock. “It’s 6:30, I’m gonna take my break. I got an essay to write.”

Taichi laughed mockingly. “Good luck. We’ll hold down the fort.”

Osamu watched your back as you walked away, adjusting his hat as he turned to face the upcoming customer that had just walked in.

“Bake at 450? Oh, that's Fahrenheit? Why, though? Okay, got it. Oh shit, did preheat it too much then?”

Juri, as lovely a lady as she is, had terrible handwriting, or terrible in your opinion because you couldn’t read it. Whether it was a letter, or note for an order of cookies and bread, the intricate curls of her connected lettering always made your brain feel like it hit a brick wall. Holding the book in your right hand, you used the other to carry the tray of separated butter cookie dough and hooked your foot underneath the oven handle to pull it open. Still glaring at the writing, you slowly lowered the metal tray onto the racks.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Can—”

“Fuck!”

Taichi let himself in, turning the corner of your kitchen counter to quickly pull your hand away from the immense heat source. You clenched your teeth tightly, airy and painful laugh falling through your grimace. Dropping the notebook, you wrapped your hand around your left wrist, squeezing it tightly as Taichi helped you stand up. An endless series of insults left you, directed at the large cubic fire instrument.

“Okay cold water, here we go.” Taichi then left your side to finish tucking in the metal tray, silicone glove on his hand. He turned back around to see you hunched form leaning over the running sink, choppy breaths flying out of you. “Why are you baking?” he scolded.

“Oh, I can’t bake now?”

“You’ve never been able to bake.”

“Oh screw you, dude. I’m trying to learn a new skill.”

“Learning how to kill, more like it.”

Hand still stuck under the cold running water, and pain still crawling up your arm like red ants deciding to feast on your flesh, you slowly turned your head to face the younger boy, smacking your lips. You glared, “Why are you here, Taichi?”

The new university student dug his socked toe into the tiled floor of your kitchen. Pursing his lips and sending you a pair of finger guns as soon as he met your glare. He lowered them when you didn’t laugh. “I was hoping you could take care of my closing shift tonight? I have a group assignment due tomorrow and no one did any work.”

Spinning your head and torso uncomfortably to look behind you, you stared at the clock on your wall. You bit your lip. “Taichi, your shift starts at 6.”

“Uh, ya.”

“It’s 5:30.”

“Uh-huh,” he continued, barefaced, as he tucked his hands into his jean pockets.

“You're working here and waiting for the cookie timer to go off.”

Taichi nodded, moving his feet to look at the oven counting down. “Okay, got it. Do I get to eat some of them?”

You sneered at him as your blistered hand throbbed painfully at the movement of you grabbing your things, notebook included, in haste. “If they don’t kill you.”

“Osamu! I’m so sorry for being late!” You yelled rushing through the main door and startling a few customers. You ran towards the staff only door unravelling the warm scarf from around your neck and letting your jacket fall off your shoulders as you went.

Osamu’s eyes followed your frazzled movements, chuckling lightly as you kicked the wooden door open. He yelled through the door as you changed into your cozy uniform. “Calm down, (Y/N). You’re not late. Taichi called in too, so don’t worry.”

You poked your head through the door, brows pinched in the center before slowly walking up to stand next to him. “So I’m not late?” you asked, adjusting your hat.

The customers had gone back to their individual activities, typing away at their computers or reading whatever book in hand or chatting over a simple brew and snack Osamu had put together for them. You looked out the front window, the sun was already beginning to set over the darkening leaves, letting a warm glow pour in through the glass to cover every surface inside the cafe despite the temperature outside being the opposite.

The evening was spent with both of you helping the late-night customers with their requests, often having to dance around each other's forms with a light ‘sorry’ or ‘excuse me’ to notify the other.

“Thank you both. Have a good night!” the last customer called, waving, as they walked through the door.

Osamu waved back as you collected the mugs and plates that were left at the tables, taking them to the back room. “I’m gonna wash these up then take my break. Is that alright?”

“No problem, we probably won't see anyone else for the night so I can handle it.”

The door swung shut behind you.

When you turned on the tap hot water poured out quickly, and without thinking much of it, you stuck your left hand under it. You flinched, letting out a strangled yelp before switching the water to cold, letting it wash over somehow forgotten burn on the back of your hand. You sighed at your own stupidity, grabbing a dirty plate. Luckily the dishes were quick to clean, the light music you set up on your computer beforehand helped. Before you even realized, the dishes were washed and dried, and you could get some work done on your essay.

You sat down on the couch futon, blowing cold air onto your burnt hand that you switched tabs on your laptop. The constant yawns escaping you only seemed to make lying on the slightly deformed seat way more tempting than trying to get some school work done.

“Can’t do beauty standards, everyone’s gonna do beauty standards,” you yawned again, taking your fingers off the keyboard and turning your eyes away from the bright screen. Your eyes burned as you closed them, leaning your head back against the back of the folded futon. Another yawn. “Maybe books covers?” you breathed slowly. “Hmmm.”

On the other side of the door, Osamu wiped down the table seats and counters until they were spotless, letting the red vinyl and wood patterns shine through uninterrupted. As he cleaned the glass front, squeegeeing it to crystal clear perfection, Osamu watched as the last bit of sunlight that bounced off the top of the buildings across the street disappeared. It suddenly looked a lot colder in the streets.

Hanging up the damp towel, he made his way into the backroom, flicking off the lights in the main area as he walked through the door. “(Y/N) how’s the essay going?” he trailed off, catching sight of your curled up body lying sideways along the old couch, laptop continuing to play a soft tune.

You had one foot off the couch, touching the floor, and another resting on the wooden armrest. The open legged sweats you often wore were crunched up at the knees. Your torso was twisted so you were partially on your side and your hands were pulled into your chest. Mouth slightly parted, Osamu could hear your small breaths as your chest rose and fell.

He chuckled, walking over to your side, and glancing slightly to your screen. The essay you had been rushing to complete was left open, unfinished. He closed the computer, tucking it into your bag, pulling out a small notebook to make space. The bookmarked page fell open as he set in down on the table. With a curious huff, he read the recipe over.

“Huh, simple enough.”

As he reached to gently shake your shoulder in hopes to wake you up, he caught sight of the burn that ran along the back of your hand. Huffing, he lifted his hand, put the book back in its place —tucked between your laptop and the side of your bag—, and walked over to where the first aid kit was.

A scratchy hum was the first noise you made upon waking up. Bleary-eyed, and drained of energy, you slowly blink up to see your hand being gently wrapped in a soft cloth-like bandage. You squinted up to the black-clothed man as he fastened the bandage together.

“Did I really fall asleep?” you asked sadly, voice slightly hoarse. “I have to… write.”

The light in the room was dreadfully bright, making you squint as you tried to look at Osamu’s face. All his features were hard to see, leaving only his hair as an anchor point for you to admire as the light bounced off of it.

He said something, but in your delirious state, all you could make out was the smooth deep hum of his voice reverberating in your head like a slow waltz. You hummed again, letting out a lethargic ‘nice’. Your eyes shut again, and you drifted off to his low, breathy chuckle. An unconscious mumble followed, but you were too tired to hear his immediate response.

“Come on (Y/N),” he cooed, massaging your shoulder gently. “Time to wake up.”

Another incoherent mumble bubbled out of your mouth as Osamu tried to sit you up. Your head bobbled as you moved to be upright, falling backwards before he could catch it. Chuckling at his own mistake, he stuck an arm out, curling his hand around the back of your neck to bring it forward again. As he cradled your head gently in one hand, he used the other to continue prodding at your shoulder.

“Okay, sleepyhead. You gotta wake up now.”

There are those moments where people wake up and they think they see an alien, or shadowy figure at the edge of their bed. Those scary figures that seemed to carry a negative connotation a majority of the time. Most people, if they were to wake up, eyes fuzzy, and see a silhouette immediately before them they would very likely think the same, flail about, and duck for cover. You were not most people.

Eyelids hanging millimetres away from shutting, you gazed drowsily at the blurry from before you, tired mind trying to put together the dark shape as your body swayed back and forth. Falling forward slightly to get a closer look.

Osamu grunted slightly, catching your limp weight. The hand he used to rub your shoulder had now made its way around your back, lifting you from a different angle. His other hand still protected your neck from strain, holding your head closer to his chest. He looked down at your hazy gaze, perfectly timed with your own sudden need to lean upwards.

A near chortle of a huff forced its way out of Osamu’s nose, painting your cheek in warm air as your eyes shut fully. The feeling of your lashes dancing against the bridge of his nose tickled, making his shoulders scrunched up slightly. His grip tightened, pulling you ever so slightly closer. The light scent emitting off of your hair washed over him like a wave of fresh air, and the heat radiating off your body felt like a warm blanket on a cold night. There was a light tug at the end of his sweater as you wrapped the fabric gently between your fingers. Tough dried from being parted in your sleep, Osamu could feel the malleability of your lips as they pushed against his.

This one last surge forward, you let your arms relax, falling almost entirely limp in Osamu’s arms as you pulled away.

He blinked slowly, trying to look at the colour of your eyes between the slits of your lashlines.

Another warm hum left you was your head curled into his shoulder. “Cute.”

Osamu scoffed quietly to himself, laughing as he shook his head. “You never stop lying.”

Osamu liked to think he was a nice brother, a good brother, the best even. He kept his twin out of trouble, made sure he didn’t get injured and protected him from bullies. All for the payment of letting Osamu torment him for all eternity with repeated punches and kicks. Osamu liked to think he was a nice brother, but he wasn’t.

“Assumu, shut up or I’m gonna punch the daylight out of you.”

“Vulgar. That’s a new one, Samu. Try me.”

Hinata grabbed hold of the blond twin’s forearm as he made taunting motions to his brother, pinning it down onto the table. The smaller red-head cried out for the two brothers to stop, calling for Bokuto’s aid.

“Ya, both of you stop it. I’m trying to eat here.”

From behind his white mask, Sakusa let out an exasperated sigh, brushing a hand through his wavy hair at the part. “Would you all calm down?”

Atsumu teased out a laugh as he settled back into his seat between Hinata and Bokuto, who both happily went back to eating their donated snacks. The blonde leaned his elbows onto the counter and bounced a leg beneath him as he looked up to his uniform wearing brother.

“So,” he drawled, smirking at the grey-haired man. “You kissed (Y/N). While they were asleep no less. Doesn’t that seem kind of rapey to you?”

Osamu groaned, ripping the black cap off his head before throwing his arms into the air. “I didn’t force it! (Y/N) was hardly even awake, definitely in some sort of dreamscape, and then just kissed me.” He groaned again, knocking his forehead into one of the coffee machines, making it rattle lightly.

“Damn,” Atsumu replied, finally relenting his mockery and reached for his own onigiri. “Guess I lost my chance then. Do you know if they even remembered it though?”

Setting down his hat, Osamu walked around the counter, pulling up a chair from one of the tables to sit with the four teammates, making them spin in the stools.

“No idea. I just drove (Y/N) back to the university dorms with Taichi’s help.”

Bokuto’s muffled voice spoke up, as he tried to talk through his full mouth. “How is Taichi doing anyway. It’s been a while since we’ve seen him.”

Osamu grimaced at the visible mushed rice poking out between the duo-toned man’s teeth. “He had a project to finish, that’s why (Y/N) was here last night. Overall he’s been doing good though.”

Hinata swallowed his last bit of onigiri, turning the top of his stool to face the older man more clearly. “When will we get to meet (Y/N), then? We could probably see them both at the same time.”

Osamu scrunched his nose up, digging his face into the palms of his hands and let out a tired, run-down laugh. “Hopefully soon if I don’t get arrested for sexual misconduct.”

Sakusa glanced at the drink orders that were written in chalk against the side wall. “Hey Atsumu,” he switched the subject. “Can you make me a pumpkin spice latte?”

Sighing, the owner of the restaurant got up from his chair and walked back to the coffee machines he had earlier abused with his forehead. “I can give it a go, but it definitely won’t be up to (Y/N)’s standards.”

Sakusa just waved it off, not caring.

“I mean, they’re still bad, but at least they’re better than last time.”

You stopped your slow typing and let out a puff of hot air. “If you actually helped maybe you’d be eating better cookies.”

“Hey hey, no no no,” Taichi laughed, munching into another dry cookie from the pile. “You’re the one that wanted to learn a new skill.”

You threw your head back into the soft couch of your living room and grabbed one of the throw pillows from the corner, shoving your face into it to muffle your angered scream. Running out of air, you dropped the pillow into your lap, shutting your eye tightly as you panted for air.

“Here,” he said, stuffing one of the burnt biscuits into your open mouth. “Eat a cookie.”

Taking the box of poorly made cookies with him, Taichi stood up from the wooden bench at your kitchen counter and made his way to flop down onto the other side of your couch. He stuffed another straight into his mouth as he kicked his slipper clad feet onto the coffee table right next to your laptop.

“So, What’s got you all wound up? It has to be more than these cookies.”

“I,” you paused, taking a large intake of decaying leaf air into your lungs through the open window. You got up, wiping your hands on your well worn sweats, and shut the window lightly, so the only thing coming in though it would be the view of red leaves. The palms of your hands dug into the window sill. “I need to get this essay done. It’s due in two days.”

“Not buying it. Keep going,” he said, flicking his finger in a circular motion in the air.

You sighed, still looking at the old piles of leaves in the courtyard outside your dorm. “My baking skills still suck, this essay is due in two days, and I still haven’t written the personal reflection portion of it.” You spun around and leaned against the window, challenging Taichi’s disapproving expression.

He tsked, sucking in the air. “There’s something you're not telling me. What happened?”

You quickly diverted your gaze to the top corner near the exit. Your nails made a clicking sound as they flicked against each other. “I, I can’t.”

“(Y/N),” he strained.

“Nope.”

“(Y/N).”

“I can’t.” You played with the bandage on your hand.

“(Y/N). You’re lying to yourself.”

“I’m gonna get fired.”

Taichi stood up from the couch, stalking over in your direction, meaning to pin you into the corner. He stood tall in front of you, arm crossed as if he were a principal. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“I kissed our boss.”

“You did what?”

You squeaked uncomfortably, thrashing your arms about and shaking your hands to calm your nerves. Head thrown back, you yelled. “I kissed Osamu!”

His arm dropped. Taichi threw his back into a curve, spinning around as he laughed wildly in sharp honks. “That’s amazing!” he squealed, throwing himself onto the couch and kicking his feet into the plush armrest.

“Shut up, I could get fired!”

Taichi, gasping for air, sat up from his fit of giggles and sighed. “Okay, what the hell happened?”

You puffed out an annoyed gulp of air and waddled over to the couch, slumping into the open space next to him. He leaned forward, beckoning you to talk.

“I was half awake, delirious after trying to write an essay about fucking aesthetics and attraction of all things. Osamu tries to wake me up, and I plant a big one on him before falling asleep again.”

Taichi laughed, happy to hear your tale. “That’s what happened yesterday? I just thought you were overworked.”

“I was!” He smirked, watching you squirm around. “Don’t take it out of context, you know what I'm talking about.”

“Fine, fine.” He relented and reached for the half-empty box of cookies, holding it in your direction. “Eat one. You need it.”

You frowned as you bit into the over-salted cookie, swallowing it as fast as you could before the taste settled in your mouth.

“Besides,” He said, grabbing another for himself. “I don’t think getting fired is something you’ll have to worry about.”

Long night shift. The sun had fully set, making the neighbouring stores’ exterior decorations glow in all their spooky glory. You shivered as you yawned, feeling cold air run over the length of your shoulders underneath your sweater.

With a spray bottle and damp towel, you swiped down all the counters, really digging into the coffee stains that were left by an overworked mother and her grumpy toddler. For the umpteenth time that night, another yawn tore it’s way out of you as you walked toward the sink behind the counter to wash the dirtied cloth. You kept your bandaged hand out of the hot water, doing your best to just use the one.

After ringing out the both you grabbed one of the clean mugs from the counter, stalking over to the coffee machines to whip up something for yourself. You yawned again.

“Tired?” From the backroom, Osamu emerged, hands tucked neatly behind his back.

“Hmm? Oh ya. I’m whipping up a pumpkin spice mocha of sorts. Don’t want to fall asleep again.”

Osamu coughed and leaned against the counter next to you, setting down a small box that you didn’t bother to look at, too busy with your coffee. “Ah, right. Do you mind making one for me too? I’d like to be coherent, tonight. I’ll grab some fresh onigiri too.” He smiled at you.

Trying to beat the heat that was quickly climbing up your neck to try and darken the colour of your cheeks, you bit your lip and poured all your focus into the orange-hued liquid in front of you. Behind you, Osamu reached for the freshly made onigiri from the chilled display case. You could hear the fabric of his sweater shuffle as he bent down to pull it out. You reached for the whipped cream with your eye tightly sewn shut.

“Got it,” he said as you turned around with both mugs in hand.

Once in the back room, you set down both mugs onto the table, before sitting down in one of the corners of the futon, letting him take up the other half. Osamu sat down slowly, pushing the second onigiri your way. “Eat up. You can restore some energy.”

You thanked him before taking a bite from the rice ball, it was filled with spicy salmon. Smiling, you took another bite.

Osamu took a sip from his coffee, trying to lick off the leftover whipped cream from his upper lip. It looked like a small mustache, and you laughed.

“Enjoying the food, over there?”

You chuckled again. “It’s great, but. Jeez, you have a mustache.”

Osamu grumbled, whipping the top of his lip with his thumb. “Here,” he said, grabbing the small box off the table and holding it out to you. “These are for you.”

Setting down the half-eaten Onigiri, hesitantly took the box between your fingers. You gave him a confused look as you brought it into your lap. Lifting up the attached paper lid, you found yourself staring at a small collection of cookies, iced and cut to look like the adorable black jackal mascot from his brother's team.

“I saw the recipe in your notebook that...night. I wanted to make you something as an apology, and you said that the mascot was cute.” You looked up to see him scratched back of his head, staring pensively into his mug before glancing up to meet your eyes. He flinched back, pursing his lips and racing to look at the mug again.

“You don’t have to apologize, Osamu. I initiated it.” you reached into the box, pulling out one of the cookies and took a small bite out of the jackal’s ear. “I didn’t hate it either.”

You chuckled in embarrassment, watching from the side as his ears turned a rosy colour. Taking another bite from the cookie, you leaned forward a bit, trying to catch sight of his pink cheeks through his hanging fringe. You prodded.

“I did call you cute too, remember?”

Your fingers danced over your laptop’s keyboard.

I don’t often find myself thinking about the way aesthetics affect my opinions. Looks, trends, and opinions are always evolving and changing. I don’t have the capacity to keep up with such superficial things in the same way a majority of people do. Though, on a rare occasion, I will find something endearing enough to call ‘cute’. /

Outside your window, you could see the last few leaves fall off their branches. You sat down, curled up on your dorm’s couch as you saved the final copy of your essay, nibbling away at the cookies that sat on the table next to you, pumpkin spice latte in hand.

This is now the longest thing I’ve written thus far, and so the next few I write will be short cause I’m lazy.

Once again, this oneshot is part of a fall themed server collab, the masterlist is linked at the top, so I recommend that you give all the other stories a read, I would appreciate it. -Bacon

Posted: 25/09/2020

43 notes · View notes

sineala · 4 years

Text

Captain America Corps

[This is a repost from my Patreon.] An extra review for everyone this month! I wasn't actually planning to write a review of Captain America Corps, but, then, I wasn't planning to love it as much as I did, either. Surprise! This has been the Book Club selection on the 616 Steve/Tony Discord server for the entirety of September, and it took me all month to get around to reading it, and when I finished reading it on Marvel Unlimited I immediately ran to the internet and ordered myself a copy of the trade paperback, because I needed one of my very own to cuddle. This review contains spoilers for the entirety of the series, so leave now if you don't want to know them. (It also contains a few pictures of elements that you may wish to avoid if you are sensitive to body horror in fiction.)

Captain America Corps is a five-issue miniseries written by Roger Stern, whom you may remember from such classics as his Avengers run featuring the Under Siege arc and his short but extremely memorable Cap run with John Byrne. The art here is by Phillipe Briones, who I don't think I've seen in any other book, but it's nice enough, I suppose. Anyway, it was published in 2011 and is also set then (well, sort of) -- so Bucky is still Captain America (though not for much longer) and Steve is Commander Rogers. (It is still available in trade paperback but it is technically out of print, so you should act now if you want a paper copy.) The best way I can describe my feelings about this book is thus: you know how David Michelinie's 1979 Avengers novel I read and reviewed a few months ago, The Man Who Stole Tomorrow, had an amazing premise -- Kang the Conqueror freezes Steve again and takes him to the future and the Avengers have to go time-traveling to get him back -- but it completely flubbed the actual execution of said premise? Well, Captain America Corps is a lot like that, but it absolutely, perfectly nails it. The premise isn't exactly the same, but it is definitely Peak Comics in the best zany madcap way, and the more you know about canon, the more your familiarity will be rewarded. Captain America is being kidnapped. But not just one Captain America -- Captains America across the multiverse are being stolen, and history is changing around their disappearances. A cosmic entity by the name of Tath Ki has made it his business to right these wrongs, and so to do this he kidnaps some more Captains America of his own. He ends up with a team of five: the Captain America of 1941 (Steve Rogers), USAgent (John Walker, from a small but unspecified number of years prior to 2011), the Captain America of 2011 (Bucky Barnes), American Dream (Shannon Carter, from the MC2 universe), and Commander A (Kiyoshi Morales, from several centuries in the future). So you can see already that this is going to be fun. All the Caps, in my opinion, are very well-characterized -- Steve is painfully earnest and a little inexperienced; Bucky is cynical, jaded, and he kind of can't believe that 40s Steve is looking up to him, which is really sweet; and John Walker is, of course, a complete asshole. I wanted to punch him in his stupid face multiple times, so clearly his characterization is perfect. I can't speak to Shannon's characterization because I've never read MC2, and Kiyoshi is new as of this book, but he is also excellent. So, obviously, because this is a Captain America book, there is a terrible dystopian future for them to fight -- and to show them what's at stake, Tath Ki drops them right in the middle of Dystopian Times Square, and they all get rounded up and imprisoned, whereupon they promptly stage a prison break for the various superheroes (Sam Wilson, Luke Cage, Peter Parker...) that they meet, before Tath Ki brings them back to his home base talk about it, now that he's convinced them that this is a future they have to stop.

(The law enforcement of the dystopian future includes several Americops and the Ameridroid. Remember those guys from the Cap comics? I sure do! Whee!) Tath Ki explains the situation here on this Earth, because obviously there has been some divergence. And the divergence point is this: the Avengers never found Captain America in the ice in Avengers #4. Two new women -- Broad-Stripe and Bright Star (why, yes, those are deeply unsubtle code names) -- ended up on the team instead, but, well... the Avengers just didn't work without Steve, and right when they ought to have founded the Kooky Quartet in Avengers #16, they disbanded instead. All because they'd never met Captain America. Thor went back to Asgard. Hank ended up in a psych ward. Tony died during heart surgery. (Don't worry, I'm coming back to this point later. So is the comic.) So the Caps split up to go see what they can find out about the remaining Avengers. Jan is hanging out with Sue Storm but has been warned about Kiyoshi and Shannon by the villain, and she kicks them out. Steve and Bucky break Hank out of the psych ward. And Tath Ki takes John Walker to Tony's tomb... to find that Tony's brain is missing from his body. Uh-oh. That's never a good sign.

And, oh, yes, Broad-Stripe and Bright Star are the villains of this series. And, what's more, Broad-Stripe is actually Superia, whom you will remember from the infamously terrible Cap arc The Superia Stratagem. It was really bad. It was really, really bad. But reading this has now retroactively made reading that worth it. Anyway, they're the ones who have been kidnapping all the Caps, and the Cap Corps here teams up with the local resistance force (yes, of course there's a resistance) to fight their way to the villains' headquarters. And do you know who else is at the villains' headquarters? It's Tony! I mean, it's Tony's brain. In a jar. Alive. And conscious. (And his eyeballs. I don't know why or how he still has his eyes. I'm trying not to think about that.)

The fact that Tony is now a brain in a jar is what the #book-club channel has been shrieking about with horrified glee for an entire month. If you like sad Tonys, there is no sadder Tony than this. You cannot make a sadder Tony than this. He is a brain in a jar. It's like everything about his favorite transhumanism, gone wrong. He's been there for years. He has never known Steve Rogers, and doesn't that just break your heart? He's suicidal. He begs the villain to finally kill him. He begs Hank to kill him, whether or not the good guys win. His life -- or undeath, or whatever it is -- is so awful that death is, for him, the happy ending. (We already know, canonically, that Tonys who never meet Steve are the saddest Tonys. Fantastic Four: Dark Reign #2, the issue that famously gave us Earth-3490, also gave us a look at Earth-1735, in which Steve is found very late in the superheroing game and Tony has clearly spent all the time in which they should have been Avengers together instead drinking his life away.) Sad Brain Jar Tony fills the good guys who find him -- Hank, Bucky, and Kiyoshi -- in on the villains' backstory and plans, which is basically that Superia has been stealing all the Captains America and has joined up with AIM and gotten herself a Cosmic Cube to shove them all into, and I'm sure we all guessed that that was happening because what even is a good Cap plot without a Cosmic Cube? Anyway, 1940s Steve doesn't meet Tony personally, as far as I can tell, but he does get to hear about him being alive over the comms, at least -- although it wouldn't mean much to him then, because at this point he doesn't know Tony. So all the Caps and Tath Ki and the villains end up falling into the Cosmic Cube along with the rest of the Caps that Superia stole, who are already in there. Steve merges with one of his other self, which breaks the Cube, and the alternate dystopian reality basically... vanishes from existence as everyone goes home. And Sad Brain Jar Tony is finally at peace. *sniff* Due to the mysteries of time-travel, Bucky and the two Caps after him -- Shannon and Kiyoshi -- remember what happened, but the two from before -- 1941 Steve and John Walker -- don't seem to. Except when Bucky meets up with his Steve, the Commander Rogers of 2011, it's clear that Bucky's return triggered something and Steve is starting to remember everything. Then Bucky decides to go turn himself in and face justice for the Winter Soldier's crimes. We get a brief look at Kiyoshi's time, where he's helping christen a new aircraft carrier named after Steve. And that's it. So obviously this is a completely wild plot in the way that comics are the best at, and what I really want most in life now is fic where 2011 Commander Rogers -- who we know is not the best at having feelings where Tony is concerned, because his current reaction to Tony is to scream at him about his feelings, in the snow, surrounded by all of their friends -- has to deal with the fact that he remembers being in a world where Tony is a sad brain in a jar and it all happened because he wasn't there to save him. Heroic Age-era (early Avengers v4) is one of my favorite flavors of Steve/Tony angst, as they work out how to have a friendship again (and are so bad at it that it involves a lot of very public screaming fights), and this just piles the angst right on top. (Yeah, guess what's on my WIP list now.) Objectively, it's not a perfect comic -- it's kind of a mess, but it's a mess in that glorious comics way that comics are so good at. I suspect if you're not here for the Steve/Tony you won't like it as much, but if you are... well, please enjoy pondering Sad Brain Jar Tony in his dystopian, Steve-less future.

#posts i actually wrote

32 notes · View notes

meloncubedradpops · 4 years

Text

Repo! The Corona Opera

For every rotation that Earth has completed around the sun since the dawn of humanity, humans have created art to cope with the realities surrounding our everyday life. We weave stories in songs, movies, plays, books, paintings, and so forth, that help digest the world around us and provide an entertaining escape from the cruelties we endure. Some stories take place in abstract universes or in the future, and we rely on what we know in our present reality to build upon these fantasy societies. My favorite movie, Repo! the Genetic Opera, certainly makes this list. We are currently experiencing perhaps the most surreal year of our collective lives, and with each passing day I argue that we find ourselves closer to the world crafted in Repo. I have seen this movie, at least 20 times. If you haven't watched Repo! the Genetic Opera or you haven't seen it in a while, I recommend giving it a view. The movie is unique in that it falls under three distinct genres: musical, horror, and sci-fi. And while the jury is out on whether our future society is going to go full on gothic aesthetic, I can say that the Repo! movie experience offers a glimpse into a dystopian fascist post-plague world wrapped in unapologetically hilarity with a heaping side of camp. It doesn't offer any spiritual cleansing that our souls collectively need, but it does show us what a new normal could look like if we really go off the rails.

As things stand, right now, so much of our daily lives and culture are impacted by the coronavirus. All of our institutions have been impacted, from school, to work, to family, to the way we interact with strangers, and especially our economy. We have all felt the effects in one way or another, and honestly? Most the impacts are of our own undoing, for better or for worse. I am going to write three pieces analyzing Repo! the Genetic Opera. First I will create the foundations that bridge our contemporary life and the world of Repo! Second I will explain how the Repo! universe operates under the definitions of fascism. And third I will weave together parts one and two into our contemporary world (particularly in the context of the United States) to highlight the dark path we heading towards. My viewpoints are of mine, and my own alone. Let's dive into part one.

Part I Repo! the Genetic Opera takes place in the year 2056. Humanity was on the brink of collapse as a result of a medical crisis that caused massive organ failure.

I never gave the premise much thought, at least not until recently. We aren't given much detail beyond the fact that entrepreneur Rottissimo "Rotti" Largo solved this crisis through his company GeneCo. GeneCo provides organ transplants that can be repaid through a payment plan. Witnessing the coronavirus unfold in real time and seeing its wrath, particularly on severe cases, honestly makes me wonder if the writers had some sort of "super plague" in mind when creating this universe. For the purpose of this analysis, I will assume that humanity suffered at least one infectious disease crisis. And just to reiterate covid-19 particularly, we really *don't* know what it's going to do to us long-term. Let the parallels begin.

The world in Repo! the Genetic Opera, operates as normally as the citizens possibly can, which appears to be quite limited. I have noted how dated some the technologies look.

For a world 30 years in the future, it lacks cell phones and easy access to internet. When we enter Shilo's world (aka her bedroom!) she watched Blind Mag sing on a busted up tiny ass TV and the program itself looks like an ad on Home Shopping Network.

The Graverobber is shown reading headlines on a newspaper. The news reporters shown in the ribbon cutting ceremony during the 1st Italian Post-Plague Renaissance have old school cameras with flashbulbs.

The most contemporary technology appears to be a Wish.com version of an Apple watch, and even that looks like a leftover prop from Spy Kids.

Obviously the people who made this movie intentionally inserted these anachronisms, but why? This is a science fiction movie after all. I speculate that they reverted back because the impact from humanity's crisis resulted in an overall professional "brain drain" from the sheer volume of professionals that dropped dead. In fact every scene depicting medical procedures looks dimly lit and lacking in sanitation. We will see this as we struggle to contain the coronavirus, at least in America. Healthcare workers have already died from this thing, and I am sure many prospective college students will have second thoughts about a career in healthcare. I mean hell, look at no other than GeneCo itself. That company employs workers called "Genterns" who are most definitely not in full PPE. I don't doubt their medical expertise, but they appear to be disposable (please see: that time Luigi killed one for NO REASON in "Mark it Up").

On that note, it really was quite incredible how China built the pop-up hospital in Wuhan in under 4 days, but it was also not the most safe or structurally sound building by far (it collapsed, people were hurt!). Maybe at this point, the people in Repo! don't have much of a choice. I am sure there were likely legit hospitals, but the fact that the Renaissance had gross surgery tents is a bit unsettling.

This is a world that is completely built upon the social more of valuing your health above all else. There had to be a turning point in the GeneCo business model where they really played on up-selling organs for the benefit of "genetic perfection". "I needed a kidney transplant desperately. GeneCo showed this single mom sympathy. This makeover came for a small added fee. Now I look smashing on live TV!" Imagine signing the documents for your power of attorney while actively going into renal failure, when your doctor chimes in with an up-sell for breast implants. When all is said an done, your body is now not only functioning again, but you're hot! Even in a post-plague dystopia we are still holding value to having a nice rack. What's not to love about GeneCo? Obviously we know right away that GeneCo has a dirty side. Rotti Largo personally lobbied to make organ repossessions legal, and he does not hesitate to recollect his property. The concept itself is, of course, wild. In America, our healthcare system is incredibly broken and expensive. You would wonder how it could get worse without us backpedaling many steps on the industrialization timeline. And in a lot of ways, I could see a company like GeneCo thrive here. We already hate the poor, and we have political think tanks that salivate over the idea of cutting social programs that keep people alive. Our president has wanted to repeal the Affordable Care Act while many people are unemployed during a pandemic. In Repo! we hear about those who don't pay, but obviously there are plenty of people who do. Those who can will happily pay, either for vanity reasons or to stay alive.

And while society cites Rotti as being a "hero" for humanity, we see more and more evidence that the crisis is both not under control and life is cheap.

His son murders multiple people, in front of others, with seemingly no repercussions. In the scene where Shilo meets the Graverobber for the first time, adjacent to the graveyard and tombs owned by wealthy families who could afford grave markers, lies a poorly constructed wall hiding thousands of corpses piled on top of one another. We even get a glimpse of a truckload pouring more onto the pile. I would not be surprised if there is a disinformation campaign there keeping the public in the dark (although you'd think the smell would be unbearable at this point).

There are multiple indications that propaganda works in society (still), and no one is getting the full picture of how much of a raw deal the people in Repo! have. We see poster after poster about GeneCo, in the literal absence of other corporations.

And a lot of them bear resemblance to 20th century Russian propaganda. It would be a real shame if the goals outlined The Foundations of Geopolitics: The Geopolitical Future of Russia were actually realized. Imagine going to visit your mother's grave and hearing commercials for hardcore analgesics play through the cemetery. Also, there's a police presence too. Apparently the police are called Genecops and have authority to execute any assumed graverobbers on site.

Imagine the hellscape it would be to live in a world where your loved ones may have died from a terrible pandemic, and you face a non-zero chance of an over zealous cop murdering you thereafter, and because their qualified immunity bypasses the judicial system entirely...oh wait. Anyways let's circle back to the Graverobber character.

Graverobber's role in Repo! appears to be minor on the surface. Rotti's daughter, Amber Sweet, appears to almost despise her relationship with him. And that relationship involves him supplying Amber with what he describes as the "21st Century cure". This cure you ask? A super effective painkiller with the clinical use to accompany GeneCo surgeries. This drug is called Zydrate, and it has a street version that he acquires and sells, with clients including Amber Sweet.

Graverobber makes his living sucking the glowy blue brain corpse goo and injecting them into people on the streets. Yum!

Not everyone who needs an organ transplant can pay for it all upfront. Luckily for them, GeneCo provides payment plan options! The caveat to this is if you fail to make those payments, legally GeneCo can come and repossess your newly acquired organs. If you find yourself past due, you will soon see the last face before your doom, the Repo Man. He will harvest GeneCo's property, and it won't matter where you are or what you are doing. There is no anesthetic, and you will likely die! This was all made legal through Rotti's lobbying efforts.

Society, as it's set up today, allows for property repossessions. This can be as straightforward as a repossession of your vehicle to as heartbreaking as a foreclosure on your home. At the end of the day, the impacts of that are difficult and life changing. Currently millions of people in America are out of work, and the threat of losing everything is at stake for many. We could lose our homes, our vehicles, and our sense of purpose. And while many government bodies have created temporary moratoriums, they have not provided any substantial financial relief to keep the proverbial repo man at bay. What went wrong in this dystopia to normalize the concept of death due to nonpayment? Fascism! Ah yes, the dreaded f-word. In my next essay, I will outline the 14 characteristics of fascism and how it relates to the universe in Repo! After I will relate that to our modern world so that we can try and stop this from becoming our reality.

50 notes · View notes

reds-self-ships · 3 years

Text

🔎 The Adventure of the Detection Club

Chapter 4: Memoranda & The Great Detective's Plan

Table of Contents & Trigger Warnings

⚠ CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNING: This chapter contains mild references to death and crime scene descriptions, specifically through severe and repetitive blunt force trauma.

The police hadn’t gone away for even five minutes before *Sholmes, Susato, Ryunosuke and Redford gathered their things together and got into a cab, and were already on their way to the scene of the crime.

Mr. Sholmes put the end of his pipe to his lips, but no kind of smoke seemed to be coming out of it.

“So, Mr. Nineteen—”

“—Ninate—”

“Yes, that. You’re a crime fiction writer, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m also a student of English Literature with the University of London.”

“Well; I do believe that Mr. Naruhodo here also studies English. Well, that is, he studied it before he became an attorney anyway.”

“What? Oh, er—yes!” Ryunosuke exclaimed, his eyes darting about the carriage as though he was following a rather excitable fly.

“Is that so?” asked Redford, his right leg resting up on the knee of his left, stroking his chin with his right hand.

“Er, yes. Though, more as a foreign language than any of the ‘literature’ end of things, that is. You’d probably want to speak to my friend Asogi if you wanted to know anything about English literature.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Although,” added Susato, “there’s also plenty to say on Japanese literature. I’m sure Mr. Naruhodo could give you some recommendations if you ever get the opportunity to study up on it.”

“Yes!” Ryunosuke suddenly exclaimed. “A former client of mine—also a Japanese exchange student—has written his own book of late. He sent me a signed copy as a thank you for defending him in court, actually. It’s called…er…how would you say it in English…? It’s…‘Wagahai wa neko de aru’.”

“I believe it would be ‘I Am A Cat’, Mr. Naruhodo.”

“Oh yes, it would. Wouldn’t it?”

“No point in asking me,” Sholmes said. “I only know a few basic phrases, such as ‘Kutsū no Fukutsū’.”

Susato asked: “Do you mean to say that your stomach has shoes, Mr. Sholmes?”

“What—No! Er, anyway, as I was saying, I don’t speak the language that well.”

“I don’t know any myself, to be honest with you. Who knows, maybe I could learn some crime-related words? Or maybe some courtroom-related words if we ever end up getting that far.”

“Well then, I promise that I’ll do my best to get you found ‘Muzai’,” said Ryunosuke.

Redford and Sholmes sat and stared at him as he began to smile and blush awkwardly as he scratched the back of his head.

“That, er, that means ‘Not Guilty’ in Japanese.”

“Oh…!

——————————

The carriage pulled up in-front of the building that housed the headquarters of the Detection Club, which, even now, was almost entirely surrounded by police constables and blue wooden barriers marked “METROPOLITAN POLICE – DO NOT PASS” in white, stencilled writing.

“Ironic that the offices of a group of crime fiction novelists ended up becoming a crime scene itself, isn’t it?” said Sholmes.

“Definitely something that even I couldn’t make up. I mean, it definitely sounds like something I wouldn’t even be bothered to sit down and write about, now that I think about it. I mean—who’d even want to sit down and read such a thing?”

Ryunosuke came back with Susato after having had a word with the constable in-charge of maintaining the perimeter around the local area. “Alright, we’ve been cleared to enter the crime scene whenever we need to.”

Susato added: “Apparently Detective Jones already sent a telegram ahead to give his approval, and said that we can access any materials involved with the investigation. And that includes the victim’s autopsy report.”

Ryunosuke, Susato and Mr. Sholmes looked up to see that Redford had already deployed a fountain pen and a brown leather-bound notebook, and was already taking what looked to be some particularly in-depth notes.

“Er, Mr. Ninate—?”

“Yes? By the way, Redford or Red will do just fine. Mr. Ninate is my father.”

“OK, er, Red…what are you doing?”

Redford didn’t even lift his head from his work. “Taking notes. You do make notes when you’re investigating something, right?”

“Well, yes, but normally we just file stuff away in the court record as opposed to…”

Ryunosuke craned his head and tried to make out the sort of things that his client was writing. Was this the so-called ‘short-hand’ that Susato had suggested he try learning?

“…a novel, is it?”

“You know, I don’t even bother making notes,” said Sholmes, proudly. “I remember it all myself, then get Dr. Wilson to write it all up when I’m done.

(Which explains so much…so, so much…) said Ryunosuke, quietly to himself.

“Well I’d prefer to keep notes. Well, if you don’t mind, that is?”

“Well not really—”

Ryunosuke didn’t get to finish that sentence. “—Excellent. I’ll just keep making notes, pretend I’m not here.”

Redford continued his note-taking intently, as though nothing had even been said at all. Ryunosuke decided to allow that point to pass without notice.

“Alright then, so the name of the victim is Harris Thomas,” Ryunosuke read from the autopsy report supplied by a constable. “Cause of death is listed as ‘repeated blows from blunt instrument’.”

Mr. Sholmes pulled the photo of the body out of the envelope it came in, immediately putting it back in again as he pulled quite the expression. “Oh my. That’s rather gory.”

“Good to know. But we should get a look at it ourse—” Ryunosuke took the envelope from Sholmes’s hands, opened it, removed the photograph and looked at it. “Oh wow, that ishorrifying.”

Susato tilted her head slightly to one side. “I’m not entirely sure what you were expecting, Mr. Naruhodo.”

The photograph, to phrase it gently, wasn’t much to look at. In fact, there wasn’t much left of the victim’s skull either, after the killer had finished what they had set out to do, that much was very much certain.

“A look around the crime scene proper’ll be able to tell us far more, though. Especially as this seems to be quite the locked room mystery as to how the killer managed to get in and out of the locked room after they killed the victim without being spotted or without any sign of forced entry or exit.”

“Well in fairness I did tell you it was a weird one. No forced entry, no other doors, a lock designed to break if it’s tampered with, and windows that barely open, all on the third storey, up there,” Redford pointed out, squinting as the sun reflected off of one of the higher windows of the building.

As the other three looked up, Redford quickly scribbled something out onto a back page of his notebook before tearing it out and handing it to Ryunosuke.

“Oh, thank you. Er…what is it, exactly?”

“A written memo, obviously. ‘No way in besides the key of the defendant. He maintains testimony that it remained on his person at the time. Only one such key exists to his knowledge. There is only one door into the room which didn’t appear forced, and as the windows only open a small amount and the room is up on the third floor of the building’.”

“I see. Thank you, then.” Ryunosuke passed it to Susato, who filed it away in her pocketbook.

“If you need me to write down anything else, do let me know.”

“Alright, er, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Right. Well then, after you,” said Redford, allowing Ryunosuke to step into the building ahead of him.

Before he could follow in after the pair, Susato caught Sholmes by his arm. “Excuse me, Mr. Sholmes…”

“Mm? What is it, Miss Mikotoba?”

“Are you planning something involving Mr. Naruhodo or Mr. Ninate?”

“No…what makes you say that?” the detective lied.

“Mr. Sholmes, you don’t exactly have the best track record for lying and being able to get away with it with any kind of great success for long, you know? You even weren’t able to keep Mr. Naruhodo’s surprise birthday party a secret from him for all of three days. And Iris and I only told you about it a week before it was due to happen!”

“Well how can I be expected notto talk to him and avoid bringing it up with him when we’re all living under the same roof?”

“What are you planning?” asked Susato, with the intonation as though she was talking to a misbehaving dog.

“Well I’ve been watching Mr. Naruhodo’s eyes all day since Mr. Ninate first came into Baker Street. He’s not been able to keep his eyes off of him all day! Even in the cab he didn’t know where to look without making it exceedingly obvious.”

“But Mr. Naruhodo ends up doing that most days anyway.”

“Still. I do believe he may have a bit of a ‘crush’ on this particular client – especially with the way that he took on the case so quickly, and especially given the particular circumstances of this case.”

“So I’m going to assume that making them share a room also falls under the idea of trying to get them together?”

“Precisely!”

“Mr. Sholmes, you really are something else, you know.”

“I try my best.”

Before they could continue any further, Ryunosuke himself shouted down the stairs.

“Susato! Mr. Sholmes! Are you coming?”

“Coming!” responded Sholmes. “Just…tying…my…shoelaces!”

“This isn’t over, Mr. Sholmes,” said Susato as they headed in together after the attorney and the writer.

*AUTHOR’S NOTE: Iris had decided to stay behind and try to repair the door that had been taken off of its hinges by the rather over-eager Detective Athelney Jones.

#OTP: Red Dragon #Fanfiction #Self Insert #The Adventure of the Detection Club #Story #Fic #TGAA spoilers #TGAA 2 spoilers

2 notes · View notes

rainbowcolouredstudies · 5 years

Text

Mental Health Studying Tips!

So I know that a lot of us are struggling with their mental health and I know from my own experience how hard it can be to study when you are depressed, anxious, have panic attakcs etc. There is not one solution that fits everybody, but there are solutions that help a lot of people and even if they may not help always, they may help sometimes; and that´s why I want to share them with you guys.

Environment

Bevor you start to study, think about your environment and about your needs. You live alone at home or with a family that harms your mental health? You hate being alone in a quiet room? You have very little room at home or many distractions? Then you should probably avoid studying at home. But what can you do instead? Well, there are multiple places you could go, depending on your requirements!

o Study with friends! If you need to be with people to not drown in your own thoughts or triggers, study in a group or at least with one friend. This is especially great, if you need lots of social contact or distractions from yourself. Explain the topic to each other, practise together, maybe write an excerpt together.

o Get a baby sitter (for a small calm child or baby) or an cat/dog sitter job! This gives you access to a totally different place. A calm child won´t need that much attention all the time as many children have lots of toys for playing alone. Animals neither need constant attention but they are a great comfort if you are struggling with your mental health. This of course is a bit risky because the child or animal might need lots of attention but it can be worth a try, especially if you can filter out the ones over time, that stress you and only keep the clients that allow you a relaxed study atmosphere.

o Go to a library! Whether it is a public one or the one of your school/university, there will be lots of seats and often even multiple computer and printer that you can use for a really little amount of money. Of course you have to hope to get a seat there but most cities have some „hidden“ libraries, unknown to most people and therefore less crowed. Adult education centres too have often rooms with tables to which the public has access. And most universities have huge reading halls where you can work in a quiet and calm atmosphere. Make a list of all the places your city offers and find out, where you are most comfortable.

o In summer, you can study outside: Be it in the park, beside a river order in a forest even. You can either look up such places or just walk around till you find places you like. This is of course not ideal if you have to use a laptop, but if you charge it before leaving your home, it will give you some hours of studying between sunlight and singing birds – which can be very calming and grounding.

o If you are the type for auditive studying (which does not work for all subjects but for many) you can record yourself explaining the topics and then listen to these records while going for a walk. This is especially good if you tend to have too much energy to sit for a long time.

o Many people also study in a Café. You are not alone but you also don´t have to communicate. Of course you mostly have to consume a drink so this can be a bit difficult if you have financial problems. Also you should search for a Café that has tables that are big enough for your laptop or books. Look for a Café that´s not too crowed or you might have to consume all the time in order to stay there.

These of course are situations that can be problematic. They are limited to certain times, space limits like empty seats and weather circumstances. That´s why I do recommend these study environments only for those, who have no other choice because either their mental health or their family makes it impossible to study at home. If you are one of these people, then you´ll need a tight time schedule; everything has to be planned and coordinated because you basically have to finish your studying till these places close. I therefore also ask all the other people, that can study at home, that don´t have problems with studying in their own room, to leave the seats a bit more often to the ones that need them more!

But this is not the only thing that counts as environment. Even if you study at home there are so many factors you have to decide:

- Do you need to have it cosy? Then you will probably love studying in your bed or, if it is carpeted, on the floor. Yes, studying on the floor can be great because you have lots of space and you can use a notebook or laptop as table on your lap so that you will be able to write properly. When reading it is even more pracitcal!

- If you have troubles staying awake, definitely choose a normal table. This can be the table at your room but it can also be in the kitchen or the living room if it is quiet enough there. Often the kitchen table is the biggest so that may be great if you have to work with many books!

- If you have a balcony or garden, this is also a great place to study. But make sure your paper sheets won´t fly away!

Make always sure to study at a place where you feel safe but also not distracted! Your mental stability is one of the most important factors for successful studying.

Okay, so now you know where you want to study. Now you need…

The Setup

The setup basically means what you surround yourself with during your study sessions. Find things that motivate you, that remind you of something beautiful or positive but that don´t distract you too much. This might be cute pastel stationery or maybe a plushie that calms you. Crystals also help for many people. Basically it should be something that makes the study space a safe zone for you. If you study in your own room, this is very easy: print out beautiful calming pictures, buy one or two easy to handle plants, maybe some fairy lights or other decorations. Get sticky notes and highlighter in the colours that calm you the most. If you have a bit more money, buy framed pics in these colours, sheets, carpets, curtains. Anything that helps you relax is great. But attention! You don´t have to find beige and white and black, or pastel colours or glitter or rosegold or succulents relaxing. A wooden skull, black walls, a picture from Dali and an old clock can do the same for you maybe. Or maybe you need some space aesthetics? Maybe science fiction, fantasy, wildlife…anything can be right for you. It does not have to fit the tumblr standards of a perfect studyblr; it has to fit your standards and only yours!

Make sure to keep everything you need at hand. Having to get up and search for study materials can really harm your focus or motivation. So get all the books you will need, the laptop, the charging wires, paper and pencils, water and maybe a snack. Especially when you don´t study at home it is important that you take everything with you – you´ll not want to hurry back. Also make sure to have enough light – best is natural day light but if you cannot have these, a soft yellow light is often better for your mental health than a bright and cold white one. Fresh air is important too. Find music, that helps you relax, no matter what kind of music this is.

The time schedule

Especially when you have issues with your mental health, a well planned time schedule is important so you won´t get stressed. Make a to-do-list for everything you need to get done. Then draw a star beside the things that you have to get done until tomorrow. Do these things thirst. Afterwards, allow yourself a break but don´t stop studying for that day. The further you get, the less stress you will have. Study until you find you are getting tired – often physical tiredness comes short before a mental health issue. Stop as soon as you get too tired, so that you won´t trigger your anxiety or depression (I know for many people it is always there, but it can be stronger or less string. Tiredness makes every mental health issue stronger and this something that you can truly avoid.) Okay, so stop. Just stop. You´ve done as much as you could and you can´t do more now – your mental and physical health is still more important than your grades!

Don´t go to bed immediately. Having no free time is one of the worst things you can do to your mental health! Enjoy something: Go out for a walk or talk to a friend, watch a movie, read a chapter oft he book you wanted to read for ages. Sit back and listen to music, close your eyes and just enjoy it. Write in your mental health journal, and if you don´t have one, go get one now! (I will make a post about that topic soon). Don´t go too much on social media. You will just compare yourself to others and feel less successful. You can and should be proud of your success so please don´t let anyone ruin it!

What to do:

- Document your success – be it in a journal, a bullet journal, a students planner, just a sheet of paper or a Word document. Write down what you did, even if it was not much.

- Before you start to work, write down what you have to do. Break it down into smaller bits so you can cross out the bullet points more often.

- Reward yourself! Be it with small things like allowing yourself to read a chapter of your favorite book in the evening or maybe with bigger things. For example, once you managed to finish that important paper, 25-pages, professionally researched; once you managed that, you go out to the movies our buy yourself some stationery or the new CD you love. Or maybe you just relax for a day and try not to think about studying.

- Avoid expectations! Don´t tell yourself that you have to get a certain grade. Just do your best and it will be enough.

- Make sure you don´t plan to much for a day. Otherwise you will feel overwhelmed which again can trigger you. So be pessimistic when making the plan for that day and the plan will turn out realistic. Trust me, it works most of the time.

- Spend your breaks with things that calm you and where you know that they won´t trigger you.

- Don´t have a set schedule when you will take breaks and when you will study. Take a break when you need one and don´t be to hard on yourself.

- Write on top of every page of your excerpts a line from a song or a movie, some kind of quote that will make you smile.

- Write down these quotes basically everywhere: one on every page of your planner, one in every study book you own, etc.

- Put cute stickers or printed pics basically everywhere. They will remind you of hope and light and of all the beautiful things in your life.

- Don´t look at what lies ahead of you but at what you have already accomplished.

- Eat food that helps your mental health: for example, avocado. Avoid lots of fat: it makes you feel tired and heavy which again can trigger a lot of bad emotions.

- Avoid too emotional music. Listen to songs that can´t trigger bad memories or thoughts.

- Don´t even start to study when you literally don´t feel like it. Instead, do something that improves your mental health of that moment: any hobby that helps you, a song, going for a walk, petting you dog or dog, talking to your fish, taking a nap, whatever…Once you are a bit more stable, start with an easy task that you can finish in short time. It will give you a feeling of success and therefore motivate you to get done more. Slowly intensify the difficulty of your tasks.

What not to do:

- There are people that can get really bad symptoms from caffeine, I know, it keeps you awake and coffee tastes nice and everything. But if you have issues with your mental health, please be careful! It can literally cause you some kinds of short-time hallucinations. Also, and that is a problem for even more of us, it makes you feel more awake then you are; you won´t feel it early enough when your body gets tired to prevent your mind from getting tired. And therefore, it is way harder to avoid triggering your mental illness.

- Don´t isolate yourself, at least not after you finished for that day. Isolation harms us so badly. Even if it´s no deep talk about your feeling, just talking to your friend about what you achieved today or about your plans for the next holidays can help a lot. Communication and social interaction DO help us, even when we feel sociophobic – but you have to be careful and avoid toxic people.

- Often times, bright cold white light can give you not only a headache but might trigger negative emotions. We associate cold white light with hospitals, with strict offices, with tough university classes. When we see these lights during our study time, all these associations are triggered – and with them, lots of negative emotions.

- Never compare yourself with what others get done. Compare yourself with your former self and try to improve. But even if you don´t, remember that you are always doing your best – and that is always enough!

#studyblr #rainbowcolouredstudies #masterpost #study masterpost #studying masterpost #studyblr masterpost #mental health studying #mental health studyblr #study tips #study motivation

219 notes · View notes

nerdylittleshit · 4 years

Text

Thoughts about Spn 15x12

SPOILERS AHEAD! BEWARE!

And here we are again. And I know I repeat myself (again) in pointing out that this is still the most meta season we ever head… and that I love every minute of it. We have an episode that ties up what “Wayward Sisters” probably would have been like, which again feels like fanservice, but in a good way. We also learn some important truths about Sam and Dean, their roles within the story, and Chuck, who is both author and part of his own story.

But, as always, let’s take a closer look.

Carry on my Wayward Sisters

I’m not sure if this was the last time we saw Jody (and if we will see Claire again), but they made sure to tie up the Wayward Sisters plot, or what would have been the plot of the spin-off (in an episode that starts with Chuck talking about failed spin-offs nevertheless). Personally I would love to see them all one more final time – Jody, Donna, Claire, Kaia, Alex and Patience. Still I appreciate that for now they at least brought this particular subplot to an end (and again we had Chuck at the beginning who told us that from now on there would be no more subplots).

The story itself was simple enough and perhaps felt a bit rushed, then again it was supposed to be told over the course of an entire season, if they had picked up “Wayward Sisters”. They intervened it with the current big plot of the season – Bad Kaia’s world turns out to be one of the many other ending worlds, Jack’s loyalty to Death is tested, which ultimately leads to Billy telling Sam and Dean about their destiny.

Bad Kaia turned out to be… not that bad. She never meant to hurt our Kaia, she made sure she would survive in her homeworld, and now she does everything she can to save her. She is not a villain per se, so her death would not have made sense in any other way than her choosing to stay behind, to choose death, on her own terms, in her home.

On the other hand we get our Kaia back and we get a confirmation that Claire loves her, and by the way Kaia asked about Claire surely the feeling is mutual. Dreamhunter is official canon.

I also loved that Jody and Cas finally met and how they bonded over Claire. Cas is still aware how much pain he brought to Claire, that there is no way to redeem himself fully, but also that Claire found a new home, a new family, and that she needs Jody in order to survive. Cas has come a long way, he sort of became a parent himself with Jack, and he knows that Jody would do anything for Claire, but also how important it is to keep yourself safe for the ones who need you in your life.

How to kill God (a step by step tutorial)

I already mentioned Chuck’s entrance scene, with him mentioning subplots and spin-offs, with the episode finishing a subplot that was supposed to be a spin-off. The big news we learn within the first minutes is that our Sam and Dean are the original Sam and Dean. That all the other worlds are just versions of the same story, the same characters. Which is a very meta-ish statement. Because it somehow puts the audience in the same role as Chuck – to us our Sam and Dean are the original ones as well, and the other worlds we saw are just Alternative Universes, the same way every fan fiction is just another version of the same story, the same characters. (And clearly Earth 2 is a “fix it”-story, where Hilary Clinton became president and the Paris agreement gets restored) But the Chuck the only story that does count is the original story. It does not matter if Sam and Dean get the ending he wants in all those other worlds, as long as they don’t get the ending in the original world. I’m not sure how to interpret this in terms of the audience and transformative works, if it says the stories/endings we create don’t matter as long as the source material does not have the ending we want. Then again Chuck is the villain, so perhaps we should not listen to him.

It also seems like Chuck is afraid that Dean is perhaps right in saying Chuck does not gets the ending he wants. We later learn that Chuck is not only the author of the original world, but also part of the narrative in order for the world to work. He is not omniscient, he does not known what is written in Death’s book about him, which is why he has not the full control over this world. (But it seems this ‘mistake’ happened only in the original world, so he can end all other worlds easily)

Sam and Dean (but especially Sam) still don’t know whether they can trust Jack and Billy. They know too little about the plan and jack of course still has no soul. Cas reacts a bit different. He trusts Jack, and therefore trusts Billy. He believes in Jack, that this is Jack’s destiny, that this what Kelly saw in her son, that when Jack died he felt his story was not over and this is the proof. Of course from a narrative point of view he is right. Jack’s story indeed felt not finished when he died, there were to many open questions surrounding his character and story arc. Cas tries to see the bigger picture, though he calls it destiny, which is always a difficult thing in the Winchesters world. They tend to screw with their destinies.

Jack himself turns out to be a true Winchesters. He is aware of his own value, knows that Billy’s plan only works with him, so he uses Merle for his own advantage. He is trapped between his loyalty to Billy, knowing that their plan only works if he does not use his powers, and doing what he feels is right. He feels responsible for what happened to Kaia. He tries to find a way where he can still save her, without risking to be exposed. Billy reminds him that he risked their plan, the bigger picture, in order to save one life. But this is… well… Winchester stupid, risking everything in order to save one life, because no one gets left behind.

Billy is portrayed in this episode almost like God. Jack mentions to Merle that when the Grigori trapped him and he prayed to her she did not show up. Merle only tells him to trust Billy, that she must have known he would handle it, that Cas would help him. Billy is therefore omniscient and given that she inherited Death’s knowledge and library, she kinda is. She knows things Chuck does not, because she knows how everyone will eventually die, even God himself. Even though she did not write the books in Death’s library (they write themselves), she is the only one able to read them, making her the true author. She alone knows what role Jack, Cas, Sam and Dean will play in God’s death. She tells Sam and Dean that they are the messengers of God’s destruction, which are big words, but we still don’t know details. Sam mentioned the fact that some sort of cosmic balance has to exist, that Amara can’t exist alone without her brother. Dean’s trust in Billy is based on her playing by the rules, but I’m not sure she still does. But for now all we can do is wait and see what they have in store for our boys.

Until then <3

#supernatural #galaxy brain #spn meta #my meta #spn 15x12

26 notes · View notes

janiedean · 5 years

Note

After joining tumblr, my dream of becoming a published writer is forever broken and ruined. It may be drastic but I cannot imagine a future in which I'm a happy writer, knowing that what a large amount of people think is that you can't write about a gay character if you're not gay yourself, you cannot have a poc character if you're not poc yourself etc. It's frustrating and sad. That's what tumblr taught, along with simultaneously complaining all the day about the lack of rep

anon, let me tell you something first and foremost: tumblr is not a good audience when it comes to original fiction and if that’s what you want to do, delete tumblr from your perspectives.

now, I’ll go and say a lot of unpopular things before addressing your concerns, but here we go:

people on tumblr don’t read. or better: either they read fanfic which then they decide to consider the same thing as published writing, and like... while there’s a lot of fic that’s better than some published writing technically, the fact that they say it about classics or stuff they’re supposed to study in school shows that they have no idea of the basic difference in between the two media... or they read YA that gets hailed as the Next Best Thing In Literature when at most it’s a good YA and at worst it’s mediocre stuff that looks revolutionary because they haven’t read the fifteen other things that YA has taken inspiration from. at most they read harry potter when they were kids and never moved on from it, as showed by the fact that it’s 2019 and I still have to see people arguing about sn/ape being BAD OR GOOD when he’s the standard gray archetype, and if you can only think of sn/ape when you think about a gray character and you still haven’t made sense of his moralities or lack thereof, then you haven’t read anything else; (never mind that once I read writing advice like SORT YOUR CHARACTERS INTO HOGWARTS HOUSES LIKE FFS SOME OF US HAVEN’T READ HP THAT’S NOT A UNIVERSAL ADVICE FOR CREATING A CHARACTER’S BACKGROUND)

as people on tumblr don’t read, their understanding of how you write or anything else related to the craft is pretty much useless - like, the only thing each single writing manual agrees on is that if you want to be a writer you have to read a lot, because how are you going to deconstruct tropes (to say one) if you don’t know how those tropes work? or how are you going to play into them if you don’t know how they work regardless? I can’t write a tolkien deconstruction if I haven’t read all of tolkien’s writings back to back ten times at least, I can’t write a good novel about vietnam veterans in the early eighties if I don’t read all the history books on the topic I can find and at least ten tomes about how war-related ptsd in veterans works and possibly a lot of books written by vets themselves. I can’t write a stephen king deconstruction if I haven’t read stephen king back to back ten times either. which shows they think original novels are like fanfic - like, I personally have researched the shit out of things for fanfic, but I wouldn’t ask anyone to do it for a thing they do for free. like, if I see badly researched italian reinassance AU fic I won’t gaf if the author just wrote it based on the anglosaxon tv shows about the borgias around because I can’t expect them to read ten books about the topic to write a thing they don’t get paid for and that just people in fandom most likely will touch, but if it’s a published author that gets paid for it I’ll expect that at least they’ll do some research if they want to write stuff somewhat realistically. people on tumblr think that writing a novel requires the same effort as fanfic, as in, not much when it comes to background work, which is ridiculous, because that’s the difference - with fanfic, unless I write a detailed AU or smth, the author already did that work for me. I just have to expand on it and trying to understand the characters. like, it’s nowhere near the same thing;

which means that people have gone with this concept that ‘you can’t write X if you’re not X’, which is honestly ridiculous and counter-productive because it shoots down any chance that you, as an author, might actually understand what people who aren’t from your background feel like. also, I personally think that if you want to do that and you want to be good at it you need to a) find a way to relate to your characters that goes beyond your differences, b) talk to people from the category you don’t belong to. now, if I had to write a 50k short romance novel about two guys falling for each other at a record shop without too much drama happening, I’d probably just write it myself, some people who are actually guys into guys, ask them to read it, tell me if I fucked it up, get them to explain me how I fucked it up and run it by them until I’m done, but admittedly I don’t need research to find out how people run a record shop. if I had to write a story set in europe but idk there’s a zombie plague and one of the protagonists is a black american tourist I’d go ask someone who is black and american and possibly from the area I decided that person is from to give me background info on how I could write this person etc. and then run it by them after I’m done. if another of the protagonists is idk polish (because there’s not many polish people in mainstream european fiction outside of polish authors), I’d find a polish person to do the same thing and run it by them etc., because I’m not a black american nor a polish person but I still want to write those characters etc. but I mean, let’s say it’s the zombie apocalypse - can I make sure people connect with both of them because they’re surrounded by zombies and as all human beings in existence they don’t want to die? most likely I can. meanwhile I’ll have learned a lot of things about both categories because I talked to people belonging to them;

or, let’s say I want to write some story with a large cast where I decide that for the purposes of it straight character falls for a trans character and it ends well because fuck that I want people to be happy. I’m not trans, but I do know people who are. I’ll definitely talk to them running stuff and ask if thing X is offensive or not etc. because of course I’m not so I can’t know for sure, maybe I’ll stick with the straight POV or maybe not but I’ll definitely run it by them to make sure the thing is actually well-planned/not in poor taste, and meanwhile I’ll have learned a lot about the topic that I might not have known before, which is good because it means I know more about experiences I don’t have which is, guess what, how the entire point of writing stories is. you want people to empathize and feel for characters that might be not the same as them, that’s exactly your damned job, but if you don’t do it yourself first how do you assume others will?

all these people who think you can’t write a gay character if you’re not gay are the same people who think that if you’re a straight woman you can’t write about two men being in love/fucking but you should be able to do it about f/f pairings because since you’re a woman then you have to guess how that works out of that, which shows that they have no idea of how anything works - like I argued with half of tumblr on this topic so whatever, but as a straight woman I think I have more aesthetic tastes in common with a gay man since we both want to fuck men and we both are familiar with handling that equipment, so I’d find it easier to write about that rather than about the contrary as I don’t generally find women attractive in that sense except for like two very specific people who are not a very common aesthetic in general. but like, assuming that in virtue of being a woman then you have to know how it feels to be attracted to women while you can’t possibly do 2+2 about how gay men are into each other when technically you’re into men yourself shows exactly how these people have No Idea Whatsoever of how attraction works, never mind how empathizing with someone else works, never mind of how writing things with research behind it goes;

also, assuming that if you’re X then you can’t understand Y is extremely damaging because it means you can never understand other people’s struggles and that’s......... worrying? I mean, it’s an incredibly dangerous (and calvinist) position to say that if someone is X and so doesn’t know how it feels to have a specific kind of issue then they can’t get it not even intellectually. idk, I’m straight so I can’t possibly understand or relate to why would lgbt+ people want to marry and adopt kids/have their children recognized/have the same rights as I do? are we serious? so if idk I wanted to try and change some bigot’s mind about it when I see that they’re just parroting bullshit and they haven’t thought about it I shouldn’t even try because they’re a bigot and they’ll never understand or change their mind? so people who used to be bigots, then found out their kids or their kids’s friends were lgbt+, listened to them, realized they were bigots and are now allies/supporters couldn’t have done that because at some point they used to be bigots? how the hell do you want people to change or to be an activist or change the world if you don’t believe that people can change themselves or worse that you don’t believe that people coming from any background can’t understand people coming from another background? that’s not how it works. I mean guys ffs I read a bunch of nonfiction lately about endemic poverty in the center of the US out of personal interest and I’m as far from the US and any of those situations as it goes (I’m not a veteran, I never was not taught to read and write even if I finished high school, I never lost 90% of what I had after getting sick, I never needed to hop on a train illegally to go places, I never had to sell my own plasma to buy lunch, I never needed to live in a tent when I was going to middle school after my parents had to move to a totally different state and I never had to go live in a trailer after my house was sold by a bank before I couldn’t pay off my loan, I don’t have a five year old child that won’t be insured because she was born with a pre-existing medical condition), and like... I cried while reading some of them? because I could envision it and I felt like the system failed them and I hate reading about people being failed by a system that should support them, and I swear I’m not a US person who comes from that background whatsoever. I could probably write you a full novel about how immigrants in Italy have it like shit whether they’re legal or not because I worked in the field for two years and one of my oldest friends has immigrant parents and she was born here and she can’t use her ID to travel in europe only because she still doesn’t have a citizenship and she’s been waiting for years to get it. I’m not an immigrant in italy but I’ve known enough, seen enough and heard enough from them that I could most likely do it and it wouldn’t be badly researched. like, you can’t tell people to not tell stories if they want to do it with respect and not wanting to make it about themselves only. that’s bad writing. but if you care about the people you’re giving rep to then you should try imvho;

now: I suppose that you’re belonging to categories that are Not Minorities given how the ask is worded. (same as me more or less unless you consider atheists a minority but nvm that.) there’s a lot of writers around that are Not Minorities and most get published more than people who are actually minorities. people saying that you can’t write X if you’re not X and X = minority are pretty much telling you that you shouldn’t use your spotlight to give people rep when you could and you could do it reasonably well if you do your research and talk to those minorities. so they’re basically going against everyone’s interests because you could learn things and become a better person and make sure your readers empathize with your characters and more rep is always good esp. if well-done. I personally think that people should write about what they want - there’s topics I wouldn’t feel comfortable touching because idk if I could do that well and things I really wouldn’t want to write about so I most likely never will -, but that they should also go for what they want if it’s what they believe they can do. so if you feel like you want to write gay characters or whatever go for it and then find yourself a sensitivity reader or ten before you send your book around instead of worrying about what kids on tumblr who are still arguing about snape’s morality and think that writing the divine comedy is the same as self-insert fanfic think, because they will never create shit for anyone, you might. and you’ll have automatically done more than people who complain about everything but wouldn’t produce one single piece of fiction themselves and wouldn’t most likely waste ten minutes of their life researching the fiction they want to write.

tldr: if you want to write professionally, influence people and give the world good stories, don’t give a fuck about what tumblr says because it’s people who most likely will never read your books anyway unless you want to write the next YA saga that has the same six archetypes of characters in which then the only slightly problematic white cishet dude will be without further ado compared to sn/ape and everyone is going to get sorted into hogwarts houses and people will fight about that rather than giving a damn about whatever message you wanted to pass. don’t give a damn about tumblr and do your thing anon, no one deserves to have any perspective ruined because of this hellsite’s opinions on anything. ;)

#long post for ts #janie rants #guys don't take this as me bitching about HP but I'm honestly tired that It's The Only Book Ppl Read Around Here #peace #janie writes #fffff i hate tumblr #writing advice #i suppose #Anonymous #ask post

36 notes · View notes

tessatechaitea · 5 years

Text

Scarab #5

Scarab just learned how to use "whomst'd" correctly.

Maybe the sudden need for drugs was due to this character with my name trying to kill himself.

I hadn't actually gotten to the part where the guy notes he's on drugs or that he's surrounded by poppies so I think I just have to give credit to John Smith's writing for setting up a real "I'm fucking overdosing on pain killers" tone. Now I'm also jealous of a fictional nobody. If only I had too many painkillers right now, um, well, I'd probably never hit publish on this blog post and all five of my readers would be wondering, "When the fuck is Grunion Guy (or Tess (or Jeff (or whoever the fuck this asshole is))) ever going to finish reading Scarab?" According to my Non-Certified Sister-in-law, nutritionists have to report people for suicidal ideation. She told this to me because she's a nutritionist and I said to her one night at karaoke that my current retirement plan was to do whatever the fuck I wanted until my bank account was dry and then kill myself. But she never reported me so I guess she doesn't realize that's actually my retirement plan. Speaking of karaoke, I knocked another song off of my karaoke bucket list this week: "Like China" by Phil Collins. I fucked that song so hard on stage, some woman high-fived me and some other guy came up to me and thanked me for reminding him that the song exists. He was super drunk. Super drunk guys love me at karaoke. One time this guy whose name I believe was Creepy Kevin asked me, after I'd just sung "Everybody Knows," if I was doing it in the style of Leonard Cohen or Concrete Blonde. I said Concrete Blonde and he said, "Your voice really suits it." Which is when I stabbed him in the throat and tossed him in the dumpster out back with the leftover spring rolls from the night before because how dare he insult Johnette Napolitano! She has the voice of an angel and I have the voice of the person the angel walks on so that they don't have to get their feet dirty at the angel orgy. I know nobody is reading this and thinking, "What the fuck are you talking about?! What has happened to Scarab this issue?! Has Eleanor found her way home?!" How many people even remember that this comic book ever existed?! I just read four issues of it a week and a half ago and I almost forgot it existed! This issue is called "Paradise Defiled" which I just read although maybe my subconscious read it earlier (due to the comic being opened to that page and just sitting there on the scanner) which is why I was thinking about angel orgies. This guy Jeff is somebody Louis knows. An old woman — maybe his mother? — phones Louis to ask if he's seen him. So that's how Scarab gets involved with Jeff's suicidal problem. Meanwhile, Eleanor is sprouting ecotoplasmic rivulets. It's super gross. But this issue isn't about Scarab and Eleanor! At least I don't think it is. It's about Jeff waking up from his pleasant and relaxing overdose to find himself in an afterlife torture garden sex party. He totally hates it and I understand why. The place is first described as "a literal incarnation of a littoral world" and I have to stop myself from Googling "home lobotomy." The first tortured sex victim he meets is a guy strapped to a wheel with a bunch of knives in him spouting "Vertigo phrases." I explained "Vertigo phrases" in a previous commentary (or all of my previous Vertigo commentaries maybe?) but for those who somehow just stumbled upon this commentary because "every blog post is somebody's first" (although why Scarab #5 would be somebody's first is beyond comprehension), here's a nice example of "Vertigo phrasing."

It doesn't have to mean anything. It just needs to sound weirdly profound while making the reader feel like a real fucking smarty pants.

Jeff is taken to some Herod-like angel named Lord Colouris. He's also a bit like a cross between John Lennon and Jabba the Hutt. Did I just describe David Crosby? Lord Colouris declares he's going to make a new man out of Jeff and I don't think he means it figuratively. In the middle of the Garden stands the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. It bears the fruit of truth and whispers as skulls pile up beneath it from those feeding on its devastating pronouncements. Also, I sort of agree with what it's saying here:

Ninety-eight percent of this blog is me screaming from the anguish of losing the bliss of nonexistence.

Not that I think I'm evil. Nor do I believe in souls. But that whole anguish over the loss of nonexistence? That hits me fucking hard, bro. Look, it even made me call you bro. I'm hurting here, dude. See? I said dude too! The rest of what the tree says is meaningless gobbledygook. Something about sex tearing the flanks of God and a snake jerking it into a pot of clay like my junior high school classmate Chris Huff beating off in a breadbox. Maybe it makes sense to guilt-ridden Catholics but it's all wasted on me. I'm just wondering if I should do a Google search on a snake ejaculating. I've done it before for bats and let me tell you: there's a great video of a bat at a zoo sucking itself off in front of some kids! Truly a work of art. So privileged to live in this modern age and able to experience such wonders of this world! Lord Colouris turns Jeff into a monstrosity because he's trying to reform the lost souls that wind up in the Garden of Pain into his image before he fell from Heaven. But he can't do it because everybody who enters the Garden is tainted by their boring and uncreative lives. To finally make a work of art equal to his previous state of being, Lord Colouris releases all of his Frankenstein monsters into the world to hunt down a truly innocent and beautiful person who can provide the raw material for Lord Colouris's sculpture. Jeff is now one of them. Being uncreative morons, the monsters raid nurseries all over New York. Idiots. How many babies does it take to create an angel? Probably like millions! Some of the monsters seek out Eleanor because her leaking bodily fluids smell succulent and, I guess, virginal? I don't know. Like I said, she's gross. I hope they take her. Instead of Eleanor, the monsters accidentally take Scarab back to the Garden where he's quickly defeated by Colouris with a tree grown up through his guts. Then Scarab, like a true super hero, remembers that he can't be defeated if he just summons one last burst of strength and hope to overcome his enemy! Which he totally does by biting Lord Colouris's tongue off (because Lord Colouris was doing naughty things to Scarab. So naughty that I was embarrassed to discuss them). Then he punches Colouris in the throat and he barfs up the keys to all of his monsters' souls. Plus the key to his own soul which Monster Jeff helps Scarab find. Scarab recognizes him and thinks, "Fuck. Okay, I guess I'll just have to tell Jeff's mother he's dead." Then Scarab sticks the key in Colouris's head and the Garden dissolves into an empty room with a ticking metronome. That probably makes really smart people go, "Holy fuck! That's fucking brilliant! What a great reference or theory or idea or intelligent bit of philosophical scat!" And, um, that's totally what I said too. I'm not one of those morons who don't understand Vertigo comic books. Pshaw! Can you even believe uncool losers like that exist?! Scarab #5 Rating: You know how many things I had to look up on the Internet while reading this comic book? At least two! Maybe more but even two is a lot! Remember, I first read this in 1993 when most people didn't have Internet (and those that did were spending their time in AOL and Prodigy chat rooms with names like "Horoscope Lovers" and "Remember The A-Team?!"). So that's two things I definitely didn't understand when I read it the first time because you can believe that I was too lazy to pick up a dictionary in the middle of reading a comic book. And that's even assuming that I'm the type of person to own a dictionary! Man, stop embarrassing yourself with your lousy assumptions!

#Scarab #Vertigo #DC Comics #DC #Scot Eaton #John Smith

2 notes · View notes

bookenders · 5 years

Text

11/11/11 Tag Game: Round... uh... 5, 6, & 7?

I got tagged by a bunch of people ( @quilloftheclouds is this how your 77 question one felt??) so here are a bunch of answers! I think this is the most I’ve ever talked about myself in my life.

Good gracious, you’re all so nice and have such good questions.

Tagged by: @surroundedbypearls, @waterfallwritings, @bigmoodword, @sundaynightnovels

Rules: answer 11 questions, tag 11 people, give them 11 new questions!

[I’ve done this enough to be able to break the tag rules. Fight me.]

44 questions and answers below the cut!

But I’ll be nice and put my questions right here:

What would you do for a Klondike bar?

When do you title your WIPs? It is the first thing you do? The last? Does it come to you during drafting?

How many inside jokes do you put in your WIP(s)?

Your WIP’s antagonist is now The Riddler. How do your OCs handle that?

Do you use sticky notes?

Laptop or desktop?

Your OC is a wrestler. What’s their hype music?

Do you own any craft books/books on writing?

What’s your favorite book cover?

How many unread books do you have sitting around right now? Which are you most excited to maybe get to eventually some time?

How committed are you to your outline(s)?

Bilbo Taggins: Literally anyone, but also @francestroublr, @sahados-shadow, @a-story-im-writing, @bethkerring, @citruschickadee, @bos-ingit

If I’ve tagged you before, you can totally ignore this. In fact, I encourage you to.

From @surroundedbypearls:

What’s your favourite genre to write in and why? Literary fiction! It’s what I learned in university and the one that fits my themes best. Sci-fi is hard, I’m just getting into writing fantasy stuff, I can’t do thrillers, romance is hard for me, and historical is too much work.

Do you think you have a style/voice that you use more often in your writing? When did you develop that style? If you’ve read one of my stories, you know exactly how my writing voice sounds. It doesn’t change too much. I write like I talk, but if I had a lot more gravitas and charisma. Honestly, I’ve always had that kind of style, but it really developed in high school. It’s been getting stronger since then. It’s one of the things I always got comments about from my teachers and fellow workshop writers. “Your voice is so strong!” Yep. It’s mah thang.

Do you play video games? What’s your favourite? YES I DO. It’s hard to pick faves, but I’ve played Dragon Age: Origins too many times.

If you were going to do a WIP crossover, which OCs would be most interesting together? (If you’ve only got one WIP crossover with something else) A crossover between H2H and AOPC? Interesting. I think Mel and Keema would get along the best, Oz would have some fightin’ words for Elder Sanga, and Gemma and Teva would be a force to be reckoned with, my god. Two stubborn nerds who believe totally different things but are also very determined to be very good at what they want to do and love their communities to a fault? Fear them.

Do you prefer to plan WIPs in a document or through handwritten notes? I used to do it by hand but I couldn’t read it because my handwriting is terrible and I kept losing papers. I do it in docs now. Much easier to organize and incredibly legible.

Do you multiple languages exist in your WIP? If so how do you address that in the story? H2H is set in the “real world,” so yep. It hasn’t been addressed too much yet, but I have a way for tackling languages. I’ve written multilingual-ish stories before. I never write phonetically and use hella context clues so the reader knows the gist of what was said if another character doesn’t translate.

What’s your favourite animated film that’s not Disney or Pixar? AN AMERICAN TAIL. All of them. It’s on Netflix go watch it and marvel at the way a kids movie talks about Jewish immigration, poverty, and cultural oppression via mice. As a young Jewish child, this movie was my jam. It’s very dark, though.

Do your real-life surroundings influence your WIP’s settings? Nope! One time I tried to write a story set in the same area where I lived and I couldn’t do it. Too weird. Sometimes I’ll write in an item I see near me, or like, a painting or poster on the wall if I need some set decoration, but that’s about it.

Which OCs would be most likely to break the fourth wall? Oz. Lookin’ at the camera like he’s in The Office.

How do you work out your OCs’ personalities? Hm. I look at the story I’m trying to write and make a protagonist that would have the most interesting experience in that narrative. For H2H, I wanted someone who would be loyal as heck to the people they loved while still being experimental enough to try new things and get into shenanigans. The story called for someone like that, and there she was. Mel came about my thinking of someone who would compliment other characters in the story while still being their own person. If that makes sense. I think of dynamics and interactions with the story world in relation to the theme(s). Most of the time they just happen, though.

Do you prefer worldbuilding or character building? Character building! As much as I like making stories about places, making characters is more fun for me, and more interesting. You should see all the DnD character sheets I have.

From @waterfallwritings:

1. How do you come up with ideas for your WIPs?

At random. Seriously. It’s like my brain has to be running something in the background to function normally, and usually that something is whatever story I happen to be working on. Or I’ll look at a thing and go “huh.” My brain also likes to twist normal things to be a little bit different.

2. How do you get past gaps in the plot?

No idea, man. It’s like throwing spaghetti at a wall. I like to work backwards. If this is what I want to happen, what needs to happen before that to ensure that it occurs? I look at all the elements currently in the story and see if one can be manipulated to fill in the hole.

3. What motivates you to keep writing?

If I don’t, my brain gets all constipated and angry until I write something down. Like, seriously, I get grumpy and frustrated like I’m hangry or something. Aside from physical need, I love writing. I love word puzzles and feelings puzzles and figuring them out. Sometimes I think of how my stories could help someone, or make them feel something that they enjoy.

4. Do you do any other kind of creative writing?

Oh, man, I’ve done it all. Screenwriting, playwriting, poetry, video game-ish writing, interactive storytelling, short stories, flash fiction, proposals, essays, DnD campaigns, monologues... You name it, I’ve probably tried it. I tend to stick to prose and poetry these days.

5. Do you have any other creative hobbies besides writing?

I’ve gotten into graphic design a little bit. I kind of wanna learn how to knit again. I’m not really very crafty.

6. What do you do when you’re stuck on a scene and don’t know how to get it out / write it?

Write a different scene, stare at the screen in frustration until I give up and go to sleep, meditate for a few minutes, go do something else to get my mind off of it, clean, work on a different project.

7. How do you decide how to end your WIP?

I mean, see the next question for part of my answer. How did I decide to end H2H? My friend, that’s a big ‘ole spoiler. But I decided to end it at a place where everything, and everyone, comes together.

8. When in the process of writing do you decide how its going to end? Or do you kind of just wait til you get there?

Right at the beginning. If I don’t know where it’ll end, I have a hard time writing the arc. I work backwards: start with the idea, then think of where I want it to end up, then work back to the beginning until I know where its going, then start writing.

9. Why did you decide to join writeblr?

My reasons are pretty personal, but the least personal is that I needed some accountability and motivation. And I missed being in a good writing community.

10. What’s your favourite food?

Pasta! I’m eating spaghetti right now.

11. If you had to kill off a character in your WIP, who would it be and why?

Oz would be the most tragic. Treena would be the most logical.

From @bigmoodword:

1. using one sentence summaries, can you tell me about your wips?

Nerdy potion woman meets cute odd stranger who helps her solve magic mysteries in their quirky small town.

2. what inspired them?

I saw a zine accepting submissions for magic stories, then an open call for queer shifter stories, and thought “what if wholesome magical lesbians?”

3. which of your ocs do you most identify with?

Gemma!

4. if you’ve ever cried while reading, which book cued the waterworks?

THE SONG OF ACHILLES. My God, my soul was weeping. Honestly, it still is. Doesn’t matter that I knew the story from the Iliad. Madeline Miller is a feelings wizard.

5. how do you conduct research for your wips and what’s the most interesting thing you’ve discovered in said research?

On an as-needed basis. I used to do way too much research to avoid actually writing the damn thing, so now I only do it when I actually run into a problem that can be solved by Google.

6. thus far, which scene has been the most difficult to write?

The ones that aren’t hugely emotional. Which is... unfortunate.

7. which of your ocs do you like the least?

Rude. On a personal level, Jill. I love her, but I would not be friends with her. We wouldn’t mesh at all.

8. which pov and tense do you prefer to write in?

Third person limited present tense! To the bane of everyone who’s ever edited my work.

9. do you write poetry?

I do! Not often, though.

10. who is your writing role model?

My freakin’ writing professor from college. He is crazy disciplined.

11. if you could give your younger writer self some advice, what would it be?

Hey, you know those people who say your writing is too dark? Yeah, they suck and they’re wrong. They just want kids to live up to their expectations and write happy sunshiny stories about unicorns and dinosaurs having ice cream. And you’re not depressed because you wrote that one sad poem one time and someone asked if you were depressed. What you have is called feelings and they’re very useful for a writer, nay, a human, to have.

From @sundaynightnovels:

Who is your biggest role model? Okay, so I got crap all the time in grade school for never having a role model, and I still don’t have one. The teachers were concerned about me. But my reasoning was, “why should I want to live someone else’s life?” Yeah. They didn’t really know what to do with that...

What are your OCs favorite foods? Sort of answered here!

Which OC is most afraid of the dark? Oz and Mary!

What made you want to start a writing blog/participate in the writeblr community? Answered above!

Did you sleep with a stuffed animal as a kid? Do you still? I did, indeed. I don’t anymore, but I have two that I shuffle around my room when they get in the way. One is a highland cow I got in Scotland (he has a plaid hat), the other is a blue whale I got at the Museum of Natural History in NY.

Do you like donuts? I love donuts. Especially jelly filled ones. Mmm.

Do/would your OCs like donuts? All of my OCs like donuts. I don’t think Mel has ever had a modern one, though.

What is your least favorite food? Cauliflower? I’m the household taste-tester, so there’s been a lot of stuff I don’t like. ( @sundaynightnovels I hate sparkling water, too, you’re not alone!)

What is your ideal writing environment? Comfy seating, a chair with no arms (stupid elbows), alone, plenty of chosen beverage within reach, headphones.

Favorite line from your WIP? So far, it’s this one!

Favorite quote from a book? Oh, man. There are so many. From recent memory, here are a few: “’Give it time,’ she replies. ‘It won’t be a story forever.’“ and “Everyone has heard stories of women like us, and now we will make more of them.” (both from The Ladies Guide to Petticoats and Piracy) “When he smiled, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled like a leaf held to flame.” and “I lean forward and our lips land clumsily on each other. They are like the fat bodies of bees, soft and round and giddy with pollen.” (I could write a goddamn essay about the imagery in this scene.) (It is quite possibly my favorite description of a kiss ever. And the metaphor extends through the rest of the scene so artfully ugh.) (both from The Song of Achilles) “The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in the head.” (from The Things They Carried)

#11/11/11 tag #about me #tag game #writer tag #oh my god so many questions #fun stuff below the cut #forgive my terrible jokes I am tired #writeblr #how I write #I guess #rec #book rec

10 notes · View notes

manifestoonmoralmanlove · 5 years

Text

Gormless Ch. 5 - Try to kill my boss? Haha you kids are alright!

A well-meaning friend gave me a book series that is hilariously bad. The first book was Souless and my riffs were entitled brainless. This second book is entitled Changless and these riff are then gormless.

I mean to say I have entitled them gormless! Not that my riffs are dumb, and the effort I spend on them stupid since I’m the only one who enjoys them. HAHA!

The story is SUPPOSED TO be about how a badass lady wearing a rad-looking carriage dress hits baddies with her umbrella and bangs her hot werewolf husband. In reality it’s mostly poor attempts at being witty, flirty, and superior.

For the last book check out the brainless tag.

If you want the TL;DR version but want to read these new riffs anyway?

This story is set in supernatural Victorian steampunk England. Alexia is our NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS protag. She is a soulless, which means she’s able to negate the abilities of vampires and werewolves by touching them. She’s recently married a big oaf, named Lord Connel Maccon. He’s the manchild in charge of the supernatural police with a zillion dollars and he’s totes super hot too ok. Their relationship is mostly arguments about how Maccon can’t tell her fucking anything. Alexia has also recently become head of ~Soulless affairs~ in Queen Victoria’s government. She has a dumb friend named Ivy, a gay vampire friend named Akeldama, a family who’s evil because they do the same shit as her but while being blonde, and most importantly Alexia is better than everyone cause…cause.

Last time on Gormless:

There’s some mysterious force that’s turning the Vampires and werewolves into humans. Alexia is in charge of figuring out that deal, and she is doing a bad job at it. Her husband is in charge of the Supernatrual Police (BUR) so he’s going to Scotland about it.

There’s a hot werewolf guy into Alexia called Channing and he’s a big jerk. Ivy is getting married to some rich slub, even though she’s in wub with Maccon’s servant Tunstell. Alexia just met a hot lesbian named LeFoux and wants to take her to visit her smart Vampire gay bestie Akeldama.

Chapter 5 – Try to kill my boss? Haha you kids are alright!

This chapter opens up with her seeing Lord Akeldama. Basically they start by inviting Madame LeFoux and just catching up. Turns out Akeldama has not seen the humanization phenomenon before even though he hella old, but his scouts discovered a military ship called the Spanker had people from the Kingair clan aboard who were humanized. We got similar info before, but there’s an implication that the humanization is traveling directly with the people of the Spanker. There’s the implication that it’s moving north, and it has to do with the dead alpha thing.

Something also of slight interest is that Akeldama tried to ~recruit~ Channing back when Channing was human. That Channing, so they say, used to be a charming sculptor and vampires and werewolves were fighting over him. That he went into the military/werewolfism cause it was more ~romantic.~ I think that’s all there just to put Channing back on the table as a love rival.

HE’S BAD RIGHT? BUT LIKE MAYBE NOT ALL BAD?

On one hand they’re fleshing him out. On another hand it reeks of Marty-Stuing and it is not convincing me he deserves another chance.

Well what would make him desirable to you Faps? Put him in an oversized sweater, with glasses, and he’s petting a cat?

Okay okay! My kink is valid and so is the kink for a man-child meathead okay. I just wish my kink was more main-stream gosh.

So Madam LeFoux shows up and there is a brief bit of sassing between Akledama and her before Akeldama has to show off his aethographor. They spend a lot of fucking time on this. I guess this is for the folks into the steampunk aspect but like…I don’t really understand this appeal. It basically boil down to it’s a telegraph machine but it prints letters onto metal with caustic chemicals. It has to be manned at all times, and some old ones need specific ~ Crystalline valve frequensors~ to communicate to one another but Akeldama’s LATEST EDITION doesn’t need it. I am a history nerd and reading about old machines is fascinating because you get to see how the machines have impacted the culture. I also like reading about Sci-Fi technology because either it’s cool to see what people decades ago thought was going to happen, or speculative future possibilities. In theory speculative fiction about an alternate universe’s history could be cool but this machine is just not that far removed from a telegraph machine and sounds like it’s a pain in the ass. But perhaps I’m just so spoiled by the fact that I could get a snapchat of a strange person’s butthole from Australia instantaneously without having to operate a machine the size of a room 24/7. You have not truly enjoyed a stranger from down under’s…down under until you’ve seen it with the leopard ear snapchat filter!

Anyway he gives Alexia a ~ Crystalline valve frequensor~ with his frequency just in case. She puts it in a pocket on her umbrella and it’s like DAMN GIRL WHY DIDN’T YOU LEAD WITH THE FACT THE THING HAS POCKETS? THAT’S WAY COOLER! (Even if impractical for regular umbrellas.)

The three of them part ways, Alexia is planning on taking a dirigible to Scotland in order to face this humanization and save her dumb-fuck husband.

Here we switch point of views to look through Lyall’s eyes. He’s tailing Alexia for reasons and some vampires are sneaking around Lord Akeldama’s place while she was visiting. The vamps almost attack Alexia but Lyall stops them with some pow pow action. The vampires say they were just going to ~test~ Alexia and Lyall is just like haha that’s fine, go home you kids! Also Alexia did not notice any of this.

I mean I’m kinda glad we had a bit o’ action but this was dumb. Lyall just lets these two jackoffs go after they tried to maybe kill/kidnap/whatever his master’s wife. Also he doesn’t tell Alexia she was nearly attacked? Cause drama later on I guess? Fuck this writing! I take back the nice things I said about Lyall! Lyall instead just argues that Alexia shouldn’t go to Scotland. Sure Maccon relies heavily on his superpowers for everything, but not letting him know his powers are going to be suddenly taken away by a mysterious force which maybe out of his blood will definitely be fine. I guess because it’s now Lyall’s policy to make sure everybody around him, whom he attempts to protect with his life, is unaware of the danger around them. Cool, cool.

At least this time when Alexia badgers somebody about something she’s going to do, she’s right that it makes no sense why she shouldn’t. However she unwittingly has to take along a merry batch of fuckers. You’ll hear about them in a bit.

We have a big old scene where Alexia’s mother shows up and is like, “YOUR ONE SISTER IS GETTING MARRIED THE OTHER SISTER IS SO WRACKED WITH JEALOUSY SHE’S MAKING EVERYONE MISERABLE! YOU TAKE HER!”

Oh and there’s this inconsistent writing here where Alexia’s mother is passive aggressively racist toward werewolves and Scots. Yet at the same time there are lines about how pleased Alexia’s mother is that she married a Scottish werewolf. There’s the direct line, “It was a constant source of amazement to Alexia that the only thing she had ever done in her entire life that pleased her mama was marry a werewolf.” I think what the author is trying to say is that Alexia’s mom was happy that Alexia married a rich and powerful man, and LOOKS PAST the fact that he’s a werewolf but still kinda hates werewolves. However they don’t bring up that her mom is impressed with all her money and power. They just keep saying WEREWOLF THIS and WEREWOLF THAT! They made it unnecessarily muddled here and it’s confusing, annoying, and could have been easily fixed.

In Alexia mother’s defense the only thing I’ve seen Alexia do that’s pleased me, is hit that douche werewolf over the head a bunch.

So of course, Alexia’s mother won’t take no for an answer when it comes to her sister. Therefore Alexia is saddled with generic shallow, petty, bitch blonde sister #2. Felicity, the blonde in question, agreed to this, despite hating her sister cause she knew her sister would be surrounded by hunky werewolves. SHE GOTTA GET A HUSBAND NOW TOO! IT’S ALL US LADY FOLKS CARE ABOUT! Due to English custom you can’t just leave your sister in your castle to have wild gangbangs with werewolves all day and night. But I mean, considering the amount of misogyny the 3rd in command is packing? Not leaving her alone there is probably a good idea. (Also I will puke blood if Felicity and Channing become an item.)

Ivy shows up at this time as well cause I mean…Ivy has always been sexually drawn to inconvenient timing. Don’t kink-shame her! When Ivy hears that Tunstell will be going on the Dirigible, she pouts until Alexia just let’s her go along too, cause HAHA WHY NOT AT THIS POINT!?

(A gif of Hillary Clinton laughing and throwing her hands up.)

So she’s taking Angelique (to dress her), Felicity (to be obnoxious in the bitchy way), Ivy (to be obnoxious in the ditsy way), and Tunstell (cause this 90lb actor will protect them all.)

OH BOY WE GOT A SMORGSEBORG OF IMPENDING WACKINESS TO CONTEND WITH! IS THAT EXCITEMENT I HEAR OR THE CRACKING OF MY OWN GRINDING TEETH!?

Say something nice Faps:

Dang I’m having a hard time saying nice things here that aren’t simply just, “Well at least X didn’t happen!”

She uhhh tried to steampunk?

I get a masochistic tickle when Alexia’s family is around. I dislike Alexia so I like seeing her insulted, but the cartoonish villainy of her family is hilarious to me. It’s just so spot-on, the archetypal “BASIC SHALLOW BLONDE BITCH-SLUT TO MAKE PROTAG LOOK BETTER THAN ALL OTHER GIRLS!” However I have yet to see an author fail so spectacularly at differentiating the evil girls from the protag. “I can’t believe all my family cares about is how they look, their social standing, and men!” Huffs Alexia, as she ponders her own romantic dalliances to the king of the Universe, in her new blue carriage dress, which has SHOOK the London fashion world to its VERY CORE!

#gormless #changless #riffing

1 note · View note

prettylittlelyres · 5 years

Text

Violins and NOT VIOLAS

Apparently I’m the kind of gay disaster who gives herself asthma attacks walking to university while very, very excited about Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and all the cats he had (he did have a lot of pets, but not just cats; dogs and birds also, as far as I know, maybe others, too), but apparently, I'm also going to be an absolute fool on top of that, and not wait until I've finished my current WIP, She Has No Name, or drafted Violins and Violets to completion, before I go off on one about all the very fun ideas I have for expanding the world around the novel. As my housemate and my sister will confirm, I spent all of yesterday yelling about this.

OK.

OK, so, since I took my Ventolin like a good and responsible little sickie (which I'm mentioning so that my Year Abroad coordinator will not bar me from going to France next year on grounds that I technically might die (which I probably won't)), I'm alive to chuck a bunch of coffee down my throat and get started on the very fun list of things I am going to talk about in the Hans-centric book.

Putting a “Read More” here because it gets long. Strap yourselves in, pals.

For a start, although it's only a working title, I do know that I want all the books in this collection to be titled in the same or at least in a similar format (like "Violins and Violets", "something musical" and "something gay”), I’m going to be calling this one, at the very least for the time being, Violins and not Violas, because (to quote TwoSetViolin, a big inspiration for this series and a big reason I procrastinate instead of a) writing and b) practicing) violas are shit.

But quite honestly, it is going to revolve, at least partially, around Hans Schmidt’s open dislike of violas and violists (somewhat akin but less personally-motivated than his sister’s distrust of oboists (100% justified after the Herr Havelka issue (which I definitely didn’t just put into the story to justify flexing on the oboe (the viola of the woodwind section (I play clarinet (occasionally (God, so many brackets))))))), and his quest to “invent a viola that isn’t shit” (his words, not mine).

Because anything is possible in fiction.

So, Hans Schmidt (as I recently realised that we never actually see him in Violins and Violets, and when he went off on his tour of Europe, before the events of the book, he said goodbye to his sister for the last time; they never see each other again) is going to be the star of Violins and not Violas.

He’s going to learn to make instruments (violins first), which is a skill he’s going to have to learn (and which I’m going to have to work into his letters to Käthe, which I will have to curate so, so carefully from now on for the sake of continuity), so that will involve a friendship with the person who teaches him this, and then he’s going to have lots and lots of fun inventing instruments for people (and naming his favourite ones after his best friends), and passing the skill on to others (Mozart would not want music to be the exclusive realm of the elite and nor does Hans Schmidt). Hence his life-work being “make an unshit viola” (again, his words, not mine).

My favourite aro-ace violinist legend is going to be exceedingly flamboyant in his dress, look rapper-dapper a.f. all the time (think 18th century Freddie Mercury), and I mean Rapper-Dapper A.F. All The Time. This is a man who makes quite a bit of money as a) a musician by Royal Appointment at the Court of the English King, and b) selling the very interesting and cool musical instruments that he has made/invented. He has the means to wear satin nightshirts, wigs dyed every colour of the rainbow, and velvet jackets embroidered very lavishly by none other than himself (another skill he learns from a customer who is very grateful for her violin), and he’s damn well going to use them. He’s not just a top-of-the league musician. He’s a fashion icon and he’s not going to let anyone forget it.

As I say, Mozart had a lot of pets of lots of kinds, but Hans is going to have so many cats. It starts when people start giving him flowers after his performances at court, and the flowers smell very lovely and attract lots of cats that the courtiers keep as pets (who have the added benefit of chasing away the mice), and Hans fairly quickly makes friends with the cats, too, and over time just gets followed around by an increasingly massive number of cats. I’m talking fifty and more. And you bet he knows all their names, and gets cats of his own, and sits in his workshop surrounded by all these lovely cats who are very soft and lovely, and definitely don’t fight to be the ones to sit on his shoulders. It’s going to be so good.

The story’s going to start a little before Violins and Violets, sometime prior to Hans’ departure from Salzburg (and therefore before his sister, Katharina, goes to Prague) for his European tour. I’m thinking it’ll still start in 1785, just like Violins and Violets, but earlier that same year, when Hans is 15 and Katharina 19 (Violins and Violets starts on her 20th birthday). That gives me some time to develop their relationship as siblings before he leaves, and to pay more attention to their last goodbye.

However, I’m going to end this book long before I end Violins and Violets (1815), because I don’t want to focus on Hans’ death. I want this to be a story about his life instead, because there aren’t enough happy Queer people in historical fiction. Also because I cried enough last time I wrote his death. And the time before. I’m not doing that again.

I’m not yet sure exactly when I will end the story, because I’m not exactly sure of what structure this plot is going to follow, but... uh... I just looked it up in my plans... and Hans dies from typhus in 1793, so I’m going to have to make the story fit into only 8 years. Luckily, he’s a prodigy of music, so I think it’s reasonable to write him as a fast learner; that would let him (with his extremely creative mind, one of the few that can match Katharina’s) pick up the skill of violin-building quickly, coming up with ideas for his own inventions and then leaving those as his legacy as much as his music. Think Sax, but with less ridiculousness. As I say, I’m going to have to be careful about incorporating his story into Katharina’s, particularly where the letters they exchange are concerned. There’s no reason for him to keep inventing musical instruments a secret, so I can’t fall back on that as an excuse (although it has crossed my mind. Maybe he has to invent his unshit viola in a graveyard, under cover of darkness).

8 notes · View notes

stretchjournalemerson · 5 years

Text

Finding More

By Eitan Miller -

“I hurried over to the metal grating on the side of the “road.” Peering down, I saw cars flying at the speed of light right under my feet. This was it – the Abandoned Highway.”

I hurried over to the metal grating on the side of the “road.” Peering down, I saw cars flying at the speed of light right under my feet. This was it – the Abandoned Highway. My friend and I had been searching for this rumored oasis: a highway overpass accessible only through miles of woods. Rumor has it that the town ran out of funding for a branch of highway in the middle of construction, and they the town abandoned the project. This left the concrete slab freestanding for graffiti artists and wanderers. As I think about it, my friend and I couldn’t care less about what it was or how it got there, we just wanted an adventure and a place to explore. When I found it, I was enchanted. The setting sun’s reflection glowed amidst the hidden lake in the distance. A brilliant stream flowed, dodging in and out of the trees in its path. These sights contrasted greatly with the metal and concrete beneath my feet. Even the profanities engraved in graffiti and the overturned shopping cart lying on the overpass had an unusual sort of beauty. Man and nature had collided on this spot, meshing together, becoming one. Hundreds of vehicles rumbled beneath me, and the small town of Chatham, New Jersey sat unknowing, merely a mile or two away. Standing there, I remember experiencing the distinct feeling of absolute freedom.

Growing up in a boring suburb was just that – boring. During my childhood, I wanted to get out of the bubble and find something “exciting.” I guess I didn’t really know what I was looking for, though I found it from time to time in the form of bike rides, late night adventures through neighboring towns, and hikes in the woods. On many occasions, I would dash into the garage, grabbing the cold aluminum frame of my bike that desperately desired motion. I would lift open the heavy garage door and try to slide out my bike without toppling it, before hopping on and letting the wheels take me away. I would glide across the relatively empty roads, feeling the wind in my hair, turning left, then right, then left, then right, until I was comfortably lost. I wanted to explore, and I wanted to escape.

For my fourth birthday, I asked my parents for “a job,” impossibly desiring to become an “adult.” On Take Your Child to Work Day, I sat at the wood-paneled desk in the meeting room of my dad’s office, bathing in self-importance as I was told that the PowerPoint I was making “may or may not” get presented to my dad’s colleagues. My parents remind me that on my ninth birthday, I excitedly declared, “I’m halfway to eighteen!” In middle school, one day during gym class I distinctly remember telling my best friend that I was “ready to leave and go to college.” I wanted what I didn’t have: to grow up and get out. When it came time to look for college, I began searching for a new place to live.

I arrived in Boston, my new home, on August 27th, 2018. As my parents drove, I sat in the back seat of the car taking in the surroundings with the windows down. The sun shone bright, reflecting off the buildings in brilliant blues and golds. The breeze rippled through my hair and I felt an energy I didn’t recognize. Cleaner and greener than New York City, but more vibrant and busy than boring Chatham, New Jersey, Boston was my oasis. It was completely walkable and the perfect balance of busy and manageable. In the first few weeks, I spent hours exploring the city. I used my photography as an excuse to find new places and revel in all of what Boston had to offer.

One day, I was walking with a friend and we got completely lost after a few hours of wandering. We passed run-down trains and an industrial complex, entirely unsure of where we were. Eventually, we stumbled upon a path filled with streaks of color, like permanent multicolor chalk streams that seemed to stretch for miles. Curious, we followed. I found out later that we had stumbled upon “The Underground at Ink Block,” a stunning vibrant display of street art beneath the busy highways of Boston’s South End. Vibrant interconnecting paths snaked up and down across eight acres. Above our heads, cars raced by in a labyrinth of crisscrossing roads. With the exception of one or two sketchy-looking homeless men, the paths were empty, creating an urban oasis surrounded by movement, as if we were in the eye of a hurricane. There were murals around every corner, and the Ink Block felt like a hidden paradise. The traffic roared above. Presumably, the people zipping by overhead had no idea what they were missing, and we were alone in this magical spot, yet simultaneously amidst one of the busiest cities in the country.

I might as well have been back at the Abandoned Highway. The graffiti, speeding cars despite complete tranquility, and the excitement of miles of space I had yet to explore were all the same. But, something was different. I had left Chatham and I had come to a city. Instead of standing next to a nature-filled oasis, I was walking between painted concrete slabs. I was with new friends, I was older, and I was in a home of my own choosing. I was very happy, because this is what I had always wanted.

Yet, I discovered that my urge for exploration, freedom, and adulthood never died. It couldn’t be cured by moving, or by a city, or by new people. When I came here, it wasn’t enough to just live in Boston. I had to find every hidden corner, uncover every new inch of space. Some urges don’t depend on your surroundings--they’re simply internal. I am still searching for the next new place and the next step forward. I imagine that this will always be the case.

This Thanksgiving I will return home for the first time since leaving. I will see my old friends, old home, and I already have plans to pay a visit to the Abandoned Highway. Just a year ago, I would wander the woods with my friends, complaining about how boring my town was. Temporarily satisfied after finding a fascinating new place, I sought more, assuming it was my town’s fault that I wanted to get out. Now I realize that my inner curiosity would have gotten the best of me no matter where I lived. Exploration is in my blood.

I recognize that I’m still in the honeymoon phase with Boston, which is why I think I’m mostly content for now. There are still more places within the city to explore and I’m still learning my way around. Boston is a Band-Aid on my curiosity, but I know that I’ll reach a point where I’m not satisfied. I will want to go somewhere new and experience something different.

And I guess I just have to wait and find out where I end up.

Acknowledgments

Joan Didion’s beautifully-crafted essays, specifically “Goodbye to All That,” inspired this writing and the stylistic choices I made. My peer reviewer, Kayla Randolph, gave me excellent feedback that pushed me further towards the style of Didion and gave me confidence that this essay was actually half-decent. I would also like to thank Professor Mary Kovaleski Byrnes for both introducing me to Didion’s work and teaching me many of the skills necessary to create this essay. Finally, I would like to thank my friends, specifically those who go exploring with me, because these stories would not exist without you.

Works Cited

Anolik, Lili. “How Joan Didion the Writer Became Joan Didion the Legend.” Vanity Fair, Condé Nast, 1 Feb. 2016, www.vanityfair.com/culture/2016/02/joan-didion-writer-los-angeles.

Didion, Joan. “Goodbye to All That,” Slouching Towards Bethlehem, 4th Estate, 2017.

---“Los Angeles Notebook,” Slouching Towards Bethlehem, 4th Estate, 2017.

---.“Marrying Absurd.” Slouching Towards Bethlehem, 4th Estate, 2017.---.“In Sable and Dark Glasses.” Vogue, 31 Oct. 2011, www.vogue.com/article/in-sable-and-dark-glasses-joan-didion.

---.“Why I Write.” The New York Times, 5 Dec. 1976, www.nytimes.com/1976/12/05/archives/why-i-write-why-i-write.html.

---. The Year of Magical Thinking. Alfred A. Knopf, 2017.Harris, Joseph. Rewriting: How to Do Things with Texts. Utah State University Press, 2017. Lalami, Laila. “The South (and the West) through Joan Didion's Eyes.” The New York Times, The New York Times Company, 14 Apr. 2017, www.nytimes.com/2017/04/14/books/review/-south-and-west-joan-didion.html.

Mallon, Thomas. “The Limits of History in the Novels of Joan Didion.” Critique: Studies in Contemporary Fiction, vol. 21, no. 3, 9 July 2010, pp. 43–52., doi:10.1080/00111619.1980.9935212.

#culture #city #moving #coming of age #Boston #Joan Didion #eitan miller #stretch2019

1 note · View note

crystalninjaphoenix · 5 years

Text

The Self-Indulgent Holiday Special

The best way to celebrate a holiday is clearly to write a thing where your persona meets the characters made by your favorite YouTuber. Trust me, I’m an expert. 100% real authority on writing

‘M posting this super late at night after I felt the sudden need to write it, so forgive any mistakes I may have made. Also if you give me any sort of trouble for putting myself in the story.......whatever. It’s nearly 2019, I’m ignoring the connotation of cringe

There’s a rooftop garden in the city. Trees and flowers of all kind, just sitting on top of a ten-story building. Of course, it being the middle of winter, most of the plants had died out, though there were some stubborn coniferous trees and red flowers still growing. An iron railing surrounded the garden, keeping people from falling off.

Sitting on a wooden bench, looking over the setting sun, is a girl. Or, not a girl. They weren’t quite sure in recent times.They have red hair, vibrant and shoulder-length. They wear a set of glasses—they have multiple, and had decided on the black pair today. The evening is cool, but not cold, so she’d forgone her coat and wore what she usually did: a blue hoodie with a bright yellow smiley face in the center. By her side is a purple backpack, containing, as it usually did, her laptop—complete with headphones and mouse—the book she was currently reading, and her bag of colored pencils. They sit on the bench with their knees pulled close, their black sketchbook propped so that she can draw easily. She had some ideas she needed to get out.

“Hypocrite.”

It always surprised her, even though she knew who it was and what he wanted. She turns and sees Abyss, one of her characters. He looks like he always does, silver hair, red old-fashioned coat, brown eyes with stars in the pupils. He's staring at her, but that was to be expected when one didn’t blink. “Why do you say that?” she asks.

Abyss rolls his eyes. “You tell me I can’t visit this set of universes, at all, 100% forbidden, and now you’re here. Drew yourself up a portal. Therefore, hypocrite.”

“This is different,” they explain.

“It always is with you, Ms. Creator.”

Honestly, when they created a character with the ability to jump universes, she hadn’t expected to ever actually meet him. Hell, for the longest time, they hadn’t realized any of their ideas could spawn another world. But that was irrelevant. Abyss, though annoying and way too powerful for anyone’s good, isn’t antagonistic toward her, not anymore at least. “No, I mean, it-it really is different this time,” she insists. “This world in particular, it’s...I-I mean, it’s not mine, I don’t-I don’t think I can count it that way—”

“Hmm, I thought I recognized the feel,” Abyss interrupts. “This universe has your stamp on it.”

“They’re, um, not my characters—”

Abyss laughs. “That’s never stopped you before. You have your own little versions of worlds scattered all about. I never would’ve met Dani if you didn’t get obsessively attached to stories you like and made your ‘headcanons’ into your ‘canon.’ What’s so different about this one, this multiverse?”

She frowns. “I think it’s that...the creator of the original, he’s not-not, like, distant. I see him as a person and not as a-a-a, I dunno, a faceless maker of content. And all the people who are, like, inspired by his work are, they’re, like, people I know, you know? It’s really a community...like they say. And it feels mo-more special...personal, I guess.”

“I see...” She knows that Abyss is lying. She knows him better than anyone else; she’d created him, after all. He struggles with empathy, though he’s learning. And the idea of community, that you could somehow relate to people all around the world based on this one thing...it was a very empathetic, human experience. “Ah, would you look at that,” he says. “You plan this? It’s why you showed up here, isn’t it?”

They look up. The rooftops of the city had been empty a moment before. Now, there’s someone running across them, expert parkour-style. He’s wearing a red and blue jumpsuit, and a hood hides his face from view. But they know who it is. “I mean, I kinda planned it,” they say. “I wrote that this was a regular thing. And I decided to show up here at this moment, so...”

“You have a little crush on a fictional character? I understand that’s something that can happen.”

“What?! No! He’s like twenty-eight. I’m nineteen. I don’t do that. I just...friends are nice too.”

“Yeah...they are...” Abyss nods. “I’m starting to get that. So, I’ll leave you to it.” There's a flash of dark blue, and he’s gone, leaving nothing but a blue mist-like substance that quickly disperses.

“Hey there!” The man in red has landed on the rooftop with the garden, and caught sight of the artist sitting on the bench.

For a moment, she thinks the words will get caught in her throat like they always do. But...she knows him. He might not be her original character, but he was her version. “Hi,” she says. “You’re, um, Jackie, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am!” Jackie puts on a dramatic voice, and strikes a pose. “I’m the one and only Jackieboy Man! Protecting the city from crime, day and night!”

“I know,” they say, laughing a bit. “I’m-I guess you can say I’m-I’m-I’m a fan. My name is—” they hesitate for a moment. Should they give him their real name? Most of their characters know them as Brigid...but people had started calling them a nickname, of sorts, since they started becoming more active in the community. It feels...right, somehow, to use that instead. “I’m Crystal.”

“Crystal, huh?” Jackie tilts his head. He gives her a warm smile. “That’s a nice name. A, uh, fan, huh? I don’t really deserve that, you know. I’m just a guy in a mask and jumpsuit.”

“But you’re, like, a superhero!” Crystal says. “That’s so cool!”

“Well,” Jackie’s eyes light up. He thinks it’s very cool indeed. “I guess, but it’s not like I have powers. My friend—I mean, I have friends just like anyone else. I’m trying my best.”

“But a lot of people, um, you know, they don’t do the things you do. Even if-if they can. So, that you’re trying, you know, that’s important.”

Jackie considers this for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. I can see that. Have a good night, Crystal.” He starts to turn away.

“Wait!” Crystal stands up, fighting down a surge of panic. “I just—um—I’m—did-did-did-did you know it’s Yule today?” She cringes internally. Stupid stutter.

“Really? Christmas isn’t for another few days.”

“No, it’s the winter solstice. The twenty-first. That means it’s Yule.” She feels her face growing hot. Unconsciously, she starts picking at the binding of her sketchbook. “It’s a, uh, pagan holiday. I’m Wiccan. I mean, I don’t practice it as much as I should, but if there’s any religion I can say I’m a part of, it’s that, you know? My-my family doesn’t celebrate it. And I mean, I love our Christmas celebrations, and the season is-is great. But I’d like to celebrate it and I was thinking—I mean—um—you seem nice. Can I, like, be with you? Like, hang out? I mean that!”

This couldn’t have gone any worse if they tried. They fully expect Jackie to just walk away. But, to their surprise, he stops, and consider. “That...maybe...” he muses. “...I mean, I can’t take a civilian out on patrol. But my friends are having a get-together tonight. I wasn’t expecting to be able to make it...but the question is, can you be trusted? I’ll be taking off my mask.”

“That’s fine!” Crystal assures him. She knows all the details anyway; she wrote his backstory, after all. “I won’t even be in this wor—in this town for long.” Yes, great idea. Tell your local superhero you’re a universe-hopping artist/writer with the ability to make anything with the power of drawing and words. He may or may not think you’re crazy, honestly hard to tell.

Jackie smiles, relieved. “In that case, feel free to come along. Though, my friends probably won’t be that happy about it. Don’t worry, I’ll convince them. Now come on!”

Smiling to herself, Crystal grabs her backpack and hurries to catch up.

The house looks exactly like she’d pictured it. A regular suburban sprawl with a big yard and two stories. Much bigger than her own, which was much too small for five people, two cats, and a tortoise.

“Ready?” Jackie had changed into his civilian clothes, ducking into an alleyway with a “no peeking!” Like she had any interest in things like that. Now, in his comfortable red hoodie and completely mask-less, he leads the way up the path and knocks on the door. A moment passes, then it’s opened by a man with a face just like his, hidden mostly under a gray baseball cap. “Jackie!” he says, excited. “We thought you weren’t coming!”

“Decided the city was safe enough for one night,” Jackie shrugs. “Oh, and I brought a friend!” He stands aside, and gestures at Crystal.

“Oh! Uh, hi. I’m Chase.” Chase can’t hide his surprise, though he’s trying his best. “We...weren’t expecting anyone else. We weren’t even expecting Jackie.”

Crystal laughs nervously. “Yeah, it just sort of...happened. It’s Yule.”

“Huh. Well, you’re welcome inside. Come on in!” Chase stands aside, allowing Jackie and then Crystal herself to enter the house.

Crystal’s eyes widen at the sight, and they can’t stop a small gasp from escaping their mouth. It was...all of them. It's kind of trippy, actually, seeing five versions of the same person, wearing different clothes, standing with various postures. Like that one project they tried to do in senior year film class, where they played all the characters. They never got around to finishing it, mostly because about a third of the footage went missing somehow.

“Hey everyone, Jackie’s here!” Chase announces.

“Ah, Jackie! We thought you weren’t making it tonight!” If she couldn’t tell from the glasses, the voice is a dead giveaway for who that is.

One of them waves. The clothes and the silence are also dead giveaways.

“Who’s the kid?” Process of elimination leads to the obvious conclusion for the last one.

“Oh, uh, guys, this is Crystal,” Jackie introduces her. “I ran into her on patrol, and she said she was a fan, and so I invited her to come.”

“They,” Crystal whispers, forcing the single syllable out.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“I’m, uh, good with ‘they’ too. If you don’t mind. ‘She’ is good too. But, um, just...so you know...” Crystal trails off. It’s the first time they’d ever, in person, made that point clear. She’d never even told her family. The only people who really know are the people who read her blog description and maybe some people on Discord.

“Well, okay then!” Jackie smiled. “Don’t worry, I get it.” She knows he does. This is a world where her headcanons are canon. And damn the canonicity of the SP playthrough, a queer hero is cool. And maybe...there were personal reasons why she thought that, but...it doesn’t stop it from being cool.

“Yeah, okay, whatever makes you comfortable. I’m Marvin, that’s Henrik, call him Schneep, and Jameson. You already know Jackie and Chase.” He points out each one as he says their names. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“Hey! Who’s the host here?” Chase sounds indignant. He turns to Crystal. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

Schneep and Marvin roll their eyes in perfect unison.

Jackie gasps dramatically. “Snacks!” He runs towards the coffee table, which holds a variety of sweet and salty foods. “We got chips, we got chocolate, we got other foods starting with the letter C...”

“Hey, dude, can you leave the plain candy bars alone?” Chase asks. “Bobby’s allergic to nuts so she wants those.”

“The kids—I mean there’s a kid here?” Crystal asks.

Chase nods. “Yeah, I, uhm, got my kids, Bobby and Trevor, for the weekend. They’re in their room right now, but they told me they might come down later.”

“That’s cool,” Crystal says. “I like kids. I’m kind of good with them, I think. I mean, my sister is better, kids just love her.”

“Chase, if you ever need a babysitter, I think they are volunteering,” Schneep says lightheartedly.

“What?! I—uh—no, I can’t. I won’t be in town for long, I’m just here for Yule.”

“Isn’t that, like, a witch holiday?” Chase asks.

Jameson shakes his head, then makes some quick symbols with his hands. Not for the first time, Crystal wishes she’d fully learned sign language. Even ASL could help in a situation like this. The others understand, nodding.

“Pagan, huh?” Marvin plops down onto the couch. “Interesting. What made you choose that?”

Crystal thinks. “It seemed...the most right. It makes the most sense with my...worldview. And I like magick. That’s the kind with a K, but if regular magic existed I’d like that too.”

Marvin chuckled. “Well, keep your hopes high, kid.”

Crystal smiles softly. She feels a bit...giddy inside. Marvin was her second favorite, and here she is, talking magic with him. Kinda. More dancing around the subject. But it would be weird to let on that she knew everything about these guys.

Time passes. The five fall back into their comfortable back-and-forth banter, the sort Crystal loves to write. Hearing it come to life, and more importantly, actually sounding like something they would say, made Crystal feel full of joy. But even more so, the fact that these five characters who she’d held so close to her heart seemed to incorporate them into their dynamic so easily...even though Crystal was just jumping into conversation occasionally, they felt a ball of light and fuzziness inside themself.

Eventually a small brunette girl and a tiny blonde boy came out and joined for a while. The two are greeted with familiar enthusiasm. Bobby and Trevor are clearly well-known and well-loved among the group. After a while, Chase herds them back upstairs for bedtime. Marvin and Schneep get into a competitive Mario Kart race, which ends in controllers being thrown across the room. Jackie convinces everyone to watch Spider-Man: Homecoming for a while. The snacks are devoured. Then, it’s one o’clock.

“We should probably all go to bed soon,” Schneep says, looking at the clock.

“Oh, so says you, Mr. All-nighter,” Marvin laughs.

“I have work to do! You have no excuse and needs your rest!”

“Except you have a day off tomorrow, so you have no work and also no excuse,” Jackie points out.

Jameson signs something, and Crystal vaguely recognizes one of the signs, though she doesn’t remember the meaning. Luckily, the others are not so inhibited. “Alright, dude,” Chase says. “You want us to walk you there?”

Jameson shakes his head. “Are you going home?” Crystal asks. When Jameson nods, they continue, “I should probably go to. You, um, don’t mind if I walk with you...for a bit? Not all the way?”

After a moment of consideration, Jameson nods. A chorus of goodbyes follows the two of them out the door.

It’s dark. Crystal can’t help but be a bit scared, though she knows that with her sketchbook and pencil in hand she’s well-prepared for any threat. If she has enough time to draw something to defend herself, that is. Jameson doesn’t seem worried. Then again, he’d faced worse than street criminals.

Crystal tried to think of something to say. Come on, this should be easy. JJ is their favorite, and they really wanted to talk to him. But...this was good too. The two of them walk in silence, but it’s a companionable type of silence. Crystal isn’t really comfortable with being the shorter one of the two, even though they’re shorter than most people. Maybe because they’d always thought of JJ as the small one, even though his height is basically the same as the others, give or take a centimeter or two.

Still, Crystal has something they need to say. “Can I call you JJ?”

A nod, accompanied by a friendly mustache wiggle. Crystal laughs. “Thanks. I...” she swallows nervously. “I just want to say I’m sorry.”

JJ looks at her, confused. “For all you’ve gone through, I-I mean,” she elaborates. “It’s-it’s awful and-and-and you’re so nice, um, you know? So you didn’t deserve it.”

JJ can’t hide his confusion. He’s stopped walking, directly under a street lamp. It was very dramatic. He knows that Crystal can’t understand BSL, but he makes some vague gestures that she takes to mean, what are you talking about?

“I know a lot,” Crystal says simply. “And I...have my own demons to face...actually I, um, just realized that one of her names also starts with A.”

Jameson’s eyes widen. He starts to gesture again, but Crystal shakes her head. “No, we—um, I don’t want to. Not now. And you’ll-you’ll-you guys’ll probably never see me again. I need to go back home. I have stories that I need to work on. But...I’m really sorry.” She feels tears in her eyes. “I’m really so sorry.”

Still confused, but understanding a bit more, Jameson nods. Crystal gives a watery smile. “Goodbye. Tell the others I said bye too.” She turns to leave, but JJ taps her shoulders. He spreads his arms wide, almost questioning. “I...don’t do hugs,” Crystal explains. “Not always. But, um...this is going to sound weird, but give me your hand.” JJ complies. Crystal grabs it with both of her own hands and squeezes tight. “This is the same thing to me,” she explains. “But it feels better. You don’t mind, do you?” JJ smiles, shaking his head.

After a moment, Crystal lets go. She backs away. “Goodbye!” she calls one last time. JJ waves. She turns and dashes away, eventually turning down an alleyway.

The downside of her creations coming to life? It makes the painful parts of their stories so much harder to write. Crystal can feel a hard knot of guilt and sadness in their chest. But without despair, there can’t be any bliss. Without struggle, there would be no peace. And they always ended stories on a hopeful note. They always wrote a happy ending that made everything worth it.

The creator presses her pencil to a fresh sketchbook page and quickly draws an outline of a door. It’s familiar to her, a white rectangle with a silver doorknob. When she looks up, it’s embedded on the nearby wall like it’s always been set there. She steps forward, pulling it open. On the other side is a well-lit basement room, a bed and two overflowing bookshelves, tan walls hidden by posters. She crosses through, closing the door behind her. It fades away.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #jackieboy man #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #dr schneeplestein #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #self indulgence #self insert #brigid writes fanfiction

4 notes · View notes