#writing the abstract actually took me a whole day because i have no idea how to prove statistical significance for word clusters

[bobbybutterfly]

A Squirrel and Hedgehog OC. OoooooOOOooo. I was about to say it’s my second one (I’ve got a squirrel I never posted about before) but then I remembered Geumseagi’s dad. I think we could also have a philosophical discussion about how many head cannons can you lump up on a character before they become an OC. I imagine it’s when you change the character’s name. That’s just the last straw.

Changing up pre existing characters is a skill I learned from writing real people fan fiction. By the time you’re done writing your femboy pagan priest turned an immortal 20 something sparking dictator after the film market collapsed with the rise of AI, people will scratch their heads as to how this character ever started life as Tom Hanks. But most importantly you don’t get sued!

By the way this was an actual character I made. I never put out the unfinished book on the internet outside of one chapter on AO3. I was getting tired of working on it for I think over 2 years with no results.

This character though is original in that they’re not inspired by any character from Squirrel and Hedgehog specifically. I will talk about my inspiration for them later.

So. Their name is Shiho Tenshi as you can see. It means white angel. Originally they were supposed to be called Shiho Akuma, meaning white devil But it didn’t make sense to me that they would be called that by the weasels. They’re a war hero to them after all. Probably the Flower Hill animals would call them whatever the Korean translation of white devil is. Hayan Agma. Language is something that goes unaddressed in the series. It’s an idea I want to incorporate into my AU. Primary example being that the weasels kept Mulmangcho around as a translator.

Shiho Tenshi isn’t their real name. No one knows their “real name”. I should also mention that they’re gender fluid and use they/them pronouns. Also also they’re a white weasel if you didn’t notice. Growing up they were a poor orphan on the streets. They learned very quickly that by changing up how they behave and look they were gendered differently. Seeing their love for performance a traveling acting troupe took them in. They would preform for soldiers at military bases. Providing cheap entertainment.

One day though the base they’re performing at gets attacked. Using their sword skills they heroically defend the base earning them a place in the military. They rarely use guns or martial art. Preferring their elegant silver sword. The military allows it as it makes for some good propaganda posters. They absolutely despise all Flower Hill animals. Appearing ruthless and brutal. The peak of military masculinity. But when it comes to weasels and surprisingly mice they are kind almost motherly and willing to sacrifice themselves whenever it comes to it. They like mice because the acting troupe was primarily mice.

What do you think? I wanted to play with gender roles when it came to them. My main inspiration was Hoshiko Kawasima. They are a very interesting World War 2 queer historical figure. I would recommend checking them out. Then the character Lady Oscar from the manga Rose of Versailles. They were totally based off of Kawasima. There’s too many coincidences! Lastly their whole acting part was based off of the Takarazuka Revue. It’s an all female acting troupe in Japan. They’re really cool.

This picture was based off of a promotional image of Lady Oscar for their performance of Rose of Versailles. The background inspiration was from @32girassoisdevangogh I am trying to go more abstract graphic design for backgrounds of character art. Mainly because I’m just too tired after 5 hours of rendering. So prepare yourselves for more comic sands and pixelated images of puppies and kittens because graphic design is my passion as you can see from my tumblr banner!

I’m not really sure what I’m going to do with this character. They’re not going to be included in my Super Secret Project. Maybe I can write a short story about them or roleplay. We will see.

Bobby out!

#my art #digital art #fanart #squirrel and hedgehog #furry art #digital painting #procreate

[hekateinhell]

thank you @apoptoses for tagging me! 😾💖 (and also anon who sent me this days ago and I just saw it buried in my inbox this morning, I appreciate you thinking of me 🖤)

my picks are all ones I wrote purely for myself without consideration of length or depth because a) I believe in 'writing what you want to see' and I wanted to see it and b) I hadn't written these themes before and I'm always trying to push myself out of my comfort zone as a writer - it's fun!

Beneath Your Shallows - Lestat/Armand [Explicit | 5k]: Young TVL-era Lestat meets a Creature in the sea who then proceeds to drain him dry (for once this isn't about blood). My gothic fairytale fic, if I'm being pretentious. This one took up space in my brain for almost a year and I put a lot of time and energy into figuring out how I wanted to do it and then actually doing it, and I can't lie - I'm pretty pleased with the end result!

See Inside My Bones - Armand/Lestat/Louis [Mature | 1.1k]: Louis and Armand use means other than their fangs to make Lestat bleed and cry as a way of expressing their devotion. This one is rather short and something I whipped up on the spot for #VCKinkWeek lmao but it was so fun to experiment with the graphic stuff outside of smut and I definitely want to expand on it and the whole idea of testing a vampire's physical endurance in kinky ways.

Your Favorite Innocence - Armand/Daniel [Explicit | 2k]: genderswapped DM era PWP! it was my response to an excellent little prompt over at @priapus-at-the-gate and I've always enjoying playing around with gender in VC, so really, I was long overdue for this one and I loved doing it.

I Feel You - Armand/Lestat/Louis/Daniel [Explicit | 2.8k]: speaking of gender and PWP... this one is trans!Armand with a few different kinks thrown in, also for @priapus-at-the-gate. His characterization is based on Amadeo rather than Armand, which was new for me! I'm always very intentional with the kinks I include even it's just PWP because it's like- what am I as the writer trying to say about the characters and relationships here by incorporating XYZ? and blah blah, and this is the fic where I really became conscious of that instead of just having it as an abstract idea in the back of my head.

Our House - Armand/Daniel [Explicit | 22k/incomplete] - I think this is my most popular fic? and I guess my most personal one in the sense I did project the most of myself and my experiences into it compared to anything else I have written so far. The overarching theme of just mourning the family you think you should have had/want to have but can't for whatever reasons, and processing grief and loss through unhealthy (and eventually healthier) means.

tagging @covenofthearticulate @monstersinthecosmos @somevagrantchild @dreamofme9 @darkangel1791 @calipsan reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers, let's spread the self-love! 💗

#tagging six people because i can't count and forgot until i posted it #ask meme! #armand/lestat #armand/daniel #armand/lestat/louis #armand/lestat/daniel/louis #vc

[donnerpartyofone]

One thing I really hate about being myself is that I can't understand math, like, at all. I got through high school basically because I was very good at memorizing things; I could remember what frequently-repeated math problems looked like, but I wasn't necessarily following the logic of them. Actually this same thing applied to all the rest of my classes too, but I have an aptitude for language, which pretties up the fact that I'm just regurgitating things by rote, and this has often tricked people into thinking I'm smart. I'm basically just selling people bad or generic ideas the way a used car salesman does. But if you ask me to actually use the facts I've memorized to create quality arguments or take a thought process a step further or whatever, I generally can't do it. Actually one time I had a teacher make an example of me in front of a whole class, about this; I cannot remember what the point of this was now, but there was like a special day in 5th grade where we all had to do this weird kind of abstract essay-writing test. There were a whole bunch of topics, and you had to write a piece of a certain length on the ones you picked. One of them was about your favorite animal, which I was excited about because I had probably memorized the entire encyclopedia entry on the corn snake--but then the essays were collected and evaluated, and the teacher like pointed me out to everybody and said, you know, Everybody thinks Claire is a smart and creative person, but her essay on the corn snake is a failure because it doesn't have any personality or interpretation or anything like that, it's just a bunch of boring facts. I think this was meant to encourage the other kids that you can be a good writer even if you've been given the impression that you're dumber or less artistic than a fucking nerd like I was. Looking back on it, I still think that was pretty fucked up, but I also think it was probably the only really honest and perceptive thing that an adult ever said about me (to my face anyway). Grownups usually liked me because I was weak and ingratiating and did my homework, and the truth is that people often think that you're really smart if you bow down to them and do whatever they say, because then obviously you have good judgment because you have such great taste in authority figures.

But anyway, about math. I really admire people who are good at it, I think math is really cool. I love the thing about how it's a universal language that can describe anything if you understand what to do with it and how to read it. It's pretty much the code of existence and it has such incredible creative potential. All the most mind-blowing people I've ever met had some aptitude for math, it seemed to be part of their ability to interpret how the whole world works and use that knowledge to their advantage. But I can't understand the first thing about it. I have to do even the most basic addition and subtraction problems with a calculator, and I can still get them wrong because of some misapprehension I have about what is question I'm even asking. I remember in high school I really wanted to do a good job in chemistry, I loved the teacher and I was interested in the topic, but I just couldn't figure it out. I even went to these after school tutoring sessions because I cared so much, but I was actually so bad at it that the teacher couldn't even figure out what I was doing to get my wrong answers, and I could never explain it back to him. I felt bad, he was really trying and he was genuinely one of the best teachers in the school, but there was just no point in trying to help me. I don't know how I passed that class, I just eventually had enough types of questions and answers memorized I think.

More recently in life I took all these classes at the local botanic garden to get a certification in horticulture. Of course I would never be good at that either because I'm stupid about both math AND anything material, I'm just very clumsy and useless physically, but wouldn't you know it, I had enough things mindlessly memorized to get good grades, yet again. But the parts about genes and chromosomes, I could not understand. It was exactly the same as when I learned about reproduction in high school, like there's a video of the microscopic process happening and at the exact same time there's a voiceover explaining what's going on and what things are called, and I'm like...OK I'll take your word for it I guess. It just requires too much logic, too much intelligence for me to grasp it.

Tragically, now I'm really curious about quantum mechanics. I don't even know if I'm properly identifying what I mean, I just know that whenever someone starts describing something with that kind of flavor to it, I get really excited and I want to hear more and more about it. But of course as usual I can't really reiterate the principles they're describing, I like the sound of what they're saying but it's not actually sinking in. I understand it just enough to know that it would enrich my life immensely if this were a line of questioning I could successfully pursue, but I have already discovered that there is simply no For Dummies version of the information that is truly dumb enough for someone like me.

Most of the time I can try not to worry about this. My long suffering husband does all math for me, and we have learned together that my desire and willingness to learn are not enough for him to effectively teach me how to do any math for myself. Besides, I already have a hard enough time with the things that I actually do qualify to participate in, there's already enough areas where I'm just barely getting by that I don't really have the bandwidth to also worry about all the stuff I'm not even trying at because my failure there is a foregone conclusion. It just bums me out. Math is really cool to me and not being able to do it makes me feel like I'm missing a limb or a sense and I'll just never know what it would be like to have that dimension added to my life.

[agentravensong]

The inevitable Employee 432 / Settings Person and Narrator comparison analysis post

Or, a rumination on stagnation versus "progression" and what counts as an ending, feat. a detour to discuss [REDACTED]

Of all the games to include actual, genuine lore, I honestly did not expect TSP: Ultra Deluxe to be one of them. After all, part of the point of the original game is that everything's a contradiction.

But then Ultra Deluxe took Employee 432, a background gag character, and made them a god.

Why?

To serve as a foil to the Narrator.

I. What's 432's deal?

For people who haven't heard the whole lore, this post has the video where Davey Wreden explained it plus a transcript, but to paraphrase:

Employee 432's one job in the company was to sharpen pencils. But they never had any pencils to sharpen. No one would give them any if they asked. They had nothing else on their desk, nothing to their name. Just a single, straightforward goal that the world refused to provide them the means to fulfill.

And all the while, they were being observed, studied, their coworkers writing a room's worth of peer reviews on them. It was all just one big experiment.

It's good to collect data.

Over 3,000 days (nearly 9 years) of this, of this surveillance, of not being able to fulfill their purpose, eventually drove 432 "so psychologically mad that they become the fabric of the universe", with their new purpose being "setting things for you".

Now. There's a lot that could be said about. All That.

I want to focus on the character's perspective and ideology re: The Stanley Parable itself.

432, despite everything they've been through, despite what the Office did to them, does not want to end the story, or to destroy it in some spectacular fashion. No, they want to destroy it another way: by endlessly recycling the game into its own sequels, only changing the title screen.

The Stanley Parable is not sacred, we do not need to protect it. Screw the legacy! Let's keep making Stanley Parable games until the sun explodes! Let's run this franchise into the ground, let's drag it through the mud and back.

How did 432 come to this conclusion? Well, in one of the logs on them new to Ultra Deluxe, we see that, eventually, they started repeating a certain phrase:

I must keep the wheel turning.

Settings Person says the same in the Epilogue, right after saying:

The Stanley Parable cannot end. It can only spiral in on itself, forever.

This wheel and spiral imagery is typical for discussing cycles, yes, but I also think it ties specifically to 432's former job: using the pencil sharpener. Over time, without being able to actually do their job, they became obsessed with the fantasy of it, the idea of sticking a pencil in there and having the machine rotate it (sharpening it). So obsessed that they took it to this more abstract, all-encompassing level, as a fundamental law of the universe (the same as happened to their very being).

The machine must run. The wheel must turn.

But, in this obsession, they forgot the purpose of the pencil sharpener. You're only supposed to sharpen a pencil up to a point. Otherwise, it breaks, or you wear it out until there's nothing left.

And then, how will you be able to say anything at all?

II. The analysis of the Narrator an anon asked me for days ago

By virtue of 432's newfound position as a "god" of the narrative, there is an inevitable comparison to be drawn between them and the Narrator. 432, in fact, draws it themself.

And if people hate it? Who cares! You see, that was the Narrator's problem. He was so obsessed with what people thought of his work. Don't make his mistake. Don't cling to the legacy. Let it burn.

This obsession is a large part of the Narrator's characterization. After all, the Skip Ending happens because he gets so hurt by the negative reviews that he implements a feature they suggested without realizing it goes against everything the Parable is made for, against his very existence.

But it's important to acknowledge that what the Narrator counts as "his work" has changed from the original to Ultra Deluxe. It's not just about his one intended path anymore, with every diversion seen as a backup at best and an entirely unintended blemish at worst. If that were the case, then why would the Memory Zone contain fond memories of any ending other than the Freedom Ending, his original story? No, over time, the Narrator seems to have accepted those other games as being part of the Parable, to have come to an understanding that they are what make the game what it is. They are a part of its legacy. And he's become nostalgic for the whole thing.

The Narrator in Ultra Deluxe is defined by nostalgia and legacy. He only goes about making The Stanley Parable 2 because UD's "new content" is disappointing, just a gimmick tacked on to the original, and he feels compelled to save the game's legacy. And yet, all his attempts to make something new "from the ground up" that genuinely expand on the game end up being just that: little add-ons that are either totally divorced from or actively get in the way of the original content. Is this because the Narrator genuinely doesn't have any other ideas for stories? Or is it because he's too stuck in The Stanley Parable - too afraid of ruining to make any major additions (like a third door that actually leads to new paths), or just creatively burned out by working within the confines of the world of the office for so long?

The figurines are probably the best implemented of the new features in terms of encouraging exploration of the game's content and providing a new goal to work towards without being obtrusive, which may be why the Narrator grows such a fondness for them. The ending you get from collecting them all really drives home the Narrator's nostalgia, and how it's his downfall. The Narrator gives what sounds like genuine lore/backstory about why he created the Parable, or at least Stanley, in the first place, and then resolves that, as much fun as he's had telling the story, it's time for him to shelve it, to take control of his life again, to tell new stories...

After one more go.

So you play again, thinking (if you're me) that this might just be your last run, and you get an ending. And then another. And another.

And you realize that the Narrator, in deciding to give it one more go, has unknowingly passed up the one opportunity he had to move on. Because he doesn't remember as much/well as he thinks he does. He's been at this so long that it all blurs together. There is no "one last time". Or, rather, he doesn't get to be the one who determines that. He'll never get to go out on his own terms.

the end is never the end is never the end is never

So, there's an obvious contrast between the Narrator and 432. The Narrator holds The Stanley Parable as something sacred, as having a legacy worth preserving, whereas 432 wants to tear it down from that high place, to burn the legacy. You could say the moral takeaway is the synthesis of their thesis and antithesis: you should hold some respect for the past, enough to recognize what things from it are worth keeping and learning from, but you also can't hold on to it too tightly or you'll be stuck in it.

However, if you look at it from the right angle, you'll see their positions are remarkably similar:

They are both stuck in stagnation, in a form that's dressed up as progress.

432 is self-aware about this. They are, with our help, creating "sequels" without any actual new content, just slapping a new label on things.

The Narrator is not. He tries to make The Stanley Parable 2, but ends up making The Stanley Parable With A Bucket, Collectibles With No Associated Reward, And A Fancy New Title Screen, which is just + 1 bucket and 6 collectibles from being what 432 does. He can't make anything truly new as long as he's stuck within the framework of The Stanley Parable, as long as he clings to the legacy.

Either way, the game ends up "spiral[ing] in on itself, forever", digging itself an infinitely deep grave.

It only ends when you stop playing. The "canon ending", the end of the story, is wherever you stopped, whether that be after the Freedom ending, or the "Not Stanley" / "Real Person" / "Incorrect" ending, or the Broom Closet "ending", or the Epilogue, or the 8 room.

That's what the Curator was going on about, isn't it? That turning the thing off is the only way to set them both free?

But, of course, neither 432 nor the Narrator want you to stop playing, because... well, they're video game characters, who were created specifically for you. To set the game to your specifications. To tell you a story.

432 seems a bit less needy in this regard, or at least better capable of hiding it. They're fine!

They're fine.

Narrator, on the other hand?

It was the vessel [someone listening] I needed, Stanley. Not the outcomes, not the story, none of that matters anymore. I'll give it all up, I'll give up every branching path, I'll burn my story to the ground!

(i wonder if i bolded that bit because it parallels a line from 432 that i previously bolded. hmm.)

Oh, Narrator. Just listen to him:

If I knew that my life depended on finding something to be driven by other than validation... What would that even be? Heh, it's strange, but the thought of not being driven by external validation is unthinkable. Like, I actually cannot conceive of what that would be like!

...wait, isn't that from-

III. This post is about The Beginner's Guide now

Why? Because why not. I mean, take it from Wreden:

But, more specifically, The Beginner's Guide also features a conflict between stagnation and progression represented by a pair of game makers / storytellers, one who speaks to us and one who we only hear from via text.

Here is where I say, to those who haven't played or watched a playthrough of The Beginner's Guide, that the rest of this post will spoil shit, and this is one of those experiences that you really should go into blind if you can (especially since it's relatively short). I'd put a second "read more", but I don't think tumblr allows that, so, read on at your own risk.

We good? Good. (also, a note: I will be using they/them for Coda because there's some Gender Stuff in the background of TBG that makes their gender not 100% clear.)

Where the Narrator and 432 both represented a combination of stagnation and progress, the dichotomy with Davey and Coda is, at least at first glance, much more clear cut.

Davey is all about progress, specifically toward a destination. He skips you past the maze on the ship, the slow stairs, the multi-hour wait in the prison, and the obstacles of the tower, to get to the bits that he thinks have meaning. He cuts off the cleaning game, because

"You can't stay in the dark space for too long, you just can't, you have to keep moving, it's how you stay alive."

He adds lampposts to mark the endpoint of each of Coda's games (after Down / The Streetwise Fool), making his reasoning very explicit (though he attributes it to Coda):

I think up to this point he's been making really strange and abstract games with no clear purpose, and maybe you can only float around in that headspace for so long. Because now he wants something to hold onto. He wants a reference point, he wants the work to be leading to something. He wants a destination!

Coda, by contrast, seems happy to sit with an idea and not have it lead to anything. They made the cleaning game to be endless, and Davey admits this was a time where they were very happy. "Grossly happy" in his opinion, but still.

Right before that one, they made nearly a dozen prison games back to back, a process Davey describes as "awful to watch, to see a person basically unraveling through their work". He even admits later that this was where he first started suspecting Coda was depressed, but... maybe they just liked making prisons. And though Davey says Coda "doesn't have that voice telling you to stop, that particular mechanism of defense against yourself", they do, eventually. Unlike 432, they find the point, and they stop the machine.

Also, if you actually read the dialogue from the two trios of cubeheads in the Down game, right before finding the first of the lamposts, then... I'll let you read it for yourself.

Coda also parallels 432 in how they don't seem to have any nostalgia for their own games, reportedly throwing them all into their computer's trash bin as soon as they're completed. In fact, you might be able to argue that Coda is afraid of having a legacy. When you're destroying their games in The Machine, you have the option to say either that Coda's work dies here, or that "I’ll make sure you are known forever!”, which positions the two thoughts as equivalent. Allowing Coda's games to be seen and gain notoriety would, to Coda, kill the games.

An attempt to secure legacy only destroying the integrity of what came before... now where I have heard that fear recently?

So, Davey is progress, and Coda is stagnation. Neither mentality is totally healthy on its own. Coda admits to having had frustrating moments of getting stuck while trying to come up with new ideas (even if that didn't mean they were depressed), and there are certainly games of theirs that feel like they build to a certain Point. Meanwhile, Davey's stubborn obsession keeps him from recognizing why Coda actually liked their games, what they got out of game making, and thus all his attempts at analyzing Coda's authorial intent end up twisting the games into something else.

And so then, in Ultra Deluxe, we take this simple dynamic and complicate it by having the Narrator and 432 both represent a kind of stagnation masquerading as progress.

...except, it's not so "simple" in The Beginner's Guide, either. Let me just copy-paste this paragraph from my beginner's guide video script doc* real quick:

Davey derries Coda’s prison games and the cleaning game for being stuck on one idea, being content to repeat the same cycles, instead of progressing. He highly values moving forward, working towards a goal. And yet, Davey’s so hung up on this one goal of fixing (his relationship with) Coda that he’s found himself trapped in such a loop, one that’s actually destructive. He doesn’t let himself really interrogate his feelings, he just replays Coda’s games, repeats the same ideas he’s always had about them. He appears to be moving, but he’s really stagnant.

*No I have not made the video yet. Do you think I'd feel the need to go on this whole diatribe if I had?

In order for Davey to move on, to actually make progress, he has to let go of his relationship with Coda. Of Coda's games. At least for long enough that he can come back to them with a truly open mind.

Coda, meanwhile, has (hopefully) already moved on. Davey says they stopped making games, but remember that a) Coda has cut off contact with Davey, and b) Coda never shared their games with anyone else. So how would Davey know? It's only the end of Coda's game making career from his perspective.

Endings are all a matter of perspective.

All Stanley could think about, all he could talk about, was going back, doing it over again. [...] "This isn't an ending! This is just a hole in the ground!" The bucket sighed. True, it wasn't an ending, but it's where we happened to be. And maybe, possibly, if we accept the reality of things, maybe this will become an ending eventually. It's what the bucket was counting on.

IV. A Kind of Conclusion

There's a lot more I could say here - especially if I went back to Employee 432, aka Settings Person, aka the Time Keeper. I could start rambling about their whole "what is time, anyway?" mentality ties back into the idea of there not being any definitive endings. I could talk more about how tragic it is that they, in their "escape" from the office, have come to perpetuate the very cycle that broke them, and that the best we can do for them is to indulge them in their vengeance, keeping Stanley and the Narrator and everyone else trapped. I could speculate about what their transition from regular office worker to entity above the story could mean for the Narrator's backstory.

I could also say more about the Narrator. About how his perspective, his relationship to us, to Stanley, has changed from the original to Ultra Deluxe. About how fucking sad the Skip Ending is, my god.

I could say a hell of a lot more about The Beginner's Guide, but I'll save that for the theoretical video.

I think it's about time this post came to an end. Thanks to everyone who decided not to nope out of this beast early. I hope you got something from it :)

P.S. - If you guys really wanna feel something, go read the text for Interview, the part of The Beginner's Guide that The Machine would later replace. It's. Something, all right.

#the stanley parable #the stanley parable ultra deluxe #tsp:ud #the beginner's guide #davey wreden #tspud spoilers #narrative nonsense #IT'S DONE! #...what if i made this into a video? #...let's save that question for another day

[lip-scrub]

so this is an art piece by marcel duchamp called Étant donnés: 1. La chute d’eau, 2. Le gaz d’éclairage (Given: 1. The Waterfall, 2. The Illuminating Gas) and i went to see it in person.

in case u dont want spoilers for this piece, ill put it below a read more, because i wanted to write a mini analysis and give my thoughts in the art work!

(warning its long lol)

so i stood in the small dark room where this door in and i didnt get it. its just a door? and because the door is in a dark room i got unsettled because i didnt know what to expect.

so. actually, youre supposed to try and peek into the door because theres holes in it. I didnt know that. so i do wanna go back and see it for myself one day, BUT IM NOSEY AND CURIOUS SO I HAD TO GOOGLE WHATS BEHIND THE DOOR

this is whats behind the door

a naked woman laying on the grass holding a gas lamp with a waterfall falling behind her.

this is apart of duchamp’s surrealist work. it took him 20 years to make (1946-1966)

heres how the art piece looks outside of the room

im geeking out about this because. i had literally no idea this was here.

"The old wooden door of the work, the immediate ‘facade’ of Étant donnés, meets the onlooker in a small room behind the large, well light exhibition room, where the rest of the Duchamp works are found. The small room is a kind of ‘appendix’ to the large room. It does not lead anywhere and, at first glance, only contains the door, behind which the rest of the work is installed. When you enter the small room and look to the left, there is a stucco wall that stretches from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall. In the center of this stucco wall there is a large, arched brick doorway that forms a frame around the old wooden door. It is obvious that the door cannot be opened, but in the middle of the door, at eye-level, there are two small peepholes(1)."

source for this ^

this piece is very interesting to me. the woman on the ground here doesn't have a head, let alone a face, so we can't tell this woman's expression. as a viewer we cannot tell if she is dead, sleeping, etc. this abstract piece is reliant on perspective. the two peepholes in the door are there so the viewer can move around the door to try adn get a full glimpse of whats happening behind the door.

"The perspective picture was fixed to the picture plane on definite conditions. In Étant donnés there is nothing that is fixed to the canvas, wood or wall. It is only the onlooker who can ‘fix’ the picture (or the painting). Therefore, the work has no sense or meaning without the onlooker. The picture (or the painting) only exists in the mind of the onlooker. Since there is no common or set image fixed anywhere, there cannot be any common interpretation (7)." (same source from before)

imagine going to see this piece in person. you only know about this image if you saw it for yourself (or if ur reading this post lol) by looking through the holes in the door. I didn't think to look into the door peepholes because the description of the piece didn't hint to me to do so. this is was the description for the whole piece:

"Mixed media assemblage: (exterior) wooden door, iron nails, bricks, and stucco; (interior) bricks, velvet, wood, parchment over an armature of lead, steel, brass, synthetic putties and adhesives, aluminum sheet, welded steel-wire screen, and wood; Peg-Board, hair, oil paint, plastic, steel binder clips, plastic clothespins, twigs, leaves, glass, plywood, brass piano hinge, nails, screws, cotton, collotype prints, acrylic varnish, chalk, graphite, paper, cardboard, tape, pen ink, electric light fixtures, gas lamp (Bec Auer type), foam rubber, cork, electric motor, cookie tin, and linoleum"

literally just the materials used to make the art lol.

if u wanna read a bit more about the piece heres a link to it

this piece is an intellectual challenge. if someone is a curious person, they might walk up to the door and try and see fi they can open it or look in through the peepholes, but i didn't understand the concept, so i just walked away.

I wonder if that means the people that looked in are nosy? is it about seeing things you wish you hadn't? curiosity killed the cat type beat? i mean the image behind the door is rather shocking, nobody expects that before peering into the door

but yeah i just think this is cool lol

#id say more but im tired lol #lindsay talks #marcel duchamp #art history #art analysis

[ravencincaide]

Helloooo!! I stopped here because you've been an inspiration. Your works, your writing inspired me to write my own fanfictions (soukoku). They are both still in progress, but I really would love to know what do you think about them. If you are interested, I'll write the some informations about them down here (I admit I still didn't work on a proper plot for these, but I promise I will, I swear. . .). Feel free to ignore this, I just wanted to share because I would like to know your opinion, it would be very precious, and brighten my day!

For the first one;

It's a reincarnation au.

It begins in a rather tragic way, in which Dazai and Chuuya both die. They get reincarned as "ordinary boys" years later, and become childhood friends, going on the years staying closer as ever.

As the teen years kicks in, they start to develop this curiosity towards abandoned places, and dying with the urge to explore them, at 15 years old they both start to search and dig themselves into these explorations.

At 17 years old, they stumble in front of a place that nobody ever has been seen walking around. A lonely place, with nothing special in it. Dazai wanted to watch anyways, and Chuuya.. well, Chuuya was curious as well.

So they find themselves in front of a certain container, the one where Dazai's past self lived.

Inside, they find some things rather interesting, and Dazai becomes obsessed with the idea to find out more about his past self and Chuuya's past self, so sick that he makes the want to travel back in time into his past body his will to live.

Crazy, idk how did I come out with this idea, and I know it probably sounds illogical.

I will find a way to make it work, or maybe I'll just make Dazai slowly ascend into madness.

For the second one;

I actually have a plot for this one, but it's.. a poem, a poetry.

"The water flows,

Clear and pure.

But he does not know if it's secure.

It flows incessantly, without rest,

From the lips, nostrils, eyes, ears.

He observes, aware and silent,

While the water runs without wit.

Someone unaware, in front of him,

Does not know what they have just done.

Time passes.

An abstract concept, without pause or rift.

Impossible to grasp it, stop it, hold it,

Only to observe it, as the world moves.

A dry something slithers away,

A shadow on his cheek lay.

The mouth opens, dryness penetrates,

Every crevice dries up, mercilessly.

The face hidden by black locks,

Exclaims softly, in severe tones.

It doesn't want the one thing it loves,

To vanish like this, in a fleeting flame.

So many years spent creating it with care,

Just for everything fades away, immeasurably?

For a stupid reason, so banal,

The fabric that once was rigid, now is fragile.

Between the fingers, cold and loose it dissolves,

A ghost of a tender smile is visible.

The water no longer flows."

It took A LOT to write this, because poetry is not really what I'm good at AT ALL. I hope it at least is decent, tho.

This follows the beast au.

Chuuya followed a normal life, until his group of friends make a big mistake.

One member of the group has been treated unkindly by the others, so he lead the whole friends to an hell hole; a party organised exclusively for illegal organisations.

Oblivious of this, the whole group enters this party, and when they find out what it is about, It's way too late.

After meeting with the mafia boss itself, Chuuya swears to try and never get to meet him again, but his hopes crumbles when he finds out his dad has debts. Debts he didn't pay.

That makes Chuuya's selfless butt drag himself to Dazai, him himself asking the boss of the port mafia to close his eye and let his father go. It sounds dumb even just writing it.. but well, he realises this after he took the impulsive decision.

At the end, Dazai accepts to let his father go, on one condition. Chuuya has to work with him.

Chuuya's answers will truly bring a lot of consequences.

Erm... I really hope this long thing won't be a bother to you!! If you actually took your time to read it, I thank you and appreciate a lot the time you decided to place on my silly little ideas!

I would really appreciate your thoughts on this!

Can I be 🌇 anon?

Hey there 🌇 anon! First of all, what an honor it is to be someones inspiration to start writing; there is honestly no bigger compliment you can give another writer <3.

When it comes to your works, I have to say they sound bloody brilliant! But also like a tremendous amount of work! Honestly best, best of luck and I would really look forward to reading the first drafts/completed fics. About first one, I would love to know what genre you're setting for; angst, hurt comfort or something more teenage-foolish and then a sudden awkwardness at finding out your best friend is also your lover? Your double black through thick and thin? Or something else? *excited!* About the second one; poetry has always been a bit of a fascination of mine. Unfortunately I've never been gifted with the ability to write long things; to set the scene and twist and turn the reader like you are able to. Definitely this is something you should explore! Really, I would say you have a knack for it. I have to admit that in some lines I lost the rhythm so my advice would be to read it out loud a few times just to see where a synonym may be more suitable to use. The feel and the scene however is very captivating and would be amazing to intertwine with a fic; Have lines of the poem run through the fic from start to end. It would definitely be interesting to see what and how Chuuya would react (Sidenote:Makes me think of a song actually). However what I'd like to add is that there is nothing wrong with your prompt or "foolish reason behind Chuuya's actions" instead it's all about how you write it. Some make entire careers on well used prompts: enemies to lovers, soulmates etc. What is foolish to one; a life changing story for another. And familial love and sacrifices are not new and not different (just see Shakespears work for instance!). It's all about how you write and what you want to convey. Long story short your fics sound awesome and I hope you will get around to writing and publishing them!

Also if you need a beta, some writing ideas or feedback on outline/snippets etc I am starting up that on my second blog; RavenCincaide-words So feel free to hit me up there if you'd like me to give a deeper look at your stuff!

#ask answered #Raven Cincaide's ask #Raven Cincaide's beta #keep writing #skk for the win!

[genderangora5]

The 30-Second Trick For The Benefits of Psychotherapy

Thanks therefore much for writing this write-up. Perhaps you will see an chance to observe how a little but significant section of this report will definitely suit in your analysis (just like how numerous various other documents perform) and possibly help make your reading a lot more mindful regarding the significance of the issue and the importance we have to possess in the conversation of the issue. I hope you have enjoyed today's report. I’ve been detected along with bipolar and have been handled along with medicine alone. It seems to be like my situation is not too dreadful and I am in continual interaction along with all my parents, consisting of my sis. And my ideal good friend, who works outside the property and performs the washing at the house, is depressed and require to leave for a handful of vacations. I possess to attempt to receive some kind of assistance from my family members and some kind of guidance or medication. The side effects of the drug has left me along with lots of bodily health care troubles. My household is enduring for years due to the side effects. My physical body is no a lot longer using its absolute best devices to boost my wellness.". The Daily Mail reported that Mr Cameron has been "in conversations with the pastor over the possible effect of this medication.". On Thursday, Mr Cameron stated he would "positively not cover" it along with the wellness minister, Peter Bone. The thought that I can significantly minimize the amount of medicines is lifestyle altering. I will definitely take these medications daily and carry out what I possess to to survive. If I go to a detox, it is my ultimate respiration or my final activity. And to think that I am going to give myself to take up smoking cigarettes, a long day, an whole entire full week of work and then take the exact same medication once more is mindblowing.". "Every evening I acquire a actually hefty soul, I can't concentrate. Historically mental sickness has been ‘managed’ in a host of hazardous and at times horrifying techniques. It's like throwing available the door to a risky scenario (some patients have been thrown from the property because they can easilynot take a breath). A lot of clients who have had psychological ill health and wellness issues have been the victims of those in the very most violent and violent of methods. While not all individuals are going through coming from mental illness, some in the populace usually don't seem capable to get the treatments they need. About 7000 years earlier trepanation was the therapy de jour. There were three primary styles within a single manual: religious beliefs and combat. But to our current understanding, that's a little as well significantly. It implies a idea body that has become saturated with faith and its training, along with concepts about the right pathway, regarding God and male. The aspect is not that one has to be completely ignorant of faiths as an abstraction. We have to be able to produce one's personal. It was believed that psychological ailment was caused by wicked feelings and could be remedied by drilling small openings into the brain. Such experiments are not took among neuroscientists any longer, but by significantly the most identified instance of an reliable therapy for a variety of ailments is mind excitement in a male who has epilepsy. Human brain stimulation, not mind-altering drugs, has been presented to be helpful in treating neurodegenerative illness. This means that it may be the 1st widely utilized intellectual behavioural therapy. While trepanation and other medical approaches such as lobotomies have unsurprisingly dropped out of favor, there is an additional approach – one that has been both celebrated and scorned over the last century: Psychotherapy. In its 1980s kind, Psychotherapy ended up being the main clinical classification of the United States after medical doctor Dr. Theodore Gaskin created the condition "psychotherapy," which he felt would become the main clinical profession's criterion.

Chatting as a technique to manage psychological suffering is as outdated as the account of mankind. What' Counseling to take note here is that it has happened over the past few generations, and there's little bit of question that we are now going by means of a phase of profound mental and emotional change. The question is whether this is feasible for the large number of us, or merely a minority and not an oppressed group.". As the argument about psychological wellness continues, there are additionally some issues that require to be ironed out. In 300 BC, Socrates interacted his pupils via thoughtful group conversations. A lot of dialogues, and even many social ones, were defined through argument by his students, and the trainees' point of views (in a lot of of those instances, opinions) also reflected the college's personal viewpoints about the attributes of the topic and its core teachings. Certainly, Socrates's viewpoint of thoughts was thus strongly opposed to any type of type of private or social or racial oppression that he was forced to pull away to his own private viewpoint to deal with it.

#Marriage Counseling #Psychologist in El Paso TX #Addiction Counselor #Family Therapy

[0rchard]

Minor do not interact

🍎 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Yamaguchi x f!reader

🍏 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: stepcest, femdom, masturbation, footjob, degradation/humiliation(if you squints)

🍎 𝓐/𝓝: So 👉👈 It's my first time writing dark content/smut scenario i only do hcs usually, it's also my first time writing for the haikyuu fandom. And I do that for my first hq crush 🥺 Anyways! This scenario is a part of the hqcest collab made by the amazing @dilfsuna ! Thank you Mabel to let your 😌💅 anon take part of it!

Yamaguchi didn’t know when everything went that wrong. Was it when he started to have a wet dream about you? Or maybe when he started to jerk off at the thought of you? Or has everything always been wrong since the first time you were introduced as his step-sister?

Probably all of the above… And things surely took another turn when both of you had to live together once you got into college, financially not able to pay for two different flats.

It was probably at that moment that everything started. He thought you would never notice how he always insisted on doing the laundry. He thought you would never notice how at least one of your panties was missing and magically was back again the next laundry. He thought you would never notice how he was looking at you when you bent in front of him to grab something. He thought you would never notice how painfully hard it makes him. He thought you would never notice how he quickly excused himself to his room. He thought you would never hear his voice moaning your name as the moon was rising high in the sky.

He thought he could do abstraction of his feelings because it was wrong. You were his step-sister and he shouldn’t feel like that toward you. And yet, was knowing that it was wrong preventing him to do what he was about to do? No, it didn’t. 

Your flat was silent, only the light buzzing noise of the fridge could be heard in the living room, as he crossed it to go into your room, his heart beating fast, so fast that it was almost painful. Each beat was making his body shake a bit more as his trembling hands quietly turned the door handle of your room. You were out, needing to grab something at the grocery store near your flat.

He knows he didn’t have a lot of time, that it was risqué, that he had to be quick. But he couldn’t help it. He needed to know if they were there. The black panties you’ve been chilling in yesterday, only wearing them and a loose shirt. They were his favorite ones, he thought they were the ones sublimating the curves of your ass the most. So when he noticed they weren’t in the basket laundry today, he was pretty sure that you left them somewhere in your room. It's not his fault if you left them there… As a good step-brother in charge of the laundry, he should be sure that no dirty clothes should be left behind right? 

Even he knew it was just because he wanted to smell it. To smell you. To get off at your scent again and again…

His heart stopped to beat ofr a moment as he op, noticing them innocentlyheart stopped for a second as he opened your door, spotting the precious panties, standing there, on the ground, innocently. 

He could already feel his cock twitch into his pants, as he could smell your sweet scent surrounding the room. He knows he doesn't have a lot of time, that he should be quick, just taking the panties and leaving would be the less risqué thing to do, but something about getting off in your room sent shivers of excitement down his spine. It's not like he would last long anyway, he never did when he got off with your panties.

He brought the dirty panty to his face as he took a deep breath in, his nose against where your core was supposed to be, freeing his hard cock from his sweatpants. 

"F-fuck… You smell so good…" a small whine escaped his lips as he sat down on the ground, one hand brushing against his cock, but not totally stroking himself yet. 

He shyly tugs out his tongue to give a quick lap to the crotch of your underwear, hoping it could give him a light idea about how divine his step-sister was tasting like. 

Another whine left his lips as he felt the sweet taste spreading in his mouth. 

"So good… you taste so good…" 

He was now sucking on it without a shame, high-pitched noise of pleasure leaving his mouth, redness of his cheeks covering a bit his freckle. He was already panting, his eyes closed as he hoped he was licking your wet pussy instead.

His cock twitched, the tip as red as his cheeks, asking for more attention. 

One hand stroking his dick, the other playing with his nipple, as the panties were stuffed in his mouth, his tongue licking its crotch, eyes closed, he could already feel his end coming. 

He was moaning again and again, and if it wasn't for the piece of clothing in his mouth preventing him to talk, he would probably moan obscene things like "Please, let me taste you", "I beg you sis' you smell so good", "I'm sure your wet pussy taste even better..." or even worst "I love you so much, sis…"

His hand was stroking him faster, without any regular rhythm, as continued to whine. He pinched his nipple, making himself arch his back a bit more and his legs shook under the overwhelming pleasure. Your panties were now soaked in his drool, letting some escape, rolling down his chin. 

He was so lost in pleasure, so lost in his own fantasy, imagining that he wasn't sucking your panties but that you were sat on his face instead like he always dreamt about.

He wanted to feel your thighs squeezing his head between them. He wanted to make his hands run on them, feel your soft skin. He would kiss them, again and again, leaving small marks on them if you allowed him to do so. And as he would come closer and closer to your crotch, he would be able to see how wet you already are, how wet his affection made you go. He would be a bit hesitant at first, giving quick laps on your panties to hear you moan, before putting them aside and finally… finally tasting you… 

Maybe if he wasn't that lost into his mind, he would have heard the door of your flat open. And maybe he would have also heard your footsteps going toward your room. He would probably have heard too that you shouted that you had forgotten your wallet in your room. But he didn't.

Neither did he hear the door of your room open… And he barely registered your voice calling his name. 

"Tadashi? What are you-"

He froze up, his eyes widened, looking at you terrorized. What were you going to do? How would you react to see your step-brother jerking in your room, your dirty panty stuffed in his mouth? 

And yet, he couldn't explain why but the shame, the humiliation provoked by being caught by you doing something so dirty, so forbidden… It excited him, it was such a delight that he almost came from that only, or maybe that was because of the sight of your bare thighs that he just fantasmed about. 

"I-i could explain!" he quickly said, taking off the panty from his mouth, whipping his drool away, trying to hide his hard cock the best he could.

What could he explain exactly? How much did you turn him on? How perverted he was? How the scent of your dirty panties sent him to heaven? That he always dreamed to be between your thighs to taste his sweet sister? That he always wanted to suck on your nipples? That he always hoped to one day fuck you slowly on the couch, to prove to you how much he actually cared about you? To prove to you how much he loved you? How did he want to kiss you, to hug you, to be there for you in another way than your step-brother?

He gulped as you silently walked toward him, not saying a word, nor showing any emotion. You were thinking he was a dirty pervert, he was sure about that. He was also sure you will tell everything to your parents and that he would be disinherited, that you will expose him on every social media, telling everyone how dirty he was… He was screwed. His whole life was screwed. 

He was surely not excepting the sudden pressure of your bare feet on his cock, which made him moan in a loud way. 

"So like that you jerk off by using your step-sister panties? You're such a naughty boy Ta-da-shi~"

His eyes widened, as he could feel excitement running in his blood. The way you were looking at him… The way your eyes were clouded by the same lust than him… It made his cock twitch under your feet.

"I said I could explain I- Ah!"

He could feel your foot putting more pressure on his cock as a pitiful and ridiculously loud whine left his lips. 

"Shhh~ Keep quiet Tadashi, the walls are thin, you wouldn't want the neighbor to hear you, or… would you?"

He shook his head from right to left, unable to say a word that would turn into a moan. He was heavily panting, his heart pounding in his chest. Never in the best scenarios, he made by his imagination did such a thing happen… And deep down he wished for that to not be another of his wet dreams about you.

“Look at you Tadashi~ All worked up from your sister's dirty panties scent~” Another loud whine escaped from him. He already felt so pitiful, so horrible to act like that. It wasn't good, it was not okay to feel like that… They were step-sister and brother, what was wrong with him? He wishes he could go back in time to prevent himself from feeling like that but… Now that it was happening… He couldn't deny how good it felt. How much he loved that. How much he loved her. 

"You're a loud one huh? It's not like it really surprises me, you're always so noisy when you get off in your room… Moaning my name~" you teased him as your feet came up and down on his dick, already leaking in precum

He felt shame burn his chest. So you know how he felt since the beginning? You were acting like that on purpose, knowing how it affected him? 

"What a shame, I would love to hear you moan my name again and again as you rut against my feet, but I can't take the risk for the neighbors to know what's going between us, right Tadashi?"

He nodded again, as he opened his mouth when you presented to him the panties that were already stuffed in his mouth some minutes earlier.

"You're such a good boy Tadashi~ Knowing how to act to please me…" 

Was it the way his name sounded awfully sexy when you were the one saying it or the way you called him a good boy that made him arch his back a bit more and bucking his hips for more friction?

He could feel his arousal already building up in his stomach, and his cheeks turning into a darker shade of red as muffled whine escaped him again and again.

"That's it Tadashi, be a little good boy for your sister" you whispered at the ear, nibbling on the lobe of his ear. He bucked his hips, even more, as his moan became a bit louder, but overall, needier. 

He was looking at you with so much love… so much adoration… so much lust… it was such a beautiful face, the same as you ever imagined when hearing him reaching his end and moaning your name out loud in his room. 

"You want to cum for your sister Tadashi?~" 

He nodded quickly, his heart beating faster and faster, sweat starting to pearl on his freckled skin.

"Then cum for your sister, pretty boy~" you whispered before softly kissing his cheek, lifting his face with your hand, to be sure to not miss anything about the beautiful expression you could see on his face.

His back arched, head thrown back, as his whole body was shaken by a powerful orgasm, his loud moaning that even the wet piece of clothes in his mouth couldn’t stop echoing in the room, while the white loads of his cums were staining both his stomach and your feet.

With a devilish smile, you looked down at him again, whipping out the cum of your feet on his pants, down his ankles, as if it was nothing more than a doormat.

Picking up your wallet on your nightstand, you looked at him again. He was a mess, panting, legs spread, wide open, as his cum was slowly dripping down his belly.

“Since I got what I’ve forgotten home, I can finally go to the grocery store now. You better be rock hard again when I will be back, understand Tadashi? I’m sure you wouldn’t lose an occasion to feel your dear sister’s pussy around your cock just because you didn’t behave well, right?” 

He eagerly nodded as he gulped. 

"You're such a good boy Tadashi…" you softly kissed him on the lips, after taking out the "gag" out of his mouth, vaguely able to taste yourself, before finally leaving the room.

The panties you were wearing were soaked in your excitement… Maybe that you should lend it to him as a reward tonight? He surely would be the happiest. 

#hqcest #🍏.rotten apple #tw: stepcest #tw humiliation #tw degradation #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq yamaguchi #yamaguchi smut #yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi x reader

[pies-writes-and-more]

hai! this is my first time requesting :D if you don't mind, can i request something where akaashi confessing to his crush? i think it would be super sweet :D anyway stay healthy and drink lots of water babe <33

word count: 2, 269

pairing: university AU!akaashi keiji x fem!reader

warnings: not proofread because im too tired but it’s all fluff!

a/n: thank you for the request lovely! I appreciate you reaching out :) Also yes! drinking lots of water for sure :) i hope this meets your expectations!! <3 a HUGE thank you to @satan-ruler-of-hells for helping me out with this idea haha i literally couldn’t have done this without you love <3 the following gif is not mine - creds to the original creator!

haikyuu masterlist

Draw something beautiful, the professor had instructed, walking across the art room floor. Akaashi had scrunched up his nose as he thought about the assignment. 3 words, that was it. When he tried to ask for further instruction, the professor just smiled and said, Don’t think too much. Just draw. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it doesn’t have to even fit on a whole page. Just draw. It could be doodles or abstract shapes. The purpose of this assignment to get you thinking - to get you seeing the world and deciding to draw it. To get you used to holding a pencil and drawing instead of writing.

Akaashi had gone home that day, frustrated with the lack of instruction. How was he supposed to make something for a grade if he wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to do?

Draw something beautiful. But... what did they mean by beautiful? Should he draw the skyline he saw from his apartment window? Should he draw the perfect spike, because to him that was beautiful. Should he just draw shapes and call it art?

Akaashi groaned as slammed his head against the living room table, scrapping another paper from his sketchbook and throwing it away, “Remind me why I took this class again?” he mumbled out with a sigh.

“Because you’re really good at drawing things!” Bokuto grinned, playing with a volleyball while seated on the couch nearby. “You’ve always been really good at doodling and sketching. Plus, you wanted something new...Hey! Maybe you could draw me playing volleyball,” he grinned, looking over at him ecstatically.

Akaashi tried to think of a way to tell his best friend that while volleyball and the art of it was beautiful... he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted his first assignment to be his sweaty roommate swatting a ball around, “I’d just want to play with you,” Akaashi excused the idea away, giving his friend a smile. 

“Mm good point. And there’s no point in me playing without my setter,” Bokuto nodded in agreement. “Where’s Y/N? I bet she’d have a good idea!”

Y/N.... now there’s something beautiful, Akaashi thought to himself, catching himself blushing before shaking his head from his thoughts, “U-Uh I think she’s got class but I’ll send her a text.”

You were more than happy to receive Akaashi’s text about coming over to work with him and Bokuto because you always found studying easier when Akaashi had the ability to force you to do your homework. He was very good at keeping you on task, especially during finals week, so you agreed to meet them over at their place.

“Something beautiful?” You repeated as Akaashi explained his dilemma to you. “Well in that case, why are we studying here?” You huffed, zipping your bag back up and standing up even though you had literally just arrived. “We should go to the park! It’s beautiful out and there’s all sorts of wildflowers blooming near the ravine!”

You were quick to push Bokuto and Akaashi to get ready, insisting to Bokuto that he actually bring his homework so you could all work together in the sun. The three of you made your way to the small park near the boys’ apartment, your smile beaming in the sun as Akaashi laid out a blanket on the grass for you all to sit on. 

His eyes tried to look around, finding anything that sparked some sort of beauty in him. Maybe he should just take the easy way out and sketch the flowers - no one could deny that they were pretty this year.  

Akaashi tried to get into the zone with his doodling, sketching line after line to create the pretty wildflower flowing in the wind next to him. He listened distantly to the music you were playing on your phone, your voice humming softly along to it as you were doing your own work. 

Even Bokuto loaded up his laptop and actually got to work one Akaashi pointed out to him that he wouldn’t be able to play volleyball if he failed all his classes.

After the one flower though, Akaashi’s eyes drifted as he tried to pick out another one to sketch out. It wasn’t beautiful necessarily but maybe it would be enough? His eyes paused on you for a moment, watching as you held onto your pencil with your lips for a moment, erasing whatever was on your page furiously.

It was a few seconds before Akaashi realized he was staring. You were so hypnotizing when you were focused, he wondered how you could zone in like that. He left his mind drift a little, his fingers lazily dragging his pencil along his book. He didn’t really think anything of it when he finished a sketch of you - your hair in your eyes, your concentrated furrow of your brow, the way your fingers spun your pencil around. He was just doing it to refresh his mind, give himself a break, and then go right back to drawing flowers - that’s what he told himself.

But the more he glanced over at you, the softer his smile got, sketching the lines of your shoulders, the loose hairs sticking out from the rest, the eyelash that was laying on your cheek.

You were beautiful. Much more beautiful than some flowers.

“I’m bored,” Bokuto whined loudly, interrupting the concentration in the air and making Akaashi jump a little. 

“You’re supposed to be working,” he pointed out to him, glancing at his laptop screen. “You haven’t even gotten 2 pages.”

“5 pages is too long for a paper,” Bokuto huffed, shaking his head. “We should just go order food and call it a day.”

“Just because you’ve given up on working, doesn’t mean we have to, dummy,” you laughed, eyes still focused on whatever it was you were writing.

“Fineeee,” Bokuto sighed unhappily, flopping backwards against the ground. He laid there for a moment, pouting to himself, before pushing himself on his elbows, “Hows the sketching going, Akaashi?”

Maybe Akaashi should’ve played it off cooler - shrugged off the question and said it was nothing. But instead, Akaashi stammered out a “F-Fine,” and he could feel Bokuto watching as a pink colour flushed across his cheeks and ears.

“Can I see?” Bokuto asked curiously, grinning wider as Akaashi started to shift away from him.

“It’s not ready,” Akaashi insisted, shaking his head.

“Oh come on, I just wanna see!” Bokuto insisted, jumping on his best friend and trying to pull the sketchpad into view. Akaashi groaned, attempting to shield his work from Bokuto’s prying eyes but felt Bokuto’s strong fingers pull his arms away from the notepad and sighed as he heard his friend gasp.

“Holy shit, Akaashi, it looks so good!” Bokuto gaped, tilting his head as he took in the work in front of him. “I knew you were good but this is incredible!”

You glanced over as the boys started to talk, curious as to what all the commotion was about, “Get some good flower sketches?” You asked with a smile and Akaashi just blushed, nodding awkwardly.

“And others!” Bokuto beamed, still admiring the sketchpad. “It looks just like you!”

You blinked in surprise, glancing between the two of them before scooting over to take a look at what Akaashi had been working on. As much as the dark haired boy tried to hide his work, you insisted he show you and when he finally did, you felt your breath hitch.

The whole two pages Akaashi had been sketching on were filled with different views and perspectives of none other than you. You felt your face go warm as you saw the little purse of your lips that you do when you were concentrating, or the way you tapped your pencil against your lips when you were in thought. 

“A-Akaashi, they’re... they’re really pretty,” you stammered out shyly, suddenly feeling very self conscious of your body. Not because of his drawings, because they were gorgeous but because this meant he had been looking at you this whole time.

“It’s weird, I know,” Akaashi muttered nervously. “I’m sorry, I just got carried away.”

You shook your head quickly, grabbing the notebook you had been working in and showing him, “I got carried away too,” you laughed, showing him that in between the margins of your notes, you had done a few sketches of his concentration face, the little squint he does with his eyes when he checks over things, the biting of his inner cheek that he did when he was trying to get something just right. 

Bokuto squealed a little, watching the two of you excitedly, “You two are literally perfect for each other,” he announced with a happy nod.

“O-Oi! Don’t go around saying stuff like that!” You insisted, all flustered by his words. “Akaashi, you were supposed to work on your assignment! Now you’ll have to start all over again.”

Akaashi watched you for a beat, and then looked down at the sketchpad in front of him, “Why? I think I can submit it just like this.”

“W-Weren’t you supposed to sketch...” you let your voice trail off a little as he caught your eye, a small smile turning at his lips.

“I was supposed to draw something beautiful. And I chose you. Are you okay with that?” He asked with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

Bokuto gave another excited squeak like an excited fanboy, eagerly watching his OTP, “So cute,” he whimpered eagerly.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay with that,” you answered, biting on your lip nervously. “I thought you were going to draw the flowers, that’s all.”

“You’re much prettier than flowers, Y/N,” Akaashi admitted, clearing his throat awkwardly as he shifted in his seat. 

“Oh my god,” Bokuto giggled ecstaticly. “Is it happening? Is it finally happening? Akaashi are you going to-”

“I’m trying, Bokuto, if you’d just let me,” Akaashi groaned, glaring at his best friend for a moment, you giving them both looks of confusion.

“Oh! Sorry! I’m not even here, don’t even worry about it,” Bokuto laughed with a huge grin, hiding his face behind his hands as it caused him to magically disappear.

Akaashi sighed and looked over at you with somewhat nervous eyes, “When I first started thinking about what I could draw that was beautiful, I immediately thought of you, Y/N.”

“Y-You did?”

He nodded slowly, looking down at his sketchpad again, “They don’t really do you justice. I can’t capture how you look when you laugh in a drawing, or how kind you are to everyone you meet. A drawing can’t capture that sass and snarky attitude you have, or the little jump you do when you beat us at Mario Kart,” Akaashi smiled as his fingers gently ran along one of the sketches he had done of you. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful, Y/N. Ever sine we met in high school. I’ve loved you from that very first day.”

You sat there staring at him, wondering if something had magically drugged Akaashi into saying the words you had always wanted to hear from him. This gorgeous sweet and patient guy... was confessing you to? The boy you had cheered for at all of his games, stumbled around drunk with, eaten like a pig with... he loved you?

“You don’t have to reciprocate my feelings obviously,” Akaashi added after noting your surprise. “I don’t want this to change anything, and I don’t want you to feel like I only got close to you to try and date you. I love being your friend but-”

“I want us to be something more,” you finished his sentence, blinking up at him. “I’ve always wanted that.”

Akaashi had to stare at you for a few seconds, make sure you were being honest, before his lips curled into a smile. He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently and pressing a quick kiss to it, “Maybe our first date can be a sketching date then. You can teach me all your methods.”

You laughed a little and nodded up at him, “Only if you draw me again. I want to keep one.”

The two of you just smiled at each other for a moment before Bokuto couldn’t help but let out his excitement, tackling you both into a hug and proclaiming how happy he was you two finally admitted how you were feeling about each other. “Let’s get food now! I’m buying for the happy couple!” He stood up eagerly, jumping up and down. “You guys are going to draw me next right??”

“Sure, Bokuto,” you laughed, smiling over at Akaashi and feeling your heart flutter just a little when you find him already looking at you.

Akaashi handed in his sketchbook the next week, giving a small smile to his professor before he disappeared. The art instructor was surprised to find a human subject scattered across the pages and felt a small smile on their face as they noticed the attention given to your features.

Art is like giving someone a piece of your soul every time they look at it, the professor had taught in a lecture before. You see what the artist sees through their eyes, and in that moment, something is captured forever.

These sketches surely fulfilled what the professor had aimed for with this project and they chuckled to themselves as they noted the small piece of Akaashi they received from the sketches. You can really see it from these sketches, the professor thought to themselves as they closed the sketchbook. He really loves her.

haikyuu taglist (let me know if you’d like to join :))

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#akaashi x reader #akaashi keji x reader #haikyuu x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi fluff #hihqnetwork

[harfanfare]

Pomegranate Rule || Idia Shroud x Reader

Obligatory pair work with someone you like very much on a school project and have a chance to fall for each other more? - cliché.

The difference with Idia was that he kidnapped his project partner.

Idia leaned out from behind the column, whispering words of encouragement and summoning up the plan of this meeting he compiled at yesterday’s evening. He practised this conversation all night in front of the mirror, but as soon as he gained confidence, he forgot the text and desperately searched for the next line in the script.

There was a faint blush on his pale cheeks. Not from the sun, not from the fatigue, but nervousness. He hadn't left his room for someone in a long time, and what he was about to do required from him new social skills...

…to ask you to be his project partner, that’s it.

Ortho stood right next to Idia, leaning out from behind his older brother's silhouette and shifting his gaze once at the courtyard, once at him.

Idia cuffed his fingers on the sleeves of the sweatshirt.

Ortho's presence helped him a lot to keep on the promise he made to himself: today he will actually talk to you not on the phone, but face-to-face and suggest that you could do Sir Crewel’s project together.

He knew that you didn’t have a pair, since Grim went off where he could bug Adeuce combo, and even if he didn’t, you two would be counted as one student. But, to at least make some progress, you were picking up leaves you suspected to be just right for the experiment.

With each bush, you were getting closer and closer to the column behind which Idia was hiding, and he knew that if he won’t hurry with his proposal, someone will enter the square, dispatch the last pieces of Idia's courage and disperse you, and take you away.

For example someone like Epel and Jack, who have just entered the courtyard using the entrance on the opposite side.

This coincidence seemed to Idia to be as unfortunate as if all the forces of the world wanted to stop him from what he was planning and yet to validate his theory that it was not worth ever leave his room. On the other hand, since he was already here, and it took him a good few dozen attempts to motivate himself, he could not lose this unstarted game.

Idia, in an act of desperation, rushed towards you, hoping that the first-graders would not notice you.

You both keel over into the bushes as Jack and Epel headed towards you.

"Jack Howl, Epel Felmier!" Ortho greeted them, distracting all possible attention from the bushes that had just been approached by two people, both unaware of what was going on. "How is your project going? What topic did you choose?”

"Ortho-kun! What are you doing here?” Epel replied, coming closer to the young Shroud.

As Ortho distracted them with a conversation, Idia had an intimidating thought: what would happen if they saw your two in the bushes? He was madly blushing at the scenarios that created in his head. He put his hand on your lips—he was afraid that you would say anything that would attract unwanted attention—he slipped with you through the empty corridors to the dorm of Ignihyde.

…He forgot to explain what he was doing, and it likely looked like him committing a crime, but nothing will happen if he explains everything in his room, right...?

You were able to ask Idia what was he doing, once he closed the doors. Till then, on every question you asked he hissed “Sheesh! Do you want us to be found?!” and “P-please! Let us get to headquarters where I will… explain the mission…”.

Soon enough, you found yourself in his room; electronics was the main source of light, and the screens glowed bright blue around them. Although you didn't see any exposed windows or lamps lit to illuminate the room, everything was clearly visible.

There was a mess there, a mixture of the cardboard disorder that prevails after moving a house and the chaos of a man whose constantly working on something, desk always cluttered with papers, pens and documents.

You were sure you would stand on some lost Lego block or pin if you put your foot behind the bed where Idia has set you down.

“So, Idia,” you started. “…What exactly I am doing in your room?”

"Uh, well...” he stuttered, trying to remember the speech from yesterday's practices. “I wish I would know what you're doing here... I mean- I know why I brought you here. I wanted to ask you something. Ask, yes.”

"Ask? About what?” you didn't mention that you can ask outside of your own room, and you wasn’t going to correct that.

Idia tried to explain the whole situation. He skipped the preparation process, his speeches and ideas, he didn’t even mention the project, so all he said was hard-to-understand, abstract justification from the current situation.

He said, at least, that he came up with the idea to take you somewhere further away, where there were no people, as first-grades entered the courtyard.

“So I'm here by accident?" you asked after listening to Idia, slightly cocking your head at the side. “I don't understand…”

“It was an accident. A bit,” he wanted to loudly groan at his helplessness but finally bit his tongue. “I didn't want you here. I mean, I wanted to, but I didn't plan on it. I mean- Aah, it’s so hard to explain!”

You waited in silence, only nodding, letting him take his time.

"Sorry, I just... I feel weird talking to you...” Idia admitted, lowering his head.

The definition of Idia’s "weirdness" was different from yours.

When you heard that he was calling you strange, you felt a pang in your heart. Really? After so many months of acquaintance and quite frequent texting on the phone, when finally there was one of those few moments when you could talk face-to-face, he says it's awkward?

The "weirdness" of that feeling in Idia was something he could not explain easily: the joy of talking to you, anxiety that he would say something wrong, an uncertainty that you would change your mind and stop talking to him, excitement because he knew how interesting person you are and the frustration for every accurate, teasing comment…

"Oh, I see," you tried not to sound depressing. "So let me leave.”

"No, wait, that's not what I meant..!”

Oh, no. Idia’ plan went downhill again.

Idia jumped to a drawer and started looking for something in it, digging through notebooks, cables and lost items.

“...Don't worry, Idia, we can end this conversation on the phone... or something.”

“No, no, no, wait, please!” discreetly took out a round metal box before he dashed to you, blocking the only way out, heavy equipment surrounding you that now seemed to be an impassable wall.

"Uh?"

He took the hard candy from the container he took from the shelf, though he did it so subtly, forcing himself to stare at you and keep your gaze from tearing away from him, so you couldn’t notice candy in his hand.

They were pomegranate drops that had been presented to him as a funny joke from a student who knew that a box, just like its contents, was enchanted by Vil's unique magic: whoever tasted them will not be able to move more than twenty meters from the place the fruit drop was eaten.

Haha, because you know, the members of Ignihyde don't go outside and won't even notice they were cursed.

Idia was sure that even Vil did not know that the candies had fallen into his hands.

"Huh? What are you-“

As soon as you opened your mouth, Idia pressed fruit drop up to your lips and covered them with his hand, in case you tried to spit it out. His movements became very mechanical and heavy, probably most of his muscles were strained. Because of that, you also couldn't push him away.

He only stepped out of your way you once swallowed the candy.

And so you were bound by a spell that you discovered the moment Idia let you towards the door. You stopped more than a meter from them, unable to even grasp the doorknob.

You swung your hand a few times as if not believing that none of your movements was moving you forward.

“Idia. I know we should talk, but by cutting me off from the door?”

Surprise with this solution, Idia's embarrassed smile, dripping sweat from the stress he felt, and a sudden dose of delicious sugar made you burst into laughter.

“This. Is. Great.” You accented each word, becoming more and more amused with each one as if you had just heard the best joke of the era. “Is it the fault of those drops?”

Idia, surprised by your reaction, finally relaxed. Your sudden, inexplicable outburst, hearty laugh calmed him down a lot. He even came to the conclusion that he really likes the way you laugh.

Ortho soon entered the room. You two shortened the story and explained that you probably have to stay here for the night.

"Oh, so nii-san finally asked you to do a project with him?"

“Project...?” you repeated. Then you turned your head to Idia and smirked at him. “So that was what it was for?”

He answered you with a shrug as if last day Idia didn’t have any thoughts screaming “Project!” and that followed by “[Name]!”.

However, Ortho said it for him.

Idia, of course, tried to stop him, but Ortho knew how much time his brother spent just planning to talk to you. A wave of shame flooded Idia as you listened to Ortho's words with interest. And maybe with a pinch of delight spilling over your heart—Idia did so much for you! You could feel the flush on your face and a smile spread across your lips every time you heard about Idia's efforts.

Soon after, after the excitement of this conversation had died down and you thanked Idia for his planning efforts, a package of cookies and biscuits was opened. You couldn't go to the cafeteria to eat anything, and even ordinary snacks from school vending machines taste better in pleasant company, right?

“We haven't had many opportunities to talk like that, have we?"

You took a sip of the warm tea Idia had made—it was incredibly bitter but chilled enough not to burn your tongue—and watched the screen where Idia was working.

He pushed himself away from writing some codes with some slowness, but he didn't look at you.

“You're right...”

After a pause, he started speaking again, this time in a whisper, but you heard him very clearly.

"I've always admired you, [Name]-shi..." he said, pressing his knees against his chest. “Talking to so many different people and solving their problems... I often find it tedious and self-righteous to interfere in the affairs of others, however…. Everything you do always ends well. I-I couldn't do that.”

“I should be saying it!” You said after a moment of silence as if you were processing words you completely didn't suspect him of. “You deal with electronics like a professional. Wait, you are the professional! How many programming languages have you already mastered? How many devices have you already created? You have a wonderful talent and... even your brother little is proof of it.”

You both looked at Ortho connected to specialized equipment. "CHARGING" was displayed on the screen, and by minutes the numbers were close to 100%.

Idia didn't smile at your words—instead he seemed incredibly focused. With each passing second, he had a more and more sincere expression of pleasant frustration, which was also reflected in his long hair behind which he tried to hide his face.

He couldn't even answer and just nodded.

"And... I have to confess to something," you began after another minute of pleasant silence, which you felt sorry to interrupt. "If you previously seemed quite average to me, maybe even a little pale-faced, now I know that you are special."

These words were already his limit. He couldn't take his eyes off you, forgot how to breathe, forgot how to blink, and his lungs refused to cooperate.

His heart crashed for good after your next words.

"So... if you please," you got up and smiled at him. “Idia Shroud, will you do me this honour and become my project partner?”

"The curse already faded.”

You could reach the door and go to the farthest corners of the room. You could leave.

The project has been completed. With the light help of Ortho, who also wanted to contribute to the project, by two in the morning, you finished doing experiments, writing out data, conclusions and completing them with graphic documentation.

And then you played games for the next three hours; each game was digital and very engaging—it wasn't for Ortho, you and Idia wouldn't fall asleep even for a minute. Even when you went to bed—and there was a whole five-minute debate about where you were going to sleep—you talked in whispers about everything and nothing until one of you fell asleep.

Even if the attachment to Vil's magic was gone, you couldn't deny that you became attached to a certain blue-haired boy who followed the last lines of your conclusions with his golden eyes.

It was really fun.

He and Ortho probably would have done this project faster, but the collaboration of the three—you, Ortho and Idia—seemed so pleasant that if he could, he would do it once again. Even if that meant another research about hyper-difficult projects Crewel liked to torture his students with.

"I will come again," you said as suddenly as if you were reading his mind. He flinched at those words, and your tone of voice changed to a more biting tone. “You don't have to kidnap me this time.”

"I d-didn't..." he tried to deny but was stuck on the next words. “...Really? Will you really come here?”

“Your charm bound me more than candy, I can promise you,” you gave him one last smile before you closed the door behind you and rushed through the corridor with a strange, blissful feeling, looking forward to your next project.

So did he.

#I liked writing it a lot hahah #Idia Shroud #Idia Shroud x reader #twst idia #twst idia shroud #twst idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland idia

[dr3amofagame]

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

#tw trauma #tw disordered eating #tw torture #tw abuse #tw blood #tw injuries #tw unhealthy coping mechanism #tw emotional distress #tw murder #tw animal death #tw dark content #tw unhealthy eating habits #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !! #-> my asks

[bwbatta]

six - confessions

Abstract: Draco and you are just friends so doing him a favour and pretending to be his girlfriend wouldn’t effect your friendship right?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst

Word count: 2960

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one, turn it upp! ...I won’t lie, i’ve been putting off writing this purely because I don’t want to stop writing this. Anyway, the final part is finally here and I’m so happy to be sharing it with you all! 

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 5

Draco signed his name quickly and looked back at the letter he’d written. It was simple enough to get his point across, yet the repercussions from sending this could be huge. 

The blonde heir was adamant though. If this is what it took, then he would gladly accept whatever consequences came his way. He could figure it out, he always did. 

Taking a breath in to help stabilise his thoughts and nerves, he quickly put his quill down before he wrote anything else that wasn’t needed. Reading it through once more, he made sure his words were enough for now. 

Father,

I apologise for not responding sooner to your previous letter, I was at a loss for a while as to what to write.

I understand our family values and as much as I uphold them for our family’s benefit, my relationship or any of my relationships are my choice. Whilst she is not pureblood, she is not muggleborn either and both of her parents have magic, which is why I ask you to at the very least consider giving Y/N a chance.

With respect, I will not determine my relationship on your opinions, especially since you haven’t met her.

You understand there aren’t many things I would go against you on, but this is something I feel particularly strongly about. 

Regards, 

Draco

Nodding his head, he quickly folded the letter and attached it to his family’s owl. With a screech, the bird took off. 

All Draco could do now was wait.

“Please?! You’re the best person at charms that I know, you would be my favourite person on earth?!”

“Blaise-”

“Y/N please, Flitwick might push for me to be kicked out of Hogwarts if I don’t pass this test”

You snorted unattractively as you walked down the corridor, arms riddled with books. On your way to the Herbology greenhouses for your afternoon lesson, you were blitzed by Blaise who had been trying to convince you for the last five minutes to help him write his essay which was due in a couple days time. 

Blaise and you had nearly made it into the greenhouses when Professor Sprout stopped him at the door.

“You’re not in my class today Mr Zabini, I suggest you get heading towards your own class before you’re late.”

The elder witch gave him a stern look to which he smiled at, trying to lower her strict exterior. 

“I just need to talk to Y/N about something really important really quickly, Professor. It’ll only take a minute?”

“No” she rolled her eyes at the boy, “you can do that in your own time.”

“But, Professor-”

“No buts Zabini-”

“Alright Blaise, I’ll do it” you finally caved, seeing as the boy would most likely be reduced to ash from Sprout’s harsh stare otherwise. 

“Astronomy tower, 8pm?”

“Wait-”

“Okay bye!”

Without another word he turned and rushed off back inside the castle, heading to whatever his next lesson was, leaving you partially annoyed, partially awkward at the look Sprout was now sending you.

“Inside” she cocked her head towards the doorway and with a defeated look you headed into the greenhouse. 

You hadn’t been back to the Astronomy tower, despite classes, since that fight between Draco and you and you weren’t too keen on returning. Blaise however, had given you no choice in the matter as you probably wouldn’t see him until that time you’d agreed to meet. This meant you’d have to suck up your anxieties about the tower and get over yourself. 

If only it were that easy.

Your free period was rather quiet today you reckoned but you couldn’t put your finger on why it was so quiet? 

The twins weren’t around and neither were Harry and Ron, yet that was normal since you were studying in the library with Hermione. Though Hermione didn’t really talk much when you two studied, something still felt off.

Not to mention the other thing which was bothering you was how Blaise acted earlier? He was normally the most relaxed person you knew, but his earlier rushed and fretted actions also seemed wrong.

You snorted at the thought in your head; imagine if he was trying to set you back up with Draco at the astronomy tower later?!

Another sigh left your lips as you continued to try and figure out what else felt off. Hermione’s eyes darted from the essay she was writing to you sat opposite her. 

“Is there something bothering you?”

You met her stare awkwardly and shrugged slightly. 

“I don’t know, does something feel off to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s too quiet, you know? I can’t put my finger on what it is though.”

“Maybe it’s because that blonde tumour isn't attached to your side anymore?!” Hermione snorted as she turned back to her work, leaving you staring at her with an unreadable expression. 

Ignoring the remark of how the witch had described Draco, she was right in the way that he did used to surprise you while you were studying. 

Was that it? You were missing him being near you?

You hadn’t really spoken to the Malfoy, only small comments in class when you were next to each other but apart from that, he wasn’t constantly next to you anymore and that bothered you. 

You had to admit you did like fake dating Draco, but that was over, it was a joke, a favour, nothing more. So why the hell would you accept anything to go back to him annoying you, him being at your side constantly, or his arm around you 90% of the time?

Then you froze.

You knew exactly why.

Holy shit, you loved him. Like actually loved him. 

Slowly starting to freak yourself out, you sat back in your chair as your mind whirred around that fact. 

He’s Draco. 

He’s one of your best friends and now everything was so messed up because he’s Draco.

Stubborn, bratty, arrogant Draco.

Who likes Draco?!

And then it hits you again. You do, you really really do. 

Because he’s Draco.

Because he cares about you and would do anything for you. Just like you’d do anything for him. He might be stubborn, but so are you. He might be bratty and spoilt because of his parents, but he actively spoils you just because he can. And he might be arrogant to everyone else, but you know how humble he could be and acts around you. His reaction after you opened your Christmas present proved that enough. 

Holy shit. 

These feelings are going to ruin whatever’s between you, friendship or not, because how the hell could you keep this to yourself? How the hell could you not tell him you loved him?

The only thing was... you were the second person to ask yourself that today. 

Draco paced in the tower, a letter held tightly in his hand as he waited for you to show up. Guaranteed it wasn't 8pm yet, but he was still so anxious for when you did actually turn up. Were you going to turn up?

A lot of things had flown through his mind today, some putting him on edge as to whether his plan to get you back would work, yet nothing had made him as anxious as when the letter arrived from his father earlier that day.

It was slightly wrinkled now from how much he had fiddled with it in his hands and with a frown, Draco tucked it back into his pocket, forcing himself to take a long breath as he did so and run his hands nervously through his hair.

Not even a moment passed before he heard the door below slam shut and your footsteps approach. A brief flash of panic flew through his body like he’d been electrocuted, what if this was a bad idea? What if you didn’t want him like he wanted you and he would just look like a complete idiot?

All the thoughts in his head however vanished as soon as you reached the top step and your eyes locked on his. 

Neither of you said anything at first and the silence was almost deafening.

“Fucking Blaise,” you rolled your eyes at yourself. “Earlier I bet myself he’d do something like this.”

“It was actually my idea”

“...I see” 

“Surprised?” 

You snorted

“No.” You hid your grin at the look of offence present on his face, “I knew one of you would come up with something like this. I had my money on Blaise as he was the one I spoke to earlier. Despite how much you love being mysterious and complicated Draco, you’re like an open book to me.”

The wizard let out a snort, he had a feeling she would figure something was up. They really did know each other well.

The silence stilted in the air again and felt heavy despite the fresh air surrounding them. 

You looked down, avoiding the blue eyes that watched you. Despite being in love with him, you had no idea what to actually say to him. Luckily he took the lead.

“It was really stupid.”

You frowned, before you forced yourself to glance towards him, eyes catching on how he was looking at you.

“What was?”

“The fact we thought we could pretend and fake an entire relationship with no consequences.”

You didn’t say anything. 

“I mean let’s be honest,” Draco scoffed a laugh, “we really thought that everything would go back to how it was before? That was stupid. Also the fact that the whole ‘having a fake girlfriend’ thing wasn’t really working for me.”

He paused to assess your reaction for a moment before continuing on. 

“We were great as a fake couple, sure. We were also great at being friends, I mean... that was before I kissed you and fell in love with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the confession. A smile grew faintly on his face as he took in your reaction. After realising you weren’t going to bolt, he took a couple steps closer until he stood right before you, his toes almost touching your own. 

“This whole fake dating thing was so stupid in so many ways except for one; how it made me realise how much I genuinely want to be your boyfriend.”

Draco shrugged sightly like it was no big deal, but inside he had to remind his lungs to work.

Why hadn’t you said anything yet? Maybe because he can’t stop his mouth from talking? Should he stop talking? His mouth opened again before he could stop himself.

“I want you. I want us. But I want it for real, not some half-assed, pathetic excuse of relationship which is all just an act and makes us question where we stand with each other.” 

His voice lowered to a whisper but you heard him perfectly. 

“Draco... I want nothing more than to be with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, but I can’t help the fact that I’m not a pureblood and your parents won’t accept me-”

“Wait, okay, hold on.”

Digging his hand into his pocket, he fished out the crumpled letter and attempted to flatten it out slightly. 

“I sent my father a letter in response the one you read the other day and I got this back earlier today. Just... just read it.”

He held the letter out at you with such a serious expression causing you to frown, you took it from him wondering what was in it. Opening the parchment, your eyes immediately flicked back to the blonde once more, only to find him watching your every movement.

“Draco,

I don’t believe you understand the seriousness of what you’re asking from your mother and I. You have a duty to this family to uphold and despite the notion that you wouldn’t disobey me with much, this is still a vital factor of those duties.

Nevertheless, you expressed your seriousness for this girl, coupled with your mother’s bickering about at least meeting her, I will give you one chance. We will meet her if she values the seriousness and significance of our values. If she does not however, then you will end whatever you have with her. 

You understand in the near future, things will change. You need to be as prepared as possible.

Regards,

Lucius Malfoy”

You read the letter once through, then twice, then once more. Your mind was in a flurry at the words, taking them in and the weight they held. Draco’s parents had agreed to give you a chance, however it came with a price and one you were in two minds about taking. 

On one hand, you could be with Draco and support him through whatever hell was coming your way, as long as you abided by their blood purity mania, which, if Harry was right, meant Voldemort. On the other hand, it meant not having the Malfoy boy in your life.

Your eyes finally left the words and flicked back up to meet Draco’s own. His expression was unreadable as he waited for your reaction.

“Well, that’s intense”

“You can’t really expect anything less from my father.”

“I gathered that.”

Your eyes landed on the elder Malfoy’s name once more and you bit your lip slightly. 

“I said once I would be willing to get mixed up in this for you, and I stand by it, Draco. I don’t know whatever's going to happen in the future but I know I want you by my side through it.”

“I can’t ask you to do that-“

“You’re not asking me, I’m telling you I want you and I’ll do whatever it takes to be at your side.”

“Y/N-”

“Draco, I love you, let me do this for you. I can play whoever your parents want me to be.”

Draco didn’t say anything more but stared at you with a half smile on his face. Your eyebrows knitted together as you caught sight of it, not really sure where the expression came from. Talking about faking your views on blood purity and Voldemort wasn’t really a cause for smiling.

“What?”

“Say it again?”

“Say what again?”

“You love me.”

You realised then. You’d told him you loved him in amidst all that but you hadn't even realised it. Well, that’s one way to admit it. 

“I love you,” you said with no hesitation as a smile grew on your own face. “I want you, for real. No fake relationship, just us.”

As quick as you’d finished speaking, Draco’s lips were on yours. It was chaotic, unscripted and messy, but it was real. 

Your hands slid to the back of his head, fingers burying themselves in his hair as his hands gripped your waist tightly, pressing you to him. He kissed you with such passion you swore your heart stopped for a split second.

How the hell had you both faked this for so long?!

Taking a break, he pulled away but rested his forehead on yours, not wanting too much distance. 

“If you’re all in Y/N, so am I. I’ll protect you with my life, you may’ve been my friend first, but you’re everything to me now.”

His lips pressed against yours again, much softer this time like he was trying to memorise and convince himself you were really there. That this was really happening.

“Draco Malfoy, I’m all in.”

You were surprised the next day for two reasons.

One; for how many people had actually bet on Draco’s and your relationship. George got his five galleons back from Fred again after the news reached them. He happily took the money from his brother before lifting his glass to you from across the hall in thanks. 

Both Crabbe and Goyle owed Blaise 10 galleons, though you supposed he had an unfair advantage, (not that you’d tell the duo). 

But the second thing which surprised you was the letter you received at lunch from the headmaster himself. 

Dumbledore had barely even looked in your direction, let alone spoken to you personally, so the note you got from him asking to meet him in his office later spiked your anxiety. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Hermione shrugged before lowering her voice to a whisper. “It’s probably something to do with the DA or Umbridge.”

“Hermione, I didn’t even think he knew I existed, now he’s asking me to come have a chat?”

“Just go, you’ll never know otherwise and you’ll keep fretting.”

The rest of your day passed quickly and you found yourself before the headmaster’s office later that evening. Taking another quick look at the note in your hand, scribbled at the bottom was a comment about him liking sherbet lemons which stuck out to you.

“Sherbet lemons?”

The gargoyle surprised you by jumping out the way, opening up the staircase to you. Without another thought, you climbed the stairs and knocked on the wooden door. 

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, Dumbledore turned to face you as you entered the room. With a smile, he greeted you and offered you the seat opposite him as he took his own.

Sitting, your knee started to bounce while your anxiety kicked in wondering what the hell was going on. 

“Y/N- can I call you Y/N? Relax, you’re not in any trouble at all, don’t worry.”

“Can I ask then, why am I here sir?”

“Well, I actually have a job for you if you’re interested? I understand you’re in a unique position where you’re willing to do anything possible to be with the young Mr Malfoy.”

You immediately frowned, how the hell did he know that?!

“What kind of job?”

“A job to join the Order of the Phoenix. I want you to act as a spy for me within Voldemort’s ranks.”

#Draco Malfoy #dating Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy series #Draco Malfoy Headcanon #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco #draco malfoy imagine #draco imagine #draco malfoy x you #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter headcanon #harry potter x you #harry potter series

[hms-no-fun]

if you could go back and change anything about what's already been released what would you change?

the short answer is that i wouldn’t change anything, except maybe typos.

the long answer is: of course there are things i’d LIKE to change. imo the quality of the writing in godfeels has sky-rocketed through chapter 8, in large part because i’ve got collaborators checking my drafts and making suggestions rather than just publishing what i’ve got as soon as it feels done enough. so when i go back and read bits of gf2, it does feel kind of amateurish sometimes.

but then i think about going back and actually making corrections, and i’m just like... man, i don’t want to become george lucas. i did one big change of gf1 exposition to better foreshadow some of the mythological elements that show up later on, and even that feels dishonest. especially in gf3 there’s a lot of deliberate obfuscation and absence, which i did in the hopes that the diligent reader would look closely and follow the meticulously arranged transmutation circle of breadcrumbs i’d laid out for them towards something approaching A Correct Answer. but this exercise only really works if said reader trusts that there is, in fact, a correct answer. going back to change things feels like a betrayal of that trust to me. if there ever comes a day when i figure out how to publish this in book form without getting sued, i probably will go through and make some pretty substantial edits... but i would only do that if the original text remained unchanged and easily accessible.

there’s also just the fact that once you open that door, it never really closes. i could, if i really wanted to, make godfeels SO much better across the board... and for what? i still get comments on godfeels 1 saying it’s a good, brisk read. and gf2, for all its manically messy forward momentum, is exactly what i wanted it to be at the time. could i do more to seed in some of the ideas that’d become prominent in gf3? yeah, sure. again though... why? i feel much the same way about chapter 8, honestly, in that i would love to go back and tighten the screws just the teensiest bit here and there, but i think doing so would paradoxically demolish what works about it. i like to think that at least some of the fun of reading godfeels is looking at whatever clownshoes nonsense i’ve introduced this week and wondering “how the FUCK is she gonna pull this together?” so it was like doing a magic trick live, in a way. and... i think i mostly pulled it off?

this is tangential, but i’ve really gained a lot of perspective on how homestuck must have been written. it always seemed so impossible that andrew could pull all these abstract threads together into a satisfying narrative loop on basically every conceivable metanarrative level. i used to think, god, this guy had to have had so much shit planned out for so long... and now i know that probably the opposite was true. i imagine he knew the broad strokes and had very specific beats and scenes he planned to hit, but largely he must have just felt it out as he went along. i don’t think you CAN have something like this planned out from start to finish. and the fun for me as a writer is throwing a bunch of clownshoes nonsense into the story and wondering “how the FUCK am i gonna pull this together?” the improv is part of it, you know? what gives homestuck its humanity is the sheer force of will it took to put the thing together, warts and all.

really, my regrets about what’s been released of godfeels so far has a whole lot more to do with what we don’t see than what we do. when this thing started, i felt like i didn’t understand homestuck or really any characters except June. going into gf2 i was fantastically intimidated by every new character i found myself having to write, so i tried to keep the relevant characters to a minimum and mostly focus the plot on June, Terezi, and Dirk (whose characterization in gf2 only really makes sense from a homestuck perspective if you’ve read the epilogues). if i’d known that this would eventually transform into essentially a full-cast production, i would have put SO MUCH MORE THOUGHT into the secondary cast. that’s not to say i was dismissive or incurious about any of them- Jake’s conversation with June in the woods in 2.3 is still among the scenes i’m most proud of in the series, because i looked at this notoriously difficult-to-write character whose perspective, i felt, WAS important, and decided to take it as a challenge to dig into the core of who he was. maybe that’s where the spirit of post gf2 godfeels really got started?

i’ve aired this grievance before, that there’s an element of non-diegetic retcon in the circus egotistica chapter in the form of these flashbacks that try to add new context to existing relationships. as a technique that feels pretty cheap to me so i really try to avoid it as much as possible, but i didn’t have a whole lot of choice because the plot has just always been so fucking full speed ahead that i’ve never really had time to put a pause on that action and go over to see like... what Jake or Roxy are up to. if i were to start writing godfeels from the top right now, i absolutely would have spent way more time with other characters- which, again, would make the story categorically worse in the short term and really ruin what works about gf1 & 2.

luckily, i’ve designed the future of this narrative in such a way that this shouldn’t be a problem anymore :)

#godfeels #homestuck #sarahposts

[killjoyhistoryarchive]

Mike Milligram: The Lost Killjoy

Edit: On July 21st 2020, a Mike Milligram comic by Gerard Way and Shaun Simon was officially announced. However, I’ll leave this post as it is for future reference.

—

In 2009, while My Chemical Romance fans were eagerly awaiting news on their upcoming album, Gerard Way had another surprise in store: the announcement of a new comic series called “Killjoys.”

Co-written by Shaun Simon and illustrated by Becky Cloonan, Gerard told CBR that the series would “deal with much more mature and controversial themes, such as hate crimes and homophobia, the homogenization of American culture and American life.” Unlike “The Umbrella Academy,” which was set in a fantasy world, “Killjoys” was set in modern-day America.

But what nobody realized was that even after an album, two music videos, and a six-issue comic series, Gerard’s original conception would never see the light of day.

In 2008, Gerard Way and Shaun Simon developed the Killjoys universe in a frenzy of inspiration. Gerard’s original sketch features Mike Milligram on the left–named after Gerard’s brother Mikey Way–with a host of other characters that accompanied Mike on his journey. The comic was announced a year later at San Diego Comic Con, with a release planned in 2010.

With My Chemical Romance wrapping up their fourth album, Gerard and Shaun were ready to start writing. Becky Cloonan drew concept art for Mike Milligram, as well as promotional artwork that they planned to use at the Comic Con announcement. However, the Mike Milligram art was scrapped and replaced with a simple image of the Killjoy spider–a move that could later be seen as prophetic.

In 2009, “Killjoys” was an entirely different concept. There was no Party Poison, no Dr. Death Defying, no Battery City, no girl with special powers. The original comic involved a surreal road trip through America that reunited offbeat characters and confronted harsh realities along the way. In 2013, Shaun Simon offered this description in the introduction to the special hardcover edition of the comics:

The old version of the story focused on Mike Milligram, a late-twenty-something living in a desert trailer park and working a crappy job at a supermarket. Mike’s teenage years were a blur. He couldn’t tell if the things he remembered had actually happened or not. Part of him believed he was part of a gang called the Killjoys who fought fictional things in the real world. The other part of him believed it was all just a dream. Music was the only thing that kept Mike going, so when the music was erased from his Ramones tape, it sent him over the edge. He went out and got his old teenage gang, who were now living normal lives, back together because, yes, it was all real. Other members of his gang included Ani-Max, now a high school history teacher; Code Blue, a rabble-rouser who was a working girl in Vegas; Monster, a new young member they met on the road; and Kyle 100%, who was a B-list actor now. They all had strange powers based on objects. Halloween masks and costume accessories, puffy jackets, toy ray guns. It was a story about a group of old friends getting together and discovering what America really was. Reaching deep inside its pretty facade and pulling out the ugly guts. (It was semiautobiographical. I toured with Gerard and his band for a couple of years before realizing I needed to find my own path.) The gang would have found out that another former gang had now become the largest health care corporation in the country and were hell bent on making the world a safe and clean place by removing all that was dirty, like the Ramones. It would have been a great story, and I’m sure parts will end up in Gerard’s and my’s future work.

Of course, we all know what happened after that announcement. After Gerard took a fateful week-long trip to the desert, MCR decided to scrap “Conventional Weapons” and fueled their energy into writing “Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys.” But even as Gerard delved into this new post-apocalyptic version of the Killjoy universe, the comics remained the same. As late as 2011, Gerard claimed in an interview with Artrocker that the comics hadn’t changed at all:

No, none of the characters, even our characters, are in it. It is a completely separate thing, even almost a separate setting. It shares all the ideals behind the record and the theories and the commentary but it is nothing like the videos you have seen. I think the car is probably the only thing that’s the same!

But as the band took on more responsibilities–filming music videos, promoting the album, going on tour–the comics kept getting pushed back. First the release planned for 2010; then it was pushed back to 2011. And while the era had kicked off without a hitch, MCR eventually hit one of the first of many roadblocks: they didn’t have enough money to film the third video. So as Shaun Simon told CBR, the original story featuring Mike Milligram was scrapped, and replaced with the story of the girl and the Ultra Vs:

[A]fter the record, Gerard had built this whole world around the Killjoys. When it came time for the comic, Gerard called me up and said, “We ran out of money. We wanted to make the third video, but we don’t have the money. So do you want to make the idea for that video into a comic?” We started talking about ideas, and we had so many that it turned into this whole series.

In an interview with Paste (2013), Gerard went into more detail about the process:

The deal is that I had written three videos (“Na Na Na,” “Sing,” and “The Only Hope For Me Is You”), and the third video had never gotten made. By the time we had completed the second video, we just ran out of budget money. At the time, somebody was managing us and not keeping an eye on this stuff. Long story short, there was no budget. So I wrote a video, and of course it ends up being the most expensive one, as the last part would usually be. But we couldn’t make it! Killjoys started its life as a very different comic. It was heavily-rooted in nineties Vertigo post-modernism. There’s a lot of very cool, abstract ideas in it; I wouldn’t even call it a superhero book. That (comic) was a visual and thematic inspiration on what would become the album Danger Days. It was pretty loose, though. This was going to be my interpretation of the story, so there’s way more science fiction involved. And what I need to say to the world needed to be a little more direct, so I boiled it down to something that’s still very smart and challenging, but I thought was definitely easier to understand through song or visual. Then (Killjoys artist) Becky Cloonan drew a 7-inch for “The Only Hope For Me Is You,” which was going to be the last video single. I realized I was out of budget, so I said ‘just make this the girl from the first and second video at 15. And have her shave her head or chop her hair off like in The Legend of Billie Jean, because that’s how the video was supposed to start.’ So (Cloonan) sends this drawing over and I’m on tour with Blink 182 in a hotel on an off day. I get this drawing and I’m so immediately blown away by it. I call Shaun, my co-writer and co-creator, and I say ‘open your email, I’m going to send you something.’ I ask him ‘how does this image make you feel?’ We talked for two hours. By the end of the conversation we both realized that that image was the comic, and the third video was basically the comic. So we figured how we were going to make this interesting and exciting for six issues and complete the story. And that was the final direction. It was pretty obvious to us.

In a way, Mike Milligram’s spirit lived on, as fans noticed the similarities between Mike Milligram and Party Poison. But it’s inaccurate to say that Mike Milligram became Party Poison, though “Party Poison’s real name is Mike Milligram” became a persistent rumor in the fandom. Mike’s story was not Poison’s; he wasn’t a post-apocalyptic rebel, but a teenager searching for his identity in modern America.

Will Mike Milligram’s story ever be told? At this point, it’s not likely. But his tale offers a glimpse into the creative minds of Gerard Way and Shaun Simon, and makes us ponder the fact that with a few changes–the comics being released earlier, for instance, or MCR having the money to fund the third video–the comics could have been entirely different.

#my chemical romance #mcr #killjoys #gerard way #shaun simon #becky cloonan #articles #mike milligram #reuploads

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

St Vincent: “Pour a Drink, Smoke a Joint... That’s the Vibe”

Ding dong! Daddy's Home

By Johnny Davis

19/03/2021

Annie Clark, known professionally as St Vincent, picked up a guitar aged 12 after being inspired by Jimi Hendrix. During her teens she worked as a roadie and later tour manager for her aunt and uncle, the jazz duo Tuck & Patti. Originally from Oklahoma, she moved to Dallas, Texas when she was seven and later attended the Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts for three years, before dropping out.

Clark worked as a touring musician with the Polyphonic Spree and Sufjan Stevens, before releasing Marry Me, her first album as St Vincent, in 2007. By her fifth album, 2017’s Masseduction, she had become one of the most celebrated artists in music, the first solo female artist to win a Grammy Award for Best Alternative Album in 20 years.

She became unlikely Daily Mail-fodder around the same time, thanks to an 18-month relationship with Cara Delevingne, and later Kristen Stewart. Her ever-changing music, dressing up-box image and head-spinning well of ideas have seen her compared to David Bowie, Kate Bush and Prince. To complete the notion of her being the "artist's artist", in 2012 she collaborated with David Byrne on the album Love This Giant.

Indeed, she is surely one of few performers today who could stand in for Kurt Cobain with what’s-left-of-Nirvana, performing “Lithium” at their induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2014, as well as cover “Controversy” at a Prince tribute concert in 2020, with such guitar-playing fireworks its author would surely have approved.

Following the glam-influenced pop of Masseduction, St Vincent has performed another stylistic handbrake turn. Complete with a new image – part-Warhol Superstar, part-Cassavetes heroine – she has mined the textures of the music she loved most as a kid: the virtuoso rock of Steely Dan, the clipped funk of Stevie Wonder and blue-eyed soul of mid-Seventies' David Bowie, on her upcoming album, Daddy’s Home.

The title refers to Clark's own father, locked up in Texas for 12 years in 2010, for money laundering in a stock manipulation scheme, one in which he and his co-conspirators cheated 17,000 investors out of £35m. It is also, in typical Clark style, a bit of saucy slang.

Back on the promotional trail, Clark Zoomed in from Los Angeles one morning recently – fully caffeinated and raring to go. “My vices?” she pondered. “Too much coffee, man…”

What question are you already bored of being asked?

There’s not one that’s popping out. There’s no question where I’m like “Oh God, if I ever hear that again, I’ll jump off a building.” I’m chill.

I mention it because prior to releasing your last record you put out a pre-recorded “press conference”, seemingly to pre-empt every inane question the media would throw at you.

It’s so funny. It didn’t really occur like that. Originally that was supposed to be a legit green screen conference. Like, “I’ll just answer these questions ‘cos when they need to have me on ‘The Morning Show’ in Belarus they can have this and put their own graphics behind it”. But then when my friend Carrie Brownstein [collaborator and Sleater-Kinney vocalist-guitarist] and I started writing it and it became very snarky. For some reason it didn’t occur to me that “Oh, that might be off-putting or intimidating to journalists” I just thought "This is silly”. So anyway… I understand.

We're curious about your dad and the American legal system.

I have had a lot of questions about that. For some reason it didn’t occur to me how much I would be answering questions about… my hilarious father!

How do you view his time in prison?

Just that life is long and people are complicated. And that, luckily, there’s a chance for redemption or reconciliation, even after a really crazy traumatic time. And also anybody that has any experience with the American justice system will know this... nobody comes out unscathed.

You recently presented an online MasterClass: "St. Vincent Teaches Creativity & Songwriting". One of the takeaways: “All you need are ears and ideas, and you can make anything happen”. Who’s had the best ideas in music?

Well, you’ve got to give credit to people who were genuinely creating a new style – like if you think of Charlie Parker, arguably he created a new style. This hard bop that was just absolutely impossible to play. It was, like, “Check me out – try to copy me!” So, that’s interesting. I think Brian Eno, for sure, has some great ideas about music – and obviously has made some of the best music. Joni Mitchell – completely singular. I mean: think about that. There are some people who are actually inimitable – like, you couldn’t possibly even try to imitate them.

It’s a brave soul who covers a Joni Mitchell song. Although, apologies if you actually have.

No, I have not. And there’s a reason why not. Come on – Bowie. Bowie never repeated himself. David Byrne also didn’t repeat himself. He took all of his influences of classic songs and the disco that was happening at the time, and the potpourri of downtown New York music from the mid- to late Seventies… and synthesised it into this completely new, other thing. I mean, that’s impressive. Those are the ones we remember.

How hard is it not to repeat yourself?

It’s whether people have the Narcissus thing or not. Like, it’s always got to be a balance where you’re, like, “Well, I need to believe in myself to make something and be liberated. But I can’t look at that pond of my previous work and go ‘Oh you! You’re gorgeous!’” So I don’t go back and listen to things I’ve done. I finished Daddy’s Home in the fall and it was, like, “This is done” and it felt great. I loved the record and it was so fun to make. But what I did immediately afterwards was to write something completely different. But then I don’t know, ‘cos there are people who do the thing that they do just great. And you just want to hear more songs, in the style of the thing that they do great.

Right. No one wants an experimental Ramones album.

Exactly. Or, like, or a Tom Petty record. I don’t want a tone poem from Tom Petty! I want a perfectly constructed, perfectly written completely singalongable three-chord song.

The new album has a very “live” Seventies feel. I’d read that some of the tracks are first takes. Can that be right? It all sounds very complicated.

That’s not right. I should say [rock voice] "Yeah, that’s right, we just jammed…" But, you know, I’ll be honest. There are some vocal takes in there that are first takes. But it really is just the sound of people playing. We get good drum takes. And good bass takes. And I play a bunch of guitar and sitar-guitar. And it’s the sound of a moment in time, certainly. And way more about looseness and groove and feel and vibe than anything else [I’ve done before].

Amazing live albums, virtuoso playing, jamming – those were staples of Seventies music. Have we lost some of that?

I mean, I can wax poetic on that idea for a minute. In the Seventies you had this tremendous sophistication in popular music. Stevie Wonder, Steely Dan and funk and soul and jazz and rock…. and all of the things rolled into one. That was tremendously sophisticated. It just was. There was harmony, there were chord progressions.

What else from that decade appealed to you for Daddy’s Home?

It reminds me of where we are now, I think. So, 1971-1976 in downtown New York, you’ve got the Summer of Love thing and flower children and all the hippy stuff and it’s, like, “Oh yeah, that didn’t work out that well. We’re still in Vietnam. There’s a crazy economic crisis, all kinds of social unrest”. People stood in the proverbial burned-out building. And it reminds me a lot of where we are today, in terms of social unrest, economic uncertainty. A groundswell wanting change... but where that’s headed is yet to be seen. We haven’t fully figured that out. We’re all picking up pieces of the rubble and going “Okay, what do we do with this one? Where do we go with that one?” Being a student of history, that was one of the reasons why I was drawn to that period in history.

Also: that’s the music I’ve listened to more than anything in my entire life. I mean, I was probably the youngest Steely Dan fan. It didn’t make me that popular at sleepovers. People were, like, “I want to listen to C+C Music Factory” and I was, like, “Yeah, but have you heard this solo on [Steely Dan’s] ‘Kid Charlemagne’”? That music is so in me. It’s so in my ears and I feel like I never really went there [making music before]. And I didn’t want to be a tourist about it. It’s just that particular style had a whole lot to teach me. So I wanted to just dig in and find out. Just play with it.

Is there a style of music you don’t like?

That I don’t like?

You're a jazz fan...

I love jazz. Are you kidding me? I was that annoying 14-year-old who was, like, “Yeah, but have you listened to Oliver Nelson’s The Blues and the Abstract Truth?”

I love jazz. Are you kidding me? I was that annoying 14-year-old who was, like, “Yeah, but have you listened to Oliver Nelson’s The Blues and the Abstract Truth?”

That does sound quite precocious for a 14-year-old.

It’s annoying. Just insufferable. [Thinking aloud] What music don’t I like….? Here’s what can happen. And I feel like it’s similar to when an actor has some lines in a script and they’re not very good – not very well-written – so they overcompensate by making it very dramatic and really overplaying it. I would say that is a style of music that I don’t really like. Where somebody has to really oversell it and it all feels… athletic. Instead of musical or touching.

Did you put your lockdown time to constructive use?

If you need any mediocre home renovations done, I’m your girl. It was fun. I did – let’s see now – plumbing, electrical, painting. Luckily there’s YouTube, so you can more or less figure it all out. I did a lot of that stuff and I have to say it was such a nice contrast to working on music all day. Because when you’re working on music you have to create the construct of everything. You’re, like, “I need to make this song. But what is this song?” Everything is this kind of elusive castle in the sky thing. But then, if you go and sand a deck, you’ve done something. It feels really good. And it’s not, like, “What is a deck? And who am I?” You’re just, like, “This is a task and I get to do it and I can see how the mechanism works I understand it it’s not esoteric – it’s simply mechanical". I can do something mechanical. I loved it.

Which bit of DIY are you most pleased with?

Painting the kitchen cabinets. That’s a real job. We’re talking sanding. We’re talking taking things off hinges. We’re talking multiple coats. The whole lacquer-y thing at the end. That. I’m, like, “That looks pretty pro”.

What colour did you go for?

Oh, you know, it’s just a sort of… teal. But classy teal.

Of course.

Yeah. The wallpapering wasn’t as successful. But, you know, that’s fine. So that was really fun. And then I also went down a history rabbit hole. I realised I had some gaps in my knowledge about the Russian Revolution and life under the Iron Curtain and the gulags and Stalin and Lenin. So, I went down that hole. And then I was like “Oh I forgot – I haven’t read any Dostoevsky”. So I have been working on his short stories – which are great. And then Solzhenitsyn I really liked – I mean liked is a strange word to use for The Gulag Archipelago. I read Cancer Ward… All of them. I recommend all of it. And then, before that, it was a big Stasi kick. I can’t remember the last time I had time to brush up on the Russian Revolution.

There’s a lyric on “The Laughing Man”, “If life’s a joke… then I’m dying laughing”. It’s also on your new merchandise. What do you think happens when we die?

Nothing.

This is it?

Yeah. I mean, I understand that it would be comforting to think otherwise. That there might be a special place. It would be nice! The thought’s never really been able to stick for me. I would say that we are made of carbon and then we get subsumed back into the Earth and then eventually we become life again – in the carbon part of our makeup.

Well, that sounds better than an endless void.

I don’t think it would be an endless void.

In what ways are you like your mum and dad?

Let’s see. Well, my mother is a precious angel who has unwavering optimism. She is incredibly intelligent and also very nonjudgmental and able and happy to explore all kinds of possibilities. Saying that, though… it’s sounding not like me at all. I’m like my father in that I think we have very similar tastes in books, films, music and a very similar sense of humour. My mother’s so kind that it’s hard for me to… Her level of kindness and decency is aspirational to me.

How famous are you, on a scale of one to 10?

God, I mean, like, “TikTok Famous” probably a one, right? I’m gonna say – I don’t know about the number system – but I’m going to say I-occasionally-get-a-free-appetiser-sent-over famous. Which is a great place to be.

What do you look for in a date?

It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date. You know, I once read something, it might have been something cheesy on a card, but [it was]: if you don’t like someone, then the way they hold their fork will bother you. But, if you like someone – or love someone – they could spill an entire plate of spaghetti on your lap and you wouldn’t mind.

You play a zillion instruments. What’s the hardest instrument to play?

Well, I can’t play horns or anything like that. The French horn is supposed to be really hard. I don’t like to blag… but I’m an incredible whistler. Like, I can whistle Bach.

Is Bach a particularly tough whistle?

I think… yeah. It’s fast. And noodly.

What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we're out of lockdown?

I’m gonna get a manicure and a pedicure and a massage. Massage from a stranger. Any stranger.

What about a night on the tiles?

I will probably attend a dinner party.

That sounds quite restrained.

It sounds hella boring. Sorry.

Clubbing?

No, I don’t really go to clubs. I think in order to go to clubs you have to be a person who likes to publicly dance. And I don’t publicly dance. I mean I would feel too shy to dance at a wedding. But for some reason I will dance on stage in front of 10,000 people.

That’s why alcohol was invented.

Exactly! But I swear I would reach the point of alcohol sickness before I would be drunk enough to dance.

The effects of drugs on creativity: discuss.

Unreliable. Really unreliable. Sometimes after a day’s work in the studio you’re like, "I’m gonna have shot of tequila and then sing this a few more times, and then play". It’s okay but you peak sort-of quickly. You can’t sustain the level without getting tired. And then I would say that weed just makes me paranoid and useless. Every once in a while some combo of psychedelics can get you someplace. But, for the most part, you either come back to [the work] the next day and you’re, like, “This is garbage” or you get sleepy or hungry or distracted and you’re not really doing anything. I’ve never had opiates. Or coke or whatever. So I don’t know. I can’t speak to that. But with the slightly more G-Rated [American movie classification: All Ages Permitted] thing, it doesn’t really help.

What do you have too many of in your wardrobe?

I’m not a hoarder. I tend to have one thing that I get really obsessed with and then I wear it every day. Some people, having a whole lot of things gives them a sense of safety and security. It gives me anxiety. I can’t think if there’s too much visual noise. If there was a uniform that I could wear every day I would absolutely do that. And at certain times I have.

Like Steve Jobs?

Or, oh God, what’s her name? The Theranos lady… Elizabeth Holmes!

The blood-test-scam lady?

Well, I guess it was unclear how much of it was self-delusion and how much of it was, you know, actual fraud.

Another black turtleneck fan.

And – again, this is unconfirmed – she also adopted a very low voice like this in order to be taken seriously as a CEO.

Like Margaret Thatcher.

Did she have a low voice?

She made hers “less shrill”.

Oh yes. Yes!

What movie makes you cry?

The Lives of Others

That’s a good one.

Right. I rewatched that during my Stasi kick.

I’ll be honest, your lockdown sounds even less fun than everyone else’s.

I mean… Look, I had to educate myself. I went to a music college [Berklee College of Music] where I tried to take the philosophy class and the way that they would talk about it… it was taught by this professor who was from one of the neighbouring colleges in Boston. And it was very clear that he really disliked having to talk Kierkegaard to a bunch of music school kids. He was just so bummed by it. I’m trying to learn, “What’s the deal with Kant?” and he felt he had to explain everything only in musical terms [because he assumed it would be the only thing music students could relate to]. Like, “Well, you know, it’s like when Bob Marley…" I’m, like, “No, no, no! I don’t want that!” So I had to educate myself. This is where its led me.

Where should we ideally listen to Daddy’s Home?

Put it on a turntable. Pour yourself a glass of tequila or bourbon – whatever your favourite hooch is – and smoke a joint and listen to it. I think that’s the vibe.

Daddy’s Home is released on May 14

#have u covered Joni mitchell? Annie clarkson: ​‘I have not’ #OKAY MA’AM WHATEVER U SaY MA’am #st vincent #annie clark #interviews #marfa was a dream #Apparently #and that one time she posted her singing jm in the car #also that time at Newport folk festival with doveman #‘maybe that’s her shtick this time around’ #’to be full of shit?’ #’yah’ #that’s hot

[themountainsays]

Abstract you say 👀

like like like

idk it'd be very introspective. Very weird and artsy idk think like ??

Like the idea is this theater AU i was talking about. A terrible accident took place ten years ago, which left Bruno's youngest nibling at the time with a bad injury that affected her ability to walk permanently. He was responsible for this accident. Something to do with an inadequate handling of the mechanisms through which special effects were achieved, which he had to take care of. Whether he could have avoided it or not is unknown, but he still blames himself, and tells himself he could have prevented what he considers a great tragedy. She was only five.

I imagine he used to act before the accident, but now he holes up in his room all day and writes. He's sort of this lost soul who used to be the family's star in his youth and now simply wants to drift into the shadows and not be a member of the world again. Then there's Dolores, who is also sort of a ghost, overshadowed by the new star, only she secretly wants to be seen but doesn't know how or dare to try anything alone. The idea is that they help each other. Specifically, they help each other write a play, or at least that's the official plan, because the writing of this play and the other events that take place at the family's theater are the whole background for their love story and personal character development.

The idea is that this one play is special, because Dolores brings an element to the writing process that Bruno always lacked. He wrote a lot of stories, none of which ever saw the light of day. Historically the family's theater only ever produces plays based on the original scripts that Pedro and Alma wrote together in their youth. Alma keeps everything in a special box under lock and key. Every five or so years, she opens the box again, takes the story she thinks the community needs at the moment, and the production for a new play begins. This is a huge event that is given more reverence than what is realistic, but it's part of the style. That's actually inspired on this one author I really like from my country, in which one small artistic element, such as the artisanal process of making tabletop games, defines the entire worldbuilding of a small corner of the world, like a school or a town where things like laws, the economy, the body of government or crime are determined by this one thing. Think, for example, a criminal network that traffics exotic chess pieces only, and people taking them as seriously as they would with drugs, but in a PG-13 fantastical sorta harry-potter esque way. Imagine a town worldbuilt around the idea of theater and you get my idea. Anyway, Bruno has been writing ever since he was little, but he could never seem to do it right. It's like he could never be attached enough to a story, like something new and shiny always caught his attention and he went abandoning idea after idea for decades, but there's also this whoooole other topic that is a lot more personal to me.

Where do I start? Where I live, the musical tradition revolves mostly around nature and national history. You see very few songs about personal problems. When a song is about pain, it's about a painful historical event. When it's about happiness, it's about the beauty of the mountains. And in one hand, it makes perfect sense. If you lived here you'd understand why the land is the biggest source of inspiration for artists. And as I studied music and noticed the pattern, I thought, "this is great! I will write so many traditional-sounding songs! Nature is exactly what i want to write about". And I start writing songs about nature, and it's so easy to focus on that. Then I start writing a book. Also focusing on nature. I can write pages and pages about characters being hopelessly in love with the landscape they were born in. It's so easy for me to capture that feeling into words. But then I remember my characters don't live alone, that they have families and friends and people they care about, and most importantly, they have internal problems going on and more things they're worried about than just "I need to protect the landscape". This is where I hit a roadblock. I write about characters, and I feel like I naturally gravitate towards characters I should be able to relate to. I mean, I hope so 😂 I should probably write what I know. But I feel like I end up basing them off archetypes that I feel I would like, rather than drawing inspiration from my own experiences directly. I feel like I have such a bad memory. I can barely "remember" by own experiences. I struggle to talk or write or sing about my own feelings. It's much easier to sing about the beauty of the mountains, but about heartbreak? What heartbreak? I don't remember ever feeling heartbreak. I mean, I guess it must have happened, but I don't remember. I was too focused on the landscape.

When I came up with the idea for this story, I thought "okay, so Bruno is struggling as an artist. This is the story of a man and a woman writing a story together, and finding themselves and each other through the creative process that they share, but they're both struggling with it. Since it's a story about struggling writers, then it may be helpful to draw from my own experiences as an struggling artist. What could they be struggling with? What am I struggling with?" And for some reason I thought about Kiki's Delivery Service, which is about a young witch whose only talent is to fly on her broom, who decides to turn her passion into a job, which leads her to get burned out and temporarialy lose her ability to fly until she finds her passion again. It's like, a metaphor for artists making art. And I thought "wow, that never happened to me". I don't feel like I get "burn-out". I don't remember feeling like anything. I just draw or play music and then stop when I get bored or have something else to do, and then pick it up again when I feel like it. I watch Whispers of the Heart. Another film about finding yourself and your passion. I love it, but I couldn't stop thinking about how little I relate to it. I think about other films about people who can't seem to find themselves. I think about my friends, who are starting college or dropping out and worrying about who they are and the future and the person they want to be and I just can't help but feel so empty next to them. Like yeah I know what I'm gonna do. I have my passions. I have so much I want to study and so many things I want to do. I keep signing up for course after course and class after class because everything is shiny and everything catches my eye. I never felt the need to tell a story about how difficult it is to find myself or how painful losing your passion can be, because... I think that would require more introspection than what I'm used to. I feel like I don't think about myself too much. I mean, I feel morally obligated to call myself selfish and egocentrical, and punish myself so that I can be more and more humble and lose more and more individuality in favor of being simply part of my country, which is more of my comfort zone. And my country isn't terribly collectivistic, either - I'm the weird one who doesn't even worry about having no identity because I don't think about my identity enough to wonder "huh, do I have identity?" I feel like that's the kind of question I'd answer to with a "who cares? Identity or no identity, these history books won't read themselves". They're questions that seem like such a waste of time to me because they should have no bearing on the physical world, which is what I care about, but that's no way to live, because I can be an shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen to anyone who needs me, but then someone asks me how I am, and I feel physically unable to answer. It's like I have a nail in my throat. What would I even say? I don't know. I could dump everything I just told you, Anon, on them, but I know they're probably expecting me to say "yeah, i'm just a little tired" or "yeah, I'm a little worried about my cat. need to take her to the vet" or something simple along those lines. It wouldn't be appropriate to open up so quickly. At the same time, when the situation is more serious and I COULD open up, I still don't know what to say. I feel like I could talk forever. All of these words just pile up and get stuck on the doorframe so none can leave. If someone told me "tell me about your traumas" I'd say "finally! someone I can talk to about my traumas!" and then I wouldn't know what to say, even if I do want to say it. I guess I owe it to the people arond me to sort out my shit. Or maybe I should do it for myself? I feel like myself is so empty and far away that she wouldn't really care. I care more about the content of these history books than whatever is going on here, inside.

And I guess I thought that was perfect for the story, because it's something that would affect the characters both in their creative process and their everyday lives - most importantly, their relationship with each other. I can imagine Bruno writing a lot about his family's history, but he himself always appears as either an NPC or a perspective with a pair of eyes and nothing more. No internal world or self through which to filter the light that enters. He could write about the jungle or the animals living there, or about other people's stories, but his own humanity is always lost from his work. Sure he has his own style, but his stories could have been written by anyone else with similar storytelling tastes. He never fully puts himself in his work, which is what Dolores does naturally, and he learns from her to be a human being again. Dolores should have her own problems going on - I imagine she's the opposite of Bruno: she has a rich and deep inner world and a strong sense of self, but she struggles to express herself, so as soon as she's given a good outlet, she finds balance. Bruno still doesn't. I'm focusing on Bruno here because he's the one I feel I'm gonna end up pouring most of myself in, if I do write it. Most importantly, I'm hoping to put into practice what Bruno and Dolores themselves will be doing, which is to see if I can learn something about myself by writing and doing this mental exercise. If stories are essays, then they should have a thesis. I don't have a thesis yet. I should try to find it and develop it as I write the first draft, just like my characters do. I have in my head a very clear image of Bruno arriving to this realization and trying to write something without forgetting about his own humanity, and maybe something will come for both author and character when the time comes to write that scene, I don't know.

I'm kinda embarrassed of how pretentious all of his sounds, gosh I'm sorry 😂😂😂 hope it's not too annoying!

#incest cw