#you guys know I have not consumed a single piece of media from the past two decades

[sciderman]

Yk not looking at usernames sure is wild. I thought the Bob and Wade you were talking about were those guys from distractible

don’t know what that is but 👍 ok

#I feel so pop culturally inept whenever any of you guys talk #you guys know I have not consumed a single piece of media from the past two decades #sci speaks #oh. it’s a podcast. #yeah. I don’t listen to podcasts. #I listened to the always sunny in philadelphia podcast. that was the only podcast I’ve ever listened to. #are there fandoms for podcasts. do people talk about podcasts like they do comics. #I bet they do. #you know what I’ve kind of always wanted to make a podcast. I like to talk about stupid things. it seems anyone can make a podcast. #I have a good mic and a cute accent. #I bet people will fall in love with me if I made a podcast. #does anyone want to make a podcast with me. we can talk about comics and stuff. #I think I did a podcast episode with someone one time where we talked about deadpool 2. im not going to link it. #it was with a guy I cosplayed with as cable and deadpool. he was a weird guy. #we don’t talk anymore. he was weird. he killed my friend’s guinea pig.

[davidpincher]

i posted last week about how i went to watch oppenheimer as part of barbenheimer & then ended up writing a 900 word essay about it. three people asked to see the essay so here it is:

a three hour anxiety attack

i watched oppenheimer; had dinner, watched barbie and then showered. i cant stop thinking about this movie. the thing about christopher nolan movies is that there’s always a part of them that makes me remember why i love movies, a part of me that is reminded of their power in the way that they make me feel things. most succinctly, yes, this movie is a three hour anxiety attack because i spent the entirety of the movie anxious, knowing little about this film other than that an atomic bomb is going to be made and dropped on hiroshima and nagasaki.

while i was much too dumb to understand the timeline of events, christopher nolan still makes such a foreign experience feel personal and familiar. relatable even, even though the times have changed. people have always been people, flawed and trusting and selfish. there’s the case of the spy, a jewish man, much like oppenheimer, that oppenheimer initially trusts out of community in hard times. you can understand oppenheimer’s devotion to the war, as someone so personally affected by it. there’s something personal, in the orchestration of the betrayal by robert downey jr (i cannot remember his characters name, truly, he was not that memorable), and how oppenheimer goes from respected to blacklisted. people are petty and cruel. i don’t think i’ve ever seen a movie with a sex scene that i found added to the plot of characters, but there is something so powerful in jean’s death being the only one explicitly shown on screen: humans are selfish and will be our own demise because we, more often than not, cannot find the empathy to care for people who we don’t know. it’s the trolley problem - the death of a lover or the death of hundreds of thousands, or even, the very end of the world.

there’s one line of dialogue that hasn’t left my mind since i finished watching this movie, almost ten hours ago now. it’s the moment in which they’re discussing what cities to bomb, and one character goes ‘not kyoto. there’s too much culture. plus my wife and i honeymooned there’ or something of the sort. it’s the kind of moment that shocked me, how the lives of hundreds of thousands of civilians were held in the hands of a guy making decisions based on his honeymoon. it’s the most memorable example of the question ‘who had the right to power’, regarding people’s lives, that consumes this movie. who has the right to create and use a weapon of mass destruction? another that i think of, is the scene with truman. i think that christopher nolan has portrayed a president more accurately than any other piece of media in the past: the president is not just some boss man, he is a guy appointed to look over entire fields he could not possibly understand the weight of, not even if he tried. truman’s depiction in this movie - as does everyone’s, honestly - feels so real because every single person has flaws. everyone here is so deeply flawed and insufferable, even oppenheimer, who likely is only slightly better because he’s aware of it all.

in high school, i was forced to spend two entire years studying world war two and the cold war from every perspective - japan, germany, italy, the united states, the soviet union, china, france and england. so of course, the questions of the ethics and necessity of the dropping of the atomic bomb came up, and there are so many discussions to be had within that. and yet, there wasn’t enough in this film. maybe this is a good thing, given that would require the opinions and analysis of the work of many historians that would likely derail the vision of nolan’s film, it would’ve meant a lot to the little nerd in me specifically.

oppenheimer opposes the hydrogen bomb because if the united states has one; the soviet union, their enemies at the time, would be forced to make one too. on a side note, another moment in this film that made my gut wrench was when this claim is denied on the belief that russia does not have the resources, or knowledge to compete with the united states. and god what a fucking blessing and curse is hindsight, as underestimating russia and the soviet union during a war is just as relevant today. this makes an interesting biopic to me because everyone knows about the atomic bomb. everyone knows about chernobyl and nuclear power. in fact, in the very basic level science classes i took, the world nuclear power became synonymous with chernobyl. bad things happen, and we know it, and this movie helps to warn us a bit about it.

enough on the history nerd stuff i truly did forget how much of my life i spent studying history, even if i only stopped just over a year ago. the sound design of this movie was fucking insane. every piece of audio, the line delivery, everything, made me feel so much (besides rdj - i get what people say about people having faces that know what iphones are) the shots were fucking masterful and despite being a three hour film, there was not a single moment (beyond the sex scenes mayhaps) that i felt dragged on for longer than they needed to. once again, just to end this off, god i fucking loved the sound of this movie, the build up, the anxiety, everything. while i most certainly have not seen enough christopher nolan to say definitively that this is his best work, i can most certainly see why people would say it is so.

#barbie #barbenheimer #oppenheimer #christopher nolan #film #oppenheimer essay

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

well

Gather round, apostates, blasphemers, assorted disappointments, for my statements return, in their usual fashion, of sprawling wax pressed in bruising poetry, and a slow creeping fog of informality.

But I’ve recently contracted a sliver of time perfectly sectioned to listen to The Magnus Archives? 

And can i just say.

ahhhhhhhhHhghIFHghkGFDSYAS

I’m late. I understand that I’m late. We all have jobs to scream at, voids to cull, deer to pass by on moonlight walks that you could’ve sworn had a lot more animal noises until right then, flat disks staring back at you from this frozen, jarring thing, muscles packed into thin bone and a skull on a swivel. Human life is messy. I digress.

I owe all of you a deep thanks. Every single one that posted fanart, animation clips, psychological profiles, you infrequent sinners of stunning, hypnotic fractals… Cheers.

Because I saw them. I saw these stunning pieces of art, heard clips of audio performances, and I was fascinated. But I didn’t have time. The finale sent people screaming sobbing shaking onto their preferred hellsites, and I couldn’t drop everything I was doing to listen to two hundred episodes?

I was but a fool, and my transgressions are the most fun I’ve had in awhile this series goes so fucking harddd

Let’s start with the easy one. Jonathan Sims. Vocal acting; wholly immaculate. I have heard dozens of voices expressed by one man, wholly diegetic, and each one is a fucking banger! The hard snap back to Profession Archivist Voice at the end of each episode, after twenty minutes of highs and lows and building tension. Stunning. 

All other performances have been very good as well, snapshots of characters given life through some very solid work, but I am just at the end of season one at the time of writing this, so you’ll forgive my unfamiliarity.

Similar thread, the sound editing. It’s so—I’m going to run out of words of praise, the amount of tension built in a story that I know the character telling has to survive, that’s wild. Far more fear comes into play in the space between ‘Statement ends’ and ‘Recording ends,’ but therein lies the knowledge that those encounters need not leave their subjects intact. Subtle where it needs to be, gripping where it hurts.

The writing itself, the substance of the story, the message, the meaning.

God. Damn.

Jonathan Sims, you have the heartbeat of short horror prose wrapped around your pen. I, do not have words. Know that I am clapping in stunned silence. Each story is so carefully tuned for each weird little SCP-Twilight Zone meet cute, engaging in my personal favorite horror vessel: ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be fucked up if some guy who works in a slaughterhouse wandered into an infinitely stretching purgatory of rotting meat and conveyor belts?’ 

And the slow build of the characters! Jon is so mean! He’s so fucking mean, for no reason. He’s rude to Martin for having like. Emotions. He’s mean to the people who left the statements, which would seem much more reasonable if I was not under the impression that Jon knows Well and Good that the preternatural is a real thing that fucks with people because it can. 

If I worked in that space, I would also be a prick to the people claiming the sky ate their son, but I’ve never encountered anything that would impress upon me the existence of ghosts, and he has a malevolent worm infestation. 

But this adds only teeth gnashing twists of emotion when he does start to show kindness, or exhaustion, and most recently. Fear.

So thank you, everyone who’s been gushing over this for the past six years, I rarely consume media outside of recommendation or raised interest by cultural osmosis/spoilers. You idiots got me interested, and I’ve been having a marvelous time. 

Now I’m onto the penultimate episode to Season One finale. I’m very excited. I’ve also seen the comparison’s from S1 Archive Team to S5. And I’m very scared.

#the magnus archives #tomes of a sacrilegious skeletal scribe #as a side note i have now finished season one and a few episodes of season two #that ending though hot damn #a whole six emotions in one episode? #jon’s learning! #how’s that onset paranoia treating you jon you seem like you’re doing well #what happened to sasha who is that #very fond of micheals voice #also themes #there’s a lot of overarching themes this season #i like them and i fear them

[franhitzke]

'Understand Your Emotions' (2022)

Expanding on my last work 'I Fear No Hell From You', this work looks specifically at the intense emotions young women experience in adolescence and the societal and peer pressure to behave within a feminine construct.

1/5 Promise keeper

Promise keeper looks at the way young women learn to communicate, my past research into relational, instrumental and lateral aggression has led me to look further into behavioural aspects of female friendship groups. Girls are always sharing secrets and promising not to tell anyone else, but these pieces of information are often used to gain leverage amongst peers and they end up breaking promises and gossiping to achieve a higher social status.

2/5 The female struggle is not romantic

During my adolescence I was presented with many forms of media, including film and print with what I refer to as the 'female struggle'. The lead female protagonist in films was always trying to be more popular, land the hottest guy, get into the finest educational institution, be as thin as possible, as fashionable as possible and impress her friends and family. This notion that how we see ourselves should be how the world we sees us is exhausting and did not allow any room for failure or imperfection. This struggle is the pressure to achieve all things single handily and make it appear as if we did so flawlessly; god forbid anyone see us for what we truly are.

3/5 I will miss her dearly

Referring to the little girl that you inevitably have to bid farewell, the one who climbed trees, scraped her knees and had dirt on her face. She wasn't aware of her weight, or what she consumed, from every calorie to what she read. At a certain point, little girls will realise that they don't look the same as other girls, they will begin comparing. They will strive to mould themselves into false idols, believing that it will bring them satisfaction and fulfilment. At the end of the day, it is a race that cannot be won.

4/5 Be the witness of my shame

The shame that young women experience always seems to be on show. Whether your mood eludes that you might have your period, or your outfit shows you don't come from a wealthy family, you are in a constant state of shame about being a woman. Being disallowed so many things, having so many safeties taken away, being made to perform in ridiculous and pompous traditions that degrade women even further and make us more aware that we have less rights.

5/5 I'm the place you left that still won't leave you alone

This speaks to the place within yourself where you truly know how strong and competent you are, but you are constantly turned away by the world. Whether it be political, social, institutional, economical or hierarchical oppression, women face it all, every day.

Original photographs sourced from Rappahannock High School Yearbook (1997). Warsaw, Virginia, Richmond County Virginia. Posted by Richmond County Public Library. Acquired from the Internet Archive.

[allyouneedisbuck]

i don’t wanna do this (i don’t wanna lose this)

eighteen plus blog minors dni

summary -> it’s all fake, every piece of it scripted and perfected for the camera, even the upcoming break-up you pretend doesn’t break your heart.

words -> 2.5k

warnings -> fake relationship, use of name (bucky calls the reader by her character’s name, lucia, once) nickname uses (baby, sweetheart) co-workers/friends to lovers, no smut, not beta’d

notes -> this is for the lovely maera’s ( @ambrosiase ) hotel indigo writing challenge i absolutely love this idea mae and am so appreciative that you created this challenge, it really pushed me out of my comfort zone and i got to explore an entirely new au.  

room & service -> business meets pleasure with celebrity bucky barnes -> bucky and reader are co-stars in a fake relationship in a hotel for their final comic-con together.

— ➶ —

Bucky has been doing interviews with Sam all day today. 

You’ve been working together for six seasons and have both been to too many comic-cons to count. Every single one of them you and Bucky had been paired up to do interviews and photo-ops together. 

A scripted piece of a scripted relationship. Agreed upon when your characters romance began to pick up popularity and designed to look perfect until the end.

Tomorrow an article with be released ‘leaking’ the details of your perfect break-up too. A source close to the both of you will comment that wrapping of the show and being forced to go long distance just wasn’t working for you two. The writer will supply photos of today, the two of you avoiding sitting near one another and not speaking. They’ll write that their source confirmed this convention is actually the first time you’ve seen each other in months. 

Even more articles have already been planted periodically questioning whether the two of you were still together, generating buzz around the show and what happens between your characters. It’s a brilliant job, honestly.

Except, you and Bucky had been in a fake relationship for so long, it had begun to feel real. This distance between you two felt purposeful in a way that hurt you more than it ever should have. 

Your assistant is supposed to go through your instagram soon and begin archiving posts and pieces of your fake life with Bucky. He’s been glaringly absent from your social media recently and it makes your heart ache at the idea of him being nonexistent.

Your fans have noticed too. You read comment after comment all asking the same thing; What happened to you and Bucky? 

“Oh, Lucia! My dear, Lucia.” You bite down a grin at the sound of Bucky’s voice through your door. His words were filtered by the wall between you and a little slurred from the drinks he had no doubt consumed at the hotel bar. “Open the door, please.” 

You lock your phone and lay it on the bed beside you. “I’m busy, Bucky! Go bother Sam.” You call back despite already walking towards the door. 

“Bother Sam? On our last night together?” You can see Bucky smile teasingly though the peephole. Despite his joking tone the words hurt. “Four years together and this is how things end? Through a hotel room door?” 

His fist comes up to bang against the door and a hand comes up to his heart. He’s putting on a show for you, fully away of your eye watching carefully through the peephole. “How much have you had to drink, Bucky Barnes?” You ask as the door remains closed. 

Bucky holds his fingers up in a pinch too small to be true. “Not much.” When his hand falls back to his side he smiles up at the peephole. “Let me in, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.” 

You melt, becoming putty in his hand as you quickly move to unlatch the door. “I’ve missed you too.” You admit to him, face to face, as you lean against the door jam. 

A smirk replaces Bucky’s sweet smile as his hands reach out to grip your hips. “This break-up is tough on me, baby.” He pushes you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. “One more night. One last time. You and me.” 

“Shut up!” You force his hands off of you and turn towards the mini bar in your room. “You’re such a dweeb. I’m glad we’re breaking up.” You pull out the miniature bottle of wine and twist the top off. 

Bucky’s hand slams across his chest as he falls against the wall in dramatic fashion. “You’re… Glad? My frail heart can’t take it,” he falls to his knees, “Please. Tell my mother, I loved her.”

You watch, unamused, as Bucky falls to the floor in front of you. “You’re obnoxious.” A beaming smile breaks out onto Bucky’s face that makes you grin.

“I was serious, about missing you.” Bucky moves to sit up with his back against the edge of your bed. You move to sit beside him on the floor. “These junkets and photos just aren’t the same without you by my side, cracking jokes in my ear.”

You rest your head against his shoulder. “Me too. I love Wanda, but it’s just not the same.” You admit quietly.

There’s so much that you want to say to him. What if this wasn’t fake? What if we didn’t go through with the break-up plan? “Did they send you our social media plan?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah,” You swallow thickly, “I have my assistant going through my account for me soon. We’re supposed to start untagging and deleting photos of each other this week.”

Bucky snorts. “How fucking sweet. Four years together and they have us untag each other to confirm a break up.” His fingers tap against his thigh as the two of you sit on the carpeted floor together.

“Has it really been four years?” You ask quietly. It’s more of a question to yourself, but Bucky answers it with a nod anyways.

“My longest relationship ever and it was fake.” Bucky’s awkward laugh makes the air tense as he stares down at his hands. “I’ve wasted so much of my life. So many chances gone.”

You know the words aren’t said with ill intent, but that doesn’t stop the crack from forming in your heart. You can’t fathom the idea of all your time together, fake or not, being a waste.

Your eyes cut away from him in embarrassment. “Was it really all a waste?” You ask quietly. The words are unintentional, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re out in the air.

“What?” You can feel his eyes settle on you in an attempt to read your face or body language, but a career in acting comes in handy. Your back is ramrod straight and your face turned away perfectly to hide the emotions in your eyes. “It was fake when we could have had something real with people we actually cared about.”

It’s a knife to your broken heart. “People we actually care about?”

“You know, like, other girls and guys who we wanted to pursue but couldn’t because of the contract.” Bucky reaches out to wrap a hand around yours, but you pull away. “I don’t understand what’s wrong here.”

You shake your head, the regret of your words settling over you. “Nothing. I’m just… It’s been a long day.” You use the edge of the bed to help you stand while Bucky remains on the floor, watching you in confusion. “I’m tired, you should go.”

“Woah. What’s this one-eighty?” Bucky stands too and follows you as you move around to gather your toothbrush and skincare. “Two seconds ago we were joking about a fake break-up and now you’re all quiet and weird? You expect me to just leave?”

“Please.” You plead. The last thing you want to do is dump all your feelings out to Bucky, on the last day you two were officially contracted to each other, and make him feel guilty for feeling free. “I just need to be alone, Buck.”

You move to push past him towards your bathroom, but Bucky’s hand wraps around your wrist. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t do this closing yourself off thing.”

“I’m not.” You say stubbornly. “I’m tired.” You try again to move past him, but his grip only tightens as he forces you to actually face him. “Buck-“

“You can tell me, you know?” He says quietly as his grip slackens. Your eyes meet his, pools of blue staring back at you with something akin to hurt. “You can trust me. We’re best friends, right? You’re my-“

“You don’t have to lie to me, Bucky. Pretend to care. You can go back to the bar and…” You pull your hand from him and cross your arms over your chest. “And tomorrow we can start being with people we actually care about.”

Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut as his own words are repeated back and left out in the open between you two. “That’s not what I…”

“What did you mean then?” You cut him off. You want to sound angry, but your tone is sad and tired. “Enlighten me, please.”

“I just meant… I meant we could date who we wanted to date, I didn’t mean for it to sound so awful.” He answers quietly. “I care about you a lot. We’ve been friends for over half a decade, of course I care about you.”

You swallow thickly. “What if I don’t want to date anyone else?” You force yourself to ask. If not now, then when? Ten years from now at a reunion of your show? You couldn’t live with this what if.

“What?” Bucky’s hand falls from your wrist as he takes a step back like your words have burned him.

You push through the thundering of your heart and ringing in your ears to ask, “haven’t you ever thought about it? I mean, four years of just us, all those dates and premieres, was it really all just work for you?”

“I don’t know… I mean…” Bucky rubs a hand over his jaw as you stare at him expectantly. “Have you?”

“I asked the question I think that would imply…” You trail off as his answer weighs down on your mind. It feels like a no. No. No. No. It’s on repeat in your mind as you move to sit down on your bed. “After a while the dates and photos and sappy posts didn’t feel all that forced anymore.” You admit quietly.

Bucky paces silently in front of you. You’re unsure of what’s going through his mind as he does it and it’s all you can do to not tap anxiously as you watch.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He finally asks when he finally pauses in front of you. You look up at him unsure of what to say. “I mean… When did you start…” He trails off like he doesn’t want the answer.

You look down at your hands in your lap. Despite your worries in telling Bucky you guess you had never truly thought of this conversation ending up this way. All these questions felt like Bucky preparing for a gentle rejection.

“I don’t know. After our second anniversary?” You keep your answer to him vague despite you being fully aware of when you started seeing Bucky differently. “That post you wrote for me that day. All the ones after. All of those words were fake?”

Your mind drifts to his words that day. The sweet and short caption had made butterflies erupt as you scrolled through the photos he had posted with it. Despite you both being required to post something, the photos he had chosen had been entirely genuine.

Pictures the two of you had taken together on set, selfies during your fake dates, and even a sweet set of photo booth pictures from your first premiere together.

You had stared at the post far too long as emotions rushed through you. Your heart raced at the idea of Bucky taking his time to pick photos that meant something to the both of you.

“I think that..” You shake your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the painful reminders. “I think you should go.” You stand up suddenly, your hands pushing gently at his chest.

Bucky’s eyes widen as his hands come up grip your arms in an attempt to stop you. “Woah. Let’s talk about this. I’m just trying to figure everything out.”

“Figure it out? What is there to figure out, Bucky?” You cry out, shoving harder. “If you don’t know how you feel then you should figure it out on your own.” You move past him to open the door.

Bucky follows after you hastily. “Sweetheart, wait, please. I just need a moment.” You grip his forearms tightly using Bucky’s own momentum against him as you guide him to the hallway outside your room. “I wasn’t expecting this. We have articles and photos and interviews planned about a break-up tomorrow.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything, Bucky.” The two of you are back where your night began. Opposite sides of the door as you stare, unsure of what to say. “Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay? The article will be published and we’ll confirm it and life will move on.”

The door slams shut in his face without warning, not giving him a chance to say anything else. You stare blankly at the ugly, green shade its painted in silence as you remind yourself; It was all fake. A script you had been given and followed to a tee. One you had gotten too caught up in.

You’re feelings don’t change the ending.

There’s a slow knock on your door. You suck in a breath as you move to open it an apology on the tip of your tongue.

“Bucky.” You’re cut off as his hands come up to rest on your cheeks and he pulls you towards him. Anything you had to say dissipates as his lips meet yours in a bruising kiss.

Your hands come up to grip his t-shirt tightly as you kiss him back your tongue slipping into his mouth while he pulls you flush against his body.

An arm wraps around your waist and Bucky pushes you back into your room, his foot kicking your door closed harshly.

The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed and you finally pull away to look at Bucky, but he speaks before you can say anything.

“Of course I’ve thought about it.” He breathes out. His eyes are wide with nerves and his cheeks flushed red. The sight of it mixed with his kiss makes your heart pound. “I’ve thought about kissing you for real, not in a room filled with crew and cameras. About what it would be like to be on a date where paparazzi hasn’t been tipped off. Baby,” his hands rest on your cheeks again as he forces your eyes to meet his, “I’ve thought about it all. What it would be like to be with you, to really be with you in every way. Sometimes it’s all I think about when we’re together.”

You take pause, your eyes widening and hands freezing in place as you listen to what he’s saying. “Why didn’t you say anything then? Why’d you just pace and ask me all those questions?”

“Because I’m an idiot.” He smiles brightly when you giggle. “Because I couldn’t believe you actually felt the same way. I was in shock.” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

You smile up at him softly. “What do we do about the article tomorrow?” You whisper your question.

You feel giddy with excitement as Bucky’s hands land on your hips to hold you in place, flush against him. “We deny it.”

“What about our managers?” Your smile doesn’t fade even as stress over the situation arises. “And…And our separate interviews tomorrow?”

“What are they gonna do? Fire us?” Bucky smiles. “We’ll tell them all about how in love we still are. That the source in the article was a dud and we’ve just been private recently as the show wraps.”

“We will?” You ask quietly. Your heart racing at his words. “You want to say all that?”

Bucky nods his head. “I do.”

You don’t say anything else he leans in for another kiss, you could worry tomorrow.

Bonus -> The Next Day

liked by buckybarnes, samwilson and 134,759 others

yourinstagram the final season of our show premieres this weekend and we’re so excited for you all to see how it ends. the first photo is from tonight and the second from our first season! the past six years has brought me so much joy and i’m so grateful for everything this show has given me. most importantly though, i’m thankful for you, bucky barnes. my adrian to my lucia. my best friend. my lover. thanks for making this show so fun.

View all 15,398 comments

samwilson we made a great show. love you guys.

buckyfan thought y’all were a pr stunt lmao

yourinstagram apparently you’re not supposed to really fall in love for those to work…

buckybarnes i am most grateful for you. you made work worth it every god damn day.

yourfan my favorite couple on and off the screen.

— ➶ —

notes -> this is my first ever time joining a writing challenge, it really pushed me to work through block and focus on this instead of letting is die out like i have with other projects despite liking them so much!

(hoping you guys don’t hate the extra instagram idea, i just felt it fit in!)

hopefully you enjoyed and if you did, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#the hotel indigo writing challenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x f!reader

[angsty-omi]

radio stations

sakusa kiyoomi x reader

sequel to drivers license

it’s been years since your last encounter with sakusa.

honestly, you should thank him. why? without him, you wouldn’t have dropped your first single right now. funny enough, it’s called ‘drivers license.’ how fitting. pouring your whole heart out into words allowed forgiveness. not just with sakusa. not just with hana. but to forgive yourself. during the past few years, you slowly pieced yourself back together. it was only later till you realized you weren’t the problem.

thus led to the present, where your song was immediately picked up by the media.

you weren’t the only one feeling depressed.

ever since that day, sakusa was consumed by the guilt that he himself caused. every night, the small sliver of time where it’s just him and his thoughts before bed, he thinks of you. thinks about how your lips tasted. thinks about your smile, which in his eyes did light up the world... and then he remembered what he did to you. god, does he remember the physical sound of your car speeding away. how when hana kissed him abruptly as a “goodbye,” and was supposedly going to beg for your forgiveness afterwards. it never happened. hana simply just moved on to other people. him, however, knew you deserved better.

so why did it hurt so much?

so much so, sakusa swore to never let anyone close again. his emotions were monotonous, and his teammates thought he was a robot. wake up. volleyball. eat. sleep. repeat. that’s what he’s been doing so far, and it seemed to have been working. he doesn’t think about you all the time, he slowly is gaining acquaintances, and honestly he was moving on.

or so he thought.

on the drive home from a late practice, he looked at the clock. it was 12 AM. in order to prevent him from drifting off to sleep, he turned on the radio.

big mistake.

little did he know, it was your debut day. the radio station had offered to stream it because you were a local.

“i got my driver’s license last week, just like we always talked about.”

sakusa’s eyes widened. he knew this voice. the same voice that would bicker with him on whether that turn was legal or not. he put the volume button louder.

“and you’re probably with that blonde girl, the who made me doubt”

“oh how wrong you were” sakusa thought while inadvertently chuckling.

“today i drove through the suburbs crying cause’ you weren’t around”

sakusa clenched his steering wheel. it’s been so long since he continuously thought about you. and now it’s all coming back to him.

“and i know we weren’t perfect but i’ve never felt this way for no one”

sakusa pulled over. “i was her first love?,” he thought. so much confusion hit him all at once. when he really thought about it, he never got closure either. he didn’t truly know how you felt about him. all he had to think about was that kiss.

“and i just can’t imagine how you could be so okay now that i’m gone”

that lyric. that was the one that finally broke him.

“i’m not okay y/n, i haven’t been for a long time” he sobbed. he lightly punched the steering wheel. he wondered what would’ve happened if he never hooked up with hana. would this heart-wrenching song not exist? he couldn’t hear anymore. he physically couldn’t. so he slammed it off, almost breaking his speaker switches.

when he finally got home. all he needed was to shower. all his tears were now dirty with regret. his apartment was pretty high in the complex, so it took him even longer to get to the shower. in the mean time, his thumb was hovering over your contact information. debating on whether he should call you or delete your number. he threw his phone down in frustration. as soon as that the elevator doors opened, and he swore he saw a ghost.

it was you. a mature version of you. your hair was cut roughly shoulder-length, your style became girlier, and your whole ambiance was different. in addition, you were leaning on his door.

he fell to his knees.

“sakusa! are you okay?!” you panicked. you saw him from afar, and rushed over to him. he looked well- horrible. his eyes were baggy and swollen and his fists were all bruised from hitting the wheel too much.

no answer from him. he did, however, touch the side of your cheek endearingly.

“it’s really you” he shockingly whispered. you snuggled up against his touch. his hand felt so warm and so... right.

“would it even be okay if you let him in again?” you pondered to yourself.

as you helped him into his extravagant apartment, he showered. a nice long 45-minute shower, enough to pull himself together.

“it was you. you were out there on the couch, and awkwardly fiddling with your fingers nonetheless.” he thought to himself.

as soon as he got dressed, he walked out of his single bedroom. he slowly sat in front of you, trying to read the room. you just nodded and your eyes started boring into each other. neither of you knew where to start, so he took initiative by telling you what happened with him and hana. including the part where she kissed him as a goodbye and promising to apologize to you.

“that bitch never did,” you both spilled with laughter.

once both of you calmed down, he sighs “y/n, i have not been okay ever since that day. i’ve had okay days, but it was never a longing feeling. with you, it felt like my days were carefree and wild. wild in the sense you would mistakenly drive past a red light-”

you scoffed, “i am actually a great driver!”

“no you’re not”

“yeah huh”

“no”

“yes”

“no”

“y-“

“anyways,” he cut you off. “what i am trying to say is that i’ve never met anyone like you, nor do i want to find someone like you. i just want you.” he said with dead-serious eyes.

there was only silence.

until you stood up from him, and his face was pale. he thought you were leaving for the second time. this time he would really accept your choice and it, again, panged his heart.

but you weren’t leaving.

you were walking over to his speaker, connecting it and playing your song. however, you skipped to a specific part in it. the end. the part where he didn’t listen to due to his breakdown. you sat back down i front of him and unpaused at the part.

“cause i still fucking love you babe.”

a/n: so many requests for a part 2!! here it is. you guys can imagine what happened next. they live happily ever after. fun fact i’ve actually never done a fluff ending before.

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #sakusa angst #sakusa x reader #haikyuu fluff

[cherrywoes]

bambi. miya osamu x f! reader.

au: idol au

pairing: miya osamu x female reader.

word count: 1.5k

prompt: established relationship.

rating: 16+

tw: alcohol, strong language, inferiority complex.

summary: osamu struggles with comparisons to his brother, but you’re always there to comfort him in the end.

genre: fluff, comfort fic.

a/n: this is part of the cafe x hangout collab! hopefully it’s fluffy enough for everyone’s tastes, it isn’t sickeningly sweet--it’s just enough. i hope everyone likes it! <3

“THANKS, EVERYONE.” Osamu yawned into his hand sleepily. The bright white of his screen kept him awake, along with the endless stream of comments popping up in the left hand corner of the screen. Several of them lamented that he was leaving so early, but a quick glance at the clock revealed that it had been over four hours that he’d been streaming—so almost immediately after he had gotten home, then. A rustling in his kitchen, so faint he barely heard it, snapped his attention back to the Instagram live he was about to shut down. He ran a hand through his hair, destroying it even further than it already was, and shrugged to the screen. “I’m going to call it a night, guys. I’m pretty tired and I have a packed schedule tomorrow; remember to rest and take care of yourselves.”

He ended the stream without looking at the rest of the comments, his eye barely catching one reading ‘Atsumu would have stayed on longer until he fell asleep :(‘. Closing his eyes tightly against the bright light, Osamu huffed and tossed his phone on his bed. He didn’t want to look at it right now—not when every time he logged on to Instagram it was to Atsumu’s cheery face, snapping selfies with his fans or whatever cafe he’d happen to stumble upon that particular day. They were just cafes he’d introduced his brother to, but every time he mentioned them he would have to move on and find another one to get away from all of the attention Atsumu brought him.

His own fans were okay—but Atsumu’s were on an entirely different level. From stalking his every move, staking out his apartment for discreet photos of his bare face and pajamas when he took out the trash, investigating everyone who came and went from his apartment (thankfully he lived in a complex where a lot of A-list celebrities lived), and even running down his license plate number to follow him on the road.

It was ridiculous. Osamu just wanted a quiet existence separate from his identity as an idol, but whenever he turned a corner, there was Atsumu dragging him into another crowd of people, exposing him to his insane fans and getting them to like him, too. He’d virtually given up trying to have some semblance of a private life, smiling politely whenever he was photographed in public and tiredly soothing fans who would break out into tears whenever they passed him on the street.

“‘Samu?” You poked your head past his door, scanning for his phone to see if he was still live. When the light bounced off the phone screen on his bed, you stepped further inside, this time revealing a tray of food, chamomile tea—Osamu could smell it—and his migraine medicine. “I brought you dinner—well, a late dinner, but I know you didn’t eat before you came home—”

Except you. A particularly bright spot in his life, the only one if he was to be honest; a reminder of what he came home to every day when his ‘idol’ facade was over until the next day. He sat up and mused his hair into something resembling the style he usually wore, although judging by the little giggle you tried to hide he had probably failed in that aspect.

You set down the tray on his desk, reaching over and smoothing down the pieces that stuck up like duck feathers in the back of his head. He leaned forward and pressed his nose into your collarbone, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. He sighed, all of the tension and anxiety deflating from him like a balloon, and smiled his first genuine smile of the day when you tipped his head back to look at his face.

“Aw, ‘Samu,” you tutted, swiping your thumbs underneath his eyes. “You look so tired nowadays; is Atsumu bothering you again? You know I can set him right, if you want me to.”

Osamu grimaced at the thought of you ‘setting his brother right’. The last time it had happened he had been sitting between the both of you while you yanked on Atsumu’s ear and hair with all of your might, screeching your fury—and Osamu’s irritation—at his brother. Naturally, it had gotten through his twin’s thick skull, but only for a few weeks before he was back at it again, shoving media attention at him worse than before. Those weeks had been the best days of Osamu’s life; even his management had commented on it, saying he looked more livelier when he was performing.

“No,” he sighed. You drummed your fingers against his brow bone, waiting for him to elaborate, and hummed softly to yourself while you did. “Not really. It’s more… Comparing me to him again, I guess.”

You clucked your tongue thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s your fans that I need to set straight then, hmm?”

You were no idol. It was different for actresses, at least for now; you could be as rude or curt to your fans about their behavior if you wanted, whereas he had to be kind, docile, polite—all of which Osamu was decidedly not in normal company. He was as snarky and droll as Atsumu was normally, but that contradicted their identity as ‘twins’; management couldn’t have two of the same person, even if they were different in their own ways. Their consumers wouldn’t see it that way.

Keeping your relationship—while serious—secret had been the worst part of it all. He hated that he couldn’t go out with you in public or take you to his favorite spots without gathering some rather nasty attention. Once had been enough; the scandal had rocketed through the tabloids until he’d said it was just a business transaction for his new video. Which had been true: you had starred in his music video. But the look of quiet hurt as you read all of the comments on the article had hit him hard.

“No,” he laughed quietly, pulling away and reaching for the bowl of broth and salmon. Another con: his diet. “Did you cook this?”

“Mhm. It’s pretty plain,” you began, side-eyeing him while picking at the clutter on his desk and straightening up a stack of books near the corner,”but I read your diet planner and that was really all I could come up with.”

“It’s good,” he reassured you, taking another healthy sip from his spoon. It wasn’t as strong as what he would cook, but it was the thought that counted, and he appreciated it. “I’m thinking about quitting, honestly.”

“What?” You hummed. You cracked open a book, saw it was a gift from Atsumu (his taste in literature was infamous) and shut it quickly with a frown. “Your diet?”

“Being an idol.”

You didn’t react like he had thought—there wasn’t any anger or disbelief. Instead, relief made your shoulders sag. “Oh, thank god, you’re finally getting out of that shithole. Oh, ‘Samu, you don’t know how agonizing it’s been watching you deteriorate into some carbon copy of—”

“You aren’t mad?” He blurted, wondering how you would act if it had been Atsumu who had said that—how you would act if it was Atsumu who was your boyfriend, not him.

“Are you serious?” The disbelief crept in, then, but not in the way he imagined. You rolled your eyes when he stayed quiet and cupped his face in your hands, pressing a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose. “No, you silly boy, I’m not mad. I’m happy you’re considering it. You seem so miserable doing those lives and fan meets—I’m not dumb. You hate being an idol. You even told me as much. Not in so many words, but I can pick up some clues, too, you know.”

Osamu blinked up at you, almost stupidly. “So… You’re okay with—?”

“Of course I am.” You smiled then, pushing all of his hair away from his forehead with a laugh. “Who do you think I am, Atsumu?”

Almost immediately his mood soured. Atsumu. The reason he had even become an idol in the first place; what would he say? What would he think of this? He would hate him. He’d be pissed, too—

“Hey,” you chided, tapping his cheek to get his attention.  “You went and left again, ‘Samu. What are you thinking about?”

His silence told you all you needed to know.

“Alright. Here.” You snatched his phone up from the bed and unlocked it, typed a quick text, and held it out to him. “There. Done. Atsumu knows now. It isn’t his business what you do now.”

Osamu stared at the screen for a moment, then sighed and buried his face in your chest. “Thank you, [Name].”

“No problem, honey.” You ran a soothing hand down the back of his neck, ignoring the ping of a single text from Atsumu that you knew he was reading behind your back. “Come on, let’s watch Bambi while you eat. I’ve had a stroke of nostalgia lately while you’ve been busy.”

He put his phone face down on the desk, picking up his bowl and tea and toddling after you to the living room. “Alright, lead the way.”

The phone screen remained lit, reflecting a single, honest, ‘Finally’ on the wooden surface.

                                              requests: open.

#haikyuucafe #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyū!! #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #miya atsumu #idol au

[ot3]

i watched red vs blue: zero with my dear friends today and i was asked to “post” my “thoughts” on the subject. Please do not click this readmore unless, for some reason, you want to read three thousand words on the subject of red vs blue: zero critical analysis. i highly doubt that’s the reason anyone is following me, but hey. 

anyway. here you have it. 

Here are my opinions on RVB0 as someone who has quite literally no nostalgia for any older RVB content. I’ve seen seasons 1-13 once and bits and pieces of it more than once here and there, but I only saw it for the first time within the past couple of months. I’ve literally never seen any other RT/AH content. I can name a few people who worked on OG Red vs. Blue but other than Mounty Oum I have NO idea who is responsible for what, really, or what anything else they’ve ever worked on is, or whether or not they’re awful people. I know even less about the people making RVB0 - All I know is that the main writer is named Torrian but I honestly don’t even know if that’s a first name, a last name, or a moniker. All this to say; nothing about my criticism is rooted in any perceived slight against the franchise or branding by the new staff members, because I don’t know or care about any of it. In fact, I’m going to try and avoid any direct comparison between RVB0 and earlier seasons of RVB as a means of critique until the very end, where I’ll look at that relationship specifically.

So here is my opinion of RVB0 as it stands right now:

1. The Writing

Everything about RVB0 feels as if it was written by a first-time writer who hasn’t learned to kill his darlings. The narrative is both simultaneously far too full, leaving very little breathing room for character interaction, and oddly sparse, with a story that lacks any meaningful takeaway, interesting ideas, or genuine emotional connection. It also feels like it’s for a very much younger audience - I don’t mean this as a negative at all. I love tv for kids. I watch more TV for kids than I do for adults, mostly, but I think it’s important to address this because a lot of the time ‘this is for kids’ is used to act like you’re not allowed to critique a narrative thoroughly. It definitely changes the way you critique it, but the critique can still be in good faith.  I watched the entirety of RVB0 only after it was finished, in one sitting, and I was giving it my full attention, essentially like it was a movie. I’m going to assume it was much better to watch in chunks, because as it stood, there was literally no time built into the narrative to process the events that had just transpired, or try and predict what events might be coming in the future. When there’s no time to think about the narrative as you’re watching it, the narrative ends up as being something that happens to the audience, not something they engage with. It’s like the difference between taking notes during a lecture or just sitting and listening. If you’re making no attempt to actively process what’s happening, it doesn’t stick in your mind well. I found myself struggling to recall the events and explanations that had immediately transpired because as soon as one thing had happened, another thing was already happening, and it was like a mental juggling act to try and figure out which information was important enough to dwell on in the time we were given to dwell on it.

Which brings me to another point - pacing. Every event in the show, whether a character moment, a plot moment, or a fight scene, felt like it was supposed to land with almost the exact same amount of emotional weight. It all felt like The Most Important Thing that had Yet Happened. And I understand that this is done as an attempt to squeeze as much as possible out of a rather short runtime, but it fundamentally fails. When everything is the most important thing happening, it all fades into static. That’s what most of 0’s narrative was to me: static. It’s only been a few hours since I watched it but I had to go step by step and type out all of the story beats I could remember and run it by my friends who are much more enthusiastic RVB fans than I am to make sure I hadn’t missed or forgotten anything. I hadn’t, apparently, but the fact that my takeaway from the show was pretty accurate and also disappointingly lackluster says a lot. Strangely enough, the most interesting thing the show alluded to - a holo echo, or whatever the term they used was - was one of the things least extrapolated upon in the show’s incredibly bulky exposition. Benefit of the doubt says that’s something they’ll explore in future seasons (are they getting more? Is that planned? I just realized I don’t actually know.)

And bulky it was! I have quite honestly never seen such flagrant disregard for the rule of “show, don’t tell.” There was not a single ounce of subtlety or implication involved in the storytelling of RVB0. Something was either told to you explicitly, or almost entirely absent from the narrative. Essentially zilch in between. We are told the dynamic the characters have with each other, and their personality pros and cons are listed for us conveniently by Carolina. The plot develops in exposition dumps. This is partially due to the series’ short runtime, but is also very much a result of how that runtime was then used by the writers. They sacrificed a massive chunk of their show for the sake of cramming in a ton of fight scenes, and if they wanted to keep all of those fight scenes, it would have been necessary to pare down their story and characters proportionally in comparison, but they didn’t do that either. They wanted to have it both ways and there simply wasn’t enough time for it. 

The story itself is… uninteresting. It plays out more like the flimsy premise of a video game quest rather than a piece of media to be meaningfully engaged with. RVB0 is I think something I would be pitched by a guy who thinks the MCU and BNHA are the best storytelling to come out of the past decade. It is nothing but tropes. And I hate having to use this as an insult! I love tropes. The worst thing about RVB0 is that nothing it does is wholly unforgivable in its own right. Hunter x Hunter, a phenomenal shonen, is notoriously filled with pages upon pages of detailed exposition and explanations of things, and I absolutely love it. Leverage, my favorite TV show of all time, is literally nothing but a five man band who has to learn to work as a team while seemingly systematically hitting a checklist of every relevant trope in the book. Pacific Rim is an incredibly straightforward good guys vs giant monsters blockbuster to show off some cool fight scenes such as a big robot cutting an alien in half with a giant sword, and it’s some of the most fun I ever have watching a movie. Something being derivative, clunky, poorly executed in some specific areas, narratively weak, or any single one of these flaws, is perfectly fine assuming it’s done with the intention and care that’s necessary to make the good parts shine more. I’ll forgive literally any crime a piece of media commits as long as it’s interesting and/or enjoyable to consume. RVB0 is not that. I’m not sure what the main point of RVB0 was supposed to be, because it seemingly succeeds at nothing. It has absolutely nothing new or innovative to justify its lack of concern for traditional storytelling conventions. Based solely on the amount of screentime things were given, I’d be inclined to say the narrative existed mostly to give flimsy pretense for the fight scenes, but that’s an entire other can of worms.

2. The Visuals + Fights

I have no qualms with things that are all style and no substance. Sometimes you just want to see pretty colors moving on the screen for a while or watch some cool bad guys and monsters or whatever get punched. RVB0 was not this either. The show fundamentally lacked a coherent aesthetic vision. Much of the show had a rather generic sci-fi feel to it with the biggest standouts to this being the very noir looking cityscape, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like something from a batman game, or the temple, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like a world of warcraft raid. They were obviously attempting to get variety in their environment design, which I appreciate, but they did this without having a coherent enough visual language to feel like it was all part of the same world. In general, there was also just a lack of visual clarity or strong shots. The value range in any given scene was poor, the compositions and framing were functional at best, and the character animation was unpleasantly exaggerated. It just doesn’t really look that good beyond fancy rendering techniques.

The fight scenes are their entire own beast. Since ‘FIGHT SCENE’ is the largest single category of scenes in the show, they definitely feel worth looking at with a genuine critical eye. Or, at least, I’d like to, but honestly half the time I found myself almost unable to look at them. The camera is rarely still long enough to really enjoy what you’re watching - tracking the motion of the character AND the camera at such constant breakneck high speeds left little time to appreciate any nuances that might have been present in the choreography or character animation. I tried, believe me, I really did, but the fight scenes leave one with the same sort of dizzy convoluted spectacle as a Michael Bay transformers movie. They also really lacked the impact fight scenes are supposed to have.

It’s hard to have a good, memorable fight scene without it doing one of three things: 1. Showing off innovative or creative fighting styles and choreography 2. Making use of the fight’s setting or environment in an engaging and visually interesting way or 3. Further exploring a character’s personality or actions by the way they fight. It’s also hard to do one of these things on its own without at least touching a bit on the other two. For the most part, I find RVB0’s fight scenes fail to do this. Other than rather surface level insubstantial factors, there was little to visually distinguish any of RVB0’s fight scenes from each other. Not only did I find a lot of them difficult to watch and unappealing, I found them all difficult to watch and unappealing in an almost identical way. They felt incredibly interchangeable and very generic. If you could take a fight scene and change the location it was set and also change which characters were participating and have very little change, it’s probably not a good fight scene. 

I think “generic” is really just the defining word of RVB0 and I think that’s also why it falls short in the humor department  as well.

3. The Comedy

Funny shit is hard to write and humor is also incredibly subjective but I definitely got almost no laughs out of RVB0. I think a total of three. By far the best joke was Carolina having a cast on top of her armor, which, I must stress, is an incredibly funny gag and I love it. But overall I think the humor fell short because it felt like it was tacked on more than a natural and intentional part of this world and these characters. A lot of the jokes felt like they were just thrown in wherever they’d fit, without any build up to punchlines and with little regard for what sort of joke each character would make. Like, there was some, obviously Raymond’s sense of humor had the most character to it, but the character-oriented humor still felt very weak. When focusing on character-driven humor, there’s a LOT you can establish about characters based on what sort of jokes they choose to make, who they’re picking as the punchlines of these jokes, and who their in-universe audience for the jokes is. In RVB0, the jokes all felt very immersion-breaking and self aware, directed wholly towards the audience rather than occurring as a natural result of interplay between the characters. This is partially due to how lackluster the character writing was overall, and the previously stated tight timing, but also definitely due to a lack of a real understanding about what makes a joke land. 

A rule of thumb I personally hold for comedy is that, when push comes to shove, more specific is always going to be more funny. The example I gave when trying to explain this was this:

saying two characters had awkward sex in a movie theater: funny

saying two characters had an awkward handjob in a cinemark: even funnier

saying two characters spent 54 minutes of 11:14's 1:26 runtime trying out some uncomfortably-angled hand stuff in the back of a dilapidated cinemark that lost funding halfway through retrofitting into a dinner theater: the funniest

The more specific a joke is, the more it relies on an in-depth understanding of the characters and world you’re dealing with and the more ‘realistic’ it feels within the context of your media. Especially with this kind of humor. When you’re joking with your friends, you don’t go for stock-humor that could be pulled out of a joke book, you go for the specific. You aim for the weak spots. If a set of jokes could be blindly transplanted into another world, onto another cast of characters, then it’s far too generic to be truly funny or memorable. I don’t think there’s a single joke in RVB0 where the humor of it hinged upon the characters or the setting.

Then there’s the issue of situational comedy and physical comedy. This is really where the humor being ‘tacked on’ shows the most. Once again, part of what makes actually solid comedy land properly is it feeling like a natural result of the world you have established. Real life is absurd and comical situations can be found even in the midst of some pretty grim context, and that’s why black comedy is successful, and why comedy shows are allowed to dip into heavier subject matter from time to time, or why dramas often search for levity in humor. It’s a natural part of being human to find humor in almost any situation. The key thing, though, once again, is finding it in the situation. Many of RVB0’s attempts at humor, once again, feel like they would be the exact same jokes when stripped from their context, and that’s almost never good. A pretty fundamental concept in both storytelling in general but particularly comedy writing is ‘setup and payoff’. No joke in RVB0 is a reward for a seemingly innocuous event in an earlier scene or for an overlooked piece of environmental design. The jokes pop in when there’s time for them in between all the exposition and fighting, and are gone as soon as they’re done. There’s no long term, underlying comedic throughline to give any sense of coherence or intent to the sense of humor the show is trying to establish. Every joke is an isolated one-off quip or one-liner, and it fails to engage the audience in a meaningful way.

All together, each individual component of RVB0 feels like it was conjured up independently, without any concern to how it interacted with the larger product they were creating. And I think this is really where it all falls apart. RVB0 feels criminally generic in a way reminiscent of mass-market media which at least has the luxury of attributing these flaws, this complete and total watering down of anything unique, to heavy oversight and large teams with competing visions. But I don’t think that’s the case for RVB0. I don’t know much about what the pipeline is like for this show, but I feel like the fundamental problem it suffers from is a lack of heart.

In comparison to Red vs. Blue

Let's face it. This is a terrible successor to Red vs. Blue. I wouldn’t care if NONE of the old characters were in it - that’s not my problem. I haven’t seen past season 13 because from what I heard the show already jumped the shark a bit and then some. That’s not what makes it a poor follow up. What makes it a bad successor is that it fundamentally lacks any of the aspects of the OG RVB that made it unique or appealing at all. I find myself wondering what Torrian is trying to say with RVB0 and quite literally the only answer I find myself falling back onto is that he isn’t trying to say anything at all. Regardless of what you feel about the original RVB, it undeniably had things to say. The opening “why are we here” speech does an excellent job at establishing that this is a show intended to poke fun at the misery of bureaucracy and subservience to nonsensical systems, not just in the context of military life, but in a very broad-strokes way almost any middle-class worker can relate to. At the end of the day, fiction is at its best when it resonates with some aspect of its audience’s life. I know instantly which parts of the original Red vs Blue I’m supposed to relate to. I can’t say anything even close to that about 0.

RVB is an absurdist parody that heavily satirizes aspects of the military and life as a low-on-the-food-chain worker in general that almost it’s entire target audience will be familiar with. The most significant draw of the show to me was how the dialogue felt like listening to my friends bicker with each other in our group chats. It required no effort for me to connect with and although the narrative never outright looked to the camera and explained ‘we are critiquing the military’s stupid red tape and self-fullfilling eternal conflict’ they didn’t need to, because the writing trusted itself and its audience enough to believe this could be conveyed. It is, in a way, the complete antithesis to the badass superhero macho military man protagonist that we all know so well. RVB was saying something, and it was saying it in a rather novel format.

Nothing about RVB0 is novel. Nothing about RVB0 says anything. Nothing about it compels me to relate to any of these characters or their situations. RVB0 doesn’t feel like absurdism, or satire. RVB0 feels like it is, completely uncritically, the exact media that RVB itself was riffing off of. Both RVB0 and RVB when you watch them give you the feeling that what you’re seeing here is kids on a playground larping with toy soldiers. It’s all ridiculous and over the top cliche stupid garbage where each side is trying to one-up the other. The critical difference is, in RVB, we’re supposed to look at this and laugh at how ridiculous this is. In RVB0 we’re supposed to unironically think this is all pretty badass. 

The PFL arc of the original RVB existed to show us that setting up an elite team of supersoldiers with special powers was something done in bad faith, with poor outcomes, that left everyone involved either cruel, damaged, or dead. It was a bad thing. And what we’re seeing in RVB0 is the same premise, except, this time it’s good. We’re supposed to root for this format. RVB0 feels much more like a demo reel, cutscenes from a video game that doesn’t exist, or a shonen anime fanboy’s journal scribbling than it feels like a piece of media with any objective value in any area.  In every area that RVB was anti-establishment, RVB0 is pure undiluted establishment through and through.  

#long post #really long post guys. look out ! #rvb

[homestuckexamination]

Your explanation on the discourse was really interesting because... it catered entirely to the team? I know we all like this webcomic, and don’t want something we spend so much time on to have anything bad, but if we love something, it’s okay to admit there’s something bad or many bad things going on. There’s a least one member who’s name I won’t say that is without a doubt at fault and has said and done many horrible things, including saying they wrote their part just to anger fans

Let me put my view out there anon, even though I’ve talked about this at large before. First of all, as I’ve said ad-nauseum before, I will say that in the context of The Epilogues and Homestuck^2, I am someone who likes what is going on. I genuinely enjoy the direction of the story, with no external prompting, and the Discourse always catches me off-guard because I never realize what people are going to be arguing about next, because when I am going through the story, I really DO enjoy what I am experiencing. Of course it is not perfect, by any god damn means, however, I am parting from the basis that my opinion inherently differs from the vocally negative voice of the Fandom right now.

I am a Content Creator. I am a writer, and I have started dabbling in art recently. I have plans, and ideas, to write a book, I want to create an original setting, that I’ve designed through an amalgam of my experiences, my points of view, and the things I like, as well as my hopes and dreams. Do you know why I side with the Team and ‘cater’ to them when I talk about Discourse? Because. The Fandom. Fucking sucks right now.

I have voiced my opinion on the Epilogues, and had death threats and suicide bait sent at me because I DARED to defend them! I have seen the Team- The same Team that made Pesterquest, one of the most Fandom-positive pieces of media I have ever had the pleasure of playing through, being sent those same threats and suicide bait at a scale I cannot even begin to comprehend. I have seen Queer Authors express their identity and experiences in the text, and people twisting them in some delusional way to accuse them of being Queerphobic in turn.

Do you know why I seem to ‘side with the Team’? Because I like the content they are producing, and the ‘fans’ are a ball of vitriol that tells me that if I like the Epilogues, I am either delusional, a bootlicker, or evil. Because I see the ‘fans’ pop into a post the official Twitter is doing, about supporting BLM, and what I see is people ignoring the contents entirely to send the team insults and ask ‘WHEN IS HIVESWAP ACT 2′ like a broken record. Because I see the ‘fans’ latching onto someone on the Team like the ONE SOURCE OF ALL EVIL, and proceed to doxx her, call the police on her, and threaten her and everyone close to her until she has to step down and drop off the team, during a global fucking Pandemic.

Am I biased for the Team? YEAH of fucking course I am, because I like the things they are exploring, because I related to things they are writing, because I truly do believe they’re doing something fun and entertaining, and what I see in turn in the Fandom, is hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate HATE.

You say that it’s okay to admit there’s something wrong or bad in content you like, but at this point it’s that the worst of the Fandom doesn’t even like the content. They actively do nothing more than dislike it, and consume it ONLY to be angry, threaten and throw insults around. And if you even so much as dare to claim that, hey, maybe these aren’t healthy habits of Media Consumption, and you should, you know, not keep following something that makes you actively seethe and that you go in with the inherent idea that everything being written is being made to hurt you, you get called ableist for daring to tell people that they should take care of their mental health and not stay in a constant state of anger.

It IS okay to admit there’s something you dislike, or many things you dislike in content you follow, so long as you actually enjoy the content overall. It is more than okay to be critical of things you like. However, there is a difference between being critical, and being hypercritical to the point of rage and bandwagonning. Take Roxy for example. Roxy. Roxy is one of my favorite parts of the Epilogues, and I have seen them beyond recognition by the Fandom. But because the trans girl Roxy Headcanon was so popular, there’s so much vitriol around it. And it is okay to prefer to read Roxy as a trans woman. I do actually! It is one of my favorite headcanons! My own name is Roxy! In fact, with the ‘dubious canon’ divide and the Team’s explicit encouragement of the Fandom to have their own takes and read, they have done MORE in the way of elevating headcanons that diverge from their content than basically any other content creator I’ve seen before.

But then, then people start down a negative spiral. Well, transmasc NB Roxy sure wasn’t something they expected, right? It is not bad representation in the slightest, between the Epilogues and the deeper exploration of Roxy’s feelings in the Pesterquest Route, they are a really solid and interesting case in my mind! But there’s not even the sliver of positivity to be found. Why, surely, the ONLY reason why Roxy would be a trans guy instead of a trans woman, is because the Team is aware of the headcanon and is trying to spite the fans! Ergo, transmasc Roxy is an ATTACK on Trans Women, and as such a transphobic addition to the story!!! 

And in the process of doing so, you’re erasing the identity, experiences and relation a queer team has with a character they have messed with, and turning a positive piece of representation around to CALL the team TRANSPHOBIC for it. You’re ignoring the possibility that ANYONE could read Roxy that way, and that the ONLY possible reason for it is SPITE and SPITE alone. Imposing your view on the read of the character, twisting the context of the content around to make it to be negative, and keeping that furnace of hate and distrust going.

And this is. With. Literally. Everything. Again, I have been on the side of the Fandom that likes the content since the Epilogues came out. I have seen the Fandom ignore, and twist, the actual positive beats of the Epilogues like they never existed in the first place, and exacerbate the negatives. I have seen people call them literally evil, and throw extremely puritanical views of what kind of Media should exist, and what things should be scrubbed off of Media entirely, forever. I have seen the most minor of shit spark discourse, because the Fans are prompted to disregard every single positive thing and positive reading, and instead twisting authorial intent from something that could be fun, from a projection of their own experiences, into a personal assault that surely no one could ever enjoy.

If you ask me to see the bad in the content I like, and the creators that I follow, I ask you, too, to see the bad in the ball of vitriol this Fandom has become over the past year. My opinion is informed by the reaction the Fandom has had to the content I like, and what it has told to me, by the reaction I’ve seen them have, as well as by the words of the Authors on the topic, and the content they have pumped out. I have seen and read ‘receipts’, I’ve seen every last piece of discourse happen, no matter how minor it may have been, because I am lucky to be a mildly loud voice in the Fandom because of this blog.

So when I seem to side with the Team instead of the Fandom, know that I am not making an impulsive choice to cover up the flaws of content I like. I have seen enough going around to inform this choice, and I know who I’m defending. And if you think “catering” to the Team rather than the Fandom considering what the Fandom just did is strange, I honestly don’t know what to tell you. We just have inherently different points of view.

#Homestuck #HS^2 #Homestuck^2 #Epilogues #WP #Discourse #Long Post #Longpost

[recentanimenews]

ESSAY: Berserk's Journey of Acceptance Over 30 Years of Fandom

  My descent into anime fandom began in the '90s, and just as watching Neon Genesis Evangelion caused my first revelation that cartoons could be art, reading Berserk gave me the same realization about comics. The news of Kentaro Miura’s death, who passed on May 6, has been emotionally complicated for me, as it's the first time a celebrity's death has hit truly close to home. In addition to being the lynchpin for several important personal revelations, Berserk is one of the longest-lasting works I’ve followed and that I must suddenly bid farewell to after existing alongside it for two-thirds of my life.

  Berserk is a monolith not only for anime and manga, but also fantasy literature, video games, you name it. It might be one of the single most influential works of the ‘80s — on a level similar to Blade Runner — to a degree where it’s difficult to imagine what the world might look like without it, and the generations of creators the series inspired.

  Although not the first, Guts is the prototypical large sword anime boy: Final Fantasy VII's Cloud Strife, Siegfried/Nightmare from Soulcalibur, and Black Clover's Asta are all links in the same chain, with other series like Dark Souls and Claymore taking clear inspiration from Berserk. But even deeper than that, the three-character dynamic between Guts, Griffith, and Casca, the monster designs, the grotesque violence, Miura’s image of hell — all of them can be spotted in countless pieces of media across the globe.

  Despite this, it just doesn’t seem like people talk about it very much. For over 20 years, Berserk has stood among the critical pantheon for both anime and manga, but it doesn’t spur conversations in the same way as Neon Genesis Evangelion, Akira, or Dragon Ball Z still do today. Its graphic depictions certainly represent a barrier to entry much higher than even the aforementioned company. 

    Seeing the internet exude sympathy and fond reminiscing about Berserk was immensely validating and has been my single most therapeutic experience online. Moreso, it reminded me that the fans have always been there. And even looking into it, Berserk is the single best-selling property in the 35-year history of Dark Horse. My feeling is that Berserk just has something about it that reaches deep into you and gets stuck there.

  I recall introducing one of my housemates to Berserk a few years ago — a person with all the intelligence and personal drive to both work on cancer research at Stanford while pursuing his own MD and maintaining a level of physical fitness that was frankly unreasonable for the hours that he kept. He was NOT in any way analytical about the media he consumed, but watching him sitting on the floor turning all his considerable willpower and intellect toward delivering an off-the-cuff treatise on how Berserk had so deeply touched him was a sight in itself to behold. His thoughts on the series' portrayal of sex as fundamentally violent leading up to Guts and Casca’s first moment of intimacy in the Golden Age movies was one of the most beautiful sentiments I’d ever heard in reaction to a piece of fiction.

  I don’t think I’d ever heard him provide anything but a surface-level take on a piece of media before or since. He was a pretty forthright guy, but the way he just cut into himself and let his feelings pour out onto the floor left me awestruck. The process of reading Berserk can strike emotional chords within you that are tough to untangle. I’ve been writing analysis and experiential pieces related to anime and manga for almost ten years — and interacting with Berserk’s world for almost 30 years — and writing may just be yet another attempt for me to pull my own twisted-up feelings about it apart. 

  Berserk is one of the most deeply personal works I’ve ever read, both for myself and in my perception of Miura's works. The series' transformation in the past 30 years artistically and thematically is so singular it's difficult to find another work that comes close. The author of Hajime no Ippo, who was among the first to see Berserk as Miura presented him with some early drafts working as his assistant, claimed that the design for Guts and Puck had come from a mess of ideas Miura had been working on since his early school days.

  写真は三浦建太郎君が寄稿してくれた鷹村です。 今かなり感傷的になっています。 思い出話をさせて下さい。 僕が初めての週刊連載でスタッフが一人もいなくて困っていたら手伝いにきてくれました。 彼が18で僕が19です。 某大学の芸術学部の学生で講義明けにスケッチブックを片手に来てくれました。 pic.twitter.com/hT1JCWBTKu

— 森川ジョージ (@WANPOWANWAN) May 20, 2021

  Miura claimed two of his big influences were Go Nagai’s Violence Jack and Tetsuo Hara and Buronson’s Fist of the North Star. Miura wears these influences on his sleeve, discovering the early concepts that had percolated in his mind just felt right. The beginning of Berserk, despite its amazing visual power, feels like it sprang from a very juvenile concept: Guts is a hypermasculine lone traveler breaking his body against nightmarish creatures in his single-minded pursuit of revenge, rigidly independent and distrustful of others due to his dark past.

  Uncompromising, rugged, independent, a really big sword ... Guts is a romantic ideal of masculinity on a quest to personally serve justice against the one who wronged him. Almost nefarious in the manner in which his character checked these boxes, especially when it came to his grim stoicism, unblinkingly facing his struggle against literal cosmic forces. Never doubting himself, never trusting others, never weeping for what he had lost.

    Miura said he sketched out most of the backstory when the manga began publication, so I have to assume the larger strokes of the Golden Arc were pretty well figured out from the outset, but I’m less sure if he had fully realized where he wanted to take the story to where we are now. After the introductory mini-arcs of demon-slaying, Berserk encounters Griffith and the story draws us back to a massive flashback arc. We see the same Guts living as a lone mercenary who Griffith persuades to join the Band of the Hawk to help realize his ambitions of rising above the circumstances of his birth to join the nobility.

  We discover the horrific abuses of Guts’ adoptive father and eventually learn that Guts, Griffith, and Casca are all victims of sexual violence. The story develops into a sprawling semi-historical epic featuring politics and war, but the real narrative is in the growing companionship between Guts and the members of the band. Directionless and traumatized by his childhood, Guts slowly finds a purpose helping Griffith realize his dream and the courage to allow others to grow close to him. 

  Miura mentioned that many Band of the Hawk members were based on his early friend groups. Although he was always sparse with details about his personal life, he has spoken about how many of them referred to themselves as aspiring manga authors and how he felt an intense sense of competition, admitting that among them he may have been the only one seriously working toward that goal, desperately keeping ahead in his perceived race against them. It’s intriguing thinking about how much of this angst may have made it to the pages, as it's almost impossible not to imagine Miura put quite a bit of himself in Guts. 

  Perhaps this is why it feels so real and makes The Eclipse — the quintessential anime betrayal at the hands of Griffith — all the more heartbreaking. The raw violence and macabre imagery certainly helped. While Miura owed Hellraiser’s Cenobites much in the designs of the God Hand, his macabre portrayal of the Band of the Hawk’s eradication within the literal bowels of hell, the massive hand, the black sun, the Skull Knight, and even Miura’s page compositions have been endlessly referenced, copied, and outright plagiarized since.

    The events were tragic in any context and I have heard many deeply personal experiences others drew from The Eclipse sympathizing with Guts, Casca, or even Griffith’s spiral driven by his perceived rejection by Guts. Mine were most closely aligned with the tragedy of Guts having overcome such painful circumstances to not only reject his own self enforced solitude, but to fearlessly express his affection for his loved ones. 

  The Golden Age was a methodical destruction of Guts’ self-destructive methods of preservation ruined in a single selfish act by his most trusted friend, leaving him once again alone and afraid of growing close to those around him. It ripped the romance of Guts’ mission and eventually took the story down a course I never expected. Berserk wasn’t a story of revenge but one of recovery.

  Guess that’s enough beating around the bush, as I should talk about how this shift affected me personally. When I was young, when I began reading Berserk I found Guts’ unflagging stoicism to be really cool, not just aesthetically but in how I understood guys were supposed to be. I was slow to make friends during school and my rapidly gentrifying neighborhood had my friends' parents moving away faster than I could find new ones. At some point I think I became too afraid of putting myself out there anymore, risking rejection when even acceptance was so fleeting. It began to feel easier just to resign myself to solitude and pretend my circumstances were beyond my own power to correct.

  Unfortunately, I became the stereotypical kid who ate alone during lunch break. Under the invisible expectations demanding I not display weakness, my loneliness was compounded by shame for feeling loneliness. My only recourse was to reveal none of those feelings and pretend the whole thing didn't bother me at all. Needless to say my attempts to cope probably fooled no one and only made things even worse, but I really didn’t know of any better way to handle my situation. I felt bad, I felt even worse about feeling bad and had been provided with zero tools to cope, much less even admit that I had a problem at all.

  The arcs following the Golden Age completely changed my perspective. Guts had tragically, yet understandably, cut himself off from others to save himself from experiencing that trauma again and, in effect, denied himself any opportunity to allow himself to be happy again. As he began to meet other characters that attached themselves to him, between Rickert and Erica spending months waiting worried for his return, and even the slimmest hope to rescuing Casca began to seed itself into the story, I could only see Guts as a fool pursuing a grim and hopeless task rather than appreciating everything that he had managed to hold onto. 

  The same attributes that made Guts so compelling in the opening chapters were revealed as his true enemy. Griffith had committed an unforgivable act but Guts’ journey for revenge was one of self-inflicted pain and fear. The romanticism was gone.

  Farnese’s inclusion in the Conviction arc was a revelation. Among the many brilliant aspects of her character, I identified with her simply for how she acted as a stand-in for myself as the reader: Plagued by self-doubt and fear, desperate to maintain her own stoic and uncompromising image, and resentful of her place in the world. She sees Guts’ fearlessness in the face of cosmic horror and believes she might be able to learn his confidence.

    But in following Guts, Farnese instead finds a teacher in Casca. In taking care of her, Farnese develops a connection and is able to experience genuine sympathy that develops into a sense of responsibility. Caring for Casca allows Farnese to develop the courage she was lacking not out of reckless self-abandon but compassion.

  I can’t exactly credit Berserk with turning my life around, but I feel that it genuinely helped crystallize within me a sense of growing doubts about my maladjusted high school days. My growing awareness of Guts' undeniable role in his own suffering forced me to admit my own role in mine and created a determination to take action to fix it rather than pretending enough stoicism might actually result in some sort of solution.

  I visited the Berserk subreddit from time to time and always enjoyed the group's penchant for referring to all the members of the board as “fellow strugglers,” owing both to Skull Knight’s label for Guts and their own tongue-in-cheek humor at waiting through extended hiatuses. Only in retrospect did it feel truly fitting to me. Trying to avoid the pitfalls of Guts’ path is a constant struggle. Today I’m blessed with many good friends but still feel primal pangs of fear holding me back nearly every time I meet someone, the idea of telling others how much they mean to me or even sharing my thoughts and feelings about something I care about deeply as if each action will expose me to attack.

  It’s taken time to pull myself away from the behaviors that were so deeply ingrained and it’s a journey where I’m not sure the work will ever be truly done, but witnessing Guts’ own slow progress has been a constant source of reassurance. My sense of admiration for Miura’s epic tale of a man allowing himself to let go after suffering such devastating circumstances brought my own humble problems and their way out into focus.

    Over the years I, and many others, have been forced to come to terms with the fact that Berserk would likely never finish. The pattern of long, unexplained hiatuses and the solemn recognition that any of them could be the last is a familiar one. The double-edged sword of manga largely being works created by a single individual is that there is rarely anyone in a position to pick up the torch when the creator calls it quits. Takehiko Inoue’s Vagabond, Ai Yazawa’s Nana, and likely Yoshihiro Togashi’s Hunter X Hunter all frozen in indefinite hiatus, the publishers respectfully holding the door open should the creators ever decide to return, leaving it in a liminal space with no sense of conclusion for the fans except what we can make for ourselves.

  The reason for Miura’s hiatuses was unclear. Fans liked to joke that he would take long breaks to play The Idolmaster, but Miura was also infamous for taking “breaks” spent minutely illustrating panels to his exacting artistic standard, creating a tumultuous release schedule during the wars featuring thousands of tiny soldiers all dressed in period-appropriate armor. If his health was becoming an issue, it’s uncommon that news would be shared with fans for most authors, much less one as private as Miura.

  Even without delays, the story Miura was building just seemed to be getting too big. The scale continued to grow, his narrative ambition swelling even faster after 20 years of publication, the depth and breadth of his universe constantly expanding. The fan-dubbed “Millennium Falcon Arc” was massive, changing the landscape of Berserk from a low fantasy plagued by roaming demons to a high fantasy where godlike beings of sanity-defying size battled for control of the world. How could Guts even meet Griffith again? What might Casca want to do when her sanity returned? What are the origins of the Skull Knight? And would he do battle with the God Hand? There was too much left to happen and Miura’s art only grew more and more elaborate. It would take decades to resolve all this.

  But it didn’t need to. I imagine we’ll never get a precise picture of the final years of Miura’s life leading up to his tragic passing. In the final chapters he released, it felt as if he had directed the story to some conclusion. The unfinished Fantasia arc finds Guts and his newfound band finding a way to finally restore Casca’s sanity and — although there is still unmistakably a boundary separating them — both seem resolute in finding a way to mend their shared wounds together.

  One of the final chapters features Guts drinking around the campfire with the two other men of his group, Serpico and Roderick, as he entrusts the recovery of Casca to Schierke and Farnese. It's a scene that, in the original Band of the Hawk, would have found Guts brooding as his fellows engage in bluster. The tone of this conversation, however, is completely different. The three commiserate over how much has changed and the strength each has found in the companionship of the others. After everything that has happened, Guts declares that he is grateful. 

  The suicidal dedication to his quest for vengeance and dispassionate pragmatism that defined Guts in the earliest chapters is gone. Although they first appeared to be a source of strength as the Black Swordsman, he has learned that they rose from the fear of losing his friends again, from letting others close enough to harm him, and from having no other purpose without others. Whether or not Guts and Griffith were to ever meet again, Guts has rediscovered the strength to no longer carry his burdens alone. 

  All that has happened is all there will ever be. We too must be grateful.

      Peter Fobian is an Associate Manager of Social Video at Crunchyroll, writer for Anime Academy and Anime in America, and an editor at Anime Feminist. You can follow him on Twitter @PeterFobian.

By: Peter Fobian

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

[pricklerick]

magnum opus

Quick disclaimer: I don’t usually post warnings on my blog, but I’m going to now - this is a ficlet/summary of a huge Rick and Morty story that I’m completely unqualified to write. DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT. Guys, this is dark. Trigger warnings for incest, underage sex, pregnancy loss, postpartum depression, attempted suicide.

I’ll preface by saying that this is a story that’s been bouncing around in my brain for a while now. But I don’t feel that I have the maturity or life experience to tackle the subject matter and do it any justice at all. These are heavy topics that have affected many people, and the last thing I’d ever want to do is exploit them, minimize them, or misrepresent them.

So, if you choose to continue, know that you are responsible for the media that you consume, and know that the things I write (or the perspective of the characters that I write) do not necessarily reflect my personal opinions.  

Okay, that being said, have an angsty fic summary!

Morticia (known as Tish) and her Rick have been fucking for years. Tish knows that to Rick, she’s an easy lay - an accessible warm body at best. But to Tish, Rick is everything.

She’s seventeen, and Rick gets really antsy about an adventure to a universe where space herpes is airborne. He insists that Tish get a series of ridiculously painful alien vaccinations that leave her shaky and nauseated for a week. Tish puts up with it, because Rick gets what Rick wants, and Rick wants a very specific isotope of Nihonium that can only be found on Space Herpes’ Andromeda galaxy. Once Tish is feeling better, Rick drags her off to spend a single afternoon harvesting rocks. The whole thing goes off without a cinch for once, and Tish totally forgets about it.

But it’s not long before Tish starts feeling off again. She’s exhausted, can’t eat or sleep, and one night when Rick grabs her tits and squeezes just like she needs him to, Tish screams at the sensitivity.

Rick stops cold and just looks at her, that same look that he gives to a gadget that’s not behaving how he wants, and in that moment, something grows cold in Tish’s stomach.

She knows.

She takes test after shitty drugstore test, spends close to $100 at the gas station down the street. On her third trip, the cashier looks at her in undisguised pity, and Tish has to stop herself from punching him in the face.

“Rick, I think I’m pregnant.”

She doesn’t think, she fucking knows. Rick’s face stays carefully blank. He keeps tinkering with the android in front of him, the only sign that he even heard a quick blink and the subtle movement of the muscles of his throat as he swallows hard.

“Rick?” she prompts.

“Jeezus, Tish, I’m old, not deaf. Fucking heard you the first time.”

She huffs, lets her left hip rest against the countertop where he’s working, folds her arms across her chest to hide her shaking hands.

Rick sighs, swiping the goggles up so that they catch in his hair. “Not a problem,” he says evenly, carefully looking in any direction but to her.

Tish blinks. She’d expected… more. An explosion, a few curse words, hell, even some pointed fingers.

Rick is reaching for a drawer, pulls out a syringe that’s filled with a vicious purple fluid. “I mean, really Tish, there’s a whole— a whole multiverse of options out there. And you - you still insist on using fu-fucking horse piss!”

He’s coming at her with the needle. Tish’s body reacts before her brain even comprehends the situation, and she backhands Rick hard enough to send him stumbling. The syringe shatters on the floor, and Tish gasps, her hand stinging from the impact.

Rick is looking at her, both hands supporting his weight on the countertop. His chest is heaving. He spits blood, glaring at her, and Tish’s heart sinks to her toes.

"Fine,” he hisses. “You wanna play Mommy? Wanna tell your mother that you’re pregnant at seventeen? Knock yourself out, baby. I’ll fucking let you. At least nobody will think twice about your retard baby - you’re dumb as rocks, Tish, stupider than dirt.  And when this crashes and burns, like I know it will, when you’re in over your head and you hate yourself and that little mutation of genetic material that’s percolating in your gut like a goddamn tape worm, you remember this.” Rick looms over her, leaning so close that Tish can smell bile on his breath. “You remember that Grandpa Rick fucking told you so.”

And in a swirl of vivid green, he is gone.

Weeks go by and Tish is as sick as a dog. Beth is too busy grieving the loss of her dad to notice Tish’s hollow eyes and vacant expression; in fact, Beth seems to blame Tish for Rick’s disappearance.

And she’s right to, Tish thinks.

Tish doesn’t say anything. She loses a lot of weight - her cheeks are hollow and her jeans hang from her hips. All the while, she replays Rick’s words over and over again…

You’re dumb as rocks, Tish.

Tish knows she’s sick in the head. It’s sick to fall in love with your abusive grandfather, and even more sick to sacrifice everything for your abusive grandfather’s incest-baby. Tish can’t explain it. She’s always been good for nothing - not much to look at, useless at school, no real talent to speak of.

And then, one night when she was thirteen, Rick drunkenly grabbed her hand and dragged her through a portal, and Tish found her purpose.

She was good at playing side-kick. Dumb enough to shield Rick from his enemies, just smart enough to do (mostly) what she was told, and unquestionably devoted. Like an animal, she overheard Rick say once. Throw her a treat every now and then and she’ll come running.But Tish had thrived with Rick, despite everything. She followed him, pandered to him, drunk-sat him, memorized all of his quirks and habits. And when she was fifteen and neither of them could deny the draw of their bodies any longer, Tish had given herself to him, had quaked and keened beneath him as he mapped her with his hands and lips and tongue…

Tish was Rick’s, as sure as she was anything, and Rick, Rick was everything. And now, she had a part of him. A little piece of Rick, growing inside her.

Rick and Tish, forever and ever.

Tish is stupid, but she knows this much - if she does nothing else in her life, nothing at all, she’s going to do this. She’s going to leave her mark on the world, her mark and Rick’s.

She’s going to have this baby.

Still, that’s a hard thing for a seventeen year old to articulate, and Beth is less than supportive. Tish says nothing. She just dwindles away until one morning, 84 days after Rick left, she passes out in the middle of remedial algebra and wakes up in an ambulance. The paramedic refuses to hear Tish’s pleas of “low blood sugar; I skipped breakfast,” and Tish finds herself ushered into the ER, complete with ass-baring gown and oversized hospital socks.

“Congratulations,” the idiot in the white coat says, hardly glancing up from his clipboard. “You’re going to be a mom!”

Tish tunes him out as he prattles along about ultrasounds and hyperemesis gravidarum and dangerously low potassium levels. He tells her that she’ll be monitored overnight, and that her parents have been notified.

She must have fallen asleep, because when she wakes, holy fuck, Rick is there, staring at her with glittering eyes. Above her, Tish hears the blip-blip-blip of the heart monitor as it speeds.

Rick’s eyes never leave her face, but his hand snakes under her blanket, searching. He skims past her cunt, pausing as if to linger there, but then settles northward, fingers slaying wide over Tish’s pelvis as he palms the barely-there knot that rises beneath the dip of her hipbones. Tish’s whole body trembles. There’s something feral in Rick’s eyes, something deliciously possessive about the heat of his hand against Tish’s clammy skin.

“You’re an idiot,” Rick tells her solemnly.

I know, she starts to say, but it comes out as a moan.

The secret is out. Beth is casually disappointed in Tish for “repeating the same mistakes,” but admits that she hadn’t expected much better from her younger daughter. Rick explains away his absence with a bombastic story, complete with waving hands and drunken sound effects, and things go back to normal.

Rick refuses to talk about the baby. Tish only brings it up once, to let Rick know that she’s decided on adoption. He grunts and shrugs, and that’s that.

But Tish notices Rick watching her out of the corner of his eye. When they’re on adventures, Rick seems to move a little slower, to make more space for Tish, and once, Tish swears Rick shifted his body between her and and a hostile Gromflomite, almost as if he were protecting her.

And the sex.

The sex.

Rick worships her body in a way he never has before. At first, Tish assumes it’s because her tits are a little fleshier, but that’s not it. Rick can hardly keep his eyes and hands off of her, is always eyefucking her in the kitchen at breakfast, or cupping her ass as he slides past her in the hallway. He catalogues the changes in her body with his tongue, undressing her slowly, even massaging her lower back after a grueling day. When she doubles over at the dinner table with round ligament pain, Rick is in her room that evening, massaging her belly with a special alien oil. When her jeans won’t button, he takes her to an intergalatic shopping mall. He bitches the whole time, but he parades Tish around with his hand on the small of her back, and nobody bats an eye.

Tish loves it and loathes it. She basks in the glow of the moment, then cries into her pillow at night. It’s stupid to romanticize these little moments with Rick. He’s capable of altruism when it suits him, but it’s not like he loves her or anything.

Tish knows that she can’t keep this baby - she can’t raise a child alone, and, selfish as she is, she won’t give up her life with Rick.

She can’t.

But this baby, Rick’s baby… it deserves more than a shitty life on a deadbeat, backwater planet.

And Tish can give it that.

So with Rick’s reluctant help, Tish selects an off-planet adoption agency that is willing to place humans. She interviews potential families in her spare time. “I have an appointment,” she’ll announce, and Rick will sigh, blast a portal into the wall, and accompany her to the office. He hangs around, hovering at her shoulder until the receptionist calls her in, and then he disappears without a word. When the meeting ends, Tish finds a portal waiting for her in the corner of the reception area, and Rick tinkering in the garage.

They don’t talk about it.

There are more things that I’d like to work in here, but honestly, guys, I’m just not gonna. This is a fic that deserves some real life experience and at least 100k words, and I can offer neither. I want to hit on Tish’s lack of self worth - at this point, she’s living for this baby, because she views it as an extension of Rick. To Tish, this kid is the only thing of worth that she has to offer the world, and it’s the fact that it’s Rick’s, not hers, that she thinks is important.

On Rick - he loves Tish, in his own twisted way. He’s not at all interested in the baby, but because Tish is, he’ll play along. The idea of anything happening to Tish is absolutely unacceptable to him, and he was totally monitoring her (and the baby) while he was away. He couldn’t help himself. That’s why he came back when Tish was hospitalized. He wanted to make sure that Tish wasn’t going to kill herself trying to have this kid. And he missed her.

I don’t want to shy away from the darker aspects of the story. Namely, the incest and abusive/unhealthy relationship that Rick and Tish have. I imagine Tish worrying about the potential for genetic abnormalities, and wondering about the ethics of addressing this with potential parents. Maybe she brings it up to Rick one day, and he immediately whips up a little gadget and scans their baby (I really like the idea of Rick performing an amniocentesis, but I don’t know if that’s a little too much). But either way, I imagine Rick saying, “She’s fine,” and Tish just bursting into tears, because their baby is going to be just perfect, and also, it’s a girl.

And Rick just kind of fingering Tish’s hair and tolerating her crying it out.

Pregnancy kink. Rick is a kinky bastard, and I think a huge part of him is going to be hella turned on by the changes in Tish’s body. She’s literally growing a part of him. His baby’s baby is having his baby. It’s fucked up and it’s science, and Rick is gonna be so here for it. I’m not a smut writer, but I would love somebody who is to just take this and run with it.

It’s going to start with sex, but eventually, the further along Tish gets, the more possessive Rick is going to be of Tish. Yeah, it’s kind of hot that his granddaughter is carrying his child under their family’s nose, but there’s probably a deeper part of Rick that is just screaming for acknowledgement and absolution. THIS IS MINE. SHE IS MINE. I want to see jealous, anxious, overbearing Rick. And as this thing forces them to confront some ugly truths, I want to see that possessive, kinky, fucked up side of Rick soften into something that’s more protective and positive. I want to see him openly praise Tish’s body, and then eventually, praise Tish. I want him to slow down when she needs him to slow down and create space for her when she needs space. I want attentive, careful, gentle Rick.

But guys, Tish is going to lose this baby.

She’s like eight months along and begging Rick for a real adventure. She feels good, and she’s tired of sitting on her ass. And some stupid little thing goes wrong. Maybe she misreads a situation, or mishandles a weapon, or uses the wrong code word. And she falls, or maybe she takes a bullet and then she falls.

But she loses the baby.

Tish is not okay. This is postpartum depression meets miscarriage guilt. She blames herself for losing Rick’s baby. For eight months, this is all she’s lived for. She knew that this was her one shot, her one opportunity to leave a mark on the world.

And it was Rick’s baby. The thought of destroying anything of Rick’s is just unbearable to Tish, and it’s her fucking fault. She is useless on an adventure, and more than that, her stupid body is useless, sacrificing her baby to keep her alive.

Rick is fine once he realizes that Tish is out of danger, so Tish tries to be fine, too. She takes a week or two of bed rest, but she can tell that Rick is uncomfortable acknowledging her loss, so Tish tries to let it go. She goes on adventures, forces a smile, makes herself get out of bed and come to meals.

Meanwhile, Rick is kind of coming to his own conclusions. I imagine him holding the body of his daughter and thinking how perfect she is, how tiny, and how she looks exactly like Tish. And that thought, the thought of this tiny little Tish that could have been running around on some planet… well, that stings a lot more than Rick thought it would.

I mean, he’s okay. He doesn’t need another daughter, and he sure as hell doesn’t need a great granddaughter. He looks over at Tish, resting pale-faced in an alien hospital bed, and he hears the blip-blip of the heart monitor, and he knows that he’s complete.

But still, he can’t help but wonder, and something in his chest throbs as he does.

But Tish bounces back as well as he could have expected. Sure, Rick sees the shadow in her eyes, but when she grips his hand and says, “Where are we going today, Rick?” he answers her, because that’s so much easier.

Tish is fucking drowning. I’m not sure what the tipping point will be, maybe just a tiny misunderstanding with Rick, or a bad grade, or a joke about teen pregnancy at school. But she’s done. She’s fucking done.

She tries to slit her throat in the bathtub.

Once again, she awakens in an alien hospital, and once again, Rick is staring at her with glittering eyes.

And he’s pissed.

“That’s the second time I’ve found you in a pool of your own blood,” he says. He’s gripping her hands too tight, baring his teeth and hissing. In the dim hospital light, he looks absolutely feral, and Tish is terrified.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers hoarsely.

Rick’s face crumples, and something inside of her shatters at his disappointment. “I’m sorry!” Tish wails over and over, tears running hot down her cheeks.

She’s sorry for everything.

Rick crawls into bed with her, monitors be damned. Tish is crying so hard that she can barely breathe, and suddenly, Rick is there, curling around her, tucking his face into her neck and burying his fingers into her hair.

“Shh, shh,” he shushes her. He holds her tight, murmuring senselessly in her ear as she babbles to him. It all comes out, all of Tish’s fears and failures, like the bursting of a dam. Tish couldn’t stop it if she tried. Rick never says a word, but his grip around her tightens, his fingers working little patterns into her skin as she speaks.

“Fuck,” he breaths as Tish runs out of steam.

“I’m sorry!”

Rick sits up. “Don’t!” he hisses, then looks away, as if ashamed. Tish tenses, but before she can respond, Rick reaches for her hand and squeezes tight.

“If I have to hear you say you’re sorry one more goddamn time…”

Tish bites back an apology.

Rick swallows hard, clears his throat. His fingers twitch in the way that Tish knows means he misses his flask. She notices for the first time that Rick isn’t wearing his lab coat. He’s still sitting up in the bed, gazing at the floor as if he can’t bear to meet her gaze.

“Do you know… Tish, do you have any idea - fuck. Don’t - don’t ever, Tish. Please, don’t ever make me do this again. I - I can’t…”

He breaks off, shoving a fist into his teeth and grimacing, and the image is so incongruous with the Rick Sanchez that she knows that Tish can’t help but reach for him. He pivots at her touch, and there are actual tears in his eyes.

“Tish, it’s you, baby. Just you. You’re… you’re the only - the only good thing. All the rest of it, the adventure, the science… It fucking doesn’t matter, okay? Nothing matters.”

Tish’s breath catches.

“No, you’re still not…” Rick makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done, the only thing I’ve ever... ever… Fuck!” He throws his hands in the air. “You’re... you’re my magnum opus, okay? You complete me.”

“Oh,” says Tish stupidly.

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Rick mocks. He’s flushed, biting his lip and running his fingers through his wild hair. “I can’t believe… just, just, Tish,” he looks at her now, dead serious, “Don’t make me say it again, okay?”

Don’t make me lose you again. Please.

“Okay, Rick,” she agrees, crawling into his lap and tucking her head under his chin.

And like, things aren’t magically okay. It’s never a healthy relationship. Tish never gets over losing her baby, and Rick never mentions it again. But there’s something about Rick calling Tish his “opus magnum” that really satisfies me in a way that no fic I’ve read has yet. And I like to think that they are a tiny bit more open now, or at least, they know each other better. Tish might never have any self-worth, but she knows that Rick values her, and that’s the best feeling. And Rick is a little softer with Tish, and he never quite loses that protective streak that he picked up while she was pregnant.

#pricklerick original #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #trigger warning #all of the trigger warnings #seriously don't read this if you are triggered by pretty much anything #stay safe fam #i love you guys

[betterdaysareatoenailaway]

Sleep Tight For Me...I’m Gone

Lately I’ve been writing these Better Days Are A Toenail Away™️ posts in Microsoft Word, selecting all and changing the font to Garamond, which is so readable and beautiful, and posting the Word docs, paragraphs by paragraph, inside these Tumblr drafts. It makes things look nice, to my old fashioned sensibilities, but fixing errors is a time-consuming and needlessly convoluted four-step process.

First, I have to copy, then delete the paragraph containing the error. Then I open the doc. and paste the error-ridden paragraph back into Word. After I find and fix the error, I need to save it and copy and paste it back into the post. It's time-consuming because I’m not just copying a paragraph. As you can see from more recent post, what I copied looked more like a photograph of the paragraph, not the words themselves written in Tumblr’s default font Arial. For an example of this, see below. I like the way it looks like old newspaper clippings. I posted an article about how my fent dealer John Smith kept getting robbed, and had resorted to putting a machete in front of his front door as a way of preventing this, a lever of sorts, which is plainly visible in the video I posted,

So today I’ve given up on trying to make my posts look like books or zines, and have given into the Tumblr font, which is about as pretty as a horse with his snout shot off.

There are two much longer posts I’m working on right now, one about Nirvana and one about Soundgarden, respectively, and how both bands were very unlike their public perception, but those posts are taking a lot of work so I’m putting them on the backburner because today is some dumbass corporation’s day where it tries to synthesize mental health and profit and the end result is as baldly capitalist and clumsy as you would expect. 

I’m not gonna name the company, or repeat their stupid fucking slogan. As far as I can tell (which isn't very far), talking about my trauma has never made me feel better. And in fact it has sometimes made me feel worse, because in telling you what hurts and scares me, I’ve given a part of myself away that I can’t get back. When you’re like me, and you’ve lost everything multiple times, sometimes the only form of power you have is how you choose, or do not choose, to tell your story. And in a world where everybody wants to tell “their truth,” silence is power. 

You don’t get to know me, sorry. I’m not gonna hand you my life, both my bad and good experiences, and conclude: “Welp, that’s why I’m so fucked up. Case closed.” 

Honestly, I used to be a little confused, or miffed that my former partner (who is an amazing person btw, in every respect) almost never spoke about some of the traumatic things she’d experienced in her past. I took it as a sign that she either didn’t trust me, or she didn’t think I would be a sympathetic listener, or the mere fact of my gender precluded her from sharing because I couldn’t truly understand what it was she had gone through. It’s not like I ever asked her to talk about it, but I did say, once or twice, “hey if you ever wanna talk about that stuff, I’m around.” She never took me up on it, and I let it go. 

But as I watched her, and saw her life unfold, over the years we spent together, I began to realize I wasn’t exactly in any position to be telling her how to live her life or how to be mentally healthy. After all, she has found success in a number of avenues, both creative and occupational, and I’ve found neither. I'm not saying the fact that she didn't talk much about her trauma is the reason for her success. I'm saying that she's forged a better path through life than I have, and maybe I should take a cue from that.

She never told me what to do, per se. It was more like living by example. But because I’m pretty dense, and a severe addict, our time together actually sorta reminds me now of that Cornell lyric from his first record: She’s going to change the world. But she can’t change me.

I have certainly found that talking about how shitty my life is only makes me feel more shitty, not free, or unburdened, or better. If you wanna talk about your problems, and you find it helpful, more power to you. Just don’t wait for a corporation to tell you it’s okay to not be okay. 

When Chris Cornell died I was so shocked. Of all the grunge icons he seemed the most stable, and he'd survived the rise and fall of two major label rock bands. If anyone had survived the media machine that chewed up and spat out Staley, Cobain, and to a lesser extent Andrew Wood and Shannon Hoon, it was Cornell. He would be the last guy to support hashtag activism like #StarbucksMyLifeSucks. Chris Cornell actually loved to fuck with the best laid plans of corporate rats. Molson once had a few promotional concerts in Tuktoyaktuk, Northwest Territories, called Molson Canadian Rocks Arctic, with both Hole and Soundgarden playing to a crowd of flown-in grunge fans and bemused locals. But the whole anti-corporate thing grunge was known for actually came through when Courtney Love told the crowd she “use[d] Molson Canadian to douche.” Lol. Here’s a photo of Love arriving in Tuktoyatuk.

Cornell told the same people “so we’re here because of some beer company? Labatt’s?” Both artists’ jabs are funny. Cornell’s was a bit more subtle, but that’s what Cornell was like. 

So today’s post is about Chris Cornell’s suicide, more specifically the media’s reaction to it. For whatever reason, when Cornell died, every single news outlet, from CNN to Fox to CBC, posted “Black Hole Sun,” as if it’s the only song he ever fucking wrote, or – and this is far worse – the only song he wrote that’s worth hearing. The problem with this is more than twofold or threefold. It's fucking hydraheaded. 

Not only is “Black Hole Sun” a mediocre piece of music, it’s a complete misrepresentation of Soundgarden’s sound. 

Now, I’m a huge fan of the A.V. Club series HateSong, in which public figures gleefully talk shit about the one song they hate more than any other song in the world. The Max Bemis (Say Anything) one where he talks about Nirvana’s “Rape Me” as a terrible rewrite of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is terrific, but comedian Anthony Jeselnik’s HateSong takes “Black Hole Sun” apart, and I love it. I think the best line is: I think the more I hear it, the worse it gets. AVC: After the song became a huge hit, Chris Cornell said that he’d written it in about 15 minutes. AJ: I totally believe that. I don’t believe that Soundgarden likes that song. Like, I remember Eminem once said that he knew his song “My Name Is” was going to be a huge hit because the first time he heard it he was annoyed. It’s something about an annoying song that just grabs onto people. But I don’t think that anyone likes “Black Hole Sun.” I’ve never heard of anyone who likes it. I don’t understand why it gets played so much. It’s become a summer jam, and it’s not a summer song at all. Jeselnik is right that Soundgarden didn’t think much of the song. Guitarist Kim Thayil wasn’t kidding when he disparagingly called it the “Dream On” of their live show. And Cornell himself, known for a meticulous approach to his songwriting, had admitted that with “Black Hole Sun”was “probably the closest to me just playing with words for words’ sake, of anything I’ve written. I guess it worked for a lot of people who heard it, but I have no idea how you'd begin to take that one literally.” I mean it’s obvious from the opening lines that Cornell is just playing with words and how they sound: in my eyes/indisposed/in disguises no one knows What songs would have been more appropriate for Cornell’s untimely death? Glad you asked! Cuz there’s like…fucking at least ten that would have been better. I’m not tryna be one of those “the deep album cuts are better maaaaaan,” but with Soundgarden, it happens to be true. With some bands, the single are their best work. With other bands, the singles are the hors d’oeuvres for the entrees. So what deep cuts would have celebrated Cornell’s death a bit better? Well, to begin with, Superunknown’s strange and stately closer “Like Suicide” would have worked, for obvious reasons.

“Tighter and Tighter,” a song that is actually about the moment of death and what it might feel like, is one of my all-time fav Soundgarden songs. Not only is it a creepy and prescient prediction of what Cornell’s death by hanging himself may have felt like, it’s opening line is a good description of the personification of death: Shadow face/Blowing smoke and talking wind

Another sample lyric: “A sucking holy wind will take me from this bed tonight/and bloody wits another hits me and I have to say goodbye/sleep tight for me, I’m gone/and I hope it’s  a sweet ride/here for me tonight/cuz I’m feel I’m going/feel I’m slowing down.” 

The morning after Cornell’s death hit the news my buddy and bandmate James told me that en route to work his phone, which was playing music randomly through his car speakers, landed on “Tighter and Tighter” and he had to pull over because he was tearing up. 

“Fell On Black Days” is another song about depression and mortality. Cornell had the following to say about the song: “Fell on Black Days” was like this ongoing fear I’ve had for years ... It's a feeling that everyone gets. You're happy with your life, everything’s going well, things are exciting—when all of a sudden you realize you’re unhappy in the extreme, to the point of being really, really scared. There's no particular event you can pin the feeling down to, it's just that you realize one day that everything in your life is fucked! 

Now, if that’s not a cogent and even-tempered explanation of suicidal thoughts, what is? Why else would Cornell have admitted to being “really really scared” by his depression unless he knew what that depression could ultimately leasd to? Here’s some lyrics to “Fell on Black Days.” Dig the high literary use of “whomsoever” and “whatsoever.” Whatsoever I’ve feared has come to life Whatsoever I fought off became my life Just when every day seemed to greet me with a smile sunspots have faded and now I’m doing time cuz I fell on black days

Whomsoever I’ve cured I’ve sickened now Whomsoever I’ve cradled...I put you down I’m a searchlight soul they say but I can’t see it in the night I’m only faking when I get it right I sure don’t mind a change but I fell on black days how would I know that this could be my fate?

Eagle-eared listeners might think this version different from the album version. They are right. The rendition in the video was recorded live off the floor @ Bad Animals, the Seattle studio owned by Heart, where Soundgarden would record Down on the Upside. 

“Boot Camp” is a scary meditation about loss of agency that for years was tied with Zeppelin’s “I'm Gonna Crawl” for Creepiest Song to Cap a Discography, until Soundgarden reunited and released King Animal.

“Taree” is about ghost light, influencing events after dying and features Cornell’s most exhausted, convincing “yeah” @ 2:57.

“Applebite” is a Matt Cameron-penned ponderous clunker about Adam’s original expulsion from Eden. Doomy and death-laden.

“Let Me Drown” is a song about letting someone die.

“The Day I Tried To Live” is frequently cited as Soundgarden’s finest achievement, its odd time signature somehow sounds straight, thanks to Matt Cameron’s brilliant time keeping.

“4th of July” is a song about a post apocalyptic urban landscape, where the speaker isn’t sure whether he is seeing fireworks or bombs. 

“Limo Wreck” is a cool death song and has an eerie 9-11 prediction. “Building the towers belongs to the sky/when the whole thing comes crashing down don’t ask me why.” 

ANY of the above songs would have been better than that fucking asinine dirge-like major key fuckaround that has somehow not just become Soundgarden's signature song...but their ONLY song. 

Does nobody remember Johnny Cash covering “Rusty Cage?” 

“Outshined?”

“Burden In My Hand?”

“Blow Up The Outside World?”

Did none of these other songs get stuck in the electric head? (The electric head is Rob Zombie’s term for the technologically advanced culture we have found ourselves enmeshed in, or imprisoned by. It was the subtitle for White Zombie’s 1995 hit album Astro-Creep 2000: Songs of Love, Destruction, and other Synthetic Delusions of the Electric Head.)

For my money (which ain’t much honey), the song that best fits both Cornell’s artistic integrity and the sad circumstances of his suicide is “Tighter and Tighter.” I once wrote a whole article on the way artists use “yeah” as a placeholder or as a way to convey emotion when words themselves aren’t adequate. Dig that tired, world-weary exhausted “yeah” at 5:35 of “Tighter & Tighter.”

Or the creepy line going into the first chorus: remember this...remember everything’s just black or burning sun. Not that I agree with such a bleak worldview. It’s a writer’s line. And Randy Bachman has said, “when you’re a writer, you’d step over your own mother.” That’s the Cornell I want to remember. Not that he would step over his own mother. By all accounts he was a committed family man. I mean, I want to remember the Cornell who created strange atmospheric sonic worlds, who explored the dark side that sadly, eventually won out. His otherworldly beautiful music is what I choose to remember about Chris Cornell, not his estate tastelessly exploiting “Black Hole Sun” by using a line from the song to title a posthumous Cornell album of covers No One Sings Like You Anymore. Sigh.

First Cornell’s widow said this was “Chris’s last album.” Okay. What about the Soundgarden songs he recorded vocals for before he died? Kim Thayil was pretty diplomatic about it when asked recently. Cornell did record vocal tracks for the follow up to King Animal.

Kim Thayil: “Given our love for Chris, I do not see us reconfiguring without him.”

But he makes it clear in this interview that Cornell’s widow Vicky has those tracks and won’t release them to the band. Maybe because she blames the band for Chris dying that night? She’s not wrong to believe that they would have known, and seen, what kind of shape Cornell was in, at least at the venue, maybe not later at the hotel.

Kim Thayil: “It’s entirely possible that a new Soundgarden album will be released. Certainly. All it would need is to take the audio files that are available. I tighten up the guitars. Ben does the bass. We get the producers we want to make it sound like a Soundgarden record.”

Interviewer: “Is there an obstacle stopping that?”

Kim Thayil: “There shouldn’t be. There really isn’t. Other than the fact that we don’t have those files.”

Interviewer: “They’re not under your auspices?”

Kim Thayil: “Right. It would be ridiculous if [the record wasn’t made]. But these are difficult things. Partnerships and...property.”

You’re just gonna keep those wav files? And why title his covers album Volume 1 if it’s his “last album?”

Oh right. $$$

No one does sing like Cornell, but is “Black Hole Sun” really the best thing he ever did? The best song he ever sang? Should an album of covers be the last thing he gives to the world?

The only honest answer is no.

Sleep tight Chris. You’re gone.

#betterdaysareatoenailaway #soundgarden #chris cornell #suicide

[theplaguebeast]

A Long Ramble On My Experience Reading Nothing But Fanfic For Over A Year

So, my entire Adult Journey Through Fandom (as opposed to my Teen Journey Through Fandom, which started around 13 and petered off when I was 19) began because summer 2019, after I moved back in with my grandparents and left the state I’d spent the last ten years in behind (along with almost all my possessions excepting my cats, my wolf pelt, some clothes, and some misc stuff including the entire Lord of The Rings series in paperback) I went to Archive of Our Own (AO3) on my shitty phone that didn’t actually function as a phone because that costs money, and went to the Fallout 4 section (because I have played that game to DEATH AND BACK, modded it to death and back too) and started reading. Because it was literally the first fandom I could think of.

And then, one day, as I was reading Piper/f!SS I thought ‘What’s another Media I Have Consumed’ and for whatever reason, Legend of Korra came to mind which is wild because I watched it when it came out and then NEVER touched it again. I did wind up rewatching it after reading probably around 100 Korrasami fics, but I watched it BECAUSE of the fics.

Then, and I think I hopped onto this because a bunch of writers who wrote Korrasami also wrote them, I fell into Clexa. And I’d watched.... like five seasons of The 100? IDK, whatever it was that season-dumped on Netflix in like 2017. And WHOO BOI did I stick around there for a LONG TIME. We’re talking 90 pages of my AO3 history (20 fics per page yo) of JUST CLEXA.

Thru a similar mechanism I started reading Supercorp, and here is where I come back into my ‘I don’t even GO HERE’ tendency, because you see I still have not seen a single episode of Supergirl but you bet your ass I have read literally about a hundred fics for it.

Then, again, via authors-who-I-liked-writing-for-other-fandoms-than-how-I-found-them I read a hefty pile of SwanQueen (which, RIP y’all OUAT fucked y’all huh?) and that’s a show that I had really honestly TRIED to watch but guys... The only thing going for it really is that it’s the better Live Action Beauty And The Beast and that’s sad on a number of levels.

Then Pitch Perfect caught me up and I HAVE seen the first movie (and jesus if that het romance wasn’t shoehorned in) but also ONLY the first movie but that didn’t stop my consumption of those fics.

At some point I strafed thru the Glee fandom and rediscovered Faberry which I don’t recall ever actively shipping Back In The Day but you BET YOUR ASS I thought they were both SUPER GAY when the first couple seasons were airing, which is also the last time I watch it at ALL.

And from there, AGAIN this has ALL happened because I kept checking out other stuff written by authors I like, I started reading Sansa-shipping Game of Thrones fics. Now here is a Very Important Thing to Know: I started with Sansa/Margaery, and you might have seen earlier my discovery that I fell into reading other Sansa ships via Sansa/Ellaria/Oberyn.

Before that point, even as a teenager, I shipped ZERO heterosexual couples. NONE. NADA.

Also, I had not watched Game of Thrones past season 4. (Some of you may be aware I watched and liveblogged watching the whole series recently. Do not do this thing.) I still spent seven months reading almost exclusively GoT fanfic. I’ve bought the books. I’m in MULTIPLE discord servers for GoT fan shiz. 

And I also fell into checking Other Works By This Author I Like, except now, because I will read a fic featuring Sansa with literally anyone because it’s interesting to me, I started also reading het ships.

And so I wound up reading A Bunch of Zutara, and I had seen Airbender back when it aired and also... at some other point. But I did not rewatch it when it came out on netflix because holy shit Korra retroactively makes me so mad about both series now that I really think about Katara okay guys? Because I’m not okay. I’m mad. Whatever.

Somehow I wound up BACK in the Once Upon A Time fandom, by the way, but this time with Rumbelle (remember when I mentioned Beauty and the Beast earlier? HI) and man it’s interesting to see two sides of a fandom like that lemme tell ya.

And now, to the present, where I’m reading Bethyl fics for The Walking Dead, which I saw like three seasons of and mostly remember as ‘that show with the zombies where I got mad that no one could ever actually catch a fucking break for more than five minutes’ which is, for the record, WHY I stopped watching. And the extra funny thing is that I didn’t really author-hop for that one I just went ‘hey i know vague things about this IP let’s read stuff’ and Bethyl was just... the first ship I clicked on? And now I’m fucking Team Delusional and I DON’T EVEN GO HERE.

I need to REALLY DEEPLY HIGHLIGHT the fact that out of EVERY fandom I have listed, BEFORE I got into them I only finished/kept up with TWO of the shows and the one video game, ONE fandom has made me make myself watch the series it’s based on (and I’ll read the books as soon as they get here I’m not paying for fast shipping y’all), and EVERY OTHER ONE I know of from watching like three seasons on average. 

(This is not including the fandoms where I checked out like five fics, went ‘I’m bored now’ and left. There’s like five of those I think???)

So what I’m saying is that I get a basic understanding of a piece of media and then throw it away and go check out the fan shit because it’s more entertaining to see what everyone’s doing with the toys the media provides. Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice And Fire is a fucking anomaly on every single front, literally every other fandom I have, there is The Ship That Happens (well, OUAT gets two, but they’re not mutually exclusive so WHATEVER) and then pretty much every other ship ranges from ‘whatever’ to ‘fuck off’.

But fucking Sansa Stark, man. 

Anyways I’ve got 350+ pages (that’s over 7,000 fics yo) of AO3 history since June 19 2019 because quarantine changed zero percent of my lifestyle. If I can do math (debatable) that’s 15 fics a day every day, on average for nine-ish fandoms but the vast majority is GoT/ASoIAF.

Tune in fking WHENEVER when I finish the project my brain has decided will happen (THANKS HYPERFIXATIONS) where I’ve got the full data for all of this bullshit so I know how many words of whatever fucking ship I’ve read.

#current life #Past Is Prologue #Pondering #fandom

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

Aaaaaand three years later...

Hello friends! This morning I discovered that three years have already passed from the first time I completed a draft of my major WIP, The Left Behind.

(Look! Evidence! Social media is occasionally good for something! And, yes, I do tragically still use Facebook)

I’m a bit shocked it’s both already and only been three years. I’ve grown incredibly as a writer in the meantime. I’ve also barely begun on the third draft at this point. So, I thought that it just might be nice to put a little something of self-reflection and a note of the journey so far. Maybe because it might help some of you guys to see how I do things (although I don’t fully recommend following my process) and also to be able to remember in the future what the hell I actually did once the memories are inevitably blurred. I’ll, of course, put all that babbling under this lovely little read more so I don’t consume your dash!

Alrighty! So, draft one:

Armed with a few pages of scattered half-development over the series of a few years, I had very little plan. I’d spent a majority of my recent writing producing fanfiction, primarily one-shots, and had never completed more than three, maybe four full chapters in one piece. To say a full novel seemed out of my reach was an overstatement. I’d tried to write The Left Behind once or twice before, and had set it aside for a number of reasons; it felt dry and cliched, stiff and melodramatic (and of course it did! I was all of thirteen when I’d dreamt it up, and most of the media I consumed and adored was edgy and over the top and coarse, but for some reason when it was my creation, it was stale). On a quick bit of passion and a late New Year’s Resolution, I set about to take another crack at it.

I changed the opening scene for what must have been the third or fourth time, finally willing to allow myself to part from previous conceptions of what I had to include, because it had been in my original plans. Realizing I didn’t have to be trapped by my past ideas was refreshing; this was one of the major things I learned through this draft, one I still remind myself to make peace with often.

I nearly quit after the fourth chapter, because I didn’t like the way it was going and I felt frustrated with where it was going. After complaining to a few family members (also recreational writers), I was able to digest a piece of advice I’d heard over and over; don’t edit until you’re done. This doesn’t work for everyone, but it let me write without being hung up on my story. It let me change my mind mid-draft and simply write with the change as though it had never occurred, simply leaving a consistency to repair for the next draft. Or, as I like to always say “It’s a problem for Later Me.”

Draft one took me roughly nineteen months to complete. It was an astounding feeling. The story was bare, inconsistent, and totaled 50,000 words and change. But it was amazing. It still is amazing, really. I managed to write most of it between classes, often in 200 to 500 word bursts.

I didn’t really get back to working on The Left Behind again for another five or six months.

Which leads us into draft two:

To be frank, I consider draft one an extended outline...especially considering that I simply never finished an outline. My “outline” is more of a semi-organized word/idea vomit, and sheet of story related jargon. My intention for draft two was to bulk the story up, establish more consistency, and polish my style, themes, and plot.  Having already managed one draft, I assumed that a second one would be a quick endeavor; surely, I only really took so long because I was learning! Right?

Wrong.

One of the major things I learned in draft two is an unshakable truth: I’m never going to be the writer who churns out thousands of words in one sitting. I charted my word count every single day during draft two, and there were probably no more than 10 days where I wrote over 1000 words in general, let alone in The Left Behind. I agonized over it for a bit, but I’m pretty much over it by now. I carefully craft my words, so of course it’ll take long. It’s like a tapestry, a long, intricate work that needs time to do right.

Of course, I’d be a liar if I said draft two isn’t riddled with flaws.

But it is so much better. The overall writing style finally felt like a decent balance between internal monologue and imagery and storytelling. Some of the lines I wrote are truly beautiful and powerful and inspiring. I read it back and there are only a few scenes or moments or phrases that I find disengaging and lame.

Draft two took me twenty-two months to complete, and clocked in at over one hundred thousand words. It also made me feel some incredible euphoria for months straight when I truly hit my stride, which, naturally, led to an aching burnout once I forced myself to take a break from it.

I’m frankly still recovering from it, and from the depressive spell I had in the meantime. I can’t properly determine how much time passed between drafts, because I kept attempting to pick up draft three and failing to do much actual work.

Which brings us around to draft three:

Draft three is in progress. I’ve figured out my best method for re-outlining: an in-depth re-read of the previous draft, a variety of notes per chapter, a collective overall list of desires for the next draft, and a lot of index cards to scribble plot points on, so as to better move around and reorganize and remove them. (I’ll be making a larger post about this eventually! Just going to give myself more time to get further acquainted with editing and all first)

I’m learning how to edit. I’m starting to understand that my major problem with editing and outlines is the visual clutter of it all, and I’m working around it. I’m loving polishing words and themes and characters. I was primarily going to focus on cutting my word count a good deal, but I’ve decided to throw that out the window in favor of making a great story. As it turns out, my prior draft’s word count is actually even a bit short as many similar novels go, which brings me comfort!

I left the story alone for too long, and returning to it is a breath of fresh air. It truly feels like part of my soul is back. I don’t know if it’s because my depression is getting better, or if my depression is getting better because of it. Either way, I’m glad. And I’m excited. I can’t wait more than anything to share with you guys that the work is complete and ready to be published. I can’t wait to mark my calendar, to finally say that I’ve did it and to keep doing it. (It’s a four book series, so there’s not an option of giving up anyhow aha!)

So it’s been three years. I’ve learned a done a lot. Some writers may have done much more in that time. Many have done less. That’s okay with me. I really, truly believe that The Left Behind is something big, something breathtaking. Hopefully it won’t take too many more years to be able to prove it to you all.

#emmy talks about herself #emmy babbles about herself #the left behind #writing update #reflection #writing process #tw depression #depression mention #long post

[margridarnauds]

Can you please talk about Imhotep x Anck Sun Amun. Anything. I’ve come back to one of my age old opts and I need your help

Oh my God, I’ll try! (Warning: Contains some salt for the second film, though it comes from a place of love and affection, and much rambling, which isn’t helped by the fact that it’s been a little while since I’ve seen both films but still have many feelings, also tw: for references to rape)

Like you, they were probably one of my oldest OTPs, and I’ve always been more or less consistent on them. (I remember being SO disappointed as a kid with the finale of the Animated Series when Imhotep just...walks away from her.) I absolutely loved how EPIC and tragic it was, and I was always rooting for them to get a happy ending. (And I was always disappointed, until I discovered the wonderful world of fanfic.) The Mummy is actually what got me started with my interest in history, and so I really do owe it a big one for that. It’s probably one of the single most influential pieces of media I’ve consumed in my life. I definitely think they were at their strongest in The Mummy; that’s the film that really DEFINES the ship for me, despite Anck getting relatively little time. Like, in the course of the introduction, we find out several things in quick succession: That Imhotep was Pharaoh’s high priest, that Anck was his mistress, and that they loved each other enough that "For their love, they were willing to risk life itself.” And then, after THAT, we learn that they were willing to kill PHARAOH, AKA the MEDIATOR BETWEEN THE DIVINE AND THE MORTAL REALM for the sake of each other. One of the things I actually realized while I was rewatching The Scene is that there’s actually a moment immediately after Pharaoh’s asked her who touched her where she looks at her arm and has a brief moment of surprise, starting just a LITTLE before she turns to look at Seti and then, behind him... 

She is TERRIFIED at this point. I think that killing Pharaoh was probably been something they’d considered, possibly talked about, but I have some strong doubts that this particular part was planned out. (Though I could also be very, very easily persuaded otherwise as well; it’s the kind of thing I’ve gone back and forth on over the years.) And then the two of them work TOGETHER to kill Pharaoh. Anck isn’t passively sitting by while her lover kills Seti, she’s actively participating in it, taking the first stab even before Imhotep gets to it, when he’s just drawn his sword. And, when the Medjai come, Imhotep was willing to DIE for her, only being dragged away by his priests, even though Anck had begged him to leave so that he could resurrect her. And then we learn a little bit about why she might not have hesitated to kill Pharaoh before Imhotep did...

This is what she chooses as her LAST WORDS. A defiant statement saying, once and for all, that she’s never going to be violated again, her last action seizing agency for herself, killing herself before letting her fate being dictated by someone else again (and to prevent her from the painful, painful death that would have awaited her otherwise). All while letting the man she chose to be with, to love, escape while she took the full blame (it’s mentioned in the original script by Narrator!Imhotep that “For murdering Pharaoh, Anck-su-namun's body was to be cursed. And it was I, the High Priest, whose duty it was to curse it.” Which...holy ANGST Batman. Given how IMPORTANT the body was to Ancient Egyptian beliefs relating to the afterlife and how important the afterlife really WAS, this must have killed him, even if he might have justified to himself that he was going to get her back. 

I’ll never entirely forgive the second film for changing her from “mistress” to “fiancee” (which seems to give her more...security, than her just being a concubine, though realistically Seti has MULTIPLE wives, but The Mummy doesn’t MENTION them or Nefertiti’s mother, so...) and deciding that she was going to be an Obvious Dark Sexy Lady from the get-go, when this is pretty damn self-explanatory. But they’d decided that Nefertiti was going to be Evie, and Seti was now the BELOVED FATHER of our heroine, and so of course Seti has to be a loving, kind father whose death was a great tragedy. (Though...personally, I choose to go with Nefertiti as an unreliable narrator. Of course she’s not going to have sympathy for a common concubine who murdered her rightful king, she had to have been a scheming, manipulative woman from the beginning. Seti can be a loving father...who still treated Anck as if she was an object for his pleasure.)

It’s just...so, so important for me to emphasize that she CHOSE to love Imhotep, that he might very well have BEEN the only man she CHOSE to be with in her life

And I’ve focused a lot on this opening and how IMPORTANT it is because it’s literally the first thing we see, and it’s what sets up the entire series. “For their love, they were willing to risk life itself” and, as it turns out, their afterlives as well. Even while Imhotep’s been turned into a cursed figure, doomed to bring the Ten Plagues of Egypt, he has two essential goals (1) Get himself rejuvenated so he won’t run up a tree whenever a cat comes along and (2) Get Anck back. Like...holy SHIT. He was willing to tear down this world and the next just to have the life with her that they SHOULD have had, in another world. 

One of the things that really stood out while I was looking for sources to work with was something that Pete Hammond, a film critic said, which is that "people want to believe in a life after death situation," which is TRUE, and explains a lot of the appeal of figures like ghosts and zombies and mummies (who are kind of specifically Egyptian zombies, as far as their ties to imperialism are concerned, but I digress), but also with Imhotep and Anck-su-Namun in particular, it’s the idea of a star-crossed love so incredibly powerful that it lasts for MILLENNIA, in defiance of death and life. It’s destructive, to the society they live in, to the world at large, but it’s epic love at its finest and it was something they both fought like Hell for. 

And then we get the second film. And in the second film, there’s obviously the ambiguity between Anck and Meela, and which one is which. Still, I think that for the MOST part the person we see in the film is more or less meant to be the person that Anck was in the past, given that there are traces of that in the pre-canon flashbacks, such as the opposition of Nefertiti VS Ankh su Namun, Pharaoh’s daughter VS the mistress, light feminine VS dark feminine, which then is repeated throughout film with Evie VS Anck/Meela, though to be fair, I’m not sure that the WRITERS were 100% sure where one began and the other ended. Which is probably a consequence of defining Anck in the first film mainly as “a goddess” and “gorgeous” the latter of which the film notes EVEN AFTER SHE’S DEAD, but I digress. The novelization plays with it a little bit, having Meela be the one to desert Imhotep, not Anck, running as her identities collapsed in on themselves. The one script I was able to get my hands on that seemed like it might be halfway legitimate rather than just a transcript said that he “realizes that she never loved him,” which seems to swing the opposite direction, being more in line with the Animated Series which would follow it where Anck is a villain whose “Love” for Imhotep is entirely opportunistic. 

Personally, even though I waffle back and forth on this one, I think that Meela is slightly more outwardly vampy than Anck, slightly more pragmatic (Anck was always pragmatic, don’t get me wrong, THAT’S shown by her asking Imhotep to leave so he could resurrect her, but it’s...DIFFERENT, in that I can’t see Meela stabbing herself in the stomach either.) But, we did get some solid OTP content in this film: 

THE LONGING. HOLY SHIT. Like, we know so little about their relationship pre-canon, but obviously, with the whole “Body paint” issue, I honestly don’t see how they would have had TOO much time available for sexytimes, and so you have this situation where they have to try to repress so much around each other when they love each other so much, and sometimes they fail and there are those LOOKS (which cues Nefertiti in on it, so bad move guys, but...#YouTried). I don’t think that they were chaste, per se, given that they were going to do SOMETHING in Anck’s bedchamber before Pharaoh arrived, but I think that their time together was limited and always fraught with the danger of being discovered.  

Which also ties into one of the major THINGS in both movies, which is that almost-but-not-quite-touch. There’s such an INTIMACY there, so much mutual pining. Even when they kiss and everything is ruined for them, look at how they do it. 

It’s so SLOW and longing, the way that Imhotep’s hands just kind of hover for a little while before going to her shoulders as he angles for the kiss. I mean, this is some REGENCY level pining here. Albeit. In Anck’s bedchamber. But still. 

Honestly, I think one of the biggest dick moves the second film did was use them as a foil for the O’Connell’s One True Love. Like, at the end of the first film, there are two love arcs, and for Imhotep to fulfill his and get Anck back, Evie has to be sacrificed, while for Rick to succeed (and save the world!), Imhotep’s gotta go. There’s no real way around this. 

With the second film, though, it comes down more to the two ladies, with BOTH of them having the chance to save their respective love interests. Evie, obviously, goes to save Rick, but Anck...wavers? Suddenly? And you could make an argument that Imhotep wavers himself, given that he chose fighting the Scorpion King for power rather than staying behind with her, but...still. After all these years? The novel explains it as Meela coming back and reasserting herself, but in the film proper it really doesn’t make as much sense, unless you go with the idea that she was never in love with Imhotep, as mentioned in the script above, or at the very least, that it was somehow LESSER to the love that Evie has for Rick, which switches the narrative of the first film from World-Destroying, Epic Love of the Undead VS World-Saving Love of the Living to Fake Love VS Real True Love (With the appropriate child to show it, while Imhotep and Anck can...obviously not produce children. Which I wouldn’t want to bring up normally but given how MUCH of Evie’s identity in the film is tied to her being Alex’s mom, Rick’s wife, and Seti’s daughter...). Which...I fundamentally can’t believe. I can’t believe that after everything the two of them did for each other, how IMPORTANT they both were, that it was just an infatuation. It adds a pointless element to Imhotep’s arc that doesn’t really make sense with what we’d seen before. The tragedy, for me, with their relationship was never that one loved the other more or less; it was that they lived in a world where it simply couldn’t happen, whereas Rick and Evie DID.

The quote that I’ve gone back to time and time again is, “For their love, they were willing to risk life itself,” THEIR. Always THEIR. No matter what, they felt strongly enough for one another that they were willing to do anything so long as it kept the other by their side, and they did it TOGETHER. 

Tl;dr: Iconic ship, iconic characters, 100/10 will stan for eternity

#the mummy #anck su namun #long post #xenowlsome

[notexactlyrocketscience]

~ on social media and blogging ~

Basically the only thing I've done in my last 24 posts (yes, I counted) is vent about my first semester at UTSA. Often repetitively.

A little backstory: You wouldn't know it from looking at me, my room, or my closet (especially not my closet) but I like to put things into boxes, arrange them in the most efficient way possible. Even when my room or notes are messy, I know exactly where my red scarf is (at the bottom of my closet where it fell from the hanger the other day while I was hurrying for school), where my flier for tomorrow's event is (somewhere in the middle of the pile of papers on my desk where I put it last week) and which emails I need to re-check tonight (the weekly newsletter, the extra-credit intructions, and the mid-semester meeting notice).

I despise any and all class-notes that aren't done exactly the way I like them—which is using as little repetition and words as possible. Whenever I write, I Google, copy and paste em dashes and make sure there are no spaces on either side. For a 600 word limit, my work will more often than not have exactly 600 words because I don't want to waste any. I use Google Calender to stay on schedule. Planners intimidate me because there's no limit to what can be done with them, and although I want to start a bullet journal, I'm not going to until I find a uniform format that feels right to me.

I don't get to doing it everyday, but at least around once a week or two I get my room, closet and school stuff together again (my person is a lost cause). Delaying this process is something that stresses me out quite a bit ... and is something I do regularly. Especially since the year before last, I feel like I'm in a constant state of burnout (which doesn't make any sense because I'm completely responsibility-free right now compared to other kids my age) and I procrastinate towards everything. EVERYTHING.

So yes, I've technically been spiralling slow-mo (and have been bewildered at myself) for the last couple (going on three) years now ... But back to my point.

I used to write a lot of journal entries. Extremely detailed ones. I spent hours on them every day. I have entire years of my life documented minute-to-minute—I am not even kidding. Once I fell out of that habit (cough the last two years happened) I was never able to pick it back up again (trust me, I tried).

Remember how I like to put things into boxes? The same goes for my feelings. The worst I could ever feel isn't angry or sad or desperate. No, the worst I could ever feel is not knowing what I feel. That's the only feeling that really scares me, dries out my soul. Everything is a mess and can't be put into their places anymore: I'm distracted, unsettled. Behind my eyes is a rainstorm gone wrong, a broken window, a gale whistling in and whipping every piece of paper in my workshop out of place, no end in sight.

When Instagram came into the picture a few years ago, that was in many ways my first step from hiding to bravery. For the first time, I had this space to express myself that was totally under my control, and it was empty. Devoid of prior expectations. For the first time, I was stepping forward and being myself in public, and in that way finding myself too. I'd be lying if I said that I'd be the very same person that I am right now if this hadn't been part of my life.

It gives me peace to be able to neatly document moments of my life here. It's not as time-consuming and as big a commitment as journaling, and somehow the pictures I take randomly gives me motivation to write something they make me feel, which is huge, since at this point this is the only form of creative expression I still indulge in, and one of the only things that make me feel like I have control anymore.

Gasp. I know it's social media, so this might sound superficial and naive to some. Believe me, I constantly battle the same feelings, internalized. Do I do it for attention? For the mini serotonin rush every time those little heart notifications appear? For human connection that I'm missing? Maybe. It's hard to know.

What I do know is that it's empowering to be able to write all this and let it loose for the public to see, ignore, read, dismiss, judge, and then to still be able to hold onto my paranoid sanity. I'm still not as brave as I'd like to be. Sometimes a wave of instinct to delete half my posts will engulf me to near-suffocation. But every single one of my silly, weird, random too-much-information, and borderline innapropriate posts are still out there. Because every time I feel that way, I clench my jaw and tell myself it's temporary and I'll regret it if I act on it. And it's true. Every day I succeed is another day that I choose not to run and hide like I've done too many times in the past. It's one step forward into caring less and understanding other people care less, and just breathing freely without worrying. It's a step towards freedom, confidence.

... I'm this bad behind a screen just talking about everyday things that don't even matter, that only a handful of people will read (s/o if you do. Thank you—means a lot!)—imagine what I'm like in actual social contexts, at the centre of attention in a crowded room.

Well ... I'll let you guys know when I finally stop running and find out for myself. Till then, I guess y'all are just stuck with me, as I am, right now.

[end]

⠀

#excerpt from a book i'll never write #writers on tumblr #my writing #tumblr journal #short story #slice of life #social media #blogging #attention seeking #extrovert #introvert #extraversion #neurotic #paranoia #social anxeity #antisocial #social media addiction #venting #fall vibes #autumn #harvest moon #artists on tumblr #tumblr art #artblr #writeblr #acrylic #my artwrok #lonely #social media advice #instagram