#forcing myself to start in media res and to let these finish without like. a whole arc. cnvjfjfjc

[iinryer]

I feel like 43 (piggy back ride) and 49 (leaning on the other for support) would pair with each other SO well 🤗☺️

A little scene prompt game to get me writing!

[43: piggy back ride + 49: leaning on the other for support]

—

“Come on, Buck,” Eddie grits out, as loudly as he can to be heard past the mask over his face and the roar of the flames a few floors above them, “come on, four more flights, we can do it,”

Buck just lets out a pained laugh, tightening his hold across Eddie’s shoulders—he’s been losing his footing more frequently and Eddie’s getting increasingly worried that they’re not going to make it to the ground level.

Eddie has been feeding him a litany of come on let’s go you’ve got it almost there the entire descent from the collapsed 11th floor, and at this point he’s not sure whose benefit it’s for.

The next time Buck stumbles, it’s on the landing between the third and fourth floors, and it’s accompanied by a weak, “Ed-Eddie, I can’t, I—,” before he pulls Eddie with him as he’s bracing against the wall and sliding down to the floor.

Eddie crouches in front of him, grasping the sides of his head, trying to get a better look through Buck’s cracked face mask.

“Buck—Buck! Hey!” Eddie gives him a frantic shake, “Hey, look at me, bud—yeah, that’s it, let me see those eyes,”

“Eddie, I’m—,” Buck cuts himself off with a cough and a harsh swallow, pupils visibly different sizes, “I can’t, I can’t—I’m so dizzy, Eddie, I can’t,”

Adrenaline zips down Eddie’s spine, hands tingling with it where he’s holding Buck’s face, separated only by the barely-functional protective gear, “Hey. Yes you can—Yes you can! Come on, we’re so close, we can swap masks for the last few flights—,”

Predictably, Buck interrupts him with a severe look—one that’s undercut almost immediately by the weak push to Eddie’s chest and slight slur of his voice—saying, “No. No, Eddie, not a chance,”

”Buck,” Eddie tries, again, like he has every other flight since floor 11, “I’m not the one with the concussion. Please—,”

“Diaz, Buckley—what’s your status,” Bobby’s voice crackles over the radio.

Eddie takes a frustrated breath before keying his radio, “Over three-quarters down, Cap. I can get us there, but Buck’s in pretty rough shape,”

Buck glares at him weakly through the crack splitting his mask.

Eddie glares back.

“Copy,” Bobby says, strain in his voice evident even through the radio, “IC is still adamant on personnel evac, they’re not permitting new entry unless both of you are compromised, the upper floors are too unstable. But we’ve got the best of the best waiting for the two of you by the eastern stairwell door,”

“Understood,” Eddie says, “Tell Hen and Chim they’ll see us soon,”

”We’d better,” Hen chimes in.

When the channel chirps closed, the only sound Eddie can hear is his own breathing inside his respirator as the two of them look at each other. Eddie gives them to the count of five in his own head before he’s saying, “Come on, Buck, time to go,”

Eddie pulls Buck up roughly, only for his limbs to ragdoll so quickly that Eddie ends up dropping harshly on his knees to be able to throw a hand out to keep Buck’s head from hitting the railing on his way back down.

To his horror, he can see tears spring to Buck’s eyes—ones that he’s sure have nothing to do with the smoke.

“I—I can’t, Eddie, I—,” Buck’s voice trembles, fumbling to grasp at Eddie’s turnout sleeve, “it’s spinning, and it hurts so—hurts so bad I can’t see,”

Concussion symptoms: loss of motor control, dizziness, pain, mood dysregulation.

Something above them crashes and roars.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie tries, dipping down to press the front of his helmet to the top of Buck’s for a frantic moment, “I’ve got you, man, okay? I’ve got you,”

“Okay,” Buck nods against him, shakily, “Okay, you’ve got me,”

It very quickly becomes clear that Buck will not be able to hold himself up enough to simply lean on Eddie like before, so Eddie reconfigures.

Despite the weak protests, he manhandles Buck forward so he’s seated on the top step off of the landing. Eddie positions himself a step down with his back to Buck’s chest, and heaves the increasingly limp form behind him onto his own back.

There’s a muffled groan over his shoulder when he hoists Buck into a better position after standing, his own body screaming in response. But stand he does, and step by step, flight by flight, they move.

Almost like a mantra or a prayer, Eddie finds himself immediately falling back into the teeth-gritting promises of I’ve got you I’ve got you I’ll get us there I’ve got you all the way to the ground floor—and they’re promises he intends to keep.

[now posted on ao3!]

[louisa-gc]

how to start reading again

from someone who was a voracious reader until high school and is now getting back into it in her twenties.

start with an old favourite. even though it felt a little silly, i re-read the harry potter series one christmas and it wiped away my worry that i wasn't capable of reading anymore. they are long books, but i was still able to get completely immersed and to read just as fast as i had years and years ago.

don't be afraid of "easier" books. before high school i was reading the french existentialists, but when getting back into reading, i picked up lucinda riley and sally rooney. not my favourite authors by far, but easier to read while not being totally terrible. i needed to remind myself that only choosing classics would not make me a better or smarter person. if a book requires a slower pace of reading to be understood, it's easier to just drop it, which is exactly what i wanted to avoid at first.

go for essays and short stories. no need to explain this one: the shorter the whole, the less daunting it is. i definitely avoided all books over 350 pages at first and stuck to essay collections until i suddenly devoured donna tartt's goldfinch.

remember it's okay not to finish. i was one of those people who finished every book they started, but not anymore! if i pick up a book at the library and after a few chapters realise i'd rather not read it, i just return it. (another good reason to use your local library! no money spent on books you might end up disliking.)

analyse — or don't. some people enjoy reading more when they take notes or really stop to think about the contents. for me, at first, it was more important to build the habit of reading, and the thought of analysing what i read felt daunting. once i let go of that expectation, i realised i naturally analyse and process what i read anyway.

read when you would usually use your phone. just as i did when i was a child, i try to read when eating, in the bathroom, on public transport, right before sleeping. i even read when i walk, because that's normally a time i stare at my screen anyway. those few pages you read when you brush your teeth and wait for a friend very quickly stack up.

finish the chapter. if you have time, try to finish the part you're reading before closing the book. usually i find i actually don't want to stop reading once i get to the end of a chapter — and if i do, it feels like a good place to pick up again later.

try different languages. i was quickly approaching a reading slump towards the end of my exchange year, until i realised i had only had access to books in english and that, despite my fluency, i was tired of the language. so as soon as i got back home i started picking up books in my native tongue, which made reading feel much easier and more fun again! after some nine months, i'm starting to read in english again without it feeling like a huge task.

forget what's popular. i thought social media would be a fun way to find interesting books to read, but i quickly grew frustrated after hating every single book i picked up on some influencer's recommendation. it's certainly more time-consuming to find new books on your own, but this way i don't despise every novel i pick up.

remember it isn't about quantity. the online book community's endless posts about reading 150 books each year or 6 books in a single day easily make us feel like we're slow, bad readers, but here's the thing: it does not matter at all how many books you read or what your reading pace is. we all lead different lives, just be proud of yourself for reading at all!

stop stressing about it. we all know why reading is important, and since the pandemic reading has become an even more popular hobby than it was before (which is wonderful!). however, there's no need to force yourself to be "a reader". pick up a book every now and then and keep reading if you enjoy it, but not reading regularly doesn't make you any less of a good person. i find the pressure to become "a person who reads" or to rediscover my inner bookworm only distances me from the very act of reading.

[pfffsfic]

Post-Fall Falls False Starts- Chapter 6: Wish Upon a Triangle

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"Cosplaying him didn't work, or at least it hasn't yet," Sarah mused. "I was gonna go and try to fall asleep by the instructions for summoning him, but it turns out I've only ever seen here and never actually been here and I don't know my way around at all. Embarrassing, right? I just fell asleep in a random cave and hoped that would work."

Rob blinked absently.

"Thing is, I dunno when we are. Like, has he already been summoned? If I did it first, would that lead to some kind of freaky paradox? Would I be on the wrong side of time law? I guess I also want him to come to me because that's more satisfying than just brute-forcing it and making him show up, but is that too selfish of me, or is it just the right level of selfish?"

"Uh-"

"Besides! Imagine I summon him and he asks why, and I say, oh! I dunno. I just wanted to talk! That would make me seem so desperate! Ugh, but maybe desperation can be cool in sort of a yandere type of way? Is that how I want him to see me? As some- some- fangirl? Well, maybe I am, but not for him! This is purely a narrative thing! Ugh! How the heck do I get him to notice me without making it seem like I want him to notice me? Rob, any ideas?"

Rob scrunched his eye closed. He felt like a web browser with 52 tabs open. Minutes earlier, Sarah had led him back to camp, sat him down, and promised to explain everything. She had asked him where to start, he had said, 'wherever you think is best', and she had replied, 'okay, I'll start in the middle'.

"Uh, you want me to tell you how to meet a demon?"

"Not just any demon. We're talking about-"

"I know, you've said Bill like fifteen times! I have no clue who he even is or why you wanna meet him so bad. We're done with the middle and the end- start at the beginning. Can you do that?"

"The beginning. Okay, okay, sure, I can do that. I'm more of an in medias res type of girl, myself, but linear storytelling has its benefits-"

"Get to the point."

"Chill out! I'm getting there! Okay, okay, so! Our story begins in 2012."

"Maybe start a little closer to the present."

"No can do. You want the whole story, right? Besides, 2012 is the present right now, at least probably. The timeline hasn't been confirmed- whatever."

Rob almost scoffed, but found himself nodding and burying his chin in his palm.

"Okay, so, the year is 2012, and the media landscape is a pretty great place for a company called- wait. No, no, let me start from the veeeeery beginning. The year is 1901. Flora and Elias Disney are in Chicago, Illinois, about to bring their fourth child into the world..."

The shadows grew longer, and Sarah's story meandered every which way, and at one point she retrieved a flashlight from who-knows-where and held it under her chin despite the lack of anything spooky in her ramblings. When she finished, the first stars of the night had appeared in the evening sky above the clearing. Rob found himself staring at them instead of paying attention.

"Anyways," said Sarah, taking a breath so deep she momentarily turned inside out (had she not been breathing for the hours it took her to tell the story?) "Gravity Falls. That's where we are."

He sat up, rubbed his eye, and thought for a moment, 'what a waste of time'. And then, as if by a truck, he felt the weight all of the information his subconscious brain had picked up on while he zoned out.

"Wait," he said, holding his hands up. "You're telling me this place where we are exists in the form of a fictional cartoon back home? We are inside a story you've already seen? Right now?"

He knew this place was also a work of fiction to the real world, but he had never once considered that it might be fiction to his world as well. What did that mean? Surely that had really huge implications hovering just outside of his cognitive reach! Hindsight was 20/20! And now, for better or worse, he was no longer the capable one. Upstaged. By a fangirl, no less. Typical. Hold on, he wondered, what if this went both ways? What if somebody recognized him as a fictional character? That would be bad for his whole monster shtick that he had been fantasizing about on the down-low since his encounter with that human guy. He'd need to know for sure! Sarah was nodding.

"Do you know if there's an internet in this universe?" Rob asked. His phone had been dead since long before he left Elmore, what with the lack of a usable power grid.

"Sure there is! After all, in season 2, episode 2-" Sarah paused, noticing Rob's dead, empty gaze, and got to the point quickly. "Yes, the internet exists here. Why? Oh, don't tell me..."

Sarah was blushing and squishing her cheeks now and Rob felt it was best for his peace of mind to not think about why. He had in his grasp a chance at thriving in this new world, armed with someone knowledgable about it, and he could not jeopardize that by giving the poor girl an existential crisis over her own nonexistence. He had come to think of himself as the solemn guardian of forbidden knowledge- a man (or, when it counted, kid) burdened with the truth and the responsibility associated with that truth. That had been the ethos behind his convoluted rescue plan for the people of Elmore Junior High. Well, that and it seemed like the kind of plan a professional supervillain ought to make, and, provided there were a lack of supervillains in the real world, he wanted his rather spotted career to go out with a real bang.

"Sarah, I just wanted to ask- no hard feelings, right?"

"Hard feelings? About you not listening to me? Oh, trust me, I get that all the time."

"No! I meant about the whole Superintendent Evil thing!"

"That? That was a long time ago."

"It was two weeks ago."

"Two weeks is a long time in the apocalypse. Look, don't worry about it, okay? Human AUs are totally classic! I was just thinking, hmmm- if this Evil guy is actually evil, Gumball and Darwin will take care of him in about 11 minutes."

That comment might as well have been an arrow through Rob's nonexistent heart.

"Would it cheer you up if you got to say, 'I told you so'?"

He had wanted to say that before, but now there was very little fight left in him.

"I told you so," Rob replied in a weak little voice...

...That grew stronger as something bubbled up inside of him.

"I told you so! I TOLD YOU SO!" He got to his feet, gesturing wildly, as his pent-up rage came to the surface. "Nobody listened, and we could be in the real world, but instead I'm stuck here with a crazy weirdo girl who's trying to summon a demon! On purpose! And we have no food, no internet, no way home, heck, no home to return to. It's your fault. It's all of your faults! The one time I try and do something good, fate comes along and slaps me in the face for it! UUUGH!"

He smacked his head on a nearby tree and fell backwards into the dirt, clutching it in pain and glitching out for a second. Why was it that every time he tried to lash out in anger he ended up hurting himself? ...Well, in this specific instance, he wasn't sure what he thought would happen.

"What did you think would happen?" Sarah asked, peering over him.

"Shut up," he mumbled, rolling over to lay face-down in the dirt.

"Do you need ice?"

"I know that if I say yes, you're gonna-"

She flopped down next to him on her back so that they were cheek-to-cheek, her iciness soothing his headache a little. He reluctantly let it happen. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but something about the whole situation lulled him away from the waking world and into an uneasy dream.

It was the forest, yes, just as it had been before he fell asleep, only Sarah was absent and so were the stars above. He noticed moments later that the floor underfoot was the familiar- if heavily cracked- tile floor of Elmore Junior High, covered in the dirt that lined the forest floor in the waking world, with a familiar hole several feet from him leading down into the void. It wasn't growing. A moment from his memory forever frozen in time. Something drew him towards the hole and he discovered first that its surface rippled like water and second that he could see his reflection in it.

The reflection shifted and changed with the surface of the liquid static. It melted into his cute (he liked to think so) look from long before he had been chewed up and spit out, and then into how he'd looked right before hitching a ride out of the void the first time, and then into Superintendent Evil's visage, and then into an odd human form he didn't recognize- and then into a yellow, strangely-shaped form he definitely didn't recognize.

It blinked.

Five seconds later, Rob processed what exactly was wrong with that, and six seconds later, one of the reflection's black hands reached past the static surface and latched onto the edge of the hole, pulling its entire triangular body out and into the air right in front of Rob's face. The thing put its hands on what passed for its hips, ascended further into the sky, and turned a gaze with an undercurrent of frustration to Rob, who blinked and suddenly righted himself in confusion. Something stirred in the back of his mind, something that would have helped clarify the situation had he been more lucid.

"Hey, kid! Want a once-in-ten-billion-lifetimes opportunity?" came a shrill voice from everywhere, though Rob gathered the thing was the one speaking by how its body flashed. "You're about to hear me say something I have never said before! Listen up- I'll only say it once- this is the kind of thing you're gonna remember for the rest of your life, whether you want to or not!"

Happiness, maybe? Annoyance? Anger? It was hard to tell. Either way, Rob found his words at the exact same time that the yellow thing did, and as it turned out, they were the exact same words.

"Who the heck are you?"

[taiblogcomics]

A Bright Start

Hey there, minigun fights. All right, I'd like to do a little experiment here. I'll get to the actual theme of this experiment when we finish! Let's just enjoy the ride 'til then, eh? So then! Well, we've reviewed one marketed-to-girls '80s cartoon-turned-comic series. Why not another one? No, not the one you're thinking of!

Here's the cover:

Yeah! Are you surprised? Did you even know there was a modern Rainbow Brite reboot? This is honestly a pretty good glow-up, transitioning the character from the cute cartoony style to a realistic one without actually losing any of the charm or what made it work. Really good! Love the shading, too! I think the dramatic lighting effects and the nostalgia factor will snag in the readers alone with this one. And the character design is appealing enough that it should hopefully draw in new readers! Hopefully… (This is foreshadowing.)

So we open with a fantasy novel being read. It's not even one of those "in media res" things that leads to a fake-out, you're blatantly shown the novel as it opens. It's your standard "Oh, the evil forces, including a dragon and a skeleton army, are attacking! Who can save the poor peasant people??" And then, of course, two heroes appear! It's Willow, the wizard, and Wisp, the warrior! Magic and melee! Swordfighter and spellcaster! Your classic duo! And as they begin to fight off the vast hordes of evil, Willow can hear her name being called.

See, turns out Willow and Wisp are a pair of kids in standard suburbia. I dunno who's naming their kids "Wisp", but she is a blonde-haired white girl, so it kind of tracks. Maybe it's short for Wispethany or Wispamantha. Anyway, it's Wisp outside yelling for Willow to come play pretend with her. Fittingly, it's wizards and warriors again, so this must be a mutual thing they're into. Willow yells back that it's called LARPing, and Wisp doesn't care, just come play. So Willow goes charging outside, after briefly being waylaid by her strict-seeming parents.

The two friends meet up, and Wisp gushes over Willow's newly finished wizard robe. Wisp also wants to make herself armour, noting she wants to actually learn to forge it. Okay, this kid is definitely cool. The pair head out in the woods to do their pretends, although they don't get too far into it before Wisp gets hungry. So they head back home, do more pretend, and it honestly takes me back to when I was a kid. Both solo and with myself or the neighbour kids, I played a lot of pretend. Eventually, though, it's time for Wisp to go home.

Wisp is dropped off at her house, and her mom is already asleep on the couch, having left a note and dinner for Wisp. Wisp even does her own dishes, brushes her teeth, and is just about to get ready for bed when she hears a noise outside. Despite the rain, Wisp fetches her wooden sword and heads out to see what's banging around. And what she finds is some bizarre, formless shadowy creatures. They've drained all the colour out of her mom's blue car. Undaunted, Wisp readies her blade. And then the creatures notice Wisp is also wearing blue…

They lunge for her, and Wisp slips from their grip and strikes one in the face. They're rather surprised that she's able to both see and hit her, so they begin a chase. Wisp slips off down the street, and while running, she encounters something even stranger than the formless beings. It's a little floating man or creature with white hair, a belt bag, and star-tipped antennae. He introduces himself as a sprite named Twinkle, and at least acknowledges that meeting a sprite is unusual for her. I'm more shocked Wisp can keep up as much conversation as she does while running for her life.

Twinkle gives a bit of an exposition dump that somehow also fails to convey anything: the Guardian of Blue was recently captured, so the King of Shadows has sent his minions to drain blue from anything they can. While it's not immediately useful, it might explain some things. Rather than ditch her shirt and run around topless--which might lead to a very different comic--Wisp asks if there's any other way to stop the minions. Twinkle suggests a bright enough source of white light might fizzle them out, and Wisp gets an idea.

She continues her run down the street, heading for Willow's house. Willow's folks have a security system installed, which includes some automatic floodlights, and she reasons that might be enough to beat back the shadows. Hearing her friend's shouts, Willow awakens and sees what's going on in her yard. Thinking quickly, she uses her LARPing staff to smash the window, which triggers the security system and floodlights. The very bright lights cause the shadows to disappear--and Wisp disappears too! Willow and her parents find the yard empty except for Wisp's sword, and Wisp instead finds herself in a grayed-out landscape as Twinkle welcomes her to Rainbow Land.

Well! As an issue one, this is a great start. Very much the start of any sort of adventure cartoon like I remember in my youth. A kid or two, they encounter a villain's minion encroaching in the real world, they get whisked off (or perhaps, wisped off?) to another world for magical adventures. You've seen it a million times, but honestly, it's a winner of a setup. It two-fold gets you invested in seeing where it goes next.

[calltomuster]

Star Wars Fic Recs Part the Fourth

[first fic rec list] [second fic rec list] [third fic rec list]

Been a few weeks since I've done one of these and I've read/reread some great fics recently so let me share them with you now!

And I Fear Nothing by @maiseey (Obi-Wan/Cody, WIP, 11/? chapters, 43.4k words) Picture this: I am sitting in the parking lot of my local grocery store, having just bought a load of perishables. I get the email that And I Fear Nothing has just been updated. What do I do: run home to preserve the food I just paid for, or sit in my car and read the new chapter right away? The answer is obvious, of course! That is exactly the situation I found myself in last week when chapter 11 dropped and I did in fact choose to read it in spite of my groceries, that's how much I love this fic. In this fic, Obi-Wan and Cody are raising Luke and Leia together on Tatooine, and they've got so much trauma, and new + old wounds, and love for each other and the children they're raising that it both warms your heart and tears it apart. But that's not all, this fic expands beyond just the small home in the middle of the Jundland Wastes and explores Ahsoka and Rex and their journey to de-chip as many clones as possible. I love this fic because it doesn't shy away from hard conversations, but it does it in a way that makes you want to cry and give everyone involved a hug. Plus, there are some fantastic minor clone characters that you will 100% want to die for by the time you finish reading. Cannot recommend this fic enough.

Obligate by @communistkenobi (gen, one-shot, 23.9k words, Obi-Wan & Anakin & Ahsoka) Just when you thought the Deception arc didn't have enough pain, this AU sees Anakin fake his death instead of Obi-Wan! My heart is physically ripped out of my chest just thinking about this fic, so imagine what it'd do to you actually reading it. Anything @communistkenobi writes is so well-done and I've gone through his works list on AO3 multiple times, but somehow I missed this when it was first posted and it was like a wonderfully delightful surprise when I ran into it the other day. So, so good. Highly recommend!

Moirai by damonkey (gen, WIP, 4/? chapters, 9.2k words, Obi-Wan & Qui-Gon) All I can really say about this fic without giving anything away is that it's a Phantom Menace AU and it's so intriguing. The author is very deliberate in having a vague summary and only tagging as the story progresses, so I truly have no idea what's ahead of me but it's so -- as I said -- intriguing that I'm happy to strap into the ride. Ahhhh I'm skimming through the fic and there are so many things I want to mention but I don't want to give anything away!

Almost Home by @frunbuns (gen, one-shot, 5.2k words, Obi-Wan & Anakin) You know, every time I recc a Modern AU I'm like "I don't usually like Modern AUs but..." and then proceed to gush over the fic. I went and checked and I've recced a Modern AU on almost every fic rec list I've made! Maybe I do like Modern AUs?? Or maybe the fics are just that good -- and this fic is definitely that good. In this fic, the first of a planned series of fics set in a modern Star Wars universe, Obi-Wan is reeling from the loss of his adoptive father Qui-Gon and has to care for a young Anakin. Ooooooof. Definitely hits you right in the feels, this one. Love the non-chronological storytelling too!

Naked and Not Paid by biscuitlevitation (Obi-Wan/212th Attack Battalion, WIP, 6/? chapters, 14.9k words) This fic is essentially ~15k words of the clones thirsting over Obi-Wan and it is the funniest thing I have read all year. I'm not kidding, I just read the last chapter which features space-church-lady!Anakin and I laughed so hard I cried. I'm cracking up just thinking about it. I promise you will have a good time reading this fic. And if the tag "Obi-Wan Kenobi/212th Attack Battalion" puts you off, let me just say there's no sex in this at all, it's just thirst. And it's hilarious.

Full Disclosure by @trixree (Obi-Wan/Cody, WIP, 2/3 chapters, 7.4k words) ROTS AU in which the Force bonds Obi-Wan has formed with a few members of the 212th save them from the chip and Order 66, but it doesn't stop the devastation from happening on a mass scale and they all have to try and deal with Mustafar and Luke and Leia. This fic manages to be both extremely soft and extremely gut-wrenching at the same time, and I wish I could leave more kudos. Full disclosure (get it, little pun there for ya), I will be dying until the final chapter comes out. Time to go listen to Olivia Rodrigo and reread this fic and just live in my feels.

Thirteen Days by @ewanmcgregorismyhomeboy12 (gen, one-shot, 4.1k words, Obi-Wan & Anakin) Post-Zygerria arc, Anakin dresses an unconscious Obi-Wan's injuries and struggles. Ahhhh this fic is one of my favorite Zygerria arc fics, and given that that's my favorite arc, that's saying a lot! Obi-Wan doesn't say a word in this fic, but his presence is very much there, if you know what I mean. And the descriptions of injuries here are pretty graphic at times, but it's so good that you'll want to keep reading even if you have to do it through the fingers covering your eyes.

brother, let me be your shelter by @kenobilovebot (gen, one-shot, 1.6k words, Obi-Wan & Anakin) This fic packs so much tenderness in a short amount of words. It covers an AU in which Obi-Wan's issues from Zigoola never really resolve, and Anakin finds out when -- well, you'll just have to read for yourself. I love Zigoola because it is such an excellent whumpfest for poor Obi-Wan and this fic is great for that, but also highlights Anakin and Obi-Wan's relationship.

A Padawan At War (Again) series by @itstimeforstarwars (gen, 3 parts, 100k words, Obi-Wan & Anakin) In this series, Obi-Wan and Anakin are transported from The Phantom Menace into the Clone Wars and have to deal with all that comes with it: fighting wars, discovering a Padawan you never knew you had, dueling your grandmaster who apparently is a Sith Lord now(?!) and all the rest. This series is a great ride, and I look forward to every update. Note: the first fic in this series is a one-shot that was expanded upon, and it drops you in media res. The second fic is a prequel that shows how they got to that point, and the third fic is the sequel that shows what comes after.

The Desert Storm series by @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning (complete, 24 parts, 1.144 million words) There has never been a better time to start reading this series. If you read Star Wars fics on AO3, then you've definitely seen the Desert Storm series before, but maybe you were daunted by the high word count, or felt like it would be too much effort to go all the way to the beginning of a series but couldn't just jump in halfway. Let me tell you, it's 100% worth it, and now is the perfect time to read this series if you haven't already. This series is complete, but it turns out it's all just Act 1 of the larger story, which will continue in the Rise and Fall series. @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning is taking a break right now before starting the next series, so you have ample time to get caught up, and YOU REALLY SHOULD. Let me tell you, this series had me on the edge of my seat more than any other piece of media I can remember. With the most recent chapters, where everything that has been building for a million words came to a head, I would get so worked up after each chapter that beforehand I would have to queue up calming things to watch afterwards, and it still wouldn't be enough and I'd be too full of feelings to get anything done the rest of the day. Seriously, this series is amazing. And if you HAVE read it before but haven't reread, now is the perfect time for that as well. I've reread this series multiple times and it's so rewarding because the author sprinkled in so many hints as to what will come that you only understand the second (or third) time around. I know I've written a lot for this rec but this is a long series and it deserves it. Go read! Now!

If you like any of these fics, please consider reblogging so they can get more exposure! And if you noticed I missed someone’s Tumblr account, or linked the wrong one, please let me know!

[copias-thrall]

How would Mary goore react to hurting someone he genuinely cares about? I absolutely Love your writing!💕

Hello, nonny! Thank you, I love this ask!

This was going to be  alist, but it got away from me! 😅 

Enjoy 😘 

It wasn’t anything big.

Just a few of Mary’s favorite beers (the craft kind—not the shitty beer he drank on his shoestring budget), some of that chronic shit you’d scored and have been saving for a special occasion, and a VHS box set of horror movie classics.

***

Mary comes in and out of your life at will, and that was something you accepted—knowing he was As Is or not at all. And honestly—no, really—you liked that. You had your own shit going on, and being Mary’s expected caregiver was NOT something you wanted to add to that list.

(If someone else wanted to try to tame him and pick up after him, well…kudos to them. Less work for you.)

Mary showed up on your pivotal days and he rubbed your feet and always invited you out to trivia. You'd held him when he was coming down from a bad trip and listened to his grievances and gave him a place to stay when he was persona non grata at his own. And in a way, that made you always feel like #1 in Mary’s world…and that was good enough for you.

***

A few months ago, Mary had been lying on your couch, picking the label off his beer bottle.

“I’m gonna be away for a bit,” he’d said.

“Oh?” you’d responded as you’d mashed the controls on your gaming controller.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll be around…but I got some shit going on.”

You’d paused your game.

“Bad shit?”

He’d waved you off.

“Neg. Just tryna get myself out there. Signed up for open mics and shit.”

He’d shifted, his long legs receding from around you and folding under him.

“So, like…I got my job at the bowling alley…but nights and weekends are kinda shot.”

You’d tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. You supported Mary’s dreams, and that meant not making an issue that he was finally trying to do something about them.

This wasn’t against you. It was for him.

When you’d taken too long to respond, his face had scrunched.

“But if you want—”

“It’s fine, Mare,” you’d said as you’d made yourself smile. “This is important to you, so it’s important to me.”

You’d unpaused your game.

“Just don’t expect me to not beat this game without you.”

He’d grabbed the controller out of your hands with a snarl, causing you to cry out when you died.

“Fuck the game.” His hand had fisted your shirt. “Give me a night to remember.”

You had. Twice.

***

Mary had texted you occasionally over the next few weeks—a few memes, a few drunken key-smashes, a dick pic, and 2 grainy videos of his performances for critique—but such contact was sporadic, and you’d never seen him in real-time. 

He’d blown in one night, five weeks in, with a box of pizza just as you'd been heading out to meet your crew. When you’d told him you’d made plans, he’d looked so crestfallen that you’d caved and canceled on them.

While he’d been there, he’d given you a date in 3 weeks.

“That Saturday I have nowhere to be,” he’d said as he’d chewed. “I can spend the whole day with you.”

You’d been careful not to seem too eager.

“Oh yeah? Should I plan shit?”

He’d crammed the whole crust into his mouth and had given you a doughy grin.

“Why ’’ya think I told you?”

You didn’t know what you’d expected, but when he’d had to bounce 90min later, you were still surprised. (That was hardly enough time to digest!)

“Sorry,” he’d winced. “I gotta be on a bus in 45min.”

He’d left, and you’d been too embarrassed to join your friends who were only just going to the second bar.

Having fun with your man ;) ? one of your friends had texted.

What do you think? You’d texted back before changing into your pjs and turning on Netflix.

***

So maybe you were low-key excited about your day with Mary.

Perhaps you’d spent those 3 weeks figuring out the perfect date—something that said, “I missed you,” without saying “But in a clingy way.”

Beer and horror were two things the both of you were totally into, and you knew he’d be exhausted, so it seemed perfect. You’d bought the boxed set off of eBay and splurged for expedited shipping; you’d borrowed your brother’s old dual TV/VCR from his college days; and you’d forgone your weekly Chinese takeout for the craft beer funds. (And if things got steamy, well…even better.) 

***

A few days before The Date, you’d run into Mary on the bus. You were coming home from a shift, and he was going to his.

He’d brightened and waved you over—as if you weren’t already on your way—and you’d plopped down beside him with a tired grin. You’d told him of the latest entitled asshole, and he’d showed you another clip of him on guitar.

Before your stop had come up, you’d tentatively placed your hand over his.

“We still on for Saturday?”

He’d blinked at you a few moments before grinning.

“Yeah.”

“Should I plan a whole day for us, then?”

His arm had crept around your shoulders before pulling you into him to kiss your temple.

“Yeah, why not.”

***

That morning, you wake up happy. 

Mary will be over soon.

You roll over and grab your phone.

When should I expect you? :-* 

It takes him an hour to respond. You aren’t surprised—Mary isn’t known for being a morning person—so when your phone dings, you grab it up excitedly.

An excitement that dies when you read his text. And reread. And re-reread.

not 2day 

goin upste 2 show 

You blink.

What show? Didn’t we confirm? 

yeah. got me thinkin 

why no show? 

so i chked 

i missed one 

gotta do it 

Rage blooms hot, then cold behind your eyes and down your cheeks.

But you said we had the whole day. I made plans. 

save em 

ths is impt 2 me 

We’ve had this planned for weeks. 

i thot u suprted me 

on a bus cnt tlk 

You send a few more irate texts, but he doesn’t respond, and you toss your phone across the room with a shout of frustration. You scrub the hot tears from your eyes before they can fall.

And…on paper, Mary isn’t wrong. Nothing you had planned won’t keep: movies, beer, takeout.

But…

It gives you a stark look at what you mean to Mary. He gave you this date and confirmed it. He knew you were making plans.

How long was he going to wait to tell you he wasn’t even in the city anymore?

You fight the urge to kick the VHS tapes across the floor, but you open the fridge and grab a beer. If Queen Elizabeth could have beer for breakfast, then it was good enough for you.

Once you’ve downed all eight, you move on to the jug of vodka you keep for cleaning.

When you empty only liquid from your stomach into the toilet, you grab your frozen fries out of the freezer. You roll a handful of the cold ones in your mouth as you wait for the others to crisp in the oven, and once you’ve consumed the cooked ones, you go right back to the vodka.

***

Opening your eyes the next morning is a mistake, so you take a few deep breaths and go back to sleep.

When you wake again, your heart is fluttering, your stomach turns, and it feels like there’s an ice pick behind one eye. Shuffling slowly, you make your way out to your kitchen where you take some painkillers, drink some pickle juice, and eat two slices of plain bread.

The sense that you did something awful stays with you, but you’re in no condition to find your phone and see what you’ve done. Instead, you go back to bed. It takes more deep breathing to settle yourself, but once you do fall asleep, you’re out for hours.

You don’t feel amazing when you swim to consciousness again, but you feel at least like a human being. 

Your phone is dead when you find it under the sink, and waiting the 5 or so minutes for it to charge feels like waiting to face the executioner.

It’s both better and worse than you expected.

You breathe a sigh of relief to see that there are no vague social media posts, and you didn’t drunk dial any of your friends, but…

The texts to and from Mary are ugly.

Apparently, you’d managed not to send him angry texts until he’d sent you another clip of his performing. But then the floodgates had opened.

You’d started with telling him you didn’t give a shit about the show, how he was an inconsiderate ass, and then you'd devolved into incomprehensible, typo-ridden texts that accused him of using you, that you were only something to do when he didn’t have anything better to do, that he was an entitled man-child and if he didn’t apologize, you were done.

Mary’s texts in response range from him being angry at your disregard, to heated retorts you were blowing this out of proportion (and he didn’t appreciate your “ad hominem” attacks), to a cool detachment that this wasn’t working over text and he’d finish this in person.

You put your head in your hands but are too dehydrated to cry.

***

Mary doesn’t text you again during his self-imposed time frame.

You don’t text him either, but that’s more out of self-preservation than pride. There’s no point exacerbating the situation…and you’re pretty sure there’s no coming back from this, so why speed up the inevitable?

The horror tapes taunt you every time you walk by them, and you wonder if you can return them (you can’t). You give the TV back to your brother, and when he asks you how it went, you plaster a smile on your face and say, “Great!” with forced enthusiasm you hope comes across as genuine.

The primo weed goes over to your friend’s house, and the two of you wax poetic all night about existential claptrap as you devour two cheese pizzas and a bag of bbq chips. You talk about Mary without talking about Mary, and you get a heartfelt, “Sorry, dude.”

You beat the video game anyway, but it’s mostly because you needed something to occupy your mind and less out of spite (though that’s there as well).

***

Despite waiting on tenterhooks to hear anything from Mary, you truly don’t really expect to. You know you’d been atrocious, even if it had been prompted by his careless disregard, and you know Mary isn’t really the kind of guy that troubles himself with relationships that are hard.

Not that you’re in a relationship.

So when there’s a knock on your door a week later and Mary’s behind it, you’re genuinely surprised.

You gape through the peephole in shock.

“Fuck. If you’re there, just let me in, ok?”

Fumbling with the chain, you unlock the door and crack it open.

“Mary?”

“You gonna let me in?” he rasps.

You shrug and step away from the door, and he shuffles inside. He looks around like you’ve changed anything (you haven’t), before turning around to face you.

You close the door and stare back.

He folds his arms. “Breaking up with someone over text is tacky.”

What you think is, So you’ve come to do it in person, but what you say is, “Can’t break up if you’re not together.”

He winces and runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Yeah…apparently I’ve ‘taken advantage' of you.”

This…isn’t what you’re expecting.

“I…what?”

“Can we sit down?”

You nod, and Mary sits rigidly on the edge of your couch. You curl up in the chair on the opposite side.

He rubs his palms down his greasy jeans before he speaks.

“I mean…you pissed me off, ok?”

You nod.

“But, like—you weren’t wrong, ok? I kinda knew that deep down, but I’m a dumbass, you know?”

You don’t nod.

“And I kinda bitched about the whole thing…but the resounding response was that I was the asshole.”

He angles his body toward you.

“I guess I’ve kinda been treating you like my best friend that I fuck sometimes.”

Your entire face flushes—you’d always thought you’d maybe ranked a little higher than that—and you duck your head so he can’t see the tears that you blink back.

There’s a swish of fabric, and you startle hard when Mary’s hand is at your chin. He jerks back with a Sorry.

“Shit—that’s not what I…” he blows out a breath and puts his hands behind his head before looking back up at you.

“But you aren’t, and…fuck this is harder than I thought.”

So this is it.

Waiting for him to do the deed is clearly going to be excruciating, so you take charge of this whole shit-show.

“I understand,” you say flatly.

“You do?”

“It’s ok, Mare-Mary. It’s my own fault for reading too much into it. I just…I saw what I wanted to see, I guess. I know you don’t need…” you look down into your lap, “…my shit in your life.

He makes a noise low in his throat, and then he’s squatting in front of you, his hot hands planting on your knees.

“But I want your shit in my life.”

You squint your eyes at him.

“But what I said…”

He grasps your hands in his.

“Pissed me off, yeah…cuz I wasn’t fucking thinking, ok? You’re like one of the only people who gives a crap about what’s important to me. And all I could see was you suddenly…not.”

Anger wells up in you again, and you yank away your hands.

“Weeks, Mary…weeks of you all over the tri-state area, and you thought I didn’t care because of one night?! A night you promised to me?”

He sits back on his heels. “I know…fuck. Ok? At the time, it just felt…like the show couldn’t be rescheduled. Our night could.”

Because you’re what he does when he’s bored.

You curl in on yourself.

“Shit.” He leans forward again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, ok? I’m fucking on my knees here.”

You blink at him. 

What? 

“Please, please don’t break—say we’re done.”

“What?”

“Look, we can go into my shitty fucking psychological profile on why I fuck around later…but right now I need you to know that I knew it was you before I fucking knew it was you.”

You uncurl.

“That…’what’ was me?”

He knees forward and presses your hands to his face.

“The one I wanna spend my free time with. The one whose opinion means the most. The one who was the first person I wanted to share all my good shit with. You’re the one I missed, and—after that awful fucking night—everything felt pointless because I knew I couldn’t come over and jam about it.”

“Mare—what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m a fucking dumbass. I’m saying I thought I was pissed at you, but I was pissed at myself for fucking it up.” He sighs. “I’m saying no fucking one was on my side and they all told me to get my shit together.”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, and for the first time, you can see how they’re outlined in red, his subtle crow’s feet more pronounced.

“So, you’re not done with me? I’m not…too much trouble?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “What? Shit, no. I’m asking you to not be done with me. I’ll give you all the nights you want. Fucking text me, and my ass’ll be here posthaste.” He shifts up, and his thumb ghosts over your lips. “Anything to get you to give me that secret smile again.”

“Secret smile?” you ask while trying to perform the action.

Mary actually blushes.

“Uh…yeah. You get this…” he makes a motion across his face, “…when you’re giving it back to me.” His fingers shove back through his hair as he casts his eyes down. “You don’t give it to anyone else.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve made a study of it.”

You’re a swirl of emotions. Mary’s apologized—has admitted he was wrong and has asked for…more—but you’re still hurt. And embarrassed.

But he’s looking up at you with wet, hopeful eyes.

“Do you…” you start carefully, “…do you know why I got so mad?”

That statement was clearly not what he was expecting, and he blinks at you a few times before nodding and looking down at the floor.

“I made a…uh, commitment…to you. And I treated it like it didn’t mean anything.”

He gives you a look like, Did I get it right? and that’s close enough—even if he’s missing some of the nuance.

You nod. “And I know I…wasn’t…the best.”

His face contorts, and your heart sinks.

“You…” he shakes his head. “You said some awful things…some hurtful shit—and it really got in my head.”

Mary gives you a complicated look.

“Shit that you’d been pissed about for a while.” He traces your knee. “Shit you could’ve said to me…but shit I should have noticed. Fuck.” He presses his forehead into your knees, and you can’t stop yourself from sinking your fingers into his hair.

He takes it as encouragement and presses into you before looking up again.

“I just kinda wanna put that whole night behind us. It feels like a fucking ouroboros of fault. And like maybe I created it. But let’s agree to like…not do that again.”

You look down at him, and his eyes search your face.

“Ok…but what does all this mean, Mare? I can’t…I need to be something to you, ok? More than just your friend.”

Mary nods emphatically, and he takes your hand and curls his into it.

“No more fuck-ups, and no one else…can we start there?”

He’s saying all the right words, but you’re still trepidatious—you know Mary, and he doesn’t like constraints.

“I…just…how can I believe you?”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe you even have to ask. He rises and awkwardly reaches out to touch your face before drawing his hand back.

“Cuz you’re important to me. I care about you, and I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

And yeah. Ok.

[lunnybunny12]

Severus Snape X Reader (Coffee)

Request: @noah1986 (IDK why it wont let me tag this person but anyway)  Hiiii hope you are doing well, i would like to request Snape with Y/n meeting in a coffee shop and speak about their interests and treats her so well and is kinda possessive with the way he touches her, then go out on a date and smut if you are okay with that 💕 Im dying for Snape, thank you so muchhhh

Word count: 1042

Warnings: b0ner and snow 

Master list 

It was a cold day. All days had been cold that December and it seemed like it was going to stay that way for a while. The bitter cold pulled heat out of any person that dared to exit their homes and your hands had practically turned to ice.

"I'm sorry" you said politely. "What were you saying?"

"I said, you should've worn gloves," said Severus.

"Oh. yes," you said warming your hands on the steaming mug.

The heat of the coffee shop had condensed on the glass, and a few droplets had grouped into little pools on the windowsill.

"Honestly (Y/N), If I weren't there to assist you the students would eat you alive"

"Oi I never asked you to babysit me, you just walked into my classroom one day and never left. Im perfectly capable of teaching first years by myself,"

The man gave you an all too familiar look. "What about the other years?"

"Shut your hole." you chuckled adjusting yourself to sit comfortably.

You and Severus had gotten into the habit of going out for cups of tea or coffee whenever the school season was over. Whether it be for Christmas or summer the pair of you would make time for one another and talk about your shared interests and things Severus deemed "inappropriate" to speak of in school (like your pasts).

"What do you think to this one then? Personally, I think it's horrid." Severus said taking a sip of his drink.

In all honesty, you could see why he didn't like the cafe you were in. The huge windows spanned from one side of the store to the other, allowing all of the natural light to illuminate the room. It was so cosy in there. It reminded you of American ski lodges you'd seen in muggle media. Stuffed deer heads and taxidermied birds adorned the walls (which you thought Severus would have enjoyed) and a large animal skin rug lay under your feet. What set it apart from the others you had gone to previously was that it was a Muggle owned establishment. Needless to say, it wasn't exactly Severus' scene.

"Other than the seats being a tad bit uncomfortable, I think this place is lovely" your face slowly turning into one of disgust as you took your first sip of tea. "And that's me finished with that"

"add this to your list of cafes to not re-visit"

"Will do."

Time passed and it got darker outside. For hours, the snow fell onto the un-gritted street as the pair of you talked. What about? Whatever came to mind at the time. Words seemed to escape your mouth quicker than you could think of them. The day passed quicker than either of you expected and when the shop assistant approached to tell you they were closing, you saw a glint of possessiveness flash across Severus' face.

Something about that look brought back so many memories you didn't know you had. They swam around in your head like a fish in a shallow pond but to save face you continued to smile.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"WOW, it's freezing!" "I told you to-" "Yea, yea, yea, bring gloves I get it" you said. Sarcasm lacing your tone.

You both held onto each other to avoid slipping on the frosted pathway. You needed a secluded place to apparate and not get caught by a muggle or god forbid a ministry worker. You'd had enough run-ins with them to last 3 lifetimes.

"That reminds me, You need to apparate to my house. I have that book you lent me and I've finished it."

"And why can't you send it later?"

"Because. Cokeworth is too far away for you to apparate in a snowstorm and I don't want you getting sick."

Severus rolled his eyes at you, why you cared at all for his safety hed never know but he was grateful regardless. He'd been more than grateful to have you for a long time and it had taken a long time for him to admit that to himself.

The pair of you walked in silence for a little bit, the thoughts from before slowly returning.

Eventually, you asked, " You find me attractive don't you?"

"excuse me?"

"You find me attractive. I know you do."

"What on earth brought you to that conclusion, may I ask?"

You answered" Oh please, the way you looked at that shop assistant was the same as when anyone would talk to Lily. It isn't just when we're out and about either. You do it when you're babysitting me in class too,"

"That doesn't mean I'm attracted to you"

"So you're telling me that if I had you pinned against the wall, my hands all in your hair, you'd tell me to stop?"

He paused for a second before answering with a quiet "Yes"

At hearing this an evil smile crossed your mind and without a second thought your hands latched onto his shirt as you pinned him against the nearest wall. You saw the snowflakes fall into his dark hair and his eyes went wide with surprise. Your eyes darted to his lips before going back to his eyes. He looked like a deer in headlights and his face burned when he realised that he had gripped on to you to stop himself from falling over.

With a cheeky glint in your eye, you entangled your hands into his hair and leaned yourself closer to his face. Your dry lips ghosted over his.

" Go on Severus... you know you want to" you whispered.

There was no point in trying to say it wasn't true. You saw right through him and he knew that if he didn't he would regret it for the rest of his life.

It was cold at first but the longer it lasted the warmer it got. He was so gentle and slow with the kiss, like you were about to shatter in his arms.

"I'm like an open book to you aren't I?" he smiled looking into your warm eyes.

"Luckily enough for you, you're a book I enjoy reading. So here's my next question Severus... Is that your wand in your pocket or are you happy to kiss me?"

Smut ending...

“Luckily enough for you, you’re a book I enjoy reading. So here’s my next question Severus… Is that your wand in your pocket or are you happy to kiss me?" You asked with a cheeky grin.

With wide eyes, he enclosed the pair of you in his cape and turned to you with angry eyes.

"Why you filthy little..aaaaaaa" Midway through his sentence he cut himself off as he felt your hand palm him through his trousers. He let out a few quiet whimpers into your neck at the sensation and he couldn't have stopped you even if he wanted to.

"A ah ah, now Severus, don't ruin this beautiful moment with your ugly words" You purred into his ear, pulling his head off of your shoulder and dusted another kiss on his lips.

Severus's eyes were glazed with shock and lust. You had never been this bold with him before and he had to admit, he found it extremely arousing. You were teasing him, your hand glided over his cock and he could see on your face that you knew what you were doing.

You leaned into his face and whispered "Now do you want to apparate to mine?" in a dark chuckle.

In an attempt to compose himself, he stood to attention and held both your hands in a vice-like grip. You knew the routine, he would try and be scary and act as if nothing had happened but you also knew that he wouldnt have let go unless he had to.

"I didn't know you could be so evil, (Y/N)"

Without hesitation, you yanked your hands down forcing his face closer to yours and purred into his ear " I'm just getting started darling"

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

Missing You

You’ve been having some trouble with yourself during the pandemic. Fortunately, your boyfriend is there for you every step of the way. Title inspiration: Missing You by All Time Low. Written for @ssebstann‘s writing challenge! 

Pairing: Chris Evans x female reader

-

“Sweetheart?” You heard Chris say as he leaned in the door frame of his room, crossing his arms. He was wearing a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt that was a little too big, but his hair had been fixed and he’d obviously been awake for a while. You squirmed in bed a little and turned over to look at him. He saw you and sighed, noticing that you hadn’t been sleeping. You'd just been laying there, staring at the wall. 

“Hey,” you said quietly, yawning as you sat up. 

“You feelin’ okay?” He asked, walking over to you and putting a caring hand to your forehead. You nodded. 

“Yeah, just tired,” you lied. He smiled at you, ruffling your hair. 

“Just checking. I’m gonna go get our groceries, I’m just getting a pickup. When I get back I’ll start on dinner, alright?” You nodded again, kissing him, and then he left. 

That was the same kind of interaction you’d been having for weeks. He’d asked you to quarantine with him and abandon your apartment, even though you’d only been dating for six or seven months. He knew that you were going through a rough time, and he didn’t want to take the chance of not being able to see you for an indefinite amount of time. So you’d agreed. But soon enough, he’d lost his bright, bubbly girlfriend. You’d been replaced with someone he didn’t know how to help, no matter how much he wanted to. 

You’d lost your job about a week into all of the pandemic stuff, and you constantly checked for your unemployment checks that just weren’t coming. Chris was having you do little things for him here and there to keep you occupied, like having you do some of the social media for ASP, but even that came crashing to a halt when the launch was delayed. You had a family member die and there was no funeral to go to and you couldn’t just fly to your hometown anymore. 

You acted like you were fine and everything was normal, but it wasn't. Chris could see it. He saw it in the way you almost never got out of bed anymore, the way you didn’t even try to do your hair or your makeup or wear real clothes even though you almost always did that before. He saw you lose motivation to do literally anything except take a daily shower and eat, and as you started gaining weight from it you only became more insecure with your body. You barely let him touch you the way he used to, only because you said you were tired. His heart was absolutely breaking for you, especially when he heard you crying in the shower, but he didn’t know what to do. 

He’d talked you into seeing your old psychiatrist, thinking maybe some medication would help, but you would forget about it most days until he nagged you to the point of tears. He knew it was only a matter of time before you stopped eating or you had a full breakdown. He couldn’t do much, but he could try, and that was what he intended to do. 

He returned half an hour later with grocery bags, knowing better than to expect for you to have gotten out of bed to help. Normally you were more than happy to help. But lately it seemed like you were the one that needed it more, he thought as he unloaded all of the groceries. He walked back up the stairs to see that you were in the same place you were before. Pausing in the doorway, he knew what he needed to do. 

“Babe?” He asked. “You hungry? I’ll make your favorite pasta.” He took his shoes off and crawled onto the bed beside you, pulling your back to his chest even though you were under the covers. 

“No,” you replied. He sighed, reaching over to grab your hand and pull it to your rapidly thinning stomach. 

“What happened to my happy girl, huh? You’ve never said no to pesto pasta.” 

“I’m just not hungry,” you replied. You felt the tears start coming to your eyes and he had a feeling that they were coming too. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just eat for me. Please, angel?” You turned toward him when you heard his voice. He was desperate, upset, all because of you. He never called you angel, ever, unless something was wrong and he needed to be easy with you. That made you want to be defiant, to say no, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t. You laid there for a minute and you let the tears come because it was the only thing you knew how to do. You started crying and he gave you space, removing his hand from yours and starting to rub up and down your side. His lips pressed against the back of your head as he just let you cry. 

“I feel like I’ll throw up if I do.” 

“You only feel like that because you haven’t. Just do this, for me, alright, baby? And then we can cuddle up and watch Peter Pan if you want.” You sniffled and laid there for another minute, limp, before forcing yourself to get up. “Good girl. Come on.” 

You walked downstairs after Chris, hearing Dodger’s tag on his collar as he followed the two of you. You sat down on the couch for the first time in ages, taking your old spot, and Dodger jumped up onto your lap like he knew you were hurting. Chris just went to the kitchen and fixed dinner, moving every so often to get a better view of you in the other room. You had stopped crying, but he had a feeling that this slump was far from over. He was just worried. Worried you’d hurt yourself without even realizing it. 

He snuck up the stairs as the water was boiling to go to your side of the bed. Your pill bottles were empty. So you were taking them, or you had been taking them, until you ran out. How long had you been out? He would’ve picked them up for you if he knew, but... He sighed and walked back down to finish making food. 

You ended up eating every bite he gave you - he made sure not to give you an overwhelming amount, just enough so that you would eat all of it, and sat beside you instead of across from you. He put a hand on your back as he tried to talk to you, just about anything, to get you talking again. You’d been all but silent for days and he just wanted to hear your voice again. His favorite voice. 

“Good girl. Go pick a movie and I’ll clean up here,” he said sweetly, patting your back. You got up and walked back to the couch, sitting down in an almost robotic way. You got better when he joined you and nearly forced you to cuddle up with him. And you fell asleep halfway through the movie, something he wished he could get used to again, in his arms. He kissed you awake, smiling down at you. 

Soon enough the credits were rolling and he sat up a little bit, waking you up, and you turned to him with concerned eyes. That feeling, that pit in your stomach, was starting to form again when you saw him. He just looked so sad to see you the way you were. He looked... disappointed. 

“Are you mad at me?” You asked timidly, refusing to look him in the eyes. Instead you laid your head in his shoulder, breathing in the slightly faded scent of cologne. He started rubbing at your back, shaking his head. 

“No, angel, I’m not mad at you. I’m just worried about you. I’m so worried about you. You haven’t been eating, you’ve barely been sleeping... I saw your empty pill bottle, too, and...”

“I spilled them so I threw them away.”

“You threw them away?” His voice went cross without him meaning to make it that way, earning a flinch. “I’m not mad. I’m not mad,” he assured you. “How long?” 

“I don’t know.” You both were silent for a minute, taking in the weight of what you’d said. You didn’t even know what day it was, what week it was. Hell, you didn’t know if it was still 2020. All you knew was that you were letting him down. Maybe he was better off without you. Maybe he didn’t need you like he said he did. Maybe he just didn’t want to leave you because you were too sad, maybe... 

“Baby, I want you to be honest with me,” he said. “And I don’t want you to get mad at me, because I’m not accusing you of anything. But I just need to know. Are you hurting yourself like this on purpose? Punishing yourself?” You stuttered to form a response, tumbling over your words. 

“Chris,” you finally muttered, tears coming into your eyes before you could stop them. You were mad, you couldn’t help it. You were pissed. “No!” 

Your voice came out like a desperate cry, angry but admitting exactly what he didn’t want to hear. He tried to grab onto you, but you got up first. He followed you, and even though he knew you wanted space, he wasn’t going to let you fall into an even worse place by letting you think. 

“Just sit down!” He said finally, following you up the dark staircase. He re-directed you into his office, and you immediately fell onto the couch in the corner. You were all but throwing a fit, just angry that he would even think you were intentionally hurting yourself. You were, but that wasn’t the point. He was... 

“Why don’t you trust me?” You asked, your eyes brimming with tears. “You’re supposed to trust me?” 

“Because I can’t! I want to, but God, you’re hurting yourself and you’re not answering me. I’m trying to figure out how to help you because you can’t or won’t help yourself.” You looked up at him to see tears in his eyes. he was hurting, maybe just as bad as you were, because of the way you were acting. You were the one hurting him. This was all your fault. All of it. Suddenly you felt more guilty than you ever had in your life and you were standing up, walking over to him and hugging him tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I didn’t know I was hurting you too. I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, I just was, and I was so...” You stopped talking, not really sure how to say what you wanted to say. He hugged you back, then led you back over to the couch. The two of you cuddled right up together, like you always did, and he rubbed your back with his hand to calm you down before a storm could start. For some reason, you didn’t want to cry it out. You just wanted to lay there, in his arms, and be at peace. 

“Baby, you’re hurting yourself. So much more than you realize. And you can’t just keep doing it, you have to admit it and let me help you. Just let me help you, please, baby girl, okay? I miss you. I miss you so, so much. I just want my happy girl back, no matter how much I have to help you heal.” 

“Okay,” you promised, sniffling a little. 

“Just hold on and let me take you on the ride if you’re too scared to get on, okay?” He said to you. You briefly thought about your first trip to Disney together, where he’d said almost those exact words about a roller coaster you were scared to go on. He’d helped you get over it then and he was helping you get over this now. 

“Okay.”

“How about we go get some of those one dollar plates from Walmart and we throw ‘em in the backyard? Or we can paint one of the walls black? Or we can get in the car and I’ll play your favorite Taylor Swift album and you can sing all the words?” You shook your head, feeling the way that his stomach was moving up and down with each breath. 

“I just want to be right here. With you. Is that okay?” You asked. He moved a little until he could grab the blanket that you would sometimes use if you napped while he was working. He spread it out over the two of you and let Dodger jump up until the three of you were in a big pile of cuddles.

“It’s always okay.” 

[sugadaily]

Ahead of the release of D-2, Suga spoke with Billboard about the impending arrival of the mixtape and what it means for him and his identity as an artist.

It’s your first time reviving your Agust D persona for a solo release since your first mixtape in 2016. How does it feel to revisit this side to yourself and share new music with the world in 2020?

It’s fun. I hope everyone enjoys the documentation of myself from 2016 onwards.

You’ve mentioned this mixtape’s release in the past, why is now the right time to release D-2?

I found time to work on my music since self quarantine and I was able to compile 10 full tracks for the mixtape.

Do you feel you’ve grown as an artist since the release of Agust D and your return with D-2?

I think that’s up to listeners to decide. I’ve tried a lot of things, and hope they’ll enjoy it.

How, if at all, has your approach to song creation changed since your prior mixtape?

It’s all more relaxed. I was a bit intense back in 2016. Everything was at full force, full strength. I actually listened to my previous mixtape again while working on the new one, and if I were asked to do it again, I can say I wouldn’t be able to. I’m very glad that it’s documented as it is. My previous mixtape focused more on being better at rap, better at making music, sound, mix, master and so forth. I’ve worked on a lot more projects since then and didn’t really try to become perfect. Perfection is an elusive term. I simply just did my best.

Is there a meaning behind the album’s title D-2 beyond it being the second Agust D release? It almost feels like a countdown, which is how it was promoted on social media.

I like surprises, so I came up with the release promotion myself. I didn’t want to release it on D-DAY, and also wasn’t satisfied with just Agust D 2. So I wanted to release it on D-2 to surprise the people who were waiting for it to drop on D-DAY.

From start to finish D-2 is an intensely emotional experience that shares both your thoughts about yourself and your thoughts on the world. What do you hope listeners take away from the overall experience of the mixtape?

“This is how I’ve lived since August 16th, 2016.” If the previous mixtape focused on telling the past, the new one is about the present.

Where did you find inspiration musically for this album?

The answer to this question is always the same: every moment and every incident. It’s a habit of mine to record and take notes, so sometimes, I get a pleasant surprise when I dig through and rediscover lyrics. Some of the lyrics I scribble without thought have, at times, become real precious.

Do you feel there’s a difference between Suga and Agust D, and also these two with Min Yoon Gi?

You could say there is and there isn’t [a difference]. “Me” and “Me” and “Me.” They are different and the same.

The lead track on this mixtape is “Daechwita,” during which you incorporate traditional Korean military instrumentals along with pansori into modern hip-hop sounds, and describe yourself as a tiger, the historic representative creature of Korea. These are themes that many BTS songs have also incorporated re traditional Korean music elements and references to Korea’s identity and your identity as Korean. Why do you keep returning to this narrative in your songwriting, and what about daechwita made you want to incorporate it into this song and album?

It all started with the ceremonial walk of the King. Daechwita is played during the military march and I was inspired to sample its beat, and since the track includes a lot of traditional Korean musical elements, it made sense to also shoot the music video on Korean historical filming sites. It wasn’t necessarily my intention to purposefully include Korean aspects. It was more a natural process that had interesting ideas spring up along the way.

You worked with several artists on this album, namely RM, NiiHWA, MAX, and Nell’s King Jong Wan. What was the overall experience like?

It was a fun experience. I actually wanted to collaborate with a lot more artists but some were unavailable due to personal circumstances. Hopefully, I’ll be able to work with them next time. One of the artists I did get to collaborate with was Kim Jong Wan of Nell, who let me know he enjoyed my mixtape from 2016. I appreciated it a lot since he was my idol when I was young.

What is a line or thought you share on D-2 you want listeners to be left thinking about?

“So what, if we live like that, so what My distinction is your ordinary My ordinary is your distinction” - “People”

[correspondencearchive]

2. Natalia Nakazawa & Nazanin Noroozi

Natalia Nakazawa and Nazanin Noroozi discuss their use of archives and photographs, creating hybrid narratives, cultural transmission, and the formation of personal and cultural memories.

Natalia Nakazawa, Obtrait I, Jacquard woven textile, 71 x 53 inches, 2015, Photo credit: Jeanette May

Natalia Nakazawa: First off, Naz, how are you doing? There has been so much going on - it is far too easy to forget we have bodies. We have families, we have things we need to do, and we need to take care of ourselves. As they say, put the oxygen mask on first, and then help others. Can you maybe start by just telling us what your day looks like? What are you doing to take care of yourself?

Nazanin Noroozi: I’m doing ok. I have to balance my day job and my studio time. My day job is working in high-end interior design firms in which our clients spend millions and millions of $$$ on luxury goods. It is very interesting to look at the wage gap especially considering the pandemic. When someone can spend 40k on a coffee table for their vacation house, and you hear all the issues with the stimulus checks etc, it makes you wonder about our value system and how our society functions.

As for self-care, I guess just like any other artist, I buy tons of art supplies that I may or may not need! I just bought a heavy-duty industrial paper cutter that can cut a really thick stack of paper! I needed it! I really don't have room for it, but I bought it! So that is my method of self-care! Treat myself to things that I like but may be problematic in the future. ;)

Natalia: I recently re-watched Stephanie Syjuco’s Art21 feature online where she talks about having to actively decide to become a citizen of the US, despite having come to this country at the age of 3. One of the poignant points she brings up is how we are all reckoning right now with what it means to be “American”. She also brings up the iconic photo taken by Dorothea Lange  of a large sign reading “I am an American” put up by a Japanese American in Oakland right after the declaration of internment - thinking about how citizenship can be given or taken away. This all feels very relevant right now. What do you think about these questions? How do you use archives and photos of our past to engage in these issues of belonging, citizenship, and the precarity of it all?

Nazanin: What I try to do with archives is to question them as modes of cultural transmission and historical memory. I think many artists deal with archives in a more clinical and objective manner, whereas I like to add my own agency to these found photographs. When one looks at a family album or found footage, one is already looking at fragmented narratives. You never know a whole story when you look at your friend’s old family albums. I truly embrace this fragmented, broken narrative and try to make it my own. I also constantly move back and forth between still and moving images, printmaking and painting, experimental films and artist books. So there is this hybridity in the nature of found footage itself that I try to activate in my work. In these works handmade cinema is used as a medium to re-create an already broken narrative told by others, sometimes complete strangers to tell stories about trauma and displacement. That is what fascinates me about archives. The fact that you can recreate your story and make a new fictional alt-reality.

Nazanin Noroozi, Self Portrait

Natalia: But who is to say these if fictional alt-realities are less important or less serious than purely “art historical” narratives? One of the things that I am exploring in my work is giving space for slippages in memory, rearranging of timelines to accommodate a lived experience. What happens when we look at collections - even museum collections - with the same warmth, tenderness, and care that we would an old friend? What possibilities are dislodged there? What benefit is there to towing the status quo - which is built on white supremacy, stolen artifacts, and other types of lying, exclusion and dubious authoritative storytelling? Also, there are so many family histories that often become reified - being told and retold with certainty over and over again. How do we claim agency from that oppressive knowledge? The things we tell ourselves about our families may not be “true” so what do we risk by revisiting our archives and re-telling those histories through our current eyes? When we re-examine the history - we may discover new ways of seeing and being with ourselves.

Nazanin: I like to think of photographs as sites of refuge. When you look at a photograph of a kid’s birthday from many years ago, you know for fact that this joyous moment is long gone. These mundane moments that bring you “happiness” and security won't last. It’s like “all that is solid melts into air”. In a larger picture, isn't everything in life fragile and fleeting and there is absolutely no certainty in life?  For example, look at how Covid has changed our “normal everyday” life. A simple birthday party for your kid was unimaginable for months. In “Purl” and “Elite 1984”  I mix these mundane moments with images of flood, natural disasters and other forces of nature to talk about fragile states of being and ideas of home. I digitally and manually manipulate footages of a stormy Caspain Sea, Mount Damavand or a glacier melt to ask my questions about failure or resistance, you know? I let the images tell me the new narrative, both visually and thematically.  

Something I find really interesting in your work is how you re-create these alt-realities by actively and physically engaging your audience into participating in your work, like your textile maps - called Our Stories of Migration? Do you have any fear that they may tell a story you don't like? Or take your work to a place that you didn't anticipate? How do you deal with an open-ended artwork that is finished but it needs an audience to be complete?

Natalia Nakazawa, Our Stories of Migration, Jaquard woven textiles, hand embroidery, shisha mirrors, beetle wings, beads, yarn, 36 x 16 feet, 2020, Photo credit: Vanessa Albury

Natalia: I am always stunned by the generosity of the people I meet - those who dive in and share their own histories - and I think it points to a universal need of ours to share and connect. There is always potential to create intimacy - even within the walls of large institutions, such as schools or museums - when our own lives are placed at the center with care and concern. I’ve never heard a story that didn’t make me pause and grant me more space for contemplating the complexity of being a human on this planet. We have all kinds of mechanisms for memory - archives, written diaries, photos, paintings, objects - but at the end of the day they are nothing without our active participation. Quite literally they are meaningless unless they are being interacted with. That has been the entry point for me, as an artist and educator. How do we take all of these things that exist in the material world and make sense out of them? What does the process of “making sense” do to the way we live TODAY? Or, perhaps, how we envision the future? It is almost like a yoga practice, a stretching of the mind, a flexibility to think backwards and forwards - that lends us more space to consider the present.

Nazanin: Yeah! I think you really are on point here! I think we really can't understand our existence without retelling the history and recreating new realities.

Nazanin Noroozi, The Rip Tide

Natalia: Thank you, Nazanin! Anything coming up for you that you want to mention?

Nazanin: Yes, I am actually doing a really amazing residency at Westbeth for a year. This is an incredible opportunity as I get to live in the Village for one year and have a live-work space in such an amazing place. Westbeth is home to many wonderful artists!

Natalia Nakazawa, History has failed us...but no matter, Jacquard textiles, laser cut Arches watercolor paper, vinyl, jewels, concentrated watercolor and acrylic on wood panel, 40 x 90 inches, 2019, Photo credit: Jeanette May

Natalia Nakazawa is a Queens-based interdisciplinary artist working across the mediums of painting, textiles, and social practice. Utilizing strategies drawn from a range of experiences in the fields of education, arts administration, and community activism, Natalia negotiates spaces between institutions and individuals, often inviting participation and collective imagining. Natalia received her MFA in studio practice from California College of the Arts, a MSEd from Queens College, and a BFA in painting from the Rhode Island School of Design. She has recently presented work at the Arlington Arts Center (Washington, DC), Transmitter Gallery (Brooklyn, NY), Wassaic Project (Wassaic, NY), Museum of Arts and Design (New York, NY), and The Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York, NY). Natalia was an artist in residence at MASS MoCA, SPACE on Ryder Farm, The Children’s Museum of Manhattan, Wassaic Project, and Triangle Arts.

www.natalianakazawa.com @nakazawastudio

Nazanin Noroozi is a multimedia artist incorporating moving images, printmaking and alternative photography processes to reflect on notions of collective memory, displacement and fragility. Noroozi’s work has been widely exhibited in both Iran and the United States, including the Immigrant Artist Biennial, Noyes Museum of Art, NY Live Arts, Prizm Art Fair, and Columbia University. She is the recipient of awards and fellowships from the Artistic Freedom Initiative, Elizabeth Foundation for the Arts, NYFA IAP 2018, Mass MoCA Residency, North Adams, MA and Saltonstall Foundation for the Arts Residency, NY. She is an editor at large of Kaarnamaa, a Journal of Art History and Criticism. Noroozi completed her MFA in painting and drawing from Pratt Institute. Her works have been featured in various publications and media including BBC News Persian, Elephant Magazine, Financial Times, and Brooklyn Rail.

www.nazaninnoroozi.net @nazaninnoroozi

[sibyl-of-space]

Final Fantasy IX ~ Melodies and Memories

"Jesters of the Moon"

There are a lot of very good video games in the world, but it takes some luck and circumstance outside of a game's control for one to reach me at just the right time(s) and place(s) in my life that it has a tangible impact on who I am -- who I want to be. One that carves out a space for itself in my soul that will never be removed or replaced.

I've just finished playing Final Fantasy IX for the first time, and there's no doubt in my mind that such is the case here.

(Continued below readmore.)

I drew this art last year, when I was mourning my attachment to an old favorite game that I just don't feel the same way about anymore: Majora's Mask. I wanted to draw something that captured my feelings about it, because sometimes art is the best way to talk about something when the words don't want to come.

Why is "Jesters of the Moon," the name of a random song in the Final Fantasy IX soundtrack, plastered in the middle of this Majora's Mask fanart? Especially considering I hadn't even played Final Fantasy IX yet when I drew this?

The reason is exactly that "luck and circumstance" that allowed me to fall so uniquely in love with the game.

"Mt. Gulug"

In 2008, someone on YouTube uploaded a Majora's Mask parody-slash-let's-play series called "Majora's Mask: The Things Which Were Taken Out." The series has since become unlisted and won't be linked here out of respect for the creator who probably doesn't want things they said and made in 2008 being spread all over the internet, but because of Unregistered Hypercam 2 reasons, the series inserted other background music over the video and didn't record the actual game audio.

I didn't recognize any of the music, but I watched these parody videos on repeat because in addition to being funny (...at the time, in my mind, at least), I really really loved the music. It got to the point where I would sometimes be playing Majora's Mask and get disappointed when I approached Goht and the Mt. Gulug theme wasn't playing in the background.

I had forgotten about these videos for a really long time in the interim, but I remembered them at some point when I was thinking about Majora's Mask and I found them again. The creator had cited the Final Fantasy IX soundtrack for virtually all of the background music used in the videos, and I realized that despite knowing literally nothing about the game, I had become really fond of - and weirdly nostalgic for - the songs from it that I now recognized.

So I looked up "Jesters of the Moon" and played it on repeat while I drew out my feelings in colored marker. A few months later, I realized that my backwards compatible PS3 can also play PS1 games, and eBay had FFIX for PS1 at a good price. I had nothing to lose by ordering it and seeing what the source of all that fantastic music was like.

"Vamo Alla Flamenco"

I started my playthrough knowing nothing about what to expect from the game. I'd never played a Final Fantasy game before and my overall JRPG experience has been mostly limited to Tales of, Persona, and more recently, mainline Shin Megami Tensei. The only things I knew about Final Fantasy were a) the Tidus laughing scene, and b) Sephiroth. IX seemed like it had vibes I would enjoy, but beyond that I knew nothing about what the experience would be. So I approached it with a "let's have fun and see how it goes" attitude, naming my party members the first silly thing that came to mind, ending up with "Swaggy," "OwO," "Bitchin," "Gunz," and "SWOOORD" to start with.

(For the record I do not regret those names whatsoever.)

I was immediately struck by how differently the game uses music in comparison to all of my previous JRPG experiences. This was not a game where the composer was given a list of theme songs that were slapped on top of a mostly completed game-- this was a game constructed with the soundtrack in mind as a part of the writing process.

The opening act plays almost like an opera (side note, yes I know one of the other FF's has a literal opera, I haven't played that one): you traverse the same locations from different perspectives as different characters, introducing the cast with lighthearted humor and dramatic irony out the wazoo. While you traverse the city as OwO, OwO's theme is playing in the background, coloring your perspective of the city and the narrative. When you switch to Gunz patrolling around the castle, Gunz's theme accompanies your movement and informs his character and mission. I am so accustomed to "location themes" being the norm in virtually all video games that experiencing character and/or narrative themes as BGM instead while I bumble around town changed my entire perspective on what music in games can do and be.

The operatic feeling is definitely intentional, because the game uses a play-within-a-game narrative device to hit you over the head with its themes in a way that is somehow poignant and artful while also being extremely blatant. That is a hard balance to strike, but it manages. The whole game is like that: it is completely straightforward and tells you exactly what it's about at heart, but it does it beautifully.

At any rate, I was enamored with this intro and had a very fun time, but I wasn't obsessed or anything and ended up putting it down. I spent several months on the first half of disk 1 with weeks passing between play sessions. I liked the game plenty, but life stuff happened and I decided to get obsessed with Dai Gyakuten Saiban and Ghost Trick for a while. No regrettis.

It was already clear, though, that FFIX was going to be special to me. My compositions for my team's game in the Global Game Jam in 2021 were directly inspired by FFIX's opera-like intro. I wrote two character themes for our game that would serve as background music when you play as the two protagonists, coloring your journey differently even when moving in the same spaces. I was intentionally trying to mimic the way music is used in FFIX as an exercise. The themes I wrote are definitely some of my strongest work so far.

(You can check out the game here if you want, I promise it is significantly shorter than Final Fantasy IX.)

"Melodies of Life"

Music caused me to pick up FFIX the first time, and music caused me to return to it. After months of not touching or really thinking about it, just earlier this week I was inspired to play it again, because - again - I listened to the right song at the right time.

I was again mourning the loss of something, in this case a friendship, for reasons I'm not going to share here. I had already heard the song "Melodies of Life" because it came up when I was looking up FFIX songs to reblog on Tumblr a few months ago, and I decided to listen to it again. Even without knowing the game context, the song itself really spoke to me in that moment: "a voice from the past, joining yours and mine, adding up the layers of harmony" - it kind of made me feel at peace with the fact that I had a lot of positive memories of that friendship and I could keep those at heart while also moving on in the present. ...I'm also a sucker for music metaphors, so there is that.

I was really moved by this song, cheesy as it is, and I was also definitely in the mood for a distraction. Picking up FFIX again felt like the best move.

It was, and my life is forever changed.

The game never stopped being beautiful and funny and touching, and the soundtrack never ceased to amaze. I recognized concepts I've seen in other games but never had I seen them used so artfully. I adored the fantasy world and non-human cast, I found myself enticed by random encounter for the first time because it made me feel like I had to struggle to survive a difficult journey. Music, gameplay, visuals, and story felt like one cohesive work of art for the entire duration.

Life circumstances got me to play the game again, but the game itself was so captivating and wonderful that I binged the entire rest of it - disks 2-4 - in less than a week. Everything else that the game had to say, it told me itself, in its own context, and I was ready to listen.

"You're Not Alone!"

This is going to make me sound like an emotionally-stunted twenty-something, but it has been years since a work of media has got me to have a really good cry. I used to cry playing games all the time as a kid but recently I'll find myself getting emotional, sure, often tearing up, but getting completely red-faced and snot-nosed because I physically cannot contain the emotions being evoked by a work? Years. I can't honestly tell you the last time it happened with certainty.

I feel like an emotional band-aid has been ripped off. I was f*cking sobbing during the entire duration of the "You're Not Alone!" sequence. It didn't matter that what was happening was obviously coming from a mile away, because the delivery was so raw and emotional and human!!! A whole game's worth of Swaggy punching first and asking questions later to save his friends, being Protag McProtag endangering himself for others in any and all circumstances, for the payoff of all of his friends forcing him to stop being such a primadonna and let them help him for once. It's true, too! He relies on them just as much as they rely on him! And the game doesn't just tell you this, no, it lets you try to solo all these fights and waits until you realize how boned you are until they come bail you out.

When Bitchin showed up with her "looks like you need a hand" I wanted to straight up yell at my tv. YES I DO!!! YES I DO NEED YOU BITCHIN!!!!! THANK YOU!!!!!!! I half knew that SWOOORD was going to heal me before I got truly KO-ed but I had been unmercifully wiped in "unwinnable" battles before in this game, so I legit thought I might have to re-do that whole part of the game again, and I was so relieved and thankful when she showed up and healed me.

This moment exemplifies everything that I adore about this game. It doesn't just tell you its story. It shows it to you, it sings it to you, and it and lets you play it out and feel it for yourself.

"Game Over"

This song is all too familiar to me. Gizamaluke's Grotto was very unforgiving for a first-time Final Fantasy player, especially one who didn't happen to pick up Big on the way for a fourth party member early on.

I hadn't heard the piano part in a few months, though, because when I picked the game back up I started just mashing to reload before it got to that point any time we wiped. I didn't hear it again until the game was truly over, this time for good.

I let it play for a while. Not too long, because I have a CRT TV and didn't want "The End" to get burned in. But a while. Enough to meditate on what I'd just experienced, and how I was feeling about it.

There's so much more to say about the game, far more than I could put in a blog post. But I don't think I need to describe these thoughts in words. I can do what the game did, and use music, use art, use stories, use metaphors, and use symbols to communicate what I mean; and hope that someone else is able and willing to listen.

And although a written record of my thoughts likely won't be preserved for all that long, maybe the feelings and the memories will be, so long as they have been shared.

[skywailer]

I will start this by acknowledging: The Rise of Skywalker and the Star Wars saga are, of course, works of fiction.  None of the characters are real.  However, like any work of fiction- good or otherwise- the story and the characters are meant to be a commentary on the real.  And, up until now, I believed the commentary was one of hope and redemption, and healing.  I believed in the story, and the characters, because I saw myself and my friends, and my family in them.  I saw the love and the tragedy, and the hope.  I want to see it again but, to do so, there are some things that need saying.  There is a conversation that is in desperate need of being had.  And it will get personal, very fast.  Right now.  Because the most meaningful stories and conversations are meant to be personal.  So, here it goes.

I am the abused and the abuser.  My mother physically abused me as a child, and psychologically as a teenager.  Eventually, the final stage of her abuse was distance- pushing herself away from me so she could not cause me any more pain, not realizing that was just as damaging as all the other forms of abuse.  Her signs of remorse and love were shown in giving me a dog, then two, then three- animals who would love me no matter what, and who would come to my defense if ever she thought to strike me again.  They were my responsibility, my family, and they saw me at my best and my worst, and I loved them for loving me unconditionally.  They were the ones who comforted me when I cried myself to sleep.  Storm, he was the first of the three.  He and I were inseparable.  I loved him, so much, for always choosing me.  He loved everyone, but he would always lie beside me on the sofa, in bed, and follow me every time I moved away to go somewhere else.  He was everything good in my life, everything kind.  Even if he didn’t like other dogs very much, he loved humans and he loved me most of all.  Me.  When I didn’t believe I could ever be loved.  And I swore, the day he died, I would go too.  My responsibility would be finished, purpose complete, family gone.  And so I would be gone too.  

He was everything good in my life, everything kind.  And I loved him for it.  And I abused him.  When he did something “wrong”, or growled at me for cutting too close to the quick on his nails or to his skin when I cut his hair, I would physically lash out at him.  When I wanted no one near me after a beating from my mother, or another round of psychological warfare, he would come to comfort me and sometimes I would choke him.  A few times, I would kick him, or shove him away from me on the bed or sofa- knowing he would fall to the floor.  I once threw one of my other dogs, Rain, against the wall in my anger and pain.  And part of me wanted them to die, so I could finally be free.  I wanted to be free from love and longing and pain.  I wanted to be free of life, and be gone.  And if they died, of old age or by my hand, then I could finally just fucking go.  And I wouldn’t feel guilty about committing suicide, because I deserved to go.  I was a monster.

In the end, I moved away from home and kept myself away from my mother and my dogs.  I was not there for when Storm passed, and that will always be a weight I carry for never being there for him in the end, to tell him how sorry I was and how much I loved him and to comfort him as he comforted me so many times.  I don’t know if I have the courage to go back and see my mother or my dogs again, even after reconciling with my mother this year.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be comfortable having a child, knowing who I can be.  Who I am.  I am the abused, and the abuser.  

So, imagine the hope I felt in seeing a character like Ben Solo on screen.  At first, in The Force Awakens, I was hesitant to invest myself in someone who felt so much like me; I hated myself, and I didn’t deserve a good life- so why would he get one, either?  But then I watched The Last Jedi, and I had such hope.  There was so much love in him, in Rey, and between them, and between Ben and his mother.  The source of his fall came to light, and his ability to change and protect who he loved also came to light.  There was the promise of healing, redemption, and rehabilitation.  Then, The Rise of Skywalker gave healing, gave redemption, and then Ben Solo died.  He got his small moment of happiness, of love, after years of self-loathing and self-destruction in a war between light and dark, and he died before he could live a better life.  

As I watched him finally smile, I already knew he was going to die.  I knew it the moment he clawed his way out of the pit and went to Rey.  I knew it again, for certain, when he smiled.  I knew that relief, that happiness, that peace of mind, was to justify his dying.  He died at peace, knowing he saved what he loved.  He died at peace.  His responsibility finished, purpose complete, family gone.  So, he was gone, too.  And led into the Force by his beloved mother, who he never got to reconcile with in life.  And I watched him and Leia fade, and I thought: yeah, that makes sense.  And then I watched him fade completely from the story, erased as Rey was not depicted mourning him, as Rey went on to take the Skywalker name while the Solo name vanished along with Ben- no force ghost to be seen.  And I thought: yeah, that’s how life really works.  And then social media got to work calling it a satisfactory ending, saying Ben deserved to die, saying he had to pay for his sins, saying I wouldn’t have cared so much if he wasn’t physically attractive (thank you Daniel Jose Older), and I know: no, that’s not right.

We were sold a fairy-tale, a hopeful ending to a 40-year story of tragedy upon tragedy, of abuse upon abuse.  We were sold a story that would come full-circle.  And they did come full circle, right back to Rey as Shmi in the Tatooine desert, the virginal mother of Skywalker.  Except, she is alone, without her soulmate or her belonging.  She carries on her back two legacies of pain and death.  The Skywalker and Solo bloodlines are gone.  Anakin Skywalker’s wrongs and pains are never fully healed because while Ben Solo, his grandson and heir to his legacy, saved the love of his life… he never got to be with her and raise a family in the way his parents and his grandparents could not.  The cycle of neglect and abuse is not broken, just buried. Just like his story, which is being misinterpreted/slandered by LF creatives and re-written by supplementary works to shape him into a flat, one-dimensional villian he never was.

What is hopeful about that ending?  What is hopeful about telling a story in which an abused child grows up to repeat the cycle of abuse, finally manages to break it, and then sacrifices his life for love… only for people to smear the story with their inability to forgive and heal?  What is hopeful about communicating to so many that, even if they break the cycle of abuse, they will still die hated and unforgiven?  

I’m trying my best not to let such thoughts and beliefs and misfortunes impact my own personal healing process.  But we were promised a fairy-tale.  A story to tell children about love and belonging and family.  Instead, we got a brutal reality.  And I get art is supposed to reflect reality, but it is also supposed to build upon it and create a nourishing dialogue.  Nothing DLF has chosen to do during and after the release of The Rise of Skywalker nourishes a healthy dialogue or a healing process.

[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.

[moistwithgender]

Monthly Media Roundup (June-July 2019)

Well, I neglected doing a post last month, and now another has passed. I haven’t done too much, about three games each month and not anything else media-wise, so let’s get it all done right now!

Little Nightmares (PC/Steam): 

These types of spooky “cinematic platformers”, like LIMBO and INSIDE, never really scare me or fill me with dread. Part of this may be that due to the trappings of cinematic platformers. Checkpoints are very fair, and nothing is too difficult because priority is on delivering the story. Little side challenges exist, like trying to light all the candles or break all the porcelain dolls in the short 3-hour run of the game, but these are also pretty reasonable, even if you’re in a chase sequence. I’m reminded of a youtuber I briefly followed who talked about how horror games aren’t scary anymore, and somewhat unintentionally delivered the point that as you become accustomed to the limits of a medium, and therefore are less likely to be surprised by it, you’re also much less likely to be scared by it. It’s a somewhat unfortunate and inevitable trade-off to becoming more invested in a hobby. When I was a kid, all games held infinite possibility, and so an NPC in Harvest Moon telling me that wild dogs came out at night led me to think that night time held the possibility of ENEMIES in a game without combat. What the NPC meant was that you should build fences. As an adult who has spent my life playing games, I can tell you that a game is almost never going to put you in a situation without the means to deal with it. If there’s going to be combat, you’re going to know how combat works before an ambush. If there’s an escape sequence, you’re going to be in an area that facilitates your escape (often a narrow space that leads you in a direction while also making it as harrowing as possible). Games are theme park rides, and while learning that can make seemingly difficult games more manageable and enjoyable, it also gradually disillusions you. Thankfully, there are always new things to learn if you keep an open mind.

The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time 3D (3DS): 

2019 has been about thoroughly enjoying the games that I considered overrated in my young adulthood. I joked on twitter that 70% of my personality was disliking Final Fantasy VII and Ocarina of Time, and honestly, it might as well have been. I earned a lot of undeserved respect in college through arrogantly spouting hot takes about “objectively good art”, and a lot of people reasonably assumed this must mean I know exactly what I’m talking about. The way I process art and media is much looser and more personal than it used to be, partially due to burning out and becoming too exhausted to deal with other arrogant people. I think a lot about how tiring I had to be for other people to talk to. Watching Tim Rogers bleed his personal trauma into his video series on the subtleties of FF7’s japanese script was the most instrumental in turning me back toward the game. When Square Enix revealed gameplay footage of the remake at E3 this year, I was hooting and hollering with the longtime fans.

But, this is about Zelda, not Final Fantasy. I had already played through OoT, as hurriedly as possible, just to say I had done it. It was the better part of a decade ago, at the urging of a then-girlfriend who had nostalgia for it. Frustrations with the Water Temple in the original version are valid despite it being largely well designed, due to some minor shortsighted-ness that blows up into nagging issues, but I think I had put myself in the headspace to dislike it from the get-go. Similarly, I didn’t want to do any collecting in the game as a whole. I had convinced myself that there was no joy to be found in collecting in games (a take bereft of nuance). When the point of Zelda games is to inspire the player to explore every nook and cranny in search of rewards, going in as a player and stubbornly trying to avoid any of that ensures that you’ll miss the point of the whole experience. I’m not sure what it was that made me want to go back. It might be that I wanted to prove my younger, cockier self wrong, and pave over my old evaluations with more nuance. 

It certainly worked out that way, as several previous opinions changed entirely. Ruto used to be annoying to me, but was now one of my favorite characters. Doing all the little minigames felt rewarding in itself, and in turn I was unexpectedly rewarded with important items (they really did bet everything on the entire world they’d made). The Water Temple, now tweaked for a bit more convenience in the 3DS version, was extremely interesting. The side quest to acquire the Biggoron Sword was easily doable, whereas I had grown up assuming it impossible. And the story which had never appealed to me (because I wouldn’t let it) now felt relatable in a way I hadn’t expected. Link intends to do good, but through unfortunate circumstances and honest mistakes becomes unable to take part in the world, and it spirals downward for years as he remains trapped in a room, aging but inactive. Something about that mirrors my own experiences with depression. Sure, Link, can travel back to his younger self at any time, but there’s still a powerlessness in the inability to affect the seven year gap. You can flash back, but you can’t change what you’ve lost.

Banjo-Kazooie (N64): 

You know, as a kid I probably would have just accepted that Grunty was evil, but as an adult it’s hard not to see her as a product of her environment. Obsessed with asking her cauldron who the objectively prettiest in the world is, she seeks out and kidnaps the younger girl given the title in an attempt to steal her youth. Every character in the game describes Grunty as ugly, rather than evil, and even her own sister shows up in every area to tell you how gross she is and how terrible her lifestyle is. I ended up sympathizing with her more than anyone else. I’ve only played half an hour of Banjo-Tooie, but it was a relief in multiple ways to see her pivot to straight up murder after rising from the dead.

Despite playing Donkey Kong Country multiple times growing up, I’d never really grown to love Rare’s in-house aesthetic of big-eyed cartoony animals. It might be hypocritical, but Smash Ultimate’s reveals for both King K. Rool and Banjo (and) Kazooie made me see the charm in these characters. Something about how Smash canonizes characters as essential pieces of game history always causes me to drop any negative pretense and adopt them as favorites. It’s a little intellectually hypocritical, but I can’t help liking what I like. After the trailer for B-K in Smash, I immediately started up the original game in Retroarch. Thankfully the core I used was advanced enough to play the game without issues (the same cannot be said for Tooie), as other alternatives were expensive or hard to get a hold of. While the slightly-mean humor and talking animate objects took a bit of getting used to, I get it now. I get the children’s show aesthetic they were aiming for, and I appreciate the feel of the physics and control of the interspecies friendship of the protagonists working in tandem with each other, even if the game is at times quite difficult.

Dragon Quest I, II, & III (SNES): 

Yes, I did play through three JRPGs in a row! And yes, you might notice that the hero of Dragon Quest XI (and VIII, and IV, and III) was also announced for Smash Ultimate. They recently released, as of this writing! A lot of what I’ve been playing has been influenced by outside forces, whether it be Nintendo news or friends, but I’m not bothered at all when otherwise I might not have the energy to play anything. The games I’ve been playing are also ones I’ve intended to play for a while, so the excuses have been convenient for me. Though, actually, this decision had less to do with the Smash announcement and more to do with the upcoming re-release of DQXI, which seems to be related to the original three games, known as The Erdrick Trilogy. I had heard that you can play XI on its own, but that there is an extra layer of appreciation to be had if you’ve played the original trilogy. Me being me, I naturally queued them up. I chose the older fan translations of the SNES remakes, and though I did finish them, I can tell you that they have their fair share of bugs (DQII even has a game breaking glitch I had to finagle through using save states across multiple versions, phew). Besides that, those old translations lack the modern localizations of the games, so if they namedrop something in XI, there’s a chance it’ll go over my head. Oops! If you want to play these games, the best versions are currently on mobile phones.

Around a decade ago I was in early college, with no friends except for those still in high school or at another university. I was very lonely and nervous. I started playing Dragon Quest V purely by chance, and it served as the perfect salve for that loneliness, with its lonely child protagonist traveling around the world accumulating found family. It’s one of the more poignant and cathartic JRPGs I’ve ever played, and for the next decade I would actually be bothered that the rest of the games didn’t live up to the catharsis of DQV.

In revisiting the roots of the series, and playing it through to see how it develops from title to title, it finally clicked with me, and continues to click with me, as I keep learning more about the series. Rather than comparing every entry to DQV, I should have been comparing them in order. This might sound obvious, but it really did make a world of difference to see that V’s narrative is placed on top of the foundation the previous games set, rather than a singular case of lightning in a bottle. And the games have always featured loneliness, but in differing contexts, and to different degrees. The hero of DQI is almost entirely alone through the full game. In DQII, the princess comes from lonely circumstances, and one of the princes comes down with a sickness that leaves him temporarily unable to help his friends. In DQIII you can make as many team members as you want, but you grow up with an absent father, and your own good deeds receive bittersweet resolution. They are all games built on simple settings and followed through with empathy. The series is at times disarmingly heavy, which is part of what makes the games as memorable as they are. You’re never quite as prepared for Dragon Quest as you think you are.

As of this writing I’m currently half-way through a replay of Dragon Quest IV, and I’m enjoying it a lot more. I’m looking forward to replaying V. I have no idea what VI will be like. I’ve heard it’s a lower point in the series, but that’s what I heard about II as well, and I ended up loving it, so who knows. Dragon Quest is good.

---

Well, I managed to catch up. I didn’t get into the finer details of the DQ playthroughs, but DQIII is honestly so good I don’t want to spoil it for anyone (you should play these games). Maybe in August I’ll actually get back to watching and reading things. Maybe I’ll try to keep these things to a single paragraph per item, to make it more manageable to read. Let me know what you think, if you think.

[ilcaeryx]

Tenacity: Chapter 1 - Inhibition [Amajiki Tamaki/Reader]

SUMMARY: Tamaki's isolated himself in his apartment for almost a week. It's almost guaranteed that it's his anxiety flaring up… but it doesn't hurt to check up on him.

TAGS: Reader-Insert Collection, Anxiety, Social Isolation

Link to Chapter 1 of Tenacity on AO3

or continue reading below.

Chapter 1: Inhibition

'Amajiki Tamaki' read the nameplate by the door.

So this is where he lives.

Finding Tamaki's home had been tricky as it was in the middle of an expanding apartment complex located in a (for you) foreign part of the city. In this complex his apartment was simply one of many, a single leaf in a blooming bush. For this reason it felt like this was somewhere he would enjoy living, anonymously. However, living in the corner apartment on the first floor was perhaps a bit too exposed for him, considering that all his blinders were drawn shut.

You rang the bell and took a step back.

At least five days had passed since Tamaki had last spoken to you; after day two of pushing up the hard task to send you a message saying his vacation had started and he was available, he understood that too much time had passed already and that he should wait until the weekend to contact you. That's when you usually texted or called him, anyway. It had felt alright until he'd logged into his social media account a few days later. After the 5 notifications bubble popped up on his phone, panic and guilt bit into him. Reading them was unnecessary, because he knew what they said and who the sender was. Therefore, the immediate response was to turn off the sound on his phone and camp in his apartment.

His food reservoir was a mismatched mix that one possibly couldn't make anything edible out of. Not that he could make food at the moment, since he was certain that his neighbours would overhear him if he cooked too loudly, showered with the water current too strong or walked too harshly on the floor. One morning he had been making a pretty elaborate breakfast, cut short after one neighbour banged on the wall in the living room. He abruptly turned off the rice cooker and conformed himself with something simpler and quieter. He felt bad that his neighbours had to deal with him.

Today he was too agitated to move around, so he didn't do much other than game and eat leftovers. That's why both his dishes weren't washed and he kind of neglected. He'd take a shower on Sunday, when he'd probably see you. Right now, he just wanted to disappear into his book. It was a quiet evening spent on his couch and nothing could bother him.

Every evening used to be peaceful, but then his neighbours became hypersensitive to any and every sound he made.

The door bell ringing was how he was reminded of their existense. With deliberate, fluid movements he laid down the book on the couch and slipped down onto the floor. He made his way to the door in complete silence.

Okay, Tamaki is a total homebody. There's no way he isn't home.

It wasn't the first time this had happened, though all other times he had ignored you had been on social media. Him not opening messages and such. If it hadn't been for Mirio giving you a heads up about it, you might've taken it personally. After all, the two of you had been a couple for a few months now. You were grateful that Mirio felt involved enough in Tamaki's life to warn you about his these incidents, which you were told had occasionally taken place since their U.A. days.

Your take-away was getting cold and you were honestly getting worried. Your phone showed no missed calls or messages. There was always the option to call him and get a confirmation whether he was home or not by listening for the ring tone inside… but you thought that it would force him further into his shell. If he didn't answer you also wouldn't find out how he was doing. What if he had fainted in the shower and was bleeding out? The mental images of possible ways someone could die inside their home grew incrementally worse and you nervously fiddled with your phone.

Just this time, it wouldn't be strange if you excused yourself into his home. Right?

You tried opening the door. It's 2019, who would ever leave their door unlocked? Of course it was locked. Goddamn.

There is no one outside, you thought as you surveyed your surroundings and went around the corner. It would be okay this one time. No one would judge you for doing this. In the back of your mind you kind of remembered some law about entering someone's home unauthorized if there were health concerns, which was enough motivate you to try. See, one window in the back was slightly cracked open. While fully opening the window it occurred to you that this was your debut into Tamaki's home.

You slid in between the window and the blinders into Tamaki's kitchen, sitting on top of a dining table. The room was pretty cramped, a small cupboard on the left side wall and the usual kitchen appliances on the right. It was directly connected to the hall, where you could see the exterior door. As you shut the window a foul, thick smell of humidity and old food struck you, so you opened it again.

"Tamaki, it's me," you called out and jumped down on the floor.

Tamaki popped his head out from what you assumed was the bathroom, wearing complicated emotions on his face. "Y/N?"

"Yeah, I can explain this. I, uh, just wanted to see how you were doing." You raised the take-away bag to eye level. "I brought you food."

Like a snail retracting into its shell, he withdrew into the bathroom and shut the door. "I'll hear you out… after I've taken a shower."

"Do it. I'll wait."

You did and Tamaki emerged from the shower, clean and warm, five minutes later. He awkwardly walked into the kitchen, dressed in sweatpants and an overgrown hoodie, clearly avoiding looking at the dish mountain. Instead he raided a kitchen drawer for chopsticks and sat down together with you. Tamaki opened the box and dug in without mercy or any semblance of modesty.

You leaned back on you chair. "This is the first time I have ever forced myself into someone's home, by the way. Don't arrest me for that, I'm pretty sure I acted in accordance to the law. I thought something had happened."

"While I appreciate the sentiment," he answered between bites, "you scared the living daylights out of me. I thought you were a thief at first. It could've ended nasty if I had been eating well."

"What do you mean?"

He raised his eyebrows and looked at you solemnly. "I can't manifest crackers…"

"Is that what you've been eating? That's student level of food."

"It wasn't by choice." Tamaki said curtly and took a sip of water.

You bit your lip and nodded softly. The fact that he had ignored your messages and calls still bothered you, even though you somewhat understood the circumstances. You didn't want to be bothersome about it; you imagined that it would embarrass him greatly should you bring it up. It wasn't by choice, like he had said. Still, you thought that there should be some accountability on his part.

"We've known each other for a while now, but I didn't know you had it this… hard to reach out to people. When we weren't together," you sputtered out, unused to bringing it up, "it was an inconvenience. Now I actually get worried - and it's not just me. Mirio and even Hadou have asked if I had heard from you."

Tamaki tensed his shoulders. "Both of them should understand by now; we went through this in high school. I don't know. I just start to feel cornered when I get bombarded by messages. I don't particularly want to be around people when I'm that paranoid."

"I'd never force you to do something you don't want. I think that you should at least text me back. You don't even need to read what I've sent you if it is too much. Knowing you're alive is enough."

He seemed more interested in his food than in answering. You couldn't force him to answer and you didn't have anything more to inquire. This was a conversation for another day, hopefully. You let him eat in peace. At least for a while.

"You know," you began and casually stole a piece of meat from box, "I've known you for two years and you've never invited me here before. Have you lived here since we first met?"

After some consideration he nodded with a sharp movement. "For almost five years."

You ate your piece and instantly regretted not buying a portion of your own. Licking your fingers, you kept overwatch on his food while he gingerly picked and chose, his bangs covering his face.

"Like, I thought you still lived with your parents since you refused to even give me an adress,"

Tamaki choked. He covered his mouth with his hand and coughed violently enough to rack his entire body. You shot up to get him some water but he held you back with his hand as you were walking past him to the dish bench. He got himself a glass from the unwashed pile. Poor guy probably didn't have any clean ones.

As he drank you re-settled into your chair, cautiously. He poured himself another glass and wiped his eyes with his sleeve before returning to the table.

"I just enjoy my privacy," he commented, rather dryily, before digging in again with reluctance. Probably terrified of you dropping another bomb like that and him choking for real this time. Suneater dying by eating sukiyaki.

"You can thank Mirio for giving me your adress. He's been worried too."

"I'll thank him in person."

"I think he'd appreciate a quick message from you ASAP."

Tamaki stopped his chopsticks half-way to his mouth and raised his eyes to look at you, sadness pulling at the edges. "You can't thank someone who's looking out for you with a simple message. I'll go see him in a few days and thank him in person." His eyes shifted slightly and he cast his gaze downwards. "I'll try to, anyway."

That's an admirable outlook, you thought to yourself as he somewhat self-consciously finished his food. Thanking someone for helping you out was very humbling, in particular when independent people such as Tamaki are caught between problems. But as the old adage goes, no man is an island. If you ever needed help, you knew you could count on Tamaki - and Mirio for that matter. No question about it. If he didn't message Mirio by the time you were returning home, you'd send a text to Mirio yourself, though.

Breathing deeply, Tamaki put his chopsticks down into his box and quickly grabbed your hands, his fingers squishing your fingers against his palms. Warmth emanated from his hands and his face seemed a lot less paler when he smiled weakly at you.

"Thank you, Y/N. I would've starved if you hadn't arrived today."

Your thumbs caressed the insides of his wrists, sweeping over the bumpy texture of veins and muscles.

"I'll break into your apartment anytime, babe."

If you liked this, consider throwing me a like/reblog/follow! My Masterlist can be found here.

[secretlyatargaryen]

July 2019 Reviews

Games

Walden, a game - A delightful experience for those who love games and literature and the idea of them together. The best parts of the game are the quotes from Thoreau's book that appear on the screen when you examine something closely, like a fox or a maple tree, complete with great voice acting. The ecological detail put into the game is impressive. The worst part is that the game mechanics for completing tasks are clunky and there is very little time each day before the game forces you to go to sleep and begin the next day, and your hunger, fuel, and shelter meter always seems to be low, causing you to spend the majority of your daylight hours picking berries and collecting firewood. I get that this is supposed to mirror the experience of "living simply," but 1) it is boringly repetitive and if anything calls to mind the irony of “being one with nature” in a computer game and 2) there are a lot of other interesting things to do in the game which you do not have enough time to do, such as helping escaped slaves on their way to the underground railroad. I learned playing this game that Henry David Thoreau was basically every guy I met in college who hated the government and whose solution to its atrocities was to fuck off into the woods and smoke pot instead of actually doing anything about it. This analogy is completed by the fact that you are able to go into town and get food and clean laundry from your parents' house if you get too low on those things.

Black Mirror (2017) - No, not the Netflix series. This is a re-imagining of the Black Mirror series of adventure games developed in the early 2000s. The original game is considered a classic of point and click adventures but suffers from an unoriginal plot (obligatory part where I once again complain about horror games and their obsession with "Surprise! You're crazy! Dead women!") and the unfortunateness of early 3D polygon graphics. The second and third game took the series in a completely new and original direction and were quite good, so while I had never heard of the remake before I came across it during the steam summer sale, I was cautiously hopeful. Even if it was trash, it's just the kind of gothic-mystery-exploring-a-haunted-castle trash that I like to throw my money at. The gameplay is pretty fun (minus some quick time events where you can get killed by ghosts mostly by failing to operate the somewhat clunky controls - the game was originally ported for PS4) and the story is original but also expands upon the series mythos. An enjoyable trashy gothic yarn, although the story also felt incomplete, even to someone who has played the original games, and was both wrapped up too quickly and left weirdly unresolved.

Books

Greenglass House, Kate Milford - I started this book a while ago and it’s been on my radar for a while, and I restarted it again when I heard it was going to be on this year’s BOB list. A fun young adult adventure story which utilizes one of my favorite mystery tropes, the closed circle. The story is that preteen Milo lives in the eponymous house, which his family runs as an inn. The house used to be a meeting place for smugglers back in the day, which means there’s buried treasure somewhere in the house, and when the story starts a slew of guests arrive at the house and are stranded by a snowstorm, when things start getting mysterious. Someone in the house is a thief! I really like this book and the way that the story’s original folklore is woven into the plot. There are also several dungeons and dragons elements that play a role in the plot - to solve the mystery, Milo and his friend Meddy pretend to be characters in a role-playing game, and I love the way the story makes connections between games, stories, and language, since that happens to align with my interests.

Serafina and the Black Cloak, Robert Beatty - Another BOB book, this one also has been on my radar for a while because the series is very popular among my students, and when I went to Beatty’s website recently I saw that Disney had already put their name on it, lol. What I didn’t know was that the series takes place in my state. The setting is the Biltmore Estate in the late 1800s, and the story is a historical fantasy that utilizes some of the local folklore in some really interesting ways, although it’s more fantasy than historical. An enjoyable read with an interesting female protagonist.

Movies

Ready Player One - I enjoyed this movie a lot more than I thought I would. I had heard going into it that it was not a great adaptation from friends who loved the book, which I haven’t read. That might be why I did enjoyed it so much. I don’t think it’s anything that memorable, but it is enjoyable. I can see why the book became so popular, although I’ve read books with similar storylines. I guess a book like this is more relevant nowadays with the popularity of VR in the modern gaming market, but the story relied on some tired cliches nonetheless. I also was a bit annoyed when the story acknowledged the issue with the main character falling for Artemis’ idealistically beautiful avatar without really knowing her...and then had her turn out to be stunningly gorgeous in real life. Okay, she had a wine-stain disfigurement on her face, but she was still traditionally beautiful, and the main character gets to be with her in the end while meanwhile, his actual best friend, who turns out to be an unfeminine black girl in real life and who obviously has a crush on him, is left behind.

Picnic At Hanging Rock - I come across this movie on gothic film recommendation lists every so often and have wanted to watch it for years, and I happened to find it on youtube, which surprised me. The original movie is from 1975 and is a cult classic for a reason. Stunning visuals and a story that leaves you confused in the just the right way. After watching it, I was itching to learn more and came across last year’s amazon prime series with Natalie Dormer and watched all six episodes, and although the series was enjoyable and a good extension for anyone who enjoys the original movie, it does not have the charm or brilliance of the original. The series expands on the story, but part of the beauty of the original movie is the way the story is told in what isn’t said, and in carefully choreographed scenes where nobody on screen says a word. I can see why the movie is called “gothic” as it has some of the trappings of the genre. It takes place in 1900 at a remote and mysterious boarding school in Australia. Three girls vanish during a school field trip, seemingly without a trace. What happened to them may have been supernatural. Or they may have been murdered, kidnapped, or run off on their own. Also, I’m pretty sure everyone is gay.

We Have Always Lived in the Castle - I’m a huge fan of the Shirley Jackson novel which this movie is an adaptation of, and unlike Netflix’s The Haunting of Hill House, this movie is actually a fairly straight adaptation of the novel. The movie captures the gothic feel of the book as well as the anxiety about gender and class from which it gets its themes, and there are solid performances all around, but the movie does seem a bit devoid of a life of its own. Despite, and possibly because of, the voice-over narration, Merricat never really comes alive as a character the way she does in the book. This is, I think, a problem with a lot of book to movie adaptations that rely on voice-overs to tell the story. I can see the appeal of this, especially with a book like this which is both heavily steeped in POV and characterized by an unreliable narrator, but I found myself really wishing the movie would just let itself tell the story rather than the narrator.

Shows

American Gods - I watched all of season two on the starz website except for the finale, which I was told that I needed to upgrade by account to watch, so if you are watching on the website or the app be aware of that. I enjoyed season two, although it lacked some of the urgency of the first season. I do enjoy some of the adaptational choices made that update the novel a bit, such as having Technology be outsourced by New Media. Also, season two saw the arrival of my daughter, Sam Black Crow. I’m also looking forward to the Lakeside subplot next season (I assume) as it’s my favorite part of the novel.

Stranger Things - I watched the first four episodes of season one when it came out, and then for some reason never finished it. I know, I know. It didn’t take me very long to watch all three seasons, which I sort of interpreted as one as a result, although I do think there’s a drop in quality somewhere in the second/third season, but overall it’s a fun show that definitely kept me interested and invested in the characters. Also, every scene relating to the upside down motivated me to clean my bathroom.