#He really does give me brain worms and I need you to understand 90% of it is because he's so pathetic

[kakusu-shipping]

having Korosensei as an f/o is such mind-candy sometimes. just imagine how soft and squishy and warm and snuggly and cuddle-able he is. and just imagine falling asleep with himmm <3

You are so correct Anon he gives the best hugs and snuggles he's so warm and squishy and hugs so tight in coils and multiple arms

Also while sleeping his holds his partners like a teddy bear I have never actually slept directly on the mattress

[kopikokun]

Beach Day Blues༄ l.dh

↳ Out on a day trip to the beach with your boyfriend and his friends, you’re anticipating a fun time filled with sunny memories and sand filled swimsuits. What you’re not expecting is the cold shoulder from your usually happy-go-lucky boyfriend, but you’re going to get to the root of this issue, even if it’ll kill you.

pairing: lee donghyuck x reader ft. yuta, mark & jaehyun

content: fluff, beach day, reverse comfort fic, jealousy fic, very mildly suggestive ending

word count: 2053 words

Request 36: Haechan + “I need a hug.” (42) + “You’re cute when you’re angry.” (47) + “You own my heart.” (59) + Jealousy

← BACK TO NAVI.

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

Perhaps you’re being delusional. Perhaps you’re just dehydrated or, maybe, you rationalise, the scalding rays of the evening Sun have burned not only your skin but your brain cells too (if there were any to begin with). Maybe all of this is just in your head and you’re overthinking it.

    “Hey,” someone hisses, “is it just me or is Donghyuck giving you the cold shoulder?”

    At the question, or rather observation, your head swivels an almost sharp 90 degrees to stare Yuta straight in the eyes. “So, it wasn’t just me thinking that!”

    Yuta chuckles. “Yeah, he definitely seems off…” He peers at Donghyuck discreetly from beneath his sunglasses before turning back towards you. “Did you guys get into a fight or something?”

    “A fight? No way!” You pause, suddenly doubting yourself. “At least, I don’t think so…”

    Though you’re confident in your verdict of innocence regarding a fight, Yuta’s question prompts you to briefly run through the events of the day. To preface things, you, your boyfriend, Donghyuck, and a few of your friends—namely, Yuta, Jaehyun and Mark—had decided around half a month ago to clear up one day in advance for a ‘beach day’ this week. The idea had sprung after someone had brought up how nice and sunny the weather had been lately, and everyone just unanimously came to the conclusion that sunny weather equals beach day.

     You had begun packing for this trip a few days ahead to the surprise of everyone including yourself, which is a testament to your overwhelming excitement, because you rarely--if ever--pack that early for just a single day trip. But who can blame you? This would be your first official trip with Donghyuck. No, you should rephrase that. This would be your first official trip with Donghyuck as your boyfriend. You’ve been on plenty of trips before when you two were just ‘friends’, but now--and maybe this is the romanticist in you which you’ve successfully kept stored away up until recently speaking--it just feels different. You’re sure someone out there can relate, because you’ve never been one to obsess over something as feeble as a label, yet this trip has had your stomach in knots for ages.

  The packing process had gone smoothly--neither you nor Donghyuck had forgotten anything--and so had the car ride over. As far as you can recall, your day at the beach so far has gone without a hitch too. You’d had a little picnic, dipped in the oddly warm sea, played some beach volleyball (badly) and gotten some icecream afterward. No fights, no issues, no nothing.

   Maybe, you think, he found out I was involved in that little switch up with the sea water. You don’t entertain the idea for too long though immediately casting it away, because you know Donghyuck would never be the type to get so upset over a prank.

    So, why the attitude?

    You gaze at Donghyuck’s back, hoping that this mystery might just unravel itself if you stare long enough.

    “Huh…” Yuta’s voice tears you from your zealous staring competition with Donghyuck’s shoulders. “Then I wonder what’s up…”

    You sigh. You know you should confront him and have a mature conversation about what’s bothering him, but that’s so much easier said than done. Maybe this is God’s way of punishing you for ridiculing all those scenes in cheesy teen flicks where the couple would experience a major fall-out because of poor communication. During said scenes, you’d be pulling your hair out, internally screaming at the couple to just freaking talk already, yet now that you’ve been presented this obstacle for you to overcome yourself, you’re erring on the side of caution.

    Come on, you reason, I’ve been friends with Donghyuck for over half-a-decade and we’ve gotten into our fair share of arguments during those five years. What’s so different about now?

    Yeah, you’re right. You find yourself agreeing with your own thoughts, physically nodding along like you’re speaking to someone. Yuta raises a concerned eyebrow at you. Nothing’s different compared to then. You’re doing it again. He’s just my boyfriend, and that’s just a label. Stop. Obsessing. Over. Labels.

    Admittedly, it’s a bit embarrassing having to psyche yourself up to do this, but that’s not what’s important right now. What’s important is that little pep-talk, no matter how laughable it sounded, has gotten you to stand and saunter to Donghyuck with utmost confidence. In hindsight, you should’ve said something to Yuta beforehand instead of just springing from your seat and marching away. The thought hadn’t crossed your mind though, as it was obviously preoccupied with something arguably much more important than giving him the luxury of context.

    You decide not to be too transparent about your feelings at first as you take a seat beside Donghyuck on the sand, leaning your head on his shoulder, hoping that all of this was really just your imagination getting the best of you. You silently plead that he’ll perhaps treat you like he normally would, giving you a little peck on the cheek or at least wrapping his arm around your waist. Unfortunately, your hopes are smothered just as quickly as they arise because Donghyuck doesn’t even bat an eye at you, continuing to chat with Jaehyun and flat-out ignoring your presence. Still optimistic for a reaction, you leave a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder, just to let him know that “Hey, I’m here!”, but to no avail. Infuriatingly, he doesn’t even flinch. All he does is drone on to Jaehyun about something you couldn’t care less about.

    You huff. Audibly. A last ditch effort in vying for Donghyuck’s attention. It goes just as well as your previous attempts. You cross your arms, glaring at the side of Donghyuck’s stubborn little head, hoping to bore a deep hole through his brain. Maybe then he’ll finally take notice of you. Sensing the undeniable tensity in the air, Jaehyun clears his throat awkwardly, offering Donghyuck some lame excuse about needing to take a piss, before shuffling away. Well, at least someone knows how to take a hint.

    With Jaehyun’s departure, you’re left alone with Donghyuck. Usually, he’d be leaping to drown you in affection the second you two had privacy--or even if you two didn’t, to be frank--but all he does now is fiddle with the strings of his swimming shorts absentmindedly.

    “What’s wrong, Hyuck?” you finally ask, desperate to break this frustratingly suffocating silence. “Is something wrong?”

    Finally, after what seems like centuries, Donghyuck acknowledges your existence, though the look he gives you is not a pleasant one. In fact, it’s one of agitation. His tongue prods at his inner cheek before he says, tone bitter, “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

    Evidently taken aback, you crease your eyebrows at him. “I… Did I do something wrong, babe?”

    “Oh, come on,” he scoffs, scornful amusement overtaking his normally amiable features. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know. You can just come out and say it.”

    “Say what, Hyuck?”

    “How much more you’re into Mark than into me,” Donghyuck says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

    You can’t help but laugh, simply bewildered as to how on Earth he came to this conclusion. “I’m into who now?”

    “Mark,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, “don’t have to pretend like you’re surprised.”

  “I’m not into--” you sigh, a smile of disbelief tugging at your lips. “Okay, tell me why you think I’m into Mark.”

    “I don’t think. I know,” Donghyuck argues and you scoff, “but it’s obvious. And I have proof. Take when we were playing volleyball for instance. The whole time, you kept eyeing Mark up and laughing at his jokes. All of them. Even the weird ones that nobody gets.”

    You snort. “Baby… I wasn’t ‘eyeing Mark up’, I was watching him just in case he missed the ball. And about the joke thing, to his credit, some of them were actually pretty funny! But, as for the the rest--and don’t tell Mark I said this--I felt kinda bad nobody else laughed at them, so I just laughed along with him. Trust me, I’ve been in his shoes before and it sucks. Not all of us are born as naturally as funny as you, Hyuck.” You’re a little remorseful that you’re essentially dissing Mark, but you’re sure he’d understand. Your relationship’s on the line here.

    Donghyuck harrumphs, but you can tell by the slight quirk of his lip that he’s a little tickled by you poking fun at Mark and he’s totally been swayed by your compliment.

    “Okay, fine that explains that, but how about when we went swimming just now? Why did you and Mark keep exchanging funny looks?”

    “That?” You giggle. “You know how your drink was mysteriously replaced by seawater?”

    “Yeah,” he trails off, his suspicion growing by the second.

    “Who do you think that was?”

    Donghyuck groans. “Wait, that was you? Seriously? That was mean, babe.”

  “Aww, I know, Hyuck. I’m sorry,” you coo. Your hand inches its way closer to his as you attempt to intertwine your fingers together.

    Donghyuck rejects your endeavour of fondness. “Nu-uh, no way. I’m not done with you yet.”

    “Oh my God, Hyuck, there’s more?” you complain, though there’s a tint of amusement in your voice.

    “Yes, there’s more, and you won’t be able to worm your way out of this one either,” he says smugly, as if it’d be a good thing if you in fact, couldn’t worm your way out of his next accusation. “How about when we went to get ice cream and you kept sliding up next to him?”

    You pout. “I just wanted to try the watermelon popsicle he got.”

    Donghyuck blinks at you, his once irritated expression dissolving. He seems dumbfounded as you hold his gaze, your mirthful smile never faltering. He turns away from you. “Oh, well… then whatever. I guess you aren’t into Mark.”

    “Hyuck,” you say, hand crawling up his arm, “were you jealous?”

    “Well, yeah, obviously,” he deadpans, still refusing to meet your gaze.

    You giggle. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

    His cold facade is immediately abandoned at your teasing intonation, and just like that, your cheery Hyuck is back. “Baby,” he whines, readjusting himself so he’s facing you head-on, “don’t tease me. I couldn’t help but be jealous, you know?”

    “And why is that?”

    Donghyuck purses his lips. “Why? What do you mean why?” He gestures up and down, eyes sweeping over you. “Look how pretty you are! What am I supposed to do when you look this good all the time? It’s unfair, really, that you’re this pretty.”

    A blistering heat, one that is much hotter than the Sun, gathers in your cheeks. “Oh really now, Hyuck?”

    “Yes, really,” he says, genuity seeping into his every word. “Literally, everyday I’m surprised you’re even real.” You grin bashfully and Donghyuck pounds his fist to his chest dramatically like he’s been shot. “See! You’re only smiling and I’m already having heart palpitations at just twenty years old.”

    “Okay, okay, Hyuck. You can stop hyping me up now,” you chuckle. You’re beyond glad that your boyfriend has returned to his spirited self, but you know you should address what just happened seriously, just in case. “But hey, I’m sorry that I made you feel that way. Looking back, it definitely could’ve been misinterpreted as flirting and I would never want you to have any reason to feel insecure about our relationship because you own my heart, Hyuck.”

    “Aw, babe, you can be really cheesy when you want to be,” says Donghyuck, pinching your cheeks. He plays what you said off casually, but you know that deep down, it resonates with him, and he honestly appreciates your sincerity. “Come here, I need a hug.”

    “Right now? There are people around, Hyuck.”

    “But you look so good right now. I can’t resist.”

    “I don’t know, Hyuck…” You smile demurely.

    “Alright, then what about,” Donghyuck reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear, whispering, “we ditch the beach day and go cuddle in the car? My skin’s burning, anyway.”

    You grin. “They’re gonna notice that we went missing, you know?”

    “So?” Donghyuck challenges, leaning in to place a short but telling kiss on the juncture which connects your ear and your jaw. “Even better. I want them to know.”

[htmlerror]

9, 10, 11, 12

Most disliked character(s)? Why?

joker. lame

Most disliked arc? Why?

i really hate everything to happen to joey in deathstroke (2016). the handling of his sexuality has always been a huge problem and this comic only made it worse. his fiance's death was handled very weirdly. the rewriting of his powers are another massive issue. i started excited to read him in that book and very quickly began to dread it even compared to the shit show that was whatever they did with rose. i don't know why the fuck he was addicted to drugs. i hate that the comic did the fucking "90% of your brain" thing. i despise the vocal implant or whatever the fuck it was. who wanted any of this. certainly not me

Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

nyssa raatko has so much potential and you have opened a can of worms that may never be closed. there's so much potential with the character. giving talia a connection to culture and upbringing other than just her father is a very cool idea. i love nyssa's dynamic with bruce and the tension between her and ra's. i love the contrast between her and talia.,as much as i can enjoy abstract motivations in characters (stop any child from going through what bruce wayne did, repent for past sins, "do the right thing", etc) i go feral for characters who are very specifically motivated by specific events in their lives. she's painted as a villian but i find her one of the most sympathetic characters dc has pulled out of their miserable ass in recent decades. there wasn't a point where i felt so alienated from her thought process and motivations that i couldn't understand her actions. there are So Many problems with nyssa and it's more difficult to grapple with when a character only has one arc and no alternate versions exist (arrowverse does not exist in this household we have taste here). the treatment of ra's and talia in datm is atrocious. i'm definitely not oblivious to the racism in he arc. imo, for her to appear again in comics, there would need to be some extremely careful retcons to preserve her core character while eliminating the more dangerous elements. i doubt it will ever happen, but i can be hopeful

Is there an unpopular arc that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

this is a terrible opinion i know but i do really like parts of countdown. earth-51 routinely rips my heart out and stomps on it. i've mentioned before how i read jason's anger after leaving that earth as his way to cope with grief and i stand by it. no matter how twisted it turns out to be, there's something inherently tragic about a character like jason getting the thing he wants and then having it ripped away. and in the last few shots on that earth as he gets a sort of revenge he'll never achieve back home? ouch

[jujutsu-headcanons]

Yes to Yuji wrecking Mahito! Just so much yes my boy needs to avenge those wrongfully killed!

See I wanted Geto to be on my shit list (as I'm not normally a bad guy lover) but I swear he wore me down reading the manga. Plus he's just so pretty he makes my brain all static noises 😳 Not to mention that backstory between him and Gojo like YES give me all the drama I need buried drama 🤩

Totally agree on the Mai thing. See I wanted to hate Todo too bc of well him beating on Megumi but the moment him and Yuji were just like "Big Dumb Meat Heads" together I threw that out the window! Those two together are *chefs kiss* Absolutely stupendous I never get tired of them 👌👌👌

Mai on the other hand is just crawling more and more under my skin. Like why you gotta be like that gurl? You wanna go in the crusty corner with Mahito? Cuz you gotta crusty attitude that needs fixing like yesterday 😐

Literary brain tells me it wants more drama/character growth between Megumi and Toji. But my useless overly big heart wants to punch Toji and protect Megumi at all costs bc he just showed up on the screen like the kool aid man and burst right into my heart and I shan't forgive Megumi for that but now I will die for him so ¯\_( ツ)_/¯

But I'm not the only one who lowkey fantasizes about self inserty type day dreams??? Like every day all day I got my thoughts flowing into 500 different lil oneshots I'm too chicken to post anywhere bc I havent written anything in a while and I feel I'm rusty. But your idea! YOUR IDEA WOO BOI- I'm not even a Gojo fanatic (like I adore him but my heart dick thudded elsewhere RIP) but that scene you described of straddling him just to rip his blindfold off in the heat of an arguement that's clearly deadly to either party- Just to see him on the brink of tears fighting back every emotion to slate his composure to cocky/uncaring. Only to have it obviously failing, and the metaphorical reality around you both crumbling along with Gojo's emotional state- Oh God I would read that crap outta something like that. It fills me with the angst and I thrive on it daily *heavy breathing* You should think about posting more of your original content too! Self inserty or not bc that sounds down right brilliant on so many levels

💛anon

Bro I can't help but feel had for Gojo. That shit must have hurted. Like he looked so calm and collected when it all happened but was he really? His best friend potential lover went feral and murdered an entire village AND his family then he tried to kill his first years once and now AGAIN what is happening. Did you see the look on Gojo's face when Yaga told him he went rogue? That was a face of hurt and betrayal he couldn't even begin to understand at the young age of... What was it, 17? 18? He was practically a little itty bitty baby compared to now. I haven't read the prequel yet don't laugh at me but I've heard it hurts so much worse having to face Getou back then AND now. Stupid brain worms, stop fucking around.

I wanted to hate Todo too hut before he even turned good I couldn't. I have a thing for big buff boys who have zero brains and too much brawns I'm looking at you Metal Bat, Captain Ōbi I just wanna adopt/marry them because in all reality they're trying their best. I'm really glad Todo exists and has his big brother delusion because honestly I think that's something Yuji needs, especially in the current arc. Yuji needs as much support as he can get.

PFFFT CRUST CORNER I cannot with you omg they do need to sit on the time out chair for s bit and think about what they've done lmaooo

DID YOU CALL TOJI ZENIN- FUSHIGURO THE FUCKING KOOL AID MAN AHAHAHHHSH oh my god i hate this so fucking much or were you calling Megumi the koolaid man bc really each one is absurd n e wayz I dunno bro I rlly can't wait until Megs wakes up post Shibuya arc and actually has time to process what the fuck happened to him back then. I really want to know if he can connect the dots by himself and realize holy shit that was the source of my daddy issues right there in the flesh and how he reacts to him being a curse and all that. There's so many ways that can go too it's scary to think about.

Low key unrelated but I have a theory that Gojo can see everything from his little cube prison and knows what's going on. Its probably because of the six eyes, or because he's just fucking Gojo, or even because Geto seems kinda sadistic and would do something like that. But I can imagine him watching Megs and Toji fight and it absolutely destroying him. For starters, Gojo killed him .... Right? Wtf is he doing back? What? Second don't commit suicide in front of your kid oh my god Toji what (I'm probably just salty because of a past experience, but also, calm down Toji oh my god) and third I can see it hurting Gojo because in a way it feels like he's been trying to protect Megumi. Its obvious Gojo has this attachment to Megumi, and maybe it's because they've known each other so long, but I don't think Gojo is prepared to deal with the aftermath. Does he have to tell him, if Megs doesn't put the pieces together? Will he have to knock some sense into him to actually tell him? Because he DID try to tell Megs once before and he avoided it like the plague. Its also gotta hurt when you feel like someone's dad and you witness them have a bad interaction with their other dad.

Throw in his daughter being on the brink of death, his other son being emotionally demolished, his second year kids lost in the void and not even his void, his best friend locked him in a box, his other best friend exploded, etc. I think Gojo I pretty distraught even if he doesn't show it

Bro okay my brain is riddled with ideas like this and 90% of them are always angst. Idk where tf they come from half the time but they exist and I hate it. They're always self inserts too.

So I actually read this ask last night, but due to personal reasons I didn't reply to it now, and I actually started experimenting writing out this scenario. I had to stop when I wrote the line "Approximately one year after the first finger was consumed, Itadori Yūji was formally executed. At three minutes to midnight, Sukuna Ryomen was expelled from his body, destroying the vessel along with it. The executioner was none other than the teenager's teacher and mentor Gojo Satoru. When Y/N awoke to this news, they attacked on sight."

Oh god I made myself so sad with that line

And i do really want to post some of my fics, like I did with Nobara Meeting Sukuna For The First Time. However, I only posted that because it was short and simple lmao it was basically just a meme I didn't even run it though grammarly like I do with the headcanons.

I like sticking to the headcanons as of right now because I feel like grammar didn't exist when I make those. I can spell things wrong and leave off punctuation and word then like I'm a third grader just learning English and no one will laugh lmao. Fanfics kinda stress me out because i want them to be perfect. I also have a hard time with fight scenes and transitioning and it's s mess.

I REALLY want to write out my Guardian Angel! Junpei AU because I think it's so cute. Just the idea that this boy is assigned to fight against fate and the higher ups and keep Yuji alive despite him being an idiot and a target is cute to me. Like I just canon him being the plantonic equivalent of in love with this boy and he feels like he rlly owes it to Yuji for trying to save him it's the LEAST he can do. Plus I need the mental imagine if Junpei annoying reader-chan into finding Yuji because "they play a pivotal role in Yuji's future" just for the "pivotal role" to literally be playing therapist and just being there for him and being a medium between Junpei and Yuji because guardian angels aren't allowed to reveal themselves to the person they're guarding but also/// he might risk his wings being stripped just to talk to Yuji one more time////

Okay I'm going to stop now

But yea, maybe if I have time and create little mini works like Nobara Meeting Sukuna For the First Time I'll def post them! I'll work on casually making them longer and soon I'll be confident to posts longer ones. But until then I hope just the headcanons at alright ;-;

[cherryyharryy]

Burning Words

Chapter Two: Lunch, Library, and Lady Liberty

WC: 7,400

Previous part

Songs for this chapter

The prickling scratch of my highlighter dragging across a strip of text reminds me of how naïve I really am. I hate the sound, hate how uneven the lime green line sits, jagged over the inked words, with a pool of color where the pen sat at the beginning of the sentence. 

It’s raining outside, and rain in New York is not like rain anywhere else. It’s purposeful, like a painting, like it belongs here. The only difference is that nothing changes—not like back home. In Georgia, people would come out afterwards, drive ten miles to the nearest pit and screw their trucks through the mud. Kids would run outside and look for worms and slugs, puddles to jump in. Dogs would dig holes in the softened earth. But here, no one stops. No one bats an eye, not even the people who forget their umbrellas. I wish rain was still life changing.

I sigh, close my notes, and cap my highlighters. “Any ideas for lunch?”

Jessie dips her head back in thought. I see her lashes flutter and her lips pinch, but then she shrugs. “We could order pizza?” She’s sat cross-legged on a patchwork armchair, laptop balanced across her thighs with a pen teetering between her teeth. I have to tip my head over the back of my chair to see her, upside down. “I’ve got a coupon for that place down the street.”

“We always order pizza.”

“We could learn how to cook.”

I click my tongue. “Bingo.” 

The far wall of the apartment has a generous sized window. The floor creaks like we’re torturing it every time we move across a room, the bathtub faucet leaks when it’s hot out, and I know more about my neighbors’ lives than I really need to. But the window....it’s like a movie. My chair sits beside it. I try to count raindrops but there are too many. 

“Chinese?” I offer. 

“You and your egg rolls.”

“They’re the only thing I want when I don’t really wanna eat. I didn’t eat breakfast. And I only had a handful of popcorn for dinner last night.” 

I can see a park from here, and in the winter when the trees are bare, a neighboring tennis court. Flowers hang limply from their stems along the sidewalk. A cat scrambles across the road, sporadic, and suddenly I envy the lack of knowledge animals have, lack of responsibilities, sense of time, unspoken contracts. At times I wish I were a depressed cat soaked to the bone, thinking if I move quick enough I’ll escape the rain. 

“What?” I miss half of what Jessie asks. 

“How’s your class been?”

“Which one?”

Jessie pauses her movements to assert me with a knowing glare. “You know what class. How’s the British babe?”

“Ugh, Harry.”

“Harry,” she tests his name before I continue. A few students have called him by his name, but he’s quick to correct them, surely enjoying his authority.

“He’s most definitely not a babe. A jackass. And he’s been as jackass-y as ever.” I join Jessie when she starts to laugh. “He calls on me every chance he gets. And I swear it’s just to humiliate me.”

“Well at least he’s nice to look at.”

“That means nothing when he’s a jerk.”

“True.” Jessie shrugs. “What about Truman’s...it’s near campus?”

I loll my head back and narrow my gaze. They don’t have egg rolls. “Yeah that’s fine.”

“My treat.”

***

In Hungarian, there are two words for the color red. Piros and vörös, with different times to use them, and should be used accordingly. When I was a kid I got them wrong; called my mom’s hat vörös, and got a slap on the wrist by my grandmother. 

I spent that evening hiding in my closet, using the sleeve of my Winnie the Pooh pajamas to soak up the cascade of tears. When my cousin found me, I begged him to explain what I’d done wrong. 

“Piros is blood inside the body. Vörös is when it comes out.”

That’s all I was left with. And I never did understand the difference. For years now that night resurfaces in my brain, and I think, I’m older now, I’ll be able to get it.

But now, as I stand on the sidewalk, peering through the window of Jessie’s lunch choice, I’m swarmed with the overbearing realization that age has nothing to do with it. 

Harry’s in a striped button down, a sea foam green that reminds me of how different candy felt when I was younger, and high-waisted navy blue pants that couldn’t decide between flaring out or forming to the shape of his legs. I watch him balance plates and glasses, stacking forks and knives, spoons and mugs, soiled napkins and empty Splenda packets. He shovels his tip into his pocket and then disappears out of view while someone else wipes down the table. 

“We can go somewhere else.”

“No.” I drag in the humid air, freshly washed, and hold it in my lungs until my head starts to spin. “This is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. We’ll sit in the back. At Brigette’s table.”

I’m not sure if you can call Truman’s a restaurant. It isn’t fast food, fine dining, or even a bistro. It’s always dark. The chairs are pink and the tablecloths are green. There are flowers everywhere, I thought it was a flower shop and was sadly mistaken when I came in for the first time to buy Jessie a bundle of roses for her birthday. Strumming violins fill any silence between tables. It’s old but new, rooted woods, lamps from the 90’s, curtains from the 80’s, cooks from the 60’s and 70’s. 

“Brigette’s not on today, but that table is available if you want it.”

Me and Jessie both blink at the hostess, unintelligible utterances coming out until we give up, give in, and sit ourselves down at the small tea table under the back window. 

“I hope the rain doesn’t start again. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

I hum, more preoccupied with trying to find a better distraction than my ripped cuticles. 

“He’s up front,” Jessie assures, “I think I saw that guy I dated the summer after freshman year...Mack something or other...busing these tables. I’m sure he’ll wait on us.”

“Whitaker.”

“What?”

“His name was Mack Whitaker.”

“Yeah, him. It’ll be fine.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. I can’t imagine being her.

The place is busy, rightfully so on a bleak Saturday afternoon. The sun pokes through the clouds occasionally, carving streams of golden light across our table, Jessie’s face, and I assume mine as well. She compliments my eyes and I thank her, then proceed to detail a hundred abstract thoughts as to why she must pity me enough to lie. Someone—who isn’t Mack Whitaker—brings us each water and apologizes for the wait. They’re swamped, understaffed, and had barreled through a visit from the health department early this morning. 

“Anthony’s pissed again,” Jessie mumbles, pursing her lips when I look up at her. I raise my brows so she’ll continue. “I missed his call the other night. But I was busy, so…” she shakes her head and scoffs a laugh. 

“It’s sweet though, that he wants to talk to you everyday.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs. 

“He’ll get over it,” I assure her. “He did the last time.”

“I just hope he’s over it before he comes up here.”

“Good afternoon, have you had a chance to look at the menu?” A girl from my class ends our conversation. She wears the same outfit as Harry. When she smiles I have to blink, her teeth whiter than heat, slightly crooked, and I imagine she overdoes the stinging gel against her gums to make up for it. It works. Her lips and cheeks look as if she’d became too friendly with strawberries; a character face, full and round, structured like magazine models with skin to match. I remember her from the previous year: pretty, even at eight in the morning. Boys like her, professors like her. Head of the Spanish club but I bet she can’t count past diez. 

“Two turkey on ciabatta with tomato soup. No mayo on one. Diet Coke aaand…” Jessie raises her brows at me.

“My water is fine, thanks.” 

“No mayo,” our server draws out the syllables while jotting down our order. ”Well my name’s Danielle, if you need anything just—” She points her pencil at me and squints, as if that clears my image and her memory. “You look familiar…” She hums to herself, taps the end of the pencil against her lips before her eyes light up. I gulp. “Oh! You’re in my class aren’t you? The early one on Monday and Wednesday!” 

I nod. “Yeah, World Lit.”

“Yeah! How are you doing on your book report?”

“Um, good I guess. Haven’t gotten too far into it yet.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid right? I heard it was the TA’s idea. I mean, I haven’t done a book report since high school.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “So—oh! Speak of the devil.”

My face feels as though I’m being stung by a thousand bees. Harry sidles up beside Danielle and nods to each of us. 

“Afternoon, ladies.” He’s holding a pitcher of ice water and flicks his gaze down to my glass.

I regret how much I drank when he fills it back up to the rim. I scrape my teeth against my tongue before I’m able to say anything. “Thank you.”

He nods, opens his mouth, but Danielle beats him to it. 

“We were just discussing our class.”

My veins are filled with wax, dripping at a pace so unoriginal, hardening, crystallizing. I grab my cutlery wrapped in a mauve pink napkin to occupy my hands, twisting and prodding and jabbing. 

“Yeah,” she continues when all he does is nod. “So what are we doing on Monday?”

“I have a surprise for you all, something I’ve been working on with Dr. Pierce—”

“Oh!” Danielle interrupts. “What is it?”

Harry raises his brows and laughs. “Well I can’t tell you, now can I? Won’t be a surprise.”

“Ohh, yes you can. We won’t say a word.”

Harry denies her once more. His eyes flicker down to me. “I’m sure you won’t. But you’ll have to wait for class to find out.”

“Oh my God! Your hand!”

I follow Jessie’s voice to see a small pool of blood decorating the table, my napkin having soaked up some, my skin a bit more. Red reflects in the sparkling silver of a fork and spoon, glistening on the blade of a knife I have carelessly sawed against the tip of my ring finger. I didn’t feel anything until I saw the cut, and now it stings. 

“We have a first aid kit in the back.” I hear Harry say but I look to Jessie. “Here,” he pulls a handful of napkins from his apron and cups them around my finger. “Is this okay?”

I nod without looking at him. He tells me to come with him, and I oblige, weighing my evils as the entire room is now focused on our table and the girl bleeding out right before their eyes. As I walk with him, I selfishly hope I do lose enough to earn a transfusion, amputate my finger, something, anything, so I can leave. If I get to stay in the hospital, I won’t have to go to class Monday. 

“Don’t worry!” Danielle whispers as she passes by us. “He’s great with his hands.”

I see vörös everywhere. 

***

It burns. Really burns. But I’m thankful. It’s the only thing keeping me aware that I’m alive, that I can’t hide away, that I need to mark my movements as always. He rinses my finger under an ice cold water bottle he pulled from a tiny fridge below the staff’s sign-in computer. Someone yelled at him—Ralph. His name is on the bottle. 

“This is cleaner than whatever comes out of the sink.” 

He slips his foot around the leg of a metal chair and drags it over by the sink; the closet door it had held open falls shut. With a nod he tells me to sit. I say nothing, just watch him care for the small wound like my life really is dependent on it. 

“Can I have your hand—er—can I see it? Your hand?” He rolls his lips in and clears his throat when I extend my arm to him. His touch is almost nonexistent. I barely feel his fingers splaying my hand flat and wide while he rinses the blood off. He uses a towel tucked into his waistband to dry me off, and then pops open the lid of the first aid kit. 

“This is just an antiseptic...don’t think it should burn.” He smooths a small bit of opaque gel over the ridiculously tiny split in my skin. “I think the head and the hand...always an extreme amount of blood. When I was a kid, my sister’s cat scratched me, right under my left eyebrow. It felt like someone poured water down my face. Mum thought I was goin’ to die.” He folds a purple band-aid over my finger, frowning when it’s not smooth so he starts again. “There. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good. Okay. Um, well I guess I’d better get back.” His hand lingers on the bandage, running his thumb over it one last time, and then he finally pulls away. 

“Yeah.” I’m shaky when I stand, and curse myself when I almost trip over the chair when I turn to leave. I pause to speak over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The walk back is long, and I have to fight the urge to look and see what he’s doing. I don’t hear the chair scraping against the floor or Ralph complaining about his water. I’m thankful I threw on my good jeans this morning. 

Jessie is bouncing in her seat when I return—the table beside ours. “Is it bad? It was a lot of blood! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It was really small. The cut I mean.” I look down at my bandage like it’s a secret. “Where’s my stuff?”

“They’re replacing it all,” she waves off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it throbs a little bit—”

“No, not that! I mean him. Did he say anything to you? Was he mean? Because I’ll go back there if you need me to.”

“No—no, sit down, would you.” I hold back a laugh; she doesn’t need the encouragement. “He was nice.”

“Good. I tried to follow you but the manager came out and asked me what happened. We get our meal free, by the way.”

“Well then I guess this was worth it.”

Our food comes quickly, served by the manager herself. 

“Why aren’t you eating?”

I stir my soup. I can see the reflection of my eyes in the red pool, and I watch myself blink once before rippling my image away. “M’not that hungry.”

Jessie leans over the table and lowers her voice. “What happened?”

“What?”

“With Harry, in the back.”

“No, nothing.” I sigh and slump back into my chair. “I’m just tired. And I have a lot of work to do. That stupid report. And I have a quiz in another class on Tuesday. I’m fine. And he—”

“How are we doing? Is there anything I can get you guys?” Danielle looks prettier each time I see her. I shake my head while Jessie answers, keeping my focus on my untouched food. “Did Harry take care of you?”

It’s a good thing I wasn’t eating or else I would have choked. “Uh, yeah. He did.”

“I knew he would. He’s a sweet one.”

“Mhm.”

How easy it would be, to tell her my name. Tell her that her teeth are too white and her shirt is too tight. I could tell her that Harry’s sister’s cat scratched him when he was a kid and that’s where that tiny little scar above his eye is from. Did you know that Danielle? Or were you too preoccupied with what his hands were doing?

“Alright, well just holler for me if you need anything!”

I ignore her but she doesn’t seem to notice, waltzing off. Harry’s counting menus when she approaches him at the front. I think I hear her call him an angel, but I know I see him smile. I tell Jessie I want to leave. If I’m going to throw up it’s going to be in my bathroom with my best friend holding my hair back. 

***

I've had the Arctic Monkeys stuck in my head all morning. Every clink of the spoon against my bowl of cheerios, every step I took rushing to school because I decided to spend my time in the shower crying, every yawn from everyone stumbling into class. 

And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky, 

Yours, until the rivers all run dry. 

It’s five past eight. Dr. Pierce stands towards the corner, pointing at paperwork another professor is showing him. Each time a student cracks the door open they smile and hurry to their desk like they’ve won something. Freshmen. He told us twice that he doesn’t care if we’re late, it’s our grade not his, which I appreciate. My pen taps across my notebook. 

And I'll be yours until the sun no longer shines, 

Yours, until the poets run out of rhyme 

In other words, until the end of time

He is late, however. I try to refuse my need to look up at the door each time it opens. I want to dismiss the anxiety of waiting for him. 

I'm gonna stay right here by your side, 

Do my best to keep you satisfied 

Nothin' in the world could drive me away 

'Cause every day, you'll hear me say

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologizes, bustling through the door. He did his best to fix the upturned collar of his rose pink button-down, subtly, albeit he fails miserably when a smudge of maroon is revealed. “I uh,” he clears his throat, “had some things to take care of. Got carried away.” He directs his excuse towards our professor, scrambling to pull out today’s materials from his bag. 

Dr. Pierce bids the professor goodbye and welcomes Harry, offering him time to gather himself which he does rather quickly. His lips are pressed together until he’s the center of attention, scanning the room as he always does, finalizing on me and I swear his eyes glisten. 

“So, uh, today we’ll be—”

“So sorry I’m late.” Danielle hurries through the door and takes her seat at the front.

“Right, um, welcome.” Harry’s gaze is trained on the paper in his hands. His brows furrow and he clears his throat before continuing. “As I was saying, we’re doing something a tad different today. Dr. Pierce and I have been talking, and we decided to break up our usual routine And with your reports due soon, offer you all a little added support. So we’ll be heading to the library where you all can work, ask questions, get mine or Dr. Pierce’s advice—whatever you need to finish the final touches before you hand anything in.”

Most everyone appears pleased with this news, proceeding to sling their bags over their shoulders and get out of their chairs. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Dr. Pierce interjects the flow. “You must work on your report and your report only. This isn’t a free-for-all. And I don’t want to hear that you’ve finished it, because I can guarantee that there’s room for improvement from each of you.”

Danielle is the first to make it to the front. She passes Harry on her way to the door and straightens his collar. His face matches the rose colored stain she thumbs over and I think about how if I veer off and go home, no one will notice. 

And I'll be yours until two and two is three, 

Yours, until the mountains crumble to the sea 

In other words, until eternity 

Baby, I'm yours

***

Our library is something out of a medieval storybook. Rich, haunted woods and six tier windows where dust sparkles through the light pushing in. You can lose aged pennies against the floor and get lost behind dusty shelves if you want to. There are microfilms, typewriters, and a spirit machine downstairs and two velvet couches on the second floor. 

I spent the majority of my first semester here, back when Jessie brought a different boy home every Friday night. I’ve missed the smell, the quiet, the disturbed alteration of reality inside its doors. But when I look around at my class tossing their bags on tables and hollering for Dr. Pierce or Harry’s attention, I’m not sure if I’ll make plans to come back. 

Ms. Bortnick, the head librarian, is a stout woman who barely sees over the front desk, but somehow always knows when I’ve come in. When it’s raining, she knows the shake of my umbrella from everyone else’s. And when it’s spring, she knows my sneezes from everyone else’s. She is like a grandmother, only she’d never had kids, so not quite so in that you can’t get away with stuff. She has a bad eye and one good kidney, and sometimes she mixes these two things up, but I gave up on correcting her long ago. That’s how long I’ve been here. 

She is Ukrainian and her accent is thick and aged, much like her mind. “Hello nyuszi,” she says before I’m fully inside. It’s bunny in Hungarian. A nickname from my mom, who tells everyone because she thinks it’s cute. Everyone, including the tiny librarian during the campus tour we took forever and a day ago. 

“Hi Ms. Bortnick,” I say, lagging, like I’m embarrassed, because I am. 

She just waves with a big grandmother-like smile that makes you miss home. 

I take a seat at a small table, behind a section of Virginia Woolf. Most of the voices die down, the clicks of keyboards taking their place, and I  pull out the research I’ve started for my report. The Tropic of Cancer, slightly tattered and worn, lay open beside my notebook, and my laptop sits adjacent. 

“You coming along well?”

Shit. I jump, my ears ringing. “I’m fine.”

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home.

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home. 

“I actually did an analysis on Henry Miller a couple years ago. If you wanna pick my brain, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Oh uh, thanks.”

His voice is grumbly, like rocks turning over beneath tires. Yet smooth, like washing sand off your body. I’m perplexed for a moment, at how these two things meet together so well, but that’s always the case with people. Like how Ms. Bortnick can’t remember anyone’s actual name, but sews that wound up with a pet name she picks out just for you. 

“Yeah, I think I might even have an essay on my laptop. You can look over it if you’d like,” he says. 

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine with what I have.”

“Well if you need anything, just let me know.”

I nod. My eyes blink once he steps away, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and what I am doing. I’m a bit separated from most of the class, at one of the outlying tables apart from the student section where Harry ambles around everyone. Whenever he bends over to look at someone’s work, the muscles beneath his shirt ripple and contract. I can see his shoulder blades from here, and I’m failing to recall a time when the definition of someone’s spine has ever called for my attention. 

I shake my head, naïvely expecting that to clear my mind. Google is pulled up on my laptop, but instead of searching for The Tropic of Cancer, I press the keys in Harry’s name. 

The first couple links that pop up are social media accounts. I avoid these and move on to the next option, a link going back to our school. It takes me to his name under the directory, nothing more than a profile picture and his credentials. 

Harry Styles

Received his Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at New York University in 2016. He completed a one year internship at the Ann Rittenberg Literary Agency Inc. in New York in 2017, and in 2018, spent a year abroad in France and Italy studying classic literature surrounding the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. He is currently working on his graduate degree, assisted professional teaching placement, and his thesis on the cultivation of the Renaissance era in regards to English literature. 

I read over everything three times. That’s how long it takes me to grasp it all. He’s accomplished more in three years of his life than I have in my entire existence. It’s weird, being in my twenties and already feeding off the desire of wanting to be young again. It’s not fair how some people are prone to achievements and winning, while the rest of us are left to scramble around, years later to piece together a life that offers a sliver of satisfaction. 

I close the window and ineptly click on one of his social media accounts, and for some reason my stomach twists. There’s a picture of him on twitter, from this weekend. He’s at Truman’s with his arm around Danielle, a smile on his face, and a caption thanking her for getting him his job. They’re both pretty; perfect for each other really. The only thing I can think of being thankful for in this moment is that I was not included in their picture. No one needs to see that comparison; I provide myself with enough pity to feed an army.

And maybe it’s stupid, but I navigate to Danielle’s account. There’s a weird fraction in the self-loathing lifestyle, like my brain needs a reminder of where I stand in this world. It keeps me in check, I believe. I cannot imagine thinking I look good, only to be reminded that I don’t in fact, look anything close to good. That’s a big fall to take, and I prefer to spend my time at the bottom. I’ve earned my place here.

I zoom in to every picture. Have you ever compared your wrist to someone? Or the space where your neck meets your shoulders? She has a big, red birthmark on her hip, but she makes it look necessary. And I’m sure Harry probably likes it. And I’m sure she’s told him how she’s no longer ashamed of it, and she’s not afraid to wear bikinis because she doesn’t care what people think. And she probably thinks that’s what makes her different and that’s the story she tells, how she overcame insecurity and loves her body now. And she would probably tell me that I just need to learn how to accept my flaws and learn to love them and then I’ll finally be happy like her. But that’s stupid, even stupider then me scrolling through her account to find some awkward picture, maybe one where her nose and lips are less perfect and I can start saving up for surgery too. Because if I looked like her, I’d have no problem being happy. I’d post pictures on the beach, and find a boyfriend, and not feel like a pathetic loser who’s done nothing with her life.

“Are you writing your report on Danielle?”

I lurch with stiff bones, and now I can’t remember if I’ve had this headache all day or if Dr. Pierce’s voice triggered it. Shamefully, I close the browser. “No, I’m sorry.” I hope that’s enough, because it’s all I can afford to give right now. Maybe if he knew I was seconds away from crying he’ll leave me alone.

“Get back to work please.”

Just make it ‘til you get home. You can cry there. Not here. Not here. Not here.

***

I tediously lower my body so that the water pulses right below my chin. My knees are covered, but only if I remain motionless, or the water will break against my skin and then my knee caps will appear suddenly. I inch my feet further across the acrylic until they are hidden once again. 

There is a window extending from the floor beside the tub all the way up, over my head so I have a view of the street below as well as the sky, and it’s always quite a contrast. If the street is busy, then the sky is not. But then if the sky has a heavy to-do list, then it’s the road below me that becomes shallow, except when rain is falling in a race to its demise against the concrete. 

I suck in a breath that’s full of my shampoo and bodywash and the rose oil I dropped in twenty minutes ago. I can taste it in my lungs, so before it becomes too much, I push against my heels, my knees forming mountains as they break the surface and my head becomes consumed a moment later. The pressure is light, just enough; I’m more aware that I’m living than I did when oxygen was flowing through my lungs. I count to ten and then release the burn as I crash upwards. It’s a bit dramatic and cinema worthy, but there’s no one watching; even the city-goers are too far below me to care that I live here. 

“Is my phone in there?”

I drag my eyes open and sure enough, Jessie’s phone sits on the counter. “Come in!”

“Oh thank God, thought I left it at that party.” She picks her clothes from last night off the floor and throws them in the hamper. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“And why’s that?”

I shrug, but she doesn’t see me, now straightening up the mess she made of her toiletries, her back to me while she shoves everything into her drawer.

“Just one of those nights I guess.”

She peaks over her shoulder and hums. “You have a lot of those.” She turns fully, looking at me like she is a mother. I rack my brain for an excuse but I can’t find one. If I did, I would’ve tried it out on myself years ago. “Y’know I’m here to talk. I’m your best friend...that’s part of my job.”

I smile at the water, but turn away when I see my reflection. “I’m fine. Just getting used to the semester.”

She lets the defeat show on her face, and I’m glad I know how to mask mine. “Alright then. Well just text me if you need me. I’m always here for you.” Her voice is soft and patient and I feel guilty for lying to her. “I’m late for cello practice.”

“I’ll be fine. Gonna enjoy my day off.”

“And actually enjoy it! No studying, no flash cards!” She laughs when I roll my eyes. “I mean it. Go to the park, eat a pint of ice cream, masturbate, please, anything outside of those notebooks of yours!”

“I’ll add those to the list,” I laugh. “I’m probably just gonna stay home and relax. Watch Uptown Girls or something. Eat cookie dough.”

“And—”

“And masturbate I know.”

She kisses my head and grabs her phone, heading out the door, her voice fading as she leaves. “You can tell me all about it later.”

The tile is cold beneath my feet, and slick with warning as I pull the plug on the drain and take a moment to scan the world outside. The sun is in attendance today, some of its beams make their way into the bathroom and have crawled across the floor all morning. I decide to stand there, on the beams to warm my toes slightly. It’s probably more in my head, the warmth, but I’ll take it either way. The tiles are black and white, a classic checkerboard, and I gave up on choosing a color to step on not long after we moved in. 

The mirror is foggy and I work fast to wash my face and brush my teeth, keeping my towel tight around myself until the last possible second, trading it’s warmth for a sweater and jeans. I slip into my shoes. I haven’t read much for leisure, and pick up my copy of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl from my bookshelf before I leave. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it, but each time never fails to reward me with something I didn’t catch the last time. 

***

There’s a park within walking distance from my apartment. I like to go there in the rain sometimes, under my green umbrella, and read literary magazines with a thermos of coffee Jessie made me. I look like the adult that I’m supposed to be. I don’t think anyone ever notices, which isn’t much different then the expectations I lay out for myself the night before. 

Today, however, I am not walking to the park. I am taking a train to the park. The park—Central Park. And it’s not raining and I forgot to bring coffee, but I need today. I need to do something for myself. Something outside my comfort zone. That’s how you become a better person, right?

We don’t have subways back home. There isn’t much of anything back home other than high school football games, car washes, and stray cats that everyone feeds. The first time I rode the train I cried. Jessie told me that it was okay, and that’s why I did it the next time, and the time after that. I’m not going to cry today, though. I am not going to get overwhelmed and worry about when to get on and when to get off and who’s looking at me and how I wouldn’t be able to help anyone if they get mugged or how if I trip and fall on the platform, I’ll start praying for death. 

Light flashes at a rhythm I’m unfamiliar with, but I manage to keep my focus on my book. It shakes in my hands but I keep reading. I’m not really reading, in its true form, that is. I’ve marked this book up so much I could use it as confetti, and those are the parts I’m reading. The parts that meant something to me at each stage of my life: I used a green pen at age eleven, red sharpie at fifteen, blue highlighter at twenty, and ripped sticky notes at twenty-three. It’s less of a commitment this way, but when the screeching travels up my spine and I can smell something other than people when I’m back on solid ground, I wipe my cheeks and they’re dry. 

When I lie in bed at night and think over the many sins and shortcomings attributed to me, I get so confused by it all that I either laugh or cry: it depends on what sort of mood I am in. Then I fall asleep with a stupid feeling of wishing to be different from what I am or from what I want to be; perhaps to behave differently from the way I want to behave.

I have a plan in place. One that I didn’t feel comfortable telling Jessie even though I know she’d be supportive. That’s the conundrum; having a best friend who loves you so much they want to fix you. She would have tagged along today, asked me how I’m feeling a million times and try to rationalize everything. She’d tell me all the ways I can be happy. But she can’t do that. No one should be allowed to, really. Because if you say can then there also has to be the option of can’t. And if people had the choice to pick what state their mind was in every day, I wouldn’t be strolling around parts of New York I’ve never been in, trying to scrounge up some off-handed version of self-love.

I bought a bath bomb and candles, stopped at a stationary store to pick up pens and notebooks that I don’t need, another Beatles t-shirt and chocolate. A farmer’s market was selling fresh fruit and I bought a tomato and ate the whole thing right there. I don’t care that it’s cheap retail therapy. It’s blocking out school and certain people and my age and my lack of success as an adult. And maybe it’s not working, but it’s New York—there’s distractions everywhere. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today. 

***

Liberty Island. That’s where the Statue of Liberty is. I am stupid for thinking Staten Island, but in my defense, that’s where everyone outside of New York thinks it is. When I moved here I wanted to see it. It was going to be this defining moment that solidified me in my new home, this incredible rebirth that validated me leaving my parents. I was going to buy cheap postcards and send them to my mom and I’d say See, I’m here and I’m happy. This was the right choice. I fit in. Please stop crying. At least I didn’t think it was Ellis Island. 

I’m on the right ferry heading towards the right island. Soon, I really see her and I start crying. She’s green but she’s not green, and she’s copper but also not really. She’s this woman and that’s fucking cool, except I know had she not been a gift, she would have been a man. There is someone with a microphone talking about her but the wind burns my ears so I pull up google on my phone. 

The Babylonian Ishtar, Imperial Rome’s goddess Libertas was Papal Rome’s “Mother of the Harlots and abominations of the earth” and the template for America’s Statue of Liberty.

I paid to visit the pedestal but not the crown. I don’t trust my body to climb twenty stories. I don’t wanna know what I’ll think about that high up. I saved up and bought a reservation and now that I’m here, I wish I’d brought Jessie along. I wish I had more people to choose from to bring along because this isn’t Jessie’s thing. But that was the idea, after all, to keep this day to myself, venture out, mark something off a bucket list I haven’t started yet. Distractions, distractions, distractions.

My bags are heavy and it’s hot, but I manage to read a lot of plaques and stroll around intentionally. I do, at certain moments, feel a sort of liberation with myself. Kind of like the first time you go out driving on your own. It’s scary, and a part of you still wishes your mom was behind the wheel, but that kind of being alone is freedom. It’s not the car or the license, it’s the option to be fully by yourself at any time. 

And I can’t help but wonder, compare, really, myself to the woman who I’m wandering around below her dress. She does lonely well. She does it right. All by herself she stands, a beacon, a purified symbol. And this is where I’m at, apparently, scrutinizing my abilities at making loneliness look mature and comparing myself to a statue.

Truly, this is my day. 

I take pictures of everything around me and it must be the sea air, because I do contemplate asking this dad of four kids to take one of me. I push that out of my head rather quickly. I switch the filter to black and white and angle my phone to get a photo overlooking the harbor once I’m back outside, but stop right in my tracks, when a familiar face is in the frame. 

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here! What a small world!”

Dozens of names swim around my head, and my courtesy smile eases into a real one once one of them starts flashing, matching this person’s face before I make a fool of myself. 

“Devon, hey, s’been a while.”

“I know, God,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “high school feels like a century ago.”

She looks the same, only like a new version. Not exactly older or more mature, but like she stopped experimenting with makeup and her acne finally calmed down. All of her features sit on top of her face, warm, eyes just as piercing as when we were seventeen. She was always cute and that quality has followed her over the years. 

“So what are you doing?” she asks and I squint because of the wind, imagining her words rearranging in the breeze into something easier to answer. 

“Um, just sightseeing.”

“Well I figured that,” she laughs. “I mean, your life, what’s up?”

I know my face looks resistant. Everyone pulls the same look when your stuck explaining something that is going to automatically lower the standard in which the other person sees you: nearly closed eyes, barred upper teeth while your top lip pulls up in thought, sucking in a short breath before speaking, stiff neck and chest. 

“I uh, well I’m still in school,” I nod along and loosen my volume to sound like I’m happy. “And uh, working.”

“Oh are you working on your masters?”

“No just um, maybe one day, but not right now.”

“Okay.” It is that ‘okay’. The you-are-turning-pathetic-right-before-my-eyes Okay. She smiles anyway. “I’m thinking of going back next year to get my doctorate.” She shrugs. “So do you live here, or…”

“Yeah, yeah, I got a scholarship—”

“Oh well that’s good!”

“Uh huh.”

“We’re just visiting. Trying to hit all the hot spots though.”

“We?”

“Me and my fiancé. She’s—” she cranes her neck and points to somewhere behind her, “on a work call at the moment. Y’know it’s beautiful here, I wonder if we could have the wedding right here,” she laughs. 

“Yeah that would be something.”

“So, are you seeing anyone?” 

“Not at the moment.”

She gasps like she’s discovered something and points at the air between us. “Wait, weren’t you dating that guy, the uh, really smart one who graduated early? God, what was his name, Mark or Matt?”

“No that uh, that wasn’t me.”

“I could’ve sworn it was,” she laughs. 

“Nope.”

“Aw, bless your heart, well you’ll find someone. The city’s big!”

I am done with this conversation. I force a smile and excuse myself, heading off in the opposite direction so if any tears fall she won’t see, and keep to myself until it’s really cloudy and mist pricks my skin. Not soon enough, we’re boarding the ferry again. 

I wave to Lady Liberty and imagine her waving back when we leave. If I squint, it kind of does. Whether she’s saying goodbye or good luck, I don’t know.

***

Dinner is one of those meals that either means everything or nothing. Tonight it means nothing. I walk past Truman’s, slowly. Harry isn’t in there and I stop right outside the plated glass window, now decorated with orange and yellow leaves, and try to figure out if I would’ve gone in had he been there. A band is setting up along the back wall and that’s where I see Danielle. She’s got a tray of drinks that each member takes. When she spins around she’s smiling and she smiles as she walks towards the hostess’ podium and she smiles when she squeezes the hand of some guy that comes up and she smiles when she sees me. 

I wave because what else am I supposed to do. If I flip her off, she might strangle me with her extensions, or tell Harry that I was a bitch, or spit in my food the next time I come in. I wait till she’s distracted, and then I leave. I stop at a food truck and stuff my face with a taco. Nothing. 

Back down the street, back on the train, back to my apartment. 

“I didn’t cry this time.”

Jessie glances up from sliding the bow across the strings, the last note stinging the air. She looks so small next to the instrument. 

“On the train. I didn’t cry.”

****************************************************************************************

Next Chapter

Let me know what you think!

Thank you to my wonderful beta readers @aileenacoustic and @bathrobesinparadise!!!!!!!!!

[fearfearer]

i have caught up with the magnus archives.

when i started listening, i started a text file to note down any thoughts/confusion/analysis/jokes i had as i listened. i isolated a few bits of it into standalone text posts that i already posted, but here is the whole thing, my long-form liveblog

thoughts on the magnus archive as i listen

jonny sims gives an impassioned performance of someone's statement-- a diegetic impassioned performance, as we witness it being interrupted and resuming-- and follows it up with his own judgement of merciless doubt. classic. why the impassioned performance? he's just a nerd. i dearly hope this is the fandom consensus

every episode ends at the perfect volume to which i have adjusted it, and then i start the next episode and it blares in my ears. i think the volume of the intro must be like 1.75x the volume of the rest

*makes a serious effort to listen to and remember the name and date at the beginning of the statement recording* *forgets completely within 2 minutes*

i saw a fanart of gerard keay and learned [1] that he must be a good guy after all, since they drew him lookin cute, and [2] that his name is not, in fact, jared key. what, am i supposed to be looking at the transcripts? understanding names properly? in my defense, jonny sims clearly articulates "Jared" when he says it. maybe i'm not as good at decoding british accents as i thought. [footnote added in later: ok good i'm not the only one who hears "Jared" and thinks "Jared" instead of "Gerard"]

when gerard keay was described as having numerous eye tattoos on his joints, obviously my first thought was, "including the ankle? so he's count olaf?" because that's definitely a way count olaf would disguise his eye tattoo: by tattooing eyes everywhere else too and becoming The Eye Tattoo Guy. anyway this is part of why i was not at first inclined to think favorably of gerard keay

"The first thing about this statement that makes me dubious is that it comes from a fellow academic." if you know shit fuck you

it has come to my attention that there are ships. makes sense... after all, everyone in every fandom is horny af*. i'm not in deep enough to ship yet but naturally i'm keeping an eye on it

*horny af for depictions of intimacy, sexual or otherwise, but mostly sexual

definitely feel like i need to be writing down every name i hear because they're never not cropping back up but for now i'll just let it all wash over me

so sasha has been replaced with not-sasha, huh? pretty sure. though i'm not good at distinguishing voices. but that sounded pretty different, and my listening comprehension wrt that table isn't that bad. <<as time passes i doubt myself more and more on this point but not enough to go back and listen again

"You believe me?" "Yes, I think I do." (smashes button labeled "CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT" and a loud buzzer sounds)

IT'S MICHAEL!!! i hope michael is a long-term good guy... he's not seeming like a good guy right now... he says he's mostly neutral. vaguely recall seeing a tumblr post about michael in the recent past but that didn't give me any hints and i don't remember it well anyway. michael's voice is good though. good laugh

i'm not good at visualizing characters based on descriptions, let alone based merely on their voices, so the only image i have in my head of jonathan is a furrowed brow

i'm on episode 49 and i don't like jonathan's distrust of his colleagues... i don't understand why his immediate suspicion was that gertrude's murder was an inside job. hasn't he just learned firsthand that the institute is not impenetrable? it's not inconceivable that someone could enter and shoot her and leave. especially when it took place in underground tunnels connected to unknown locations.

there's a good Old Lady Voice Combo on episode 62

so agnes montague was heavily cursed... that's my conclusion after episode 67

elias seems to tell jonathan to "get some sleep" a lot. though it IS generally good advice

episode 70, 9 minutes, 41 seconds: jonny sims's cell phone goes off in the background

small brain: ghost ship medium brain: ghost train galaxy brain: dirt train

i wanted to see if there was fanart of michael so i looked it up... i might as well have googled "blonde slenderman"

sweeney todd mentions tally: II

for some reason, hearing michael described this time as "a tall man with curly blonde hair and an unnerving laugh" puts an image in my head without my consent, and that image is chris fleming. now, he's not quite blonde, is he? but that doesn't change my casting decision, which is now set in stone. hope he does a good british accent

"YES i know what a meme is."

why is melanie the first/only one to notice that sasha is now not-sasha? is it because she is experienced in firsthand paranormal encounters (whereas the archivists are experienced in decidedly SECONDhand paranormal encounters, save for the worm debacle)? oh, my question was answered handily in the next episode. ok.

the replacer definitely limits its glamour to everyone except one person just so that it can be amused by the distress and confusion of the one person who can see the truth. that must also be the reason it chooses a completely different appearance. it surely COULD replace a person with their exact likeness; it just uses another face for fun, and to be satisfied that it can get away with it.

this table has appeared in like 10 episodes... Guess It's Crucial

jonny sims yelling while swinging an axe. jonny sims goes through michael's door (eyes emoji)

the idea of the replacer killing jonathan and not even replacing him brings to mind "AT LEAST RIDE IT YOU ASSHOLE"

wasn't expecting to hear from leitner at this point... he's dropping tons of lore here. too much lore. so much is happening. i have to say i kinda like it better when the stakes are not quite so high as this.

so at the end of season 2, tim and martin believe that jonny sims killed this guy, who they probably don't know is leitner... and we the audience believe that elias, now almost certainly a double murderer, has very quietly stabbed leitner to death. do i the audience believe it? i'll keep an open mind for now. things are not always as they seem. except when sasha was replaced with not-sasha, which was exactly as it seemed. [footnote added in later: looks like elias being a double murderer was exactly as it seemed.]

so jonathan sims is the name of the actual guy voicing jonathan sims. it's a cecil situation. so are they someday going to go back and retcon every episode to change his name, like with palmer/baldwin? or does jonathan sims just not mind being a character as well? as long as it doesn't devolve into RPS i guess it's fine. if there's fanart of jonmartin i hope it doesn't depict them as their actors bc that's too close for comfort to RPS

there's been a truly hellish c*ndy cr*sh ad that has played like 40 times between episodes and i'm pretty well convinced to never ever play that curséd game

elias has some serious blackmail for daisy, huh? that's heavy, having police characters in fiction who do extrajudicial killings. life imitates art imitates life

"i'm not on drugs or anything. ...what? i could be on drugs!"

he said "ample opportunity" but like "amplopportunity" with emphasis on the "plop"

it was obviously elias who delivered the statement to jonathan in hiding, because he knew he would record it despite not being at work... bc he's a nerd

so if gerard keay has eye tattoos, does that mean he also serves the uhh the observing or whatever? [verdict arrived at later: no he just has those because he's cool. or because his mom tattooed him. ok almost certainly the latter.]

"what do i feed it?" obviously you feed it filled up cassette tapes, jon... nothing has ever been more obvious

it's okay that jon very stupidly burned his hand to a crisp. you don't need even one hand to turn on a cassette recorder. you can do that with your nose

so if these people who are wax figures serve the desolation, and not-sasha was spending time at the wax museum, does that mean there is a connection between the replacer and desolation? i think that would make sense, since both seem to enjoy making people feel bad feelings. also i'm starting to think that agnes was not actually cursed, but that would mean she burned that guy on purpose after being nice to him... was she just really selfish in that way? using him to experience Dating and mutilating him when he crossed the line, so she punished him as a cruel goodbye? or just building up his hopes so they will be even more fun to burn down when the time comes?

"perhaps doing a bit of mindless filing will help distract you." honestly that is something i would like to do in real life... i do enjoy a good mindless task. though doing mostly mindless tasks 40 hours a week is not a fun time for me lately. but it would be better if i didn't have to listen to bad radio at the same time

what?! the friendly midnight acrobat described in episode 90 sounds totally non-threatening and i hope there's fanart of it. was that gym just jared the bone turner helping people live their twisted athletic fetishes?! [footnote added in later: YES! god i hope people draw these turn-boned creatures optimized for their gymnastic of choice. show me a person who remade their body specifically for the balance beam]

so the power endowed in the archivist by the viewening is that when you sit them down across from someone they want to interview, that someone will invariably spill SOME beans and think it was their idea. maybe? [footnote added in later: yes.]

ok so Michael "The Distortion" Michael, of fractals and golden ringlets, has specifically tormented this other michael, lichtenberg michael?

jon is clearly moved to ask questions by an external force because he's a sensible guy who would not try to ask questions when daisy is holding a gun on him

i think basira has precisely the same accent as estelle... or maybe just a similarly staccato way of speaking (or of line-reading)

[episode 93] elias: (holding jon's face between two pieces of bread) what are you? jon: (sigh) the archivist...

well, they did something i didn't expect them to do with this show: create a compelling in-universe reason for jon to read statements aloud. because obviously until now there was none.

jon did the cockney accents. (insert emoji for indescribable feeling)

here's the purpose of the pit: if we all climb in the muddy pit together at night, the earthquake will only jiggle us gently and no one will be inside collapsing buildings to be crushed. it's only logical

ok i was gonna say this before but why is jon still at georgie's house??? he's not on the run for murder anymore, right? he has an apartment with all his stuff in it, right? [footnote added in later: i still don't understand why it was like this.]

i will confess that usually once the credits start to roll i zip to the next episode, but this time i zoned out a bit and it's really funny that jonny sims reads out "Rate and Review Us Online" in his archivist voice

a third michael. this one is probably already dead though. unless distortion michael takes over this guy's body or something. oh, jon came in at the end of the episode to say precisely this.

was episode 100 mostly improvised? if so, that would be appropriate. but i wouldn't put it past them to write every stuttering bit of those four statements

MARTIN...................................................................................................................................................... (typed this as martin gave some of his own money to the lady who expected payment for a statement)

i'm skipping 100.1 through 100.5 for now... just for now.

ok so michael is michael but not lightning mike michael, and two of these michaels are dead, but one is something that has never been alive nor dead. got it

everyone's morality is much more gray than i at first anticipated. the only people who seem to be solidly and earnestly on the side of good, as much as possible, are jonathan and martin and basira and georgie and maybe tim?

so michael just died and was overtaken by pseudo-helen? neo-helen? ok. that's kinda too bad, as i enjoyed michael's terrible laugh and unpredictability. but the feeling of michael being revealed as having been michael shelley feels somewhat similarly disappointing (but a bit less staggeringly groan-inducing) to when the mysterious koro-sensei in assassination classroom was revealed to have been a twink in his past. because of course he was. (that's when i stopped reading that manga. too precipitously dumb to sustain my suspension of disbelief.) it's like, ok, you had an interestingly mysterious character going on, but having solved the mystery, what interestingness is left? not much. fortunately this was resolved by promptly ending the existence of this michael and instead introducing new and improved helen

ooh martin has the asky ability too huh? nice [footnote added in later: he only used it this one time, and i'm wondering if they did that and then forgot and decided that jon is actually the only one with asky ability.] [[another footnote added in much later: How did i manage to mistake jon’s voice for martin’s voice? How?]]

the way martin said "kumo ga tabeteiru" in episode 110... alexander j newall does not watch anime

"I'm a book." ~Gerard Keay, 2017

it was a few episodes ago now but i noticed that when jon clearly articulated "Jared" referring to gerard, elias was like "Jared? you mean Gerard Keay?" (pronouncing it like "Gerard.") there is definitely a disagreement between these two (actors) about how to pronounce that name

the eye, the spiral, the end, the stranger, the lonely, the desolation, the slaughter, the vast, the buried, the dark, the corruption, the web, the flesh, the hunt.

Q: why would anyone want one of these rituals to succeed? A: it's their fetish. it's their sexual fetish

ok time to make up names for each possible apocalypse. these are the real and true names according to me, who knows such things: the eye - the viewening the spiral - down the drain the end - the really end end the stranger - oh wait we know this one. it's the unknowing. the lonely - the alonening the desolation - Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Lightless Flame the slaughter - world war all the vast - the expansion the buried - the grand lahar (or the Smothering) the dark - the extinguishment the corruption - the Great Rot the web - the spidening the flesh - the smorgasbord (or the Eatening) the hunt - come and get it

gerry said there was no dark god of indigestion, but i can tell you from personal experience that there is. though it's true that there is also fear involved, so maybe no separate pantheon is necessary

i sense that there is a battle between people who say it like "gotta get myself oriented" and "i feel disoriented" (as feels correct/natural to me) and people who say "gotta get myself orienTATed" and "i feel disorienTATed," and this podcast falls SQUARELY on the latter team. they've said it like 20 times

idk why he has to be such a dick to helen. jeez

the guy who coded his mind into a computer, which of the 14 was that? the corruption? the stranger? gotta be the corruption, but that doesn't fit perfectly with its rot/bugs aesthetic...

speed -> speeding -> sped. heed -> heeding -> hed. thus i decree

in my dream i listened to a whole episode of this show, narrated by gertrude, and i was like "whoa this is cool" and i went to write it down but i was still in the dream and writing doesn't work in dreams :( also any successful writing in dreams doesn't transfer to real life paper :( the only snippet i remember: “...in his white mouth, which had known only bread...”

"I, uh..." Jonathan Sims, a thousand times, 20XX

martin's job is PLAINLY to distract elias and elias barges in like "martin. i see you're trying to distract me." and martin's like "maybe i am!"

o, jonny took a breath. that's good

he wasn't hooked up to an EKG or anything? you spend long enough with no heartbeat that they're just like "i guess we can turn this off"

this episode about philosophical zombies sounds a lot like that NPC meme from a year or two ago... and it makes me kind of uncomfortable, the way this person inspects others to determine whether they are True Minds or Impostors based on their emotional expressions, their eyes... because i don't always do the correct or appropriate expressions, and would someone judge me as being a non-person who is trying and failing to imitate human emotions?

i generally don't enjoy ships that have more-or-less explicit canon support, but i can't say jon/martin isn't good

melanie blaming jon isn't right... no one had a better plan to stop the unknowing, did they? (they didn't!) didn't all of them agree on the plan and understand that they might die? (they did!) she's just imposing survivor's guilt upon him because he survived for supernatural reasons. but it's not like he eagerly embraced his new supernaturalness, or even asked for it outright! i think she's being unreasonable. i didn't like her insistence on trying to kill elias either, even though elias is a huge dick. what's with her?

wait, peter lukas is the lonely? (meme where calculations and equations whiz past me)

jonathan baa'd

oh, see. the bullet is making melanie act without reason. i get it now. can't say i think they had the best approach to getting the bullet out, but all's well that ends well (???)

martin is being prohibited from talking to jon >:I martin is on a first-name basis with peter lukas >:I...

martin grumbles, "i don't like being manipulated..." while obviously and continuously allowing himself to be manipulated

jon is afraid of and uncomfortable with what he's becoming, at least to a degree, right? but he seems to be going about his duties (i.e. feeding the eye) with vigor and without reluctance. is he really that motivated by his own desire to know and understand? who is he doing this for? is the eye's influence on him so strong that "doing what the eye wants" seems to manifest as what HE wants to do?

"He'd place it over the one he wore already, and he would larf and larf and larf" (from breacon’s statement... just heard it like this for some reason)

deep water could be the domain of both the buried and the vast, because you could lose yourself in the vast ocean, but experience the physical effects of being buried under thousands of feet of water...

so tom han was an avatar of the flesh but he ultimately died after being tortured by the spiral... right?

"we're not people, though, are we? not anymore." close enough, i'd say.

jonathan has deployed THREE "I, uh..."s in episode 131 alone and i want to smack him in real life. FOUR NOW. JON. JONATHAN SIMS THE REAL ACTOR. LISTEN... quit falling back on your "I, uh..."s. and if they're written into the script i'll punch whoever did that too. total of five in a single episode. never utter "I, uh..." again

i hope whoever's throat is okay after doing bone turner voice for a whole statement.

jonny sure needs saving quite often, doesn't he.

peter lukas being a slightly chipper advocate for becoming a follower of the lonely is very strange

neil lagorio and his whole cinematographic history is made up but they namedropped kevin costner, who is real

VERY, VERY GOOD laugh at 23:44 of episode 136

melanie getting her session recorded... i was doing audio transcription for a while and you'd definitely come across bits of therapy-type sessions that very much seemed like they should have been confidential.

i wonder if the eye ultimately turned its back on gertrude and allowed her to be killed. if jon could survive a collapsing building, could gertrude not have survived a couple of bullets? wouldn't the difference be the protection of the eye? [footnote added in later: of course now i see who turned their back on whom.]

i'm somewhat heartened to learn that agnes montague was, in fact, a heavily cursed individual, though she seemed to have embraced it to a degree... and she wasn't made of wax.

i like that jon now includes helen in his office politics briefing

basira's like "Edmund Halley" and jon's like "Halley's comet?" (like “Hale-ey”) and two minutes later jon's like "Edmund Hally" (not "Hale-y")

"What's this?" "OH... That's, uh... that's... my rib..." "Right." (tiny clunk of rib being set down)

so giving a statement puts a curse on you... or is it "having a statement extracted / being compelled" that puts a curse on you? and the resulting curse, the fear it reawakens, is that good for the eye, or is that good for the powers that initially caused the fear?

well, i heard a homestuck reference in one of the patreon names at the beginning of an episode, and who is surprised? of course, i'm not one to talk

episode 144- the english think their summer is bad... as a professional "hot weather is bad" person, i feel doubtful, because if the sky is grey, it is not as hot as it Could Be, and therefore one should quit one's bitching

first statement about the extinction... interesting. but hearing martin be a jerk to daisy makes me sad :(

the powers never tell avatars exactly what they need to be doing, but that's just concerning the means. the ends are always clear: the power gets fed. and all of the powers feed on fear. also jonny is horny for statements. i hope, but also doubt, that his harmful behavior is at least partially the spider's doing. oh, i see now that it's not. yeah.

jon wants to eat fresh and delicious statements produced just for him, instead of reconstituting the dusty old statements already in the archive

episode 148 - samson stiller gets a crush. but in all seriousness, is he becoming an avatar of the eye but like, not institute-related? is that a thing? i guess that would make sense, but still seems weird

episode 149 - considering ring -> rang -> rung, we seem to have stumbled upon spin -> span -> spun, and the compasses gently span around (9:40)

does martin have loneliness powers now? it's sad that he is getting lonely... as a lonely person, i know.

the lady on TV in episode 150 was just speaking simlish.

i really want jon to overcome his urge to forcefully take statements because i want to be able to root for him still

british podcasts really have a leg up over american podcasts, at least among american audiences, purely based on their interesting and varied accents

i can't say the gravedigger's envy doesn't make me myself feel like going to sleep in the cold dirt forever. but bad depression lately is also a factor, so

jonathan having to settle for reading already archived statements instead of harvesting fresh ones is exactly like a vampire (not the kind detailed in this series) who has to choose between hunting people to suck their blood or drinking bags of donated blood from a (near-endless) stockpile. there's an ethical choice with a clear right answer, but the urge is also understandable

jon following up gertrude's tape with just "fuck" was really good. now he's like "ok martin. let's run away together"

spent all day at work thinking about how i can't fuckin believe the first thing jon did when he heard how to escape the institute was to go tell martin like "there will be a great cost, but... we can elope now"

also if tim was still around jon would tell him the way out and he would do it right then and there, i'm 100% sure. like before jon was finished explaining tim would be like "the eyes? (grabs scissors) got it. (does the deed)"

earlier today i was just thinking that we would almost certainly hear gertrude's death on tape, especially given that we now understand tape recorders are wont to turn on autonomously whenever something important is happening. anyway then i came home and heard gertrude's death on tape

peter, as an avatar of the lonely, is easy to play like a cheap whistle because as someone who clearly hates spending time around other people, he is not keen to the symptoms of being played.

elias is like "you'll have to go into the lonely to get him" and jon's probably thinking "but then at least we'll be in the lonely... ~*~*~together~*~*~"

i think martin's whole thing for most of the series has been that he sounds a little doofy, for lack of a better word, and people constantly underestimate his intelligence. and now he has played peter lukas like a cheap whistle and forced me to realize that by taking for granted that he was being successfully manipulated by peter lukas, i too was underestimating martin... and his pure love for jon <:3c no but seriously i even remember explicitly making a mental note to remember that martin is smartin but it fell by the wayside as my emotions (of sadness that jon and martin seemed to be growing further apart) took precedent

i work a non-verbal job just doing mundane tasks and that gives me all the time in the world to think about things like "if they were to have jon and martin reunite in a tearful embrace, how would you convey the physical contact in an audio format? like, whap? soft thud?"

jon enters the lonely and voiceover peter comes in to try and factcheck the ship

i guess it makes sense that peter would try to do the ritual for the lonely all by himself

did he kill peter by asking him to death? or did peter just self-destruct rather than be forced to answer?

the way jon snapped martin out of the loneliness just by making him look at his face... that's powerful. as a lonely person, i know that the most cry-making thing you can realize when you feel alone is that another person is, in fact, there with you

martin went for a walk and now it's thunderstorming. i wonder if he came back as soon as it started raining and now he's standing nearby invisibly as jon reads the intimidating magnus statement. ...I GUESS NOT

i plan to read through the transcripts of all the episodes (as it’s faster than re-listening, though i might selectively re-listen) so that i may better understand some things and answer some questions in this post that i didn’t ultimately resolve. i can’t say i was paying 101% attention all the way through. also april is very far away

[queenmorgawse]

transmigration for dummies

mdzs scum villain au, chapter two. read chapter one on tumblr. fic on ao3. as always, credits for the og idea to @lee-luca.

Here’s a life lesson from yours truly : if you don’t give yourself time to think about it, you won’t worry about it.

Getting into Gusu Lan’s white robes is so much of a hassle that, as he struggles with the unholy number of layers and conventions, Jingyi has no time at all to mull over the OOC function or how to get rid of it as soon as possible. To think he used to complain when his mother wanted him to wear a dress shirt and a tie to family events — if she could see him now, she’d probably tear a muscle laughing.

Fortunately, Sizhui seems to take it all into stride. Or, more accurately, he thinks Jingyi’s still too out of it to properly function, and therefore sees nothing wrong with having to walk him through the process of putting his own clothes on step by step like he’s a toddler learning about shoelaces for the first time. He imagines the original would feel humiliated, but Jingyi himself is all too glad for a plausible excuse to ask for help to care. The System grants him this one favor, and stays mercifully silent as Sizhui secures his hair into a high ponytail and shows him the proper way to tie his forehead ribbon (I really can’t do it for you, he says, and Jingyi understands. There’s no helping the virginity ribbon.)

Speaking of hair, he’s got to figure out what to do with his. He hasn’t had a chance to look into a mirror yet, but he knows that this body’s hair reaches his waist. From the looks of it, it’s lustrous and well-cared for, but it’s still a huge change from Jingyi’s style, trimmed whenever it threatened to grow past a finger’s length. His head feels heavy.

Right as Sizhui pats a speck of dust off his shoulder and declares him ready to go, the chime of a bell echoes through the Cloud Recesses, which Jingyi guesses means breakfast is served. Oh, well. His hairstyle’s a problem for tomorrow-Jingyi.

Their dorm’s disciples make their way to the common hall in orderly fashion. In Jingyi’s opinion, they look like a row of ducklings toddling after Sizhui, to whom the younger boys cling to like he’s their father, mother and brother all wrapped into the same person. Truly worthy of being the protagonists’ son! Perhaps in someone else, he’d dislike the model student, can-do-no-wrong attitude. In Lan Sizhui, though, it’s endearing — admirable, even.

They reach the dining hall before Jingyi can elaborate on that train of thought. On the doorstep, he has to take a moment. The donghua’s version was gorgeous, but even it pales before the real thing. The hall is all dark wood, draped in blue and white and delicate silver, the cloud patterns of Gusu Lan running across the banners. There’s something engraved on top of the doors, which Jingyi assumes is the sect’s motto, Be righteous.

One of his fellow disciples squints at him and he realizes, belatedly, that the original has probably seen this place a million times before and wouldn’t bat an eye at the scenery, no matter how enchanting. He immediately puts on the most dazed look he can manage, letting his eyes go blank, until the other boy turns away with a shrug.

Damn right, I’m a weirdo! Leave me alone!

The most anyone here seems to open their mouths for is to exchange quiet greetings, and Jingyi’s not quite comfortable enough with his surroundings to attempt it. What if he accidentally offends someone important? That’ll be the end of him for sure. Instead, he busies himself with trying to identify characters among the gathered disciples.

As it turns out, the task isn’t much of a challenge at all. The main branch of the Lan clan sits at the same table, though it does not particularly stand out among the others save for the cloud-patterned banners hanging directly above it. The guy in the middle must be Lan Xichen, Jingyi guesses, if only because of the respect others address him with, obvious even though he can’t hear their voices from where he stands.

From what he can tell, the unsmiling man sitting to Lan Xichen’s right is Lan Wangji, the main love interest. The intuition is further confirmed when Sizhui excuses himself from their group and flits to his side. Father and son barely exchange a few words, their dark heads bent together, but Jingyi could swear he sees Lan Wangji’s eyes soften a little.

He really does look sad. It’s not like Jingyi didn’t know, having read an entire novel about it, but seeing it for himself still makes his heart tighten in his chest a little. Worry not, Hanguang-Jun! he wants to say. Your future husband is coming back real soon! But of course, the System would probably nuke him instantly if he tried to, so Lan Wangji will have to be miserable for a little while longer.

“Come sit with me,” Sizhui’s voice says, and for the second time in less than two hours, Jingyi snaps himself back into reality to come face to face with the other junior’s kindly face.

It’s pretty wild how much effort Sizhui puts into being nice to him. Is it because he was there when Lan Jingyi was hurt? Does he feel responsible for him now? It’s not like the original was exceptionally pleasant to be around. He really does have to do something about it ⎯ or at least, he’ll take care of it when the System’s no longer on his ass about remaining in-character.

When Sizhui doesn’t seem to come to his senses and retract the offer, he hesitantly settles into the seat on the other’s left. Hopefully, everyone will just chalk up the delay in each of his movements to typical post-traumatic event confusion. What even happened on that night-hunt?

The silence that reigns in the dining hall is eerie, only disturbed by the clink of chopsticks against ceramic bowls and the occasional whispered thanks when a dish is passed down the table. It reminds Jingyi of an exam session, which does nothing to help his nerves.

He’s in the middle of his second bowl when the alert chimes in his head.【OOC behavior detected : -10 points. Current balance : 90 points. 】

What the hell? I didn’t do anything!

【The original Lan Jingyi never manages to stay silent during meals, effectively breaking Gusu Lan Sect’s two hundred and fifty-third rule. Points were deducted accordingly. 】

Was this even mentioned? Now you’re just pulling canon out of your ass! When the System doesn’t answer, Jingyi adds, plus, he’s sick, he doesn’t feel up to talking. It’s weird to refer to someone who’s technically himself in third person, but he can’t help it. He and the other guy probably wouldn’t be friends if they met, nevermind body roommates!

【... 】For the first time since Jingyi arrived, the System sounds somewhat irritated.【Objection considered : +5 points. Current balance : 95 points.】

A wide smile worms his way onto his face. So he can negotiate, huh? Jingyi’s always been pretty good at debate ⎯ he verbally wiped the floor with Huan Hua High’s team last competition, okay? He can definitely duke it out with an omniscient AI!

...Put like that, it sounds a little more daunting than before. But if he doesn’t want to end up booted off into a potentially dead body, he doesn’t exactly have a choice either.

Out of sheer spite, Jingyi finishes the third and last bowl of his breakfast in stubborn silence.

-

He shouldn’t have underestimated the soporific effect of a never-ending lecture. God, and he thought two-hour classes were bad. It's been three, and his soul feels like it's going to throw itself out of the reincarnation cycle.

Jingyi steals a mournful glance towards the window. The sun is shining outside, dammit! This is no time to keep children indoors! Yet Lan Qiren drones on, pacing back and forth in front of them and reading from one of too many foot-long scrolls, seemingly oblivious to his students’ boredom.

Why does he even have to be here? He was born a Lan, he’s supposed to know these things already! Jingyi conveniently ignores the fair point his brain raises (how the original must have known, but Jingyi himself could only recite a handful if he tried) in favor of complaining that, if pointless, is at least relaxing.

One of the Jiang guest disciples is dozing, head strategically propped up and brush in hand to give the illusion of attention. Lan Qiren hasn’t noticed yet. God, I wish that were me.

As if to offer convenient narrative contrast, Lan Sizhui and perhaps a couple others are making a valiant effort to stay focused on Jingyi’s other side, dutifully taking notes. Even Sizhui’s eyes have started to glaze over, though, and when their gazes meet (the umpteenth time Jingyi lets his sweep over the room in an attempt to spot something of interest before he bores himself to death), the other boy actually slumps a little before sitting up ramrod-straight again, just in time to look pristine when Lan Qiren’s eyes sweep over him.

It’s kind of reassuring, to see that even the Lan clan’s resident golden boy is a little imperfect.

Just as Jingyi glances down at the dregs of his notes, wondering if it’s worth it to pick them up again, chaos erupts on his right. Random-Jiang-Extra’s steadfast elbow pose has finally failed him, sending him crashing onto the table. Ink spills everywhere, drenching his notes, the lapels of his robes and even the hem of his neighbours’. Jingyi saves his in extremis by scrambling back, almost knocking over his own desk in the process.

The guest disciple blinks, like he doesn’t realize yet the magnitude of Lan Qiren’s wrath about to descend upon him. There’s a rather large smudge of ink on his chin. From a distance, it could pass for Lan Qiren’s goatee.

Jingyi snorts before he can think that decision through.

Beginner’s mistake. Lan Qiren turns towards him, eyes narrowing, and his laughter dies in his throat. “Do not laugh at others’ plight,” their teacher fumes. “Three thousand and fourth rule, Lan Jingyi! I postponed the punishments for your previous offenses on the grounds that you needed time to recover, but since you’re obviously well enough to embarrass our sect again, you won’t need that delay after all!”

I don’t even know what the other guy did! Jingyi almost protests, but since that objection just sounds like it’ll get him hit with another rule about not telling lies or whatnot, he keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he bows his head and says, “Sorry, Teacher. I’ll try my best not to do it again.” Screw his pride! Anything to escape copying rules! Especially not while doing handstands!

Not to the original’s credit, Lan Qiren looks, for a moment, genuinely surprised. Not for the first time, Jingyi feels a small stab of resentment towards Lan Jingyi. He’s been trying not to, given that he has no idea what happened to the guy’s soul and he may be in a worse situation than Jingyi is right now, but why couldn’t he have been a good, well-behaved student like Lan Sizhui?

...In retrospect, maybe it’s just as good that he wasn’t. Jingyi would have gotten way too many points deducted just because he couldn’t sit still in class.

【OOC behavior detected : -10 points. Current balance : 85 points. 】

Ouch. Must be for the apology. Well, if it saves him from the dreaded handstand copying, he can make up for the loss later.

Against all odds, it works. Lan Qiren rubs the bridge of his nose, stifling what Jingyi is fairly sure is meant to be a long-suffering sigh. “One copy of our sect rules, to be done in the Library Pavilion. Lan Sizhui will supervise you...after his guqin lesson, is that right?”

“Yes, Teacher.” If Sizhui’s annoyed to have to take time out of an assumedly free evening to watch him butcher calligraphy, he doesn’t show it. From the look in his eyes, though, it may not be the first time.

Jingyi tunes out of Lan Qiren’s next tirade, directed at the hapless Jiang boy, who’s still staring at his ruined notes as his martial brothers make sympathetic noises. Can’t say this day started out all that well, but it’s not that bad for a beginning. It definitely could have been worse.

Then Lan Sizhui gives him a tiny smile that carves a dimple into his right cheek, and maybe today really is going to be a pretty good day after all.

strolls in with starbucks almost a month later,,, hello, i haven’t abandoned this fic, mini exam period just punched me harder than expected. i hope this chapter wasn’t boring - i’m trying to set things up before the actual mdzs plot kicks in, but we’re in for some zhuiyi fluffTM. also, i made a twitter! feel free to follow me over there for random au ideas (but mostly crying). still taking questions + prompts, both here and there. and finally, would you guys read a more serious / plotty / angsty fic with ljy x jl as the main ship (though romance would probably take a backseat to the plot)? i wrote a small premise over here, but i crave feedback and validation.

[sweetwriting]

Kon has always been the mom

Category : Gen

Genre : Angst/Fluff

Fandoms : DC Comics, Teen Titans v3 (2003)

Prompt : Tim and Kon acting as Bart’s parents

Summary : Tim seems really down, Bart wants to cheer him up but it doesn't go as planned. As always, Kon is very perceptive and has actually started to mature enough to somewhat understand what's going on, kind of.

Author’s notes : I tag this as TimKon but you’ll only find it if you squint very hard. It’s more like pre-slash I guess. This happens right avec Stephanie Brown and Jack Drake’s deaths

Word Count : 1941

You can find it on AO3

_______________________________________________________________

 Bart was bored. Like really, really bored.

  He had finished both his and Superboy's homework and Conner hadn't even deigned do anything than stare at Cassie's....pretty eyes (yeah right, like Bart would believe that).   He had read a lot in the past couple of hours (which actually seemed like days to him, but hey, a speedster has to adapt his internal clock to the outside world) but he needed a change of pace....and human interactions. Sadly, because of the mission they had finished earlier, almost everyone had fallen asleep while he was busy reading a strangely interesting collection of Art History books (more specifically, animal deities and humans represented as animals (deities) between ~ 4000 BC and ~600 AD... There was some really weird stuff in there and there was an actual Scorpion King even if the Return of the Mummy didn't get anything other than the name right, on that note the anime watcher in him laughed endlessly -well for him- at the fact that Egypt also had had an actual Prince Baka).

  So there was nothing to do besides, maybe, bothering Tim…Who might actually need it. The other/new/girl (?) Robin had disappeared during the week and he's not an idiot (he also knows how Tim became Robin in the first place even if not in details), since Spoiler/Girl!Robin hasn't reappeared (he actually checked, he has spent a lot of time with Tim after all) and there's no new vigilante in Gotham so chances are she's either hurt or undercover somewhere (or dead but he'd rather not think about that)? In any case, Tim probably needs some cheering up (though if he's honest with himself, they all do. Tim's just a bigger case to work on).

  But what to do? The last time he tried to cheer up one of his teammates had been when Kon had lost his powers back in their Young Justice days. He couldn't do it yet these days had been a lot more happy (though when he thought about it back then Kon hadn't just lost his powers but also Tana and while thinking about how a newborn/16 years old Kon was in a relationship with a clearly adult woman now felt slightly creepy, there was no denying that she had been really important to him, just like Rob might have to deal with something having happened to his (ex?) girlfriend)...Ah…Considering how his cheering Kon up had turned out he was probably not gonna be able to get Tim's head out of his ass (also he might get killed). After all it had ended up pretty badly.

  Then again if there's someone who can cheer Tim up it's Bart! (Well, actually, it might be Conner but while he probably noticed Tim wasn't at his best, he's been trying to give Tim some space and not force him to talk too much. Bart knows because Conner had asked him to help in distracting him from confronting Rob…And Conner had little patience and there was Cassie and…Huh…now that he thinks about it maybe there's a link there…Anyway Conner may not be as intelligent as Tim or himself (well he kinda is…just…in a very different way) but that's because he's more of an intuition kind of person. But while he's getting better at using it efficiently, while he realizes something is wrong he doesn't always know what is.

  So…What to do? What to do? Get Tim mad at him? Probably not a good idea (even if there's like a 90% chance that's how it'll end up…That and a lecture…After all Conner has been a master at annoying Tim since their first meeting and he taught Bart well).

  Maybe ask him to work on something together?  But what ? After All, while Tim's widely more intelligent than he is, Bart 's still sufficiently intelligent (more than that to be honest) to not need help (or to have already asked if he did)…Plus while Tim might have understood his explanation building stuff's not really his thing (though he could have proposed ideas to make it better…maybe) so it probably wouldn't have worked anyway.

  So yeah…he's kinda stumped.

  Or maybe if he's …? Yep quick check and Conner's still ogling Cassie (Bart still thinks it's a little weird that, like, half of the time Conner gives his attention to Cassie it's (in)directly related to Tim but this thought has little chances of being well receive….by anyone so, like most of his thoughts on the matter of his friends' (sorta) relationships, he's gonna try to forget about it). So yeah, Conner's not gonna be of any help.

  Tim was starting to get a headache, a Bache, a Bart-Induced headache. They were a special kind that had developed after months of hanging out with Bart on a regular basis. And for the past five minutes Bart has been passing through the room while stopping behind the armchair Tim is slumped in for a second and then disappearing, only to come back every few second and doing the same again and again and again.

  And Tim, well, he can't say he was actually working on his laptop unless you count staring at it blankly working. Steph was dead and so was his dad.  He hadn't been able to help them, much less save them. Hell in his father's case he had been at least partially responsible. They were…. And Dana was…she was…not well and she hadn't adopted him anyway so it's not like he could have gone with her even if she hadn't…And he had until the end of the week-end to find a solution to his situation.  And why oh why does Bart keep on doing that? It's distracting and Tim doesn't have the time to deal with it! So if he wants Tim to know about something that badly he should just come out and say it :

"OH MY GOD BART! Just stay still and tell me why you're bothering me!" he said, raising his voice in annoyance.

  At which point he looked up, at Bart's face. Bart who was trying and failing to hide his crushed face (because while he had gotten better at hiding his emotions, he was still Bart and face it, anyone who had known Impulse!Bart couldn't be fooled by his newly acquired -and far from mastered- skills). And okay, maybe Bart had been right not to engage him.  Also Bart was gone now and if he tried to look for him on the feed from his laptop…and found him, intercepted by Conner, who's hugging him…and looks mad…Yeah he probably deserves what's coming.

"TIM!"

  Yep, there stands Superboy, in all his (furious) glory, hands on the hips. Shoulders bending his upper body slightly toward Tim, towering over him, his frowny face promising a big lecture. Kon really was the mom, he hadn't been joking when he had first said that…Well okay he kind of was joking but he was also partly serious.  It wasn't often that Conner had the moral high ground over him. It used to be because of his immaturity but since the last Bedlam debacle (and that awful war) -when Steph had been Robin and Harm hadn't killed Greta and Kon was an adorably puny nerd and Steph *was Robin* (to be fair he had also been puny but a lot less than Kon- it had been because they were on a more equal standing and actually communicated so there wasn't any high ground to have.   But Tim had obviously upset Bart and he should know better because if the roles had been reversed he'd be planning Conner's destruction (OK, maybe not, but he'd plan a very humiliating revenge plot…Maybe).

"Look. I don't know what's going on but it doesn't give you the right to treat others" Bart "Like they're nothing!" Kon yells.  Direct as always, he's actually going easy on Tim. Probably because they both know Conner has just kickstarted Tim's internal lecture system.

"Tim…" he started again, more gently this time, only to be interrupted:

"I know. I realized as soon as I said it, ok. I wanted to apologize immediately but between Bart's speed and yours I didn't have the time."

  Now he just needed to find Bart…and get out of the protective arms of the corner he had chosen to make his nest at.  He could feel Conner looking at him, frown still in place but anger replaced with worry. And damn he didn't want that. Conner was his best friend but he didn't want to burden him just because he had trouble dealing with death. He also couldn't hurt Bart because of it.   So he ignored Conner the best he could while trying to look for Bart (again) on the feed of his computer. Conner just sighed and went to find Bart who had luckily just come back from a run (where? Somewhere Max Mercury related probably and wasn't that a whole can of worms in itself?) and looked calmer, if still wary, when Conner escorted him protectively to the living room where Tim was still hiding.  He quickly got up and ran to Bart, stopping a few centimeters from him, hands hesitating before falling solidly on the younger boy's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry Bart, I just. I'm not…Some things happened and, well I took it on you and I shouldn't have. I'm really sorry."  This was the most heartfelt Tim had been in a while and he was almost proud of it.

  Whether Bart had decided to forgive him before his apology or his speedster brain weighed the pros and cons of accepting his apology right after (or Bart decided to forgive him on the spur of the moment), he ended up jumping into Tim's arms for less than a second (Tim barely felt the hug but he wanted more of it) and gave Tim a small smile. All was forgiven and they started moving toward the couch. Conner was still frowning slightly but he smiled back at them only a few moments later (as if to make sure there was no issue left between them) before joining them on the couch, on Bart.

"You are so the mom".

  Oops. Tim had apparently slipped up. Bart looked surprised and speechless (they had the "argument" because Bart had just sped off after all), but then a sly smile made its appearance on his face.

"Hey you're right! Conner's totally the mom!". He shouted excitedly.

  Conner, whose cheeks had started to redden and was glaring dagger at Tim, became redder and started glaring at Bart too so that Bart felt the need to defend himself:

"C'mon Conner you're like the nurturer and protector! That's totally what moms are!"

  Tim smiled slightly as he started to list the "nurturing" types of behaviors Conner had shown to corroborate Bart's statement while Bart looked at them, happy to have distracter Tim (even slightly) and he started falling asleep, listening to his best friends' bickering, smiling slightly more when he felt Conner lifting him up (with his famous TTK, luckily Tim must have glared at him because Conner stopped before he even began talking about it) and to his room where he deposited him on his bed, took off his boots and pulled the covers over his body while Tim joined them and they both messed with Bart's hair, patted him on the head and temples before turning his light off and closing the door, leaving him to a few hours of blissful sleep.

_______________________________________________________________

Author’s note part 2 : I hope I did Bart justice. Because of his Speed and unique growth he acts more like an hyperactive child than any other speedster has, but at the same time he has started gaining on maturity by that point in time (also I'm mad that they made him go darker instead of trying to simply keep on making him mature bit by bit), plus Bart is one of the most intelligent characters of this generation so I wanted to be able to show both. That's why I tried to write him in a way that shows a speed of thoughts where it can seem kinda jumbled because he makes a lot of connections.As for Tim, he's a special blender of PTSD and Depression (canonically), and most likely Anxiety, Boarding School Syndrom and, as of his father's death, survivor's guilt (granted it was viable until Kon's death) and all other secondary effect of having your parents leave you for unknown periods of times like lack of empathy and 0 Self-Esteem. (and probably Borderline Personality Disorder, but I'm not completely sure about that one...It'd fit though). So with this plus his recent grief and Tim usually being fairly prone to irritation and anger, I tried to make it realistic without being too aggressive.Finally Kon is a very nurturing person if an arrogant one *cough*over compensation because few people wanted him and those who did left/died*cough*. Kon is a very perceptive character but due to his relative youth he doesn't know how to interpret his perceptions, it's something I wish had been explored more, but anyway. Kon is a very loving and nurturing person and by the beginning of Teen Titans he had started really assuming this role especially toward Tim and Bart. And here he's worried about Bart of course, but he also knows how repressed Tim is and if he lashed out, especially at Bart then it means something's wrong (but he's willing to give Tim a bit of space for Tim to talk to him on his own...he doesn't have that big of a patience and Tim can be very stubborn though so he might want to ask him later ? But then canon catches up to them and Tim's forced to talk about his father (and not Steph because ? ).

Also the stuff on Egypt 100% true. There was an actual Prince Baka (that’s how I learned at least half of the Ancient Egypt Speciality of the Ecole du Louvre of the 2011-2012 years was made of weeaboos)

[alands9]

S2E06 Melora

They should shoot the station from below more often. It's got a lot more floors, and helps give it better sense of scale. I do repeat my original complaint: they need to do some close-ups to really give a sense of scale.

I suppose I'm not surprised that the Cardassian space Station is not ADA compliant.

“Not acceptable?” It would be one thing if she declined the offer, but I'm not sure that as an ensign she should be declaring things unacceptable.

I'm rather disappointed. They made a big deal about how she comes from a super low gravity world. I was hoping for something a little more alien than somebody who looks like a human.

“Trolley car?” You can cover it with unnecessary sheets of metal and call it a trolley car, but it's a wheelchair.

I know humans who don't get around as well as she does with a cane. The wheelchair seems overkill.

By the Prophets, we're not doing a disability episode, just replacing somebody who's actually disabled with a space alien, are we? I suppose it was the 90s. That would have been progressive for television in the 90s.

You'll adapt? It can literally be replicated in a few minutes. There's desiring independence, and then there's just being bull-headed.

She is really mouthy to people who are her superior officers. She better be the prophets’ gift to stellar cartography.

Also, the wormhole has been being explored for what, a year now? I doubt there's much cartography to do with a quick jaunt through the wormhole. For a longer-term exploratory mission, you need more than just one or maybe two people in a runabout, you need crew and supplies for an extended period. And I'm not so sure about needing a specialist in cartography. It seems like the sort of thing that just about anybody who could fly a runabout with suitable sensors could do, record the data, and bring home. Or even a drone. Sending a specialized cartographer just seems like a waste of time.

Maybe somebody more versed in art than I am will look at that bracelet and see a level of artistry that I'm not. But to me it looks like something the props department banged out of sculpy and spray painted gold in an hour or two.

Yeah, I'd be spooked too, Quark. How the hell does he eat with his nose running across the middle of his mouth?

Quark really needs to learn to close his door when he's not open. Seems like there's an endless stream of people wondering in at the wrong time.

I appreciate someone who can walk straight up to Quark and tell him that he's here to kill him. That requires a certain amount of guts. And probably a reason why you know Quark won't go to the authorities.

If the threat is a fake out I'm going to be pissed.

“Until they sit in the chair?” But I thought that most of the time she was in some sort of anti-gravity doohickey. I took the chair to be a highly unusual thing. Which is why she had to specifically practice before coming here.

Ultimately, it's pretty clear that this is going to be a disability episode, just without any pesky people with actual disabilities. * sigh *

Okay, maybe her anti-gravity thing is another chair.

“I wasn't going to allow any... handicap....” * sigh *

“To be honest, I prefer to work alone.” I don't think you understand Starfleet, or any military organization, or any large organization at all.

Apology? No, this is Doctor Bashir. I assume he's here to mack on you.

Bashir you're being an asshole. Don't psychoanalyze people. At least, not if they don't ask.

By the Prophets, being an asshole Is actually going to get him a date.

He bit the coin to test it. Is this a Klingon Ren Faire?

That supposedly Klingon food looks suspiciously like a gummy worm.

Bashir thought he could make a career out of tennis? I'm not sure how you make a career out of playing a sport in the post-money Federation, but okay.

The ensign snuck out early and stole a runabout, didn't she? That sort of shit should get her drummed out of Starfleet.

Your first instinct was not to ask computer where she was, but to break into her quarters?

I feel a little bad for thinking this, but she is totally flopping in the ground like Magikarp.

I'm with you, the raised lip at every door is a terrible architectural feature.

I'm genuinely surprised I misguessed.

Come to think of it, did she end up in this position because everybody else was trying to get rid of her?

Are we going to get some actual low gravity special effects?

That's not low gravity. That is literally zero gravity.

For early 90s television special effects, these are quite good. They've aged quite well. I'm not getting the sense that you often get in the zero-gravity scenes that the actors are standing on something, or hanging from a wire, and they've just hidden the floor or the wires. It’s not perfect, but it’s really, really good.

Okay, I guess it is low gravity. There is a tiny, tiny amount of gravity. Way less than Earth's moon. Did she live on a planet the size of the Little Prince’s planet?

Was that her way of macking on the doctor? Okay, based on the kiss, yes.

Clearly she needs a badass exoskeleton of some sort. I kind of assumed that the weird metal contraption she's wearing was, but it doesn't seem to provide any strength magnification.

You're asking if Dax thinks there's room for romance in Starfleet? Curzon apparently slept with everyone.

Oh, that's cruel. Funny, but cruel.

The charitable view is that doctor Bashir is offering to give the ensign superpowers. I'll admit, if someone offered me super strength, and it was free, I'd take it. The less charitable view, is that we're doing a disability episode, and the solution is apparently to “fix” the person.

How does increasing the output from the brain, to the extent that that's even a sensible thing to say, make someone stronger? That's not how that works.

Bashir, she already could walk. Just not here.

Apparently DS9 does not have an open beverage container law.

The technobabble in this episode is bugging me. There's some sort of magic reason why adjusting her brain will make her instantly stronger. And some other magic reason why, when the treatment is complete, she can never go back to low-gravity environment. You know, despite the fact that humans are capable of doing so.

Of course Dax is familiar with Earth fairy tales. Some point I'd like an alien to make a literary reference that they have to explain because no human understands it.

it's very important to mention that Hans Christian Andersen wrote it; this will be of great importance to the alien.

Yes, let's make a reference to story in which the heroine not only doesn't get anything she wants, but she dissolves.

Wait, security opened fire first, and I'm dubious they even saw the gun that Quark’s friend had.

“And I'm glad you got me to unlock the doors to my quarters.” Is that what the kids are calling it these days?