#I just point out that although we lack of definite exclamation

[1-lightofjustice]

Has Fushimi ever said "my king is the blue king" in front of Munakata or in any circumstances beside in the sakura and liars story? I haven't caught up to all of the side materials yet. Thanks

Well, the closest we have about him saying it in front of Munakata is on Days of Blue Chapter 4: Trace

I know that he said “our” instead of “my” and maybe he said it on sarcastic way, but I’ll take what I can get. Either way, the fact that he included himself as “OUR” is a big step for him.

About him admitted that Munakata is his King, he already acknowledged multiple times that Munakata is a genius who has ridiculously high capabilities that surpass him, and that makes him “alright” to be Fushimi’s superior.

What is this new king thinking? Fushimi suddenly wondered. The word "genius" isn’t enough to describe him. On top of his extraordinary intelligence, perhaps he holds ambition and stratagem as well. Or maybe not. That was just an assumption.

Lost Small World : King’s Dagger

It was probably just Munakata being Munakata. Having finished everything that his duty demanded him to do with that ever nonchalant air, he’d arrived here even faster than Fushimi himself. Those ridiculously high capabilities were what made him Fushimi’s boss alright, but sometimes it was just so very annoying.

Case Files of Blue, chapter 4-1

And no matter what he said, he has a very high opinion about Munakata and even as far as sees him as somewhat “his guide”

But maybe he shouldn’t have left the saber behind, after all? No, if you decided to do something, you must do it thoroughly, no half-assing - that was how you did it, too, no, Captain?

Subaru, Eldest Son and His Best Friend (the translation is “his” and I don’t know the raw, but I think word “their” is more suitable for that sentence, because Subaru is somewhat Fushimi’s best friend when he was on Scepter 4)

Perhaps Munakata noticed the spies inside, and took this into consideration. So He brought in an outsider like Fushimi, and was openly partial towards him, in order to smoke those dissidents out of their den. … Guesses like this ran wild in Fushimi’s mind. Looking at this king, those conspiracy theory on internet don’t seem that impossible.

Lost Small World : King’s Dagger

But the Blue King boasted that he’s going to create them himself. He didn’t think it’s boasting at all, and said it nonchalantly like it’s a matter of course.

“Amazing…” To be fascinated this wholeheartedly, as long as Fushimi could remember, had only happened twice in his life.

https://messier-45.tumblr.com/post/123729164515/translation-k-lsw-period-3-8

(I really like this segment because we saw how Fushimi gained his control and inner peace after reciting Munakata’s word).

“Tch,” Fushimi clicked his tongue quietly. “That’s not like him.” “Eh?” “I’m saying that he’s being pathetic. No matter who his opponent may be, that guy’s just ‘human’, right? Yet this time, he keeps getting pummeled one-sidedly. A king like him,” Fushimi said it as if spitting out.

https://chilly-territory.tumblr.com/post/153350914500/k-case-files-of-blue-2-chapter-1-part-1-out-of

Compare that with how he looks at other Kings, like Mikoto and Hisui. Even though he acknowledges their power, but they’re nowhere as high as Munakata in Fushimi’s eyes.

“What a pain. It’s been ringing forever. Hang it up.” Suoh pointed to the bar counter with his chin.

If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be nice to end your pain earlier by getting it yourself? Are you a king or what? Oh wait, you are.

https://messier-45.tumblr.com/post/113514553742/mission-2-part-1

“There’s lots of guys like that. “I’m the Red King’s buddy”, “I’m his favorite”… Oh well, those who joined Homura had cleared the installation, and to people who know nothing they do look credible, I guess.“

With that, Fushimi threw an accusatory look at Suoh’s back, the man in question still just sitting idly behind the counter.

K R:B chapter 3-1

Back when Hisui was a presence lurking on the other side of the internet and Fushimi didn’t know what he looked like, he tended to imagine the Green King as having a villainous air about him, but after he had met him in person, “childish” had became the descriptor also coming to mind.

Desperate Game

Just what the Silver King was after…? And how much of his designs was the Captain able to foresee…?

All Character Fushimi Saruhiko 

(”How much”, not even “what if”. He subconsciously has solid confidence that his Captain can foresee Silver King’s design)

“…Um, Fushimi-san. What did the Captain even mean by that?” Hidaka turned to warily look at Fushimi once the door closed, hiding Munakata’s form from the view for good. “Who knows,” Fushimi answered disinterestedly. “Probably exactly what he said.” “B-But going straight to the Gold King?” Hidaka was clearly flustered.

Fushimi’s face took on a more serious expression. “That aside, there’s something I want to ask you about the Captain. Has he been like that the entire time?”

Case Files of Blue volume 2 

(while Hidaka was flustered as the prospect of Munakata facing Gold King, Fushimi didn’t paid any mind about it. That means Fushimi also confident that Munakata can take Gold King).

Indeed he doesn’t admit out loud that Munakata is his King (and looking at that tsundere, he probably never will again, but it heavily hinted in his thoughts and actions.

[blackradandmad]

why blippi is rotting yr children's brains

preface: i literally expect no one to read this. it is an essay length, strong opinion piece critiquing a niche youtube-based children's show that i don't expect most of y'all to even have knowledge of lol. but like, i promise that even if you know nothing about what i'm talking about, in my incredibly, super humble opinion, it's a good piece of writing and interesting nonetheless. anyway if you read this whole thing for some reason yr really hot and we should kiss.

i thoroughly vet everything my child watches before he watches it, episode by episode. and we rarely watch youtube for entertainment; we usually just look up educational videos when he has a question about something and wants more detail than i can provide him. and that's mainly because children's content on youtube is so fucking troubling and distressing. i don't judge parents who give their children a tablet at a restaurant at all bc i've been there and sometimes it's easier on everyone to just put on a video and avoid a giant scene, but i do judge parents who just leave their children alone with youtube kids on autoplay.

take stevin john, a literal millionaire who got famous from dressing up as a silly character called blippi and going on tours of places like aquariums, zoos, construction sites, etc and posting it on youtube. this has branched into a whole empire of blippi videos, hulu shows and specials, live shows and tours (that he outsources to another character actor), merchandise and so on. this 30-something year old man cites his main influence as being mr. rogers, but i question if he's ever even seen an episode of that program.

mr. rogers had no background in early childhood development or media production, but he revolutionized the world of children's media, because he respected his audience and didn't shy away from real world situations, all while creating a show with an enormous heart. mr. rogers begins his episodes by inviting the viewer in, literally changing his attire to be more comfortable, and talking about/doing things he genuinely cares about. whereas mr. rogers calmly and maturely addresses the viewer, blippi puts on a high pitched, contrived voice, interjecting every other sentence with a forced exclamation such as, "teehee! we're having so much fun!"

i don't find it a coincidence that john (blippi) is a veteran, either. his videos are completely devoid of the absurd, abstract, childlike thinking that makes children's media fun, creative, and entertaining. his thinking and process is methodical, devoid of emotion, and very superficial. this line of thinking clearly shows the kind of creative sterilization and emphasis on sameness and conformity instilled in the military. blippi simply observes things and interacts with them in a stale, matter-of-fact way. "this ball is purple! this ball is pink! anyway... what's over there? teehee! a car! vroom, vroom!" objects are colors, toy cars don't do anything but drive, curiosity is simply not encouraged.

he uses the "it's educational!" excuse to hide the fact that his show lacks everything that makes media a valuable resource for children to consume in the first place. further than identifying colors, numbers, and the occasional letter or shape, there is just this total lack of children's need for social and emotional development. when mr. rogers breaks the fourth wall to address the viewer and let them know they're special, it feels authentic and natural, because we've spent the last half hour building whole worlds with diverse characters and unique stories in a pretend neighborhood, learning about and enjoying different musical instruments, being exposed to and making friends with (even if parasocially, it is still a real bond to children when done properly) children who are similar to us in character regardless of physical or environmental differences, feeding the fish, making art together, and so on. when blippi tells the viewer, "you are very special, and i enjoy spending time with you!" it falls completely flat and feels unearned, because the last half hour was spent running around a soft play center pointing at bright, colorful objects, visiting interesting locations like farms or fruit production factories while failing to acknowledge the humanity of the humans actually working there (everything is machine or product focused; the human workers are simply an extension of the machine), learning "fun facts" about elephants that just list attributes of elephants, not taking the opportunity to inform the viewers of elephants' intelligence, or diet, or matriarchal society. it is a loud, sensory overwhelming display of a man so disconnected from the social and emotional needs and desires of children that he assumes they're stupid, easily entertained idiots who only need some silly dances and fast-moving cartoon graphics to give their attention (meaning time and desire to purchase products meaning $$$). john clearly views his audience as a means to gaming the algorithm and ultimately a paycheck by the hollow way he addresses them.

the show is so narcissistic, so focused on all the fun blippi is supposedly having, but he lacks any of the character traits that make individual children's show hosts memorable, so much so that he was able to have someone else who doesn't even vaguely resemble him dress as blippi and impersonate him and host the show or appear at live shows, and it went unnoticed by most of his toddler and child audience. the show is so formulaic and the character of blippi is so unmemorable that instead of taking the blue's clues route of developing a story of the host leaving for college and his brother now stepping in, or making some sort of believable excuse for the change in actors, they can simply swap him out with some random guy and not acknowledge it at all. although a comedy show for older children, the amanda show in no way could or would try to replicate the show with the same name but swapping out amanda bynes with a random teenage girl who is clearly not amanda bynes. it's weird and nonsensical and shows that his character is so much of a farce put on for a paycheck that not even his dedicated audience is affected or even cares when he is replaced by a random, unknown person.

this is completely garbage content made by an opportunist with no experience with children who saw his nephew watching children's youtube content, took it at complete surface level and still hasn't realized that while children's content only looks and feels so easy, entertaining, and enriching because it is so hard to do well. even with outsourcing his music, that aspect of the show still sucks. famous and successful children's musician, raffi, is known for his song describing the life of a little white whale, called "baby beluga." it opens with a calm strumming of his guitar, followed by the lyrics, "baby beluga in the deep blue sea/swim so wild and you swim so free/heaven above/sea below/and a little white whale on the go." is it silly and kind of pointless? yes, but the point is that he is captivating children and showing them the fun of listening to music, dancing, singing, and appreciating art. the "excavator song" featured in an episode of blippi about construction vehicles opens with what sounds like a default garageband loop and the flatly sung lyrics, "i'm an excavator/i'm an excavator/hey dirt, see you later/i'm an excavator." i don't feel i have to meticulously analyze the aforementioned lyrics; the stark contrast should speak for itself.

i have a million more criticisms about both blippi specifically and youtube children's content as a whole, but this is already so long and i doubt many people will get this far anyway. it's an issue i was completely apathetic towards until i had my own child and had to wean him off these kinds of junk food shows because i realized the fast-paced visuals and bright colors and repetitive songs/lyrics were putting him in this spaced-out, fugue state, and he thought he could demand this show or that show whenever he wanted. the moment he started regularly yelling things like, "watch! cars!" or "no! click it!" i knew i had to be a lot more invested in the things he watched even if just for entertainment or as a soothing message. i showed him an episode of mr. rogers yesterday and feared it would be too slow to hold his attention, but he was mesmerized, greeting and interacting with mr. rogers verbally, asking me, "what's that?" to different objects on the screen. since purging this low-brow children's entertainment, he has had a noticeable increase in attention span and concentration, can focus on a task for longer amounts of times, is more likely to "read"/look through books without me initiating it, and doesn't throw a fit when the tv/my laptop is off.

i just know that for me, growing up with so much unsupervised internet access definitely led me to real-world pain and consequences, and it seems like now children are born with an iphone as an extension of their arm. if my child is going to be consuming videos, i'm definitely supervising every second and am going to be highly critical of the videos and the credentials (or lack thereof) of the creators and team behind it. but i also know, from pure observation admittedly, that parents letting youtube kids autoplay parent their children for hours at a time is not an uncommon occurrence. and it worries me that a generation of children are being raised on videos that rely on being as loud and bright and superficially enjoyable as possible. what's the use of a child knowing their colors and alphabet if they don't know how to treat people with kindness and empathy and respect? there is something wrong for a children's show host to plug the spelling of his name at the end of his videos ("well, that's the end of this video. but if you wanna watch more of my videos, just type in my name! can you spell my name with me? b-l-i-p-p-i!") after essentially rotting his audiences' brains for a half hour. there's something so insidious about the prioritization of naming different parts of construction vehicles over honest depictions of and conversations about dealing with feelings, or why someone with autism may act differently than you, or what to do when you feel lonely, or ways to make art and express yrself creatively. also, not to mention the blatant police propaganda and outright worship is seriously jarring; as a black mother to a visibly non-white child, i cannot sit there and watch blippi show kids how to be a bootlicker for the shittiest profession on earth, but that could be a whole essay in and of itself.

anyway, thanks for reading, if yr looking for quality children's content, i recommend, in no specific order: mr. rogers, sesame street, the electric company, molly of denali, daniel tiger, bluey!, blue's clues, the odd squad, word party, trash truck, puffin rock, uhh... that's definitely not an extensive list but that's just off the dome!!! ok bye y'all <333

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song drabbles

First date: Seokjin’s POV

kim seokjin x reader warnings; none! words; 2,196 words

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here

Seokjin felt like a drink. It was nine o’clock in the morning, so absolutely out of the question, but it didn’t stop him from craving it. Whiskey. Definitely whiskey. Nana’s PA had just been to pick up Arin for the weekend – Thank God. Finally she would be able to spend time with her mom after a month, which he was over the moon about, and selfishly, that meant his date with you could go ahead. Even if he was so nervous he could throw up. 

Work had been a great distraction for the past two days but once he’d woken up this morning the realisation had dawned on him. He was going on a date tonight. His first in a decade. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually gone through with it and asked you to dinner. He’d faced his fears, possibly made a fool of himself and shared too much about his personal life in the process, but you hadn’t seemed to mind at all. You were so easy to talk to, it was refreshing. He’d felt brave for the first time in months – years.   But it still didn’t stop him from being on pins as soon as he’d opened his eyes this morning. 

He’d showered early, just after Arin had woken up and then he’d helped her get ready for the day too, allowing her to eat her breakfast in front of the television as he tried to swallow down his bowl of porridge too. It tasted like cardboard – but then again, it might have been his cooking. Misook usually made the food around her, when he wasn’t dining out or ordering take out of course. 

Arin had noticed his strange mood straight away. Obviously. 

“Daddy, what’s wrong with you this morning?” She’d asked, looking over at him warily before hesitating. “I am spending the weekend with mom, right?”

“Of course you are, sweetie” he’d rushed, shaking away the  surge of anger he’d felt. It pained him to know she was always expecting the worst lately. “Your mom just text me to say Jia is on her way.” 

She’d smiled then, her face lighting up and he couldn’t help but match it, his nerves disappearing for a while. That was until he was left all alone, the house now empty and silent. He eyed the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter (where he’d left it after his small nightcap last night) and shook his head. He should drop you a text, just to check in and see if you were still on for tonight. He needed to find out what time to pick you up anyway. He probably should have messaged you the day before, he panicked suddenly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled his phone from his sweatpants pocket. Oh well, there was no time for regrets, that’s what his father always said. 

It took him at least ten minutes to figure out what to say. His first draft sounded too cheerful, too false, he was trying way too hard and had added an examination point. His second was too formal, fifteen years of sending business emails back and forth obvious. He settled on something in the middle – he hoped.  

Unknown (9:32am)  Hi Y/N,  It’s Kim Seokjin, Arin’s father. Just wondering if you still want to have dinner tonight? If so, please let me know and I will send through the restaurant details. We can decide on a time for me to pick you up.  Regards, Seokjin 

Only, reading it back after he hit send he began to second guess himself. Of course you knew who he was, his confidence might be lacking a little right now but he knew he wasn’t totally forgettable. What an idiot. Not that he could do much, there was no turning back. He’d committed. 

He busied himself with a bit of Saturday morning cleaning while he waited for your reply, and by that he meant straightening up the pillows he and Arin had been sitting against earlier. When he returned to the kitchen, your message was waiting for him. 

You (9:43am)  Of course, send the details. I trust your taste! 

See, exclamation points suited you. It was cute. He could just imagine you saying it in person, your dazzling smile, maybe that little giggle you’d made a few times on Wednesday. He felt something warm in his chest as he got lost in his thoughts, nerves easing once again. You were excited for tonight, he told himself.   Maybe you were even just as nervous as him possibly… 

He spent yet another few minutes composing his reply. A lot more casual this time, signing off with just his name. He didn’t always text like this, Namjoon could vouch for him, but he didn’t think you were both quite there yet. He wanted to show his best self after all. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to make you like him as much as he liked you. 

Seokjin (9:50am)  The sudden pressure… The restaurant’s name is KIM. I hope you like it. Is 7 alright to pick you up? I made reservations for 7:30.  Seokjin 

In truth, this restaurant was one he co-owned with his brother. Seokchul was the executive chef and they were both very proud of how successful their business venture had become. He knew taking you to such a place might seem like a cop-out – or worse, a brag – but that wasn’t the case at all. He wanted to treat you in a place that meant a lot to him. He could have chosen multiple restaurants, he was a regular at quite a few and could easily get a great table, but see, that did seem like he was showing off and he did not want to give you that impression at all. It was the complete opposite of his personality. KIM was a good choice, he was sure of it, and it helped that his brother didn’t work weekends, so there was no risk of bumping into him. Although, he had let him know about the date (and had begged him not to spill to their mother). 

You (9:52am)  I will. 7 sounds perfect. I’ll send through my address. See you later! 

You followed up with a Google Maps link to your home, and he sent a quick thank you – sans his name this time. With a quick sigh he pocketed his phone again, it was time to get on with his day. He had some paperwork from yesterday to complete by Monday morning so he should probably make a start. He stopped to order a light lunch at midday, ate it as he scrolled through his very limited social media before getting back to it. 

He called it a day around 3pm, a call from his mom interrupting his flow. He spent an hour talking, their weekend phone calls were habitual by now and he enjoyed them immensely.  He loved his father of course, but their conversations mostly revolved around work. Despite stepping down as CEO three years ago, he was still a vital member of the company, and Seokjin continued to consult him at every opportunity and lean on him for support when things got stressful. With his mom, she was the woman he could still be a kid around. They could talk about anything and everything, but for her own benefit he left out his plans for tonight. He knew what she was like, she’d get way too excited and overwhelmed and before long she’d be sobbing down the line while simultaneously asking to meet you. She’d been wanting him to meet someone new for so long, much like Mrs. Shin. It was a surprise the two women weren’t conspiring behind his back. 

No, he’d keep it a secret for now. If things went well tonight, then possibly his mother would get to find out. He wasn’t getting his hopes up though – or at least he was trying not to. 

It was just after four when he got off the phone, too early to start getting ready just yet, so he sat in front of the television and tried to concentrate on a series he’d recently started. (It wasn’t going well. He was on about one episode a week out of a nine season TV show.) It was no use though, the nerves were rearing their ugly head again. 

He decided to choose his outfit. Seokjin wasn’t much of a thinker when it came to fashion, he just grabbed whatever he saw first that morning, but tonight he wanted to at least put some effort in. After much deliberation he decided on a navy two piece paired with a white dress shirt. It wasn’t over the top, he thought, but nice enough to make that impression that was so very important to him. He kept his hair simple. He’d managed to squeeze in a haircut yesterday so it made things easier, but upon closer inspection in the mirror he noticed those pesky grey hairs of his glittering in the sunlight. He grimaced, worried now. He didn’t know your exact age yet, but it was obvious he was a few years older than you. He was no spring chicken, especially with those wrinkles around his eyes. He had been called handsome all his life, no stranger to it, but right now he was dubious. 

He pushed his trivial concerns away and concentrated on the next decision. What car he would take. He didn’t want to go too flash – again with the showing off thing – so the Aston Martin was definitely off the cards. He hadn’t actually driven that one much, going through some sort of so-called midlife crisis when he’d bought it straight after his divorce, so he made a mental note to take it out next weekend. He decided on the Mercedes convertible (roof on, of course). It seemed like a suitable choice, not too flashy at all really. He didn’t want to run the risk of putting you off him or overwhelming you with showy displays. He was well aware of the differences between your lifestyles, not that he cared at all, but it didn’t stop him from understanding. The things that seemed slight to him could very well be enormous for you. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, shape or form. 

Shit, on second thoughts maybe his restaurant was a bad idea… 

.

.

Seokjin was always punctual, he prided himself on it, but tonight it made him nervous. He’d said 7 but it had only just gone quarter to. He couldn’t very well stay in the car for fifteen minutes, you’d spot him out the window, so ever so slowly he opened his car door and stepped out, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He was sure he noticed his hand shaking as he closed it behind him. He was such a mess it was embarrassing. 

You lived in a nice little neighbourhood, it seemed quiet, and he admired your pots of flowers in the patch of garden you had as he made his way up the path that led to your front door. He took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, adjusting his suit jacket as he waited for you to open up. It’s fine, Seokjin, he told himself. It’s just dinner. You’ve done much scarier things in your life. Pull yourself together, man. 

A few seconds later the door opened in front of him and you came into view, looking as beautiful as ever. I’m fucked, he thought immediately. 

“Hi,“ he forced himself to say as he smiled. He was probably staring but he couldn’t help himself. You looked stunning, your dress deep red in colour and incredibly flattering. His throat felt dry and he swallowed quickly. 

“Hey,” you greeted back. 

“You look beautiful,“ he couldn’t help but awe, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of line with his compliment. 

"Thank you,” you smiled almost shyly. It was adorable. “You look…really good.“ 

He couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, aware the sound was probably highly unfaltering, but he couldn’t help it. "I’ll take it. Thanks.” He tilted his head to the right then, composing himself. “Are you ready to go? I’m a bit early, I know. Sorry about that." 

He really couldn’t tear himself away from your beauty, but luckily you didn’t seem to notice, busy nodding as you clutched your purse to your side. "I, uh… I would invite you in to kill time but my best friend’s embarrassing.” Your voice raised as you continued, your head turning slightly down the hallway. 

He raised an eyebrow, a little confused, but he guessed said best friend was in the house somewhere? He smiled and shook his head. “It’s fine.” 

As you stepped forward, a breath of a chuckle slipping from your throat, he moved to the side, outstretching his arm to let you lead the way. You accepted with a brief nod of your head, your gazes catching for a split second. God, you were gorgeous. 

His nerves might have eased a tad, but his heart was still beating just as fast – if not more.  

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[robininthelabyrinth]

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

- Chapter 8: Interlude -

Author note: This chapter is an interlude that contains JC/LWJ adult content. It can be skipped without impacting the remainder of the story.

-

“This is an idea so stupid that I can’t believe Wei Wuxian wasn’t that one to think of it,” Jiang Cheng said.

Lan Wangji didn’t disagree. If either of them had any sense whatsoever, they’d call off this whole idea before it was too late and they did something that permanently damaged the delicate balance of the life they’d built together forever – and they had, somehow, built a life together, cobbled together out of convenience and tragedy and the fact that no one else in this rotten world would understand what it was to miss someone like Wei Wuxian.

It was utter recklessness to throw it away for – what? Indulging some curiosity? Killing some time out of boredom, now that the Lotus Pier had finally quieted down enough for Jiang Cheng to no longer need to work from sunrise until sunset? Now that Lan Wangji didn’t have to hide himself away at all hours, afraid that someone would see him coming and going?

“You don’t even like me like that,” Jiang Cheng complained mutinously, and glared when Lan Wangji nodded in confirmation. “Wow. Thanks a lot.”

“We don’t have to proceed,” Lan Wangji pointed out.

“No, we’re doing this,” Jiang Cheng said at once, because he was contrary down to the last inch of him. “Take off your clothing already. No matter what the Lan sect may think, there are circumstances that call for not wearing four layers of clothing, and sex is definitely one of them.”

Because that was what they were apparently doing.

This was all Mo Xuanyu’s fault for leaving his books lying around – Jiang Cheng had finally succumbed to pressure and ordered his steward to get some for him – and in particular a spring book with pictures that went beyond the merely suggestive into the explicit. Jiang Cheng had picked it up while neatening up the room and gawked for enough time to make a cup of tea; when Lan Wangji had politely asked if he’d perhaps been abruptly struck blind by the contents and, if so, if there was any medicine he would like Lan Wangji to fetch for him, Jiang Cheng had instead turned to him and said, very frankly, “This cannot be a thing people actually do.”

Lan Wangji had, with great patience and an expression of intense suffering, held out his hands for the book.

The years following his awkward initial interaction with Wei Wuxian – the discovery of his own inclinations, the confirmation that they were irrevocably set in that way, his eventual acceptance of that fact – had led him to explore the more idiosyncratic portions of the Lan library. He was no longer the boy that had spluttered and cursed when tricked into looking at some (fairly run of the mill, in retrospect) pornography.

“Mm,” he’d said after a brief examination. “Real.���

“Impossible. Why would anyone -?”

Lan Wangji hadn’t bothered to dignify that with a response.

“It can’t possibly feel good,” Jiang Cheng had protested.

Lan Wangji had graced him with a pitying look. He hadn’t experienced the act in question with another person, of course, but his older brother had been perhaps unduly interested in ensuring that Lan Wangji had access to anything he might need to assuage his curiosity regarding his unorthodox affections, and, well, the Lan sect did always value a thorough approach to learning.

In other words, he’d read a lot.

It might have been left at that, a casual conversation between friends, except that Lan Wangji must have been suddenly possessed by the spirit of Wei Wuxian because he felt compelled to add, “Not that you would ever have a chance to find out.”

And that, of course, was that; once Jiang Cheng’s competitive instincts were awakened, there was absolutely nothing for it but a test to determine who was right.

Little details as to whether or not Jiang Cheng was even attracted to men enough for the question even to matter were dismissed as irrelevant.

And that was how they’d ended up here. About to go to bed. Together.

Though – perhaps that wasn’t exactly how it had started.

Perhaps it had started earlier, when Jiang Cheng had started helping Lan Wangji with those very particular physical reactions he’d had during the period he’d been too weak to do it himself, or perhaps when he’d continued to help him with it long after the trauma of it was no longer so near as to make it impossible for him to use his hands on himself.

Perhaps Lan Wangji should have been the one to stop that – the one to say no, no more, it’s unnecessary, thank you. But in those years of seclusion he had seen so few people, and seen Jiang Cheng most of all; he hadn’t quite been able to give up the desire for the touch of a human hand against his skin. To give up the intimacy of the act, for all that Jiang Cheng routinely brought him to completion as casually as if he were merely rebandaging his wounds, was simply impossible. Nothing could detract from the satisfaction he obtained, even if Jiang Cheng often spent the time talking about something else entirely, complaining about his day or a particularly irritating set of paperwork.

(There was a period in which Lan Wangji had briefly started to develop unsavory connections to the subject of dam rebuilding – luckily the dam project had ended before it had become a real problem.)

At minimum Lan Wangji should have put a stop to it once he was no longer secluded: when he had Lan Xichen’s embraces, gentle nudges from visiting Lan disciples, all the regular physical contact he had grown up with, and now all the casual affection that passed between Jiang sect disciples, of which he was considered an honorary member…it was more than enough to satisfy any skin hunger that might have been compelling him to continue with that inappropriate behavior that neither of them saw as important enough to name.

It had become a habit by then, though, a part of the routine, and the Lan sect thrived on routine.

“You have to remove yours as well,” he reminded Jiang Cheng, folding his clothing up neatly. If they had been lovers, perhaps Jiang Cheng would have been staring at him at this moment – perhaps he would have been tracing Lan Wangji’s body with his eyes, hunger and anticipation on his features – but they weren’t lovers. They were just friends, and that was why Jiang Cheng was fighting to get his shoe off (it had grown too small after too many washings and was starting to fall apart but he inexplicably refused to get new ones) instead of examining a body he’d seen naked a thousand times already during Lan Wangji’s slow recovery. “Do you –”

“If you offer to assist me, I will punch you,” Jiang Cheng threatened, and finally got the shoe off. “And if I hear one word about me needing to replace it –”

“You do.”

“It’s fine. It does the job! What else do you want from a shoe, damnit?” The other shoe was removed. “Leave me alone. I don’t need your help.”

The rest of his clothing came afterwards, tossed casually onto a chair, and Lan Wangji watched out of lack of anything better to do. In the years that had passed he had also seen Jiang Cheng’s body many times, an inevitable result of living across from each other in a place as hot as Yunmeng. Jiang Cheng was undeniably beautiful, all long lines and slender, his flesh marred by the discipline whip as Lan Wangji’s own had been, although in much lower quantity.

No, Lan Wangji concluded. This would not be the problem he had almost been concerned that it would be. For all that Lan Wangji’s heart belonged to Wei Wuxian and always would, his body had no objection to the idea of trying out something new.

“I assume at least some help is not unwelcome,” Lan Wangji said dryly, standing and walking over to put his hand on Jiang Cheng’s cock. At Jiang Cheng’s mild exclamation, Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows. “You can’t even do this? I may have overestimated your bravery.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng said, although he was clearly flustered; he reached out to assist Lan Wangji in the same manner. His palm was callused and warm, as always; Lan Wangji’s cock stirred at once at the familiar stimulus. “It’s been a while since it was someone else, that’s all.”

“You’ve had experience?”

“There’s no need to sound so skeptical about it. I was a teenager once too, you know; Wei Wuxian and I – hey, watch it!”

Lan Wangji relaxed his grip apologetically. “You did for Wei Ying as you do for me?” he asked, and didn’t even care when Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at his obvious and immediate fascination. It was a good thing that neither of them had any illusions about Wei Wuxian’s role in their friendship, the ghost of him that hung over it all; if they pretended otherwise, they might have hurt each other. “How did he..?”

“You’re not seriously asking me that question,” Jiang Cheng said, but of course Lan Wangji was.

Jiang Cheng glared at him, but Lan Wangji was patient, and as with all things relating to Jiang Cheng, his patience was rewarded.

“You’re a little more direct,” Jiang Cheng finally said, rolling his eyes once again to demonstrate how ridiculous he thought Lan Wangji was being. “You like long strokes, like this, very purposeful – his preference was a bit more playful. A bit of teasing around the head, like this, and then a bit with the thumb…listen, if you’re going to turn that shade of red this quickly, we’re going to have to call this whole idea off.”

“I can do more than once.”

“I’ll give you the whole rundown another time, you pervert,” Jiang Cheng promised, and Lan Wangji’s cock twitched at the thought of it. “Can we please focus on proving you horribly wrong already?”

“I’m not wrong.”

“So you say.”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes and resumed moving his hand on Jiang Cheng’s cock. It felt nice in his hand, filling out as he stroked it. “Why?” he asked after a moment.

“Why what? Why did Wei Wuxian and I get each other off?”

“En.”

“We were young and stupid, obviously,” Jiang Cheng said. “He was my shixiong. We shared everything, figured everything out together…it wasn’t that weird, okay? It was just lending a friendly hand. Literally.”

Lan Wangji could imagine it. The scene sprang up fully formed in his eyes: Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian as he remembered them from the Cloud Recesses, cheeks still a little fat with youth and glistening from perspiration from the humid Yunmeng air, sitting together side-by-side on a bed with their hands in each other’s laps. Perhaps even the bed he slept in now, or Jiang Cheng’s. And perhaps even back then Jiang Cheng liked to talk of other things while he was performing the chore – his lessons, perhaps.

Perhaps they’d even done it for each other while they’d been at the Cloud Recesses…

“Did you do anything more?” he asked, licking suddenly dry lips.

Jiang Cheng blinked at him. “Like what?”

Perhaps it was petty to use their conversation as an excuse to step forward into Jiang Cheng’s personal space, to use his free hand to rub up and down his chest and tweak his nipples, to use teeth and tongue liberally on his neck, on his shoulder, his collarbone, until Jiang Cheng’s knees had grown so weak from surprise and pleasure that Lan Wangji had to loop his arm around his waist to help support him –

But if there was one thing Jiang Cheng had taught him in all these years, it was that there were times when being petty was the best possible option.

“Can I use my mouth on you?” he asked, and took the incoherent spluttering and vague hand-waving he received as a yes. “Sit down on the bed and lean back.”

Jiang Cheng obeyed without a single complaint, which Lan Wangji accepted as the compliment it was.

“I think I can definitively say no, just so you know,” he observed as Lan Wangji lowered himself down to his knees. “I did not do anything like this with Wei Wuxian.”

“Did you ever want to?” Lan Wangji asked, mildly curious, and then he leaned down and put his mouth on Jiang Cheng’s cock.

“Am I supposed to be having a conversation with you about this?” Jiang Cheng demanded, thrashing underneath his ministrations. Lan Wangji had to hold his hips down with his hands, using a little force. “Now?”

Lan Wangji purposefully stopped moving.

“You are a piece of shit, you know that?” Fingers made their way into Lan Wangji’s hair, careful to avoid his forehead ribbon as they lightly tugged – hmm, that was rather nice, actually. Lan Wangji mentally noted down the preference. “Fine. Ugh. No, I didn’t. It wasn’t like that. It really did just start out innocent, you know. Us being boys and all, measuring the difference in size and all –”

Jiang Cheng paused and rolled his eyes down at Lan Wangji, who had perhaps overly demonstrated his interested in hearing more.

“– yes, you obsessed stalker, I’m getting there. He was longer, I was wider; we called it a tie. Later on, we got drunk and started talking about how we were both worried that we were doing it wrong, except, you know, that would have been way too embarrassing…you know how we were. It turned into a dumb sort of competition about who could do it better, which one of us was the one doing it wrong, who was doing it right – we got into a lot of stupid contests like that.”

A brief pause.

“Don’t say that I’m stating the obvious.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth was full, which was probably the only reason he wasn’t. He really had lost all sense of self-control when it came to deliberately irritating Jiang Cheng, and he wasn’t sure when that had happened. His uncle would be disappointed in him again.

Good.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Jiang Cheng muttered. He’d gotten into the groove of things, his hips rocking slightly as Lan Wangji sucked him, careful not to go too far or too fast for fear of making Lan Wangji gag again – though to be fair, that had been mostly Lan Wangji’s fault for being overly ambitious in trying to take him in too deep that time. The real thing really wasn’t anything like the jade pillar he’d practiced on. “This is ridiculous. You’d better never expect me to do this for you. No way.”

Lan Wangji didn’t bother responding.

“I mean, I guess if my hands were broken. It’s not like I couldn’t do it. I’ve put worse things in my mouth, over the years.”

No response was necessary. Jiang Cheng’s complex about needing to be the best at everything – or at least skilled enough to be respected – was truly a fearsome thing.

Though speaking of which...

Lan Wangji reached with one hand to pull over the small packet of thickened, scented oil that he’d obtained long ago, dipping his fingers into it and working one finger, then another, into Jiang Cheng.

“How do you even think of these things?” Jiang Cheng complained, because he wouldn’t be Jiang Cheng if he didn’t complain. “You must have done nothing but read spring books day and night – hey, wait! What are you doing? I’m going to be the one on top! Not you!”

Lan Wangji hummed and removed his mouth – Jiang Cheng whined in complaint – and then lifted one of Jiang Cheng’s legs, pressing his cock against him. He didn’t get a fist in the face, even when he rocked back and forth teasingly, his cock sliding right up to Jiang Cheng’s slicked-up entrance and then away.

“…just go ahead and do it already!”

Lan Wangji’s analytical mind temporarily blanked out when he pushed inside. It was hot and tight around him, squeezing him – it felt good. Very good.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng said. His voice was a little unstable, almost breathy. “Fuck.”

“If you insist,” Lan Wangji said, and began moving his hips before Jiang Cheng could correct him. Jiang Cheng grunted as if the sound had been punched out of him. Fucked out of him. “How is it?”

“Why are you asking me, don’t you already – Lan Wangji. You said the picture in the book was realistic.”

Lan Wangji hummed in agreement.

“I assumed that meant you’d done it before.”

That seemed like a Jiang Cheng problem.

“Lan Wangji! Are you saying you don’t know what you’re doing?!”

“I’ve read a lot of spring books,” Lan Wangji said dryly, and started to really put his back into it, long thrusts that felt fantastic to him and from the looks of it not all that bad to Jiang Cheng, either. After a few thrusts, he apparently hit the place described in the books, if he were judging by Jiang Cheng’s sudden moans and a notable increasing in generalized cursing, as opposed to cursing his name in specific.

Lan Wangji finished first, which increased the amount of cursing by a significant degree.

“I can’t believe you –!”

“Would you like to finish in my mouth?”

“It is,” Jiang Cheng hissed at him, “the very least you could do!”

Jiang Cheng was much less polite this time as he fucked his way into Lan Wangji’s mouth, his hands firmly gripping Lan Wangji’s hair and pulling him into place, forcing his way deeper with brutal snaps of his hips.

Despite having recently been wrung dry, Lan Wangji’s cock did its best to give an interested twitch, and Lan Wangji noted that down as well. Perhaps next time he should encourage Jiang Cheng to be the one on top, to see if he would enjoy the sensation more if it was someone else doing the fucking rather than a toy carved out of jade. After all, Jiang Cheng had certainly responded well enough to it.

Lan Wangji was moderately sure there would be another time. Jiang Cheng was not a man motivated by sex – remarkably so, in fact. If anything, he seemed to view physical pleasure, even at his own hand, as a perfectly decent activity, but nothing worth kicking up a fuss over, little different from a massage or a round of acupuncture; neither something especially desirable nor repulsive. As Jiang Cheng himself had admitted, he hadn’t experienced the touch of another since his youthful experimentation with Wei Wuxian, even though Lan Wangji was well aware that he’d received plenty of offers from all types of types of people over the years, and yet the lack hadn’t seemed to bother him.

If not for Lan Wangji, he probably would have continued on with his life without thinking about it any further, either, except perhaps in the theoretical box in his mind that he’d earmarked for having a wife, which he seemed to want only because everyone was expected to want a wife.

That competitive streak again.

But he did have Lan Wangji, who was not naturally inclined towards abstinence, and now that they’d opened the door to having a friendship that included certain additional benefits, he had no intention of shutting that door absent any indication from Jiang Cheng that it no longer suited him.

After all, Jiang Cheng might yet have a wife one day, assuming a patient enough marvel could be found – but Lan Wangji was a Lan, born and bred true, and he would only have one love in his life; he had fallen long ago, chosen long ago. Wei Wuxian was gone, and he would never regret it, nor love another. It had been living with Jiang Cheng, being friends with him, that had taught him to remember joy; what was this, then, but more of the same?

Of course, that was assuming that Jiang Cheng would agree in the future to sate Lan Wangji’s rather prodigious appetites with more than just his hand. He might not. After all, it really wasn’t his area of interest –

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng abruptly said.

Lan Wangji, who was fetching a wet cloth, turned to look at him.

Jiang Cheng was propped up on his elbows, scowling bitterly. “You know what,” he said. “We didn’t even manage to do the right position! The one in the spring book was more – more twisty – you know – with the leg up in the air like that –”

“…mm,” Lan Wangji said. “We’ll do better next time.”

“You’re smirking,” Jiang Cheng said suspiciously. “Why are you smirking? What are you up to?!”

“Nothing,” Lan Wangji said peaceably, putting down the cloth and picking up the oil. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right! I’m – I’m not usually right. Or at least, you don’t normally admit it when I’m right. What am I right about?”

“Did it wrong,” Lan Wangji said, and settled down again. “Need to try again.”

“Try – wait, now? Already?! You can’t be serious!”

Lan Wangji started rearranging limbs. “You’re already prepared,” he pointed out. “‘Avoid needless waste.’”

“Don’t you quote your Lan sect rules at me, Lan Wangji! You’re inhuman! You’re – ah!”

He’d slid right in that time, Lan Wangji observed, all at once in a single smooth slide that made Jiang Cheng moan and his cock start to fill up again; the ease of it must be due to how relaxed Jiang Cheng’s body was after he’d come, and the slickness of both the oil left behind and the new amount he’d added. Definitely a different experience from the previous time, but equally enjoyable.

Well, as he’d said before – the Lan sect always did value a thorough approach to learning.

[alovevigilante]

Belief in one’s ability to create is the key to actually generating and experiencing it in 3D form. The brain creates the energy around the desire you feel. It’s a symbiotic relationship.

The reason why you may not be seeing your desires come to fruition in your three dimensional reality is because in some way, shape or form you, yourself, are holding it back in some capacity. How? And why? It could be one of a myriad of reasons.

One reason may be because although you may think you want it, you’re not really feeling it completely. You may be afraid to change into the new reality, and tend to lean towards the older, less desired, but easier because already established one. Like, for example not switching jobs because you are comfortable where you are. You can’t stand your boss, cause he/she/they are an ass, and ask ludicrous things of you daily that are ridiculous and no one should comply with, but, you’re used to it, and you like your cubicle and the hot lunch in the cafeteria, that serves meatloaf on Thursdays, and that’s pretty ok. So, you choose to stay in a situation you aren’t fully down with. And you know what?! The pay blows, and you feel under appreciated, but yet you still continue to hang out in that ass place regardless, cause you know how to get there, even though it’s a 2 hr commute there and back. And that’s cool and all, but not really a reason to stay, but for you, it may be. You may be afraid to navigate the city, to a new location, because Mapquest sent you on a wild goose chase one time, and you ended up in an industrial area with no outlet, when you were trying to get to an important meeting. That can happen. I know, it’s happened to me. And that’s why google maps trounced mapquest. And waze did too. I don’t even know if people use mapquest anymore, because yes, it sends you on a quest alright, but not necessarily the one you signed up for in advance. And that can upset your apple cart greatly, cause you already had the plan! The plan was set! But you are lost now, in an unestablished, incomplete part of town with no one there to guide you out, ok?! And you call where you want to be, and say, “I’m not there! I’m here! And here is ass! Ok!?” But no one answers, cause they’re busy being there, and not in the abandoned, desolate crap area, where you are, by no fault of your own. And you have to call someone yelling, because lost, and where the hell are you?! And it takes you fifty two minutes later, and a tangible map and live navigator, like Keith Richards in pirates of the Caribbean, but on land, not see, and not him, cause he’d probably lead you on a disastrous seafaring mission where you would develop scurvy, but at least you’d get to listen to a decent guitar lick before you die of dysentery, when really wanted to do was to get out of the craziest wilderness that has been given up on, in an urban area.

Cause you found a place, much like Christopher Columbus the director didn’t, that hasn’t been discovered on the map yet, and there you are! And people are counting on you to be in their place at a certain time, and not this barren place, with construction all over creation and tumble weeds that aren’t there cause it’s the city. So what do you do?! I said, what is it that you do?!?!?? You stay, in your tried and true, marginally ok place, and don’t try to move. It can happen...

Another reason may be because some things that you are choosing to partake in, in your 3D life are contradictory to the desire you believe you want. For example, you may want to be an exotic birdwatcher for a living. But you don’t live near anywhere near the exotic birds. You don’t even own a pith helmet or a pair of binoculars. And you don’t have any link to anyone that will hire you to do that, nor do you have any experience or association that would appreciate and hire you for said experience, who would also, in addition to that if you did, fly you to where the exotic birds you want to study, reside. And you refuse to buy the plane ticket yourself! So you mope, and you pout, and you say, “you know what?! I didn’t like those ole exotic birds anyway! Who do those birds think they are? With their feathers and pretty colors?! Screw them!” I mean, how’s a bird supposed to know you’re interested in them?! They can’t go to you, nutball! They’re busy being birds! So, you’re SOL, and it sucks, cause all you want to do is look at and engage in some exotic birds action. But again, you are choosing not to take steps to get near one.

And the third reason may be, because you don’t really believe you’re worthy of being happy. And that’s just ass thinking, cause everyone, is entitled and worthy of that.

All of these things, are bs. You are a creator of your own life with your feelings. So make, deliberate choices to feel good. And by that I don’t mean to mask the feelings by something that may placate the feelings of lack you decided to focus on, and feel better just in the moment, then worse later. I mean, make a conscious choice to feel better than you do right now. And do that, as much as humanly possible, and not the other crap choices that just hinder you in the end.

Creating your reality is a constant, and needs attention to detail, and clarity. The universe refuses to outright give you what it knows won’t light you up, but if you continue to contradict your own desires, it’ll throw up its hands and allows you to experience your own chosen ass flow or, in this case your resistance to your own desires, to be your reality you see through your perception, and that’s what you will experience daily. And I must definitely have have a dragging defiance to a lot of things, because here I sit, discussing all of it, and there’s still things in my life I’d like to see happen, and not just ruminate around in my head as “what if’s”. Like, for example, I’d like a few millions of dollars, a lot of few, like at least over 20, so I can help a ton of people, and myself to things I enjoy, like creative freedom, and the ability to choose my own path in life. I’d also like to pay for my boob lift, no. Ahahaha! Cause they’re ok, and I’ve decided to be cool with them, as they lower themselves down to belly button level, to defend it from countertops and other things that I may lean on from time to time... and other important things like that.

So my long winded and long boobed point is this; being you is great, no matter what your situation. You know why? Cause you’re literally making your life what it is with how you see it, and how you choose to feel about it. And yes, you can switch it up! What an awesome place to be! You’ve made your life, terrible! Which means you’re In the drivers seat of your own life! You did that! You decided, my life sucks! And you see it, in everything and in everyone you talk too! Then you open a window and yell outside, “Yes!!!!! I did that!!!!!! I made my life blow like joe!” Which means to you that you can decide every decision you make from here on out differently with a better, more positive energy. To others, they may witness that and think you’re ready for the booby hatch, cause they won’t know the context of your exclamation. But that’s none of your concern. You did it! You figured out that you can decide closer, or farther away from what you want. And the more you move towards you truth, the better you’ll feel. And that feeling will take you all kinds of places and put you in front of all kinds of fun people doing amazing things you never thought possible! And you, are the one feeling, and thinking and doing your way to it! You choose better and better, and before you know it, your ok life has turned pretty damn good, to super great! And so on, and so forth. And on and on and on we go, experiencing exactly how we want to feel minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, month by month, and year by year, happier and better, and healthier and wealthier and wiser and more crazy and fun and silly and artsier and more and more creative and in the love til poof! You explode into another higher dimension because you’re so happy with everyone everywhere, and it’s all due to your thoughts. 🙌💕

That’s life. Pretty cool.... But you gotta believe it. Then from there it’s all about the inspired action, Jackson... 🤷‍♀️😉😆💪💕

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Elliot, Just a Tech

Summary: Plagued by not having Admin rights on your work computer, you contact the IT department expecting to talk to your usual guy. However, you are greeted by someone new.

A/N: Consider this post-show

WC: 2596

Warnings: None

You looked over the icons on your desktop for the eleventh time, dragging the old version of Adobe into the trash for the tenth time, and growling with frustration as the error message appeared for what felt like the hundredth time.

Please enter an Administrator’s Username and Password.

After the great email phishing scam the month prior, the IT department had been directed to revoke all employee’s Admin rights to their computers. It wasn’t your fault your colleagues were too dumb to realize that you should not click on email that has been flagged as spam, even if it is a version of your boss’s name: Mattthew Whitman has scheduled a meeting with you at 9 pm!

As if Matthew spelled with three ts wasn’t enough to deter someone, scheduling a meeting at 9 at night should have been, not to mention the exclamation point to top it all off—no one ever enthusiastically scheduled a meeting. Ever.

Alas, no less than 13 people had opened the email, severely compromising the integrity of the network.

You needed to get rid of the old version of Adobe in order for your network’s cloud to allow the download of the updated version, so you were left with no choice but to submit a ticket to the IT department.

You and Matt, no relation to Mattthew your boss, had had several Zoom sessions since the start of the quarantine, mostly thanks to your need to actually get some work done. With so many more people on your network, the IT department was doing the best it could to make sure everyone was achieving basic functionality.

Opening a new work order, you quickly filled in your information and snapped a screen shot of the error message. In less than a minute, you had an email inviting you to a Zoom session.

“Matt’s really on it today,” you said while opening the link and waiting for him to start the session.

You had just glanced away to check your To-Do list when someone opened the Zoom session and you paused, staring at the downturned face of someone who was definitely not Matt.

“Hi,” you greeted awkwardly.

“Hi,” he answered, still not looking into the camera.

“Where’s Matt?”

The stranger looked into the camera, clearly caught off-guard.

“Uh, he’s off today.”

“So they finally unchained him from his desk—good for him!”

The stranger’s eyes widened a little in amusement, but he didn’t smile which caused your grin to quickly fade.

“Are you . . .” the stranger trailed off as he glanced at his other desktop monitor. “Y/N?”

“I am. And you are?”

“Elliot.”

“Are you the new Supervisor they were hiring for last week?”

“Nope. Just a Tech.”

“All right. Well, hi, Elliot, just a Tech. I’m in dire need of installing an update, which I cannot do because my colleagues are dumbasses.”

This time Elliot did smile, and you found yourself reaching up to fix the wild bun on the top of your head, wishing you had actually taken some time out not to look like a troll who had crawled out from under its bridge.

“I see that you can’t install Adobe’s update without administrative permission.”

“Yup. That’s my issue, I think.”

“I want to try something first,” Elliot said, concentrating on the task at hand as he looked away from the camera and to his other monitor.

“Can you locate your system preferences? You can find it by clicking on the appl-“

“Done. What do you want me to go into?”

Elliot looked back into the camera, then gave you a series of steps which you quickly followed.

“I am only semi-illiterate when it comes to technology,” you said, trying again to get him to smile and this time it worked.

Elliot adjusted his headset and lowered his eyes as he grinned. “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve had to explain over the past few days.”

“Oh, I would absolutely believe them. I’ve talked three people in my department off a ledge just by explaining the magical powers of “Command + Z.”

Elliot chuckled, and the sound of his laughter filtering through the mic on his headset made you want to stay on the call as long as you could stretch it out.

“It looks like the program is not responding. I’ll need to take remote control of your desktop.”

“Have at it.”

You watched as Elliot worked, waiting for your mouse to start moving across the screen, but nothing happened.

“Uh, do you have any error messages on your end?”

“Nope.”

“Let me try one more thing,” Elliot mumbled, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

You sat quietly, letting him work, which gave you an excuse to just look at him and the more you looked at him, the more attractive you realized he was.

Elliot had a stylish haircut, although it looked like his fade had grown in quite a bit thanks to the lockdown. Tufts of straight black hair stood up on either side of his headset and you wondered if they’d be stiff or soft to the touch. His eyes were large, clearly the most enticing of the features of his face, except for his angular jaw that made you softly smile in appreciation of its masculinity. Elliot may consider himself “just a Tech,” but he was a damn good looking one.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you blurted out, forgetting all of your manners thanks to the lack of social interaction.

Elliot fumbled as he was typing and looked into the camera, his lips parted.

“Oh, lord. That came out . . . blunt. I asked because Matt’s been loving working from home. His wife just had a baby and even though he’s chained up in his home office at all hours of the day he still gets to spend time with the people he cares about. Which is what I was trying to ask you—if you were enjoying working from home.” You finished with an awkward laugh, and a barrage of mental curses to yourself.

Elliot’s lip turned up with a quirk. “My sister stops by to bring supplies, but I live alone.”

“Oh—well, that’s nice you have someone to interact with. I still see my sister, too.”

“I like this. Not having to interact with people.”

“The only downside is the verbal vomit you spew when talking to someone new because you no longer understand social protocol.”

Elliot laughed again, that same breathy little chuckle that upgraded from drawing your attention to making you shift in your chair.

“I’ve never been particularly adept at social protocol. Hence . . . just a Tech.”

You laughed and Elliot must have liked the sound because he stopped to watch you, his eyes flicking over your face through the camera.

“You need to update the Zoom app for me to take over your desktop. I don’t know why yours seems to have this glitch, but are you ready for the steps?”

You grabbed your pen and a fresh post-it. “Lay it on me, Tech.”

Elliot smirked, then listed the steps. “I’m going to close the call, but as soon as you’ve completed the steps, click on our Zoom link again.”

“Got it!”

Your eyes connected and lingered for just a moment before Elliot closed out the call.

You missed him immediately.

“Oh, Matt. If I had known Zoom calls could be like this, I’d have dumped you long ago.”

You shook your head to clear it and began to go through the steps Elliot had listed for you. You wanted to get this right to prove to him that you weren’t incompetent.

Having successfully, and quickly, completed all of the steps on your Post-it, you reinitiated the Zoom meeting.

“You’re quick.”

“I’m sure you’re much, much faster,” you said.

“I can only go as fast as the web connection, unfortunately,” Elliot replied, staring into his other monitor again.

“Let’s try this again—remember the steps to give me remote access?”

“I think so . . .” you said, trailing off as you began to click.

You paused, then your mouse began to move without you.

“Excellent job,” Elliot praised and you knew you wanted him to praise you again . . . preferably away from a computer, maybe in a bedroom—

“All right. So I need to delete, reinstall, and wait for an error message that’s been popping up making this a little harder for people to do themselves.”

You watched Elliot control your computer, and once he got to a point where the app was updating, he paused and turned back to the camera.

“About that girlfriend thing you asked me earlier. Are you seeing . . . anyone?”

“I was . . . about six months ago. By the time I was ready to get back on the horse, the plague struck.”

Elliot chuckled. “Not exactly the best time to start dating.”

“No,” you said softly laughing, too. “I agree with you, about the whole nice not seeing people thing, though. For me, it’s more about setting my own schedule. I get so much more done without constant interruptions just to chat.”

“Kinda like we are now?”

“Hey! We are waiting on a signal to go to space and come back. It’s only polite to give it some time so it doesn’t feel like it’s being watched—like a watched pot never boils kinda thing.”

Elliot smiled, his eyes meeting yours and lingering as you smiled back.

A new box popped up breaking your eye contact and Elliot went back to work.

“Fixed. You shouldn’t have to worry about the next update. We’ve been reporting this glitch regularly so the developers should have it fixed by then.”

“Thanks, Elliot. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s my job,” he said with a slight shrug.

“Well, enjoy the rest of your afternoon,” you said, wishing you had a reason to stay connected.

“Yeah.” Elliot replied, looking at you again with those hypnotic, grey-blue eyes. If they could impress you through a screen, imagine what they looked like in person. “You too.”

You smiled at each other and when neither of you closed the call, you both laughed, Elliot looking a little shy and you looking a little embarrassed.

“I’ll close it. Don’t forget to fill in your survey so big brother knows I did my job.”

“Five-star service, all the way!”

Elliot chuckled again, and you shivered this time, the sound of his voice working its way through your entire body, filling you with a pleasant warmth.

“Bye,” he said, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he ended the meeting.

When the session closed out, you began to think of ways to break your computer so you needed to talk to him again, but before you could pull a purposefully dumbass move like downloading a virus, a sticky note popped up on your desktop.

212 555 0179

Probably breaking work protocol, but text me sometime if you want.

~Elliot, just a Tech

“Oh my god!” you gasped, glancing up at your camera to make sure you really were disconnected, unable to shake that feeling like someone was watching you. You reached for your packet of stickers and placed a fresh one over the camera of your computer—better paranoid than sorry!

“Should I text him now? Is that desperate? Or is it mean to make him wait? Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you said, pacing around your small office space.

“Just a simple hello,” you decided. “First, gotta find my phone.”

After walking through your apartment, you found your phone in the kitchen, unsurprisingly because snacking had become your favorite hobby since the lockdown began. It was a blessing and curse to be able to eat whenever you wanted.

You took your cell back to your computer and smiled again at Elliot’s virtual Post-it note and typed in his number and contact information.

Hi, Elliot ☺️

Hi, Y/N. I hope your emoji means I didn’t creep you out

That’s what this one 😱 is for

Lol. Got it. I don’t really do the emoji thing. They kinda confuse me

Well then! Maybe that’s why we met? You know all the real techy stuff, and I know all the silly techy stuff. I can teach you to emoji like a boss 😎

Sunglasses = boss? Shades? Because bosses are shady?

🤣more like the shades mean you’re just too cool to care. Like a boss attitude. But actually 🤔that’s a really great analysis!

See? Confusing 👽

Confusing as in no one knows what’s really “out there” huh? Wow. I like your way of emojiying (new word, just go with it)

Lol really?

I do!

Can I ask you something?

Sure

Which emoji makes you think of me?

👀🦋💬🧸🧨 😰📱😃  

You stared at Elliot’s text, a goofy grin on your face as you tried to puzzle out his emoji story. The eyes, okay, but the rest was sort of a mystery.

Lol! I need to do this in pieces so you can tell me if I’m right or wrong

Ok

So, you saw me and thought I was nice? Pretty? Delicate?

Lol pretty

Ok. Thanks, btw. We talked and then, oh boy, this is tough. An exploding bear? Talking to me made you feel like you were going to die? This is not good.

🤣 Poor choice of the firecracker, clearly, but take them as two separate things. What do you associate with a teddy bear?

Um, childhood . . . safety? Protection?

Close! Warm, safe. You seem like a warm, safe person to talk to.

I am grinning like an idiot right now. You are so sweet. But on to the firecracker? Wait! Like sassy? Like I have a firecracker personality?

Yes! You’re funny in a forward, witty way. I guess the “She’s a real firecracker” thing might be a bit outdated.

I LOVE IT. I gotta keep going now. This part is easy, I think. Sooo even though you felt nervous, you took a chance and left me your cell, and now you know it was a good choice because you made me happy.

Almost—when you texted, it made ME happy. Hence 😃 and I have big eyes so I used the big eye happy face.

I.am.dying. That’s the cutest thing anyone has ever done over a text in the history of the world!

Lol. Is there a dramatic emoji because I don’t think anything I’ve ever done is that great.

This WAS great. I’m serious

Do you wanna maybe have dinner over Zoom? God how lame is that?

You respect the quarantine—not lame at all. I’d love to!

They let me unchain myself around 6. I’ll send you a link at 7?

Perfect! But what are we going to order? Shouldn’t we order from the same place to make it more authentic?

Do you like Chinese?

Who doesn’t?

You looked at the location Elliot sent and laughed with the irony that it was your favorite take-out spot.

How did you know that was my favorite take-out spot?

Lucky guess 🤷🏽‍♂️

Well, lucky Elliot who is just a Tech. I’ll “see” you at 7. If we order the same dinner, I’ll consider it a sign that we are meant to take over the world together by eliminating one dumbass’s access to a computer at a time 🦸‍♀️🦸‍♂️

Lol except that would leave me out of a job

We will find you something more meaningful, I promise

Make me a list 😃

You got it! Can’t wait for 7 ☺️

Me either

* * * * *

Tags: @ramimedley @clumsybookworm18 @r-ahh-mi @aboutthatmelancholystorm​ @alottanothing​ @sherlollydramoine​ @txmel​ @diasimar​ @hah0106​ @flipper-kisses​ @rami-malek-trash​ @ramisgirl512​ @dancing-disco-deacy​ @just-a-queen-bee​ @eightiesriot​

Maybe a Part II? 

[luna-almighty-god]

Guardian Angel N°12 [Shock of realities]

This is chapter twelve !

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

Have a good read!

===

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

===

Error didn't understand and didn't try to understand, he didn't need to. He knew the principle of UA and timeline, and although seeing another Ink in his world was strange, it didn't destabilize him any more than that. For it was definitely not his painter who was facing him, his eyes veiled by hatred and rage, with a pungent smell of metal and dust.

"What the hell is this delirium? "he ventured, letting his gaze run over the devastated living room, the overturned table, the disemboweled sofa, the cracked floor and walls.

He had no trouble seeing Nyx on the floor. Nyx slowly raised his head to look up, to observe him with a relief that Error never thought he'd see in anyone. At least not in himself.

The cartoonist was most banged up, not to mention Insomnia sobbing in his arms. Insomnia that he had probably tried to protect at the risk of his life, which explained his state of great weakness.

Error sigh, looked back at the falsified Ink:

“Well, one more to erase.”

But his opponent, whom he had imprisoned in his sons, did not seem afraid. Rather... stunned. Shocked. Devastated.

“Ruru... ?” Squealed softly at the Ink.

And Error flinched, suddenly in doubt. His opponent was clearly not HIS Ink, he knew that by his failing magic, as if corrupted. But ... the way he looked at him, the way he spoke to him ... it looked very much like ... his Ink. His soulmate.

A bone flew in his direction and he dodged it only with his wily reflexes. Forbidden, the Destroyer retreated when he saw his sons shattered before his opponent threw himself on him to punch him in the face.

Error dodged even harder, caught short by the speed of the other skeleton. Fuck, was it like a mess? Who the hell was that guy? I can't believe he told his own Ink "There's a strange magic in DreamTale. Look after PaperJam, I'll take care of it", when his lover would have been very useful right now!

He scolded, teleported himself behind his adversary and tried a new capture, but this Ink seemed to know him by heart since he dodged all his attempts before suddenly finding himself against him, forehead against forehead, pupils in pupils ...

The voice of the painter resounded soberly, in a laugh of madness:

“I killed you once ... I can do it again!”

Error grimaced, hardly wiping a blow to his legs. He did manage to move back, but his cheek was grazed, which almost made him glitch. This Ink was much more mischievous than his, but more importantly ... no, not powerful. It was something else.

He petrified on contact with a viscous liquid. A familiar but terrifying liquid, which had grabbed his arms from behind. Confused, he glanced behind him to see an ink puddle on the ground from which ...

“Wh-... tentacles?” he hiccupped without believing it.

Ink took the opportunity to hit him again, making him hiccup again, while a sinister crack from his arms made him bend suddenly, tearing a cry of pain from under his slowly breaking bones.

Panting, he tried to free himself ... but petrified. Petrified when the mouth of his opponent came to take possession of his own, to devour him, dominate him, subject him to his will. He became livid, his body frozen with terror, while he felt a tongue get between his teeth and come to play sneeringly with his own.

This unknown Ink didn't care about him, only wanted to humiliate him.

And a few meters away from them, with a pale face, Nyx was watching them. He observed them with a shock too great. Shock to see his father kissing Error. To force Error to kiss him, to subdue him in such a way.

Error, who, in this timeline, hated Nyx. But the cartoonist only remembered the Error in HIS timeline. The Error who had saved him from the clutches of his parents, the Error who had taken him in, the Error who had raised him and whom he had come to see as an adoptive father.

[Nyx lost control]

[The rage overwhelmed him]

Error opened his eyes to the sudden wave of negativity, certainly much weaker than Nightmare's, but still surprising. And his surprise was even greater when he perceived, from the corner of his eye, Nyx's pupils that had turned deep red, while tentacles suddenly materialized from shadows to whip the air furiously.

Ink released Error sharply to cast a hesitant glance at Nyx, visibly feverish to face the rage of the youngest.

But the cartoonist didn't have to intervene... Because the Ink of this timeline did it perfectly well.

A bluish paint sprinkled on the 'bad' Ink, who opened his eyes and moved backwards before shouting in rage when the paint changed into a chain, a chain that immobilized him at once. Mad with anger he looked up at the 'good' Ink. The 'good' Ink who had just come out of a portal and who, with a powerful brushstroke, freed Error from the claws of the tentacles.

The confusion was only greater when the two Ink looked into each other's eyes.

“Another me?” wondered the past Ink while holding the Destroyer against him in a protective gesture.

Faced with the proximity of the two skeletons, Nyx's father yelped, foaming with rage, and felt trembling on all sides. How was it that his past self was so close to ...

He petrified.... To turn a murderous glance at Nyx:

“That's what I thought... Y.o.u. h.a.v.e  c.h.a.n.g.e.d.  t.h.e.  s.t.o.r.y.”

Nyx lost his tentacles as his pupils turned blue, he backed away abruptly, intimidated and frightened in front of his progenitor, while pressing Insomnia against him again.

“I-it was the right thing to do, he replied.

- The best thing...? Ugh, Dream and Error have really messed with your head! The best thing you say? No, no no ! Nyx, haven't we taught you nothing? Didn't Nightmare mean to make you his worthy successor?”

Nyx felt the tension pressing down on his body, his legs trembling and failing to pull away, while his father was gradually displaying a crazy grin:

“You should have killed us.”

The cartoonist lost his pupils, his hands clasped on the baby, while the skeletons of the past listened to the conversation without understanding the meaning.

Nyx's father sneered suddenly:

“You were born to kill.”

A tentacle of ink broke his chains, and the Ink of the future disappeared in a sudden teleportation, abandoning his opponents in total confusion.

Nyx's heart was heavy. His body finally let go and he fell to his knees on the ground. To tell the truth, it was even a miracle that he didn't burst into tears in the moment. Probably he was too shaken to know exactly how to react.

But the words of his father assaulted him, bit him, scratched him, dragged him into a trance, a second state that disconnected him from reality without him being able to do anything about it, as if his spirit was sliding furiously down a slope too steep to make him sink to the bottom, drowning him in a flood of memories, remorse, regret.

[You were born to kill.]

Killing physically and mentally. It was by design. He had killed the happiness, the hope of his parents. He had caused Plum's death. He had also caused the death of Error. He had caused the deaths of so many people, willingly or unwillingly. You'd think he was only good for that...

No, that's exactly what it was.

He was only good at killing everything he came near. Killing... often without mercy.

“Nyx!”

He was startled, brought back to reality by Ink who had grabbed him by the shoulders and was shaking him gently with great concern.

“Nyx, can you hear me?”

For a brief moment, the cartoonist thought it was his father. But this thought was soon swept away: his progenitor had never called him so kindly, so anxiously.

However, if Nyx wanted to answer, he interrupted himself, sensing that his arms contained nothing more, closing in on a void. He became pale, his pupils taking the form of two exclamation marks in spite of himself as panic gripped his being:

“Insomnia?! Where is he now?”

The Creator was startled, not expecting such a strong reaction. Not to mention his astonishment at seeing his pupils change shape. But he tried to keep a cool head and respond appropriately to Nyx:

“He, uh... He's with Killer.”

Nyx blinked: with ... Killer?

Ink turned his head and pointed to another part of the living room. The Draftsman looked around and ran out of bugs, lost. Killer was indeed there, holding Insomnia against him and watching him from every angle, checking that he had nothing. At his side stood Nightmare, who was also examining his son, before turning to Nyx.

"Are you finally coming to your senses? "he grunted as he approached.

The black-boned one didn't understand. He just... He'd been gone that long? A moment of absence that had prevented him from perceiving the return of the couple? Sometimes his mind was somewhere else, yes, but that long?

[Was it... because of the lack of apples?]

He shook his head, chasing away the thought as he stood trembling, helped by Ink who gently supported him.

“... I...I have to go.” he blew.

He had to go back to the gate. He had to find out if his father had told him the truth. He was... He had to close the fucking portal once and for all, before things got any worse!

But as he dodged a move to get away, a tentacle grabbed his arm, petrified him.

Nightmare's voice growled, dangerous:

“You're not going anywhere. Not without an explanation.”

Nyx swallowed, tensed up a little more when Error also intervened, arms folded, leaning against the back of the sofa:

"Yeah. You owe us an explanation. How come you know another Ink? That he talked about 'making a difference'? And more importantly... How come your pupils change like that, and you have tentacles? »

Pushed from all sides, Nyx feverishly sought help from others. But both Ink and Killer were waiting for answers. It was at this moment that the cartoonist also noticed the return of the bad Sans, except that they were standing much further back. But Horror, Dust and Cross hadn't planned to help him either, looking at him from the frowned arches, even though the cannibal seemed the most worried of all.

Nyx blew, realizing that he wouldn't get anyone's support. Not until he revealed nothing.

He gave up the idea of running away, to face Nightmare and Error:

“I guess it doesn't take a genius to figure out I'm from another timeline, right?”

No need to be a genius, certainly ... yet this information caused a sudden surprise to others, especially Nightmare and Ink.

But especially Nightmare, who imperceptibly clenched his fists:

“... What do you mean by that?” he grunted.

Nyx gently disengaged from the grip of the appendix, then took a breath and resumed his impenetrable face, before making a slight curtsy to the assembly:

“Let's take it from the top. My name is Nyx, I am a traveler. A time traveler.”

He looked at Ink:

"That's why you couldn't find any trace of me in the AUs. Simply because I'm not even from that multiverse. I come from an apocalyptic future where the multiverse has fallen into ruin, and I've been given a mission to go back to the past to change history, to prevent the fall of this world. »

He raised his hand to stop all questions:

“I'd rather not reveal more, for fear the timeline will be too shaky.”

Nightmare laughed:

“If you've made a difference, the timeline must already be a monster mess. So instead of making stupid excuses, tell me .... Is Ink the problem?”

Ink tensed up as he remembered his double, which had seemed quite terrifying to him with his aura and intimidating gaze.

Nyx hesitated:

“.... Not ... not only.”

Error growled bitterly:

“This Ink had tentacles.”

The Nightmare Keeper froze himself by understanding:

“So I'm the problem in the future? I'm the one who was made to sink Ink, and the multiverse?”

Nyx had a slight, very slight recoil. But that's enough for the master of bad emotions to understand.

[Understand that Nyx was playing him for a fool]

For the past few months, Nightmare had been plunged into doubt, hoping to be wrong, thinking that his powers had only weakened in the face of his softening and his family life. But the time had come when he had to face reality, when doubt was no longer allowed.

“You hide your feelings of your own free will.” he said to Nyx, who trembled.

He thought he'd found a friend, someone who understood him, trusted him...

“You're afraid of me.” he said, feverishly, receiving like a stab in the soul.

[No !]

Nyx would have liked to disapprove.

[No, it's not that, you don't understand!]

He remained mute, unable to defend himself. Because deep down, even if he had explained the real reason, would Nightmare have believed him? He wasn't sure. And deep down... Deep down... ...Nightmare was probably right. In Nyx still resided the fear, the terror of being locked up, tortured, confronted with his worst nightmares.

He simply looked down, confirming what Nightmare was already thinking. Confirming that Nyx had always feared him as much as anyone else.

“...I see.” he pessimised, turning away from the cartoonist.

Being unable to smile, the body relaxed, an immense emptiness in the chest while a flood of insults crosses our minds. So that was the disappointment? That bitter feeling of being betrayed? To see our expectations, our ideals flouted? To feel like a fool from the start? Offended, humiliated, what else should he have felt? Anger?

Oh, the anger was there, deep inside him, striking a slight spike in his Being while the guilt did the same. Guilt for being angry at others when others had done nothing, at least not with the wrong kind of care. But that it was painful to feel such a thing... to feel as if you had been manipulated, deceived, by someone you valued.

Nyx, seeing the nightmare master turn away from him, knew he had screwed up again. His gaze slipped on the rest of the ruined living room, on Insomnia who seemed quite feverish in Killer's arms, on the bad guys without whom were exchanging worried murmurs .... Then on Error, wounded, who was not completely recovered from his previous fight, while Ink was standing next to him without knowing how he should act.

Nyx knew he was responsible for all this. From the beginning, the very beginning, he was the problem. He, the mistake, the one who should never have existed. His life had been a continual series of problems caused by his birth, and now another timeline was threatened by his fault, another complete multiverse.

He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't allow this world to be destroyed.

“I'm going to fix everything.”

He left no time for others to hold him back, disappearing in a gust of wind through a portal as Ink tried to catch up with him. But too late, the portal had closed without leaving a shred of magic behind, as if Nyx had made sure no one followed him.

A leaden silence fell, terrible and oppressive, letting a peculiar bitterness take hold of the assembly ....

Until Nightmare froze. Let him look at Error, his eyes wide open, finally becoming aware of the words the Destroyer had spoken earlier:

“Nyx had tentacles?!”

A much more powerful apprehension had just caught him by the throat.

===

Next Chapter

You can support me on my Utip or on my Ko-fi account !

===

Credits =

Dreamtale ->  Joku

Dust -> Ask DustTale

Error -> LoverOfPiggies

Ink -> Myebi

Killer -> Rahafwabas

Cross and Lux -> Jakei

Insomnia -> EnaPouyou

[pasteltofus]

1 Year of Learning Korean

One of the most popular questions I’ve gotten since coming back from Korea is: Are you fluent in Korean now??*

*Spoilers: I am not. 🙃

Looking back, I probably would have become more conversational if I had just done a 3-month intensive program. Although, compared to just learning by myself in the Bay Area, being in Korea definitely gave me more opportunities and motivation. I was placed in the high intermediate class for orientation (switched to low intermediate), but I would say that I’m now truly at an intermediate level. I think my Korean’s more or less the same as my Japanese (which has regressed a lot, and I only took 3 semesters in college) but with very shaky foundations. 

Anyways, here’s a brief timeline of what I did this grant year. Let’s go~

[Initiate lock n’ load montage]

July

Korean Intensive Program (8-12pm, 1-2pm M-F) 

Because of how the program was structured, I didn’t feel like I learned very much. This is partly why my foundation is so full of holes...we skipped around here and there. 

August

Korean Intensive Program

September

Korean was put on pause due to troubles adjusting to homestay

October

Occasionally did a few chapters of Billy Go’s Korean Made Simple at school 

Studied some Korean vocab 

November

???

December

I don’t think I studied Korean at all

January

Got a wakeup call when I spent 5 minutes trying to read the back of a sign at a smoothie shop and realized how slow I was at reading

February

Vocab grind (1000 Essential Korean Words), plan was to finish by the end of March. Two weeks of intense vocabulary cramming on Quizlet (did nothing in the end lol don’t try that)

Bought the Real Life Conversations Intermediate book

Studied Korean in Kpop lyrics

Started a side coding project to help my touch typing (K-pop lyric typing game)

March

Memorized dialogues from Real Life Conversations book with Lauren

Improved reading skills slightly by listening and following along with the audio recordings that come with the book

Read through the dialogues with the Korean literature teacher in my gyomushil

Continued to learn song lyrics

Wrote sentences with each new vocabulary word, got my co-teacher and the Korean literature teacher to check them (<-this was probably the most helpful game changer...it helped a lot with my spelling too)

Continued working on the K-pop typing game

April

Stopped learning new vocab at around Chapter 11 of Essential Words, focused on retaining old vocab through Anki flash cards

Finished the Go! Billy Korean Made Simple book that I bought ages ago (tbh it was too easy for me at this point but I was just too lazy)

Finally sat down and “learned” Korean verb conjugations (I’d just been going by gut instinct before…tbh I still kind of do 😅)

Kind of dropped the typing game after finishing the MVP 😅but I’m gonna try to finish it up now that I’m back

May

Started to panic about leaving Korea in 2.5 months but still sucking at Korean

Signed up for private lessons once a week for 90 minutes (My tutor asked me to give her a shout out. Her name is 서영심 (bwv830@gmail.com). If you’re in the Cheongju/Ochang area, she comes to you! She’s very professional and you’ll get your money’s worth.)

Started at the intermediate book that focused on grammar

Learned ~5 grammar points every week

Started writing and reading a lot more and actually seeing how words are spelled. The first time I saw 여기--a super common word (yogi) that means here--written out I thought it was so strange...not that I had thought it was 요기 (also pronounced yogi) but I just didn’t have a visual of it in my head, I guess.

June

Depressed about lack of improvement

Continued with private lessons but felt like I wasn’t really retaining the grammar dump from each week

At the very least, Korean homework kept me on track and made me practice even when I didn’t want to

Started Anki again since I hadn’t actively studied vocab since April.

An old K.Will song that I hadn’t listened to for a long time came up and I realized I could suddenly understand the lyrics. That was pretty cool and one of my small win moments.  

July

Feeling pretty hopeless with Korean

However, hung out with more Korean friends that only spoke Korean and felt like I was actually able to contribute to the conversation. (3 hours of Korean Listening ...🙃)

Was able to understand 70% of the conversation at my gyomushil’s final farewell lunch for me. I contributed to the gossip! 

Went home and immediately lost 50% of my Korean skills upon touching U.S. soil. 

So basically, after my burst of inspiration in February, my confidence and motivation in Korean just kept plummeting. Even now as I write up this post I feel an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. But I do want to highlight the progress that I’ve made since orientation.

Korean Reading

We were all supposed to be able to read Hangul before we came to Korea. Being able to recognize the alphabet is different from being able to read and also different from knowing the pronunciation rules and where to pause in your reading. During my first semester, my eyes would automatically glaze over whenever I saw Korean text. When the second semester started, I tried to force myself to read everything I came across - storefronts, street signs, advertisements on buses, etc. Even if I didn’t know what it meant, I would force myself to read it. Right now, I can navigate a Korean shopping website and read a menu semi-comfortably. I’m still waiting for the day when I’ll see English sounding hangul and be able to read it as fast as English. Although, I will say it’s really nice to be able to read the Korean titles in Kpop videos on Youtube, especially when I come across really old songs (like Super Junior’s No Other 너 같은 사람 또 없어) and realize I now know what it means. 

Also, a new world that has opened up to me is...노래방!! Karaoke is such an adrenaline rush. I’d compare it to sight-reading or DDR/rhythm games where you know something is coming up and the satisfaction you get when you get it right with the beat of the music is 👌. It’s so gratifying to be able to sing along...거기 너 I FANCY YOU 아무나 원하지 않아 HEY! I love you (LOVE YA)!! 

Korean Writing

Back during orientation, I couldn’t spell anything on my own. I knew words every koreaboo knew like 어떻게 and 괜찮아 but I couldn’t write it because I didn’t know how spelling worked. It’s no wonder my spelling didn’t improve since a) I didn’t write and b) I didn’t even read. Even now I still make a lot of spelling mistakes, but I pay attention to words when I see them. It’s still a very slow process, but now I can picture the hangul in my head when I think of the word. 

Typing: I started orientation with around 15 wpm, then by the end of orientation I got to around 30 wpm. Currently, I’m at 60 wpm when I start cold and after I get warmed up I can go up to 80wpm. Being able to touch type is so useful, especially when I’m typing up long sentences from my textbook and I don’t have to look up.

Korean Listening

Dare I say...my Korean listening is my strongest point??? I remember when I took French listening tests in high school, I would always lament with everyone else that they spoke too fast for me to understand. But interestingly, for both Japanese and Korean, I never had that problem. If it only contains words and grammar I know, I can understand it perfectly fine even if it’s fast. I intuitively understand most Korean verb endings and exclamations so it’s not hard to know which way the conversation is flowing or when to interject with “세상에,” “맞아 맞아,” or “말도 안돼.” I used to think my poor lack of vocabulary was the number 1 thing blocking me from understanding, but then I learned more grammar and realized the things I didn’t know. I do feel like parts of the fog are being lifted...sometimes...

Korean Speaking: 

I still feel pretty embarrassed when I speak Korean because there are some sounds that I can’t pronounce. Compared to orientation, I have a few more stock phrases tucked and ready to go, but I still feel unable to express myself. Every conversation will start out fine, but they’ll all stagnate to the same topics and sentences after a while. 

Complications with other languages

I talked about how knowing some Japanese and Chinese was both an advantage and a disadvantage during my beginning stages, but this is true even now. 

Ever since I started getting more comfortable with typing and spelling Korean, I’ve started seeing the actual Hangul in my head when I think/hear Korean. I’ve also started to associate the locations of the Hangul characters with their locations on the Korean keyboard. 

One day, I was trying to text back my mom with “那是什么?” (Na Shi Shen Me/What’s that?) but was confused because those characters weren’t showing up. Then I realized I was typing “sk” instead of “na.” Some of you guys might get it....because “s” is where ㄴ(n) is and k is where ㅏ(a) is on the Korean keyboard. Clearly, my brain can’t handle it. It’s interesting because both the Japanese and Chinese keyboard uses the same alphabet placements as English.

Another time: I was watching a Talk To Me in Korean video where Hyunwoo talked about how 하다 is a very versatile verb. I immediately thought about how the Japanese equivalent is 수루 and even mentally mapped it out on the Korean keyboard...before realizing this is WRONG, WRONG, it’s する not 수루 LOUISE WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING. (They are both pronounced suru)

What’s next? 

Now that I’m back in the States, it’s going to take even more determination and self-discipline to keep up with my Korean. But I really don’t want everything I’ve worked towards to just wash down the drain. I’ll aim to finish my intermediate grammar textbook and grind anki flashcards. Hopefully, I can find a language partner or a study group. We’ll see! 

[lenaisanerd]

i know it’s expected that i be serene

When Clary texts Simon requesting Fullmetal Alchemist, he knows something's up. But Clary seems to be in denial, and so Simon dispenses the ultimate cure-all: Hanging out with her best friend. (ca. 3500 words)

tunes.

Read on AO3.

 This story was co-written with my darling @raisehades. Please enjoy the hard-earned fruits of many late-night Google Docs comment battles.

Clary: can i come ober

  Simon: Ofc

  Are u okay?

  Clary: yes i just want so talk and cuddle or something

  Simon: Okay. Want me to set up anything?

  Clary: fma? 2009?

  Simon: I gotchu

Simon was slightly worried.

First of all, Clary wasn’t usually this reserved in her texting. Her lack of exclamation points coupled with the request for her favourite show could only mean one thing: his friend was way more down than she was letting on.

But he would deal with that when she brought it up because, well, he was also happy; Clary and him used to do this a lot – go over to each other’s (parent’s) place to hang out and watch something they both more or less enjoyed and maybe even talk about their lives and their feelings and- stuff.

But ever since the whole… half-angel manic pixie dream girl mom reveal (the HAMPDGMR) and everything that went down in consequence of the HAMPDGMR, they simply hadn’t done this sort of thing anymore. Sure, they hung out with all their other friends, at parties at Magnus’ loft or karaoke night at the Hunter’s Moon. And while that was fun, it was different when it was just the two of them.

Even during their brief dating stint, there wasn’t much they did that they’d done as friends. Simon had enjoyed what they’d done together, of course, but looking back it had been obvious that this wasn’t ideal for them.

Ideal was this: Lugging the connector cable for the TV into the vicinity of his laptop, powering both up and then loading a site with English subtitles of Hiromu Arakawa’s masterpiece Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

Also ideal: Clary bringing weird snacks with unpronounceable names from the Polish bodega down the street from their old high school. That store had become their first stop after class when they were younger and would sneak candy into movie theatres or curl up on the couch in Clary’s living room and watch Audrey Hepburn flicks with Dot. Simon was almost certain he would be able to eat some and keep them down by now.

Well, actually, in a perfect world, Simon would have loved to cook something for Clary (the food at the Institute was a far cry from what any sane person would call comfort food. Or edible). But one of the results of moving out of his mom’s place just after he’d become a bloodsucking creature of the night was that he owned basically no dishes, or pots, or kitchen utensils.

Even compiling his stuff with Maia’s (who had lived next to a Chinese restaurant for her entire adult life) yielded five plates, one bowl, two chipped mugs, and somehow a ridiculously large amount of cutlery. So cooking anything more than a bowl of cereal was out of the question until they got around to buying some usable stuff. Simon could already see himself and Maia filling their birthday and Christmas/Hanukkah wishlists with basic household items for years into the future. Ah, the joys of adulthood.

Still, this was almost the Saturday morning of his dreams. In the past year, Simon had come to understand that while moments of normalcy were few and far between, when one came along they had to hold on tight for as long as they could. Which was exactly what he was planning to do.

“I’m telling you, Polish Bodega lady has to be a Downworlder. We just have to find out what flavor she is.” Clary started on her new favourite topic as soon as Simon opened the door. She draped her damp jacket over the back of a kitchen chair to dry, dropped a plastic bag on the table, and re-tied her wet ponytail.

Simon started rummaging through the contents of the bag. “Okay, one: I don’t like “flavors”, at all, two: how do you know she’s not just a normal human being who just happens to own a windowless shop where she basically lives 24/7? Oooh, you brought those weird milk drops!”

Clary had her back turned to him while she stretched as far as she could to reach the plates and mugs on one of the high shelves above the sink, not quite managing it. “She never sleeps. Sometimes I come by that store when I’m on patrol, and she must be there all night. Every night. And every day, too. Either she never sleeps, or she has at least two clones.”

“Maybe she has an identical twin sister.” Simon took pity on her and handed her the dishes. Clary took them and ducked out under his arm from between the sink and his body in one fluid movement. Then she set to digging through the fridge for some soda for herself, and a bag of A+ for him, hugging the plates and mugs to her body with her free arm.

“I think I caught her staring at my runes. She definitely at least has the Sight.”

“Oh, so your angel-ninja sense is tingling? Tell me, is there a type of demon that loves to disguise itself as an old lady and watch reruns of Polish soap operas?”

“There’s only so many demons that can be terrorizing Manhattan bankers at a time, you know.”

Simon let out an undignified snort of laughter, of the kind that, had he been drinking at the time, would certainly have made him exhale his drink through his nose. Clary stuck her head over the fridge door grinning triumphantly. Then she emerged fully from its depths with a bottle of coke wedged horizontally under her chin, the plates under her arm, right hand holding the mugs, and left hand holding the blood bag. Standing up was a precarious balancing act, and Simon rushed over to take the bottle from between her chin and collarbone. After he snatched up the bags of sweets from the table they continued their procession into Simon’s bedroom.

Maia and him had moved in together just after New Year’s, into a tiny two-bedroom apartment in Fort Greene. They had decided against sharing a bedroom, though, mostly because of their sleep schedules. As Maia had put it, one partner strangling the other because a certain vampire keeps making noise all through the night while a certain werewolf is trying to sleep is not very conducive to a healthy relationship. Of course, they often spend the night together anyway, although those weren’t the nights when they did much sleeping.

“Come lie down, thought you wanted to cuddle,” Simon said, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him. Clary flopped down and threw her legs over his. Balancing the snack plate carefully on her lap she fluffed the pillows behind her and finally settled down.

It was several skipped episodes, an entire bag o’ blood, and a good two thirds of the coke later when Simon got to find out why  exactly  Clary was in such urgent need for Comfort TV Time.

“Did you know jat Ling’s name doejn’t need the ng sound at all? It’sh Lin in Japanese and”, Simon swallowed the milk drops, “the Chinese translation both, so they just changed it for us for some reason.”

“You’re going to regret eating those,” Clary said with such a comical expression of distaste on her face that Simon couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself. I won’t mop it up, though.”

Simon was still grinning when Clary reached forward to pause the episode on a rather unfortunate still of Major Louis Armstrong in motion.

“Do you think Izzy would like this,” she said, suddenly serious.

“Who wouldn’t like Fullmetal Alch- ”

“You’re right. Of course she would. Continue.”

Simon took her vague gesture towards the screen as a command to unpause. About half a minute later she piped up again, this time not even bothering with the pause button. “Her favourite character would have to be Mei-Chang.”

“Really?,” Simon indulged, reminding himself that he had in fact watched this episode several times in his life(un-life?) already and could live (hah) with not catching every subtitle, “I would have thought Olivier, Lan Fan… or maybe Riza? One of the really cool badass ladies.”

“Izzy may be a really cool badass but trust me, she loves little girls with a passion for science. Did I tell you about that dinner party at Magnus’ place? She was off in a corner with Madzie all evening, talking about chemistry or something. It was adorable.”

“Yes, I – I don’t know how I managed to forget. You’ve told me about it... several times now.” Simon was quite proud of his wallowing pause here.

Clary said, “Well.” and when Simon looked over to her she was visibly re-invested in subtitles. He suppressed a fond headshake and decided to let her have this one.

The next time they got through a good fifteen minutes during which Clary only noticeably stopped herself from interrupting twice and Simon started quietly wondering if eating those drops was a bad idea after all.

“Could we invite her to something like this?”

“Izzy, you mean?”

“Ah, yes. I just mean, like, we’ve hung out at the Hunter’s Moon and the Institute and stuff but I don’t know, would she like just… watching anime? Snacking?”

Simon really did put up with a lot, huh. “I don’t know, what do you think?”, he said in his least exasperated voice and leaned forward once again to press pause. He looked over to Clary, who was searching through one of the bags of candy for the last red one with the utmost concentration.

“I think she’s probably never been able to do something like this but that… she’d probably like to try. And I guess it depends on the show if she’d enjoy it. Her attention span is better than ours’ for sure, though. Maybe I’ll ask her.”

“Instead of me?! I’m hurt, Fray.” Simon placed a hand over his unbeating heart and pulled what he hoped to be the most devastating pout since Shrek’s puss in boots. He probably didn’t succeed in that.

Clary repaid his efforts by hitting his shoulder. He whined out an ooow and curled up to smoosh his head into Clary’s side. Her shirt muffled his sigh, and she recoiled from his breath, pushing him away with a giggle.

“Simon, stop that! You know I’m ticklish!”

Instead of letting up, Simon wrapped his arms around Clary’s waist.

“Zis vasn’t my decision.” Simon was using his best Bela Lugosi accent. Clary’s eyes widened in mock horror and the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “You brought zis on yourself. If Izzy is going to be your new best friend now, you must face...ze octopus!” His legs wrapped around Clary’s knees while she wriggled and squirmed and laughed.

“Hang on, what do you mean ‘my new best friend’? Simon Lewis, you’re not suddenly getting jealous, are you?” Clary asked when she had successfully freed herself from Simon’s grasp and they were both lying on their backs, looking at the ceiling.

“Pssh. No,” Simon lied. Clary had the decency to look slightly guilty. “Maybe you just have a crush on Izzy, ever thought about that?”

He had expected a pillow to the face for that tease, or another assault on his shoulder, or a bit of banter. What Simon had not expected was Clary suddenly looking all serious.

“Huh. You know, I’ve never considered that. Thanks, Simon,” she said, and Simon was quite proud of himself for being as good at identifying sarcasm as he was, but he really and truly couldn’t tell what Clary was thinking then. As his friend leant forward to unpause their series he decided she must just be a bit tired of antics for today. Understandable, really.

Yesterday’s summer storm had turned into persistent rain. It pitter-pattered against the fire escape and the windowsill, occasionally cutting through the sound coming from the TV’s speakers. During the peak of the heat wave, Maia and Simon had opened all the windows in the apartment to let in a breeze and had jammed whatever was handy at the time underneath to keep them from closing. There was a guitar foot rest wedged in the crack of Simon’s bedroom window.

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“I definitely have a crush on Izzy.”

The pause button had never been pressed so quickly. It would have been a world record, if world record judges liked to hang out on rickety fire escapes peering through windows to see if random teenagers performed laws-of-physics-defying feats from the comfort of their beds.

Simon lay back down, face to face with Clary. She seemed way more casual than what Simon thought was appropriate for the situation.

“So…Izzy. Isabelle. Really tall, beautiful, kinda scary. Terrible cook. We’re still talking about our Izzy here?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” Simon let that sink in for a minute.

“And, uh. How long have you known?”

Clary let out a hollow chuckle. “Consciously? About 30 seconds.”

Simon sat up. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Clary. I know you won’t like hearing it, but I’ve been your friend for over ten years, so I feel it is my duty to tell you this: You are such a dumbass.”

With a big sigh, Clary rolled over and buried her face in a pillow. Simon could barely make out her voice, but what she said sounded distinctly like a whine.

“What was that?”

Clary came up for air. ”I know.” Definitely whiny. With a very long vowel sound.

“I mean, you’re in so deep that I’m surprised you don’t need scuba gear yet.”

A groan.

Simon bumped her shoulder gently with his elbow. “Did I make you skip to the ‘wallowing in your own misery’ phase of having a crush?”

“No, it’s just...I can’t believe I never noticed.” Clary sat up, her legs crossed, facing Simon. “I only spent, oh, the last year with Izzy, every day. And– and looking back on some… things, it’s becoming really clear that I’ve had a crush on her for a while. And now I just feel like the biggest idiot in the world, and also what the fuck do I do now, Simon?” While she spoke Clary had let her head sink into her hands. Simon was of the opinion that they had just passed ‘wallowing’ and were well on their way to “breakdown”.

Simon leaned forward and, as gently as he could, pried Clary’s hands away from her face and held onto them for safekeeping.

“Hey, slow down, ‘cause this is bringing back really bad memories of pre-finals all-nighters.” This at least got a little smile out of Clary. “Now, can we back up just a bit to the ‘things’ you’re currently re-examining?”

Clary thought for a moment and then answered slowly, as though she was choosing her words with care. “Like, for example, why I love when she does my makeup. She’s really focused and just gets so close to my face and then she does that thing were she bites her lip and narrows her eyes, and sometimes I just want to lean forward and… kiss her?”

Immediately and seemingly instinctually, a grin tugged its way up the corner of Simon’s mouth. “Should I go get that scuba gear?” Clary rolled her eyes in response, but continued her recounting of Isabelle’s many virtues.

“And, uh, I always pick Izzy as a training partner, even though she does not go easy on me, because I kind of like when she kicks my ass.”

Simon only held in a dirty joke by viciously biting his own tongue. Clary was in distress. In distress.

His friend looked up at him from behind a strand of hair as if sensing his struggle but, judging by the nearly imperceptible untrackable movement of her eyebrows, refusing to acknowledge it. She headed on.

“Like, Izzy isn't really like anyone I've ever met before? And it's so - uh, exciting? Just to see her, like, do things her way. From the start she's made me feel like I belong, when, like, no one else really bothered to try?” Clary exhaled and shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe that's a bit much. I mean, what if we start dating and it immediately goes sideways? It’s just - we have too much history together. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense?”

Simon frowned. “No, I get it. She's really important to you.” He tilted his head to catch Clary’s gaze again. “And I know you’re really important to her. I don’t think one bad date could end your friendship. Also, you’ve known her for a year. If you want to call that ‘too much history’, I guess it might be, but when has that ever stopped you?”

Clary barked out a laugh. “Yeah, our relationship wasn’t exactly a success, though.”

“Okay, that’s fair, but Izzy isn’t me. And you aren’t the same you you were a year ago. Things are different.”

Clary looked ready to argue again, but kept quiet. Her body language was singularly vulnerable but her expression was more thoughtful than anything, brow furrowed tightly. She picked absently at her fingers which were still stained with oil paints, green and purple and gold. The rain continued its assault on the fire escape.

Eventually, after a long moment of silence, Clary stretched out on the bed next to Simon and, tugging at his shoulder, gently nudged him to lie down too. Clary tilted her head so it was lying against his shoulder and they lay there listening to the city they had been hearing their entire lives. But it was different now, wasn’t it? Simon had super vampire hearing and Clary had her angel ears and this wasn’t the city they had known anymore, because they knew what hid under the surface. But then, well, New York had never been the city they thought they knew. Simon had meant what he’d said: Clary had changed, and he had changed, and their old world felt lifetimes away. A year ago he would have said this was a bad thing. Today, he... wasn’t so sure.

“Should I tell her, do you think?”

“Hmm? What?”

“Izzy.”

“Oh.” Simon tried to get his train of thought off the existentialist detour track. “Uhh,” he said, intelligently, “I don’t know. Give me a sec.”

“Yeah, of course. Can you think while we watch?”

Simon nodded and Clary unpaused the episode. She propped her head up on her hand to get a more comfortable angle at the screen, and Simon’s eyes caught on the rune on her neck, right against the edge of her jawline. That was the first one, the healing rune that had seemed so out of place the night he’d found her by the church. By the Institute. Now, he couldn’t really imagine Clary without the runes, each a different part of her new life. There were the quick, simple ones Jace had drawn in the beginning, joined by the strong, decisive strokes of Isabelle and the slender script that indicated Alec, and of course Clary’s own hand, elegant and curving. Some for protection and some for strength, for courage and speed, fresh ones and older, darker marks. There was a story for every single one. A bit of experience. A battle won or lost.

He didn’t often dwell on this, but it sometimes occurred to Simon just how strong his best friend was. She had been through so, so much and come out on the other side a victor, maybe through luck, but also through sheer stubbornness. It was one of the things he loved (and sometimes loathed) about Clary. Simon was extraordinarily grateful that, even though both of them had lost a life, they had gained a new one, and one that had the other in it.

“Clary.”

She turned her head so she could look at him. One side of her face reflected the  flickering lights of the TV. “Yes?”

“I think you should do what you think is best. Trust your gut. You’re gonna be fine.”

Clary looked disappointed. “That wasn’t much of an answer, oh great oracle,” she said.

“Well, that’s the only one you’re gonna get. This oracle is closed for the day,” Simon replied. He crossed his arms over his chest to emphasize his statement. Then, very quickly and stumbling over his words a little, he added: “I just really respect you and I think you’re really smart and have good judgement, and you can sort this out for yourself. Also if anything goes wrong this means you can’t blame me, so–” The rest of the sentence was cut off by Clary rushing to hug him. Her shoulder banged into his chin rather painfully. He would, of course, not have it any other way.

“Thank you, Simon. I love you.”

Simon smiled into Clary’s shoulder. “Love you too, Fray.”

[hannewk]

The (not very concise) story of our Arcade Fire adventures (Chapter 21: Two go crazy in Berlin)

I should probably note at this point that it was raining as the gig started. It had been raining on and off during the support act and we were quite enjoying being cooled off a bit. We had adorned our super sparkly tops and were ready to go (or ‘start’).

We were enjoying the cooling rain and the familiar pre-gig playlist when suddenly the volume went up and Stevie Wonder’s 'Pastime Paradise' started playing. We weren’t really sure what was going on, this hadn’t played at previous gigs and we didn’t know a start time but all of a sudden they appeared on the screen. They were stood on a small stage towards the back of the crowd doing their lovely group hugsie. The crowd grew louder as they approached and made their way onto the stage in front of us. And so it begins again!! AGAIN!! I’d like to think it maybe finally felt like it was real at this point but I really don’t know!!!?? It was all so intense and vivid and emotional and colourful and LOUD!! (I really need to cut down on the exclamation marks don’t I?). Anywhoooo, the rain was falling, the crowd was cheering, the atmosphere was electric and the fuckers decide to start with ...

WAKE UP

WOW a ‘Wake Up’ opener! They did this at the Isle of Wight festival and have played around with it a bit in the states over recent weeks but I wasn’t quite ready for it on this occasion. Blog fans (all two and a half of you) will know this is an emotional one for me. I somehow manage to hold it sort of together until the clouds decide to part and reveal a beautiful rainbow. I’m the least spiritual person in the world but that’s definitely my dad waving. Yes dad, I see you, I'll dance my fucking arse off for you tonight!!

POWER OUT

Funny having this one early on too, but it’s a great way of getting the crowd going. We completely lose it towards the end, we leap about like two mad women with our sparkles flailing; Jules drops her glasses on the floor - will they survive the gig?? Some of our sequins end up at our feet and on the other side of the barrier but we don’t give a shit.

LAIKA / HEADLIGHTS LOOK LIKE DIAMONDS

Two tracks that they don’t play regularly but that we’ve been lucky enough to see already this tour. This obviously doesn’t stop us in the slightest. Headlights particularly is a special track for us (for some reason I had it going round in my head as we were queuing here and in Dublin, where they last played it for us).

DEEP BLUE

Okie doke, Deep Blue happened. I didn’t mention the soundcheck we heard while we were queuing in the last blog but this was one of the tracks they practiced, along with both Half Lights and Cars and Telephones. We obviously figured they’d play at least one of these and were over the moon when Deep Blue appeared. Win got the words wrong (there seemed to be some distraction going on at the centre of the crowd that was throwing him) but Regine helped and it was WONDERFUL and EPIC and a few other relevant adjectives thrown in despite the false start. Something about them not always being ‘perfect’ makes them more perfect weirdly.

ELECTRIC BLUE / PUT YOUR MONEY ON ME

Wonderful as always - Regine is sassy and sexy and the queen of everything (now)!!!

CARS AND TELEPHONES

They wouldn’t do this to us would they?? Oh holy fuck they would. This was performed delicately and beautiful; I really want a recording of the mature Arcade Fire performing this track because it really is special. The only problem is, it kills Jules. She crumples into a tear soaked glittery wreck, so much so our neighbours in the crowd seem quite concerned. Because I’m an understanding and sympathetic friend I put her in a headlock and let her sob it out with a ‘deep pressure hold’ (although apparently this actually tipped her over the edge - I really can’t win!!)

HALF LIGHT I / HALF LIGHT II

Wow so we’re getting Deep Blue, Cars and Telephones and both the Half Lights after all?! What have we done to deserve this? I just …. how do I ….. no words …. okay moving on ……..

ROCOCO

I’ve always loved Rococo, but it’s become particularly special this tour. They just seem to like to play it when we’re there!! Lots of leaping and sky punching (I think Jules has recovered now).

THE SUBURBS / READY TO START

We’ll never tire of this familiar duo. I think this was our most epic Ready to Start to date, Jules jumps on the toe of a man behind us several times and elbows the lady beside us in the face - oops! Then we have the wonderful extended ending to Ready to Start and we know that’s leading us into a costume change for Regine and …..

SPRAWL II !!!!!!

Oh god!! I think I’ve said this on previous blogs but this was by far our most energetic Sprawl II. We’re whipping about our sequinned tops and ‘Regining’ it up big time. Regine is wearing skin tight black sparkles and it’s just us and her and she’s loving it!!! (Well not exactly, but she’s definitely clocked us a few times this gig).

REFLEKTOR / AFTERLIFE / CREATURE COMFORT

Regine puts on her ‘Han and Jules stylie’ sequinned top and dances in the crowd during Reflektor. Afterife is wonderful as always, and then we have a new transition into Creature Comfort. Our beloved magical music man, Stuart Bogie, is a bit slow on the uptake with the CC arm wave so Jules and I start doing it anyway. We don’t seem to have the influence he has!!

EVERYTHING NOW (CONTINUED) / EVERYTHING NOW

Post encore this is a new experience for us, Everything Now has always been the first (or on one occasion second) track of the gig. It kind of feels right though. This was the first track we saw them perform live so it should be near the end of the final chapter of this era. During Everything Now Regine marches off stage and tells someone in the front row off; we both agree we wouldn’t want to be in her bad books!! Also around this time a security guy in a EN jacket comes over to us and drops a folded setlist into my hand and an EN plectrum into Jules’ hand before marching off. This is somewhat surprising but we don’t really take it in at this point; the plectrum ends up clamped in Jules’ hand for most of the rest of the night, she’s worried that if she opens her hand it won’t be there or it will be taken away. I think there are tears at this point but in all honesty I can’t remember, my memory seems to have only logged shapes and sounds and colours and emotions but nothing concrete and clear.

REBELLION

By this point we’ve both (without consulting) come to terms with the lack of Tunnels. It seems a fair trade off to be honest; I mean what a setlist! It comes full circle again during Rebellion when Will runs in front of us backwards and forwards before mounting the stage.

It’s the perfect conclusion; we can tell because we don’t feel too hollow when they eventually leave the stage at the end. We know this will take some processing and we’re not sure it’ll ever feel completely real, but it was an evening of joy, beauty, emotion and fucking wonderful music, and we are leaving feeling lifted (and yet also strangely emotionally fucked). Surely there’s no other experience in the world quite like this!!!!!!

[original-twin-blog]

Episode 4 - The Reluctant Birth Story

The perfectionist in me really can’t help but  approach these ramblings chronologically, which leads me once again, to a topic I don’t really enjoy talking about.  I can’t discuss pregnancy in my last episode without detailing the ‘birth story’ next.  

I used to revel in the retelling of the twins’ arrival.  I would go into great detail about the awkward intricacies of each examination and each stage of labour.  Now I can barely recall the name of the hospital without my scarlet cheeks swelling with the memories.  On reflection, I can only assume my ongoing conversations with two unresponsive newborns wasn’t quite stimulating enough and so I bored the pants off anyone who would listen. Or, the zeal with which I threw myself into the retelling was some kind of survival strategy.  Telling the tale somehow made sense of things.  It validated that what happened, actually happened.  I was naked, walking around a room moaning.  I did tell the midwife that we should exchange numbers because we were best friends for life.  Things happened that will only happen in that environment and circumstance;  I had to confirm it did, in fact, happen to me.  I digress, the point is it is not without a few toe curls that I share with you the details of Original Twin-babies’ arrival.  

60% of twin births are carried out via cesarean section.  There are a number of factors which make a section more likely; a low lying or shared placenta can cause problems during delivery.   A quick delivery might be important due to one baby getting most of the nutrients and so the other baby’s growth is slowed or, twin-mums can request a section if they wish for it.  The most common reason is that one of the babies is transverse (lying horizontal across bump) or breech (bum/legs pointing down).  When twins are born, everything takes twice as long for baby#2 (this is what the professionals call the baby that's furthest away from the exit, I irrationally felt bad for our  #2 as it really felt like she was being labelled second best from the start).  So if there are any complications the situation can turn very dangerous very quickly.

Our opinions in all of our consultations was that we would just sheep-follow the advice of the hospital staff shepherds. Their years of experience definitely outweighed our total lack of knowledge on the subject.  I’m pretty active, so I prefered to avoid the recovery of a section but as long as we had two healthy babies, we really didn’t care.  In our last scan before their arrival, the twins were head down and in a good position.  We planned therefore for a vaginal birth and that’s what we got.  

Note the really ugly use of the word ‘vaginal’.  There’s a reason for this. The alternative is to use the phrase ‘natural birth’.  Many women believe this implies that a section is in someway unnatural - a belief I can totally understand.  My experience (and there will be some that disagree) was that having babies torn out of my body didn’t feel very ‘natural’. I’m not sure a section would have been much different.

As it turned out, actually going in to labour was a bit of an anticlimax.  Being so uncomfortable towards the end of my pregnancy; I was in early labour for a day or two without knowing it. I’d been very uncomfortable; the aches and pains had worsened. I scowled at anyone who could get out of a chair unaided.  I just thought the haulage had taken its toll - my body preparing for the ordeal it was to undergo in 6 weeks time. In fact my waters had ‘ruptured’ (there’s something so gross about the pronoun use here.  I feel like an ardent feminist declaring ownership of ‘my’ amniotic fluid - eugh). A quick call to Triage and a journey to Hospital told us that I’d stay the night on the ward for observation, scheduled to return home the following day.  The aim was to keep Original Twin-twin babies in for another couple of weeks.  So, I settled down to an evening of piling my swollen elephant-legs into compression socks and re-positioning my bed approximately every 30 seconds.  At around 01.00,  I heard a massive pop, had a gargantuan wee all over the floor and then experienced the most powerful, consuming, much-worse-than-I-had-ever-imagined contractions. Breathtaking, scary, overwhelming labour officially arrived.  My trembling mass was escorted to the delivery ward, leaving a trail of leaking fluid behind me.  The midwife started to ask “Have you thought about what type of pain relief”... “epidural” was my definitive response.  I have never been so certain of anything in my life.  

Although I successfully forgot some of the early trauma of labour, I will never ever forget the part played by my doting Husband, Original Twin-Dad. Let me set the scene.  He had left me in the ward for home; he had work the next day and we both expected my hospital stay to be brief.  No doubt he enjoyed some mindless television to ease his lonely evening away from the bloated, whinging thing which had recently replaced his wife.   He went to bed early; it had been a long day.  

Switch to original twin, waiting for epidural - unable to stop apologising and exclaiming “I’m one of those women!”  “I can’t do it!”. There was also some mooing and swearing at this point.  I tried to call my husband.  Straight away in fact I was repeat dialling his number. I tried countless times with no reply.

He was asleep.

I was under siege and the Husband was AWOL.  The hospital took over the responsibility of establishing contact. Facial expressions completely wild now, a midwife trying to dress me in my fancy ‘boyfriend shirt’ brought along so I looked good whilst labouring (pah!).  We accepted defeat and I donned the backless gown.  A severe lady entered with the drugs and ordered me on the bed.  I hadn’t been able to bend down to put my shoes on for at least 3 weeks but this absolute chief of a woman got me sat with my head between my legs width ways on a narrow hospital bed.  What a boss.  

The epidural was delivered and chaos was replaced with calm, and yet there was still no break in the husband radio silence.  I’d relaxed and felt like a human being again so I had the foresight to alert a good friend and neighbour of mine.  She ended up knocking on my front door until original Twin-Dad chose to return from the land of nod.  So an hour after things kicked off and 89 missed calls later, my husband entered the delivery suite ready to provide deeply emotional and spiritual support to the now sedated, sleepy, really pissed off wife.  

Labour from then on was pretty boring. I could feel each contraction but I wasn’t in pain so I was drifting in and out of sleep for the whole time. I have two lasting images: my husband on his phone and the midwives making notes.  Nobody seemed very interested in me really.  Then it all kicked off.  Stage two of labour began - this is where you push.   Things were now very uncomfortable regardless of the pain relief. For an hour it went on until they decided I should push no longer and they would intervene. So off we all went to theatre for some forcep action.

Having twins in theatre is really hilarious.  You’re shimmied through quite quickly, signing forms as you go through.  Thank goodness Original Twin-Dad was there ( I had forgiven him his tardy arrival) I was emotional and confused and giving them permission to cut my body open.  When you get there, you realise there are lots of other people in the room. All focused on your lady-cabbage.  It’s absurd.  Paediatricians, Midwives, Anaesthetists, Assistant Anaesthetists, Trainee Midwives and a gaggle of other trainees just in for the experience.  At one point there was a loud beeping in the room which made us panic… turns out it was all of the pagers in the room going off simultaneously.

So quite quickly after arriving, baby #1 was freed. The baby that had grown inside me all of that time, was now a squidgy little snuglet in my arms, eyes open, tasting its first breaths of outside air.  The feeling at that point, for both of us was astonishment to the point of shut down.  If we were a drawing in a comic, there would simply be a massive exclamation mark over our heads.

Then we had to go again.  Whilst #1 was being checked out, #2 was on its way.  Hilariously, someone has to actually hold the baby in place from the outside, during the time between the two babies being born to stop it from changing position. I couldn’t help thinking there must be a more whizzy way of doing that.  That lady would have been glad of a job though; the rest of us just looked at one another, smiling occasionally, for 13 minutes - like a very messy fag break.  They asked me to let them know when there was a contraction and then #2 was ready to join her sister.  Two little girls, all cherub-like and covered in yuck.  

And that was that.  Two beautiful girls successfully birthed into the world and we were entirely responsible for their happiness, safety and well being for the rest of our lives.  Equal parts ecstasy and terror.  

More importantly though, my reluctant birth story is now told and I never have to use the word ‘Vaginal’ again.  Win.  

[eyedelater]

notes (translation and otherwise) on chapters 100.12 and 100.13

basically i typed these up the day of translation for the respective chapters but never published them because i was feeling weird about them but i figured i’d put them out there anyway

translation notes marked with a * at the front so you can read only those if you want. overall this is pretty long and kind of nonsensical

--

for 100.12

*the "brother you can earnestly compete with" is the same phrase that i translated last chapter as "serious conflict," as in "there's never been a serious conflict between us," and i can't decide whether i translated it too strongly and then too weakly or vice versa but basically the meaning of the phrase (honki de butsukariau) is like, “seriously clash.” yeah, clash is the best word, isn’t it. it’s got all the right connotations, like bouncing off each other and general conflict but not necessarily a destructive fight and also not necessarily a friendly competition. yeah i should’ve said clash both times, huh. do you ever have regrets

*i was right about the sound effect at the end of 100.11 being a flash, sort of..? it was a precursor to this first panel's sound effect, which is "PIGIIIIN" which is an unusual sound effect, or at least, one i haven't really seen before. i mean it's entirely possible to just invent a one-off sound effect for any particular situation, you know? but in this case the sound effect appears to describe the phenomenon of ritsu being utterly immobilized by ???% in an instant

i was wrong about the percentage meter being mob's :0

raise your hand if you lost your shit after doing a double- or triple-take between the omake title and the omake itself and finally realizing what it was

i still need to sort out exactly how ritsu's interpretation of ???% and my ???% hypothesis work out, but i've been too busy playing psychonauts... plus i'm sure we will continue to better understand the nature of ???% as this chapter progresses. [[edit: psychonauts was good, and i’m probably going to reserve judgment on ???% until we get the full story, since there’s no point in speculating when your speculations will be addressed a week later]]

--

for 100.13:

*well, i had a lot of decisions to make in this chapter... which i guess actually just means i was slightly confused/ambivalent a lot. it comes with the territory of not actually being that good at japanese. i've said this before, right? it's on my about page. so don't let it come as a surprise to anyone that i'm not that good at japanese. i mean i'm not terrible, i have a solid handle on it. it's just that my approach to translation is more like decrypting a cipher as accurately as possible and then phrasing it in a way that captures both the meaning and the feeling. i try really hard, but i know i couldn’t be a professional translator without further education. that’s why i never claimed/aimed to be the best or only translator of this series. but i do still believe my work is accurate. 

*anyway, starting on the first page. ritsu says "wakatta... wakatta yo..." and wakatta just means "understood" and the "yo" adds emphasis, but we don't quite have any emphasis-adding particle in english, so i changed the latter to "i get it" to make it sound more insistent. even though i really try not to translate the same phrase two different ways, especially not in direct sequence like that. but at first i translated it as "i get it... / i get it, okay..." and that sounded way too whiny, so i thought the better way to phrase it would be to do what i did. i think ritsu feels bad about causing distress to ???% and is saying, like, "i know it feels bad, but i had to do it." (<< interpretation, not a translation)

*when ritsu says "right...?" i was thinking about translating that as "don't you think...?" (what he actually says is just "nee...?" which is just a call for confirmation basically) and while i do think "don't you think...?" would've been the cuter translation, i went with "right...?" because it has the same number of syllables as the raw line and maintaining brevity is important to me sometimes.

*thanks again to femoralynn for hand-drawing the "STOP!!!" on the third page~ i think it makes a big difference. in the raws it was also hand-drawn and it said "TOMAREEE" which means... "STOP," but in english there's no good way to add more letters to "stop" to indicate you're stretching out the pronunciation, so i added three exclamation points in order to convey the intensity and desperation of the line. even though i usually try my best to stick with the punctuation offered in canon without adding or removing any.

*translating newscasters is an ordeal because they use hella kanji but i think i got the majority of it down... the only bit i'm not very confident on is the speech bubble to the right of tsubomi's face, but like, i don't think it will have a huge bearing on the story, and i'm pretty sure it's close enough. i've said before that i'm not going for archive quality, and i'm not going to go back and fix little mistakes unless they're really annoying or really important to understanding the story (like the mistakes i fixed last week).

*i hope it's clear in the "the government has claimed that no official agencies are involved in this matter" line that they're saying that no official agencies are responsible for causing this disaster, and what they're NOT saying is that there's no government agency investigating it. because like. surely there is. like, joseph works for the government, and he dropped touichirou on it, so the government is doing Something.

*yes, ???% uses "boku" pronouns. an established fact, but just a reminder to the curious who forgot or didn’t know in the first place.

*oh, i might've mentioned this in previous translation notes, but whenever i put "power" in quotes like that, it's because it's in quotes in the raws. whenever it's Not in quotes (like in ritsu's "innermost power" line), i don't put it in quotes. i'm not yet sure about the significance of this, because although mob seems to use "power" in quotes consistently, he's not the only one who does it, and yet, not everyone does it. hmm.

i guess i’ve unconsciously switched to using “he” pronouns for ???% sometimes in my meta. this is probably exactly what ???% wants...!

*now about the confusion that led me to post the chapter an hour late. on page 8 of the chapter (labeled page 149 in the bottom right corner), you'll notice that the four speech bubbles in the last two panels have no tails to indicate the speaker. tailless speech bubbles are my mortal enemy, as both a translator and a comics reader in general, and if you're someone who makes comics or ever will, i strongly urge you to add tails to your speech bubbles no matter what (and if the speaker is offscreen, do the thing where you make an inverse tail in the speech bub by taking out a wedge). so basically, i rely heavily on context and got confused about who is speaking in the last two lines of this page. of course, i was also confused by the grammar to a degree, otherwise i wouldn't have had to rely on context in this case. anyway, at first, i thought it was ???% saying, "if you do that, you'll disappear. i live freely." the first line makes sense in a way, telling mob that he'd disappear if ???% disappeared, but the second line seems like a non sequitur, and i couldn't really make sense of it. then i thought, oh, it's mob talking from offscreen, and he's saying, "if only you would disappear. then i could live freely." that's a very reasonable sentiment for mob to express, and it would make sense as mob elaborating on the line that came directly before those two lines... but then, on the next page, it seemed strange for mob to be saying his fifth line in a row. it seemed like it should be more of a back and forth than just mob talking at ???%. and note that i had poor femoralynn typeset all these confused iterations as i thought of them at like 11:25 this morning. sorry again for that. but anyway i finally realized that ???% really IS the one talking in those last two lines (no thanks to the tailless speech bubbles, again), and he's responding to mob's request to go away by suggesting that mob should be the one to go away, since he's the fake one. and finally that makes perfect sense with the lines surrounding it. i don't know why it took me so long to understand that... but the speech bubbles definitely had something to do with it. remember, kids, if you put dialogue in your comics but don't indicate who is speaking, the reader doesn't know either! unless they're the only one on the page, like when mob was yelling into the void inside his own head.

it doesn’t help that in japanese, they often leave the subject (and sometimes the object) out of the sentence entirely and leave it to me to interpret who is doing a verb to what/whom. because in english, you can’t just leave the subject out of a sentence. (e.g. “korosu” is just the verb “to kill” but if you say “korosu” to someone, you’re essentially saying “i’ll kill you.” notice how i had to add the subject [i] and the object [you] even though the literal translation would be nothing but the verb “kill.” so if i see a speech bubble that says “korosu” and it doesn’t have a tail to indicate who is saying it, i Literally Cannot Know who is threatening to kill whom or what, except by using context to make an educated guess. you see why this is a problem? and naturally they do this with tons of verbs completely unrelated to killing, i just thought of “korosu” first because bakugou katsuki says it all the time)

(ONE-sensei is usually very good about tailing his speech bubbles. i wonder if the lack of tails was intentional here, meant to further reflect the fact that mob is arguing with himself and that they’re kind of both technically the same speaker. still confusing though)

(oh and for the curious, the raws for the last 3 lines on that page, page 149, were as follows: 「僕の中からいなくなってくれ。」 「だったらキミが消えてくれ。」 「僕は自由に生きる。」 yeah the "kure" in that second line really threw me off bc i'm a fool and also i translated that same "kure" as "please" for mob but i didn't put "please" in ???%'s line because i couldn't figure out how to put it in there concisely and also it's clear that ???% is being a dick even if he kinda said please. and also because i don't know shit)

(and fuck, if i'm being honest, that "please" probably teleported up to ritsu's "so please... come home..." line, because he didn't actually say please in that line. should i correct it? i feel like a fraud. i just thought the "please" helped convey the sentiment of the line, but in retrospect i could've translated it more accurately without losing the feeling of it.......... what ritsu really says in that line is "dakara... kaettekite ne..." which, if you've watched the one punch man anime, you can only hear as the lyrics to the extremely sappy ending credits song, so maybe that impression of extreme sappiness sapped through into my translation and made me make it sappier than it really was...............)

about how ???% is like "ritsu is my little brother. he was saying that i'm his older brother." i might be wrong in my interpretation (not translation, which is more or less literal, but the interpretation i'm about to give), but i took this to mean something along the lines of "just now, ritsu kept addressing me as his brother. i think that means i am his brother. today i learned that i am ritsu's brother." as opposed to meaning something more like "i'm the one he called 'nii-san,' so i'm his brother and you're not." (plus ???% did not literally say, “he called me nii-san.” i translated that line accurately.) although either way, it seems to indicate that ???% only just recently started noticing (or being able to notice) whom ritsu is addressing as "nii-san;" otherwise, ???% would have known that the other million times ritsu has called someone "nii-san" in his life, it has been directed at mob, not ???%. so even if ???% is suggesting that he is ritsu's only True nii-san, his claim is only based on the last few minutes of ritsu addressing him directly, which would back up my claim that ???% only learned/decided just now that ritsu is his little brother... if any of this makes any sense.

i love how serizawa is like "let's get out of here i'm sure kageyama-kun is fine" and reigen's like "...he's in the tornado isn't he" and seri's like "..........maybe"

and serizawa's new umbrella, which he must have picked out and bought himself specifically to use as his preferred vessel of psychic power, is transparent. is that... a bubble umbrella...?

[hannahsspotlight]

Hannah’s Spotlight

2019 by Jacob Hagedorn

Awake all night, now Asking Saint Chris in the morning about the weather shows how up-for-chaos an agender, asexual is when there is a party happening downstairs, already chaotic, as the alarm alarms and I rub my eyes - my sister’s graduation party. 

You may come to know of my worries in a flaming context that proves that I am centered some; mornings I feel the pain so. The worrisome functions are still snowballing - and even if I hold out my hand, Saint Chris shakes it, even tho I was just needy of solutions and was unsurprised he decided to leave the day as a surprise. 

Ignoring the noise from downstairs, and circling the present moment, I am sitting on the side of the bed and gazing plainly out the window, the dreams of the night - this time, a lot like other times, was of the demon in my closet that will be left discrete, that is certainly not blood and that makes me cry even if it is a dream now…not crying now - although it was quite real then, and it made me sick to be reminded, or made out to be some sort of Event that was uncanny considering I was mostly content and happy and did not have all that many dark ideas or concepts hovering over me or inside me - it is anxiety and it will be examined but not made of the entirety of my mood. And that is what is funny, a different version is in fact inside me and it is not beautiful. It is what made me how I am way back when. 

The schizo affective muttering (addition) slips from my tongue as I turned on collaborative paraphrasing, ergo modern indie rock, and also pulling out strings of hair of figuring out what color of shirt I was going to where - hmm, not a crop top or leggings today, and definitely no magical robe. It is not Sunday, yet this event there will be people of somewhat or definite promising futures or a presence of presents and giving presents. The thought occurred to me about how I am going to probably miss my morning coffee, so I chose a white polo and settled for a bottle of water on my desk. My sister will be beginning a masters study at The University of Texas in Austin. 

There will be all sorts of personal cringing for not being adamant about the latest political buzz, or cameras, or philosophy, and even wanting to run back upstairs to take the one bullet from my closet for the one, personal use because my scholarly voice is not of par or being a whole failure - god damn it, being dramatic; I smirk then cringe. The aura from downstairs ignored, *shiver*.

There is no toleration, only anxiety - an outcast feeling, in my home too due to said party. The way to feel alright is to know not only is the person themselves doing alright, it is if we are alright together - mutual concern. Otherwise we are not picking each other’s brain or learning but we are just filling time and air. I am not apt to showing upright confidence, and also I am too experienced to act defeated..usually coming off precisely sarcastic or nonchalant but I am rather just worked up in some way - and hopefully it is not painful for them although it is for me and I fight to survive in this world. 

Asking questions is a bit easier than developing something interesting as a response, so this will not be too difficult - the people will not seem familiar mostly; just my parents and sister of course. I will find a seat and sit for about one whole hour, than escape back upstairs to avoid being killed, to be safe, and most likely to read a comedy book meaning drama and not all that funny in modern context - that can be funny in it’s own way to me at least. Okay I will wear the white polo, blue jeans, and just socks. Books are my escape, and I usually get something out of them that was not intended, which indeed makes me frantic about it; frantic about most anything but the breathing is still manageable and I can smile about random things.

Outside there are cars parked and the front door opening and closing to people making loud exclamations towards one another. Imagination brings me to the idea that if, when downstairs, they are all in fact monkeys swinging from the chandelier or turtles stacking on top of each other to reach heights to balance the monkeys swinging and than - possibly - a huge rhino (resembling chaotic power) plows them all over to all truly exceed my expectations and giving me a reason to take out my video camera, taping the rupture to finally being close to have an interesting scenario to show besides being a character in someone else’s figment. Participating is worrisome at times. Having control of a concept helps me sleep at night; make it healthy and good for all the right reasons, I hope. 

Yeah, I do not get out much. The college schoolwork is homeschool and I have never been on a date - 22 years old, and the most interesting thing about me is that I am a filmmaker against the odds of popular aspirations, which does not bother me because I am easily inspired. The most interesting film style, personally, is music videos - one can match sound with physical - double the emotion, and that is the only pleasure I get considering the small amount of emotion I muster up on average - not much, and my personal musical scores live in a way together with the visual depictions. 

There are no friends downstairs or outside, or anywhere - there are none at all in this life. There is not a map to find me, a trace online or a voice of hints; no use, there is no point in making connections, there must be more wrong with me…I am a bit taken aback at any social point. Making short films or music videos for the simple, acoustic piano songs I make for practice occupies me and I do it for myself completely, I say. To study music theory, or video editing techniques, or new gear knowledge is what I will study on my own - listen, celebrate truth not success (the difference is slim). The truth is I am asexual/agender and this is not the problem, it is just how I am, and yet my parents would like me to get married and there is an obvious raincheck for that. Karen, the eldest of us two and my older sister does not currently have a boyfriend, so she is far from family building as I am, although her chances of success is higher in my eyes - but I probably just will not find a success in that ever; cats, or rhinos. 

Muttering my name over and over eyes to eyes: ‘Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam…’.The mirror reflects the body flailing to the music now, vocal paraphrasing, gusts of strums, and strikes of keys - precisely pumping myself up for the bussing job downstairs; cleaning is somewhat a priority but I do have delusions on how often things should be helped when there is a public setting; guessing it is a random obsession act. If the obsessing grows and there is not a dialogue happening at any rate, maybe there is an escape to the neighborhood park. It is only partly true to myself; am not against the human race at all. 

The rhythm of aimlessness is a settled spiral till the end where it shoots out in every which way that refuses to be gathered; so you need someone else to pick a point for you, and I have been waiting for that. The loneliness coming naturally ergo this sense of sexuality, although it is really a lack of sexuality, teaches me to start points logically before they spiral and match them with some other logic as an arrow headed somewhere. If it is going to be chaotic soon, there must be a theme and most of the time the idea is of loneliness, being introverted and having no interest in most emotions. So, dancing for a short duration, or going downstairs is actually a huge risk because the voice in my head thinks it an apt time to mock myself and feel small; worthless, and when I do shrivel back into my reality…I feel ashamed. 

Sing along for myself, make my bed for myself, and make any effort for myself - this is why the days are long and frantic; there is no one to speak with or of, and for awhile now. My phone does not buzz, no one is ringing the door bell for me, and there are nobody checking in. If I mixed it up and wore a dress, that would be for myself but it ruins all chance for myself and others, even though I know that is not true - more or less to be included but I wish I was just already in the midst of it all. People pretend they want to get away, like they do not rely on gratification at all - and maybe there conversations are not a good-heavy, but at least something is going on in general for them; surely there is good tho. 

Now not a completely aimless morning, running back some personal favorites of my musical creations; sketching out visual scenes that probably will not make sense to anyone, including myself. A mood, or even a title, is more powerful than trying to depict meaning - and there is no feedback in my life but I sure enjoy it anyhow, even if beauty is misunderstood or short of cohesiveness. The lack of emotion, the lack of interesting subject, the lack of genuine message: all leaves me sulking, but only in the context of if anyone sees it - what will they think? I know my life has meaning, and the results I am fine archiving or even releasing to be found years from now by one person that may be inspired; best scenario, and absolutely worth the effort whenever it was started. And if not, it satisfied me for a moment while personally interacted with.

Most of my college credits are things that interest me, and there is not a day set for a known completion - there is a chance college will never be completed on my behalf, and I guess that is okay; music, German, fiction, history - it all is great and would not be possible to go in person, although missing society and seeing a smile on a face in reality would be healthy for me, and would create a new sense of how to integrate myself into society, help it grow in some small way, and inspire me to smile myself too. 

Then I shift to be in the midst of other music, other videos - it reminds me of meth back a year ago when the nightmares began; crippling, lonesome experience: the most risky endeavor of my life, and I have done my share of rehabs and mental hospitals - combining heroin does not work, of course. Mold, enjoying mold?… *Shiver*, relax and refocus. The mere sound or visual intake of what inspires me: does so freely, and I am washed away in a tide of bliss and love because they are so much accompanied by endearment; there comes tears and something magical to identify with, and the only time emotion is uncontrollable - it could go on forever, but then I get back to myself: nothing; nothing great at all - I will go take a shower. Their magic is not my magic, unfortunately - yet I can take a next step which is always good. 

Standing there, through the hallway, by the stairs, I could hear the roar of the crowd and sudden laughter, or indecipherable exclamations. The anxiety in me grew. What is my name? Part of controlling the chaos within is realizing that most people are much like you; different, but living in the same time. Maybe I just feel challenged a lot - by myself, and uncontrollably by others; being fixed on a craft or just having a clear mind makes you a bore unless situationally. I turn on the water. 

The future imagined is far from soon receiving disability, or staying at home much longer - ugh- ; it is actually not a defeated mindset, it is finding love in the impossible way meaning romance is so foreign. In the shower I look at the Blue Bed tattoo on my leg, the color fading - maybe the bed is where I belong and may also be the negative influence of my imagination: it is emotionless yet powerful in it being so necessary - although my bed is white. Being aware of having a version of laziness is far from humorous - it makes me sick even though I know a lot can be done or discovered in a bed. I get out of the shower, towel off, skip brushing my teeth, and look in the mirror all ready: boy.

There could be a whole lifetime wasted on depicting reality and worrying about it - and to think I can turn it into art even if it will never be seen is an impossibility and is a part of my delusional thinking - the stuff is important, but I cannot communicate any contrast at all of anything. I am happy mostly, because I intake and study at moments - it is all so beautiful indeed. A boost of confidence is needed, and the reason appearing downstairs is frightening is because hope has only let me down over the course of my life - and being happy is separate than that I believe. Being optimistic, and resetting that optimism is mostly quite simple in retrospect; we mainly defeat ourselves.

No matter the song, no matter the image - there will be a break of ego and the mutual, yet confusing (for me) interest will be kicked around and it will kill me slowly even if it is only two minutes at each go - and there is a bad habit ingrained to just walk away to somewhere else; me, awkward and rude. Do not get me wrong, I am capable of admiring and developing of just about any topic - the emotion they feel though, and what they are trying to relay for some reason does not register. I just say, ‘Oh yeah!…’ and feel defeated and death-near.   

Mother said the party will go on till about 2 o’clock. I pretend to look for clothing when I see my closet is cracked; shivering and cold - there is no demon here now, though there probably is but I am sober or not in a dream to be in that sort of realm, and that is terrifying of itself. When it happened then, the creature thew up black mold onto my floor, and was gracefully-but-weirdly accompanied by beautiful, blissful string music; what I heard before and after seeing the most terrifying visual. That song, that I could identify still to this day, is in my hopes that there was also an actual angel soothing me against terror, but what a small closet! There is no way to be an entity with such demonic attire but also mustering up the sound of heaven; I heard heaven and now the closet is closed.

Some tears came as the chair by my desk spun around with me in it - stopping, put palms to face and bending over to my knees; this is my aesthetic, and this will not get easier. A bit of nausea as well, with sweaty palms which makes the whole Manly concept a joke in my shoes. My voice, when speaking anywhere or with anyone, sound like someone is pinching my face and demanding I talk sweeter - like immediate and organic sincerity, but the mocking voice in my head often makes me sound drastically uninterested - and that is just not true. 

If the thought of ‘The One’ appears in the brain, it is known that the concept is of the bullet or even the demon - not a real person that is of a hoping mind, or a golden opportunity. The violence is too drastic and the occasion is not on this course of this now though; just a thought and the gun is in the attic - I’d blow holes in my soul for it to rain and come down on the people; the chandelier falling and the creatures in panic as I am in panic in a way but different. Cheers to the few. The white walls in the room are getting higher - and the shadow still lurks in some way - this is the haunting aura and it has just begun. Maybe that experience will be chased endlessly in a way throughout my life - because the music could not have come from evil, jest-like cruelty that was in my face; running out of the room then to my parents was a feeling I have not felt since I was a young child - all the times avoiding nightmares. 

Haunted is right; cynical things have happened and even if Hopeless is more daily than anything else,  I sometimes think there are no pros only cons in this experience. My friends left me from high school, my parents do not accept me fully, have been shown no grace by society it seems, although I try to get included, and it goes roughly - even if that somehow seems like I am showing grace and easing myself the apparent defeated attitude; I do not want that, this is just what is known by me for the last year or so: more than ever before. There is nothing gained from these ego deaths besides never having to feel this emotion newly again; old and new now, but when it is new it stings above all and I teach myself to minimize the old into a secondary worrisome-process. Maybe I will shed this perspective - good things have happened and will happen I now admit. This tends to happen: it is about latching on to something hopeful and good in the end of a segment, starting a new. There are pros, so let me work this out. 

My parents will be smiling, my sister too - that makes it easier; seemingly friendly and inviting: this comes natural for them, and I will busy myself with dishes or offering organic smiles for a millisecond then break away and look down. If the people think I am selfish, they are probably right. When I snuck away and eased with drugs, that was easy - although there was never a point to rely on it completely. This is doable, this is manageable and my sweaty hands are just my sweaty hands - the spiraling and chaotic arrows of unsettling anxiety will not kill me. One foot after the other; conversation and interaction is healthy - that is known but not practiced personally. Following sentences and coming to realize the purpose of them always wants me to practice more - keep asking questions until you find out a unique point and than feel satisfied that they have managed a sincere smile; something like an accomplishment, and making them feel okay mutually - no lies at all, and a mutual firework will gleam around the room back and forth until that night when someone smiles in bed, thinking: ‘That was a good day.’ That is what I hope altogether, and it makes the uncomfortable feeling less dramatic - the pressure shortens. 

I am smiling - wow. The mania is drifting towards a light indeed, and it is fait that works in my favor sometimes - and also, of course, feeling giddy about the light. Is this a dream? - gleaming again. If the day started again I would have began it with this song - rolling down a hill, momentum gaining, love or joy possible. There is satisfaction now that the day is coming together - or falling specifically in a happy array of flowers; a new perspective I suppose. Caught on, holding on - near the stairs; deep breathe. Ok, Adam. 

-

Glaring to my left and right with softish eyes, mostly an excited stance, things are lively but not as quick and random as I had imagined. Some see me and give a little smile, in meaning that they recognize me, or a general arrow towards me of pure addition; one more in the room, and even though that did not hold up to my usual satisfaction - that ideology - but knowing there were all sorts of personalities, like the thirty-five or so human figures and voices, that opened up all sort of possibilities for a better chance at a satisfying exchange. My stomach started to hurt; feel a little light headed and my heart kind of is fluttering. I can make out words from people, like: ‘Yes!’, ‘Right.’, ‘Well..’, ‘How did you..’, ‘Ya know..’, etc. 

Making way for the caffeine and to find my family one by one to locate for a secure feeling. My sister had her hands on her waist and then raising them as she proudly embraces an old friend - she is just as enthusiastic about mutuals. Right now, a feeling of contentment and satisfaction overtake me because of how much she has accomplished and how much she will too; she is just getting started making a positive impact. A wide smile, a Texan tan, and freshly highlighted hair: people use to identify us as twins, but I stand mildly random about my appearance and hardly prepare - this in fact is not my big day, but it is so for a lot of other reasons. 

My mother wearing a flowery dress - big smile, next to my dad, talking to a couple that I know is from church that knew us kids since we were born. Mom is the same person that comforted me when things were low: friends lost, feelings damaged, or a lack of hope in any way. My dad has expressed that he has similar social anxieties or a worried mind no matter the situation - he handles everything just fine, and participates for the sake of loving his family and being proud of everyone. For me, there is an indescribable love for my family - but the fact that there is a house full of people is more potent of a state currently; no matter the original motive. 

The first person that talks to me is my dad’s best-friend’s wife, who is the mother of two boys that were some of my best friends when I was very young. Where are they? Your husband too! They were such a great family, and I have not seen any of them in about five or so years. She told me the youngest was working at a camp in Oklahoma, and the eldest was with his father seeing a baseball game in Michigan; where my dad and his friend were from, and the Tigers to always root for. Although a newish, spare-time occupation, writing scores for videos, she heard that that is how I spend my life instead of leaving the house; she knew that too from just the look of me and how I talk seemingly. *Blush*, I asked about the boy’s college experiences and that conversation vanished when the first exit appeared, somehow and it was awkward; I do not know how it was carried but damn it… 0/1. 

When arriving at the back patio to find a seat around a table, I was able to recollect and be reflective on how it was going: planning how my tone and mood would contrast with anyone. Breathing, dressed boyish but when talking to any woman here my voice goes up and my pronunciation is more upright and feminine - there are people looking when this happens, but it is when I am the most myself, and the more I ask questions with a more giddy yet wholesome aura, the more people actually hug me or say Adam with some playfulness. The women have strings of potent emotions, and the men seem to scale on productivity or focused on how the present will effect the future; to express intricate stories that may not be but for the purpose of striking a meaning of the subject - to laugh and identify something of value, versus concrete, masculine ideations. 

Today, right now, does not remind me of anything here, like a video I have seen; there is no music either happening and the thought of either music or visual captions is appealing due to a boredom, or a genuine idea to process something so foreign to me - the company at the house. The loud crowd and the people hustling around could in fact be cut/arranged into a romantic piece of a sort - the people on the patio could look interesting from across the street, my mom decorates pretty well indeed, and the music would have no beat - but a major key piano that is medium paced, ergo soothing and inviting to showcase gleeful gatherings with hyper zoomed out or in with a Karen voiceover. I do not know; to me it is fun to think about - although it maybe shows how amateur and unfocused I am in actuality. *Yawn*.

Sweat on my body, and shaking hands - my mother comes over and asks if I recently got up from bed: yes, and is Karen enjoying herself amongst friends? She said yes, in fact, she may have found a roommate for Austin or at least a complex to consider. If I made friends that easy, there would be a different future. If it is zoomed out, like the cinema, it would be a ballroom of ants. They come as they come, some dressed as they are or other. How I feel is that I should crawl away back upstairs to where the big red dragon reigns. Now I turn left or right; not going to wait. Pick one of the ants, a new priority but mouth dry - drink tea. Would it be too much to ask if I was wearing a terrifying bird mask? Sipping tea sparingly via slightly taking off the mask; they probably would still ask how my life is and it would not feel any different to me, but they would ask to go off to sit somewhere with my vote and hearty permission, it is so. Been waiting for the urge to run inside to turn on Peter Pan in the living room for the room. Why am I waiting? Or why is my guilty conscience racing my identity? 

Looking at my fingernails, somewhat in tune with the feelings of the movements, yet all the reasons they are laughing are contradicting the electric jest of the real psychotic charity I am holding a white flag for - no one is helping and this is why I quit drugs. Speaking any tongue to me is a way I feel like the victim of all this: frightened; yes? Do tell me about the looming elegance of interaction that I have for years avoided; developing a horrific laziness, but I am editing colors in my head calmly at the moment. I get up to go for the coffee, seemingly pressing on with more anxiety coming with the caffeine; maybe just two cups and some tea later.

In the process of giving up being so young and difficult, ready to change partly; an adult, that looks familiar, heads towards the couch I am sitting on - sipping hot coffee, and my soul completely dropped. Uh, uh, uh, uh. A tunnel brought her closer, and she was growing radiantly, now towering over me, in complete surprise. 

‘Don’t you remember me, Adam?’ With both hands around her back, and a teeth-smile that broke my eye contact immediately after. Fucking emotion, I remember her - she glances at the space between us, and I say, 

‘Sleep…Sorry, I felt asleep.’ Yet my legs were shaking, oh heaven. 

‘Do you feel lonely over here all by yourself?’ It is Hannah. Hannah was mormon some time ago, she sometimes hangs out with my old high school buddies ,which those friendships dissolved, and her older brother took Karen to Homecoming her junior year. 

‘Hannah. How are you? Your hair is short and purple. I like that! And your voice has changed.’

‘How so?’

‘I do not know, you have changed.’ One. Definite nice one, Adam…

‘Oh, well it is so nice seeing, it has been years! So, film?’ 

We were in film club together sophomore year in high school and she was just as attentive and passionate about it. She was the fashion hand, which now makes sense - her yellow, unicorn shirt is intriguing. Butterfly earrings and very well done, minimal makeup, eyeliner, and light blue fingernail polish. It is just a genuine breathe-take seeing her - this makes me very happy, and now my voice gets higher but normalizing. I feel comfortable as she sits right next to me on the couch with our drinks. 

-

Impossible to resign when faced with the uttermost sincerity; struck by a calm, white cloud, it feels. When she touched my shoulder after an accidental Lonesome reveal, all the voices hushed in the rooms it seemed as she grinned with contentment. There is no rush for me: bright blue eyes. Hannah has changed a lot indeed - she has grown to be magnificent and she proves that when I say ‘I am not sure…’ and she makes me think it is known in fact, whatever it is; a needed grasp on the self that she seemingly promotes and delicately practices. Go on and ask her:

‘How are your friends?…my old pals?’ Smirking minimally in naiveness actually, because she did not feel challenged - not one bit. 

‘They talk about you! Everyone worries about you of course. Ya know, you had some pretty daring obstacles: the drug season maybe, that is so incredible that you have conquered!’ 

Hannah paints for fun, she showed me a waterfall from her phone, and also works at a gallery now across town, plus a breakfast place on weekends. She is getting more exact on the spectrum of relation - I am dark; everywhere that has been explored for satisfaction was in a false mindset: people, or just maybe her now makes me realize that what has been going on inside is definitely affecting the outcome of my reality. It is the experience she has had, and a knack for keeping it genuine, and this all astonishes me. Now I see that maybe my friends moved on because they needed room to grow: that is a sad thought, but she is proof of evolution in any case of more growth. At school, Hannah was quiet, and stuck mostly around her church friends yet still sweet as can be when speaking out in film club.

‘Did Alex ever tell you… oh, never mind.’ I stopped, being stupid and knocking down the fortress of purity, or the floating adoration bubble she herself brought over and freely included me. Alex was like me in some ways: feeling explorer, and we grew so close it felt like the only thing romance is grouped with in my life in context. 

She laughed smartly at words we were saying and the emotion they proclaimed and we, together, were intertwined in a function of progress.

‘Tell me what?’

‘Never mind that. My realm is just a little dark…’

There was a point where there was self-inflicted, heavy tension for me, but not between us. Hannah’s beam was not fading, but I am realizing that this is taking a lot of work for her considering the unhealthy preoccupation that possesses my mind regularly and is seeping out, and with no beam of my own at all. Obviously far from any sensual ideations, and she seems way bigger than me and the attempt to equalize shows me like out-of-options and struck dumb and numb. 

-

We did not go on a walk and I could not find the words to pursue more questions in her direction; how selfish indeed, yet she gave me her number and she told me to update her on my work and I told her the same - me, beyond perplexed and unspeakably inspired. Today, Hannah is my blessing. As the people left, and my sister was happy, I asked Karen about her and she says they have talked before - only a couple months ago too. That night, instead of wondering when there would be another opportunity to redeem myself, or wondering when there would be another event in satisfaction in general in my life: I closed my bedroom door, danced as the sun went down, and Hannah’s everlasting spotlight cleansed my soul and guided the demons away. And I thought: You learn to dance when you fall in with nothing to do, like the universe; my own hell diminished by bliss and the one that saved my day - I fell asleep smiling knowing influence is soft, and a chance for a beautiful state to be accessible is at any moment if I try and acknowledge the eternal beauty of the human race; till tomorrow, and all I will need is a smile.

jhagwrites@protonmail.com

[cielowrites]

Put on a Show - Nyx Ulric/Kingsglaive Mage!Reader

A/N: Straight up rn, I’ve never truly written stuff like this and this ended up longer than I anticipated??? ah, just a heads up, it’s fem!reader. i may put in male!reader or a neutral one in the future depending.

Hope you enjoy it! owo

Warning/s & Disclaimer: N/A ; I don’t own any of these characters, especially you, but I did adopt some of the Glaives.

A memory from days ago shouldn’t have taken away his focus this much. Drautos had already reprimanded him so many times that afternoon (You’re slacking, Ulric! Keep it together!’) that it seemed to create a new record the rest of the Glaive had kept score of.

Across the training grounds, you’re tasked with instructing the newly recruited mages. Every now and then there would be one whose eyes would wander to the esteemed hero of the Glaive, as he fell for a feint again. You’d tut at the recruit, called their attention, and continued on with your lecture.

“Although we have people fighting off the Niffs at the front, we mages are largely targeted in battle.” Hands folded behind your back, you slowly paced before the line of recruits, their gazes now solely on you. “Never get caught on your own out there. Always have another mage or soldier with you.”

With a moment to take a breather, Nyx snorted at your words and shook his head. You were definitely one to talk to when it came to getting caught on your own. No doubt you were one of the most highly regarded mages there, but shouldn’t a teacher follow their own advice?

“Something funny, Ulric?” You knew that he’s been eyeing you for the past few days. Despite being flattered, perhaps even a little more than that, you needed to get these mages trained and ready within the next month. You still had a job to do after all, and it was something you took very seriously.

“Oh, don’t mind me, (Y/N). Carry on.” An easy smile on his lips, he sat down to rest and watch you, blue eyes trained on your stride and gestures while the others chatted amongst themselves. Elbows propped up on his knees with his hands atop one another, Nyx leaned forward to rest his chin on his knuckles.

Your demonstration of casting Protect followed up with a fire spell took him back to a small moment he witnessed; the very one that has been on his mind far longer than he thought possible.

“Do the magic! Do the magic!”

He’d been on his way home after a week’s worth of non-stop fighting when he heard the group of children, clearly those of refugees that lived in the lower districts of Insomnia, practically begging someone he couldn’t quite see from where he stood. The amused laugh he heard was all he needed to know that it was you. He stuck to the shadows and took a peek at what you were up to.

Last he saw you was some odd hours ago on inventory duty. How did you finish so quickly? Did you just skip out on it?

Nyx knew he probably would, given the chance. He was just too exhausted after that week and was more than ready to sink onto his bed.

“Last one then. Remember not to tell anyone else about this, okay?” You gestured at the little ones to give you some space and conjured balls of fire from your hands. The children made hushed sounds of amazement as they stared at the fiery red that breathed with you. With a grin, you began to play with the flames on your fingers and continued to enchant your small audience with graceful motions that reminded Nyx of a dancer.

He’s seen what the king’s loaned magic could do to troops of MTs and the destruction it left in its wake. Yet here you were: entertaining children with the same tool being used in a seemingly endless war that’s left many dead or homeless.

Part of him wanted step out and tease you about your ‘inappropriate use of magic’ (Drautos’ words, not his) to interrupt your little display, but he was utterly mesmerized with the way the flames trailed your skin and how you treated it with such gentleness that he felt the back of his neck and ears heat up.

You never seemed to get out of that ‘battle mode’, even after the fight was over. This was a new side of you he’s never seen before and he found himself wanting more of it.

“Hey, Nyx! Are you watching this?!”

Crowe shook Nyx out of his thoughts and pointed towards your direction, eyes brimmed with admiration for you. You and Luche were in the middle of sparring, another demonstration for the new recruits it seemed. Brows furrowed, he watched the match and concluded that it was Luche who had the upper-hand the entire time while it looked like you were struggling to parry his attacks. Was Crowe cheering on him instead of (Y/N)? He was certain that you and your fellow mage were on good terms. Best friends even.

“What’s there to watch? Luche is-”

“Going to get his ass handed to him by (Y/N).”

In a split second, reds and oranges bursted from your hands and curled around your form, the flames like a second set of armor. The sight of it was almost eye-blindingly bright, but Nyx couldn’t help but stare in wonder.

Luche stumbled backwards from the unexpected burst of magic you conjured. The flames made you a difficult target to get close to, much less breathe by, and throwing his daggers would be useless at that point since your magic would swallow it right up. With a grumble, he raised his hands and yielded through gritted teeth.

Nyx caught your relieved sigh when you patted away at the fire on your uniform. You did nothing but intimidate Luche into yielding, but you took the victory well when you saw that the recruits gained a new appreciation for battle magic.

He was pretty sure that he heard Luche mumble something that sounded like ‘what a showoff’ when he made his way to the bench to sit beside him, a frustrated look pinched his features.

“Exceptional work with the new mages, (L/N). Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, Captain.” You gave Drautos a polite nod as he passed by the locker room and continued to change out of your uniform. As you finished slipping into your casual clothes, you headed out as soon as you could but almost rammed right into Nyx, his group of friends trailed behind him. “Oh! Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to run into you guys...” You paused and gave Crowe a grin, which she returned with one of her own. “And gal.”

“Relax, (Y/N). It’s no trouble.” Nyx shrugged, the leather jacket on his shoulder swayed from the movement. You seemed to be in a rush to get home, but he had a feeling that you were going to stop by somewhere else if the look on your face was anything to go by. “Nice show earlier by the way. You planning on using that on the field?”

Out of politeness, you decided to stay a while to talk. You hoped that the children were all right with you being a little late. They could only be out during the evening for so long after all.

“And make myself a huge target for all the Niffs? Not a chance.” You chuckled as you shook your head. “I won’t do something like that in a fight unless I’m supposed to be the distraction.”

"Well, it’s one hell of a distraction, (Y/N). You should’ve seen the look on Luche’s face.” Crowe started laughing and smacked the back of her hand on Libertus’ shoulder to get his attention. “Show her the face!”

“Hey! That hurt, Crowe!” (Y/N) puffed her cheeks to hold in a laugh and hid her smile behind her first. Nyx caught the sight of it before you hid it, his own lips curved up slowly while Libertus showed his impersonation of Luche’s expression during the spar. The sight was too hilarious for you to hold in your laughter any longer and it rung in the hallways of the Kingsglaive HQ. Simple as the sound was, it was one that warmed the hero.

“I swear, Ostium, you’re just too much.” You took a moment to take a deep breath, a few more laughs tumbled out before it finally calmed down. Your thoughts went back to the kids that were waiting for you and the expression on your face instantly changed. “Shit. I’m sorry, I gotta go.”

“What’s the rush, (Y/N)? Got a date?” Crowe nudged her shoulder to yours and waggled her brows. Pelna let out a sigh and pulled the mage away from you. She didn’t stop there and gave Nyx a small nudge as well, a knowing grin on her face. He met her look with a unimpressed one then turned his attention to you to see what you’d say.

“Maybe, maybe not.” With one last laugh, you tucked away your phone and gave the group a wave. “I’ll see all of you tomorrow. Have a good night and tell Yama that I’ll stop by soon.”

“Only if you put on a great show for the kids. Tell them I said hi too. They know me.”

Your eyes widened at Nyx’s words and froze just as you were about to head out. Libertus, Crowe, and Pelna gave their friend and you a confused look, their heads turned from one to the other. A sly grin made its way to Nyx’s face as he watched you attempt to bounce back from the shock. It was rewarding in a sense, to see you go through a series of emotions as opposed to when you trained the recruits earlier.

“You... You... Shut up.”

You sprinted out of there with your cheeks slightly warm and, despite being quite a distance away from your fellow Glaives, heard the sound of someone being punched and loud exclamations.

[Text: Unknown] hey (Y/N), it’s nyx. just wanted to say i’m sorry

[Text: (Y/N)] How the hell did you get my number??

[Text: Unknown] crowe told me to apologize. which is what i’m doing

Your lack of response the following minutes after made him feel bad and he called you instead, his fingers drummed the thin cover of his pillow as he stared at the wall of his apartment. The ringing seemed to go on forever and he was sure that you probably didn’t want to talk to him by then.

Click.

“What?”

That certainly proved him wrong.

“I’m not going to tell Drautos, you know.”

“... I’m not worried about that. Thanks anyways.”

“So what is it then?” He heard you sigh through the phone, a soft rustle in the background that let him know that you were probably in bed.

“You’re a blunt one, aren’t you?” You heard a snort on your end and pinched the bridge of your nose. It was nice that he wasn’t the type to tiptoe around matters like this, but some tact didn’t hurt every now and then. “It’s...just something I’d rather keep private. Self-indulgence type thing... and stuff...”

“... Something to keep your mind off the fight then?” This man just never ceased to amaze you. Ready to struggle through words to describe what these ‘shows’ meant to you, Nyx was able to put it so plainly for in a matter of seconds.

Then again, you knew that was the way he worked, even out of battle.

All you could do then was nod, as if he there in front of you. Your silence seemed to confirm everything got him. “Got it. I’m... Really, I’m sorry about that.”

“... You get it. That’s all that matters, Ulric.”

“Nyx.” He chuckled, the sound rather breathy and surprisingly soft in your ear. Your felt yourself becoming warm all over, more so than when conjured flames licked at your skin from your little display for the kids. “Just Nyx, okay?” You went silent, trying to gather yourself for a moment, while he became worried.

Did he go out of line again? There weren’t any official ranks within the Kingsglaive aside from Drautos being Captain, but it was obvious that you were considerably high up there. Within the mages unit, at least.

Just as he was about to ask if you were still there, you finally broke the silence. “Nyx?”

... Shit. The effect he had on you earlier had reflected back to him. The grip on his phone tightened just a bit and he swallowed hard before he spoke.

“Y-yeah?...”

“You better put on a show tomorrow for those recruits because you sucked today. Then I’ll accept your apology.”

And there went the moment.

“As long as you’re watching me too, (Y/N).”

[mageinabarrel]

We muddle through like children, making our way through paths of war and peace.

In the first episode of Gundam Reconguista in G, Aida Surugan, a space pirate (a space pirate!) at the time, utters what may very well be the show’s most memorable line.

“The world… is not square!“

Regardless of whether this exclamation is literally true or not within G-Reco‘s universe, one senses that its meaning dwells somewhere beyond the world of fact in the land of metaphor and subtext. The world is unfair. The world is not balanced. It could be either, both, or neither. And, considering the the lack of context surrounding the line (in the scene, it’s unclear if Aida is responding to something her opponent at the time, protagonist Bellri Zenam, has said or just howling a war cry), it’s unlikely we’ll ever know what Aida was trying to communicate in that moment. Despite that—or perhaps because of it—the line remains solidly ingrained in my memory of the show, much like the triumphant chorus of the ED song.

I highlight this moment because it is, in many ways, representative of G-Reco as a whole—joyfully energetic, challenging to understand for lack of explanation, and unavoidably memorable for its weirdness. Like the show itself, it possesses an abstract sense of denseness ill-fit to the abruptness of its occurrence, leaving a feeling like you’ve grasped only a part of the meaning before the moment is torn away from you and replaced with the next instance of now-baffling randomness. Even the show’s ending, in theory a home for conclusiveness, flits so quickly between its final scenes that it feels as if it has been cut off before the true ending [1].

I say this all with a purely descriptive intent; to evaluate whether or not the strange nature of Gundam Reconguista in G makes it good or bad (although I certainly have my opinion) is a lot less interesting than trying to capture an articulable way of expressing the show’s fundamental character.

G-Reco has been accused of being a lot of things, and to some degree nearly all of these descriptors are true. The anime has characters, themes, robot fights, and great music. It’s got fantastic character designs by Kenichi Yoshida and a gorgeous and inventive setting. It even have a plot, even if said plot is often obscured by the way G-Reco hops and skips between all these different aspects of its whole self. G-Reco is, simply, full of all of the piece of itself. It’s a mecha-of-the-week battler, a war story, a reflection on the relationships between generations, a slice-of-life show set in space, an 80’s comedy, and many other things as well.

What’s most fascinating about G-Reco is that it never spends enough time with any of these aspects for them to assert themselves above the overall medley of elements. Themes that appear in one scene are brushed away in the next for the sake of a mecha battle, not returning again until episodes later. Character arcs flicker in and out of existence, grabbing the spotlight for a short time only to vanish minutes later as their replaced with status-quo camaraderie. Odd bits of humor slip into tense plot-relevant political faceoffs, weaving into a strange counterpoint rhythm that, whatever else it may be, is undeniably marching to its own beat.

One metaphor for understanding G-Reco that I find particularly apt is to think of each of these different shows that exist within it as a different language. G-Reco is a veritable polyglot, careening from one method on communication to another at what seems like random from the outside, yet contains an odd sort of internal logic beneath the external chaos. While one might argue that G-Reco‘s fluency some of these language is less refined than in others, it’s difficult to get away from the impression that G-Reco makes sense to itself—and that whether or not we can keep up with it is a concern it leaves up to us.

Thus, due to the variable nature of G-Reco‘s communication, not only is applying the simple good-bad binary an uninteresting question, but it’s also a rather fruitless one. G-Reco is so offbeat, so idiosyncratic, and so flexible that trying to describe it holistically winds up being a frustrating, if not outright impossible, task. Attempts to package an assessment of the show often end up relying on prior reference points, but most such exercises seem to me to wind up mischaracterizing the show.

As a case study, I’ve seen a few reviews of the show that call the main quartet of the show (Bell, Aida, Raraiya, and Noredo) a “harem.” And while, yes, the structure is there, to assess this construction as a harem strikes me as an absurd attempt to pigeonhole this part  of G-Reco into a space it only superficially resembles. Noredo may harbor romantic interest toward Bell, but Raraiya spends half the show mentally ill and the other half as a competent pilot and friend. And while Bell’s relationship with Aida begins with his crush on her, it evolves into something entirely different at the show unfolds. This harem might look like a duck, but it certainly doesn’t sound, act, or feel like one.

These misses exist in more comprehensive attempts to define the show as well. While the series’ detractors are by far the most numerous and vocal camp, generally their responses seem to be predicated on unmet expectations. They came for a serious war drama (or maybe just for a comprehensible story); they got G-Reco. Are they wrong for desiring either of those things or for being disappointed by what they found instead? Maybe, maybe not. On the other hand, we find some proponents of G-Reco talking about it as if it were a misunderstood masterpiece, from Gen Urobuchi’s breathless praise of the show as a “story that renounces stories” (a position expanded on in this video) to Wave Motion Cannon’s convincing yet likely overgenerous argument that the show’s challenging execution harmonizes with its thematic concerns.

Although some strike me as nearer to the mark than others, none of these interpretations seem to fully account for the full range of G-Reco‘s identity. However, it’s within these descriptive struggles that I think the answer to defining G-Reco lies. The fact that it consistently defies attempts to wrap it up with a neat little bow and call it ‘X’ is what makes it what it is.

Gundam Reconguista in G is a show of novelties. Its defining feature is its ability to create an unbroken sequence of unique experiential pockets (like this one).

The name of the main Gundam in G-Reco is the G-Self, a name that invokes the idea of personal identity. However, this Gundam frame’s primary gimmick is the collection of backpacks that modify its abilities—a brilliant ploy for increased the number of Gunpla that can be sold for the suit and a perfect microcosm of the show itself. Like the G-Self, Reconguista in G is a chameleon, and the way it’s constantly code-switching means that the experience after each particular shift feels unique because of the resultant disconnect. It treats all of its component aspects—trivial details, dialogue, characters, thematic concerns, etc.—like novelties to be held before the audience’s eyes in a never-ending parade of glittering toys.

I could go on with examples that reinforce this point, both in terms of execution and recurrences of it within the show. For example, the heart of G-Reco‘s cast is the crew of the Megafauna, a collection of characters that recalls the Gekko State from Eureka 7 in more than just their character designs. Although the Megafauna (as well as the Klim Nick’s Salamandra) are ostensibly affiliated with the Amerian State, both ships—notably serving, although not captained by, young aristocrats—consistently pursue their own agendas, even if they sometimes are following orders. There’s an anti-establishment flavor to these units, something that’s reinforced by the mercenary way the Megafauna picks up and loses cast members (Lieutenant Kerbes, the Towasangan Ringo, Manny). In the wider plot, too, alliances and priorities are always shifting, often without clear explanation. Solidity and consistency are not part of G-Reco‘s vocabulary. All is novelty.

Is this a gimmick? Is an emphasis on novelty merely a stylistic distraction that belies true substance? In the case of G-Reco, the novelty is the substance of the show. These are the terms of engagement.

And now, with this definition in hand, we can finally turn our attention to the real evaluative question. The question is not whether Reconguista in G is good; rather, it is whether novelty is an aesthetic of value. Different priorities are of course valid—if you need a show to have a clear plot to consider it worth your time, G-Reco will ultimately disappoint—but my feeling is that such rigidity is inherently opposed to creation as flexible as G-Reco. Again, to gauge the show against certain established standards isn’t wrong per se, but it certainly feels like a mismatch weighted entirely against G-Reco.

To conclude—I think, given the right approach, Gundam Reconguista in G speaks well for itself as a show worth watching. Early on it’s entertaining simply because how nonsensical it is, and then as the story rights itself a bit you realize you’ve already been trapped by how charming the characters are. There are also these little arcs where the show builds up some legitimate narrative momentum within and across episodes, although it’s equally punctuated by weird stalemates when no one is really doing anything. But, no matter what else is happening, the perpetual rotation of show languages is on—and that approach, for its novelty if nothing else, make G-Reco something worthwhile to me.

This, of course, shouldn’t be assumed to mean that G-Reco has nothing else to offer besides being a novelty. Despite its inconsistent presence, the show’s commentary on heritage between generations (even as rehashes of ideas from previous shows) is compelling, the characters are a lot of fun to watch on their own terms, there are tons of great mecha battles throughout the rich world of the Regild Century, and pondering the show as a medium by which Yoshiyuki Tomino is engaging with the current realities of the anime industry and the world around him is fascinating. The defining feature of this show may be its novelty, but the quality of the distinct parts perhaps speaks for themselves, even if they don’t work together in a conventional way.

[1] Tomino said in an interview with the French TV channel Nolife that he didn’t think 26 episodes was enough for the story, but that he knew from the start how much time he would have.

We muddle through like children, making our way through paths of war and peace. We muddle through like children, making our way through paths of war and peace.

[plxyboi-blog]

‘Catfood: In Support of Commons Desserts

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‘Catfood: In Support of Commons Desserts

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Ross Hickman ‘22 and Lyra Seaborn ‘22

Staff Writers

Commons Ganache Tarts served at dinner. Photo by Katharine Cabot ‘22.

You have concluded your meal, and although your hunger pangs have abated, you are not solely content. Or perhaps you’re settling in for a cozy evening of looking at a sure British baking display, but a little something is lacking. Or you’re out for a walk with pals below the summer sunlight and crave the feeling of a little something cold and cloying managing down your throat. You know what you want. It is akin to a lover’s embrace, the exclamation position at the stop of a sentence, the previous lingering be aware of your favored music. That word, thrilling, charged, taboo: dessert.

Our expensive Commons serves dessert each and every meal, each and every day—and their range would seem to have gained university student approval. Final week noticed a normal slate of confections: trays of tender cookies, coiffed cupcakes, chewy brownies and bars, and, of course, the trifle-like delicacy that is The Scoopie™.

“There are pretty couple desserts that in fact crash and burn off, when there’s a great deal that are actually uplifting to your day. The skillets, the scoopies, even, like, just the standard cookies are always great. Very couple problems from me!” gushes John Autry ‘22.

The dining corridor also can make confident that everyone can take pleasure in a sweet take care of. Even though not perfectly-advertised, Commons retains vegan, gluten-absolutely free, and other allergy-welcoming selections in the back again.

“Occasionally [the desserts] are too sugary, but over-all Commons does a great position currently being informed of everyone’s nutritional needs,” suggests Hanna Kamran ‘23.

Yet for all of the delight dessert brings, most of its connotations are detrimental. It is described as an “indulgence,” a “cheat,” a indication of weak point and flimsy morals. It is a little something parents guard from their children until finally each and every previous floret of broccoli has been choked down. From childhood we are conditioned to view sweets as Grecian sirens, tantalizing but evil. Cave to their charms and they’ll rot your enamel, curse you with sprays of pimples, and spoil your metabolic process!

Heading to college is overwhelming for many explanations, one particular of them currently being the sudden freedom we find ourselves to possess. There’s no disapproving mum or dad seeking over our shoulders to explain to us to continue to be away from the cake. On the other hand, there is the metaphorical disapproving mum or dad that is diet regime lifestyle (and actually, diet regime lifestyle is why the mum or dad is disapproving to start off with).

Let us be apparent: by diet regime lifestyle, we indicate our society’s inclination to applaud excess weight loss (no make any difference the process used) and uphold a hugely exclusive definition of “health.” Food plan lifestyle spawns and even encourages having problems. It proliferates lies bordering nutrition. Food plan lifestyle is classist, ableist, racist, and capitalist. And it hates dessert – at minimum, any dessert that is not small-carb, sugar-absolutely free, protein-packed, etc.

Campus nutritionist Julie Whittington argues in aid of desserts of all types.

“Dessert is a little something that can be liked and the frequency is all dependent on the person, but [no one particular] must have concern of dessert. Really don’t imagine in ‘good’ and ‘bad’ foods,” she suggests. “I’m a dietician and I consume dessert practically each and every day, and there’s nothing at all improper with [that]… Dessert can make up element of a healthy diet regime.”

No lengthier viewing dessert – or any food stuff – as “forbidden” lessens its ability. Possessing dessert merely becomes an additional possibility, an possibility that will be there many additional times, an possibility which may well or may well not sound interesting dependent on the day.

So, we are vehemently pro-dessert (and pro-broccoli). Pass the scoopie, be sure to!

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