#and b) because art is a frame for building your sense of the world. And you bring your own stuff to that.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

The World Ended

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings: Joel Miller is hella manipulative, power imbalance, non descriptive age gap, Dub Con, smut, oral fem receiving, fingering, rough sex, P in V, Dom!Joel Miller, breeding kink adjacent if you squint and read between the lines, mentions of death of child, mentions of suicidal ideation (no more so than the show discusses), mentions of trauma, inspired by '10 Cloverfield Lane'

Word Count: 5,852

Summary: You wake up in an entirely new world, but you find comfort and love in an ally. He saved your life after all. Why wouldn't you trust him? Haunted Hoedown prompt: Stranded AU/Cult AU + "every moment might be our last, let's make the most of it."

[a/n: my contribution for haunted hoedown b/c i was inspired and couldn't resist (def cheated and ignored the days tho i just picked my fav parts of different prompts lol). 10/10 would recommend surfing that tag b/c people are making WORKS OF ART. This is just my toss it together addition lol]

"manipulation and control can sometimes be disguised as love." -abegail turingan

It was odd to wake up with no memory of going to bed. Disorienting was probably the more accurate word. Enough so that for a brief moment all you could do was stare up at the concrete ceiling above you. There was a headache lingering behind your eyes that no amount of blinking would clear away. Where were the stars? The thought drifted through your foggy mind. Your bedroom had glow in the dark stars plastered to the ceiling. A design choice that a nine year old you chose at the store, and one that your parents were never able to peel away no matter how many years had passed⏤ they were nostalgic in that sense. You must have been just like them considering you admired those cheap, plastic stars while staying in your parents’ home during this visit.

But the stars were gone.

Everything was gone, and the sharp smell of antiseptic and bleach replaced the floral scent of your mother’s detergent. You turned your head into your pillow in hopes that the comfort of your bed would ease the headache that seemed to worsen the longer you were awake. You found no comfort though because the pillow you laid on was not your own. 

Slowly, you began to sit up and you weren’t sure what was more distracting: the unexplained aching pain of all your muscles or the unfamiliar strange room you found yourself sitting in. The walls were like the ceiling, undecorated concrete, and the only bit of furniture was the metal framed cot you were now lying on. A hospital gown covered your otherwise bare body. 

The clarity that settled in your mind was stark and startling. Any of the fog you initially woke with vanished in a snap, and your breaths came in quick, hyperventilated gasps. Oh, God. Oh, God. You threw your sore legs over the edge of the bed to rise. Your feet only brushed against the cold tile of the ground before you found yourself sprawled on the floor. 

“Help…” The word left your lips in a breathless whisper as you tried to move your weak legs. You could only manage to sit up. “Help.” With every attempt, your voice grew stronger until you were screaming. “Help me! Help!”

A heavy, metal door, one across the room that you hadn’t even noticed in your panicked state, began to creak open. You sucked in a sharp breath, fear palpable, as an unfamiliar man stood in the doorway. He was older than you. Gray littered his brown, messy hair and facial hair, but it suited him. The man wore a dark green flannel that accented his broad shoulders. Everything about his figure exuded strength and intimidation from his build to the large hands that held a box of some kind. However, the moment his dark brown eyes landed on yours they softened. His shoulders hunched marginally, as if he were trying to look smaller than he actually was, and a line of worry formed between his furrowed brow.

“Hey! I need someone in ‘ere!” He barked over his shoulder, never breaking eye contact, in a deeply southern drawl. The man rushed into the room toward you, but when you flinched at his approach he slowed his pace. He took one hand off the box to hold in your direction, palm stretched outward, “It’s alright. You’re safe. Promise.” Coming from a stranger, and in this scenario, his words did nothing to calm your racing heart. You crawled backwards until your back hit the cot. Your name suddenly left his lips. “I’m⏤ My name is Joel.”

“How⏤ How do you know my name?” You gasped.

“Your license. It was in your bag. Didn’ mean to pry but…” Joel said slowly. “Are you⏤”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as you blurted out, “Where the hell am I? Why am I here? What is going on? I⏤”

“Whoa, whoa.” Joel knelt down in front of you but kept his distance which you appreciated. “One thing at a time, darlin’.” He shook his head. “You were in a car accident… ‘bout two days ago now.”

“A car accident?” As the words left your own lips, there was a flicker of some forgotten memory playing in your head. The sound of a car horn, blinding headlights, the crunch of metal on metal, and the taste of blood. You flinched, “I… Oh, God.” You held your head with a trembling hand but winced as your hand brushed against a tender spot on the left side of your face. “Is this… Is this a hospital then?” The room resembled a prison more than it did a hospital room. Plus, it made no sense to you that your parents weren’t here. The man saw your license which meant they’d know who to contact. “Where is my family?”

Joel hesitated and you saw a look of what almost looked like regret in his eyes. You repeated your question more firmly this time. He sighed, “That’s… tougher to answer.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

A second later, a man and a woman dressed in bright orange HAZMAT suits came storming into the room. It was a blur of yelling and chaos and they descended upon you. Joel argued loudly with them and your head was spinning enough that it was difficult to follow what was happening. Gloved hands wrapped around your arm, ripping you up from the ground, but it was short lived. The man who had grabbed you was shoved away by Joel who gently sat you on the side of the cot before standing in front of you as a barrier.

“Don’ you fuckin’ grab her like that.” Joel snarled. The soft kindness that had been in his tone only moments ago was gone now. ��You hear me??”

“Sir, you are not supposed to be in here.” The woman snapped. “Her wounds⏤”

“Her wounds are from the accident. I already told you.”

“We still need to test her⏤”

“Fine, but you don’ jus’ fuckin’ grab ‘er like that!”

There was nothing about this moment that could be called peaceful, but Joel’s defensive stance and his deep voice somehow managed to calm your racing heart. You didn’t know why the man was so protective over you, but you’d take any ally you could in this moment. The argument continued long enough for only a few more verbal jabs at one another. It settled on Joel sitting by your side glaring at the man in the HAZMAT suit as he used two separate swabs on you. One against the wound on your forehead and the other in your mouth.

“By entering without precautionary measures, you have bought yourself another 24 hours of quarantine, Mr. Miller.” The woman announced.

Joel didn’t respond but just glared at the woman instead. The second the two of them disappeared out of the room, Joel’s features softened again. You hugged yourself, trying to keep from shaking, and swallowed the lump that now sat in the middle of your throat. “Thank you. For that.”

“Least I can do.” Joel murmured as his eyes traced your face⏤ examining your wound, you assumed. You weren’t quite sure what he meant by that, but Joel didn’t elaborate. Sitting this close to him, there was something familiar about. You weren’t sure why because you were positive you had never spoken to him before. You’d remember a face this handsome. A voice that distinct and hypnotizing. “How do you feel?”

“Um. Sore. Confused.” You admitted. Recalling how the woman addressed him, you cleared your throat. “Mr. Miller⏤”

“Joel, darlin’. Jus’ Joel.”

“Joel…” You tested the name out. “Please⏤ Please tell me what’s going on. Where am I? Where is my family? Why⏤ Why were they in HAZMAT suits?”

The stranger you were finding comfort in let out a slow sigh. He rose from the bed to pick up the box he had brought with him. You had forgotten about that entirely. Joel sat back down after opening it and offered it to you. There was a simple set of men’s clothes in the box along with a water bottle and bag of chips. He shook his head. 

“All I had were a few of my spare things.” Joel said. “Figured you might be thirsty or⏤ or hungry.”

You appreciated the gesture, but it wasn’t what you wanted right now, “Joel. What happened?”

He let out another long sigh before meeting your gaze with a look of mourning, “The world ended, darlin’.”

The bunker was large enough to fit thirty or so people. It was an underground, concrete community made by a survivalist who went by the name of Ezra. You had yet to meet this mysterious man which felt odd since the community wasn’t that large, but it wasn’t too shocking since you didn’t do much exploring since your arrival. 

The world had ended. That’s what Joel told you. Hell, that’s what everyone kept telling you, but none of them could tell you concretely how. Every time the discussion came up, there was a new story involved. Aliens had invaded. Zombies had overtaken. A virus wiped out humanity. The theories were endless and since you couldn’t remember your last moments above ground you had no opinion on the matter. The last thing you could recall was leaving the house to meet some old friends who stayed local to your hometown for drinks. You got into the car, and the next thing you remembered was waking up in a concrete room.

You hoped your memory would come back gradually, but two weeks had passed and nothing was any more clear. You mourned a muddled memory. Families and friends ripped away from you in uncertain measures, and it left you reeling. The only pillar you had right now was Joel Miller. He had saved you in more ways than one. When the world went to shit, Joel was on his way to the bunker. All the people here were either friends or they knew this Ezra character in some way and that’s how they bought themselves a ticket into this sanctuary. Joel had been the survivalist’s contractor. Helped build this place and even mocked the man when first given the job. 

But, when the world did end, Joel was offered safety and on his way there he came across your wreck on the side of the road. He scooped you up and fought for your place here with him.

You owed him your life.

The sound of a door opening snapped you out of the daze you had fallen into. Joel stepped into the shared bunk space looking worn out. While your simple duty in this community was currently food prep, Joel’s was more labored. He helped with any repairs and upkeep to ensure everything was working as it should. He dropped his tool belt by the door with a groan.

“Long day?” You asked with a small smile. Joel grunted an affirmative. He crossed the small room to drop down onto the couch. Since you were technically an add on rather than one of the invited, you were forced to share the room with Joel. Though ‘forced’ wasn’t quite the right word. You honestly didn’t mind it at all. Having a familiar face, even if it were one you only just met, brought you comfort. Though you kind of felt bad he was now stuck with you. There was no way he could’ve known saving your life off the side of the street was going to chain your existence to him.

The room was decent though. There was a simple bed in one corner, a couch pushed up against the wall, a table with two chairs, and a mostly empty drawer. Over the last two weeks, you and Joel had collected or traded objects to make the room your own. You traded a set of spare socks that had come with the room for a small, blue vase that you set in the middle of the table. Joel had even managed to find a few books and magazines that he gifted you.

You pushed up from the bed to sit on the couch beside him. You pulled your legs in to tuck under yourself. The shirt you wore was one of his flannels, you still had limited clothing options, but you had managed to scourge up a pair of yoga pants that fit you well enough. 

“You?” Joel asked as he rested his head on the back of the couch.

“Food prep was exciting as always.” You joked. Joel breathed out a small, tired chuckle. You nodded toward the bed. “Lay down. Sleep.” Joel shot you a light glare. From the beginning, Joel was adamant about sleeping on the couch so you could have the bed. Even when you told him it made more sense for him to have the bed since you were smaller. Joel wouldn’t even listen to the suggestion of swapping turns. “Joel.”

“Couch is fine.” Joel replied gruffly and closed his eyes.

“If it’s fine then I should have no issues sleeping on it, right?”

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

You set your hand on his arm and felt him slightly stiffen at your touch. Joel cracked open his eyes to peek at you. “Please take the bed tonight. Please.” He furrowed his brow and you gave his arm a squeeze. “Nothing would make me happier right now. I’m serious.”

Joel didn’t say anything to begin with. He just held your gaze and under the weight of his stare you felt the back of your neck warm. The man was painfully attractive, it couldn’t be argued, but that wasn’t what made your heart skip a beat or your core secretly ache. It was the way Joel looked at you and spoke to you. The way he treated you. If his gaze were to be believed, you must have been a work of art. Joel stared at you like a dying man watching his last sunset. His voice was always deep and honeyed when he spoke to you. The words he chose put the respect and care he had for you on clear display. 

The world ended and everything in your life felt cold, but not Joel. Joel was warmth.

Joel’s other hand settled on top of your smaller one. His thumb traced your knuckles and your throat felt tight at the contact. He gave your hand a quick squeeze and then stood up with a groan. You heard his knees crack, but he made no comment on it. Joel just leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “Thank you, baby.”

You watched him kick off his boots and drop into bed. A soft groan left his lips and he fell asleep before the lights were even off.

 The sky was blue. Your head rested on Joel’s shoulder as the two of you sat on the ground leaning back against the wall. A total of a month had passed now, and you confided in Joel that you missed the sky. In response, he brought you here. It was a restricted space that he only had access to because he would come up here to do repairs on the electrical system. In the entire bunker, it was the closest to above ground that you could be. Only one staircase and a thick, metal door separated you from the world outside. On the door was a small window and from where you sat you could see a patch of sky.

“Do you think the world really ended?” You asked softly.

Joel glanced at you without jostling your position too much, “What’dya mean?”

“The sky is too pretty for the world to have ended, don’t you think?” You mumbled. It wasn’t just the sky that created your doubt. There was a woman who worked with the mysterious Ezra. She said she would type out anything he dictated to her. She didn’t think the world had ended. She thought it was all some conspiracy or ploy. You weren’t sure how much weight you put into her words, but it left the question in your mind. “What if the world is completely normal up there and we’re just rotting away in a tomb?”

Joel shook his head. “You hear the sirens an’ gunfire. The SOS broadcasts on the radio.”

“Couldn’t that be faked?” You asked. Joel hummed in a noncommittal fashion. You shrugged, “You never told me how the world ended. Everyone else has given me their two cents, but you never talk about it.”

“Cause it doesn’ matter.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?”

Joel was silent for a few moments, but you waited patiently for him to speak. He shifted and with your head still on his shoulder, his hand found yours. “It doesn’ matter ‘cause… my world ended two years ago.” You lifted your head so you could face him, but Joel kept his eyes on the patch of blue sky. “I… I lost my daughter. Sarah.” You squeezed his hand as your heart ached for him. “Wasn’t fair. Should’ve been me. But… But nothin’ has made much sense since.”

“Joel, I am… I am so sorry.” You whispered.

“I lied.” Joel said and your eyebrows furrowed. He swallowed nervously and finally turned to look at you. “When I found ya, I wasn’ headin’ to the bunker.”

“Where… Where were you going then?”

“Home.” Joel shrugged. “The sirens were goin’ off, people were in a frenzy, Ezra texted me some freakish invite, but… I planned on headin’ home to jus’ wait for the end.” It was devastating to hear someone you had come to care so much for admit that truth. Your heart broke for him. Not a single shred of you could ever imagine the pain or horror of losing a child. “On my way, I ran into you. Saw your car flipped on the side of the road. Once I got ya out, it’s not like I could take ya to the hospital with the way all of it was so…”

Joel motioned to the bunker around the both of you. The rest was history. In the silence, you could hear the whirring noise of the motors working the fans and the pounding of your heart in your ears. You let the hand not in his lift to rake your fingertips through the scruff on his jaw as your thumb rubbed back and forth over his cheek. Joel’s eyes fluttered closed at your touch and a soft breath left his lips. He leaned into your hand.

“I… Joel, I don’t know what to say…”

“This is ‘nough.” Joel murmured. There was a tension that had formed the second you caressed Joel’s face and it only built the longer you were in contact with him. It was a long time coming and was only coming to a head just now. You could control yourself, you were sure of it, but when Joel’s sad eyes opened once more the breath was knocked out of your lungs. His lips twitched into a small smile. “You’re the first thing I’ve cared ‘bout in a very long time, baby.”

The world had ended, supposedly. What was the use of wasted time?

You leaned in and pressed your lips against his. The kiss was soft and hesitant. A brush of you against him as Joel breathed in a strangled gasp. He pulled back and your heart dropped. Embarrassment filled your very soul as you let your hand fall away from him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have. I just thought, every moment might be our last, we should make the most of it. Or⏤”

“It’s not that, baby girl.” Joel immediately cupped your face and you felt yourself melt between his warm, coarse hands. “You don’ owe me this. You know that, right? I don’ expect…”

You gave a small shake of your head, your eyes glued to his lips, “I know, Joel. I know. I… This is my choice. I want you.”

Joel took in a slow breath through his nose as his jaw locked. His hands tightened around your face, caressing the skin along your face and neck, and one hand slipped to cup the back of your head as his forehead leaned against yours. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, “Say it again.”

“I want you, Joel.”

Joel initiated the kiss this time, and it was far from hesitant. At your consent, it was like he dropped all semblance of his self control. His lips were bruising against yours and Joel was desperate in getting you closer. He dragged you over so you were straddling his lap. His hands roamed down your body until they found your hips. Joel’s tongue slipped past your parted lips just as he dragged your aching core against his half hard cock⏤ thrusting up against you while swallowing the moan that left your throat.

He wrapped an arm around your middle and suddenly you found yourself on your back. The cool concrete floor was jarring to how hot you felt. Hands sunk into the waistband and with one firm pull both your tights and underwear were down to your ankles. You gasped in surprise, but Joel didn’t pause. 

“Jesus Christ, what a pretty fuckin’ pussy, baby.” Joel groaned and tugged a foot out from your clothes so both articles wrapped around only one of your legs. He roughly grabbed your thighs and dragged you closer so when he dropped to the ground his mouth was immediately buried into your warmth. You yelped at the contact but it was followed by a wanton groan as his tongue ravished you. It was messy and rushed. Joel ate you out like you were his last meal, and the groans and slurping sounds he made were downright sinful.

“Joel! I⏤ Oh, God.” You gasped and your hands buried in his hair. Your hips lifted to chase after his mouth, but Joel dropped his arm across your waist and pinned you to the floor with a chuckle. 

Joel lifted his face and turned to bite down on your thigh. You cried out at the sting of his teeth against your skin, but the drag of his hot tongue against the spot left you whimpering. “C’mon, baby.” You tugged on his hair to try and get his lips back where you wanted them, but he stayed firm. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

“Want you, Joel. Need you.”

Thick fingers dragged up and down through the mess he’d already made and one began to prod at your entrance without actually sinking in. “Again.”

“Please. Please!” You tried to grind down against him, but his grip on your waist kept you in place. “I want you, Joel. Want you so badly. Please.” Joel had one fingertip circling your hole, but at your desperate pleas he sunk three of his large fingers right in. You screamed, both in alarm and at the sharp sting, “Shit! Joel, too much!”

“Shhh, baby girl. You’re okay.” His lips found your clit and the suction he applied there slowly took away the sting of his rapidly moving fingers. Just as he reassured you, you were okay. More than okay. Pleasure was clouding your mind and you were a squirming, sopping mess under him. Joel’s fingers curled up into you, dragging against your walls, and he made quick work in finding the spot that punched stars into your vision. “There we go, baby. Jus’ like that.” He kept his lips against your clit as he spoke and your wet flesh muffled his praise. “Lemme feel you squeeze ‘round my fingers so I can feel you squeeze ‘round my fat cock. C’mon.”

Teeth nipped at your clit, followed by the smoothing of his tongue, and combined with the pounding of his fingers you came with a shuddering cry. Joel didn’t stop his onslaught and he lowered his lips from your clit so he could drink up every bit of the soaking wet mess he made.

“Joel. Fuck.” You gasped for the air he had somehow managed to punch out of your lungs with his hand alone. “That was…”

“Not done, baby girl.” Joel sat up on his knees but kept his place between your legs. You weakly pushed yourself up onto your elbows and it only dawned on you then that this entire time he had been fully clothed. It was an almost uncomfortable balance between the two of you. “Get up ‘ere.” You began to push up from your elbows and the moment you were close enough his hand wrapped around the back of your neck so he could help you up the rest of the way into the seated position you now sat in. He gazed down at you, pupils blown in lust, and his dark stare soaked in the sight of you. “Say it.”

Knowing exactly what he wanted, you mumbled, “I want you, Joel.”

“Good girl. Open.” Joel grunted. The hand at the back of your neck grabbed you by the hair and he tugged down so your chin was tilted up. Joel shoved the three fingers he had deep in your cunt into your mouth. You closed your lips around him and moaned at the taste of yourself. “Belt, baby. Get my belt.”

You tried to glance down, but Joel kept his grip on you tight so you could only stare up at him as he pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth. Blindly, your hands groped for his belt and you struggled to get it undone as you gagged around his fingers.

“Shh. You can multitask, baby, I believe in ya.” Joel cooed and didn’t relent. “Work at it. Be good.” You traced his thick fingers with your tongue and your hands finally managed to get his belt undone. You got your hands into his pants, tugging down his boxers, and Joel groaned loudly as your hands wrapped around his hard, girthy cock. The size of him alone had you tense in surprise. “Hey, it’s alright, baby girl.” Joel’s fingers slipped out of your mouth and you couldn’t help but cough to try and clear the tickle at the back of your throat. He carefully pushed you down, onto your back again, but he followed with you so he was hovering over your body. One hand at the back of your neck, cupping it softly, while his other rested by your head to hold himself up. “You can handle this. I swear, this perfect pussy is made for me, baby.”

Joel lowered himself to capture your lips with his. The kiss was soft and tender. It was a sweet moment as his cock dragged slowly against you. His tongue licked against the curve of your lower lip just as the tip of him notched at your hole. You opened your mouth to ask him to start slow, but Joel shoved his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, as his painfully large cock shoved into you. You screamed, muffled by his own mouth, as he bottomed out in one single thrust. Tears involuntarily sprung to your eyes at the intrusion and you pulled your lips away from Joel by turned you head. Your fingernails dug into his back.

“Joel, that⏤ that kind of hurt.”

“I know, I’m sorry, baby girl.” Joel buried his face into the crook of your neck. He left open mouth kisses there between reassurances. “Jus’ give it a minute. You’re doin’ so good. So good.” Joel was thankfully staying still inside of you and with the work he put in along the length of your neck you began to feel the sting start to fade. Joel shifted, just a bit, and you shuddered at the slight drag of him. His cock twitched and he moaned against your skin. “Fuck, you feel so good. So perfect. Knew you would.” Joel gave a short, experimental thrust and you gasped at the wave of pleasure you were pulled under. “Gotta move, baby girl.”

Joel pulled back until just the tip remained then rocked his hips forward hard enough to push you across the concrete floor. He roughly grabbed you by the thigh and pulled your leg up. You followed his lead and hooked your ankles around his back as Joel’s grip on the back of your neck tightened and he quickly fell into an unrelenting pace. 

“Told you, baby girl.” Joel grunted, the only other sound being your breathless moans and the wet sounds of your pussy sucking his cock in with every powerful thrust. “Made for me.” Joel sung praises as that band of want and desire tightened in your core by the second. His hand slipped between your bodies to find your clit once more and your eyes squeezed shut with a gasp. As soon as they shut though, his touch was gone and with that hand he grabbed you by the face. Your eyes snapped back open in surprise. “Nuh uh. Eyes on me. You hear me?” You nodded and he tightened his grip⏤ his fingers digging almost painfully into your cheeks. “Words, baby. Lemme hear you say it.”

“Keep⏤” You gasped. “Keep my eyes on you.”

“Good girl.” Joel’s hand slipped back down and when his fingers reached their goal it took every bit of strength to keep your eyes open. Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train and a cry of pleasure slipped past your lips. Joel groaned loudly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Takin’ me so well, baby girl, just like I knew you would.” 

His pace ramped up but he lost his rhythm and in a brief moment of clarity you gasped, “Joel! Joel, you gotta⏤ fuck! Oh God. You gotta pull out, Joel.” He didn’t slow and for a brief moment sharp fear mingled with the overwhelming pleasure. “Joel!”

At last second, Joel ripped himself off you with a guttural groan and you felt the warmth of his release spurt on your hips. Your entire body went lax as he continued to milk the last bit of him onto your body and you felt the warm, sticky cum drip down the sides of your hip and down into your pussy as well. 

Joel tucked himself back into his pants, without clasping his jeans, and he rubbed a hand up and down your thigh soothingly. You were trying to catch your breath as Joel separated your underwear from where it was tangled with your yoga pants around your ankle. You lifted your head and watched as he used your underwear to wipe away the cum now drying on your skin. 

“C’mon, baby girl.” He tucked your panties, now a damp mess of your spend and his, into his flannel pocket and helped you slide your legs back into the yoga pants. When they were back in place, he pulled you to stand and grinned when your knees nearly buckled. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled and clung to his shoulders. “That was… a lot.”

That had felt incredible, and the fact that it was Joel made it even better. But, it had been rougher than you thought it’d be. Not that you really minded. It just… caught you off guard. Your mind was still too drunk on pleasure to fully understand your feelings on it.

Joel leaned in to settle his lips against your temple. He hummed, “From the second I saw you, baby girl, I just knew you’d be my world.”

“The first second?” You teased. “Me bleeding in an upside down car?”

His lips were curled up into a smile you could only describe as boyish. Joel leaned in again to lock his lips with yours and you wrapped your arms around his neck to help hold yourself up.

The world had ended, but you had a new world now and everything would be just fine.

Right?

BEFORE

Joel stood at the gas pump staring at his phone as his truck was filled. His strange client, the survivalist who asked him to help build a bunker, had shot him a message that made little to no sense. He rambled about the “end of the world”, and invited Joel to join him in the bunker for the “start of something new”. Joel tossed his phone back into his truck with full plans to ignore it. He’d drive to the bar and spend the night drinking. It’d be nothing new. He was a regular at this point.

As he climbed into the driver’s seat his gaze lifted and he spotted you exiting a store across the street.

You from three days ago. You who he met at his usual drinking hole. You who had left him breathless. Joel had been drinking alone, the usual, when you and your friends drifted into the bar as an already half drunk mob. One of your guy friends had gotten rowdy near him, joking with another, and he bumped into Joel and spilled his entire whiskey.

Before he could even begin to lose his temper, you had swept in to save the day. It was obvious you were drunk yourself, but you cleaned him up, apologized for your friends, bought him a new drink, and just sat there and talked. You rambled about being in town to visit your family and catching up with old friends, and Joel found he could listen to you all day.

There was something magnetic about you.

Enough so, that he found himself following you down the road. You were driving toward the edge of town. Maybe to meet with friends at that new bar and drink some more. The roads grew less crowded as you got further out, and Joel thought about following you into the bar. Just to talk. It had been so long since he craved conversation of any kind. He realized though that you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with him. You were young and beautiful and clever. A ray of sunshine. Your options for company were endless and Joel couldn’t imagine being anywhere but at the bottom of that list. Drunk you had put up with him, but sober you probably wouldn’t spare him a glance.

Joel’s eyes darted to the passenger seat where his phone sat. A second passed, and a decision was made. He flashed his lights and laid on his horn. Your car slowed cautiously and he began to speed past you. He looked out his passenger window and the last thing he saw was your wide, confused and fearful eyes before he swerved into you.

He slammed on the breaks and watched your car flip a few times before coming to a stop at the edge of a ditch. Smoke billowed from the broken remains of your vehicle and Joel stared wide eyed at what he had just done. Guilt gnawed at him and he scrambled out of his truck to race to the driver’s side of the wreckage. You were hanging upside down from your seatbelt and blood dripped from a gash along your temple. A bruise was already forming at your hairline. But you were alive. Thank God. He hadn't even considered how wrong that could've gone. It seemed the universe was on his side for this.

Joel knew what he had done was wrong, but it was too late to go back.

He had made the decision⏤ your world ended and he’d be the one to build you something new.

[if you're curious the Ezra I mention is the Pedro Pascal character from Prospect (he just screams cult leader, doesn't he?) and i lowkey maybe have plans for a follow up on this but from the POV of a different reader and Ezra]

[josiebelladonna]

okay, pro-ai people, what you got for me.

do your worst-

mmmkay, keep going

true, and you know, this was something that i believed would happen with merely the natural progression of technology and everything, as a building off digital art. but that’s not what’s happening, though—it’s also not “replicating” human-made art, it’s straight-up taking the data around it and storing it in algorithms. biggest missed opportunity i’ve seen… ever. in my whole life.

that’s beside the point, though—something tells me this guy has never done a speed drawing or speed paint before. but again, beside the point. what’s happening is typing into the algorithm to make whatever and then boom, done. absolutely zero effort.

let’s be real: i don’t care about engagement. sometime last year i decided i just wasn’t going to give a shit about it anymore because it doesn’t mean anything when you think about it. but my instagram likes have steadily fallen off a cliff since september: my reach has been phenomenal, though, i get at least 1000 people looking at me on a monthly basis and that’s on a weak month like december, too; but likes have been utterly abysmal lately. things i thought would be huge like my erotic drawings and yet people hardly bat an eye at them. it’d be easy to assume that “huh, there’s no place for this girl, especially since her art doesn’t look like anything else i’ve seen before. where do you place her?”

it’s something that has nagged at me for years, my place in the art world that is. it’s not anime because a.) it just isn’t—greatly influenced by it, but that’s not what it is, though; b.) that’s incorrect terminology anyway: anime is animation, manga is printed work; and c.) it just isn’t. i don’t fit in manga/anime circles for this reason, and i also don’t fit into cartoonist circles for this reason, too—cartoonists have gotten alarmingly cutthroat as of late, too, going on about their politics instead of making stuff that moves me. it’s really weird, and tragic, too, like you can only talk about that stuff before it gets exhausting and you’re wishing for your own alex skolnick.

i’m also seeing things like “it’s being framed as a crypto grift when it’s being done by actual artists” to which i say you’re probably looking at straight digital art for all we know—which tells me we’ve passed the point of no return there.

apparently, this guy started out as a traditional artist (account was started in 2017) and then switched to ai and—  you’re going to buy into an illusion because it’s the latest thing at the expense of your own roots and call it “ludditism”. god, that’s upsetting.

wait, wait, wait… did you miss something here? i feel like that above tweet should’ve led into something.

also, “there’s no need to hate something simply because it’s different.” there you go again with the “anti-ai is ableist” horseshit. i read about this when it started coming forth into the foray, and i always do, too: as an artist and someone who reads and has an extensive scientific background so i literally think like a scientist, this shit should sound off alarm bells everywhere.

i love how this guy just says “don’t be afraid because you’re wrong” and then does fuck all to back it up. paramount signs of blind leading the blind—it’s really weird because once you sift through the playground insults and the sense of entitlement, that’s really all what the pro-ai argument boils down to. seriously, go on twitter or the ai tag here on tumblr right now and see the pro-arguments that are meant to be mediating: they all have that air of “because i said so” and they don’t tell you anything—or they’re like mike portnoy and they’re like “but it’s so cool though!!”

worse, these people are so far gone in it that there’s no convincing them otherwise, even if you back it up and follow the research and show them the truth. they’re quickly reaching the level of trumpers and pro-lifers. they are just so convinced that they’re the ones telling the truth that they get all misty-eyed about it and yet you get absolutely nothing from them when you approach them logically. you learn nothing… except how they are as people, of course, and you find that it was nothing more than emotionally manipulative propaganda.

abortion is healthcare, not ~murder of babies~ (and being anti-abortion has roots in antisemitism and rape apology, too, so pro-life feminists can stop lying to us) trump is hitler 2.0 and magats (idk what they’re called, there’s about 12 different names for them) are the new nazis and ai is an existential threat whether you want to believe it or not.

too bad. IT’S NOT ART. IT’S THEFT AND ANTIHUMAN.

you didn’t say anything??

also, fuck twitter for making the most-replied tweets the most visible now, god, i’m glad i don’t have an account on there anymore.

by the way, i checked the replies under that thread, and—

did no one learn from 2016? i mean, jesus christ, it wasn’t even that long ago. “oh, the pandemic! the pandemic has warped my perception of time! wah wah wah!”  listen, when you close yourself off to a vacuum like this, you only receive feedback that backs you up and kisses your ass rather than challenge you and help you grow and learn and bust down your own pretenses… god forbid. fake news was actually a thing (until it wasn’t), and there still is hordes upon hordes of misinformation about covid and the vaccines, and it all comes down to not questioning and going, “maybe this isn’t the truth, maybe the truth is somewhere else or maybe it’s inside me. maybe the vaccine does work after all. maybe there is something that does resonate with me from the other side of the aisle. maybe this cool thing really is pernicious and i’m only believing my own bullshit because i’m the one who’s actually afraid.” also, hot take: memes contribute to propaganda because they’re based on punchlines and specific context rather than tell you something you should know. i can’t say how many times i see a meme anywhere and i have no idea what the hell it’s supposed to mean.

i like how that top tweet—nice touch with the “nft” in the username, too. yeah, people still take crypto seriously after the bottom dropped out on the market and i haven’t seen a commercial for it since last march—just reinforces the doom mindset that i’m seeing a lot of legit artists resign to (please don’t, i’m begging you, you are letting them win by undertaking this mindset)… as if there’s no such thing as legislation or artists banning together against this. they think no one can write petitions or get the ball rolling and make someone in a position of authority really look at the ethical implications of ai.

really, i want someone to look into starting a petition, do something to get the ball rolling to their congressman or whoever to really look at the ethics behind ai to expose the truth about it and maybe do something about it because it’s only a matter of time before the hollow propaganda wins. yeah, congress is what it is, but it’s something, though. it’s called making use of the tools that you have at your disposal, even if they don’t function at the ideal level, something that’s been with us from the first time our ancestors created fire. unlike h.r. puff n stuff here^, i actually want art to go places. and not because i said so.

[flashfuture]

Batfam Age Guide

I wanna help break down the age gaps in the Batfam because it can help with world building and with situating your characters in an era. Also you wanna pick a birth year? Well start back counting from here. 

Age Gaps:

- Dick Grayson is 18 years younger than Bruce Wayne. At the age of 8 he was taken in by 26 year old Bruce Wayne.

- Dick Grayson was about 20 when he met a 13 year old Jason Todd making him 7 years older than Jason. 

*- Dick Grayson was 22 when he met Tim Drake who was 13. Making him 9 years older than Tim.

- Jason Todd and Cass Cain are usually described the same age and many guess born in the same year. Cass was born in January and Jason was born in August. Making Cass roughly 8 months older than Jason. 

- Cass then fits within the same time frames as Jason ish. Depends on the birth months of the others but we’ll get there. 

*- Damian Wayne is a little off (thanks Morrison) but if we take him at 10 when he first enters the household Tim is about 16 and Dick is about 25. Making Damian 15 years younger than Dick, 8 ish years younger than Jason and Cass, and 6 years younger than Tim. 

- Duke Thomas is currently 16 but I would say should be turning 17 soon. The ages are currently at their hand waviest so making an age gap is tricky. But if we go off the age we know that Damian is 13 and should probably be turning 14 soon we can say Duke is 3 years older than Damian. Which means Duke should be 12 years younger than Dick, 5 ish years younger than Jason and Cass, and 3 years younger than Tim. 

-Steph Brown is noted to be a year older than Tim. Making her likely a year younger than Cass and less than a year younger than Jason. 

*-Barbara Gordon is ??? I don’t know. 

Birthdays:

Here’s what I’ve got for you for the Batfam B-Days. And I’m getting my info from here which is v accurate and has a bunch more including other Earths/Timelines and important dates in general so check it out. But the timeline I’m going off of is the most modern dates. And chronologically in order of oldest to youngest.

Bruce Wayne: February 19th

Babara Gordon: September 23rd

Dick Grayson: November 11th 

Cass Cain: January 26th (Not on the site David Cain just told her that once)

Jason Todd: August 16th 

Steph Brown: ? (No birthday found anywhere) 

Tim Drake: July 19th 

Duke Thomas: ?

*Damian Wayne: ?

Clarifications:

*First point- Tim Drake’s age. It uh doesn’t make sense. Never has and I doubt it ever will. Tim literally could not have been alive when Dick’s parents were killed now that Rebirth has reset Dick to being taken in at 8. But going off of math this is right for Tim’s age. It just you know doesn’t fit in the timeline but they still pretend he’s 17 so whatever. 

*Second point- Morrison couldn’t be bothered to do their homework. So Damian’s age makes no sense. Talia didn’t meet Bruce until Dick Grayson was in college. Meaning Damian should at a max be like 6 or 7. It just it doesn’t matter and there was a hyper aging thing and then like whatever but just know Damian was 10 when he first showed up and forget about the rest. It hurts the brain to try and make it fit cause it just doesn’t. 

*Third point- Babs originally was much older than Dick Grayson closer to Bruce in age. And now she’s closer in age to Dick but writers can’t seem to agree on how close. Sometimes she appears be anywhere from 6 to 2 years older than Dick and other times they’re written as if they’re the same age. So who knows? Certainly not the writers. 

*Fourth Point- Speaking of no date, Damian has never had a birthday listed. Like I have never seen it and I’ve read a lot of Batman comics nor did my research find one. 

Ending Note:

So these dates are pretty solid across continuity but you’ll find discrepancies say in art style or in the things each kid is doing. The most important thing to remember is most DC writers couldn’t give a fuck about matching these numbers and we shouldn’t stress too much about them. But this is a general guidelines to building your Batfam timeline. Hope this helps. 

[carriagelamp]

Weirdly enough, I often find myself reading less in the summer, since I have more time than I do during the rest of the year to do other things. Also artfight has been eating up more than a bit of my free time! But here’s a collection a graphic novels I sat around on the hammock reading, and some novels I finished up...

(Everyone go read All Systems Red, holy crow guys)

A Whale of the Wild

The “sequel” to A Wolf Called Wander, though it doesn’t actually connect to the previous novel except in the stylistic/thematic sense. A Whale of the Wild is very much a standalone novel. And a pretty decent one! Personally, I think I liked Wolf more, but this one was a pleasant, informative read, with just the right amount of crushing dread sprinkled in. It’s about a young orca called Vega who is learning to become a new wayfinder for her pod but who still has a lot to learn, especially in an ocean that is becoming increasingly hostile to orcas and the other sealife that live alongside humans. When a devastating earthquake hits, Vega and her little brother find themselves separated from their family, lost in a now horrifyingly unfamiliar environment, and fighting starvation as the salmon that sustain them become more and more unreliable. It’s a desperate fight for survival as they search for food and their missing family. This book is written for a middle grade level, and does a really good job of putting the current environmental crisis into an animal’s perspective while giving the readers something to hope for.

The Adventure Zone: The Crystal Kingdom

Every July I eagerly anticipate the next Adventure Zone graphic novel. This one is for their fourth arc, The Crystal Kingdom, in which Magnus, Taako, and Merle respond to a SOS from a floating laboratory that is gradually being consumed by crystals and which threatens the entire world should it fall into the ocean. Carey Pietsch’s art continues to be absolutely fantastic, so beautifully and hilariously expressive, and this one delivers some great Merle moments, lots of Carey Fangbattle, and, of course, Kravtiz. Kravitz, my beloved…

Anyway, I obviously always recommend these. If you’ve never gotten into The Adventure Zone, I totally recommend either trying these graphic novels — or even better, just go listen to the podcast because it really is both hilarious and creates a shockingly good and heart-wrenching story by the end.

All Systems Red

I’ve seen The Murderbot Diaries on my dash occasionally, and it always looked interesting, but a friend’s recommendation finally compelled me to read the first novella of the series. And holy shit y’all. Absolutely the best book I’ve read this month, it’s amazing. Mind-blowingly good. Also, if you’re like me and want a good audiobook, it’s a nice three-hour listen, very chill!

Anyway, All Systems Red is about a Security Unit, an artificially created being that’s part-organic part-mechanical and all-company-owned-and-controlled. However, self-named “Murderbot” has managed to hack into the system that suppresses its own will, and is now coasting along, doing the least amount of work its job requires not to be noticed, while preferring to spend all its time watching the hours and hours of soap operas it has downloaded into its brain. And it’s a tolerable if somewhat dull life, until the science team that it's currently rented to is attacked and the whole mission goes pear-shaped. Suddenly Murderbot has to scramble to keep its humans alive… while its humans scramble with the realization that their “SecUnit” isn’t actually a mindless robot like they had all believed...

This story is both gripping and hilariously funny. Murderbot has such a unique voice and perspective and it’s an absolute pleasure to follow its story. I reallly need to read the next book...

Asterix and the Banquet

A classic. I was startled when I realized I hadn’t actually read this Asterix story… but hell I’m not gonna complain, it lets me read one of the originals for the first time again! In this Asterix volume, the Indomitable Gauls and the Romans end up arranging a bet — the Romans intend to keep them under siege, trapped in their village, while Asterix is confident that he can easily evade them… and will prove it by going on a tour around all of Gaul, collecting iconic foods from each region in order to return and put on a fine banquet. So we get a fantastic adventure in which Asterix and Obelix run all over the country, pursued the whole way, while making cheerful stops at the various eateries along the way. Also the first book Dogmatix shows up in! All around, a wonderful read, fun like all the best Asterix comics are.

Beauty Pop v4

A less impressive graphic novel. The first Beauty Pop is one of my guilty pleasure manga because… it really is pretty stupid but in the best possible ways. I mean, the whole thing is framed around hairstyling battles, like a shojo sports manga without the sports. It’s bonkers. Unfortunately, the series does not really manage to hold up, and it really begins to feel repetitive and dragging as it continues… as a lot of series like this do. *shrug* Unsurprising but still kinda disappointing I suppose. The building three-way romantic tension is mildly interesting if for no other reason than the main character Does Not Notice and Does Not Care about any of it, which is amusing and refreshing.

FRNCK v5

Now this series only gets better and better as it goes. This is the first book of the second arc, and somehow the danger just seems to be ramping up and up and up. The cavefamily have lost their home… as well as Léonard and Gargouille. Heartbroken, shocked, and angry, Franck is the one who ends up shouldering the blame for their presumed deaths as the others mourn. Things only get worse when Franck finds himself separated from the family, and in the territory of another tribe, this one hostile and cannibalistic...

Haikyuu v5

I continue to read this series because it continues to be charming… though it is beginning to feel, maybe, just a little repetitive. Kind of an inevitability with sports manga. But so far it continues to be good enough to overcome that. I’m not sure what I can say about this series that I haven’t already, so I’ll simply say it continues to be one of the most impressive sports manga I’ve read, and the author does a fantastic job of creating engaging characters, fleshed out teams, and really compelling relationships. I do genuinely adore all the main members of Crows, along with a number of characters from the rival teams as well. And of course it has some kickass volleyball scenes that are just drawn so dramatically they can’t help but take your breath away a little.

M*A*S*H Goes To Maine

Meh. The original book of the series was actually quite good in my opinion. This one… considerably less so. The first part I enjoyed more, since it was about Hawkeye, Trapper, Duke, and Oliver Jones trying to set up the FinestKind Clinic and Fishmarket in Crabapple Cove (which… is just the best premise I could have ever asked for). However, the book spends most of its time describing the quirky lives and times of other people living in the area and I… just… don’t care. It was funny at times but… I just don’t care. I wanted to hear more about the main cast. Also I found this book felt more racist and misogynistic than the first which also put me off :/ Wouldn’t bother if I were you. Go read the first book instead, or better yet just watch the TV show which is an obvious banger.

My Heart’s in the Highlands

I have had this on my “currently reading” list for so long but I’m officially giving up. It’s a really good book in theory but my god I can’t get over the pacing.

It’s about Lady Jane, a woman studying medicine in Edinburgh in 1888, and who suddenly finds herself back in the Highlands in the 13th century. Lost and confused, Jane is now at the mercy Clan Donald’s hospitality while she tries to adjust to this new world and hunts for her broken time machine. Fortunately, this hospitality include a burgeoning friendship with a red-haired warrior woman, Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill, who opens Jane’s eyes to the way the world could be.

Listen. It drives me nuts. This book should be completely up my alley, it has everything I like — IT HAS ALL OF ITS HISTORICAL FOOTNOTES CITED AT THE BACK, LITTLE EXTRA DETAILS ABOUT EVERY CHAPTER. THAT’S MY SHIT RIGHT THERE. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LIKE BEING ABLE TO GO OVER HISTORICAL DETAILS?? AND WELL RESEARCHED FOOTNOTES?? And yet it doesn’t. Fucking. Work for me. It has a kickass Scottish warrior lady as a love interest! It has a badass lady doctor! It has fish-out-of-water culture shock! But it also has a completely meandering plot, no sense of building tension, and a romance that just happens out of nowhere and feels completely unearned and uninteresting.

I would genuinely just rather read Outlander again, which I know has its own host of problems, but at least Outlander felt exciting and interesting and tense and funny. The romance built in fits and starts, it was complicated, and kept me interested. That book had me hooked (and has me hooked every time I reread it) whereas this book I’ve been sadly picking at for months like its a plate of overcooked spinach. This felt like an attempt at a queer, historically accurate knockoff which I would normally be super into but which just could not stick the landing.

Moomin on the Riviera

My first time actually reading anything from the Moomin canon. I have zero idea how to feel about it! It certainly is as feral as I’ve heard described! Overall, I think I enjoyed it but it sure made me feel strange emotions I didn’t know existed. I’m not even going to try to describe it. Read it if you want a batshit insane anti-capitalist comic.

Surviving the City

This was good in some areas, less good in others. It had a very interesting indigenous perspective on life in the modern city, the foster system, and The Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women issue, which I’ve never seen handled in a book before. Something about the pacing did not completely click with me and I found myself getting easily distracted, but it’s definitely worth the read just to experience it and look at the issues it deals with through the characters’ (and author’s) eyes. It did give me a lot to think about and wrestle with, which is sometimes the best thing a book can give you.

Torchwood: Pack Animals

A really fun read, more so than I had ever expected! If you like Torchwood and want more stories about the team before everything goes to shit, this is perfect for that. It includes the entire cast, an interest mystery to be unravelled, lots of slavering monsters, Rhys being really wonderful and sweet (which I didn’t know I wanted until I read this book), and all the humour I expect from Torchwood. I had to send a lot of quotes to my long-suffering girlfriend who a) does not watch this show but b) needs to tolerate it because I find it too funny to keep to myself. It was good enough to make me go out another book of the series since this was the only one my library carried.

[serendipitous-magic]

what's your writing process like? do you plot things out beforehand? or do you sort of write it as it comes? a mix of both?

Depends on what I'm writing!

In general I'm a planner. I can't write from a blank page, unless I'm just like... really really captivated by whatever I'm writing, which was what happened with the first chapters of both The Art of Living Your (Second) Life and The Partnership Plan.

a) In general, if it's a fanfiction I'm writing, I tend to build the plan as I write - meaning, oftentimes I'll be inspired to write the first chapter, and I'll write that with little idea what the rest of it will be. Or, even if I have an idea what the rest will be, it's more of a vague skeleton than a full plan. And then, as I continue to write, I think more about where the story is going and I continuously add to and refine my plan kind of alongside the actual writing. In this way, the plan grows at the same time that the actual chapters do - but because the chapters take significantly longer to write than planning does, the plan outpaces the "real" writing and I usually know the basic story arc from fairly early on. Then it's just a matter of fleshing it out, adding detail, writing down scenes I thought of, etc. And then when I get to that point in the actual writing, I have a framework in place already.

-_-_-

b) Sometimes for fanfic, I have a more complete plan upfront - although I use "complete" here to mean "from beginning to end," not "completely detailed." So, more like a full skeleton than a full body, if that makes sense. I did that with Roll for Strength. What usually happens is that my plan will look something like...

...

Chapter One

-Will suspects Mike has a girlfriend and is kind of put out about it but thinks he's over Mike so he tells himself he doesn't care

-Will walks in on Mike and his BF (name??) and has a crisis (they don't see Will, so Will knows about Mike but Mike doesn't know that Will knows)

-Will might get off to that later, guiltily? (Or move to chapter two)

Chapter Two

-Do Mike's POV to tell about how he ended up dating a guy, how he got very disillusioned with the world after canon events and got into a "fuck it, the rules don't matter and I hate them anyway" mentality, which eventually snowballed into him kind of realizing and accepting his sexuality earlier than usual fanon

-Also introduce BF (name??) in a scene

-Set time and place - season should set the mood if not already mentioned in Ch 1

-Maybe also do BF's POV briefly to introduce him?? Or leave that for later

...

Etc.

And that's the original skeleton plan. And then it gets expanded upon more and more and more as I continue to think about the story, sometimes even with full pages' worth of unbroken text blocks as I get inspired and start basically thought-vomiting an entire scene. So by the time I get around to actually writing it, it might look like the above, or it might be a few steps shy of an actual draft already, depending on how much I've thought about / worked on that part.

See #5 in this writing advice post to see what I mean about a "thought vomit" draft.

-_-_-

c) Here's the thing - the above was for fanfic, or for short stories, or stories that I'm just kind of having fun with.

For original stuff, I adhere much more tightly to the "rules," because the guidelines for original work (that you might try to publish in the actual publishing market) are much stricter - and for good reason! Fanfiction is a sandbox, and we're all invested in the characters and worlds and settings already. We're all reading and writing fanfic because we already love these characters and this world, and we just want to play in it.

It's a different situation with original novels that you hope to publish. The plot, pacing, tension, and story beats have to be much, much tighter and more polished. Because people reading original work have no prior reason to be invested in it or care what happens - that's work that you have to do. For fanfic, that work was done for you by the original thing. Not to mention, the publishing world is so absolutely choked with competition, and the emphasis lies so heavily on sales, that if your book isn't fucking top-tier compelling, no publisher or agent will take a second look at it. Which is kind of unfortunate, because there's value in slower, more relaxed, more reflective storytelling, too - it's just not what capitalism has decided to value, which is sad.

But anyway.

When writing an original thing, I basically need a full plan - beginning to end, covering all plot points. Not necessarily all the details, just all the plot points - I need a skeleton and I need connective tissue. The rest comes later. But to start, I need to know what happens, why, and how the characters get from event to event. I need to know the physical story events, the emotional beats, and how those things logically flow throughout the story.

Some people can write without this and it still turns into a compelling story, tight narrative, etc. I envy these people. I have all respect for these people. I cannot do this. If I write original work with no plan, and especially without at least like 50-75% of a plan, I end up with something slow, meandering, and kind of limp. No bueno.

So, I usually use a beat sheet.

What's a beat sheet?

It's a 15-beat plotting structure used by screenwriters. And, yeah, technically it's for movies / screenplays. But storytelling is storytelling. And it's highly flexible. (And my favorite professor ever taught it to me in college so you can pry it out of my cold dead hands.)

Google it. It's what I use to make sure my (original work) plots are tight, have momentum, have a satisfying character arc, etc.

Okay, okay, I'll paste the basic structure below just so you can see wtf I'm talking about:

-_-_-

-Act I:

1) The First Frame

-What is the first thing we see? This should be a snapshot of the main character’s problem, before the story begins

-Ex: the Star Destroyer in A New Hope

2) The World Around Us

-What is the main character’s world like at the beginning of the story?

-What is missing in the main character’s life?

3) State the Theme (sneak this into The World Around Us)

-What is the story secretly about? This should happen during The World Around Us

4) Inciting Incident (smol tentpole)

-What happens to put the hero on the road? This is where the hero’s life changes forever.

5) The Hero Questions

-1st introspective moment

-Can the hero really do this? Should the hero chicken out?

-Oftentimes the hero fails at something

-Ex: Luke gets his ass beat by the raiders

-Act II:

6) Crossing the Threshold / The Emotional Hurdle (big tentpole)

-The main character makes a choice

-Beginning of Act II

7) The B Story / The Love Story

-Introduced here

-Often but not always a love story

8) Promise of the Premise

-Fun and games in the world you promised

-Horror movie? Creeps here!

-Sci fi? Space battles!

-Animation? Shenanigans!

9) Midpoint (big tentpole)

-The hero finds out that what they want is not what they need

-Luke rescues the princess - turns out that’s not really what the story was about

10) Bad Guys Close In / Throwing Rocks

-Events conspire to tear the hero’s goal to shreds

-Wesley is mostly dead, Inego is drunk, Fezzick is part of the brute squad

-This is the other side of the fun and games coin where things are no longer fun

11) All is Lost

-Something super bad happens, and that goal is impossible

-If someone important is gonna die, it’s probably now

12) The Pit of Despair (smol tentpole)

-The hero mourns the death (if someone died) and wallows in his/her lowest point

13) Inspiration

-A fresh idea

-Act III:

14) Come and Get Some / Final Confrontation (big tentpole)

-The final confrontation - the final showdown

-A and B stories wrapping up at the same time

-The theme makes sense and the battle is engaged

15) Final Frame

-Opposite of the first frame

-The hero is changed

-_-_-

It's what I use. But hey, you don't have to. What works for me might not work for you.

I'll finish this off by pasting in a section of actual real-ass planning I have open in a document for one of my novels at this moment (it's giving me the evil eye, I swear) so you can see what I kind of mean by "thought vomiting." Also note that in my actual document, the bullet points are indented incrementally to be kind of "nestled" underneath the relevant points, if that makes sense, and that it's a whole eye-watering mess of different colors. But for Tumblr, it's this:

-_-_-

-You have to be rescued by the rest of the team, because you fell down that hole - and you are, eventually, after screaming yourself hoarse some more (plus it’s been like an hour or more now, so they have since noticed that you were missing)

-I could gloss over this, like end the chapter when you run away, and open the next one with “It takes another half hour of screaming your throat nearly bloody before the team finds you,” or something

-They berate you for chasing after ghosts - you say you didn’t find anyone down there, because you know for damn sure nobody’s gonna believe what you think you saw, and you don’t even think you believe it

-This leads to a trip to the local doctor (a clinic, probs, akin to UrgentCare), which you’re not happy with because that’s more people taking notice of you

-However, you’re also going through the change in mindset here - see below

-Note: I as the writer don’t have to worry about the paperwork or whatever that you’d normally have to fill out, getting hurt on the job, because you weren’t officially hired - however, it would be a good “humanity is okay” moment if the guy who hired you came in and helped you with the medical expenses because he felt bad - he’d also probably be a little nervous about you suing or something, but you assure him that you have zero interest in that

-I could include a funny line where the guy says he’ll pay for your doctor bill and you try to say no (being indebted to someone is bad news for you) but he insists, because he says he feels responsible, and you just kind of stare at him and then blurt, “Do you need me to kill anyone for you?” (Something you probably regret as soon as you say it, not because you expect him to accept but because you abruptly remember what happened two days ago.) (Would it be too much to also add like “You want me to murder anyone for you? You want a blowjob? I will do anything,” and he gets flustered and bats it off like “Nah, nah, nah, chill out. You’re crazy, man.” And insists that you don’t need to pay him back)

-Here’s a decision I have to make - does the guy pay for your doctor bills as well as paying for your work today (leaving you enough money to potentially split town, but you decide not to), or do you have to pay the $2,500+ in doctor bills with no insurance for the injury, which raises the stakes by depleting all your money?

-I think I like Option A best, because it gives Sam more agency as a character if they decide to stay despite having the option to leave, versus them just being stuck completely - plus I don’t know how else I’d be able to explain away you having money for the hotel

-The guy who hired you pays you for the work day here - and maybe, just maybe, that gives you barely enough to buy that used car (although, why would it? It couldn’t have been more than like $200 for 8 hours of work, maybe $300 if he was really really desperate - if it was a really cheap used car, that might give you barely enough to buy the car but literally nothing left over)

-Point being, maybe you have enough money to bolt now, if you chose to - and you have to make the choice not to

-The car you found might be a $1,500 Honda Civic (or Jeep or whatever) with a dead battery, and the guy selling it says it should run fine with a new battery, which you Google (apparently it would be somewhere in the range of $100-$200) - maybe you think of how nice the mechanic was for you and wonder if you could cut a bit of a deal with him, if you get this car - and if the guy pays for your trip to the doctor and pays you for the temp work, this could just tip you into the margin of being able to afford the car, if you haggle with the seller

-_-_-

Or another example, with more actual sentences:

-_-_-

-As you approach the trailer you start to register a smell that turns your stomach - something like a porta potty and something like the sharp tang of rusting metal. It makes you pause - maybe there really is someone in there, using the place to live whether there’s a sewage hookup or not - it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing you’ve heard of. But after standing for a bit, silent and listening, and then hiding behind a large tree to chuck a rock at the vehicle to no response, you continue forward. You’ll just have to be cautious. Your spirits lift when you see the door. It’s completely grown over. (Leafy vines lace over it, tangling in the handle, yellowing and unbroken. If someone is living in there, they’ve been using the window to come and go, and that doesn’t seem all too likely. Bolstered by a new swell of confidence, and picturing the unlikely riches you might find stashed away in a cabinet or a glove compartment, you cross the last few feet towards the shape.

-You find the body and recognize it as one of the two obnoxious vlogging dudes from the motel

-I’m kind of imagining the moment of discovery like the wardrobe moment in Narnia where, during your nice forest trek, there’s been some pleasant acoustic music playing (like All the Pretty Girls by Kaleo maybe) and then it just stops abruptly in the middle of a phrase, maybe echoing slightly, when you see the body, and all at once everything is sickly silent.

-Oh dude, maybe you continue thinking it’s a duffel bag (possibly feeling pretty upbeat, though cautious until you’re literally about to step over it, and then you happen to glance down and get a sickening, chest-slamming shock when an empty human face is staring up at you

-Note: there should be mushrooms growing in, on and around the RV, because mushrooms are Creepy

-You go to investigate the RV

-Maybe you recognized the body as one of the vloggers and you’re trying to see if his friend is around - or maybe, in a kind of sick daze, you short circuit and find yourself doing the only thing you can think to do: continuing along your trajectory, stumbling towards the RV and tearing the rusted-out door free from the lattice of brittle vines that held it in place (this is what alerts The Dude that someone has been here), like if you just get to your original goal that’ll fix everything - somehow, if you just keep moving forward on the track you set out on, that thing won’t be real anymore - at the very least you have to get inside, to put a door between you and the body, like you’re pulling the blankets over your head to shield yourself from the boogeyman. Just as long as you’re not out there with, with...

-_-_-

Anywho, I'll stop.

I apologize again for... (scrolls up for a million miles) all of that, but you asked me about my passion and now you pay the price, lmao.

[photochoco]

New Recruit

After an unfortunate run-in with a client, Wisteria finds themselves with a curse. Luckily, Black Cauldron is here to help.

Pinprick and Bianca had been the closest to the disturbance. Patrolling had its perks, one of them being that you never knew when you might conveniently stumble upon magical mayhem. 

Well, they didn’t stumble upon it so much as they heard a pained screech split through the air as they walked along. Rushing towards the source, they rounded a corner and into an alley-

Someone in a pointed hat stood with their back to the Cadets, holding a second person up by their throat. Magic crackled in the air like static.

A witch.

“HEY!” Bianca yelled. Pinprick rushed past her, talons outstretched. 

The witch barely sidestepped his swipe in time, their hat getting nicked in the process. Scrambling onto their broom, they rose up into the air and took off above the buildings. 

“Pin, go after ‘em! I’ll take care of the kid.”

Despite being a giant, Pinprick was very fast. He gave a single nod and leapt up onto a nearby house, hopping from rooftop to rooftop in pursuit. 

The civilian was laying in a heap on the ground, unmoving. 

Bianca swore under her breath as she skidded to a halt next to them, grabbing their shoulder and rolling them over. Whatever had happened with the witch, it seemed like they'd put up a fight, smeared blood drying on the corners of their mouth. 

“Damn kid...I’m sorry…” Bianca muttered as she noticed the streams of multicolor flowing in rivulets from their closed eyes. It coated their hands as well; it was no doubt caused by a curse. At least they were breathing. Bianca considered calling for backup before Pinprick leapt down in front of her.

He wore a frustrated scowl. “The witch got away. They were too far ahead.”

Bianca sighed in resignation. “Dammit. Well, let’s at least count it as a win that they didn’t kill this kid here. Look at ‘er eyes though, I think they got cursed. We gotta- hff- get ‘em to Tracy- Geezus they’re a deadweight-” she sunk under their weight as she tried to hoist them up, an arm around their shoulders.

“Here, let me-” Pinprick gently scooped them into his arms. Their head sagged against his chest and they didn’t stir beyond a small mumble that was barely audible. “Poor thing…” he murmured, cradling them carefully against himself. 

“Let’s get 'em back to BC and see what the damage is. Hopefully nothin’ too bad.”

---

A myriad of voices reached her ears, but she couldn’t really understand what anyone was saying through her exhaustion. She wanted to go back to sleep.

Consciousness came slow, discouraged by soft, warm blankets. Yet they couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible had happened…She scrunched her face up. It felt like...there was something...

“Oh shit, they moved!”

“She’s waking up!”

“Oooooh do you think she’ll wanna become a Cadet?”

“Whaddaya think happened?”

“Ok everyone, that’s enough, off you go! There will be plenty of time for meet and greet later!”

Coherent thought was returning in a steady stream, and it was now that she realized there were bandages around her eyes. Bandages? Is that why her eyelids felt so hot and swollen…? Or was it because her eyes felt hot and swollen that she had bandages…? Did something happen to them?

She sat up rather abruptly, hearing a squeal of surprise in response to her quick movement. Her eyes...were really itchy. They itched, but they stung more, like a dull ache. Like someone had blown pepper flakes into her eyes…they automatically watered in response to the thought. 

Her head throbbed. Ugh...it felt like something was hammering the inside of her skull...She pressed a hand to her temple in protest of the sudden headache.

“Welcome back, dear. You gave us a bit of a scare, being out for so long.”

She jumped at the voice and heard a soft chuckle.

“No need to be jumpy, now. You’re at Black Cauldron. My name is Tracy Pan, I’m a nurse here.”

“Black Cauldron…” she echoed. “You mean the guild for cursed people…?”

“The very same. One of our teams found you in an alley. It looked like you had been attacked. Does that seem familiar at all?”

It did. She nodded, her mouth suddenly becoming dry. If she was here, at Black Cauldron, did that mean…?

“I’ll get straight to the matter at hand. When our Cadets found you, you seemed to have color streaming from your eyes. When you got here, your eyelids were pretty irritated and swollen, hence the bandages as a precaution. It’s very possible you’ve been cursed.”

Wisty was silent as the nurse methodically unwound the gauze and peeled the medical tape off the pads over her eyes. 

“I...don’t really remember a lot about what happened. They were a client of mine, they were angry about...something about the art I made for them? We got into a fight and...they shot some sort of spell at me.”

“Hm hm! And what’s your name?”

She could barely squeeze it out of her rapidly tightening throat as dread coiled in her gut . “...W-Wisteria. Wisteria Inkwell. Or...Wisty...”

“Pleasure to meet you, Wisty. I’m going to remove your bandages. When they’re off, make sure to open your eyes slowly. If you are cursed, there’s a high likelihood that it affected your eyes.”

Please don’t let it be what she thought it was.

Please let that have been from shock. Please...

“Alright, you can open your eyes now.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she opened them.

Everything was grey. Greys and whites and blacks, like she was looking at an old photograph. Monochrome. The color was gone. Wisty’s heart had started to pound so hard she could feel each thump in her chest. The dread uncoiled and shot through her veins, bringing with it a wave of cold.

Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. Hot--

No. No. No. No way. This couldn’t be happening.

She would not cry, not in front of other people, let alone a stranger. Emotions she couldn’t place were whirling about inside her so fast. But her face was blank as she willed the tears back. She felt very dizzy.

“Hm hm!” A small plump woman popped into her view, a troll? She leaned in close, examining her eyes. “It would seem it is indeed a curse on your eyesight. Or is it perhaps a different version of soul loss…? Your eyes are voided out like another one of our Cadets, but his are white, yours are black. What do you see?”

Wisty fought off tears. “There’s no color. I can’t see color, I--they-- they took color from me...they--”

“Interesting, interesting…and how else do you feel?” Tracy continued.

The room was spinning.

“I...uh…kin...kinda...dizzy...” Wisty mumbled. “I think ‘m gonna b’ sick…”

 “Hmm, you might be in shock. How about we… …”

The rest of the nurse’s words were lost to the static roar that started in Wisty’s ears. Everything sounded very far away all of a sudden, she herself felt like she was floating. She could see things, hear things, but she couldn’t make sense of any of it. She tried to breathe in steadily, but her chest was burning. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She felt herself falling freely through space.

Where was the color?

---

It was quiet when Wisty came to again. Jeez...what happened? Had they fainted?

They opened their eyes, slowly.

It was no less gut-wrenching the second time.

The world was still in grayscale, and the sickening feeling swelled inside them all over again. They looked around and listened, eyes already brimming with tears. They were alone. Good.

They buried their face into their knees and sobbed. They sobbed until they felt like they were going to be sick. Their throat was tight and their head pounded, they cried until they had no tears left. The colorful world they’d loved so much was gone. And it wasn’t going to come back. Small wails mixed in with their sobs, thankfully muffled by the blankets.

Finally, they calmed themself down with a series of long sighs that shook their frame. They wiped their eyes and looked around, sniffling. Urgh, now they’d given themself a nasty headache and they couldn’t breathe through their nose. They slipped out of bed to find the bathroom. They could use some cold water on their face. 

Wisty approached the door and went to open it, only to have it swing forward on its own, causing them to yelp in response.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t--excuse me--” 

The pair of legs in the doorway bent down, and an incredibly tall ghoul ducked through the threshold.

“Ahem.” He straightened himself up to his full height, easily over nine feet. “Apologies cupcake, I didn’t see you there. Actually, should you even be out of bed? You haven’t been taking your curse very well.”

Wisty squirmed and hastily wiped at her eyes. “I, um, I actually feel fine now. I just wanted some water.”

He leaned down, putting his face too close to hers, and gently pressed a long pointed finger onto her cheek. She resisted the urge to shrink away. What if he noticed--

“Now, why the waterfalls?”

Crap.

“I. Um.”

The ghoul studied her expression and grinned widely with a chuckle, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth. Wisty averted her gaze. What colors was he? Frustrated tears bubbled up again. The ghoul cocked his head and continued to grin. Then his eyebrows hopped up and his smile dropped in surprise.

“Oh my. That doesn’t look normal.”

“H-Huh?” Wisty wiped at her eyes and was startled to smell...what was that? Ink? She pulled her hand away.

Some sort of dark substance was smeared across the back of her hand. She looked at it. Looked up at the ghoul. Back to the ink. Then the ghoul. He stared back with a surprisingly calm expression.

“Side effect of your curse, perhaps?” he suggested.

Fighting back the urge to just up and scream, Wisty replied, “Uuuhhhhh maybe? Hope this isn’t a permanent thing-”

“Yo Pin, quit hoggin’ the doorframe!” 

A girl with long gelatinous-looking hair squeezed past the ghoul, her eyebrows also hopping up when she saw Wisty.

Oh, you’re awake! ‘S about time too, you were startin’ to freak us all out! Especially after you fainted right outta the bed.”

She stuck her hand out, and Wisty took it in her own. The girl’s hand was very warm.

“I’m Bianca Frost, and this is my partner Pinprick! We make up Team B of Black Cauldron. We found you in an alley.”

“Oh--oh my god, you guys saved me? Thank you!!”

Bianca shrugged and rubbed the back of her head, looking away.

“Eh, it was nothin’. I’m just sorry we didn’t find you sooner. Uh, how are ya feelin’ now? You know your eyes are...uh, leaking, right?”

“Y-Yeah, dunno what’s up with that. I’m...better. It’s still kinda a big shock,” Wisty rubbed at her eyes again. “Do you have a bathroom in here? I wanted to get some water and clean my face.”

At her insistence that she felt fine enough to do it herself, Bianca pointed Wisty in the direction of the restrooms. They were easy to find, tucked around the corner from a bar area. There were several people sitting at tables, and they all swiveled their heads to stare at her as she walked by. With a weird flip in her stomach, Wisty hurriedly shut the door behind her as whispers began.

Purposefully avoiding the mirror, they splashed their face with water, sighing as it soothed their itchy, swollen eyes. Wisty braced themselves, head hanging with one hand on either side of the sink. They stared down at the wisps of ink mixing with the water as it all swirled down the drain. They could deal with this. It would be fine. They’d be fine. They’d find a way to keep making art, this was fine. They cupped their hands under the stream and took several thirsty gulps. This was manageable. People got cursed all the time. (As unfortunate as that was.) 

Wisty sighed again. They wondered if the curse affected how their eyes looked. Steeling themself, they looked in the mirror. Their eyes were completely black, no visible iris or sclera to be seen. 

“Whoooooooaaaa,” They couldn’t help the exclamation as they leaned in closer, staring at their reflection with wide eyes. “Haha, what the hell…?”

They pulled their eyelid down and rolled their eyeball around, looking this way and that; the whole thing was as solid and black as an 8 ball and reflected no light. Kinda like that pigment of black they used once-

A thought struck them- what would people think if they saw their eyes? Would they avoid her? Would people commission art from a cursed person who couldn’t even see the colors she was using? Cursed people in Salem were viewed with pity, and sometimes worse, outright scorn for being damaged goods. Would they have to wear sunglasses or something? What if--

There was a knock on the door.

Pin’s -that was his name right?- voice sounded on the other side, muffled, “Hey cupcake, are you almost done in there? John wants to talk to you.”

John? Who’s that…? Wisty opened the door. Two people dressed in Ironmaiden uniforms were waiting to greet her. One was a tall, imposing-looking woman with her greying hair neatly twisted into a bun. She looked severe, but her eyes looked at Wisty gently. Next to her was an equally-tall oxen hybrid, standing with his arms crossed. He looked at Wisty just as kindly, despite his intimidating appearance. She fiddled with the hem of her dress, clenching it in her hands.

“You’re Wisteria Inkwell, correct?” the woman asked. Wisty nodded.

“My name is Elanor Pan, founder of Black Cauldron. This here is John Bullock, chief of the Iron Maidens.”

“We wanted to ask you a few questions. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” John said, noting Wisty’s sudden nervous expression. “We wanted to ask you about the witch that cursed you. It’s our understanding they got away after attacking you.”

“Oh, no! I don’t mind at all…” Wisty replied, feeling relief wash over her.

“Good. Now, if you’ll come this way…” John ushered Wisty into another room. Before the door closed, she looked back at the entourage that was still gathered. They all stared at her. 

Wisty rubbed at her eyes.

---

She ambled back out the door a good while later, now rubbing at her temple. John and Ela had peppered her with questions about her assailant until her head was spinning. They certainly were thorough. She’d drawn them a picture of the witch that had cursed her, which ate up even more time as she tried to recall as many details about them as possible. Then...more questioning. A drop of whatever-the-heck was dripping out of her eyes nearly ruined the whole damn drawing. 

Wisty wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to have happen. Did she want the witch to be arrested? Did she want revenge? Out of all the things she was feeling, anger wasn’t very high on the list at the moment. Both John and Ela had assured her the drawing she made, as well as the details she provided, would be put on the wanted board in Black Cauldron.

On that topic… Ela had said…

The people still in the bar area chose that moment to pounce, all but swarming around her.

“Hey! Did Ela talk to you about becoming a Cadet?”

“What kind of curse do you have?”

“Want some soda?”

They were all talking over each other so loudly Wisty could hardly piece together what any one person said. She was luckily saved by Elanor, who swept out of the room behind her.

“Really now! I’d said there’d be time for introductions later, but this poor child has had a very long day and she certainly doesn’t need to be bombarded by you all at once. I know you’re all excited about the prospect of a new Cadet, but please, be considerate. Don’t scare them off just yet!” she said, a good-humored smile curving her mouth. She placed a hand on Wisty’s shoulder and looked down at her, still smiling. “Think about my offer, won’t you? I think you’d be a valuable member here.”

“I’ll think about it, for sure,” Wisty said.

Ela nodded. “Good. In the meantime, would you like to stay here awhile until you’re feeling better? Maybe get yourself acquainted with some of our Cadets here.”

“I’m- Thank you very much Mrs. Elanor-” Wisty managed to squeak out as Bianca grabbed her wrist and began to pull her away.

“Just Ela is fine, dear!”

Bianca ushered a bewildered Wisty into a seat, and the remaining chairs at the table were very quickly filled in. A stout girl with hair that curled at the ends trotted up to the crowd, notepad in hand.

“Hi! I’m Cameilla, a waitress here. Can I get you anything to drink?” she chirped, smiling wide. 

“I’d looooove a soda-” a boy at the table started. “She was talking to the new kid, not you,” someone else retorted. 

“Well...if it’s not too much trouble, I’m literally dying for a lemonade right now,” Wisty said.

Cameilla smiled and hopped away towards the kitchen. “Cameilla is the youngest Cadet,” Bianca said. “She’s not keen on the whole fighting thing, so she works as a waitress here instead!” 

She returned a very short time later with Wisty’s lemonade, and the questions began. 

The first to speak was Pinprick. “So, my dear, care to share with the rest of the class? Why don’t we get those introductions out of the way.”

“Oh! I’m Wisteria. Just Wisty is fine.”

Everyone looked at her expectantly. One of the Cadets tapped near their eyes and pointed at her.

“Oh right, my curse. Well...I can’t see color anymore,” Wisty found it was easier to talk about than she had anticipated. “I can still see and all, but it’s like--you know black and white photographs? It’s like that. I can still see value, but all the hue and saturation is gone.”

There was a wave of nods and aaaaaah’s that quickly turned into a collective scream as a thick, viscous liquid trickled down Wisty’s cheeks.

“Holy shit your eyes are melting!!”

“No no no no they’re not! They’ve been doing this ever since I woke up. I’m...really hoping this isn’t a thing my eyes just do now…” 

Bianca slid a napkin dispenser her way and Wisty grabbed several, hurriedly rubbing at her face, grumbling in frustration.

“I swear, if this is just a thing for me now I’m gonna go feral,” she muttered.

“Being colorblind looks pretty metal,” a boy with glowing white eyes said, blowing a cloud of smoke out through his teeth. A cigarette was clenched between them.

Wisty wrinkled her nose and tried not to gag into the napkin. She hated the smell of cigarette smoke. The Cadet sitting next to the boy must have noticed, because he deftly yoinked it out of his comrade’s mouth.

“Yo Harvey, what the hell man?!” the boy squawked as the person in a bunny mask crumpled the cigarette in his hand.

“If you paid any attention to her face, you’d have seen your smokestack was making her sick, dumbass.” He turned to Wisty and stuck out his non-ash covered hand, which Wisty took and shook. “I’m Harvey. I make weapons for Cadets here. This idiot next to me is Dex.”

Dex gave a short wave, grinning widely. “Yep, that’s me! Dex, the resident heartthrob.”

Wisty blinked. “Oh, I’ve seen you before! You nearly ran me over with your bike once.”

Everyone present swiveled their heads to stare at Dex. He blinked.

“I’m sorry about him. He tragically lost all his brain cells years ago.“

“...I did?”

“Oh my god Dex that is NOT what you say to someone you nearly flattened with your dumb bike!”

“Hey! DeeDee is NOT dumb! She--ow ow ow ow!” his words cut off with a squeal as Harvey sitting next to him grabbed him in a headlock.

“I’m sorry about him. He tragically lost all his brain cells years ago.“

Wisty couldn’t help but giggle. “Um, have you all been here long?”

“Some of us have, yeah,” Harvey said. He released his hold on Dex, who sucked in air theatrically.

“Caldwell, the guy workin’ behind you? He helped form BC with Ela. They go way back,” Pinprick said. “Then we all joined one by one! There’s many more of us who aren’t here right now, but it’d be lovely if you met them, cupcake. We’re definitely a rag-tag bunch with a myriad of curses to match.”

Bianca tossed her hair, grinning in a way that seemed very much prideful. “A witch set me on fire and I turned into a lava elemental! Best thing that ever happened to me!” 

“I mean, it’s fairly obvious for me,” Pinprick added, grinning equally widely. “Black Cauldron’s resident ghoul.” 

Harvey was silent until Dex leaned on him hard enough to nearly push him off his chair.

“Oh god fine!” he relented, placing a hand on Dex’s face and shoving him away. “I was dared by some buddies of mine to put this mask on and it never came off,” he said. “Happy now?” he added to Dex, who was watching him with his chin in his hands, smiling mischievously. 

“How do you eat then?!” Wisty balked.

“With a straw, duh.”

“What about you, Dex? Wh-”

“Sooooo!” Dex cut in. “Are you thinking about becoming a Cadet?”

“I mean, Ela did make the offer to me. But I dunno how much of a help I’d be to be honest. Fighting sounds interesting, buuuuut all I’m really good at is making art.”

“We can help teach you, if you join. And Harvey can make you a weapon!” Dex said. “And if ya want, maybe you could team up with someone, like Alphus over there, or—”

“I work alone, Dex boy,” the woman leaning on the wall nearby said.

Wisty shrunk in her seat.

“Oh, don’t mind her cupcake, she can be a little standoffish towards everyone at first,” Pinprick said, placing a reassuring hand on Wisty’s shoulder, nearly knocking her off her chair. “Honestly Alphus, be nice!”

Alphus shrugged. “Hey, never said I was against backup if I’d ever need it, which I won’t. Just so long as no one gets in my way.”

“So what was this about you being an artist?” Harvey inquired.

“Oh yeah! I mostly do commission work and run my studio outta my apartment. You might’ve seen some of my stuff if you visit the underground city.”

“Oooooh, can you show us some of your work?”

“Can you draw something right now?”

---

It ended up being pretty late when Wisty finally set off back home. A slight breeze wafted through the city streets, and they initially felt oddly at ease, despite everything that had happened. But as they walked along, gazing at familiar sights, a pit opened up in the bottom of their stomach. How were they going to deal with this? What would they tell their friends? Their family? The streetlamps that once felt so warm seemed frigid now, a dull grey. Values were mixing together and hard to tell apart. Wisty impatiently flicked away yet another trickle of black from their right eye.

Black Cauldron…

They’d heard of them for a long time, but they never imagined they might end up joining one day. And even now, they were still unsure. Everyone they had met were very friendly, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to become a Cadet. Maybe they could make recruitment posters or something. Or something. The last thing they wanted to be was a hindrance to anyone. 

A single day at a time.

“Ugh!” Wisty shouted aloud, throwing their fists in the air.

They had time to think it over, even Ela had said so! There was no rush.

They’d take it one day at a time.

[smokeybrand]

This is the Good Life

I read a ton of manga. I find the content coming out of Japan to be far more genuine and creative than the sh*tshow comic industry we have here in the states. I’m not saying there isn’t good content to be found in the massive annals of Marvel and DC, i am in particular love with whatever the f*ck is going on with the X-titles right now, but that is the exception, not the rule. Japan is different. Even the most blatant shill of a cash-in has a unique spin to it. When the moe boom happened and we were inundated with slice of life fodder for a decades, shows like Higurashi, Toradora, Haruhi, Lucky Star, and basically anything out of Kyoto animation, were absolute masterpieces. Each tells a distinct story, adapting that cutesy art style to their respective strengths, and it worked beautifully. The homogeneity of formulaic content here in the US, isn’t really a concern overseas and that is a wonderful thing. It makes for amazing storytelling and a creativity freedom, even when awash in trend or fad. I say all of this to preface the fact that Kajiya De Hajimeru Isekai Slow Life is chef kiss levels of shine, even if it is a manga staunchly entrenched in the grating isekai fad.

Now, i say “grating” in the glib sense because i genuinely love the isekai genre. I have for decades, going back to Escaflowne, El Hazard, .Hack, and Rayearth. What i think most people are frustrated with, is the OP protagonist in these stories. You can only identify with some, overwhelming, power fantasy, so many times going into these tales. How do you frame that narrative? how do you keep it compelling? You don’t. Entries like Overlord and Tensei Shitara Suraimu Datta Ken do a great job avoiding that stagnation by building out the world around their ridiculously plot-armored mains but that doesn’t work all of the time. If you want a character driven narrative, you have to build great characters. You have to make your principal cast affable, flawed, and fun. I think that’s the strength in Kajiya De Hajimeru Isekai Slow Life. You almost immediately fall in love with the cast you’re going to sped all of your time with and that’s absolutely necessary because this story is as much about the world building as it is about the main cast, themselves.

Slow Life follows Eizo Tanya, who is hit by a truck in the process of saving a cat, who turned out to be an inter-dimensional god or something. Since the Kitty deity f*cked up and was almost “killed’, causing Eizo’s death in turn, it offers to reincarnate him into a brand new world with a mad overpowered cheat skill. Eizo gives it a thought and chooses - blacksmithing! You see, Eizo was a salaryman, bitterly unhappy with his life in the old times. He wanted, more than anything, to be able to work with his hands in the new world so, instead of asking for he power to be a Hero or some vicious Demon Lord, he just wanted the ability to make dope sh*t in the woods. Kitty Deity is a little surprised but grants Eizo his wish and, boom! We have the foundation for a pretty delightful romp. Stuff happens, Eizo gets a tiger wife and a dwarf apprentice. His craftsmanship is the best in the world and his tale toward legendary status begins.

The simplicity of this narrative is one that has a level of accessibility not found in most isekai. The simple desire of a man, overworked and looking to be fulfilled, to find value, in what he does with his life, really resonates with cats like me who have been in the workforce for decades. I left my job a year ago to pursue my dream of crating so i identify with Eizo’s passion to be more than just a cg in a machine. More than that, i love the way he is written. Eizo feels real, like a proper person lost in a world of fantasy and magic. The supporting cast is also amazing and decently developed. I immediately fell in love with tiger waifu, Samia. She is capable, tenacious, curious, and f*cking adorable. There isn’t a ton of groundwork about her past being laid but i have a feeling we’ll definitely get into that as the narrative develops and i can’t wait to see where that leads. Newcomer to the story is the dwarf apprentice, Riku Moritz. We haven’t had a great deal of time with her so far, but she comes across as a studious, knowledgeable, junior who yearns to be the best at her craft. She reminds me of Miles Morales from Into the Spider-Verse, to Eizo’s Peter B. Parker and i adore that type of dynamic. We are only a handful of chapters in, but this story seems like it has legs and i look forward to where it goes in the future. I’d say it’s a slow burn, but it really isn’t.

I was hooked from chapter one and a lot of that, aside from the great writing and developing character work, stems from the artwork. My, goodness, is Slow Life gorgeous! There is a purposeful elegance to how these lines and strokes come together. The line work is clean and precise, granting each panel thjust the right amount of detail hile staying true to the artist's personal vision. It's actually very refreshing to see. The style is very distinct and carries it's own, unique hallmarks, similar to Toriyama or Oda, but slightly more relaistic than those. I am absolutely in love with it. Like, i follow a few trash rags because the art is dope and immediately hooked me. Isekai Meikyuu de Dorei Harem Wo, Gunbured X Sisters, or Kouya Ni Kemono Doukokusu immediately come to mind, all decent in their own right, but it’s very obvious the strength of these entries lies in the art. True to form, it took a while for me to get into their respective narratives and, in all honesty, they’ve gotten pretty good but those first few chapters were a bit rocky. The art kept me coming back and now, these three are some of my favorite titles to read. Slow Life did not have that issue. The art immediately took my breath away. It felt like cracking open Tsugumomo, BLEACH, Lv2 kara Cheat datta Moto Yuusha Kouho no Mattari Isekai Life, Gleipnir, Meikyuu Black Company, or Isekai De Skill Wo Kaitai Shitara Cheat Na Yome Ga Zoushoku Shimashita: Gainen Kousa No Structure. That’s a lot of titles but i am a slut for great, unique, artwork and these entries hit my sweet spot immediately. I’m just lucky that the narrative accompanying them was enough to do the linework justice because it would have been a shame to abandon these titles over sheer ugliness. Slow life definitely dodged that bullet. It is, without hyperbole, some of the best looking manga I've seen in years.

Kajiya De Hajimeru Isekai Slow Life is absolutely amazing. It’s an easy read filled with exceptional art, deft character work, and a world that is both compelling and growing steadily. Eizo is a great protagonist, easily to identify with and none of the edgelord OP, baggage most Isekai protags tend to have. Samia is a delightful love interests who carries a quiet strength and enjoyable naivety, which immediately endears and Riku is just plain hilarious. This laid back narrative of a smith who just wants to make dope sh*t, while being dope to his tiger wife and faithful apprentice is an distinct palate cleanser in a world of power fantasy saturated, isekai, trash. I love this book and feel like more people should have eyes on it so, you know, got put your eyes on it. You won’t be disappointed. Also, all the other titles i specifically mentioned. They’re worth a gander, too, especially Isekai De Skill Wo Kaitai Shitara Cheat Na Yome Ga Zoushoku Shimashita: Gainen Kousa No Structure and Lv2 kara Cheat datta Moto Yuusha Kouho no Mattari Isekai Life. Them sh*ts is just plain lovable and have two more of these objectively bias essays forthcoming. But that’s for later, for now, go read all of Kajiya De Hajimeru Isekai Slow Life, right now! Is totally worth! Plus, Samia is f*cking adorable, man. Seriously, tiger waifu is best girl!

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 2

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Chapter 1

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: Listen to Medieval Pagan Music, Runestones when reading this chapter.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, Boromir lives, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Worm Tongue Grima Wormtongue, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

When I said I hated reality, I didn't mean I wanted to be ripped from it without my family.

How they'd healed you so efficiently was beyond your comprehension, and nobody came to visit you. You couldn't bring yourself to eat much of what they brought you. To think you'd finally gotten your wish, you'd finally, somehow gotten sucked into some alternate reality where fiction was fact and what you'd known and lived in for your entire life was nonexistent... It was amazing. Surreal.

But you couldn't stay here. Not without your family. Not without your mom, not without [B/N], not without [S/N]. [F/N]... You wished you could've at least said goodbye to him. Life without the only people you'd ever had seemed unreal, incomprehensible, and too nightmarish. Too... Alone. You couldn't lose them.

For hours, you waited, pacing the ten-by-ten cell furiously. You had to find some way to get out, some way to find whatever portal you'd triggered... A sound at the barred door made you freeze in place, whipping around like a meerkat. It was Blue-Eyes, and some of his guards, one of which was unlocking the door. "Are you letting me go?"

Blue-Eyes stared at you as if trying to figure out whether or not you were desperate or stupid. Finally, he shook his head, probably deciding it was most likely both in your case. Well, screw him. "My father wishes to see you."

You glanced to each of the guards that came to grip either of your arms. "Is that... Bad?"

Blue-Eyes smirked. "It depends on his mood."

You glared at him as the other two Elves ushered you out of the door, onto the precariously thin ledge just outside of the cell. "You're trying to freak me out, aren't you?"

Blue-Eyes didn't answer, but took up the rear of the procession. They lead you to a platform overlooking all of the mazelike bridge-sets of the dungeons, and opened a pair of elaborately crafted doors. You balked, your jaw fell, your eyes widened as far as they'd go, stunned by the view.

The building you'd thought was surrounded by trees? It was a palace-city, which stretched back from the front wall as far as you could see. And it was made entirely of trees. Bridges of wood, twisting trunks, curling pillars of wood holding up a vaultrf ceiling which opened up to the orange-gold canopy, and beyond, the cloudless blue sky. Huge, arched windows with stained glass of amber filled the front wall, framed in wood, every few dozen feet, letting in a golden light that made the entire place seem more surreal than it already was. Leaves fell too slowly here, as if afraid that touching the ground would destroy their fabulousness. Elves inhabited every floor, sailing gracefully around like gorgeous swans that glared down at the sudden ugly duckling in their midst.

You felt tiny.

"This is your home?" You breathed in amazement, going where the guards took you on autopilot as you drank in the magnificent sight. "It's bigger than the town I live in!"

"This is just a small portion of it," Blue-Eyes had a hint of pride in his voice. You glanced over your shoulder to see him taking in the view with a faint smile on his face. "This part is my father's palace. Only nobles and militia reside here."

"It's beautiful..." You surveyed the palace in awe. I'm here. I'm really here! This is where I'm supposed to be! "Do you all have different floors? Is it flameproof? What happens if there's a forest fire? Can you even get forest fires here?"

"Why would you like to know?" Blue-Eyes demanded sharply, all kindness gone just as suddenly as it'd arrived, replaced with obvious suspicion and disdain.

You sighed, and dropped the subject. You wouldn't be finding anything out about this place today. The guards lead you up a short flight of stairs, which stopped at a huge circular pavilion, lined with a different type of guard in silver armor and navy-blue masks covering their lower faces. They stood almost impossibly still, and each carried a deadly spear.

More stairs, curving upward from each side of the pavilion, lead to a massive throne of carved wood. A regal Elf lounged on it, holding a curled wooden staff. He wore silver robes lined on the inside with a deep crimson, and a crown of thin branches styled like an elk's antlers --or maybe a thornbush-- sat atop his head of snow-white hair. Piercing blue eyes watched you from underneath strangely dark (And thick.) brows, but his catlike face was drawn into an unreadable expression.

Blue-Eyes stepped before you and the guards, and put his right arm over his chest, fist resting over his heart, as he bowed at the waist. "My king, we have brought the prisoner."

Inwardly, you winced. What kind of father forced his son to call him 'my king'?

The Elvenking flicked his fingers toward the guards on either side of you. "Leave us."

As they left with barely a clink of armor, Blue-Eyes grabbed you roughly by the shoulder, forcing you to your knees. His grip was like iron. He leaned down to snarl in your ear, "Show respect. His majesty has shown you a great kindness in allowing you to live."

Aw, fuck. You forgot that these guys had healed you. If Lord Fabulous over there had decided that by even so much as breathing near his lands you didn't deserve for your wounds to be healed, you'd be dead right now. "O-oh..." You quickly fixed your position, and even bowed your head with an arm over your chest, like Blue-Eyes had done. "Sorry..."

"My son tells me he found you trying to escape from warg-bound orcs on our northern border," Elvenking drawled slowly. Wargs... Those big dogs... Why does that sound familiar? Were they in a book? Mythology? A game? You couldn't remember, and Elvenking didn't give you time to. "You were found near-death, and without any apparent recollection of how you came to be there. Is that correct?"

You weren't sure how to adress him. "Yes, sir. My lord. Your majesty. I'm sorry."

Elvenking continued. "Would you like to elaborate on what you do remember?"

His tone wasn't kind. It was "Tell me bitch or I will throw you off into the chasms below."

And there were lots of chasms.

"You won't believe me," You started, and risked a glance; Blue-Eyes and Elvenking watched you warily. You could easily say you were from this world, but you didn't know anything about it. You couldn't lie believably. And even if you could, Elves can sense lies. You figured you'd get some extra points if you were totally honest. "But I'll tell you anyway." So you started out with your explanation of coming from a place called Earth, and that you'd been having a battle against some pretty fake boars played by unconvincing actors in Live Action Roleplay, when you'd fallen out of a tree, banged yourself up, and knocked yourself out. You then proceeded to explain about the big dogs and the orcs.

Elvenking lifted his chin slightly for the sole purpose of glowering at you. "Tell me more of this... Earth." You told him all you could. About cars and trains and jets and phones, then on to TVs and movies, and the huge skyscrapers, and how modern slang was different from what it had been, and how where you came from, Elves and orcs and dragons were all part of a genre known as fantasy. You even tried, for a brief period of time, to explain the subject of eMail and social sites like Tumblr and Twitter, but you gave up at their odd looks as they tried to comprehend the concept. You told them about all seven continents, presidents, world leaders, endless wars, hunger, trashing the planet and all other shit that was wrong with Earth.

You could've been there for hours explaining it all. When you were finished, Elvenking regarded you like he'd just came to the conclusion that you just weren't normal. "It seems, [Y/N], that your world is poisoned."

"It is!" You agreed excitedly. "Nobody cares about it anymore! It's why I grew up to be so... Un-normal, by my world's standards."

"I see..." Elvenking blinked slowly. "Then you are, since you are a spawn of this Earth, equal poison to this world, are you not?"

All the blood drained from your face. "What?"

He looked to Blue-Eyes. "Kill them."

Blue-Eyes gripped you by the back of the head, and your hands flew to his wrist as he yanked your head back. With a flourish, he drew one of his ivory-handled knives and pressed it to your throat. "Wait!" You screamed, and Elvenking raised a hand.

"Last words?" Blue-Eyes sneered.

"I don't know where I am," You choked out quickly; the cool steel of the blade was digging into your neck, cutting a fine line. "I don't know how I got here, but usually when stuff like this happens in movies, there's always a portal. Let me find it-- send an escort if you want! Take me back to where you found me, and I'll find the portal and go home. You'll never see me again!"

Elvenking dropped his hand, and your heart jumped, expecting your head to go with it. "Do you really think that is wise? I sense no dishonesty from you, but you could very well be a spy from your world, which seems so intent on conquering and destroying peace. I will not let this world, much less my own land, fall prey to yours."

"I won't tell anyone about you, or this place, I promise! I don't even know where this is!" Tears of frustration pricked the corners of your eyes. "I'm not a damn spy! I don't even know how I got here! Give me a couple of days to find the portal. Then I'll leave. What if there was a way for you to know I'll keep my word? Like a blood-oath, or something!"

"And if asked where you had gone?" Blue-Eyes countered, cocking an eyebrow.

"I'll tell them I went to Narnia, dammit! They never take me seriously anyway!" Your eyes widened. "This isn't Narnia, is it? Narnia didn't have Elves!"

"No, this is not... Narnia." Elvenking replied. "And you will not know the name of this land. You have three days to find your portal. You will be accompanied by a small assembly of my best warriors. If you do not find the door to your world within the given three days... I will give the order to kill you."

You swallowed hard. The steel dragged across your throat painfully. "Th-that sounds fair." It didn't, but, you just rolled with it.

"Legolas, you will go with them," Elvenking said; something clicked in your mind. You knew that name... You knew that name. But... Why?

Blue-Eyes-- Legolas-- nodded and finally removed the blade from your throat. Lord Fabulous inclined his head once, and you vaguely thanked him, too concerned with how you knew Blue-Eyes's name. He kept a tight, painful grip on your arm, actually digging his fingers in until you were pretty sure he cut off most of your circulation.

When you reached your cell, he thrust you in roughly, making you stumble forward. You whipped around to glare at him. "Could you be careful, Blue-Eyes?"

He paused in locking the door. Confused, he brought his sapphire eyes to meet your [e/c] ones. "What did you just call me?"

"Blue-Eyes," You suddenly felt a little embarassed about picking a nickname for him. Shit, you'd never let that bother you before. He could screw off. "I didn't know your name until a few minutes ago, so... I just picked something to call you."

He raised an eyebrow incredulously. "And you chose to call me after my eyes." It wasn't a question; it was a statement.

You flushed a little, glancing to the side with only your eyes nervously, then back to him. "Uh... Yeah. That's pretty much it."

He rolled his eyes and walked away. Before you even realized what you were doing, you'd ran to the bars and grabbed hold of them, pressing your cheek up against them to watch him walk away. "Blue-Eyes!" He stopped, but didn't turn around. "Your name... Legolas. I think I've heard it before."

He turned his head slightly, like he might be interested, but your hopes fell through the floor when he just continued walking. You immediately wished you'd've said something to get his attention, so he'd come talk to you. Like, Hey, I'm really a spy for Earth, MWAHAHAHAHAHA.

Ok, maybe not that drastic...

But you did wish he'd stayed to talk to you. Even if he'd tried to kill you. Legolas... You slid down the bars, sitting on the floor. Your knees came up to your chest of their own accord. Legolas... What do your Elf eyes see? You knew that you knew his name, but where did you know it from?

They're taking...

Aw, damn. It was right on the tip of your brain. Lord Fabulous looked really familiar, too. He reminded you of Ronan the Accuser from Marvel. Why couldn't you remember? Was it a side-effect of being tossed to another reality? What else did you not remember...?

You sat there for hours, until one of the guards brought you some food. You picked at the meal, as a tune got stuck in your head that you couldn't quite place...

Home is behind...

The world ahead...

Here, the song fizzed out like a radio signal, then you got another bit of it...

All shall fade..

All shall...

...Fade...

~ominous time skip~

You, Blue-Eyes, and a team of Elvish warriors like the ones who'd helped you escape the dogs and orcs set out at dawn, which was way too early for someone used to getting up at noon most of the time. All the Elves showed off their glowy perfect selves by leaping gracefully to pebble to pebble like the regal shits they were, including Blue-Eyes.

Actually, scratch that. Blue-Eyes was the fucking king of being a show-off.

They moved fast, and you were surprisingly able to keep up with them. Not one of the Elves wanted to speak to you; they seemed to consider you an abomination.

You kinda seen what they were getting at, though. You were still in your bright white, blue, and black sci-fi Elf outfit from yesterday, complete with the latex ears and bright blue faux-hawk, which had become much less faux-hawk-y after sleep. You were covered in dried blood, dirt, and parts of your outfit were ripped. You'd tried to clean up as best as you could when you were woken up by using the water from the cup you'd been given to scrub your face and arms with the stunningly clean sheets on your cot.

In other words, you stuck out like a bright blue flower in a field of dark grass. You didn't know the way back to the river, so most of the Elves surrounded you discreetly while Blue-Eyes took the lead. Every one of them had a bow or sword or knife out and ready, so one wrong sniff and you were dead.

You traveled for about an hour before anyone spoke. It was Blue-Eyes, to your surprise. "Why is your hair blue?"

"Huh?" Of all possible questions, that one hadn't been expected. Though, that was kind of dumb of you, to just assume they wouldn't eventually wonder if everybody from your world had crazy hair colors.

"Your hair," Blue-Eyes specified, sounding condescending, like his hair was much better than yours because it was long and perfect and almost white. "Why is it blue?"

"Oh," You cleared your throat. "It's dye. My real color is [h/c]. Lots of people do it where I come from. You can dye it a natural color, or an unnatural color, like so. Some keep their natural color and just add streaks that aren't their natural colors. Some dye their full hair, like me, for the sole purpose of cosplay--uh, dressing up as made-up characters for events--and others dye it just for fun. Or to stand out, I guess. But I wouldn't advise it. It ruins your hair. I just don't care, though."

"Why would anyone want to do that?" One Elf asked in horror, then sneered at you. "I suppose those of your world simply do not appreciate the naturalities of the body."

You shrugged. You should see the LGTBQ+ community... But you didn't feel like explaining any of that to these people right now. Especially when they obviously looked down on stuff like that.

"And what character are you meant to be?" Blue-Eyes asked in a challenging tone.

You flushed. "... A sci-fi Elf."

"...Sci-Fi?" A different Elf asked. "What is that?"

"Science fiction," You specified. "Basically, I'm supposed to be an Elf from another planet. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Is that why you have pointed ears?" Blue-Eyes questioned, and you nodded.

"Yeah. They're latex-- a kind of rubber. Wait, do you even have rubber here?" You waved a hand. "Nevermind. They can come off pretty easily, though. Speaking of which, I'd better take them off before they cause damage..." You reached up to one of your ears, despite the looks the Elves gave you.

Blue-Eyes stopped for a minute, halting the whole group. He looked at you like you were crazy. "Whyever would you put something on your body that could cause damage?"

You blinked. "That is a very good question, Blue-Eyes, and one I don't exactly have an answer for. Almost everybody does it at some point." You felt for the flap of latex, but you couldn't find it. Hell, you couldn't even find the edge of the prosthetic. "Oh shit..." You breathed.

"What is it?" Legolas huffed, and turned around impatiently.

Your eyes widened; you couldn't let them think you were panicking, but, well, you were, and shortly after, you did. "I-I can't get it off."

Blue-Eyes's brow furrowed. "Will it cause permanent damage if they are not removed?"

"Maybe? Yes? My skin goes red and itchy and starts to swell up if I touch latex for too long, so, I'm gonna go with a definitely on this one. Just keep walking. I should have them off by the time we get to the river."

But you didn't. There was no flap, no edge of the latex. If it weren't for the fact that you did put latex ears on, you wouldn't have known you had latex ears on. A suspicion grew in your core, so you grabbed hold of the pointed tip, and pinched down with your nails hard and fast. "Ow!"

Every Elf turned to look at you as you pulled your hand away. Some blood was on the tips of your fingers. "Why, in the name of the Valar, would you hurt yourself?" Legolas sighed like a parent lecturing a child, but you were staring at your fingertips in shock. Valar...

"I'm an Elf..."

"I beg your pardon?" Apparently the mere thought of being the same race as you was too much for Blue-Eyes to handle. It was fucking offensive.

"I'm an Elf!" You shouted, and snatched your hand to your chest. "The ears won't come off! They bled and hurt when I pinched them! I'm a damn Elf! When I fell through that portal, I was a normal human! Now I'm an Elf! I don't know whether I should be freaking out or excited!"

Legolas rolled his eyes. "It won't be permanent. Obviously, here you're an Elf. There, you're not. When we get you through the portal, you'll be a human again."

"But..." I don't want to be human... Yet, you were also trying desperately to get back to your family, on pain of death and loss of cool fantasy land. If only you'd wake up to learn you were in some kind of damn coma...

You waved your hands. "Ok. Alright, fine. Is this where you found me?"

Legolas gestured to a particular rock. "The exact spot. Do you think you could find your way from here?"

You smirked; you'd always been good at knowing your way. "Please. I was born with an innate sense of direction. Now how the fuck do we get over this damn river?"

Legolas grinned. "You're an eldar now, aren't you? See if you can get across it yourself." Eldar... That had to mean an Elf of some sort, right?

You stared him down for a second, hands on your hips. He smirked cockily back, pure smugness on his expression. "Ok. Sure. What's life without risk?"

So you took a deep breath, and headed for the opposite bank.

You and your siblings had this special hiking trail in a park, and on this trail was a creek slash pond area. Several of them. You'd always cross the creek carefully, each step placed just so, and quietly, too, so that you could see the frogs-- it was a frog hunt without actually killing said frogs. The exercise gave you all good balance and a know-how for shit not that rock.

But this river was much different than the creek back home. It was clear, and clean, and strong as fuck, so one wrong move and you'd be whooshed away, with Blue-Eyes giving Lord Fabulous the excuse of "Oh they died in the river tragically oops..."

The rocks were unstable. The river swelled over them every so often to make them slippery. Your rubber boots were less than zero help. But you were an Elf now, right? So that had to make you unfairly agile. You took another deep inhale, then took what you hoped was a graceful leaping step, only for you to slip and nearly bust your ass. Elvish powers have to be learned. Noted.

When you finally got to the other side of the bank, you were stiff, and your heart was pounding. Behind you, the Elves sneered and jeered and all kinds of other "eers". You whipped around, and flipped them off. They looked somewhere between shocked, offended, and terrified. You realized they might not know the symbolism of it, and might think you were cursing them. When they reached you, Blue-Eyes was the first to demand what that was all about. "What was that all about?!"

You panicked under pressure. "U-uh... I-it's a minor insult where I come from. Very minor. We use it frequently as a joke among close friends. A friendly insult. Yeah. Sorry. Won't happen again." He totally didn't believe you. So you quickly changed the subject. "O-oh, uh, this way!"

Scenery seen at night was harder to recognize during the day, and vise versa, but you knew you hadn't gone too far up the river when you came across some massive paw prints and scrape marks from where you'd skidded down the bank. Another bonus clue was the scrap of bright blue fabric, from your skirt/tunic thing, hanging precariously from a branch.

It took you the better part of an hour to find the tree you'd woken up at. "Okay, this it it."

"Are you certain?" Blue-Eyes asked you.

"Wait." You laid down, and yep, everything was the same, except in daylight. Legolas frowned at you as you stood, probably ashamed to even breathe the same air as you. "Yeah, this is it."

Blue-Eyes ordered something in Elvish, jerking his head. The Elves immediately set about making camp. "So, in your world, you fell from the highest branches of an oak, yes?"

"Yep, breaking several things in the process."

"And you lost consciousness after you hit the forest floor?"

"Yep."

Legolas hummed and looked up into the canopy. "Then by all means... The portal should be where you laid."

You glanced down at your feet before bouncing up and down a little. "Nope. Nothing."

Legolas huffed. "You may have to try climbing this tree and falling into this spot."

A deranged laugh escaped your throat, which you quickly stifled. "I'm sorry, but are you crazy? What if I die? We don't have the same healing stuff as you guys unless you can pay for it up front, and I'm very poor. So is all of my family. We can't afford that shit. So if I die, what's the point in going back?"

Legolas glared at you. "I didn't mean from very high. Just high enough to hopefully send you through, but not high enough to kill you. Your healers will mend broken bones, will they not?"

You scoffed dejectedly. "Yeah, but for a pretty hefty bill..." You threw your hands up. "Whatever. I'll die anyway if I don't try. Might as well." With Legolas watching you carefully to make sure you didn't try to jump from tree to tree, you started to climb.

Was it really only yesterday that you'd been having a fun, standard LARPing day with your family and [F/N]? The real world seemed like fantasy, now. This felt real. This felt like where you should be. But if your family weren't here, you wouldn't be able to enjoy it. You'd always feel as if you abandoned them. You wondered, did time pass differently? Did it go faster there, and slower here? Or was it the other way around? Would you find the portal, and return to the real world to find your family long gone and the year a thousand into the future? Then you'd wish you'd never left this place. Or would you find not a moment had passed, and to them, it was still the terrifying moment of not knowing if you were dead or alive, to find you unharmed? Would you then be able to convince them to fall through, even on the chance that the portal could only be used a handful of times, and if it did work, would a millenia had passed here? Even Blue-Eyes would've aged by that point, however slightly.

Once you'd reached a suitable height, you braced yourself against the trunk. "How's this?"

Legolas nodded. "Fine. Jump when you're ready.”

You took a minute... Ah... Better get this over with. One does not simply... Damn, what was that meme? "Ok, ready when you are."

Legolas stepped back, and waited; you hesitated, then jumped, and you felt deja vu as you barreled toward the ground, landing flat on your back. The impact knocked the wind out of you, and you felt a painful snap in your right ribcage. You kept your eyes closed; you heard nothing aside from the birds in the trees. You hoped, then hoped some more, expecting at any moment to hear the frantic footfalls of your family rushing to help you...

"Well, I see I was entirely wrong on the matter," Blue-Eyes stated simply, and you frowned. Fuck...

"Ya think? I'm still seeing priss-ass Elves in a goddamn forest that isn't the one I fell in. Fuck you, Blue-Eyes, for having me break a rib for no good damned reason." You glared at him as you tried to sit up, barely making it halfway before Legolas helped you, albeit roughly.

"Watch your tongue," Blue-Eyes snapped. "If it were not for us, you would be dead."

You pursed your lips. "You're gonna kill me anyway just for breathing on your trees, so why didn't you just let me die?"

For a second, Legolas seemed to feel pity for you. "I am sorry. Truly, I am. Perhaps if we fail to locate your way home, I could convince my father to refrain from executing you."

You huffed, wincing as the action hurt your broken-on-some-level ribs. "Why? So I can live the rest of my suddenly immortal life in a dark cell, underground, just for existing? Hell no. I'd rather die."

"Perhaps you could have another use," Legolas offered, and you shook your head.

"Never in my life have I been considered useful." You eyed Blue-Eyes disdainfully. "Ever. By anybody. If you can find a place for somebody like me that doesn't involve imprisonment, fine. But I won't be able to live with myself if I can't find a way back to Earth. I need my family. They're all I ever had."

Legolas knelt beside you. "You... Seem to be very close with them. You love this..." He looked off into the trees, searching for the word. "...Life, so much, and have wished for it for so long, but you'd give it up, to be with them in a world that does not want you... You have a brave heart."

You took the compliment. "Thanks. Now let's find this damn portal, shall we? I've got a couple more ribs to bust."

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​

@taurlel​ @hauntedsiriel​

[smokeybrandreviews]

This is the Good Life

I read a ton of manga. I find the content coming out of Japan to be far more genuine and creative than the sh*tshow comic industry we have here in the states. I’m not saying there isn’t good content to be found in the massive annals of Marvel and DC, i am in particular love with whatever the f*ck is going on with the X-titles right now, but that is the exception, not the rule. Japan is different. Even the most blatant shill of a cash-in has a unique spin to it. When the moe boom happened and we were inundated with slice of life fodder for a decades, shows like Higurashi, Toradora, Haruhi, Lucky Star, and basically anything out of Kyoto animation, were absolute masterpieces. Each tells a distinct story, adapting that cutesy art style to their respective strengths, and it worked beautifully. The homogeneity of formulaic content here in the US, isn’t really a concern overseas and that is a wonderful thing. It makes for amazing storytelling and a creativity freedom, even when awash in trend or fad. I say all of this to preface the fact that Kajiya De Hajimeru Isekai Slow Life is chef kiss levels of shine, even if it is a manga staunchly entrenched in the grating isekai fad.

Now, i say “grating” in the glib sense because i genuinely love the isekai genre. I have for decades, going back to Escaflowne, El Hazard, .Hack, and Rayearth. What i think most people are frustrated with, is the OP protagonist in these stories. You can only identify with some, overwhelming, power fantasy, so many times going into these tales. How do you frame that narrative? how do you keep it compelling? You don’t. Entries like Overlord and Tensei Shitara Suraimu Datta Ken do a great job avoiding that stagnation by building out the world around their ridiculously plot-armored mains but that doesn’t work all of the time. If you want a character driven narrative, you have to build great characters. You have to make your principal cast affable, flawed, and fun. I think that’s the strength in Kajiya De Hajimeru Isekai Slow Life. You almost immediately fall in love with the cast you’re going to sped all of your time with and that’s absolutely necessary because this story is as much about the world building as it is about the main cast, themselves.

Slow Life follows Eizo Tanya, who is hit by a truck in the process of saving a cat, who turned out to be an inter-dimensional god or something. Since the Kitty deity f*cked up and was almost “killed’, causing Eizo’s death in turn, it offers to reincarnate him into a brand new world with a mad overpowered cheat skill. Eizo gives it a thought and chooses - blacksmithing! You see, Eizo was a salaryman, bitterly unhappy with his life in the old times. He wanted, more than anything, to be able to work with his hands in the new world so, instead of asking for he power to be a Hero or some vicious Demon Lord, he just wanted the ability to make dope sh*t in the woods. Kitty Deity is a little surprised but grants Eizo his wish and, boom! We have the foundation for a pretty delightful romp. Stuff happens, Eizo gets a tiger wife and a dwarf apprentice. His craftsmanship is the best in the world and his tale toward legendary status begins.

The simplicity of this narrative is one that has a level of accessibility not found in most isekai. The simple desire of a man, overworked and looking to be fulfilled, to find value, in what he does with his life, really resonates with cats like me who have been in the workforce for decades. I left my job a year ago to pursue my dream of crating so i identify with Eizo’s passion to be more than just a cg in a machine. More than that, i love the way he is written. Eizo feels real, like a proper person lost in a world of fantasy and magic. The supporting cast is also amazing and decently developed. I immediately fell in love with tiger waifu, Samia. She is capable, tenacious, curious, and f*cking adorable. There isn’t a ton of groundwork about her past being laid but i have a feeling we’ll definitely get into that as the narrative develops and i can’t wait to see where that leads. Newcomer to the story is the dwarf apprentice, Riku Moritz. We haven’t had a great deal of time with her so far, but she comes across as a studious, knowledgeable, junior who yearns to be the best at her craft. She reminds me of Miles Morales from Into the Spider-Verse, to Eizo’s Peter B. Parker and i adore that type of dynamic. We are only a handful of chapters in, but this story seems like it has legs and i look forward to where it goes in the future. I’d say it’s a slow burn, but it really isn’t.

I was hooked from chapter one and a lot of that, aside from the great writing and developing character work, stems from the artwork. My, goodness, is Slow Life gorgeous! There is a purposeful elegance to how these lines and strokes come together. The line work is clean and precise, granting each panel thjust the right amount of detail hile staying true to the artist's personal vision. It's actually very refreshing to see. The style is very distinct and carries it's own, unique hallmarks, similar to Toriyama or Oda, but slightly more relaistic than those. I am absolutely in love with it. Like, i follow a few trash rags because the art is dope and immediately hooked me. Isekai Meikyuu de Dorei Harem Wo, Gunbured X Sisters, or Kouya Ni Kemono Doukokusu immediately come to mind, all decent in their own right, but it’s very obvious the strength of these entries lies in the art. True to form, it took a while for me to get into their respective narratives and, in all honesty, they’ve gotten pretty good but those first few chapters were a bit rocky. The art kept me coming back and now, these three are some of my favorite titles to read. Slow Life did not have that issue. The art immediately took my breath away. It felt like cracking open Tsugumomo, BLEACH, Lv2 kara Cheat datta Moto Yuusha Kouho no Mattari Isekai Life, Gleipnir, Meikyuu Black Company, or Isekai De Skill Wo Kaitai Shitara Cheat Na Yome Ga Zoushoku Shimashita: Gainen Kousa No Structure. That’s a lot of titles but i am a slut for great, unique, artwork and these entries hit my sweet spot immediately. I’m just lucky that the narrative accompanying them was enough to do the linework justice because it would have been a shame to abandon these titles over sheer ugliness. Slow life definitely dodged that bullet. It is, without hyperbole, some of the best looking manga I've seen in years.

Kajiya De Hajimeru Isekai Slow Life is absolutely amazing. It’s an easy read filled with exceptional art, deft character work, and a world that is both compelling and growing steadily. Eizo is a great protagonist, easily to identify with and none of the edgelord OP, baggage most Isekai protags tend to have. Samia is a delightful love interests who carries a quiet strength and enjoyable naivety, which immediately endears and Riku is just plain hilarious. This laid back narrative of a smith who just wants to make dope sh*t, while being dope to his tiger wife and faithful apprentice is an distinct palate cleanser in a world of power fantasy saturated, isekai, trash. I love this book and feel like more people should have eyes on it so, you know, got put your eyes on it. You won’t be disappointed. Also, all the other titles i specifically mentioned. They’re worth a gander, too, especially Isekai De Skill Wo Kaitai Shitara Cheat Na Yome Ga Zoushoku Shimashita: Gainen Kousa No Structure and Lv2 kara Cheat datta Moto Yuusha Kouho no Mattari Isekai Life. Them sh*ts is just plain lovable and have two more of these objectively bias essays forthcoming. But that’s for later, for now, go read all of Kajiya De Hajimeru Isekai Slow Life, right now! Is totally worth! Plus, Samia is f*cking adorable, man. Seriously, tiger waifu is best girl!

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

Surprise Me

I went through an emotional roller coaster and I have this story all planned out! This chapter took me 3 (almost 4) days!!! I am so excited to share this with you guys and i hope you love it as much as I do. 

Chapter 1    

 Chapter 2 = May 17th

Chapter 3= May 24th

Chapter 4= TBD

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: None, but LOTS OF EMOTIONS and fluffy lowkey flirting

Paring: Bucky x Female Bookstore reader

Summary: Bucky finally decided to go out to the city. ( I really want to say more but this story will most likely make you a wreck and I don’t want to spoil it). All I can say is, be warned, enjoy it, laugh, smile, cry, and squeal if you must because you have just signed yourself to the RMS- I’m gonna fucking die if you don’t update this shit- ship. 

Go out in the city, said Sam.

 It would be fun! Sam said. 

Bucky couldn’t even keep a straight face and frowned. Well I sure as hell don’t see any fun, Sam. He said to himself as if he was conversing with the man in his head. 

New York was still New York. The city. The taxis, the food stands, some things were still the same. Others, not so much. 

I really have been missing out a lot, haven’t I? He asked himself as he looked at a big billboard that mentioned something about love and car insurance. Are they really comparing love to that? He scoffed in disbelief. He knew they had to be joking, right? Or is love now just different? He had never really fallen in love before but he could imagine how it would feel like. Sure, he would be interested in a girl; like Dolores Huerta, but he could never say what it felt like to be in love.

 Bucky shook his head and looked at the floor. 

Putting both hands on his waist, he shook his head and looked around, “I gotta get outta here. Somewhere where it doesn’t feel packed.” and that’s what he did.

 After passing a few blocks that mostly consisted of apartments, and occasional small businesses, he stopped in front of one particularly odd place. He couldn’t recall seeing it before, but something about this business screamed old and new, and he liked it. 

To his surprise, the building was located on a corner- clean, but it held a rustic atmosphere. The doors were a dark shiny red and the squared windows were clean and their frames were as dark as a polished shoe. It read, “Antilly’s Books”. 

Books, he thought. How long had it been since he had read a good book? Too long. The bookstore seemed to be secluded from the city. It didn’t even feel like New York just by looking at the little bookstore. There were rarely any people in there and he felt somewhat relieved. He needed  something like this. 

Stepping in was also a relief. As he opened the door, a little bell rung, announcing his presence. He was a bit startled, but saw no one in sight except for a girl. The girl seemed to be too focused to even notice his presence as she had her body slightly crouched, eye leveled to the books, going through each book with her index finger as she muttered her way through. Bucky couldn’t help but stare in awe. The way her hair was tied back into a ponytail and the way she would push her glasses up the bridge of her nose to keep them from slipping seemed like such a simple act in a simple life. He wanted to be like her. She would probably be studying by the looks of her age; something in the arts-maybe even be in a relationship. She probably met her boyfriend in a shop like this, he scoffed to himself and smiled. He would probably like the same things as her, they would eventually marry, travel the world if they’re interested, and have kids. She looks like she could have 2-3 kids and maybe even a- wait what am I thinking? He scolded himself shaking his head. I’m already invested in a strangers life and they don’t even know- THEY’RE LOOKING AT ME RIGHT NOW SHIT-

“Oh hi! I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were here for a while, you probably need help looking for something, do you?” she asked as she swiftly approached him. Her ponytail swaying back and forth. She works here, he thought as he drew a sharp breath.

What am I supposed to say? “Uhh yeah. I don’t really know where to start-“

She laughs and beams him a smile. “Well that’s what they all say. Lucky for you, it’s my job to help. Now tell me, how often do you read?”

Well it’s been decades- “just a few months.” He quickly said.

She gave him a look. A look that he had never gotten used to. The one his mom would give him when he’d lie. He hated it and almost felt like confessing.

“Years.” She said affirmatively before nodding her head, “It’s been years. You haven’t read a book in years. But there’s no shame in that. I’m glad you stopped by because we’re gonna get you back on track honey.”

Honey. He thought. Is she calling me that just for me? Or has she called other clients of hers that haven’t read a book in years honey?

“Now, tell me something,” she said as she started leading the way, “do you prefer BIG chunks of books like 500 page books? Or generally short ones?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “Whatever you want.” He put his hands on his pockets and a small smile played on his lips. “Surprise me.”

She turned to him, already looking at a few bookshelves and raised a surprised eyebrow at him, “Surprise you? I’m not going to surprise you. I’m going to blow your mind and I just know how.” She said the last part challengingly as if this were a dare.

“Follow me,” she said as he followed. Her back now facing him, “Oh I bet, you’re going to love this. You’re going to love it so much, you’ll even come back again just to ask me for another recommendation! The look on your face! Ha!” She said as she shot her hands up, walking through the isles like a mad scientist that had just found a cure to a disease.

“That is, if  I like it.” 

“Oh, you will. I’m certain of it.”

Bucky said no more and decided to keep his mouth shut. He just held a smile to himself and continued to follow the woman in the bookstore. From what it seemed, it looked like they were the only ones in the store. Whatever Sam intended, he didn’t know if he would consider this as fun but it was definitely something.

“Have you found it?” He asked after the minute she stopped at an isle, hands behind his back like a gentleman.

She scanned the shelves like earlier, crouched and index finger roaming each and every one of the books. She finally stopped at one and quickly pulled it out. “Aha! Okay! I found it! Close your eyes.” She instructed.

“What? Close my eyes? What am I- t-ten to you?” He asked followed by a loud shhhhh from her. 

“Just do as I say, okay?”

“Okay,”

Bucky could feel her pull the book from behind her back and was that a smile he was sensing?

“Since you haven’t read a book in over a couple of years, I thought it’d be a good idea to stick to something...classic.”

Classic  he repeated. Classic sounds good.

“I hope this is to your liking. You seem like you would but go ahead, open your eyes.”

When he opened his eyes, he instantly saw a copy of “The Beautiful and Damned.” one of his favorites. He actually had the opportunity to read the book before there was even a war to go to.

It was quite simple actually, there was a bookstore near where he lived. His mother would work here and there to make ends meet and they had just enough to go to school and with the money he’d get for lunch, he’d take portions of that money and save enough to buy a book or two. One day, when he was 16, he had saved what seemed to be enough so he took his money to go to the bookstore. There, he noticed that it wouldn’t be possible for him to buy a book until another week, maybe two.

f  l  a  s  h  b  a  c  k: 

“What seems to be the problem, young man?” A man that seemed to be the owner asked.

“Nothin’ sir.”

“Oh c’mon boy. You know that’s a lie. Really, what’s on your head?”

Biting his lip hesitantly, he answers, “it’s just that...I don’t have enough money to buy a book.”

He looks over to the man who nods and looks away in thought.

“I see. Why don’t you pick a book you like?” 

Didn’t he hear me? I told him I didn’t have enough money.

“But sir-“

“Yes I heard you. I’m not that old you know,” he joked. “Pick out a book you like, then come see me at the front desk. We’ll sort something out young man.”

He nodded and thanked him.

One thing that he never seemed to forget was his respect for the elderly. His mother taught him that (along with respecting women). It was natural of him to always be respectful towards elders. A habit of his.

After a few minutes of not finding anything, the man approached him again

“I’ve seen you have been having trouble picking a book. Other boys your age would just stick to putting a Huxley cover over a gentleman's magazine and sneak them through thinking an old man like me wouldn’t notice.” He said letting out a small laugh at the end.

“You seem like you need something new, refreshing. You need change, boy. And I know just how to help.” He said before speaking up shortly,

“Follow me.”

It seemed just right. Behind the counter, the man pulled out a book that seemed to be new. The man had the book in his hands and waved it to him.

“The Beautiful and Damned?” 

The man nodded, “I know, I know. It doesn’t have a title necessarily appealing to ‘men’ but it’s brand new. Not one single other store has a copy and the authors friend actually gave it to me. Met the author actually. A nice fella he is. Give it a read, see if you like it. I would’ve liked to have something like that when I was your age so think of it as a gift, alright boy?”

Bucky’s eyes widened at the amount of information the man had given him, “Y-yes sir.” He stutters at a loss for words, “Thank you. I-I don’t know how to thank you.”

The man smiled at him faintly and waved his hand down wards, “Please, there’s no need for that but you can start by calling me by my name. I’m Stuart Lieber.”

E N D  of  f l a s h b a c k : 

“Do you like it?” She had asked.

“Well Darlin’, I haven’t even read it yet.” He lied. “What made you want to give me this?”

“You looked like you needed something, different. You seem like you need something new, refreshing. You need change.” Her words echoed in his mind.

She seemed to struggle with her words before speaking up. “I know it probably doesn’t look as appealing as it would. Most men don’t read any of Fitzgerald’s works and stick to things more…”

“...more…?”

She sighed in defeat. “Explicit.” She said disappointingly. “It’s a shame really, not many people have such appreciation for literature as they did in the 20’s or 40’s.” a hint of sadness lingered around her voice.

She spoke up and startled a small laugh in hopes to break the awkward silence, “Kinda makes you wish you were born in another era, right? But that’s enough of me talking.” She said before shaking her head with a smile in attempt to try to forget what she just said.

There was so much going inside Bucky’s mind. Lots of thinking. Maybe this was the first time in years he’s been thinking too much.

Little did he know, he didn’t say anything-causing the woman in front of him to start mentally panicking. 

Oh God, she thinks, This is what happens when you’re too nice you start to freak them out. Look at him, he’s thinking, contemplating on whether he should leave and how he’s gonna do it without ‘hurting me’. 

“I see what you mean,” Bucky said softly after a moment of thinking, “Things aren’t the same here as they were back then. People change, life changes. It’s not like we can really go back to before but we always have-“

“-little reminders?”

Bucky presses his lips into a straight line trying not to smile but the woman in front of him notices a small smile, “Yeah,” he says, “little reminders.”

She nods and smiles as well feeling like she just discovered something, “Okay,” she smiles, “In how much time do you think you can finish that book?”

Bucky feels a boyish smile creep up but is quick to replace it with a smirk, feeling his older self shine.

 He smirks, and holds the book with his right hand, slightly leaning it against him, “How much time?” He asks.

 Before he can even open his lips again, the woman speaks up. “You know what?” She asks as she puts her hand out to stop him, “Surprise me,” 

.

.

.

A/N: IM HONESTLY SO PROUD OF THIS??? Did you guys get the references? (Hint: Stan LEE). 

also, want to be added to a tag list so you know when the next chapter comes up? Message me with the name of the book (I have another series too) so I don’t get confused lol

[daydreamindollie]

m.yg | The Innocent and The Sinful

Fragments Series: Just another incomplete written piece/plan/idea - not edited, not proofread, just raw writing w/ my notes 

|| opposites attract oneshot series ||

A/N: Yoongi’s one, I actually dusted up quite a bit so there aren’t any notes, just pure writing. I was ready to write an extended, very steamy scene in this but I guess that intimidated me and made me mentally shut down when writing this knowing that I had planned such a scene for the future of this oneshot. Don’t get me wrong, I was really excited to be writing smut for the first time...but, I also get nervous really easily and I’m a perfectionist+procrastinator - not a good combination! 

WARNING: May contain some conflict and violence nothing 

✚          ✚          ✚

The probability that two drastically opposing worlds should collide was highly unlikely, even more so the fact that they should harmonise under aesthetic melodies, and yet, despite this common perspective, it seems as though the path of two repelling ways of life magnetise along their way, and consequently, cross directions.

Such an innocuous stammer within one's path appears as irrelevant as the frequent act of unnamed strangers brushing shoulders, but an interaction must never be underestimated as the world's way of making an individual's tilted stage right again, can be a very peculiar thing.

☆

A night out with the usual gaggle of friends was well underway, falling upon its second hour the instant the clock ticked past eleven thirty (evening).

It was clear from the many blokes, who flashed ill grins upon catching the glint of uncertainty in your eyes, that this was an unfamiliar atmosphere for you, and suddenly, your friends' offer for free food and subsequent peaceful nights-in, no longer seemed worth-it as the sweat of discomfort tickled your brow.

"You look very tense there sweetpea!" Jia, the usual 'mother' of the group and your roommate, shouted from beside you, barely succeeding in overcoming the suffocating blare of music, "Have a drink and lighten up!" she encouraged, being strangely negligent to the obvious consequence of alcohol, especially in your circumstance. Not only were you a lightweight but everybody else within your group was drunk beyond the line of no return and someone needed to be responsible. 

It wasn't going to be Jia, definitely not - leaving only you.

"No thank you Unnie, I think I'll just go out for some fresh air." hefting a heavy sigh, you flashed a reassuring smile before making your way out. A clearing of the mind requires a cleaning of the air.

☆

"You're telling me," Yoongi stressed, an influential figure despite his diminutive build, "that nothing can be done to solve this." his voice hard and his eyes cold, a visible shiver rattled the spine of his unfortunate man of business.

"I'm sorry b-" the man attempted, only to be talked over by a booming voice.

"'Sorry' isn't going to fix things you little bastard, now, if you don't want my men coming after you, and the people you care about, then you better shut that bullshit-talking mouth of yours and get things done because I don’t pay you to hear crap fall out your asscrack of a mouth - got it?" the fire in his eyes was raging and untamed, hoping to rampage and set ablaze all that dared confront it - the poor man before him being the first victim, with licking flames already setting his toe-curled feet ablaze.

"Y-Yes S-“

"Now get the fuck out of my sight." once the stammering man had finally left, pudgy face sweating bullets of liquid fat and spindly thin hair clumping at his expansive forehead, Yoongi turned to his men. There was evident stress knotting his usually undisturbed brows. "I'm going for a smoke. I'll be back in thirty minutes.”

☆

Hissing at the bite of your stiletto heels, you attempt to savour the crisp night air without grimacing at the filth surrounding you, only able to fully disregard it by tilting your head towards the star-dusted night sky. Slowly, your mind began to clear and a small smile pinched your flustered cheeks, bad experiences truly brought out the good in all the little things - much like the majestic beauty of the night.

So spellbound by the charm of the late evening, you were innocent to the approaching danger, coming at you in the form of an intoxicated, stout man, drenched in a scented smog of liquor. He had no real intention of anything ill and would've let you be if he hadn't drowned himself in the immoral fluid beforehand.

Now, all acts and thoughts were unfiltered and ethics were cleared off his table of prioritised considerations.

At the sight of your figure, hugged tightly by the dark fabric of your dress, an animalistic growl of unadulterated desire left his chapped lips and, noticing your impervious state, he strides forward carelessly.

Taking a chance on his luck, he smiled satisfactorily when he stumbled into your frail figure and smirked at the vulnerable squeal that left your delicate lips when his heavyset frame fell onto yours and forced you against the cold brick wall.

☆

Regardless of Yoongi's pronounced reliance on nicotine during times of distress, he never truly liked the act of smoking; he always grimaced in the seconds leading up to lighting the cancer stick before inhaling a breath.

Another thing that he absolutely detests, in spite of his criminal line of work, was the sight and racket of harassment, especially now, when his wick of tolerance had already been burned up to only a hair's breadth from the night's deficient chain of events. Using up the last of that wick, Yoongi could only stand for less than a minute before he stuffed the cigarette back in its packet and approached the inebriated attacker.

"Hey, asshat," he grumbled, waiting for the man to turn before landing a heavy blow to his jaw, knocking him out cold with the propelled force of his frustrations. It was definitely a good way of de-stressing and Yoongi would have taken up boxing if he wasn't so indolent with the burdens of his position. Hence why, when Yoongi knew the harasser was down for the count, at just one hit, he stepped away and finally lit his cigarette - he probably wouldn't finish it completely after such relief. 

He didn't care for the girl the man was molesting, he only wanted peace and quiet when having his smoke but probably secretly wanted to punch a man as well - any man - after such vexing news was delivered to him tonight. For that reason, he didn't pay you any mind and selfishly savoured the silence as he took a drag. 

This man was something unworldly to you. He had taken on a bozo twice his size and won with just a single hit, now, he was lighting a cigarette, going about his business as if what he had just done was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Stepping closer and scrutinising his anatomy within the moonlight revealed how truly exquisite he was. His lean, ample limbs were garbed in a fitted black suit, darker than night and appearing silky under the rough stare of yellow street lamps. 

Supple ivory skin stretched over the features you were able to see bare: his face, neck and hands. The milky expanse of his nape silently pleaded for the sinful mark of bruising kisses, unsatisfied with the ink of a spiralling tattoo that climbed three delicious inches up the side of his neck, leading your mind to darkly ponder where it starts under the collar of his shirt. The hand he had holding the cigarette had long fingers with bulging veins decorating its back, leaving a simply intricate ring to embellish one elegant finger. His mysterious eyes were half hooded by a shadow containing undisclosed secrets that you yearned to acquaint yourself with, loving how the breath of smoke he exhaled spiralled into distinctive art before disappearing. 

Building up the courage, you stepped further forward, "u-umm..." you timidly began, “Thank-"

"Go home." he blatantly hissed, not sparing you a glance and, instead, took the time for another puff. Your morals weren't as such, however, because you needed to thank someone whose actions were worth appreciating, but as you stuttered to protest, he brushed you off once more.

"C-can I at least buy you lunch?-“

"Look, I didn't do it to help you, I just wanted some peace and quiet. Now, if you have half the brain that I think you do, then you'll take this chance to get the fuck out of here.”

Naturally, you were hesitant but complied with his harsh command. You didn't think any less of him because of his confession; it doesn't change the fact that he saved you from a traumatising experience, so he still deserved your proper gratitude. He wasn't willing to accept it and it's his decision whether or not he does, yes, but you were determined to repay him.  

☆

It was unusual for you to frequent a bar, even more so if the bar was the one where you were physically assaulted at. Your behaviour was very suspicious and your friends were quick to catch on, confronting you the night you're about to leave your shared apartment once more. You always left at the same night, at the same time with the same intentions in mind - you just need to see him again. 

"I'll be leaving now," you announce, slipping into your heels as your reflection stares back at you with satisfaction. 

"Babes, you've told us what happened to you that night, right?" your roommate confirms as she stood beside the door, causing you to raise a brow as you gave a reassuring nod. "Everything?" she pressed as you gave another nod, “Then…why do I feel like you're leaving one very crucial detail out?" her eyes are piercing you judiciously as you struggle to maintain a calm demeanour.

"Jia, I've told you everything," you promise a white lie. 

"Oh really?" the stare she sends you is chilling, "Because, it doesn't really make much sense if the first time a girl goes out in forever, gets harassed and suddenly makes it routine to visit said bar on the same night, at the same time, weekly!" avoiding her eyes, you attempt to cover your endeavours, "Well?...Did this guy threaten you or something? (Y/N), you know that I'm here for you." the hard front she puts forth slowly wore down with concern until only watery agony was present in her eyes.

"I-It's not like that Jia.”

"Then please tell me, Sweetie. You know how I hate being kept in the dark about these things." clearly, the stress was getting to her and you felt extremely guilty for causing such strain on her everyday deliberations; she already had many other things to reflect on, she didn't need you forcing more stress atop that. You remember how you told her your altered story of the night - one where there was now a mysterious, cold-hearted stranger saving you - and she was close to tears, apologising for not being a good enough friend, proven in her failed act of saving you. "I''m not here to judge you...I'm just concerned. Please tell me so that I'm self-assured that you'll be fine…and that I don't need to stalk you just to make sure you're safe." it was a joke that you embraced with a half-hearted laugh, encouraging you to tip the scale in favour of her apprehension. 

"Alright...I'll tell you," and that, you did. As promised, she didn't judge you but put forward her own advice, the lines of stress no longer creasing the space between her expressive brows. 

"Is he so handsome that you have to go so badly?" she jests, her enquiry still half-serious. 

"Very!" you giggle. Staring up at the clock on the wall, you gasp, already half an hour late.

"Sorry for keeping you but I'm thankful that you've finally told me." 

With a hug and a quick farewell for the night, you were off, taking care not to fall in your adequate stiletto heels. 

☆

It was the same scenario. This had become so routine that you were running through the upcoming events of the first few minutes into the club in your head. Everything flowed like clock work, which would be - to a normal person only wanting the norm - perfectly fine but you didn’t crave the norm, you were craving, yearning, and pleading to a non-existent god that he be there tonight. And yet, what should you do if he did show? In his mysterious, slender frame, enveloped in it’s cloud of mysterious musk that you were only barely able to savour briefly in your even more brief encounter. That night seemed to occur eons ago and it was eating you up inside. 

please remember that this is, unfortunately, not going to be continued as it is a part of my ‘Fragments’ Series, where I just post works that I have discontinued, maybe still in its drafting/notes-infused stage. I know it might seem like a pointless series but I’m proud of all my works and love to share more than I should.

[tisthenightofthewitch]

Tobias Forge On Taking Ghost's Live Show Into U.S. Arenas, Achieving Mystery In The Social Media Age.

Since forming in 2006, Swedish metal act Ghost has toured opening for metal and rock stalwarts like Iron Maiden, Slayer, Mastodon, Alice in Chains and more, gradually bringing their music to more and more people in America.

The group has never had a lack of famous cheerleaders, like Foo Fighters frontman Dave Grohl who produced the 2013 covers EP If You Have Ghost (and is rumored to have performed in costume, unbeknownst to fans, in the group's backing band as a "Nameless Ghoul").

Their third album Meliora marked a major leap forward in the United States, giving Ghost its first #1 album, topping the top rock albums chart and leading to slots in front of larger crowds at places like Lollapalooza in 2016.

But it's their most recent studio effort Prequelle (June, Loma Vista) which signaled a breakthrough for Ghost in the United States.

While Meliora hit #1 on a rock chart, Prequelle managed to debut at #3 on the Billboard 200 albums chart, just underneath Kanye West and Post Malone, in front of Luke Combs and Cardi B, no easy feat in America today for a group holding guitars.

As expected, the group's current "A Pale Tour Named Death" road trip sees them playing larger venues in America than ever before, making the jump to arenas on some dates (The Forum in Los Angeles this Friday, November 16 and Barclays Center in New York on December 15) for their first time as a headliner.

It belies the necessity of a strong live show for any rock act in a changing music industry landscape.

"I think that it’s crucial. I think that playing live, if you want to be an artist - that’s what artists do," said Ghost frontman Tobias Forge. "I mean, if you’re a carpenter, you need to build sh-t. For us, if you’re a rock band, there’s no way around it. You have to tour. You have to tour a whole lot."

On a recent November stop at Chicago's Aragon Ballroom (capacity 5,000), Ghost performed from a massive three-tiered stage, amidst the religious imagery fans have come to expect, under an arena-ready light show, that comfortably housed Forge and his seven piece backing band (Ghost's Nameless Ghouls).

The key logistically during a tour that jumps from larger mid-size venues to arenas and back, is how to present that show in the larger setting without losing what makes it a virtually unparalleled staging somewhere like Chicago's Aragon.

"I think that one of our biggest hurdles right now - not in terms of imagination and planning but just economically and practically - is how to make those arena shows not look like we just put our theatre show into The Forum or Barclays. It needs to look like we look like this every night on the tour," observed Forge astutely. "There’s usually a makeshift stage - a very generic square stage. A PA company has come in and put up a big PA, usually with a lot of speakers and stuff in front of the stage. So you end up in a situation that in a way sort of increases the distance between you and the crowd," observed Forge of what bands can often expect if they choose to rely upon the staging provided to them in the typical arena. "Whereas if you go see Bon Jovi, he will have built a stage that is meant to be in some sort of proximity to the crowd," he said, noting the need for hands-on customization prior to Ghost's L.A. and New York shows.

Forge pointed out the need to hire a video team to properly utilize arena video screens or jumbotrons for these larger shows, singling out the need for additional lighting and followspots. It's the type of attention to detail that has defined the group's costumes, staging, messaging and music for over ten years and primes Ghost for success in larger U.S. venues.

"I like that," said Forge of the challenge involved in properly pulling off Ghost's first American arena concerts. "This is my job. This is my dream. This is what I have been wanting ever since I was a kid. I sat in front of my TV in our living room. I had a VCR looking at tapes I’d freeze frame and draw the stage. I loved that stuff. It takes a lot of planning and you definitely have to grind your teeth a lot knowing [maybe] it won’t really turn out the way I wanted… but f--k it," said Forge of the risk.

With each album, Forge has built for Ghost fascinating, character-driven narrative that plays out both on album and on stage, as one of the most interesting, thought-provoking acts in rock and roll.

Each album sees Forge take on a new persona, moving from the fourth and final incarnation of his Papa Emeritus character to Cardinal Copia on Prequelle.

Anonymity was at the root of that and thoughtful fans, for the most part, played along with a wink and a nod, agreeing to Forge's no photo policy as band members, for most of the band's existence, went to great lengths to try and hide their identities, regardless of the level of difficulty that involves following the rise of social media.

In the past, Forge was wont to give interviews in character and/or in costume in an effort to drive the story forward and keep up that air of anonymity. But a 2017 lawsuit by former band members over royalties changed the identity of Papa Emeritus from occasional online whisper to brisk confirmation virtually overnight.

"That was of course... uncomfortable. The last couple of years have, in between spawning a new record that has been successful and tours that have been very pleasant, also been quite grueling," noted Forge of dealing with the lawsuit and the forced change it brought (one of the only elements of Ghost over which he was able to exercise no control). "I had to take into consideration that as much as I wanted the images that people have been fed to be strong enough to sort of survive whatever images would appear of me and however I would be presented, you never know if it changes the perception of the general crowd," he said of the potential consequences in being forced to pull back the curtain a bit so to speak.

Some of the best rock music has been driven by narrative storytelling. Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and more used the idea to great effect on the concept albums of the 70s. Prince and David Bowie certainly built the idea of mystery into the characters they portrayed publicly. And general unpredictability has always made for the best rock and roll moments.

In the internet age, where the answer to any question about any celebrity is only a click away, it's become kind of a lost art. But Ghost continues to make that mystery a crucial part of everything they do regardless of the challenge involved.

"I don’t find it too difficult.  With Ghost, I never really foresaw that it was going to take off the way it did. I knew that the songs were good. I knew that it had the ability to turn people’s heads. I knew that we were going to have a crowd. [But] I never thought it would propel into the Grammy world or arenas and all that," said Forge. "So it was easy to make that decision from an aesthetic point of view. Because I want it to be highly theatrical."

Forge notes that while his idea of fame has changed over the years, he believes that it’s possible to maintain some sense of anonymity despite the times.

"I like the fact that my work in Ghost is famous and people know it and we have our crowd. But I am not as antsy about getting recognized on the street as I might have once been," said Forge of his rock ambitions. "As long as I don’t get an Instagram account and start tweeting all over the place about what I think about this, that or the other, I think I should be able to maintain that level of mystery. There’s definitely a middle way to have both: you can be a celebrity but you can still be kind of mysterious. Look at Nick Cave... I know a lot about him. But he’s still as mysterious to me as ever."

Ghost's ability to hone its act and develop an audience organically over the course of twelve years, four studio albums and a series of EPs is also the product of a bygone era.

As it's become more difficult to monetize recorded music, acts tend to be discarded fast as major labels go for the quickest, easiest, most profitable hit. Rock acts in particular have suffered, with little time to develop a sound, let alone a unique persona. That fact isn't lost on Forge as Ghost continues to experience some of its greatest North American success.

"I am very fortunate that I was signed to a label where I was given an old school treatment where I was signed for several records and given the opportunity to evolve and develop - which, unfortunately, is something that most labels would not allow now. Maybe that changes in the future. I think you also have to have a lot of faith in the future," he said. "I think the dark ages of the entertainment industry were definitely between 2000 and 2010 basically - ten years. As soon as streaming sort of caught up, there’s been sort of an incentive for the big powers to keep investing. There’s definitely a need for entertainment," said Forge of changing online consumption methods.

With a #1 record under their belt, and a top 5 debut on the pop chart, the key to Ghost's success has been in the way Forge has consistently managed not just to challenge his audience but engage them by making them an integral part of one of music's most unique success stories.

"One thing that I hadn’t predicted at all upon Ghost’s inception, was the unbelievable surge of creativity that it spawned amongst our fans. I’d say as much as I am the initiator of this and the creator of most of the narrative, I think that the cult, the lifestyle that seems to be Ghost, is definitely something that has been carried forth and developed by our thousands of fans who are building it. They sort of take it and run with it," noted Forge. "For a brand like ours, if I did not have that fan engagement, I would not be sitting here in Tulsa doing an interview with Forbes."

All owned by Forbes.com

[apptowonder]

Theology, Math and Logic, Pt I: Is Theology a "Calculus" or a Science? (A Brief Hot Take)

I wanted to share some thoughts that have been swirling around in my head about ideologies and thought systems that may have relevance to the conversation on theology. This stuff is fairly ethereal and I am not an expert in mathematics, modern philosophy or formal logic*, so I may butcher definitions. Bear with me. So the other day I was talking with an old friend of mine who I had just recently gotten back into touch with. He's a computer scientist and was describing to me what (to me) seemed like a very esoteric but useful system of mathematical theory (homotopic type theory, where you visualize sets of things as "paths" on an imaginary map and measure them by how they overlap and connect to each other). In laying out the principles of this theory, he used an approach that felt to me much more grounded in logic than in math equations per se, going principle by principle until he had more or less built up the concept in my mind. I described to my friend how his process of laying out an ideology felt very familiar to me. It sounded like the way some people talk about theology, laying out core principles and trying to build on them in a "systematic" way. Sometimes this works and produces a theological system that's elegant and beautiful. Sometimes it produces a system full of contradictions. Sometimes it produces a system that has all the right moving parts but it's hard to imagine why anyone would find it appealing or helpful. What intrigued me was the differences in approach between doing this in theology and doing this in math or other fields. I began to try and think about whether theology is more like math or more like science. There's a great video by Youtuber Vsauce about numbers beyond infinity.** In it, he briefly discusses how in science, your assumptions are based on assumptions about how the world works, and must be modified to most closely match the observable physical universe. In math, by contrast, all that needs to happen is that your assumptions are logically consistent and that they don't contradict themselves. Math can "create" systems that cannot exist in the physical universe but which still work from a mathematical standpoint because they are consistent. We use "calculus" to sometimes refer to not just the math system, but metaphorically to a way of thinking that is built on math-like prepositional logic ("If A=B" etc). A question comes to my mind: is theology a "calculus" or a science? And why does it matter? When I talked to my computer science friend about my theological studies, I framed it as a kind of calculus. I talked about how in the absence of an empirical mode to "verify" our understanding of God within the physical universe, theology must be more of a math than a science. I admitted that as a result of this phenomenon, I often evaluate theologies less by whether they are "true," but by whether they help people live more well-adjusted lives, as well as how well they mesh with my understanding of God. On an objective level, I think probably most of our ideas about God and none of our ideas about God are true. This is not to say I'm a relativist, just that the Creator of the universe is going to by nature be so far beyond our comprehension that we will necessarily get things wrong. I don't see this as a problem because we can still cultivate a loving relationship with God. On the other hand, the work of the Christian mystics, as well as the existence of a Bible with at least some historically verifiable events suggests that there are "science" elements of faith. The disciple is, in a sense, both a kardionaut and a field researcher, exploring the depths of their heart and the heart of God, as well as discerning how God is active in the world. Math also doesn't know what to do with paradoxes, but the Gospel and faith delight in paradoxes. There is so much about the both/and. Truth and grace. God and human. Already and not yet. Foolish wisdom and wise foolishness. In that sense, theology is more like the science which observes light as both a particle and a wave. It's also more like art. The student of theology can make radical moves with their "colors" on the canvas, mixing and combining palettes in unexpected ways to approach a portrait of the great Subject, God. Like a poet, they write and revise words in an attempt to come closer and closer to the image of God, an image which can be approximated but never fully captured except in the person of Christ. I think when people judge other people's faith (especially within the same broad religious tradition), they're operating under the assumption that theology is a science and the other person is doing it wrong. In a pluralist society, I wonder if the truth of the Gospel might be communicated more effectively if we allowed the pure light of God's love to be filtered through the lens of people's experience. Corrections may need to be made along the way, but if we think of the pursuit of God knowledge as more of a calculus by which we come to a way of life and discipleship that encourages our own unique flourishing under God, and less as a set of highly specific truth claims that must be defended at all costs, we might be better off. On the other hand, it's possible to lean too far into this thought pattern and to ignore both the witness of the Gospel and the ways in which God does tangibly "show up" in our lives. When academic theologians construct thought systems which read prettily off the page but which do not account for God's capacity to surprise and challenge us, then we need to remember that God does promise to show up in our lives, to be attentive to the "science" of the heart. *Nor, by the patristic/matristic definition am I truly a "theologian" (one who is able to speak about God from intimate direct experience a la St John or St Gregory Palamas), but I am at least a student of theology. **Link

[projectdevelopx-blog]

Weekly Reading Responses:

Week 1:

a.     Review the Client Brief and identify 3 of Northshore's 'assets'.

Supporting space:

- Location

- Tennis court

- the deck

b.     What kind of story do you think you could tell about Northshore and its history?

I think a nautical element or something to do with how the space was used as a port and the future of Northshore. Possibly tie in something about the environment.

Week 2:

a.     findings from the site visit, and the short article by PPS, 'How to Transform a Waterfront'? (https://www.pps.org/article/turnwaterfrontaround

The main locations that really stood out to me were:

-       The shed

-       The water tank

-       Also considered the open spaces of land that had equipment on it (timber etc.)

I first had thoughts about using and the water tank for art installation spaces. The shed could be used for the same thing and also many more including a community space. I definitely that the existing destinations could be improved upon. At the moment the space is not lively, there was no shade, it’s a bit daggy and needs lots more action and colour going on before people see Northshore a space to come and enjoy themselves.

b.     Barangaroo Reserve case study and Sarah Barn's article, 'Arrivals and Departures: Navigating an emotional landscape of belonging and displacement at Barangaroo in Sydney, Australia'

I personally think that the Barangaroo case study relates significantly to Northshore in a sense that they took a space which was once cherished and loved for what it was useful for and as it dated, it was turned into something which celebrates the memories of the area. I think that because of NorthShore’s historical context of it being Brisbane’s first port, lots of significant activities would have taken place at the port. People might have negative/positive connotations as the port is where I assume refugees would have arrived into Brisbane. People, like my grandfather, used to work as a ships captain and he worked at Northshore when it was a port. So, people like him who used to work in the area it would remind them of those days.

Week 3:

a.     see 'Ideas Creativity and Innovation' - Chapt 2 in The Idea Agent

Idea process:

-       Need

o   Establishment of the project basis and framework (brief)

-       Idea generation

o   Methods and techniques are applied to this framework

o   Use wide range of perspectives

-       Screening and development

o   Overview all ideas that fulfil the framework

o   Ideas are reduced but quality is improved

-       Enrichment

o   Develop ideas more deeply taking them to a new level (graphic and illustrations)

-       Result

According to the reading, Definition of innovation is:

Creativity – conceiving a new idea. Strategy – analysing the idea’s originality and usability.

Implementation – setting the unique, usable idea into motion and testing it in the real world. Profitability – maximizing the unique, usable idea’s added value.

This one really spoke to me as I never thought of it form this point of view. There are so many people out there trying to be “innovative” for their projects, or art work or what have you. There is already so much out there creating a really competitive space. However, I think we can use this to our advantage and pick parts from all different projects and bring them into one. There is very rarely going to be a project or idea that overlaps with another.

b.     measures of success

Project success factors:

1.     clear goals & agreement with project team

2.     a statement showing: overall direction and roles/responsibilities

3.     communication

4.     controlled scope

-       everyone to understand time frames

-       brief

-       idea (Inso/research/observations)

-       curatorial rationale (work statement)

-       what is it

-       how is it different

-       what makes it relevant/unique

-       goals/objectives (hope to achieve)

-       where to present it (location/ audiences/ multiple venues)

-       team & stakeholders

-       design/prototype (exhibition plan)

-       resources (funding/time/people)

-       plan (timeline/contingencies/different components/build on it)

Week 5:

a.     slides from Lecture 4 & reading 'Community Development and Systems Thinking' by Spruill, Kenny and Kaplan, 2001).

“To understand the complex interactions that occur among elements of a system, can be especially helpful when a consultant is involved in a process of progressive, highly participatory community development.”

This reading was really refreshing to me because a huge factor I took from it was to sincerely have people’s interest at heart and to have the intention to better the community and space you live in. Personally, this had already come to my mind, however, it was just awesome to see evidence that other people truly care, and it made me super enthused for the subject.

From the lecture and the reading, I came to the understanding that an education element as well as an interactive element would really help to bring this community space to life. I like this section; The goal of using systems thinking in a community setting is to have community participants shift from being reactors to viewing themselves “as active participants in shaping their reality,  [to  move] from  reacting  to the  present  to creating  the future.”

b.     Chapter 3 - 'Know your Key Stakeholders and Win their Cooperation' (in Fast Forward MBA in Project Management by Eric Verzuh, 2008),

STAKEHOLDERS:

Week 7:

a.     points on prototyping

I think from relevance form the lecture, readings, and group discussions, our group believes the following methods will be most effective to develop an accurate prototype/’s.

-       Create an accurate atmosphere for the viewing audience

-       Not just show but make them feel

-       Make it clear

-       Create different elements to your prototype

o  Physical

o  Digital

§ Photos

§ Videos

Week 8:

a.     (Elverum et.al– esp. pp. 120-121)

“Combining digital and physical prototyping such as in mixed prototyping, for example, has great potential for developing and evaluating the usability of product interfaces [5]—a critical aspect of most new product systems.” This quote in the reading identifies that it is important to do both physical and digital prototypes. The reading recognises that the purpose of the prototype is great for the designer and project developer as it visualises it for ourselves so we know whether its achievable in many ways; design/budget etc.

b.     (Gerber and Carroll- esp. pp. 131-135).

Design fixation is the idea of creating a project in your mind and fixating on it. a group member of mine started the design idea and she said she was worried about where it will end up and wasn’t keen on modifying it. but now we have clearly made some huge modifications using everyone’s input and she as well as the other group members are happy about where this project started and the progress we have made with it.

[khalidaldurai]

Media Representation

Name: Khalid Hamed Al Duari

ID: 114962

Date: Monday, March 11, 2019

Media plays a huge role in building a mental image for world leaders. Most People mainly look at the president of any country based on how media portrays that president.

#Part_1

How the media represent the female leader?

*Example: Margaret Thatcher, British politician and the first woman to serve as prime minister in the history of Great Britain.

How the media represent Margaret Thatcher?

- She is a strong iron woman.

- is controversial because of its policy against workers' rights in Britain.- Combating love of public and compulsory work.

- The art of discussion is good.

- Peaceful and trying to establish the principles of democracy in countries suffering from security turmoil.

#Part_2

How male world leaders use communication?

*Example: Bill Clinton, Donald Trump and Nelson Mandela.

a- How Bill Clinton use communication?

1. He knows when to stop and go.

Clinton uses hard-stop pacing to add emphasis to lines like: “We’re going to keep President Obama on. the. job.” and “President Obama started with a much. worse. economy.” In those moments, he squeezes every word for maximum impact.

2. His gestures sync with his words.

Clinton’s best visual aids are his hands. His arm movements are open and wide, relaying an image of accessibility and authenticity.

3. It’s how he says it, as much as what he says.

If you subscribe to Mehrabian’s formula of communications as 7% verbal, 38% vocal and 55% visual, then you’ll appreciate how Clinton uses facial expressions to put his words on display.

b- How Donald Trump use communication?

1. Social Proof

Social proof shows that other people are in agreement with your message and think it’s a good idea.

The use of social proof creates a self-perpetuating cycle that provides even more certainty which provides more social proof which provides more certainty.

2. Setting the Frame

A “frame” tells people what to think about a subject before they get a chance to decide on a meaning for themselves.

Once again, this strategy reinforces the certainty that Trump provides when he communicates.

One of the ways he sets a frame is by labelling his competitors with derogatory nicknames. He called Ted Cruz “Lying” Ted. He called Marco Rubio “Little” Marco. He calls Hillary Clinton “Crooked” Hillary.

3. An Aspirational Message

An aspirational message is a message that is rather vague with words that have multiple meanings. Because of this, listeners are invited (at an unconscious level) to supply their own meaning and can easily agree with the message.

Here is Donald Trump’s aspirational message: Make America Great Again.

c- How Nelson Mandela use communication?

1. Smile and communicate through body language.

Perhaps one of Mandela’s most endearing qualities was his big, broad, kind smile that lit up the room and communicated acceptance and a warm embrace.  Mandela also carried himself with grace, standing tall, looking people in the eye, and speaking with a firm but humble voice, all of which communicated dignity and respect not only for how he treated others but how he expected to be treated by others, even those who would oppress him.

2. Use simple, yet expressive language.

Some of Mandela’s most powerful quotes used humble words that could be understood by most everyone, painting indelible pictures in the mind of the listener or reader.

3. Be honest and authentic.

Mandela had a clear sense of who he was and presented his true self to everyone, world leader or an ordinary citizen.  He had a unique style.  He didn’t try to be what he wasn’t.  He exhibited his own persona and never tried to adopt someone else’s style, a style which might work for someone else, but won’t necessarily work for you.  Understand and be who you are.

-Understanding from #Part _1 and #Part_2

The leaders knew that media play role in shaping their image inside or outside their countries, because some of them control media and, somehow, they could represent what they want.

However, whenever there is a beloved president, media spotlight him from time to time due to his achievements and good works. On the other hand, if there is an outcast president, media attacks him. Overall, we can conclude that media can be a real and huge influence over the public.

#mass2620  #squspring2019  #meida_issue    #squjr

[hazelandglasz]

(Art AUs) Date AU with Sterek (and I'm very proud I'm limiting myself to one prompt here :P)

Date AU: I’m on a blind date and the guy/gal starts ranting about how “art isn’t a viable form of work, and how it’s not needed in schools” and you just walked up and schooled them while serving us our food order about how important art is in society, and left your number on my plate written in mustard.

You know what, I have a ton of prompts waiting for me but this is just too funny to pass up so here goes (with Derek as the poor blind date) - I changed it a little, I hope you don’t mind ;)

On AO3

The moment Whatshisface rolls his eyes in disgust is the only moment of the evening when Derek can understand why Erica thought they would be a good match.

Yes, eurgh indeed. Derek isn’t sure they are “eurghing” for the same thing, though.

The man is exuding “elitist” and “spoiled” from every pore, and though he could be seen as conventionally attractive, his personnality is quickly turning him into the ugliest of gargoyles in Derek’s eyes.

“Can you believe this?”

With extreme difficulty, if “this” refers to this date. “Hm?”

“This,” Snobby McSnotty says, pointing at the highlighted dish on the menu. “They want us to pay extra for a pizza under the pretext of supporting the neighborhood’s school Arts program.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Derek says, not only because he knows it will bring this sham of a date to a shorter shelf life, but also because, well, he does believe Arts in school are an important part of the social fabric and the way children grow into adults.

Exhibit A, Mr Douche in front of him who probably stayed in a corner for all of his art classes as a child.

“You’re playing cute,” Dumbass says with a smirk. “But we both know that Arts in schools are about as useful as a degree on a pretty girl, am I right?”

“Most definitely not.”

“Oh, come on, Daryl–”

“Derek.”

“Yes, right. Derek,” the man says, leaning forward as if trying to pull Derek into a confidential mood–as if–, “Art can be fun, sure, but it’s not, like, essential.”

“Ahem.”

Derek looks up and the first smile of the evening blossoms on his face at the sight of his waiter.

For starters, Mr. White Crisp Shirt pushes every button on Derek’s crush control panel.

For seconds, he is glaring daggers at Mr. Douchy Pants and that is almost enough to make him Derek’s best friend.

“We haven’t decided yet.” Jackass says to the waiter without even looking at him.

The waiter, whose name can’t possibly be what is written on his nametag–what kind of name is Stiles anyway–squints even harder.

“It will be just a moment, thank you,” Derek adds, trying to distance himself from his date’s behavior.

This softens Stiles’ demeanor a little, but he still scoffs at Jerkface’s back as he leaves them.

“Some manners won’t kill you, you know,” Derek says, his eyes firmly on the menu.

“I don’t have to, it’s his job.”

“Oh my God.”

“What? Like you’re such a posterchild for manners?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

Jerkface snorts. “Right. So under all those muscles and glares, you’re telling me that there is a softie with a heart of gold, who frames children’s drawings and is polite to everybody?”

“I don’t see how one is incompatible with the other.” Derek tries really hard to control his temper. “And as a matter of fact, yes, I frame my nephews’ art to hang around my house.” He pauses to take a sip of his wine. “Not that you’ll get to see it or anything.”

Behind him, Derek swears he hears someone snorting and attempting to hide it under a cough. In front of him, Jerkface Supreme merely smirks. “Playing hard to get, uh?”

“Nope, predicting the end of the evening.”

“See, that’s why Arts are not useful to kids–nay, why it’s a bad influence.”

“Oh wow.”

“By giving a disproportionate place to Art, you developed a sense of superiority over other people.”

“Because that is not condescending at all.”

Derek agrees with that sentence, almost said it himself, but their waiter is back and is glaring at Douche McJerky.

“Who asked for your opinion?”

“No one, but that hasn’t stopped you, now, has it,” Stiles says, putting down a bottle of water and leaning over the table. “Now, whether you want to hear it or not, get ready for some knowledge being dropped into the void between your ears.”

“How dare–”

“Tut-tut,” Stiles cuts him, a finger pressed to his lips.

Derek leans back in his chair, glass of wine in hand as he pulls the mini plate of appetizers toward himself. This gonna be good.

“First of all, asshole, art is important in school because it gives children an outlet, a way of getting rid of their anxiety, their surplus of emotions instead of resorting to violence.”

“B–”

“Second of all, art is important later in education because it allows for creativity, world building, all things useful in all aspects of life. It develops the brain in ways other curriculum cannot, and studies show that students engaged in arts perform better. Wouldn’t you like that, to perform better?”

Behind Stiles’ hand–and Derek does notice that it is a very nice hand indeed–DoucheCanoe glares and frowns, and turns a very unattractive shade of puce.

“Third of all, having regular Art classes help the children to develop their motor skills and their visual-spatial skills. It supports a critical view of the world, and helps them being prepared to tackle different points of view.”

“That’s rubbish,” Annoyance in Human Form says, pushing Stiles away before he can get to point number four, “and I demand to see your manager.”

Stiles pauses, and his lips slowly but surely stretch into a smirk.

A devilish smirk, the kind that sends delicious shivers down Derek’s spine.

“I am the manager.”

Oh this is priceless.

“What-but–you’re a kid.”

Stiles beams at him. “Why, thank you, I moisturize daily, and I have good genes. Now scram.”

Derek’s date opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, before snatching his jacket to storm out.

Stiles brushes his hands like he got rid of some particularly nasty vermin before turning to Derek, his smile turning apologetic and, dare he say it, shy.

“I am sorry I ruined your date, but it didn’t look like a very promising one.”

“You saved my evening,” Derek says with a crooked smile. “Did you have more fine points in favor of the arts?”

“I sure do.”

“Would you care to share them with me?”

Stiles’ cheeks turn a blotchy pink, from the high of his cheekbones to his neck. Derek kind of wants to follow it under Stiles’ crisp white shirt.

He blames the wine.

(It’s not the wine.)

“I–I’d love to.” Stiles waves at someone, another waiter who silently brings a large plate of pasta, covered in a red sauce that smells divine. “I’m Stiles, manager of this restaurant.”

Derek smiles. “I’m Derek, art teacher.”

Stiles’ laughter lasts for a while, enough to give Derek a need to see how this sound would feel against his skin.

(He finds out two weeks later.)