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dmsden · 3 years

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A History Lesson - Looking back at D&D’s history

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Well, this is the 5th Monday in March, and that means I get to write about anything I want! It’s also my birth month, which means it’s my anniversary of getting into D&D (42 years!), and that has me feeling nostalgic. Coupled with a discussion I had recently with some friends, I thought it would be fun to look back at the various editions of D&D and give you all a bit of history. I’m not going to get into Gygax vs Arneson or any of that. I’m only talking about the published game itself, not its creators or its storied origins.

The original D&D (or OD&D as it’s sometimes called) came in a small box. It had three booklets inside - Men & Magic, Monsters & Treasure, and The Underworld & Wilderness Adventures - along with reference sheets and dice. Each was softcover and roughly the same dimensions as a DVD/BluRay case. The game was pretty rudimentary - for one thing, it assumed you already had a copy of Chainmail, D&D’s direct wargame predecessor. It also recommended you have a game called Outdoor Survival for purposes of traveling through the wilderness. It had only three classes - fighting man, magic-user, and cleric - and nothing about playing other races. It did have the insane charts that 1st edition would ultimately known for, and it was possible to play a pretty fun game of D&D with it, as its popularity would come to show.

The game expanded through similar chapbooks - Greyhawk, Blackmoor, Eldritch Wizardry, Gods Demigods & Heroes, Swords & Spells. With the exception of the last one, each brought new facets to the game - new classes like Thief and Monk, new spells, new threats. It was clear the game was going to need an overhaul, and it got one.

I consider this overhaul to yield the real “1st Edition”, as so much of the game didn’t exist in those original games. The game split into a “Basic” game, just called Dungeons & Dragons and Advanced Dungeons & Dragons.

The basic game was a boxed set that included a rulebook, a full adventure module, and dice...or, well, it was supposed to contain dice. The game was so popular and new in those days that demand for dice outstripped production. My copy of D&D came with a coupon for dice when they became available and a sheet of “chits” - laminated numbers meant to be put into cups (we used Dixie Cups with the name of the die written on it), shaken, and a random number pulled out without looking. It was meant to introduce new players to the game, so it was a trimmed down version. Races were human, elf, dwarf, and halfling, and classes were fighter, cleric, magic-user, and thief. The box only included rules for going up to 3rd level, with the intention that players would then graduate into AD&D. This is where I joined, with the old blue cover box set and In Search of the Unknown, before Keep on the Borderlands even existed.

AD&D was the game in its full glory. Along with the races I mention above, we got half-elves, half-orcs, and gnomes. The four basic classes also had sub-classes, like paladin and ranger for the fighter, druid for the cleric, illusionist for the wizard, and assassin for the thief. There were rules for multi-classing, as well as “Dual-classing”, a sort of multi-class variation for humans only, which, when done in the correct combination, could yield the infamous bard...which didn’t actually yield any bard abilities until around level 13 or so.

This edition had 5 different saving throws for things like “Death Magic”, “Petrification & Polymorph”, “Spells”, and so on. It had the infamous Armor Class system that started at 10 and went down, so that having a -3 AC was very good! It also had specific attack matricies for each class; you would literally look on a table to determine the number you needed to roll on a D20 based on your class, your level, and your opponent’s armor class. It was fun, but it was very complicated.

It also had some, frankly, shitty rules. There was gender disparity in terms of attributes, which my group totally ignored. Because the game designers wanted humans to be a competitive the game, and because non-humans had so many abilities and could multiclass, non-humans were severely limited in the levels they could achieve in most classes. In fact, some classes, such as monk and paladin, were restricted only to humans.

As the years went on, things got a bit muddled. It probably didn’t help that the rules in Basic D&D and AD&D didn’t perfectly line up. In D&D, the worst armor class was a 9. In AD&D, the worst armor class was a 10. All of this led to an overhaul, but not one considered a separate edition. AD&D mostly got new covers and new books, like the Wilderness Survival Guide and Dungeon Survival Guide, Monster Manual 2, and the Manual of the Planes. It got a number of new settings, too. In addition to the default Greyhawk setting, we got the Forgotten Realms setting for the first time, details of which had been appearing in Dragon Magazine for years, thanks to the prolific Ed Greenwood. We also, eventually, got the whole Dragonlance saga, which yielded the setting of Krynn.

In this new version, Basic D&D broke off into its own game system to some degree. Elf, Dwarf, and Halfling started being treated like classes rather than races, with specific abilities at different levels. Higher level characters could be created using progressive boxes - Expert, Companion, Master, and Immortal, each with its own boxed set and supported by Mystara, a completely different setting that got its own updates over the years. It was odd, because D&D essentially was competing for players with AD&D, and I remember arguments with friends over which version was better (I was firmly in the AD&D camp.)

In 1989, when I was in college, they finally brought forth 2nd edition D&D. This streamlined things a little. Armor Class still went down, but now attack rolls boiled into a single number called To Hit Armor Class 0, or THAC0. It made the whole process of figuring out what you needed to roll a bit less cumbersome, but it was still a bit awkward. The classes got a lot of overhaul, including making Bard its own core class. But what I remember best about 2nd edition was the boom in settings. This was the age of settings, and many beloved ones got started, including Dark Sun, Planescape, Ravenloft, and Spelljammer.

It was also the age of the “Complete Handbooks”. They brought out splatbooks about every class and race in the game, as well as books expanding several concepts for the DM, such as the Arms & Equipment Guide, the Castle Guide, and the Complete Book of Villains. There were also splatbooks about running D&D in historic periods, such as Ancient Rome, among the ancient Celts, or during the time of the Musketeers. The game got new covers for the rule books again, and a bunch of books about options started coming out. It was a boom time for books, but many people complained there was too much.

Without going too deep, TSR ended up in severe financial troubles. They declared bankruptcy, and there was real fear of the game going away. And then Wizards of the Coast (WotC) stepped in. They helped TSR get back onto its feet, and they helped produce some modules specifically engineered to help DM’s bring an end to their campaign...possibly even their whole campaign world...because something big was coming.

That something big was, of course, 3rd edition D&D. The game got majorly streamlined, and many sacred cows ended up as hamburger. AC finally started going up instead of down. Everything was refined to the “D20″ system we’ve been playing ever since. Races could be any class. There were no level or stat limits for anyone. After years of the game being forced into tight little boxes, it really felt like we could breathe. I had stopped playing D&D, but 3rd edition brought me back into the fold. I often say that 3E was made for the players who’d felt constricted and wanted more flexibility.

The trouble with 3E, and its successor 3.5, is that it was still a dense and difficult game for newcomers to get into. It’s been acknowledged that D&D essentially created many of the systems we see and know in other games - experience points, leveling up, hit points, etc. But trying to break into the experience for the first time was difficult. The look of 3E was gorgeous, but I understood that it must seem awfully daunting to someone who’d never played.

4E and its follow-up, Essentials, was an attempt to course correct that. They tried to make this edition incredibly friendly to new DMs, and, frankly, they succeeded. By creating player classes and monsters and magic-items that were all very plug and play, they did a great job of creating a game that someone who had never DMed before could dive into with no experience or mentor and start a game pretty easily. Encounter design was given a lot of ease, and there were promises of a robust online tool system that would help out with many of the more tedious aspects of playing.

There was also a lot of shake up in terms of choices. Suddenly, new classes and races were proliferating like crazy. We got the dragonborn, the tiefling, and the eladrin right in the core book, but we said good-bye to the gnome and half-orc at first. Suddenly the warlock was the new class everyone wanted to try. We got paragon paths and epic destinies that would really shape a character as time went on. The game went very tactical, as well, which some of us loved. The concept of rituals came into the game. Later books like the Player’s Handbook 2 and 3 gave us back gnomes and half-orcs, and also gave us minotaurs, wilden, shardminds, and githzerai. We got new psionic classes, brand new class concepts like the Runeknight and the Seeker...

But there was a tremendous backlash. People felt that, in making the game so very plug and play, they’d taken a ton of choice away from the players. Without the tools (which were never that robust, frankly), it was almost impossible to navigate the massive panoply of options. And, worse, it was harder and harder to develop encounters without those tools. People complained that the game had gone more tactical in order to sell miniatures and battlemats. Given that I have never played the game without miniatures and battlemats (since I started in the days when D&D was still half-wargame), I found this odd, but I also understand my style of play isn’t everyone’s.

The one argument I will never understand is that it didn’t “feel” like D&D, or it was somehow ONLY a tactical game and not a role-playing game any more. Again, given that the original game didn’t even call itself a role-playing game, this felt odd. Personally, I roleplay no matter what game I’m playing. If I’m playing Monopoly, I’m roleplaying, doing voices, and pretending to be something I’m not. I honestly enjoyed 4E, and I know a lot of folks who did, too. A lot of it may simply come down to style of play. But I also enjoyed all the games that came before, including Pathfinder. To paraphrase the YouTube content creator The Dungeon Bastard, “Does your game have dungeons? Does it have dragons? Great. I wanna play.”

As a sidenote, in the months leading up to 4E’s release, a lot of internet videos were released by WotC emphasizing the nature of change and talking about differences in the rules. They also released some preview books showing the direction they were heading. WotC must have anticipated that people were going to find this edition very different indeed. They also cleverly brought in some very funny folks - Scott Kurtz from PVPOnline and Jerry Holkins & Mike Krahulik from Penny Arcade - and got them to play D&D for podcasting purposes. Looking back, this must’ve brought in a lot of listeners who might never have played D&D and given them a reason to try it out.

After its release, WotC clearly noted that missteps had been made, as this edition of the game was losing them players. They began work on what they referred to as D&D Next, and, this time, they did massive amounts of playtesting, some of which I participated in.

I don’t feel like I have to describe 5E to any of you, Dear Readers, as you could go to virtually any store and pick it up. I am a big fan of 5E’s simplicity and elegance, and I suspect this is the edition of D&D we’re going to have for some time to come, especially given its popularity. Given the effect of podcasts like Critical Role (and I might save an article on Critical Role’s importance to D&D until my next Freestyle article), D&D is likely more popular now than it’s ever been, with a much wider and more diverse audience than ever before.

I know I’m painting with broad strokes here, but I hope this was, at least, entertaining, and maybe you learned something, Gentle Readers. Until we next meet, may all your 20s be natural.

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floatinginwords · 3 years

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Saved by the Devil (10/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: You spend a little time with Tommy (Again sorry about my summaries i suck at them)

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Fem!reader (not romantic..but we are getting there slowly but surely)

A/n: Hi everyone. this chapter maybe a bit shorter than what i usually write and i didnt proof read this one so apologizes for that. This semester is just annoying. Too much going on for stupid online courses. Anyway this chapter is bit more in Tommys p.o.v, i mean we get a bit of readers in the end but yea...if you dont like that tell me or if you do tell me. If you guys have any questions or anything like that just tell me. And of course and always have a lovely day.

Thomas Shelby leads you to a little apartment near his office. He knew he could have driven you to the train station, given you some fare as you went on your way. He could have driven you to London. Hell, he could have paid someone to do it. But there was part of him deep down within that didn’t want you to go yet. It was a surprise for him to see you in the office. He hadn’t been avoiding you, things were just getting hectic around with the business. And with the constant pressure from the inspector and the sudden charges on Arthur and Michael, his focus needed to be sharp. And then he exits his office and see you standing with Lizzie, Polly, and Esme. For the first since he’s known you, he actually detected a little bit of nervousness from you.

At first he didn’t understand why you wanted to help in his little plan. It didn’t make sense for you to put yourself in harms way with all the shit you’ve already been through. He notices that when he asks about your father the way you tense up. He doesn’t know why he asks, its something he rather not talk about either. But it was a question that bothered him for awhile. He could of asked your father, in that last meeting when…

Thomas shakes his head from his thoughts turning to look at you who seemed just as dazed and muddled in their own thoughts. You were definitely an enigma to him. He doesn’t even remember what he said to make you laugh. All he remembers is that he did.

To him you laugh was like a canary singing a song of hope in the middle of brutal winter. Thomas doesn’t think he ever heard a sound so sweet. He feels his lips stretch into a smile, something that felt foreign on his face. It was definitely something he hadn’t done in awhile. So as he walks you to his place, keeping a gentle hand on your elbow to keep your balance. He couldn’t help but to think to himself ‘how can I hear that sound again?’

So he leads you in the apartment, setting you down on his couch. You flop down like a child and he cant help but be amused at your drunken state.

“Mr.Shelby, I believe I drank too much.” You hiccup.

“Thats alright,” Thomas says, “Listen you can rest here and we’ll talk more in the morning.” He doesn’t really want to end the night yet but he can see the fatigue in your face.

You shake you head at him, “We can talk now. I don’t sleep very much.” You don’t look into his eyes as you speak which he finds odd. A detail he’s always noticed was the eye contact you gave. He couldn’t tell what you were searching but he appreciated it, not many people could look him in the eye.

Hes suddenly reminded of a conversation you had awhile ago. When you had bluntly asked him your father was dead. He had expected you to say nothing for that entire ride. But you didn’t. He remembers your question.

“Do your nightmares ever stay with you longer that you would like?”

He had answered honestly. The nightmares often lingered around him for days sometimes weeks. It wasn’t often he got a good nights sleep. He could see the sleep in your eyes wanting to take over. You were fighting it though quite easily like you’ve done it before. He didn’t want to be overstepping any line and he also didn’t want to seem creepy remembering a conversation, a small detail from weeks ago. He wasn’t sure at all how you’d react to it. So he decided to say nothing, wait for you to take the lead. Which you did, mostly because your mouth seemed to have a mind of its own sometimes.

“You get nightmares too Mr. Shelby, I remember you agreeing with me this one time…”You trail off slurring your word, “Sometimes they can be so much…”

“What do you dream about?” He asks.

You don’t answer. Thomas doesn’t pressure you for answer, you look to be searching for one. Your mouth open and eyes wandering around the room. But you give no answer.

Thomas decides to speak, lighting a cigarette as he does, “I dream about France sometimes.” The answer surprise him. Hes not one for opening up.

You don’t say anything so he continues, “I can hear the shovels at night. That’s when their the loudest.” He blows the smoke as he talks.

“I sometimes dream of the hospital…they didn’t exactly treat me great there. Sometimes its my father…” You say the word ‘father’ quietly as if it was like a little curse falling off your lips.

Thomas wants to ask you what that man had done to you, why it seemed you feared and hated him so much. He wished he asked you in that first meeting with you. When he promised to kill him for you…..he knew then it was something you wanted, he didn’t know how badly…maybe if he had known he would have done things differently.

“Sometime he’s not even doing anything…he’s just watching me. And smiling,” You say pulling him away from his thoughts, “It takes a moment for me to realize he’s not there. He’s not watching.” You stop talking suddenly, certainly not meaning to get that honest.

Thomas clenches his jaw, “well it’s a good thing hes not around anymore.”

You look up at him for the first time the whole night, meeting his eyes. Your stare sends shivers up his arms.

“Right…” you trail off, looking uncertain. “Mr Shelby I-“

“You know,” He cuts you off wanting to change the subject, “I don’t think this is very business like.”

“Excuse me.” You blink confused with the sudden statement.

“I mean you won’t’ call me by my name because this is business but here you are at my place, drunk, talking to me about stuff that not business.”

You scoff at him. “Are you really that bothered by it?” you tease

“I just think in settings like this, you can let go a little bit.”

“I think you should get used to disappointment, Mr.Shelby.” You emphasize his name a bit.

“You must admit that we aren’t doing anything related to business.”

“Then what would you call it?” You challenge.

And he didn’t know what to call it. But he just felt more. Maybe it was friendship. He definitely enjoyed your company. He wasn’t afraid to admit that to himself. Hes reminded of the feelings of when you got hurt at the horse auction and went missing those three days. He didn’t want to admit that there was apart of him that cared for you. That part has been locked away ever since Grace. He had trusted her and loved her. And then she betrayed him. And there was just a part of him that just didn’t want to go through that again.

“Are you okay,” you ask, “you went quiet for a minute.”

“ Yea just thinking.”

“Do you wanna keep talking?” you say shyly.

And he couldn’t say no to you. That night the two of you spend you time just talking. It’s the first time Tommy’s ever done something like that. Take a woman home and not bed her. He wasn’t thinking about doing that with you but it had dawned on him later that small fact. You listened to his stories about his family. You were an only child and had no stories nearly s fun as his. You tell him you wish you grew up in a big family. You list all the places you wanted to travel to and he watches you ramble about them. The two of you laugh and smile. Both feeling lighter in each others presence. He can see you loosening up a bit and he just wonders what your like when you aren’t fully on guard. He can fee himself doing the same. He doesn’t mind but he knews that hes going to berate himself later. Hours pass and You both fall asleep on the couch, neither of you remembering what the other was talking about as you do. It was the first time in a long time that either of you had fallen asleep peacefully.

You wake up first, feeling an awful pudding within your head. Why was it that you never could know your limit. You attempt to get up when you sense an arm around you. A unwelcomed flutter of butterflies erupt in your stomach as you realize who the arm belongs to.

‘Fuck’ you think to yourself trying to untangle yourself from his arm, trying to understand how you even got roped up in him.

Successfully you manage to unwrap your self from him, the warmth of his body leaving your side making you feel cold. You’re tempted to roll back but think against it. You stretch up from the couch and walk around the apartment quietly. It wasn’t very big. The living room connected to the kitchen. And his room connected to the bathroom. You wonder around trying to wake your creaky bones. You see a bundle of letters on his, dresser with very neat and lovely writing, addressed to him. You see a pipe beside his bed and pick it up wondering if he used this on himself last night. You walk backwards trying to take it all in. He didnt have much. A few pictures of him and his siblings. And that woman from before. The older one who gave you chills with her stare. Pol-polly you think her name was. You continue walking backward before bumping into his dresser. The letters falling down. You bend down picking them up not without looking more closely at the beautiful stationary. You see at corner of the envelope

From Grace

For a minute you’re really disappointed. And you don’t know why. And then the pieces fall together. When you remember Mr.shelbys horses name, “Graces secret,” And when Ada told you ‘he had someone last year.” You don’t know why you feel uncomfortable all of a sudden. You don’t feel right hanging around his apartment. Unless their not together? Wait why do you even care? You neatly stack the envelopes back to their place and calmly walk away, needing to distract yourself from the sudden intrusion of thoughts you would very much like to get rid of.

You pass by Thomas sleeping body. You pause to look at him. Admiring the way his feature seem to soften up as he slept. You almost compare him to an angel. A knock on the door alerts you as you sit up straight. Thomas shoots up in a panic. He looks at you confused before getting up.

“How long have you been up?” he asks you, heading for the door.

You don’t answer. Watching him go to get the door. A small boy is behind the door, you cant hear what either of them say as they talk in hushed voices.

“(y/n),,” he calls you over, “my brother finn here is gonna lead you to the garrison I have a meeting I have to attend to.” He says not leaving you any room to argue to deny his request as he grabs his jacket and locks the door before the two of you.

“Ill be back soon, try not to run into trouble.” He says.

You nod and go your separate ways, following the young boy through the streets of Birmingham.

Read pt.11

Tags

@babylooneytoonz @captivatedbycillianmurphy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @evelyn-4034 @ms-dont-care @owenniasstars

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #Fanfic #saved by the devil fic

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awesome-cookies-and-cream · 3 years

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Reki and Langa’s dynamic

It’s speculation at my part and a shameless rant on what i like about sk8 just to get it off my chest I’ve been so fixated help

it’s 5am I’m at uni and i have a shit ton to do, am I really gonna make an essay about sk8 instead? yes abso-fucking-lutely. strap on to your metaphorical skateboards kids. this is going to be long ride

this isn’t to call out anyone lol so in case you get that impression I’m sorry. I understand everyone is out to interpret media in whatever they like and that’s fine, but sometimes i feel like either some missed some points of the story? anyway here are my thoughts tho

alright so what i absolutely love about sk8 is how they didn’t make anyone into a genius.Genius is a mockery of the hardships everyone does to attain that level of skills. And no Langa is not a genius or a prodigy which I will explain later. I’ve seen enough shounen animes back in the day and usually it’s ‘annoying heart of gold beginner vs. calm and collected genius’ they usually hate each other’s guts and bicker all the time though secretly, deep down care for each other but would rather die than admit it dynamic. While I’m glad we’re moving past that, I really thought Reki and Langa would be like that so....

imagine my surprise when Langa was the ‘beginner’ in skating. He has the potential to be a second sasuke here lol. (blue, handsome, cool) but no he isn’t. he’s an adorable idiot, an airhead, head empty only skating dude and i love it.

Reki as well. He could have been the usual protagonist. (sucks at his sport, loud, hardworking, and by the power of friendship he suddenly beats everyone else which i think is pretty overused at this point, don’t you think?) some people complain how Reki despite being the MC isn’t given screentime and hasn’t won a single beef. (and sure that’s true. he should have won some and langa lose some but we only have 12 eps so lol) but he’s not the usual protagonist you know? and sk8 isn’t about winning. if it was, I think they would have focused on the techniques. the hows and the what to do.

Idk if you noticed, but sports anime with winning in its goal would often explain in detail certain techniques. (see haikyuu) but shows like Free and Yuri on Ice isn’t exactly talking about how to win that seriously as Haikyuu did. It’s more focusing on the feelings and how their lives are affected with their passion for this sport. it’s about the character development!!! and i think SK8 is something like that too. It explores the character’s feelings rather than sport. (like what i tell my sister, they use the sport as a character device if that makes sense?)

this was literally in the opening lol. it’s really about the feelings you know?

so anyway it’s been pointed out several times that Reki was already feeling insecure about his skills in skating since ep 1 way before Langa came. But he still likes to skate and despite feeling never enough, he still enjoyed it. (some also pointed out that Reki’s reason of going into a beef against Shadow has been because he insulted his way of skating not because he wanted to be the best) so the show from the get go was already hinting at his self esteem issues.

this also implies that Reki has always been feeling like this in a while, added with his tendencies to bottle things up, it makes sense that he’ll blow up at some point and he’ll need to release all of those feelings. (so yeah i think this is just the right amount of eps for their fall out. i see some people complaining shush. otherwise it would also feel too rushed. this is years weighing him)

and i guess it’s also implied in here he’s had days like these too in the past! seriously it’s an ongoing problem he’s been carrying. i think 3 eps is pretty good enough pace to internalize it

so point: Reki was already down way before Langa came. langa just added to that. And don’t go blaming Langa cause the boy did nothing wrong.

Consider that Langa just lost his dad (i think we need more backstory on this though. please sdsjkdksl i need little Langa and his dad interactions) he just moved countries, and the only connection to his dad (snowboarding) is gone cause it doesn’t snow in OKinawa

though one also argues that Langa hasn’t been snowboarding since his dad was gone.

so for Langa, Reki introducing skating to him was revolutionary. You’re someone grieving over the death of what is probably the most important person in your life, the thing you love the most no longer gives you joy (as was shown in the flashbacks and basically Langa going ‘it’s the same’) and you’re in a new country with a language you barely are fluent. you can’t even read or write, and you barely have friends granted you don’t have much back in the day. it’s horrible.

and then this guy you barely know talks to you, befriends you, helps you get a job, and teaches you something you thought you’ve lost and through that you made more friends??

yeah you see why Langa likes Reki. You also see why he’s obsessed with skating. It’s kind of like a coping, a fixation. plus he’s bad with social cues i guess? the interview says he’s likely to get dumped for being too inattentive lmao and that’s what makes him interesting!

also the thing that really surprised me when they first interacted was how supportive Reki is to Langa. it also got to me with how much Langa thinks highly of Reki. Again a deviation to the ‘i say i hate you but deep down i care for you’ trope. they’re full on supportive and protective. i like that. it’s fresh to me. I thought Reki was going to the tsundere ‘hmph that’s not a big deal’ route at the start of ep 2 but he’s really amazed. (kinda also says he’s been very desperate for someone to share skating with but that’s another topic)

so Reki teaches Langa how to skate. and Langa sucks. Which was interesting to me because I thought Langa would be some flawless prince-like character. But nah. He trips and faints at his own blood lol. He’s so uncool and i love it.

Some people say Langa is over powered with a thick ass plot armor which gets him to win (which is why i see people saying he should have won against Joe and I actually agree that Langa should lose some beefs but again only 12 eps, so little time)

but I still wanna talk about it anyway so it’s revealed Langa was snowboarding since 2. That’s 15 years. I think that should be around the same time Joe and Cherry should be skating. and i think if you start earlier as a kid, your body develops differently. (should Langa, “an amateur” win against Joe a pro? the question falls more on whether you can classify Langa as an amateur) i think it’s like Langa being very used to motorcycle tricks from age 2 then suddenly he’s using a regular bicycle, and sure the feeling is mostly the same but there’s just something off. Your body doesn’t easily forget what you know, especially if it did it for 15 years. and so Reki customizes a board for Langa so it’ll feel exactly like snowboarding

So Langa has a customized board that he needed to get used to before he went pro. He really sucked the first few eps lmao. but that’s more of him getting used to the new rules. he pretty much told Reki in ep 2 that he can’t do a skateboard ollie, but he can do a snowboard one bec it’s attached to his feet.

(i may just want to add that one thing i also like about sk8 is that it really doesn’t care what you need for accommodation? if that’s how you do it best, then go for it. When Langa says to Reki he can’t do the ollie without the board attached to his feet, Reki immediately goes his way to accommodate him. usually people in real life might say ‘it’s not real skateboarding if you need a modification etc. but look at Cherry with a freaking AI board and people are like yeah whatever do what you want man. whatever rolls your board.)

so anyway Langa vs. Joe with Langa winning despite being an amateur? if you can even call him an amateur that is. Plus all his tricks are snowboarding tricks lol. everything he’s done is testament to his 15 years of snowboarding?? We don’t even know how good Langa is in snowboarding. Someone make a post about how difficult the snowboarding equivalent of those tricks Langa has done just to show people it means he’s pretty pro (I’ll even argue maybe Langa’s real talent is his creative ways of going around things which kind of why Adam is highkey obsessed, and calls Cherry who calculates everything to the last second boring but that’s a different can of worms I’m opening later) plus Langa barely won against Joe so there’s not much difference in level i think. Should Langa have lost though?

I think some have missed the point of that beef in Reki’s pov. and if the Renga reconciliation is done well, it would be worth it.

that beef got Reki to realize he what he really wants! that it’ll kill him if he can’t skate anymore! that he doesn’t wanna only cheer on for others and be a support! THAT HE WANTS TO SKATE BY LANGA’S SIDE WHICH IS THE REASON FOR ALL THIS INSECURITIES if Langa lost, that cathartic realization might not have happened. He might have gone to Langa and cheered him up, brushed off his insecurities and, made up with Langa halfheartedly without addressing his problems

I’m going to go back to Reki’s insecurities. In ep 6 he’s been afraid of being left behind, and sure Langa came back for him but he still forgot until midway. (will that parallel how Langa got too excited with the idea of skating, the same feeling he thought he lost forever. The same thing that he thinks connects him with his dad, and might have left Reki behind, but later remembers and goes back to chase him? hopefully) in ep 4 it’s obvious he’s afraid of the near death experience Adam gave him, and he’s just realized how different their skills were. in ep 5 he worries about Langa, enough to get nightmares about it. mixed with his friend getting hurt. it’s obvious the feelings are very very muddled there.

So he begs Langa not to skate with Adam.

And what did Langa do? say that he wanted to skate with Adam. (again he’s not the most attentive. he probably thinks he’s just skating with his best friend, all is good then boom. Reki leaves. as a person shit with dealing with other people, i don’t blame him at all) he’s trying to fix it though, but his bond with Reki primarily revolves around skating! how else was he going to warm up with Reki? He also doesn’t know that Reki has self esteem issues that’s always been there since the beginning. He probably doesn’t understand it too because he holds Reki up highly. in ep 6 when Reki was going over his board, Langa thinks he’s pretty cool. he didn’t hear what other said to Reki. He’s earnestly having fun with his friend

We should also note that Reki was never angry at Langa’s skills, he wasn’t resentful that Langa was far ahead. Again he’s been nothing but supportive. He doesn’t want to pull Langa down. He wasn’t like Miya’s friends that lashed out at Miya for being better. in ep 7 he tries his best to follow Langa

it feels like he’s mostly regretful that he can’t catch up. he doesn’t want Langa to slow down, he wants to go faster and meet him where he was. So it makes the realization that all he wants to do was be in equal with Langa more frustrating because he thinks he can’t keep up. (and this only ever started when he heard he’s like Langa’s plus one. there’s that daunting feeling about being pulled around. not being his equal)

if you need further proof, when Langa and Joe were having a beef, he wasn’t aggressively hoping Langa would lose. in fact he encouraged him. He worries deeply He calls him out when he was doing badly. Still very supportive as ever. So really the frustration isn’t to Langa, again, it’s all internal. He wants to be better

so he’s feeling shit and Langa goes to him in the middle of the rain, bless langa for trying, thinking talking about skating (what he thinks Reki loves and would probably cheer him up, not knowing that’s exactly his problem) tells him

which is probably the worst he could say.

THAT’S what got Reki mad, not really Reki being insecure though that’s part of it, that’s what they’re fighting about, Reki is angry he’s breaking his promise. He thinks Langa doesn’t care about Reki, that he’ll easily break a promise between them that Reki obviously cares about just so he can go skate with Adam who is way better than him. It blows to the self esteem. Reki probably also think that if only he was better, langa wouldn’t bother skating with someone that dangerous. it doesn’t help at all.

but langa doesn’t know this. he doesn’t see all this. Langa might have been too up the high of skating like in ep 6, he sorta left Reki behind again.

it kinda makes Langa’s mom’s words hit harder though

and he did just that. he got too engrossed.

It parallels adam, cherry and joe’s friendship then probably tadahsi’s too but who knows? reki and langa, and tadashi and adam might parallel too, the master and the student thingy Adam might have gotten too obsessed. So Joe trying his best to make sure Reki and Langa won’t end up like them hits a little harder in my chest ;’)

but Langa won’t be to engrossed i think

because unlike Adam who’s aggressively looking for his ‘equal’, Langa is just looking for someone who makes his heart beat, to make him feel like he’s skating with his dad again, someone he loves dearly. (there’s a parallel about loves here too between Adam’s and Langa’s. but I can’t write it now) and he probably already thinks Reki is his equal anyway. He just wants to have fun. he doesn’t think much about the skills.

maybe at first he does. that’s why he’s drawn to Adam but from ep 9, it was pretty much shown that skills really doesn’t matter from when he skated against Joe

if Adam easily discarded his friends because he think they’re boring (which was why the whole skateboard to the face thing with Cherry), langa doesn’t think like that

if anything Reki is important to Langa because he only has fun skating with Reki, who taught him how to skate and made his board. (his board that was customized to fit his style btw, and arguably the only reason he could skate that well. without it, he might as well be a beginner once again.) so without reki, langa is left with nothing. especially with his broken board

no fun in skating, no way of skating. He’s only manage to get this far because of Reki and he knows that now. All of it would be pointless if he doesn’t have Reki (and either he gets so obsessed in chasing that feeling again, or he stops completely) but in case you haven’t noticed it, Langa’s motivation revolves around having fun with skating no matter the skill or place. And he’s having most fun with Reki.

But Reki obviously doesn't know Langa’s feelings. He thinks Langa was forever looking for someone better. So he’s still caught up in the idea that Langa won’t want to skate with him (even though Langa has never shown this) and he left S entirely, thinking what he wants is impossible. fucking just talk you two motherfucker

(I also wanna point out that Reki has always been shown from episode one to be good at making boards. And that’s amazing? We need some support recognition and appreciation, seriously) I think maybe most who find problem with Reki not winning beefs like the usual shounen protags aren’t used to the nuance and perspective of being someone ‘ordinary’. Reki’s character is relatable because most of us feel ordinary, never enough, surrounded by geniuses, ‘inferior’. And if we’re being realistic since a lot are saying joe should have won because langa winning is unrealistic and you want realism so bad no I’m not salty at all there will always be someone better than you. ALWAYS. but what’s important is for you to have fun in what you love! in what makes you happy! AND even if you’re not good at one thing (in Reki’s part, skating) he’s also good at other things (making boards) so does he need to stop one for the other? no. He’s shown to enjoy skating with Langa, he doesn’t wanna stop it hurts him so much he quit. But he can also hone his skills in making boards as well as skate. He’s equal with Langa in a way he doesn’t even notice when he made that board for Langa, but even Reki’s presence alone makes Langa enjoy skating the way Reki also wants Langa by his side.

So I think the next ep is the best time to confront all these feelings. And how it happens might be what’s tricky. Like romantic or not, i personally can read it both ways though i prefer if they do become canon. (idk if it’s queerbaiting. i guess friends can care as deeply as that but ngl, these shounen bestfriends having deep connections that are written off as friends while also giving us bland af hetero love interests who did nothing but exist and be straight really is messing with my perception of romantic and platonic love irl) anyway their talk better be done really well, or else all those episodes of tension would be for nothing

It’s a nice perspective to give a shounen protagonist this time. It’s new, it’s fresh. How many incarnations of underdog turned the best at their craft can you take? variety is nice! and if you don’t like it, there are always a dozen other animes like that for you to turn to. to conclude, IT ALL GOES BACK TO THE START: WHAT IS YOUR HAPPINESS???! AND FOR THEM IT’S THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP BUT IN A VERY DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE. FRIENDSHIP DOESN’T SUDDENLY GET YOU TO LEVEL 100000000000 TO DEFEAT THE FINAL BOSS. FRIENDSHIP IS WHAT MAKES DEFEATING THE FINAL BOSS WORTHWHILE

Anyway tldr; maybe the real Eve is the friends we made along the way :D and idk if I’m making sense but obviously I’m head empty only sk8. Renga needs to talk, i can’t believe they have the audacity to make a recap episode as if i wasn’t head empty only sk8 since february, and if there’s more emotional edging to come, i will burn some of the palm trees outside my house

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brave-clarice · 3 years

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“Clarice” Liveblog: Episode 7

disclaimer: there’s going to be discussion of a lot of little details I disliked in this one, but as a whole, I liked it a lot better!

honestly? Clarice’s coworkers have every reason to question if she’s “okay” given what we’ve seen so far on this show.

and yeah, coming back from leave a week after being repeatedly tortured does “seem soon”.

AG Martin is using Clarice just as badly as Crawford ever did.

why does Krendler look so sharp? tailored waistcoat, crisp shirt...his costumes would look more in-character for Hannibal than Paul Krendler. I don’t get it.

not sure I like the “my people mined coal, so we know when we’re okay to work” flex, but...whatever.

she makes some truly uninspired costume and hair choices look great

“who am I, James Bond?” are you an FBI agent or aren’t you, Krendler?

BIG Jack Crawford and his Pepto Bismol vibes, but dammit, Krendler should NOT be like Crawford!

now Ardelia’s back to collaborating with Clarice on a case like it’s no big deal??? way to make her look like a hypocrite. again.

idk, I still think Ardelia could have an FBI subplot AND be part of Clarice’s life without constantly working with Clarice within an FBI context (their careers don’t really intersect in the books). those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

“he died instantly” um, is Clarice a medical examiner now? I know she’s got a forensics background, but she’s just now seeing the body.

“Cody didn’t feel any pain” how does Clarice know that and why is confident enough to say it to the kid’s mother?!

also, are victim’s family members usually allowed right into the crime scene like that? paging @special-agent-pendragon!

“let’s talk when we can” Clarice, honey...you literally live with Ardelia, lmao.

the crooked lawyer’s office reminds me a LOT of Chilton’s office in Silence.

Paul Krendler: Good Guy and Faithful Husband...don’t know him!

and again...this is a waste of time on Clarice’s show.

she’s so dang cute!

hey, a reference to Ardelia’s grandma!

Clarice and Ardelia working on a case together at home, off the clock, is way more on brand!

also Clarice eating junk food...that’s my girl :)

I too sometimes eat Lucky Charms out of the box, haha.

omg, Ardelia’s actual grandma!!!

and: a reference to her frying pan, the one Clarice looks into after reading Hannibal’s letter!

Clarice is finally laughing and drinking and having a good time with her best friend...I’m so happy about it.

literally exactly what I wanted/this show NEEDED

“at least my father‘s still alive” oh...my god...they really made Ardelia Mapp say that to Clarice... I...don’t know what to say except that I hate it. the scene was so great otherwise, too.

to be clear, imo this is not an appropriate thing to say to your best friend, ever.

Clarice might be drunk, but her nonchalant reaction (giggling!) is all wrong too, particularly for this Clarice, who’s always been shown as deeply traumatized/haunted.

maybe I’m 100% off-base on this, but I feel like Ardelia’s backstory in this show is at odds with her career choice: why does she go into law enforcement at all? does she truly believe she can make a substantial difference? hope this is addressed at some point.

“I can’t believe you never told me that before” I know this is expository, but I can’t believe it, either, Clarice.

there’s no indication in the books that Mrs. Starling was “always angry” or that Clarice was intimidated by/scared of her outbursts. she saw her mother as a pillar of strength! I don’t like this change tbh.

“he was the law. he was important” mmm...Clarice’s father was not important, and that’s the core of the tragedy, of her anger. it’s why Hannibal calls him the “night watchman” and the reason the Starlings didn’t receive any money or support after his death. he was expendable.

to be fair, I guess maybe this is supposed to be what Clarice’s idea of him was as a child.

this scene is full of little things I don’t like, and Clarice’s father giving her the add-a-bead necklace is definitely one of them.

in the book, Hannibal guesses that Clarice is afraid her beads now look tacky (having been previously trendy in the early-to-mid-80s...so, well after her father’s death). there’s NO indication they had any sentimental value (in fact, they’re never mentioned again iirc)--and with four kids to support, how can he afford to give his eight- or ten-year-old daughter decent jewelry, anyway???

I like the IDEA and the FEELING of that scene. just not the dialogue. and the entire thing is slightly undercut (imo) by Ardelia’s earlier mean-spirited comment. idk. it was cute, but this show’s writing is its own worst enemy.

Ardelia called her “Starling”! :)

Clarice’s costume is yet again blah, while Ardelia’s is great...anything but 199x, though.

money shot!

whew...didn’t see THAT plot twist coming.

Good Guy Paul Krendler continues to be a thing for some reason.

does the Hoover building only have one hallway?

Krendler gaslighting Clarice because someone is blackmailing him doesn’t hit the same as Krendler undercutting her career because he’s a sexist jackass who wants to fuck her. sorry.

Good: Clarice laughing/smiling/joking/having fun with her friend! A (could-have-been-better) bonding scene with Ardelia. Clarice getting to work a field case and the iconic shots that come with that territory. Ardelia’s grandma! Not a single mention of the Bill case, thank God.

Bad: Some of Clarice’s snap forensic judgments...they just felt too fast and unconvincing to me. Everyone’s costumes and hair continue to underwhelm me. (Why has Paul Krendler stolen Hannibal’s wardrobe? Why can’t Clarice wear something even remotely exciting?) Ardelia’s awful “at least my father’s still alive” comment. The muddled implications about Clarice’s mother (especially in an episode about an abusive mother).

Ugly: Krendler subplot, as usual.

Overall? Better. Much better. Absolutely a case of “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts”. Despite its subject matter, this episode was a lot more pleasant to watch than the previous two. Clarice had a limited amount of character development beyond “doe-eyed and traumatized,” she actually got to laugh, enjoy life, eat junk food (!) and solve a case with a friend before it all went to hell.

I want more, though. The writing leaves a lot to be desired. There were a lot of small details of which I was critical, namely Ardelia’s insensitivity towards her best friend (unfortunately, this seems to be part of a pattern) and several minor but jarring and pointless changes to the books (mostly having to do with the Starlings). Most of the ViCAP team is still pretty one-dimensional, Krendler continues to get way too much screentime, Ardelia is hit-or-miss.

And Rebecca Breeds has to milk every moment and every line for whatever nutritional value it’s worth re: Clarice’s character. Even after seven episodes, I don’t feel as Rebecca’s Clarice has been allowed to fully emerge as the iconic character we know from the books. But I’ll keep on hoping...after all, there are at least three episodes to go!

#clarice #cbs clarice #Clarice Starling #rebecca breeds #only a week late this time heh #*a week and a half now oop #sorry for the lateness and the nitpicking but how hard is it NOT to change the book???

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toast-the-unknowing · 4 years

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hey Toast! i love all your fics and your writing a lot - it always strikes the perfect balance between humorous and insightful and sweet and it's never boring. i've been having trouble finishing anything i write lately - especially when it comes to linking one scene to another in a way that's compelling and keeps to that narrative/not disjointed. idk whether that's just a lack of motivation or what but i was wondering whether you have any tips in that regard or re: pacing?

I don't think lack of motivation is usually a writer's problem, or at least, I think when that is a writer's problem they are probably aware of it. Is the script in your head "I don't want to write this" or "I want to write this but can't"? Because if you don't want to write a story, the solution is pretty obvious; I think it's much more common that the motivation is there but something is countering it.

Often for me it's fear. That people won't like the story, that I won't be able to make the story be what I want it to be, that maybe it says something about me if people don't like it or if I can't make it be what I wanted it to be. That fear is much more likely to strike near the end of a story than near the beginning, so it is specifically a “trouble finishing stories” issue.

Sometimes it's a problem with clarity. I can lose sight of a story as I get into it. Particularly near the end of the story, because I've written all the bits that are easy already, so now I'm drilling down into the hard parts, or the parts where I don't really have a good idea of what's supposed to go there, and in addition to being hard work it means I've zoomed way in on this one part of the story, which isn't even the part that made me want to write the story in the first place. Writing might become a huge drag because some part of me knows that the story has gotten muddled up along the way, that there's something missing or something that needs to change, and it's tugging on my sleeve trying to make me turn around and notice it. Or maybe there isn't anything wrong in the story, but I've gotten so caught up in these little details that I'm thinking of the story as this one problem area instead of the story that I wanted to write in the first place.

But whether it's fear or my internal editor or tunnel vision, the motivation of "I want to write this" is usually enough to overcome that. (Not always, and my ratio of stories I start to stories I finish is abysmal, but these days the ones that get abandoned are usually ones where I go "I don't actually want to write this, or not enough to put in the work it requires.") I just need to REMEMBER that I want to write it. What were the things about the story that made me excited about it, before I ever wrote a word? What are some of the things that I wrote along the line that I didn't expect that were wonderful surprises? What's something that I would be sad to realize I could never show someone, if I never finished the story? That can really help me find my motivation. It can also help me spot story problems if I have them -- reminding myself of the concept, the theme, the shape, the emotional beats I wanted to hit, that can help me spot things in my story that aren't serving it.

Also, just, sometimes I'm not feeling a particular story at a particular time. Sometimes my brain is in "generate idea" mode and not "finish and polish a story" mode. I have about two dozen works in progress so if I think that's what’s happening I just bounce over to a different one. I acknowledge this system wouldn't work for everyone but it does work for me and could work for someone else.

As for linking scenes and pacing, this is going to sound very flippant but I do not mean it that way, but sometimes the secret is just to end the scene and start the next one. You will mess up your pacing so much more by trying to force a link, or by writing past the end of the scene, than you will by just cutting from one thing to the next.

Scene changes make us think about our plot (”okay, just finished thing G, time for thing H”), but it helps to look at the tone, as well. If you have a very happy cute fluffy scene, and then a sad angsty scene, I can see why you want to build a bridge between them. If you couldn't think of what events should be happening to get you there, at least now you know the emotional slope you’re on. Do you want your scene to build energy and suspense, with more characters coming in or more dialogue or more events happening? Or do you want things to be slowing down and getting more quiet, maybe lingering on the scene after one or more of the characters has left. Or, if you do have a big shift in mood between scenes, acknowledge the characters' reality and anticipate your audience's reaction. Maybe the sad thing that happens is more devastating because they were just happy. Maybe the fact that the characters are laughing in this scene when the last scene was awful makes them feel surprised, or guilty, or hopeful.

It is super helpful to ask yourself "what do my characters feel right now" and "how would my characters react to the thing that JUST NOW JUST HAPPENED." (I feel like I extol the virtues of improv a lot when I talk about writing, but this is something that improv has helped me develop.) I get caught up sometimes in what a story NEEDS a character to be thinking or feeling at a certain point in time and ignoring where the scene actually IS. Then I have a hard time connecting two bits of dialogue that structurally only need a couple of sentences to fit together and yet...somehow...I cannot...write those two sentences. That usually means there’s a disconnect like "hey this character was just talking about something really personal and serious, would the person they're talking to really be making jokes/talking about their own problems a second later?" That's a problem within a scene rather than between them, but maybe two scenes feel disjointed because a character's emotions have changed in between them, without an obvious reason for the change and without the audience getting to see a non-obvious reason.

Sometimes you flat out know that you need something to go in between two beats -- for the pacing, for the emotional logic, to fill in a plot hole -- but you still don't know what actually HAPPENS in that scene. One thing that helps me there is to walk through the logistics of a character's life. If I really have no idea what should happen, I ask, what would the characters be doing right after this scene, or right before the next one -- going to class? eating lunch? visiting their family?

This is the kind of detail that I will HAPPILY throw out the window if it gets in the way of the story I want to tell, by the way. I'm not going to not write a really great moment because "well but wouldn't the character probably still be at work" whatever, don't care. And I'm not going to write a scene that doesn't need to be in the story just to satisfy that logic. But if I'm stuck that can be a source of inspiration.

Another good inspiration for when I know something's missing but don't know how to fill it in: think theme. What is the story ABOUT? Is there an event or action or bit of dialogue that would bring that in? What's the thing that made me go I WANT TO WRITE THIS! How can I channel that specific motivation into this scene? If the thing I was most excited about was one specific emotional beat or mental image, what is something that would resonate with that?

But also: you are allowed to write short scenes! You are allowed to write a montage of scenes! You are allowed to cut between things without it being "compelling," you are allowed to have invisible scene changes where the audience doesn't really think much of anything about the fact that the scene just changed, and arguably you should have more of those than otherwise! Even if you just cut between scenes abruptly so that you can finish the story -- hell, once it's done you can go back and look at those, maybe with a complete story in front of you, you can see a little clearer, remember your motivation a little better, and then the words will come out easier. But really if you've got that thing that makes your story your story -- a theme, an arc, one really cool moment that you're building up to, a character dynamic, a sense of humor, a mood, a trope, whatever was that thing you really wanted to play with and build on and show people -- if you've got that thing and you hold onto it, I don't think you need to worry about your story being disjointed.

#writing #Anonymous

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barisifictionarchive · 4 years

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Author: Juniperhoot

Preferred Name: Jenny

Have any events in your personal life ever influenced the things that you've written? Absolutely. STRAP IN.

Sometimes I rework something that happened to me, or to someone I know, and use it as a template for filling in personal details. See also: Carisi’s tale of molten aluminum burning holes in his ma’s kitchen flooring. That’s something that actually happened to me (well, it happened to my second husband, who got distracted while playing CounterStrike and let the pan boil dry). In one of my Stony stories, Steve tells Tony about a comforting gesture he learned from his mother - three squeezes of the hand, to silently say “I love you.” That’s something I learned from my Mema.

Beyond those bits of color, there are things that have made their way into my writing that come directly from my experiences. My interest in Sonny as a queer Catholic who once considered the religious life is something deeply personal to me, because that was my life, too. Even though I’m an atheist now, the church still holds some fascination for me, and I’m keenly interested in people who find a way to walk that line, and retain some belief while also retaining their autonomy and sense of self. The way I write Sonny is, in many ways, the way I think I would be, if I still believed. Okay, if I still believed AND were also a tall, noodly, bisexual man.

The way I write Rafael’s overthinking interior life is partly me, partly the things I’ve observed in people I’ve loved. The carefully chosen words, the moments of retreating from revealing too much of himself, the guardedness and tendency toward self-preservation that comes from growing up in an abusive home… all very relatable and possibly part of why I mostly write from his perspective, even though I generally consider myself more like Sonny. The shadows in Rafael’s heart are in my heart, too. My empathy is built on those shadows.

I wrote a Stony breakup fic years ago during a difficult time in my life. I’d reached a point where I had to remove some people from my life, because my priorities and theirs were so radically divergent. It felt like a big breakup. It reopened some feelings from my second divorce, and compounded what I was going through with another more recent breakup. Somehow, I used the pain and disillusionment of all that to write about two dudes in love, who found themselves in a crisis of trust and faith in one another. Of course, I also wrote them coming back together, and the work it takes to do that, because in my heart, I want to see good people work things out, if possible. And at least in my story, and in the way I view both of those characters, they ARE good people. In real life, some people really do need to be cut loose, when their values are wholly incompatible with your own. Some relationships can’t be mended. Some friendships turn out to be mostly one-sided. But hey, if they can be mined for material, they were worth it, right?

I’m in a less volatile emotional space these days, so my fics tend to reflect that. I’m the queen of domesticity and cute banter, and love that I’m getting to explore the quieter side of drama. I know I’ve said this before, but it’s worth saying again. It’s not all slamming doors and WE’RE THROUGH!, you know? There’s a marvelous sense of drama in the ways we try to negotiate cohabitation, or meeting the families of our romantic partners. There’s drama in supporting one another’s goals and ideals. At least, I think there is? And I hope my stories achieve that.

Do you have a favorite movie? I have a few, and they’re very different movies, because they reflect different aspects of my heart.

Pee-wee’s Big Adventure (1985) is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever seen, and it still makes me laugh, 35 years after its release. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen it. The stupid characters, the kitschy aesthetic, the score… it’s so very silly. I love it.

Singin’ in the Rain (1952) is, in my opinion, the most perfect Hollywood movie musical of all time. Everything about it works. The entire cast is outrageously talented, and attractive, and the songs are all memorable. The title song and dance routine never fails to elicit chills and a thrill of giddy joy in my heart. When Gene Kelly does that spin in the street, with the umbrella held out before him like a dance partner? Aaaaaiiiieeee. This is the movie that makes me wish I could dance.

A Room With A View (1985) is the sort of quiet, clever, understated romantic (in every sense of the word) movie I turn to again and again. It’s a gorgeous adaptation of a really smart, surprising book that left a mark on me when I first encountered it in high school. The score is lush and inviting, the cast is beautiful (and oh, those costumes!), the script is just fucking delicious, and of course, the scenery, from Florence to Kent, is exquisite. Plus, we get interplay between sincere humanism (the Emersons), religious belief (the Reverends Beebe and Eager), and the religious-by-default stances of so many of the other characters, whose participation in the religious life of the community seems to be more for societal expectations than anything else. It’s just beautiful, and one of the only movies I urge everyone to sit through to the very end, not because there’s a post-credits scene, but because the closing track that plays over the credits is fantastic.

Who is your favorite author? E.M. Forster, partly because of what I said above about A Room With A View. The novel is short, but crammed with interesting ideas and engaging dialogue. He has a unique voice that spoke to me as a teenager, and my appreciation for his writing has only increased over the many years since. Read Howards End. Read Maurice. Read Where Angels Fear to Tread. Read A Passage to India. But start with A Room With A View.

I know a lot of people would say Howards End is his masterpiece, and they’re probably right about that, but I’m telling you, the book that has meant the most to me over the years is A Room With A View. I’ve kept a copy of it with me since I first read it in 1985, and it’s traveled with me from Minnesota to Seattle and back again. Lucy Honeychurch’s ongoing muddle is something I’ve lived, and survived, and it means more to me every time I read the book. More than anything, it’s a book about authenticity vs hypocrisy, and that just fucking speaks to me, you know?

How did you start getting involved in fanfiction? Several years ago, I read a Sherlock fic called “The Road Less Traveled.” It was during the long, painful, post-Reichenbach Fall hiatus between series 2 and 3, and I found myself looking for something to read that would fill the gap. I’d never had much interest in fanfic before, but this thing did something to me.

I didn’t start writing fanfic until I saw an episode of Supernatural that I found upsetting. (Don’t get me started…) I started writing a little thing to try to fix the stupidity. I wrote a couple of things, but the show did everything in its power to kill my interest in it, so I drifted away. (That said, I am very proud of my short Destiel Christmas fic, which I still think is very cute and makes me wish things had played out differently.)

From there, I started writing Stony (Steve/Tony, mostly based on the MCU, but with some elements of various Marvel comics I’ve read over the years). I wrote several things in that fandom, and most of it was extremely stupid, but there are bits and pieces that I’m still rather fond of. I still want to finish my long fic that’s been gathering dust for a couple of years now. Oops.

How did you get involved with Barisi? Barisi is probably the first fandom that I’ve written for that really seemed to embrace me and encourage me to keep doing this. A friend of mine has been watching SVU forever, and would reference things occasionally on chat while she was watching it. (See also: SEX PARTY MEASLES BABY, an intriguing statement that I didn’t actually understand for YEARS.) I started watching SVU off and on, a few episodes here or there, sometime in 2018. I started at the beginning, and worked my way through the whole thing. When I started it, I was mostly in it for Olivia Benson. But I knew Raúl Esparza had been on the show at some point, and at the time, I was in the “oh, I think I remember seeing him in something, he’s good” camp.

It wasn’t until I got to season 14 that I lost my mind over the show. Rafael Barba is one of the greatest characters ever written for tv, and I’m so thrilled he came along and blew my frickin’ mind. My appreciation for Raúl Esparza went through the roof, and it made me go look for him in other things, which fed into my spiraling appreciation.

Fast forward to season 16. Sonny Carisi walks in, and is… a beautiful, mustachioed mess. I love him from the moment I see him, and I say, “Oh shit, this is the love of Rafael Barba’s life, isn’t it?” This is even before they’ve shared a scene. This is before they’ve blatantly checked each other out. This is just me recognizing the potential, and craving it. Then he shaves that stache and starts dressing better, and he’s shadowing Barba and they’re working cases together and Barba’s being KIND TO HIM? COME ON.

Naturally, I started thinking about writing them. And it wasn’t coming from a place of “I need to fix this episode” or “I need to work out a recent trauma” driving me. It was just “ugh, they have an amazing dynamic and I want to explore it and I want to see what their home life would look like.” That’s how I ended up writing Carisi’s Goddamn Legs. Suddenly I was being bombarded with thoughtful comments from readers. In one such comment, Maxi (mforpaul) asked me where I could be reached on other platforms, and messaged me privately about the story, and made a big deal out of tracking me down on Twitter, introducing me to the rest of the fandom. And that fandom turned out to be filled with really amazing people, who think about big issues like justice and queerness and representation. Those same people are also wonderfully silly and down to earth. The power of this fandom!

What inspires you to write? Lots of things. Life, because it is weird and messy and wonderful. My closest friend, who is a springboard for a lot of my nonsense, is always eager for me to write something new. My love of a ridiculous turn of phrase. The quest for dialogue that sounds in-character and natural. Sometimes, it’s just the seed of an idea, a thought that won’t leave me alone, like, “I bet a short king would be obsessed with those long, noodly legs.” Because I, a short queen, am similarly obsessed.

Sometimes, when the writing fever is upon me, it’s hard to sleep, hard to think of anything other than the story I’m working on. I just want to get it all out and done. If I’m writing something that I really enjoy, or feel very closely connected to, I physically tremble as I write. When that happens, I know I’m on the right track, and I don’t want to stop writing. I just want to inhabit that space, and wallow in that feeling.

What is your favorite fic that you have written? Carisi's Goddamn Legs is really something. The pining, the uncertainty, the slowly dawning realization, but most of all, that scene at Lorenzo’s, where it all comes to a head and the way it creeps to the edge of intimacy and then is interrupted by Lorenzo and a retreat to the casual, only to be sent right back to the edge… I’ve re-read the damn thing several times since I wrote it, and that scene gets to me every time. I really like it a lot. I like the dynamic between them so very much, and the way the truth tumbles out of Carisi literally makes me shake.

What is your favorite quote from a fic of yours? Ooh, yikes, this is hard. I have a couple of lines I really like. One is short, one is longer. Just like Barisi.

One of them (from Carisi's Goddamn Legs ) was something I gave to Olivia, as she tries to counsel Rafael on his worries that his emotional armor isn’t protecting him the way it used to.

“Wear and tear, I guess. Armor was never meant to be worn all the time.”

It’s a line that means something to me, personally, because I spent a substantial chunk of my life in armor, hiding who I was and trying to settle for “the best you can expect” rather than my actual heart’s desire. When I dismantled that wall, things got chaotic for a while, but I also realized I was capable of emotional depths and soaring heights I didn’t think possible for me. It’s something that the Jenny of today wants to whisper (or shout) at the Jenny of 25-30 years ago, and it’s that part of me that relates to Rafael’s journey from a lifetime of SHIELDS UP! to embracing vulnerability and intimacy. (I actually really like that whole scene between them, because I love their friendship and think it’s beautiful, and crave more of that dynamic. Platonic intimacy is gorgeous, and woefully underappreciated in most entertainment. I could go on for hours about that, but I won’t. Not right now, anyway.)

And from Staten Island Serenade, this passage of Rafael gazing at a sleeping Sonny really gets to me.

“As hard as it was some days, Rafael knew without question he wanted to be right here with him, because Sonny was worth the effort. He was a bewildering mess of contradictions and weirdness, too smart for his own good but capable of saying the most ridiculous shit Rafael had ever heard. Somehow everything about him was beautiful, and inspired something in Rafael that felt pure, and almost holy, or would be if he believed in holiness. Like Cymon of old, transformed in every way by the exquisite sight of sleeping Iphigenia, Rafael found himself similarly transformed; ennobled by the nearness of Sonny Carisi, someone so decent, so kind, so truly beautiful inside and out that it would have been a sacrilege not to strive to be a better man.”

What is your personal favorite fanfic?

Again with the hard questions. I don’t even know where to begin. I honestly can’t point to ONE and say, “This is it! THE FAVE.” I’m so sorry I’m not able to narrow down my faves on anything. I’m terrible at this.

There are several Sherlock fics that I’ve read and re-read over the years, which I think really nailed their voices and their characters, and gave me things to think about. The Road Less Traveled will always be a favorite of mine, because it was the first, and because it is beautiful.

Pass Here And Go On by abogadobarba hits all the right notes for me. It rocketed to the top of my list the moment I read it. I’ve read it about ten times so far. I am ridiculous.

So Far in a Few Blocks by PhillyStrega is one of the only AUs I’ve ever read and loved. I’m not really an AU person, but shut UP, I love this story.

You Made Them Feel Like They Had the Devil Inside Them by cypress_tree really got to me. It’s about one of those issues that hits very close to home, and I think it’s a beautifully-written story about something that matters.

Anything else you would like to add?

I just want to say how much I love this fandom. I love my fellow inhabitants of Barisi Nation. I love that I get to obsess over things like the intersections of faith and queerness and humanism and sex and domesticity and justice and goodness. Even if nobody else wanted to read my stories, I think I’d still be over here, writing like mad, because I love these characters and it’s a genuine joy for me to spend time in their heads. But gosh, it’s gratifying to know the hours I spend on this silliness actually pay off for other people, too. I love hearing from people who’ve read my stories and found something meaningful in them, or giggled at something ridiculous Sonny said, or thought a sex scene was… well, anyway. You know.

I’m so grateful to get to do this. And I appreciate the hell out of all you lovely humans. You make me happy.

#barisi #Author of the month #Author recommendation #Juniperhoot

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sweetdeathwrites · 5 years

Text

silent night

Summary: Holiday shopping is always stressful, but somehow, Gokudera managed to finish shopping even with the added responsibilities of his duties as right hand man to Tsuna and the organization of the annual Vongola-Varia holiday party. Still, Gokudera can't shake the feeling that he's missing something... and he hates not knowing.

[23 year old!Gokudera Hayato/Reader] Warnings: angst, doubt, self-hatred, guilt.... the full package baby! plus some sexual innuendo/referenced sexual situations

Word Count: 6,253

(reposted [crossposted? idk what that means...] from my Luna/AO3 account!)

(Original author’s note and details:

[a gift for dark_wing19 in the 2018 Holiday Fic Trade!! Happy Holidays and I hope you enjoy!] A/N: Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas if you celebrate that, and Happy New Year! This was so incredibly fun to write and I never really pegged myself as the type of person to enjoy writing holiday fic!! I mention a few times about the Vongola having a Holiday party instead of a Christmas party because I wanted to be respectful of all readers, but also because don’t you think the Vongola would do just that?? I can imagine the Vongola and Varia getting into arguments about how to celebrate everyone’s holidays without having multiple parties because, as we all know, parties that extend well into hundreds of people are no doubt expensive, but more importantly, the Vongola and Varia are very busy people! And all that plane fare for those groups going from one place to the other?? That would just break the bank! I like to imagine the top bosses (yes, I’m including Dino) gathering together and deciding that they will all have one big party together, and celebrate every holiday and religious day that occurs within the season! I think the bosses can be very reasonable when it comes to parties. This fic is for dark_wing19!! I’m really sorry about the wait, I had this almost done by Dec 24th and planned to post on Christmas but time got away from me and blah blah blah… It IS still technically within the deadline so I hope you didn’t wait too long! I tried to use all prompts, “In search of the perfect gift,” “All I want for Christmas is you,” “Sometimes the best gifts aren’t materialistic,” and “It’s the thought that counts!”. Hope you enjoy it! It got weirdly angsty for a hot sec so sorry about that lol I imagine Gokudera and the gang are older in here, but not quiet 10YL! Yet. Maybe they’re 23?)

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It’s that time of the year again. Bells are ringing, children play in the freshly fallen snow, and the storefronts sparkle with unbeatable, slashed deals. It’s twilight, and Christmas trees and light decorations shine warmly in nearby parks, leaving the general feeling of contentedness twisting in the air. Couples walk down the street, arm in arm, blushing with a gentle passion as their little intimate bubbles of love remain unburst by the slow muddle of foot traffic. The one, teensy, ashen little smudge on the eve of the most magical time of the year is currently pushing against traffic, through lovebirds who squawk in protest and annoyance, and stepping in wide arcs much too harshly, crunching and slushing freshly fallen snow. Children complain and some throw feeble snowballs, but they all miss (did they want to deal with the consequences of if, by some terrible, unlikely miracle, they hit him?). Big, poisonous clouds of smoke curl out from his nostrils like some sort of fairy tale dragon, and lovers and young ones alike know to stay clear from him. This man is Gokudera Hayato.

Gokudera has his mind on other things, though. Right now, he’s thinking of his boss and friends– the people he’s been calling his family for years. He’s marking down everyone he’s gotten presents for and which gift wrap would suit them the best (because of course he’s going to color code them– how could he not?), all the while shouldering his way back to his shared apartment with you. Finally, his gift shopping was over! It was long and hard, with a famiglia as big as his, but the famous Smoking Bomber got through it all, even if he was cutting it a little close to the deadline! Confident in his memory, Gokudera checks his mental list (more than twice, in fact) to be sure everyone is accounted for. He is proud of himself for this, which isn’t something he can say about everything he does.

“Tsuna’s got a new watch, tie, and cologne set… Baseball idiot has a gift card to that stupid milk-based snack store and knife sharpening stones… Even Turf-Top has tickets to a boxing tournament… Lambo… that kid’s got candy… Who else…?” Gokudera murmurs to himself as he trods home, weary and eager to put down the multitude of bags that have been digging pale, red indents into his skin for the past few hours, cutting off circulation and making his already sour attitude almost unbearable. Gokudera hoists the paper straps higher up his forearms and regrips the about dozen in his hands with a new intensity: just a few more minutes and he would be home. Home with you– a hot chocolate in his hands, some soft holiday music playing in the background, and a blanket wrapped around him and the most lovely little minx he’s ever seen in his life: you! By now, the pile of presents under the Holiday tree (named so, by all of the Vongola to respect every member’s religion and beliefs!) must be taller than the tree itself!

Gokudera has hardly had a second to take for himself in the past few weeks, consumed by business and his duties as Tsuna’s right hand man, not to mention organizing the Vongola Holiday Hullabaloo (named by popular vote in order to be truly inclusive, and also, perhaps to be just the slightest bit silly. Gokudera can’t say it with a serious face. The Vongola family uses every possible chance to make him say it.) single handedly. Maybe the single handedly part was Gokudera’s own fault, as he stubbornly refused help from anyone… But besides that, and the gift buying, Gokudera sighs with the relief that comes from finally finishing all his tasks. Now that he has a second to himself, Gokudera can’t help but wonder what may lie under the Holiday tree for him… Maybe you got him some new jewelry, or perhaps a piece of technology from Giovanni that would allow him to modify his boxes with even more firepower! Or maybe a coupon for a couple’s massage excursion– no, a full on spa day together? With that thought, Gokudera takes a deep, slow breath.

Calm down, boy, he thinks to himself, Don’t get excited over what you don’t know.

In truth, Gokudera has been rather stressed lately. He misses the time he had, before this chaotic season, that he spent with you.

In his thoughts, everything seems perfect. Gokudera’s fantasizing about hurrying home and collapsing in your arms is a bit dramatic– what else can be expected of him?– but there’s something bothering him… Something at the back of his mind that just gnaws and gnaws until suddenly, but building ever so slowly, there are big holes of anxiety in his brain like swiss cheese. What the hell is missing?

“Shit,” Gokudera mumbles. He finally moves away from impeding pedestrian traffic and finds a small bench where he can rest his feet for a bit, but more importantly, riffle through his purchases. He feels like something’s missing. It’s a feeling he absolutely hates.

“Tsuna, Yamamoto, Ryohei, Lambo, Mukuro and Chrome, Hibari, Kyoko, Haru, Big Sis, some smaller stuff for the Varia… A box of chocolates for Tsuna’s Maman… Reborn…”

The more Gokudera digs through dozens of paper bags, the harder a feeling of emptiness sets in. His brow furrows as he counts every gift once more, grinding the butt of his nearly smoked out cigarette between his teeth.

What the hell is missing?

Feeling the frustration build, he pulls out his pack and lights another cigarette, rubbing out the used one on the bench. Gokudera fumbles around in his winter coat for a lighter he knows is in there and bites the fresh cigarette between his teeth. After coming up empty, he drops the rest of the bags the were weighing on his wrists to search his other pocket– he knows he has his lighter in there somewhere!

Gokudera’s fingers find it in the downy inner pocket of the overcoat, next to a small, but very important box that he’s kept in there for a few months, blunt nails bumping against smooth plastic that he’s so familiar with. The muscles around his mouth tug in what you, his darling beloved would call a slight smile; strangers that hurriedly pass him might call it different. The hunched man seated on a bench in the snow, surrounded by too many bags for a single man to carry, glaring pure heat indiscriminately at everything that moves would be more inclined to call that a grimace, or less politely, a full out snarl. However, the relief and joy Gokudera feels just grabbing the lighter make him feel like he’s walking on Cloud Nine.

He pulls it out, strikes the mechanism, and takes a long huff of that little stick of poison. The lighter is pink and covered with worn (or the term Gokudera prefers, “well loved”) stickers of kitties and hearts and cream puffs. You gave it to him on your one-year anniversary, before you realized how much of a problem his smoking habit was and how dangerous the consequences of smoking were. By your second shared anniversary, you totally denounced smoking and your previous gift, instead urging him to wean himself off and maybe start using nicotine patches, or get on prescriptions to help him off smoking.

Gokudera smiles at your concern, and with your help he’s been able to significantly reduce how much he smokes. But old habits die hard and he needs some instant relief right now. Taking another puff and feeling the nicotine swim in his lungs, filling him with a familiar sense of ease, he can’t help but feel little wiggling worm of guilt for smoking not just one, but two cigarettes in a single day. It’s been stressful, he tries to placate himself. Gokudera wonders how you’ll take the strong smell of ash on his mouth when you kiss him to welcome him home.

You kissing him is one of his favorite activities to do with you– among many others– and he wonders if you’ll abstain from that lovely affection again like you did when he last smoked this much in a day…

He doesn’t want to miss out on a single moment of your love.

Of a single moment of you.

Gokudera shakes off the build of ash that collects on the red tip of the cigarette. A little bead of recognition is rolling up into his brain, slowly, so very slowly… He takes another long puff and goes cross eyed watching that little scarlet circle rush towards the filter…

You.

“SHIT!” Gokudera vaults off the park bench, startling several passersbys and some mothers cover their children’s ears. Caring nothing for the delicate sensibilities of the general public, Gokudera scoops up all his purchases and runs back into the fray of holiday shopping in a panic.

A million gift ideas have come and gone through his head through the entire month of December, and for that whole month he’s pondered and entertained the idea of gifts, then rejected it with thoughts of “No, that’s too cheesy” or “Can’t get them that, that’s way overdone,” only to eventually forget that he failed to get you anything at all.

Gokudera feels overly warm in his winter coat– suddenly, he remembers you were the one to buy it for him and why was it that you seemed to buy him all his favorite things?– and all around him it seems shops are closing their doors and turning over their cursive “We’re Open!” signs.

He runs up to a glassware store with tea sets in the display window– you like tea cups and those cute little spoons, right?– just as a teenaged employee turns off the display lights. He meets eyes with the teen and there must be a wild desperation in his eyes because she reaches for the lock on the door to let him in, but a yell from behind the young worker causes her to jump and turn away from Gokudera.

His heart is pumping loud enough he can hear it in his ears and feel the pulse high in his throat as he silently begs that something just fell over in the store. No managers here, no siree.

To his greatest dismay, the girl turns back to him, with the deepest pity in her eyes, and her hand falls away from the lock. Green eyes are reflected back to Gokudera in the glass door and he sees just how pale and panicked he looks. Through that, the girl in the closed store frowns and shakes her head slowly– no, and I’m sorry.

Breath shakily falls out of Gokudera’s lungs and a hot burn touches his lip and he spits the cigarette he forgot he was smoking to the ground. With a groan, he touches his lip to find it tender, most likely slightly burnt. But he has no time for that. He stomps out the cigarette, in case it didn’t fizzle out in the snow, and turns heel to run around the shopping plaza against, in the desperate hope that some store, any store, is open for him to get you a gift that isn’t absolutely terrible.

He sees a lingerie store across the plaza with its lights still on. Should he… Does he dare?... No time to find out, Gokudera thinks, as he shuffles as fast as he can to the store, the bags around him making the loudest and most embarrassing sound he’s ever heard in his life.

It’s the sound of the dumbest boyfriend in the whole fucking world.

He’s fifty feet away when he considers what sort of boyfriend he is to buy you lingerie for a holiday. On one hand, it’s a sweet, sexy gift that you can wear whenever you want, and he knows you enjoy that. On the other, isn’t it selfish of him to buy you lingerie? After all, you’ll probably be wearing it for him, and in most cases, for hardly ten minutes at a time. Wouldn’t this be more of a gift for him?

He’s thirty five feet away when he considers that, hey, maybe if you don’t like it, he wouldn’t be the worst boyfriend in the world. You would have something as a gift and he could always get you an apology bouquet of roses (“Sorry, I Fucked Up” written in sad, loopy cursive) and a box of bourbon chocolates. Maybe a stuffed animal to boot. Maybe it’s a nice, sexy way of saying how much he loves you, and how much he loves you in the more… physical sense, too.

No, Hayato shakes his head, that’s so stupid.

He’s twenty feet away when he wonders if they have anything in his size. You get dressed up to impress him all the time– why shouldn’t he as well? When you wear anything with lace and silk he feels all hot under the collar… Why can’t he do the same for you? He’s not entirely sure how you would react to him in a lacy bralet and some thigh highs, but if past experience has told him anything, it is more than likely you would pounce on him before he could say anything witty as a hello.

Not even “Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?” Gokudera thinks to himself in a delirious, out of body way. Nope. Not even that.

“Is it hot in here or is it just you?”

No go, buddy,

“Hello, gorgeous?”

Sure, why not say it with a rose between your teeth, too?

He’s ten feet away when he thinks that, yes, purchasing lingerie for himself would be a nice present for you– maybe he could get a nice red velvet number with a white fur trim to match yours. The emotional bonding of two people, simply lounging around and being in love in lingerie must be rather significant. That skin-to-skin contact, the intimate traces of silk, lace, latex, or even leather?.. That must truly send a shock up the spine, right? It does for him, when you sit on his lap in teasing, almost see-through netting, in that fiery red color of his flame. And with the both of you in lingerie, what sort of gaudy opulence is that!

He’s five feet away when, all on board with his plan, in his mind the most significant barrier to his plan is the size restrictions all stores have. He’s not sure if men’s lingerie even exists, but that’s no matter to him. Gokudera is fully worried on whether or not he can fit the women’s sizes that this store provides. The holiday season must have wiped most of the sophisticated styles from the racks. He can deal with looking a little racy, but will he be able to fit the sizes? Gokudera doesn’t think he has enough time to get his bra sized, or if they even have his band size in stock. If they don’t have any bras that fit him, he supposes he’ll have to settle for a teddy or some sort of sexy contraption that fits around his chest loosely. For the bottoms… Well, he’s seen the underwear you have for special occasions and what’s on display in this shop, and frankly? The goal of the underwear doesn’t seem to be to conceal, so Gokudera thinks he will be fine in whatever he chooses. And he knows you have some lovely garters and stockings he can fit; from previous experiences, both of some sexy, but also of some simply curious endeavors.

He knows he has some high heels that he can wear as well– these are from a mission he had to cooperate with the Varia– Lussuria, in particular– that ended in satisfaction but the details of the mission are things he would rather not remember or talk about. In the end, though, he learned that Lussuria is not as unbearable as he originally thought, that Lussuria might actually be a pretty good friend, and that Gokudera looks damn good as a woman.

Gokudera is standing right in front of the store, face almost pressed to the glass, when he realizes that it is closed and the lights are simply a festive, though confusing, decoration choice. Shit.

The walk back to that sad little park bench is slow and each step fills him with a pitting sense of dread that makes his feet feel they’re chained. Yellow light flickers above him and casts Gokudera’s shadow long and mourning, as the lamp post seems to feed off of his dilemma. Gokudera’s palms press into his too warm eyes and he is completely at a loss for what to do next.

A sudden buzz in his pants pocket scares him out of his misery before he realizes it’s a phone call. After he realizes it’s a phone call, he’s even more scared. He’s sliding the cell out of his pocket when a million thoughts rush through his mind. What if it’s you? Would he lie? No, sweetheart, I have everything under control, don’t worry about a thing. I’m just the absolute worst boyfriend in the world– nothing you didn’t already know. Love you, be home soon.

It’s Tsuna. Gokudera moans in relief and answers.

“Hey, Gokudera, how’s the Hullabaloo coming along?”

“BOSS!” Gokudera shouts into the receiver. A small noise of pain meets him from the other side.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I’m…” hesitation pulls at the right hand man’s voice, “in a bit of a situation.”

Tsuna finally gets the full story out of Gokudera nearly ten minutes later, with many pauses for apologizes and his best friend agonizing about how he forgot the love of his life’s present. Silence falls over the phone when Gokudera takes a deep breath after his explanation.

“Well,” Tsuna’s voice is light and tinny over the call, “you do actually have a present.”

“What?” Gokudera’s brow furrows and his fingers twitch in the craving for another cigarette.

His boss laughs, not condescending, but in a way that gives Gokudera the sense that he’s missing something. And that is a feeling that Gokudera hates very much. Gokudera pulls out the cigarette carton: damn the consequences, he’ll have as many as he wants tonight.

“Hayato,” Tsuna says, “you have a ring.”

At that, all the blood drains from Gokudera’s face leaving him as pale as the snow that surrounds him. Now he really needs a cigarette.

Gokudera swallows and clears his throat after a pause that was longer than it needed to be. “S-So?” he says, and shakily lights what’s clenched too tight between his teeth. It lights but Gokudera doesn’t seem to feel any warmth from it.

“So? So, Hayato, you’ve been sitting on this for months. No, it’s closer to a year now, isn’t it?”

“Well, I– it’s more complicated than that– y-you see–”

“Hayato, you’ve been giving me excuses for months.” A tired sigh comes over the receiver and a quiet moment passes where Gokudera’s eyes lift. Now all the stores are closed and empty. A light, thin snowfall hides footprints just barely and lights in apartment buildings start to disappear. It’s late. He hopes that you’re sleeping, but he hopes even more that you waited for him so he wouldn’t miss holding you close in bed on such a special evening.

“I think it’s time.” Tsuna isn’t pressuring. Tsuna is concerned.

Gokudera takes a big suck from the cigarette and watches the heat from his breath and the nicotine tinged smoke rise white against the dark, velvet lined sky. His voice comes out weak. “I’m not ready.”

“Are you? Are you really?”

Gokudera closes his eyes and buries his head in his hands, fingers pulling at his soft silver hair, the hair you love to run your hands through and wash and brush for him.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

Tsuna snorts, “Of course you can!”

“I’m afraid.”

At that, Tsuna quiets. No one speaks. The man he trusts so implicitly and so completely, the man he found most capable in the world, the man who was his first friend– how could he doubt himself so? How can Tsuna help his best friend when he can’t help himself?

But he can.

They aren’t fourteen anymore. They’re grown. Tsuna has matured into a fine mafia boss, fitting for the Vongola. Fitting for his family. Tsuna is a man now.

“Hayato,” he begins, “it’s okay to be afraid. This is a big commitment. You’ve been thinking about this for years, saving up to buy a ring. Turning it over in your hands at night, right? When you think they’re sleeping and you’re just torn apart by it?” Gokudera laughs softly in reply. His boss– his best friend knows him so well.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Tsuna continues, tone growing rough over the phone. “But don’t you ever fucking say that you’re not ready.”

Gokudera almost swallows his cigarette in shock, choking on the smoke. He can count the times Tsuna has said “fuck” on his fingers. Maybe he would have to use his toes too, but Tsuna hasn’t really sworn much since they were handed their high school diplomas and threw fringed caps in the air.

“Do you think you would have bought a ring if you weren’t ready? That you would have come to ask my blessing, which you’ve always had, if you weren’t ready? Hayato, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t see love in you. It’s in the way you talk, I can see it in the way you hold yourself. Your eyes, Hayato, I see that love there. It’s not just my intuition, it’s a fact. Don’t you ever doubt yourself about that.”

Gokudera, floored, immediately apologizes, assuming his position as right hand man and subordinate. “I-I’m so sorry, Boss, I didn’t mean–”

“For the love of god, Hayato, shut up!” Tsuna yells, “Don’t disrespect me like this! Don’t disrespect the family like this! Don’t you know how much we believe in you? In your future? How any of us would do anything to help you get a shot at happiness?

“So don’t you dare disrespect us like this. You’re ready, Hayato. Don’t you dare disrespect yourself like this, and don’t you fucking dare disrespect your partner like this.”

The line goes quiet except for Tsuna’s panting and Gokudera doesn’t know what to say.

He’s seen this love for family in Tsuna before, experienced it back in middle school when he almost blew himself to bits to win against the Varia, but it never fails to wipe him out with the depth and sincerity of Tsuna’s love. It’s a love that, to a stranger, could be easily mistaken for rage. But Gokudera is no stranger and he can’t stop the hot tears from spilling over his green eyes, palm pressed firm against his teeth so he Tsuna can’t hear him cry.

“T-Tsuna…” Gokudera manages to croak out, with not much else to say.

“Hayato,” his childhood best friend says in a much quieter voice, “Please stop holding yourself back. You deserve happiness. You’ve protected this family for so long, and we will always protect you… But you deserve to give yourself the chance to start your own family, grow your own happiness. It’s a risk, but please take that chance.”

Tsuna can hear Gokudera sniff on the other side of the line. He smiles.

“Yeah… O-Of course, Tsuna,” Gokudera swallows. “I think I’m ready.”

You’re worried. The clock reads well past midnight and Hayato isn’t home yet.

He left the house in the early afternoon, when the cool winter light hit him so softly and beautifully that you couldn’t help but kiss him goodbye so many times that he had to drag you on the couch and kiss you just as much in return. He promised to try to be home early so that you could bundle up together in front of the fire and plug in the tree lights, pull out hidden presents and put them under the tree. Hayato laughed and said that he wanted to watch holiday movies on the television with you, and yes, even the really awful ones because it was something he said he might actually enjoy if he experienced it with you. He laughs in this soft way around you, a laugh he doesn’t have with anyone else. It’s tender and he has this strange little smile that’s even softer when he looks at you. It could be love. It scared you at first, but you’re certain now, and it’s not so scary when it’s so gentle. You hope it’s love. You love him back.

You’re very worried.

For an hour or three, you passed out in front of the TV in the living room wearing his pajamas that are way too long for you. The spirit of the season made you sentimental, what can you say? But those few hours disoriented you and the sun had long since set. Through the glass windows above the kitchen sink, you can see the snow had started falling again. It had picked up.

Hot chocolate sits on the kitchen counter in lovely holiday mugs that you received as a present one year but the drink has been cool for the better part of an hour now. You don’t feel thirsty with the way things are now.

The small window pane in the front door shakes shrilly in its frame when the wind picks up and you jump. It’s even colder out now. You’re just barely tethering yourself from running headfirst into a panic attack but Hayato hasn’t picked up his phone calls and the last few went straight to voicemail. The house feels bigger without him, lonelier, but so much more claustrophobic as well. It’s the juxtaposition of the fearful, you know, but you can’t quiet those worries of him being stuck somewhere without help, freezing to death in the cold– you should have made him wear those gloves and wrapped that extra cashmere scarf around him as you kissed him goodbye for the second try. What if something bad happened to him? What if the worst happened to him?

You’re nearly burning a hole in the carpet with your pacing, and just as you’re about to call up Tsuna and wake him at an ungodly hour, technically the day of the Vongola Holiday Hullabaloo (you pushed very hard for that name), the front door rattles with the struggle of keys not turning the locks, you all but break down the door.

Gokudera, despite his quiet attempts to enter the house without waking you, curses and can’t seem to get his keys to cooperate and open the damn door. He’s freezing out here, he grumbles to no one in particular. He does say something rather nasty and biting about Jack Frost, though. Maybe the door is so hard to open because his hands are all but pieces of a cadaver with how frozen they are from the elements and refusing his damn gloves you tried to get him to wear earlier, and the combination of the heaviness and multitude of his many shopping bags.

Gokudera gets the shit scared out of him when the door knob flies out of his hand and he’s face to face with the love of his life, who is absolutely pissed the fuck off.

“Hayato!” You hiss, and drag him inside.

He’s startled by your abruptness but you’re wrapped in your favorite blanket from your shared bed and he notices, giddily, you’re wearing his pajamas and they’re just so big on you and you’re just so goddamned cute and–

“I swear! I almost called the cops, Hayato! But I couldn’t, because my man is the bane of their existence, so you know what I was doing? Just worrying my damn head off! If my hair turns gray and all falls out, I’m holding you personally accountable! What were you doing out so late? It’s freezing!” You rant and chastise and shake your head, but you help him put his bags down and take off his coat, putting it over the couch. You take his hands in yours and gasp.

“Jesus, Hayato!” You bring his hands to your mouth and blow hot air on them, rubbing and trying to warm them, “You feel like ice!”

“Tell me about it,” he groans, and leans his full body weight on to you, tipping the both of you over. Luckily, he made sure the couch would be there to catch you.

“Hayato, I’m serious! I was so worried!..” Your voice takes on a wounded edge as you trail away, burying your face into his chest, speckled with stubborn, melting snowflakes. The man above you looks down to see your hair wild from running your hands through it and that makes him uncomfortably guilty. Another feeling he hates, especially when it concerns you.

“Hey, I’m, uh,” he sits up and brings your face up to his. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything but turn your face into his palm and sigh. He smells like ash.

“I lost track of time and Tsuna called me about–” he stops talking. When you look up at him he has a lost, helpless look on him. His hand on your face twitches against your cheek but it doesn’t leave. Hayato clears his throat.

“He, uh, called me about the party tomorrow. Then my phone died, sorry.”

“Hullabaloo,” you remind him, ghost of a smile creeping up your face.

He groans and the atmosphere is suddenly light, and the rest of the room returns in technicolor, high definition, 1080p. The crackle and lovely warm smell of the fireplace greets him and the television plays some god awful Hallmark movie softly. Gokudera finally feels the burn of the cold he’s been out in all night and he bunkers down further on the couch with his arms wrapped around you, pulling you half in his lap and you squeak a bit but don’t protest.

“Whatever,” he grumbles and buries his face in your neck. He missed you.

You squirm in his lap– his nose is cold!– and say, voice full of mischief, “It’s called a Hullabaloo,” and when greeted with another complaint from Gokudera you say more insistently, “What is it called, Hayato, love of my life?”

His hair tickles your neck as he shakes his head and says, in the resigned way only a man that’s hopelessly in love and fighting a losing battle can say–

“Ugh. Fine. It’s a damned Hullabaloo…”

He feels you roll over in his grasp so you straddle his hips and your face is looking up at him, gentle and kind.

“Thank you.”

“You’re not welcome.”

Within a commercial break, Hayato is settled in and donning a new set of sleepwear, snug and warm on the couch, and you have hot chocolate and sugar cookies in spades. He’s got an arm around you and you are all but tangled in him. You can hear his heartbeat in his chest, faster than normal, and it’s concerning but the debacle you were faced for the past few hours has exhausted you and the low, dancing lights from the Christmas tree lull you to a happy sleep. The both of you know you won’t be awake in a few moments.

“Hayato?”

“Yeah, babe?”

He feels your breath warm against his exposed collar and it’s almost as nerve wracking as it is a comfort. He’s all too aware of that little box in his coat, just behind the two of you to his right, slung over the couch. It’s the heaviest little box in the world, he’s sure.

“I was really worried. I thought something happened to you…”

“I know,” Hayato whispers and places a kiss on your temple, petting your hair. “And I’m so sorry. Really.”

“I know,” you reply back in a quiet voice.

You add on, as sleep has made you embarrassingly and so emotionally raw, “All I really want is you, Hayato… ”

The couple on the television kiss and orchestral Christmas music swells: the credits roll to the sound of a remixed, pop version of holiday classics. It’s really a pain to witness. Hayato can tell you’re trying your hardest not to drift away when you ask a question that freezes him up.

“Are you really okay?” you ask, pressing your ear to his chest, mumbling, “Your heart’s beating so fast…”

Gokudera coughs a little, then belatedly hopes that you can’t smell the ash on his breath. He knows you noticed he’s smoked, and smoked a lot, but you haven’t said anything about it. He’s grateful you’ve given him that small mercy.

“Yeah, just, uh,” he sighs, running his hands through your hair, “We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Another Hallmark movie begins and the snow outside drifts to the ground, calm and steady. You’ll wake up to a beautiful, snowy Christmas morning, then go to the Vongola-Varia Holiday Hullabaloo (damn you for making him think it…), and be surrounded by friends and family. A truly memorable night indeed.

Your body leans heavily on Hayato and when he’s sure that he’s sure you’re asleep, he carefully reaches behind him, fumbles with his coat, and nearly drops the ring box on your head when he takes it out.

You’re damn right I’m not okay, I’m scared as fuck, he thinks, opening the box and running the flat of his thumb over the smooth parts of the silver ring. He didn’t want to get you anything too gaudy, but it’s still rather dramatic and pretty (just like me, he thinks in a detached humor). He knows you’ll like it. He hopes you’ll love it.

Pressing another kiss to your head, Gokudera takes a deep, steadying breath. Of course you’ll love it, he reminds himself– if Tsuna can see it, it has to be true. He knows, deep down, that you’ve been waiting for this for a long time. You’ve been ready for a long time. He’s finally ready, too. He thinks of a plan, as responsible as he is, but he knows it’ll all go to shit the moment he opens his mouth.

In the morning, you’ll wake up to soft winter light, and Hayato on one knee in front of you in pajamas; you’ll laugh at first, disoriented and sure you’re in a dream. Then he’ll make a little speech, fingers itching for a cigarette and instead occupying one hand on your thigh and one in his pocket, running over the edges of that little box over and over.

You’ll start to get teary, some stupid holiday movie that you love to hate will play in the background, and the lights from the tree will make Hayato look so beautiful, so devastatingly handsome with his heart bared wide open for you like that.

Eventually, you’ll shout yes, and Hayato will cry before you do, and he’s not afraid to admit it. Though Yamamoto will tease him about it, Ryohei will cry too and tell him he’s the most manly guy on the face of the earth. The whole Hullabaloo will be full of congratulations and love, friends and family– and presents.

And Lambo, that son of a bitch, will say, after all that fuss over the ring and marriage, “Wait, the ring is great, but where's the present you got them?"

And Gokudera will knock his lights out– or try his best to.

And you’ll forgive him and kiss him under the mistletoe to calm him down because really, all you want is him.

And the best present he ever could have gotten is you.

Gokudera takes another deep breath, and squeezes the box one more time in his hands before he hides it away safely in his pocket. He kisses your hair one more time before resting his chin on your crown and closing his eyes. Gokudera Hayato falls asleep with a slow burning determination to be the most loving and supportive husband he could possibly be for you. He smiles as he drifts away, dreaming of weddings and honeymoons.

#gokudera hayato #anime fanfic #reborn fanfic #khr fanfic #khr fanfiction #reborn #khr #katekyo hitman reborn #reborn gokudera #gokudera reborn #gokudera hayato/reader #gokudera hayato x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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nh935 · 5 years

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Creepy America Episode 1: Worlds of Wonder

Introduction

Today marks the twelve year anniversary of the last episode of Creepy America. I know this because of the article I'm reading, recounting the strange and bizarre tale of the webshow. My webshow. My life, for the better part of four years. And even though it arguably destroyed me, brought me to this point where I live alone, working hard jobs to keep this tiny, shitty one person apartment, news of Creepy America never ceases to bring me joy.

Except today.

Which brings me to the reason I am writing.

This morning, I received a letter saying that the server charges for the official Creepy America website had gone up once again, this time to a level that I couldn't even convince myself into thinking I could pay. My complaints have been ignored; I am positive that a silent actor has been forcing the charges to increase, regardless of the actual cost of maintaining the site. This is no doubt the same person who broke into my apartment and storage locker and stole every remaining physical copy of the Creepy America episodes. I wish I could muster the energy to be outraged, or even horrified, but I knew this day would come sometime.

Barring any action from my co-host to stop these actions, something I know will never happen, this would be where the webshow dies. But I'm a stubborn bastard and I'll be damned if it does.

So here I am, alone, in a small, dark room, writing my memoirs of the craziest, scariest, most dangerous, and happiest years of my life. My goal is to preserve the memories of "Creepy America": those days and nights spent in the R.V., traveling from city to city, investigating, finding, and recording the secret places that the world does their best to keep hidden. It's only this way that those days will stay alive. Files corrupt. Memories fade. Even history can be re-written. But if the show has proved anything, it's that words will exist forever, even if they aren't supposed to.

To the Newcomers:

I imagine that most people who track down these stories will be the life-long fans. However, I imagine that some will simply stumble onto these stories by accident. That's okay; it's actually what I'm counting on.

But that means that there's a good chance that, if you're reading this, you don't know what "Creepy America" is. I don't want to delude myself into thinking that everyone who reads this will have memories of the show, especially given the fickleness of internet fame, so I want to take this time to explain what the show was; veteran Creepers, feel free to skip ahead.

Creepy America was a webshow, published and broadcasted online. It was big back in its day. The show generated enough revenue to make money off of, and it's popularity caused a few "War of the Worlds"-styled hoaxes.

To the outside world, the draw of the show was obvious. Based on the creepypasta explosion that made the world obsessed with Slenderman and others, Creepy America combined professional-level special and practical effects with the low-budget style of found footage to make for a scarily realistic horror series. The actual recording team was kept invisible, placing all attention and credit to the two co-hosts of the show. The mysterious mythos that was hinted at several times but never fully explained also added to its popularity and quite a few people praised us for our clever writing and dedication to preserving the illusion.

Of course, this couldn't be further from the truth. Creepy America was just a low-budget production. Zoey and I were the only ones who worked on the show. Nothing was scripted. As our show gained attention, a choice was demanded of us from powerful forces: stop filming, or tow the "fake" line. We chose what we believed to be the lesser of two evils.

Things escalated, though. I won't try to summarize the details here; they will be explained better in the stories to come. But twelve years ago, we were obligated to end it, and the show has slowly faded into obscurity since then.

To the Veteran Creepers:

Before we begin, I have to give you a warning: if you're looking for answers, this isn't the place to find them.

The events and things we uncovered during Creepy America remain unexplained to this day. I have spent the better part of twelve years researching various aspects of science and parascience trying to find those answers, and I am no closer to finding them than I was when we decided to stop our broadcast. Red Eyes, Reverend Jones, even the Archangel Foundation: I don't know what the truth is. So if you expect a book explaining how everything fits together perfectly like little puzzle pieces, I'm afraid you're going to be sorely disappointed. I have my theories, and I have my hunches, but, as I've stated on the show before, speculation without proof is worthless. As it is not my intention to further confuse an already bizarrely muddled and misunderstood set of facts, I will leave my ideas to myself and simply report on what happened.

What's inside is is a collection of my memories about the strange occurrences that we filmed in our four years on the road. I know that there have been many requests to elaborate on some of the details that were left out of the show: what happened during our streaming blackout, the exact location of Devil's County, what we learned about Voltaire's DNA sample from the scientists. I can answer a few of those questions, and I intend to. Some things, unfortunately, are gone. My records are lost, and even my memory is beginning to turn fuzzy. I have also lost contact with my associate, meaning that unless she publishes her own statements on these events, I have no witnesses to back up anything. Given how things ended between us, I doubt that will ever happen. You will simply have to trust that what I say is true. If you've stayed with me this far, though, I think that you're willing to take that leap of faith.

Which brings me to my last point: everything was true. Some of you believed, but everyone had doubts. I don't blame you. We marketed ourselves as clever writers whose fictional tales contained just enough details to seem plausible. After the threatened lawsuit, we had to place a disclaimer on our show's opening. Even those of you who are going to find these stories are going to find it described as "fiction". There are reasons we did so, good reasons, reasons that are detailed in this book. I'm tired of lying, though. Even lies told with the best of intentions will eat through your soul. I'm not sure how well this admission will go over with the higher powers in charge, but I no longer care. As Zoey herself once said in the show, consequences be damned.

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

So to newcomers and old fans alike, here it is: the bare truth about "Creepy America", all three years of our journeys across the United States. Once more I say to you the line that began every episode since our second broadcast: get your flashlights out, and get ready to shine some light on the darkened corners of the world. Welcome to the America you never knew existed.

Welcome to Creepy America.

-Liam Foster, co-host of Creepy America

Creepy America Episode 1 Worlds of Wonder Hammond, Indiana

Perhaps one of the stranger tales to tell about our time creating Creepy America was simply how it got started. Unlike how it was sometimes insinuated, we didn't simply wake up one day with the idea and the passion to start the show. In fact, Creepy America wasn't supposed to be Creepy America at all. It was supposed to be "Faces of America", and it started with a simple question:

"Hey, do you want to do a road trip?"

We were sitting on the porch of Zoey's house, drinking beer and catching up. Zoey and I had been friends ever since grade school. Over the years we had gotten pretty close, especially during high school, but at this point it had been awhile since we had seen each other. I had gone to Indiana University because of a generous scholarship opportunity while Zoey went to our local community college. We remained friends on Facebook and messaged each other back and forth, but that summer we decided that I should go back to our hometown to meet for what might be the last time. We were both getting pretty far into our degrees and that meant that soon we were going to have to decide on jobs in those fields, at which point there would be no summers to catch up with.

"What do you mean, a road trip?" I asked. In case anyone is curious, I appeared the same way I always did in the show: curly brown hair, white skin, green eyes. It was a pretty hot night out, so I was wearing shorts. Other than that, I can't remember much.

Zoey took another swig of her beer. "You know, a road trip. A road. A trip. The works." She appeared the same as she always did, too. Pale skin, lots of silver piercings in her face, blond hair with one side dyed in neon rainbow colors. She smiled with one of those sweet smiles she always had.

I miss those smiles.

"Yeah, that sounds glamorous. Long hours on the road in a cramped car. Fast food every night. Seedy motels as far as the eye can see." I scoffed and downed some more beer.

"Actually, I was thinking of an R.V."

That caused me to raise an eyebrow. "You're serious aren't you?"

She picked up her laptop that she had beside her. "You remember that video essay I did for my Video Production class?"

"The 'Faces of Ivy Tech' one? Yeah, I remember. That one was pretty good"

"My teacher thought so too. So much so that he actually sent it to some fancy art group." She clicked on the track pad and squinted to read something. "The Film Board of America. They loved it so much that they want me to do another one, but across the country, with different people in each state. A 'Faces of America' thing. Even gave me a grant to do it with."

"How much?"

"Um… 50 grand, about-ish."

"Wow… that's uh, wow."

"Yeah, I know, right?" She closed the laptop. "Anyway I also have an uncle who sells used R.V.s He's willing to give me a pretty big discount if I pay cash for it. And then I remembered you. I figured we could take a year off and travel the countryside. You know, before I leave this town and you turn into one of those boring number people."

"Accountant" I corrected.

"Isn't that what I said?"

I sighed. "Zoey, I don't know. I'm in the middle of school and to just postpone my degree like that…"

She rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, come on Liam. You have the whole rest of your life to be a boring adult. This could be our one last chance to do something big and exciting before we get those stupid nine to fives. An adventure, right? Like what we talked about in fifth grade." She looked at me with bright eyes.

I paused.

"Well?" she asked.

"I… I'm sorry, I just can't. I've got too much to worry about right now."

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

She frowned and looked down over the edge of the porch.

"Hey," I said. She looked back up at me. "I'm still gonna be here for the rest of the summer, okay? Let's try to enjoy that time."

She nodded, but the disappointment was still visible on her face.

A few days later we were shopping at a thrift store. Zoey had mentioned something about "various odds and ends for the R.V.", so we ended up driving to different Goodwills. We were at yet another one and the constant looking at towels and silverware was driving me a bit nuts, so I took a break from Zoey's company and headed over to the far corner of the building where a bunch of posters and paintings were located. I flipped through them. Most of them were pretty standard fare: big inspirational words and prints of famous artworks. One of them made me stop, though.

It was a smaller canvas and an actual painting. I could feel the texture of the brush strokes. The picture itself was done in various shades of blue and silver. Two large planets encircled in swirls of gas hung in the sky joined by a pale moon. Mountains surrounded a beach with a large palm tree off to the side. Two dolphins, mid jump and shiny gray, were suspended in the air, all completed by an illegible signature in white.

It felt oddly disturbing to look at. Like a CGI figure that's almost, but not quite, perfect. There was just something... not right about it. Curious, I turned the canvas over, hoping that there would be something on the other side to shed some light on who exactly painted this piece. On the back was a tiny printed sticker.

"Worlds of Wonder. #2 of 59."

I flipped it back over to study the artwork more and traced my finger over the signature. I couldn't even begin to make sense of it. All it appeared to be was a series of large messy loops. Glancing over the rest of the painting didn't help much, either. I'm no artist, so I couldn't really figure out anything that way. I stared at one of the dolphins.

I could almost picture it falling back into the ocean…

"Whatcha got?"

I jumped. I had been so engrossed that I didn't hear Zoey walk up behind me.

She laughed. "Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."

"No, it's okay," I said. "I just… uh, got caught up in looking at this thing."

"Here, let me see." I handed the canvas over and she held it up. She smiled. "Wow, talk about strange."

"Yeah, I know." I walked over to the cart to see what Zoey had picked up while I was gone. As I prodded through some of the miscellaneous housewares in the basket, the painting suddenly joined them.

I raised an eyebrow and looked at Zoey. "Really? You're buying that?"

"What?" she asked. "I've got a niece who goes crazy over this kind of stuff."

"Dolphins on different planets?"

"Well, dolphins at least. Plus, she's like five. She'll flip over this."

"Are you sure? It looks kind of… creepy."

Zoey raised an eyebrow at me. "Creepy?"

"Yeah," I was beginning to feel stupid, but I soldiered on anyway. "Creepy. It just… I don't know, it doesn't look right."

She lifted the painting out of the cart and looked it over again. "I don't see anything 'creepy' about it. Weird, yeah. I mean, it is kind of out there, but…"

"Never mind, let's just go. These lights are beginning to hurt my eyes."

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

Zoey ended up dropping me off at my house late. It was either midnight or one. I had bought a few things from the thrift stores, mostly just old paperbacks that had been on my list of things to read and, bags in hand, I walked up the steps of my parent's house, unlocked the door, and headed upstairs to my room. Once inside I put the bags down and started taking things out. That's when I noticed the painting again.

It was in one of the bags, lengthwise so it would fit, nestled in between two books. The cashier must have accidentally placed it in my bag when we were checking out. I picked it up and looked at it again.

The dolphin looked back at me. The black eye seemed to almost glisten,

I yawned, then shook my head. "I'm getting freaked out by fake dolphins. I need to go to bed." Painting under my arm, I headed back downstairs and leaned it against the front door so I would remember to give it back to Zoey. Then I headed upstairs, put the new books on my shelf, and flopped onto the bed, still in my clothes. I was out before my head hit the pillow.

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

I felt very, very cold. I could only see black. I realized that my eyes were tightly closed, so I opened them.

I was standing on a beach at night. The whole landscape was awash with silver light. The white sand glowed with it. A few feet in front of me stood the water, tranquil and clear. Large blue palm trees swayed behind me, and behind them were grey mountains, also shining in the pale light. Looking up, I saw a huge multitude of stars, and hanging there like overripe fruit were two large gaseous planets.

I was inside of the painting.

Sure enough, just in time to punctuate my thought, a pair of dolphins leapt from the water. Diving back in, they swam away, chasing each other and leaping again.

The mist of the ocean combined with the night air made me shiver and I could see my breath in front of me. Clutching my arms, I turned around and almost tripped when my foot snagged something behind me. It was a sign. Well, sort of. It was more like two large planks of wood nailed together in a waist-high "T" shape. The top board had a shaky "2" drawn on it.

I figured it was just a weird dream. A very, very strange and vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless. My overactive mind had just taken the painting I had thought was so strange and was spending the night recreating it. No biggie.

Even so, I still felt a little on edge. I had this slight feeling of dread, like the kind you get at the beginning of a nightmare, where you realize something's wrong, but you're just not sure what, and you know something's coming, but you're just not sure when. The movement of the palm trees in the wind was making me jump when I saw it out of the corner of my eye. The planets overhead, hanging in midair and moving slowly, made me feel like I was being watched.

Again, I shrugged those feelings aside. So what if it was a weird dream? It was just a dream. Besides, I was lucid right now. I was in control. If anything scary did happen, I could just think it away.

A shiver went up my body. "Right," I said to myself, "let's get rid of this first". I closed my eyes and imagined warmth.

Nothing.

After waiting for a moment, I shrugged and said "okay then we'll just have to work on that later." I headed along the beach with the ocean to my right. After walking a while, the beach turned sharply to the left, and again buried in the sand was another T sign, this one reading "16". I looked over and the sand seemed to go on in a straight line forever.

There was a sudden splash to my right and ice-cold water washed over my skin. I stumbled backwards, falling over on my butt in the sand. One of the dolphins was in the water, about twenty feet away from me, splashing the surface with the flat of its tail. Once it saw that I noticed it, it made a strange chirping noise, like a cross between a regular dolphin sound and a cell phone ring, and disappeared back into the water.

"This is so bizarre."

A muffled noise sounded off to my left and I looked over. Very faintly, almost blended into the sand, was a figure in white, frantically waving his arms and yelling something. I brushed myself off and started to walk in that direction, but it was quickly growing darker. I looked up just in time to see one of the large planets eclipse the moon, and then the dream ended.

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

I awoke in bed with sunlight streaming into my room and cold sweat sticking to my skin. Even though I was under my blanket, I was shivering, and the bed felt slightly damp to the touch. I touched my forehead. Clammy skin.

Was I sick? Was that a fever dream?

I headed over to my shower and turned it as hot as I could stand. I stayed under the water for a long, long time. Gradually, I began to feel better. Almost human. A half hour later, I was fine. I stepped out of the shower feeling great. Placing my hand on my forehead again after drying off, it felt normal. Nothing indicated I was sick.

Strange.

Walking back into my bedroom, I found the bizarre painting propped up against my bed. I picked it back up and stared at it.

"I thought I put you by the front door."

Silence.

"Musta forgot." I threw it back on my bed. "I'll have to remember to take you to Zoey's when I visit her later."

The dolphin watched me as I got dressed. I took it downstairs and set it off to the side as I poured cereal into a bowl.

I noticed the dolphin out of the corner of my eye, still glaring at me.

I put my bowl down and looked at it. "Maybe, maybe I could head over right now. I've got nothing better to do anyways."

In this angle and light, the thing looked… almost angry.

I shuddered. "Yeah, definitely right now."

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

"I think it got put back in my bag by mistake."

"Huh. Whoops." Zoey said as she took it from me. "I was wondering where it went."

"What's your plans for today?"

"Camera shopping, mostly. Trying to find the best models at my budget. Usually I just make do, but I've got so much I can actually get a decent model this time around. Want to come?"

I had a flashback of the forks at Goodwill. "No thanks, I'll pass."

The dolphin caught my eye again.

"Are you sure you want to give that to your niece? Doesn't it seem… I don't know, a little strange?"

Zoey laughed. "Are you still freaked out about this thing?"

I decided not to tell her about the dream.

I spent the rest of the day just loafing around. It was summer, after all. That was kinda the point. I played some random video games that I had bought a long time ago but never tried. Once I got bored of those, I picked up a paperback I had bought from Goodwill. I munched on some food. Nothing crazy.

Over the course of the day, I managed to forget about the painting and the weird dream, the details slowly fading with every passing hour.

By the time I had laid my head on my pillow and slowly drifted into sleep, I had forgotten it had even happened.

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

It was cold. Again.

I sat up with a start, inhaling the freezing, salt-filled air. I was back on the beach. The moon, the planets, the dolphins. It was all there.

I was back.

"What the hell? What's going on?" I stood up and looked around.

As I did so, I saw a man behind me, leaning against a palm tree. He was a white guy with long greasy black hair and a beard to match. His face was gaunt and thin. He was wearing what I assumed used to be a very stylish white three piece suit with golden pinstripes, but it was now a dirty gray with rips and tatters everywhere. The whole outfit hung on him like a blanket. A very battered matching hat completed the ensemble.

Once he saw me looking at him, he straightened up. "Ah, you're awake!"

I immediately took a few steps back and hit something. I spun around to see the "2" sign again, then faced the man. "What's going on?"

"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you, everything's fine."

"Who are you?!"

He raised his hands in the air in a show of non-hostility. "I'm Greg Thornstine. A guy who picked up a 'Worlds of Wonder' painting, just like you."

I stared at him. "Wait a minute, what?"

He smiled and lowered his arms. "Alright guys, it's cool. I think he's done freaking out."

Several people now came into view, standing up behind the small crest he was on. There was a Hispanic man dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and older woman in a business suit, a teenage girl in black clothing, and another white guy in a camo jacket and pants. They all looked similar to Greg; thing faces, torn, baggy clothing, long hair and beards on the men. They watched me with a dull expression.

"Alright newcomer, welcome. This is Jose, Anne, Suzy, and Tom."

"Uh, hi?"

They stared at me in silence.

"Oh, um… I'm Liam, I guess. What's going on here?"

"Well," Greg started, "at some point, you picked up a 'Worlds of Wonder' painting, just like us. I'm assuming the sticker on the back said '2 of 59?'"

"Yeah…"

Greg pointed to the sign behind me.

"So what, every time I fall asleep I come here?"

Jose said something in Spanish.

"Calm down," Greg said, turning to Jose, "he doesn't know that yet." Then he looked back at me. "I'm afraid that's just the beginning. You've visited here once before, right?"

I remembered the white figure on the beach. "Yeah. Was that you waving at me?"

He nodded. "This place draws you in threes. First night's sleep, second night's sleep, then on the third day. At some point after you wake up, you're going to come back here. And that time, it'll be permanent."

I looked at the group. "I don't believe you."

The teenager shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You'll come here anyway."

"This is just some weird dream I keep having. That's all."

The business woman rolled her eyes. "I told you Greg, this will get us nowhere."

"Hush, Anne. It's worth a shot." Greg turned back to me. "Listen kid, you've got what we didn't have. Forewarning. So listen very closely to what I'm about to tell you."

I took a few steps closer and leaned in.

"When you wake up, grab food. Stuff your face like there's no tomorrow. Cram your pockets with anything you can think of. The higher the calories, the better, but try to diversify. Meat, fruit, candy. Don't worry about it spoiling, Just have as much on you when you come here. You'll thank me later."

I stared. Then I chuckled. I laughed for almost a minute straight. "You're crazy! Scratch that, I'M crazy, YOU'RE not real! This is a dream. I'm not gonna start binge eating just 'cause my dreams told me it was a good idea!"

Jose began muttering in Spanish again.

"I need you to listen to me. Please." Greg looked at me with concern. "This is your one shot here. This is going to happen. I can't stop it, and neither can you. This is your one chance to make sure your life isn't a living hell when you get here. Please just take it."

"Then answer me this: why has no one thought to try fishing?" I gestured to the ocean behind me, arms flailing.

At that moment, the dolphin jumped out of the water, chirping another mechanical sound.

"Ain't no fish in that ocean." The man in camo said darkly. "And before you go getting any bright ideas, there's nothing in those dolphins 'cept gears and springs. We've tried everything there is to try."

I lowered my arms. "What about escaping?"

The business woman shook her head. "This place is an island. Nowhere to go. And even if we knew where we could swim to, those… things" she spat, looking out at the waves "would tear us apart in no time flat."

"This is insane." I whispered.

"Insane or not, it's happening." Greg said. "And it's going to keep happening. For your own sake, Liam, do what I said."

I moved around the sign and began backing up. "No no no no no no no, this isn't happening. This isn't real. This is just a weird dream, this isn't…" I felt a sudden surge of cold around my ankles, Surprised, I lost my balance and fell backwards into the cool, dark water. I was buffed about by a wave, dragged farther in. I tried to swim up, but I couldn't. The air burned in my lungs. I screamed, and stinging salt water filled my chest. Struggling, I slowly lost consciousness…

…and awoke in my own bed.

It was soaked. Every movement I made caused the mattress to seep salt water, like an over-absorbed sponge. There was a thin layer of it trickling down my body, and I was violently shivering. Even my teeth were chattering.

"W-wh-wha-th-the-f-f-f-f-f" I stumbled out of my bed, fell on the floor, and scrambled back up, putting the shower on the highest heat possible, stripped out of my clothes and climbed in, too shocked to think. After an eternity standing under the blazing hot water, feeling returned to my fingers, and I turned the heat down just a bit. I started going over my options.

What the hell was I supposed to do? Go to the police? And tell them what? I'm going to get kidnapped by a painting? A theoretical physicist might be more help. Or a ghostbuster. I laughed. I felt like a lunatic. I suppose I was close to becoming one.

"Calm down" I said out loud. "We're going to approach this one option at a time. Just think of the next thing to do. After that's done, you can think of what to do after that."

Zoey. I'll ask her. She's handled the painting too. Maybe the same thing's been happening to her, but she just wrote it off like I did. At the very least, she might have an idea of what to do next.

I stepped out of the shower, dried off, and went back to my room.

The painting was hanging above my bed's headboard.

I looked at it, then touched it.

It fell to the ground. The wall behind it had no hooks or nails to keep it in place.

I grabbed the painting and rushed off to Zoey's place.

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

"Alright, one more time. Slower please."

I was at Zoey's house, in her living room. Her dad answered the door as he was leaving to go to work. She was still sleeping, so she was talking to me in her pajamas.

"I've told you three times already. Why don't you believe me?" I asked.

"I believe you. Or at least, I believe you think you're telling the truth. You are way too freaked out to be making this up right now."

"So what, I'm crazy?"

She looked at me. "That's definitely one possibility."

I waved the painting in the air. "Then how do you explain this?"

"Well, I'd rather not think you broke into my house and stole it…"

"Are you fucking serious! This is…"

Zoey grabbed the sides of my head and locked eyes with me. "Liam! Calm down! I said it was a possibility! I didn't say that this whole painting kidnapping thing wasn't also a possibility! Now, look at me."

I stopped flailing about and kept eye contact.

"You are NOT going to get stuck in that painting" she said loudly.

"But Greg said…"

She stared at me.

"Right, I'm not going to get stuck in this painting."

"Good." She let go of me and walked over to her dining room table, where her laptop and a bunch of cameras sat.

I jumped up and followed her. "So what are we going to do?"

"You're going to help me test this camera's ability to stream."

"What? Zoey, we need to do something about this!"

"This is something!" Zoey yelled back. Then she sighed and spoke in a much softer voice. "Look, I don't know what to do. This is the best I can think of. This way, I can keep tabs on you all day. If the day goes by and you're still on planet earth, we'll deal with you being crazy. If you vanish and the stream goes out, I figure out how to get you back."

"So that's your plan? Wait until I get vanished then figure out how to pull me back?"

"Until we can think of a better one."

I sighed. "Alright. I'll wait here for you to get dressed, I guess."

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

I was incredibly tense the whole rest of the day.

It was bad. I jumped at every little noise. Especially water. Anything moved, I immediately shouted at it. I alternated between filming and heading back to Zoey's computer to watch her compare the qualities of each footage capture. It didn't help that I was shaking the whole time, making the videos look pretty much incomprehensible.

The worst was when Zoey told me to go out into the neighborhood far away to test the range. Every time, she had to assure me that if the stream went out and I didn't come back for five minutes, she would assume the worst had happened. When I was done filming, she would text me to come back, and I would bolt. Even though it was only five minutes, I swear they took forever. Something about being alone made me feel vulnerable.

Zoey, for her part, was holding it together remarkably well. She alternated between shouting directions at me and calming me down, then do some stuff on her laptop like nothing was wrong. Still not 100 percent sure how she did it; my behavior alone should have been enough to unnerve her.

It was about five at this point and the sun was just barely beginning to set.

"Alright Liam, I need you to go behind that shed."

I looked over to the small building in her backyard. "That one?"

"Yeah" she looked over at me. "Don't worry, I'll be watching the footage the whole time."

I inhaled. "Okay." With the camera on my shoulder, I slowly crept up behind the shed and stepped around.

Darkness.

Suddenly, silver light bathed the landscape. It was that damn painting again. I twirled around, pointing the camera in every direction. "ZOEY! ZOE! ARE YOU SEEING…"

A fist suddenly landed square on my jaw. There wasn't a lot of power behind it, but it surprised me so much that it caused me to lose my balance, falling over on the sand. I looked down to see the gaunt Greg fishing through my pockets, with the rest of the group behind him.

"Damn it! Nothing! Not one single thing! WHY DIDN'T YOU LISTEN TO ME?" He slapped my face hard, hard enough to sting.

"I..what…who?"

"Come on, Greg, your little experiment didn't work." The business woman took out a sharpened shiv. "Time to do what we should have done originally."

He glared at me. "Not even a single pack of Oreos? Come on, are you trying to get yourself killed?"

The teen girl scoffed and she drew out a similar shiv. "Like we wouldn't have killed him if he did."

"No, but, fuck, I miss Oreos." Greg scowled and revealed a large hunting knife.

I panicked. Out of pure, primal reflex, I squirmed out from under Greg and kicked him in the face. He was surprisingly light and flew backwards, a sickening crunch coming from his face. I scurried to my feet and grabbed the camera, not sure why, and sprinted away on the beach.

"SHOOT HIM TOM!" I heard Greg yell from behind me.

"Only got four bullets left."

Spanish.

"No, but just sayin'…"

There was a bang of sound and I felt a stinging sensation at my arm. I saw blood running down it and had to readjust my grip to keep the camera. There was another, and I felt a similar sensation on my leg.

"AGAIN!"

"Stop it Greg! We've only got two bullets left! Let him bleed out."

I kept running, but the beach seemed to go on forever. My muscles felt sore, My lungs were on fire. I felt close to collapse. I tripped over my own feet and fell face-first in the sand, salt and grit going up my nostrils and into my mouth. I started to get up, but I couldn't. Despite the cold, I felt like I was burning up.

"See?"

"I'll get the fire going. Good eating for once."

The heat kept rising. My flesh felt like it was on fire. I began to scream as my vision turned red.

"What the hell?…"

Darkness overtook me.

I woke up in Zoey's back yard.

"Liam, Liam, holy shit are you alright?"

I coughed out bloody sand. "Never better. I'm just gonna…" My vision faded into black again.

"Hey, HEY!" Zoey slapped me. "Stay awake. C'mon, we're going to the hospital."

"Wonderful" I muttered as she dialed some numbers on her phone.

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

As we waited for the ambulance to get there, Zoey made me recite a cover story about how I had accidentally shot myself with her hunting rifle while she was showing it off to me. I later learned that this had two reasons: one, to keep me conscious until the paramedics could do their thing, and two, to give a good cover story to the police. As she told me later, "The last thing I wanted to have happen that day was to get my stuff ransacked from the Men in Black or something."

Because I kept trying to fall asleep on her, she made me recite it over and over again. Good thing, too; I ended up telling it so well that when the cops had finished taking my statement, one of them told me "Sorry to trouble you, but it's procedure. We just want to make sure this wasn't something else."

I smiled and told them I understood.

I spent a week or two in the ICU. The nurse told me that the shots were, luckily, grazes. Neither managed to strike any vessels, muscles, or bones, so all I needed was some blood and stitches, then some observation to make sure there were no complications.

My parents visited once or twice, and even Zoey's dad. Zoey, however, stayed the most by my side, usually in a corner fiddling with her cameras or laptop. When I told her she could go home, she just scoffed and went back to whatever she was doing.

On the second day, I started feeling better and actually started to stay up instead of briefly waking up and then passing out. When Zoey came back to my room to hang out, I smiled and waved at her.

"Hey, you were right."

"About what?" she asked.

"I didn't get stuck in the painting."

She shook her head and laughed. "Liam, I honestly thought you were crazy. I was gonna show you the stream footage after the day was over and then try to convince you to check into an asylum." She sat down across from me and filled me in on what happened from her end.

Apparently, when I went behind the shed, the streaming didn't stop. In fact, the camera showed Zoey everything that was happening: the beach, Greg, all of it. Later in the week, she played me the video that was taken, proof that I wasn't insane. It shows everything, including the air going orange, dark, and then suddenly reappearing in the backyard.

As soon as Zoey saw this landscape with me in it, she freaked. She ran upstairs, tore up the painting and broke the wood canvas, and ran back to the yard, where her laptop was. When that failed to do anything, she ran back inside and got the painting scraps, threw them in the backyard, and set them on fire. After a second or two, the fire erupted and doubled in size, and a few seconds after that, the video turned orange. The fire died down and I was lying there, unharmed with the exception of the gunshots. Somehow, I managed to hold onto the camera the whole time.

"Good thing too, or I would've thrown you back there" she joked.

Both the SD card in the camera and the stream footage recorded the same thing. We spent a long time talking about what had happened, and we ended up deciding not to show it to anyone else. At best, they probably thought we were trying to pull some elaborate prank. At worst… who knows?

It must have really stuck in Zoey's head, though, because after a few days, she asked if she could post it online, under the guise of a short horror film project and write out what had happened before that as a creepypasta-like story. She promised to change all the names. I didn't see a reason not to, so I said sure.

After a few days, when I was no longer recovering but just under observation, the visitors stopped coming, and even Zoey showed up less frequently. Bored, I spent some time online, looking up "Worlds of Wonder."

Nothing showed up.

The only thing I found was on Greg Thornstine. Apparently, he was once a multimillionaire heir and art enthusiast. He disappeared one night after acting irrationally and was never found. I read his whole story on an article entitled "10 of the Most Mysterious Missing Persons Cases in History." No mention of the painting.

I couldn't find anything on anyone else. Just a factoid that at any given time, around 90,000 people are missing in the United States.

I stopped searching after that.

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

One week later, I was out of the hospital. The doctor told me to avoid alcohol for the time being, so naturally, Zoey wanted to celebrate with beers at her place. I told her I'd come but not drink. She laughed and then told me she had something to show me.

We were once again sitting on her porch. With a flourish, she pulled out her laptop and showed it to me. It was the footage from the beach, uploaded to Youtube. It had 100,000 views.

"I just uploaded this, like, three days ago!" she exclaimed. "It's already blown up! This thing is everywhere! And everyone's talking about the story too! How it's so weird and creepy! It gave me an idea: why don't I do this stuff while I'm filming the 'Faces of America' thing? I'll already be going place to place. I could do this, like, video pod format where each episode is a different city or state and I'll talk about the urban legends and maybe even find something! Wouldn't that be cool?"

"Zoey…"

"Before you say anything, I'm not trying to rope you into it. I mean, I already know you can't come, but…"

"Zoey!"

She stopped.

"I'm in."

Zoey looked at me. "Liam, don't mess with me."

"I'm serious. Zoey, I just saw something that shouldn't exist. And nobody would know about that painting if you hadn't have posted it. It makes…" I could feel myself blushing a bit, but I continued. "It makes me wonder what else is out there."

Zoey didn't respond. She just looked at me. Then she hugged me. Hard.

That's how Creepy America started.

#creepy #creepy_america #short_story #fiction #series #weird fiction #horror

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bytheangell · 5 years

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what does writing means to you? I see that you are so passionate about it and are constantly doing it even in small doses, almost everyday, etc. What does it means to you? Do you ever get stressed about it? How can you juggle that and alongside life in general? I'm curious about you, Elle. Where do you get all this motivation, inspiration? Do you consider yourself disciplined about it?

Alright, so to start, I love that you sent this in, Anon! I can’t imagine I’m interesting enough for anyone to be genuinely curious about?! But I appreciate that you are and I love getting personal asks as much as I love rambling about Shadowhunters, especially when they’re about writing!

Writing means everything to me, at the risk of sounding dramatic. It’s always been that One Thing I knew I was pretty good at. I love to read and write from a young age, always writing little stories or keeping a journal, and I guess it’s been a constant in my life for as long as I could remember. I joined fandom forum RPs and wrote there even when I wasn’t doing original short stories, but I wrote those on and off growing up, too. It’s always been an escape, cheap and easy to turn to whenever I need it, or a way to vent, or a way to sort through thoughts muddled in my head. I love writing. It is, by far, my favorite thing to do in my free time.

That said, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ever get stressed about it. I write for fun, yes, and I write the things I want to write because I love them. But sometimes the words just won’t come, or I’ll let myself get distracted and not write as much as I want to that day, or not finish things as quickly as I’d like after I start them, and sometimes I let that get to me no matter how much I try not to. I just hit the one year mark of writing fanfiction. I’m still getting used to the idea that there are people actively following what I put out there, or waiting for the next bit of a series. That anyone might specifically like my writing. Sometimes I let the prompts sit too long and I feel super guilty about it. Or have more ideas than I could ever reasonably get to, but feel unreasonably upset over not just having unlimited writing time. Sometimes I have to remind myself I’m allowed to do other things like watch tv or nap after work, that I don’t have to be writing every free second, even though there’s always something I could be working on. And OOF the stress of something not going over well. Is it me? Is it my writing? Or a poorly executed concept? Or bad characterization that’s missing the mark and failing? What am I doing wrong?

Thankfully, those sorts of moments are definitely in the minority for me, and far less common now than they were when I first started. I’m more confident in my writing now, but more than that, I’ve stopped focusing so much on writing what I think other people want to read and just started writing what I want to write, even if it’s not a popular character or expected pov. And honestly? I think that shift has made all the difference throughout the past year. (Of course, that doesn’t apply to prompts, which is obviously writing exactly what someone else wants to read xD Which I LOVE getting, because someone out there specifically wants me to write a thing they’re interested in? What?! That’s like the ultimate compliment

I’m glad you called it ‘juggling’ writing with life in general, because it sure isn’t ‘balancing’ fhdas;fj;askl. There’s a lot of sleep deprivation. I never end up having a job with normal hours, so I’m either working weird swing shifts or tons of overtime, but to fit in the spurts of writing I’ve gotten used to lately I pretty much average 4-5 hours of sleep a night. #Priorities. I’m not the most social, so coming home and writing for an hour or two a day after work is a great way for me to unwind. I wish I was more disciplined about it, but really it just comes and goes in spurts. I try to write every day when I can but sometimes I’ll go for days without writing anything new, and others I’ll end up with a few thousand words in a couple of hours. I keep meaning to get into more of an proper habit of it, but I’ve never been good with things like ‘I’ll write from 6-7 am every day’ sorts of writing schedules. It always just happens when it happens ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

As far as inspiration, obviously right now a lot of the coda and scene fill/povs I’m writing are taken directly from the show. I can’t help but hit the end of an episode and immediately think, ‘what would I want to happen next?’ or ‘I have a lot of feels about that one particular moment let’s elaborate on that’ or ‘what can I picture -insert character here- doing next’, and playing with things from there. A lot of it is also things I wish I saw more of in canon and willing them into existence. As far as AUs, a lot of it comes from bouncing random ideas off of friends, off of discussions on twitter or tumblr, or seeing something in a show or movie and going ‘THIS DYNAMIC, YES’. I pull some stuff from real life, too. I did a Malec oneshot recently set with a literary magazine that stopped allowing anonymous submissions, totally a thing my lit mag did in high school. Most of it just sort of… happens. It’ll just be a random idea out of nowhere. I wish I had a better explanation. I’ve always been good at making up stories on the spot, taking one small idea, or sentence, or feeling, and turning it into something more. It almost never ends the way I meant at the start because I have a very fluid writing style and almost always just have the vaguest concept to start with and no solid ending, leaving the things I work on entirely adaptable or changeable along the way.

And last but not least, the motivation. A lot of it is just the desire to get the ideas in my head down on paper (or, you know, google docs). I like to share ideas I have with friends because their excitement over them is a huge motivator. The positive reactions I get on the writing I post time and time again is always amazing, and while I don’t write for the kudos or likes, knowing that what I’m doing is something others enjoy is always a great motivator to create more. I’ve also come across some amazing writer friends in the fandom since I joined. Chatting with them about the ups and downs of writing fanfic, seeing the amazing content they create and being inspired not just by their writing and ideas but also their attitudes and encouragement has made all the difference over the course of this year. The Shadowhunter Fanfic Nexus is an amazing group of talented writers that was kind enough to take a chance on adopting me pretty early on. They’re always willing to help with details or to run ideas by or listen to me keysmash in frustration when things aren’t working. There’s nothing like a group of writer friends to listen to you go ‘WHAT ARE WORDS WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER I’VE NEVER HAD A CREATIVE THOUGHT IN MY LIFE’ and meet you with both understanding and the reassurance that you’re always your own worst critic and you’ll get there in the end.

And there you have it! A little glimpse into my writing mindsets, I guess? That got more than a little rambly, sorry! I hope it was even remotely the sort of things you wanted to know and that you aren’t full of total regret for ever asking in the first place now that I wrote a small novella about myself here, xD. But you’re definitely right, I’m very passionate about writing, and I never imagined it’d be something so well received by others and I’m thankful for the opportunity to share it with so many other people!

#elle talks too much #elle af #honestly if you even read that entire thing all the kudos to YOU #I never meant for this to get so long and I'm just going to post it before I impulse delete half of it #anon glamour activated #ask rune

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fallxnprxnce · 5 years

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How affected would Nuada be if his sister Nuala had the iron malady. Also if that happened, how do you think that would affect Nuada's plans through out the film? You got this! Continue working hard online and offline and I'm sure things will work out! Have a frabjous day!

Okay first of all I just want to saythat you get 1,000 positive karma points for even mentioning my own fictionalillness that I came up with in your ask? Like wut? Thank you for payingattention and even caring about my little brain children? You’re awesome? =)

And again, sorry for this taking a ridiculousamount of time for me to finally answer, but I wanted to really give it somethought and not just write a tiny thing. Today is the first day I’ve had bothtime and motivation to write in like a week.

Also omg, I am trying to muddlethrough these last couple months of work but both my jobs are kicking my assright now. Mid-May, they both will end, and then I’m off until the end of June,so I just need to make it that far, heh.

Now let’s get down to business. XD

If you are reading this and you’re newto this blog or you just haven’t ever heard anything about the Iron Malady, it’s a fictional illness Icreated for one of my literary worlds. I made it more to deal with theissue of high or forest type elves being taken as prisoners of war by humans orsubterranean elves and placed in cells, or to deal with how they feel when theyare very far from home, away from their home forest, not in a forest, or areotherwise around a lot of human technology and civilization. Building on the common headcanon in a numberof fandoms that elves’ emotions are so potent as to have the ability to directlyaffect their longterm mental and physical health, the Iron Malady is an illnessthat arises from the intense feeling of hopelessness or dread that all thatthey have known is lost, that they will never see their home again, or that theworld is changing around them too fast for them to handle. A feeling of beingleft behind, becoming obsolete, or “homesick” for times and places they feelthey can never recapture. That’s a veryquick and general synopsis, but for those who wish to read more, I will directyou to this post where I describe itin more detail, discuss symptoms and stages of disease progression, and discussremedies to ease suffering and/or cure it.

So… how Nuada would react to Nualagetting the Iron Malady would depend upon whether their soul bond would conferthe illness onto him as well. I feellike if she was laid up with the Iron Malady, Nuada would be too, or at leasthe wouldn’t be far behind her. This is for two reasons: 1) they are physicallylinked, so all physical symptoms would be experienced by Nuada in real-time, 2)he would feel her emotions through the bonds, and the very definition of theIron Malady is that it’s brought about by intense feelings of sadness, grief,and hopelessness… which I think would massively affect him, and 3) just knowingshe had that illness would devastate him because I headcanon that that’s whatthe twins’ mother died of, and also just because he would know if Nuala hasthat illness that she must be suffering very badly emotionally. So my veryshort answer would be that he would become ill too, and without anyone to takecare of him, he would die, so both twins would die. If he returned to hispeople and got help, he could be in recovery for weeks if not months, so allother plans of his would be delayed by that amount of time.

Of course, having said all of that,that even assumes Nuala can get theIron Malady, which I believe she can’t. It begins as an emotional illness, afeeling of intense dread, grief,sadness, etc., and Nuala seems incapable of that sort of emotion. (Disclaimer: Iwill insert at this time for those of you who were just like whaaaaaat? at thatstatement that I am not a fan of Nuala and I tend to have very harsh andpessimistic views of her. If you like her, I do not mean any insult and you arefree to love her if you want. Just take what I say within the context that Ihave a rather low opinions of her as a person haha.) I am not certain exactly the reason why she has a flat affect most ofthe time with regard to the fate of her people, but it has to be one of thesethree:

1) She doesn’t care. It could be possible that Nuala really just doesn’t care whether elves fade or not.If I wanted to be really mean and wallow in my pessimistic views of her, Imight want to say this, but I actually believe this is the least probable causeof her apparent apathy.

2) She can’tcare. It could be, and I think this isentirely likely, that Nuala has just been alive long enough, has seen enoughsuffering, has felt enough pain, and has pondered this subject long enough thateverything has… well… kinda… broken her brain a bit, heh. Not to say she’scrazy or anything, she’s not. But just in the sense of… sometimes you feel somuch that you redline and end up not emoting at all? Does that make sense toyou all? Like if everyone is pushing and trying to get through a doorway but theyall get jammed, then nobody gets through. What if her mind is the door and heremotions are the people pushing to get through? If she could emote, it would bevolatile and explosive, just like Nuada, but she can’t anymore.

3) She’s too wise to care. This sounds nasty, but it really isn’t. Truewisdom is seeing the big picture. It’s stepping outside of yourself, yoursituation, away from material things, away from trivial everyday things, andseeing the grander scheme of everything. Often times when one reaches truewisdom or enlightenment or whatever you want to call it, it involves not onlyan understanding of the greater picture and a detachment from personal desires,but also patience and compassion for others. This results in an enlightenedperson viewing strife and war and suffering as if they are watching TV. Notthat it isn’t real, not in that sense… but as if they are outside lookingin. They don’t place themselves in the situation or empathize, but rather theypractice patient compassion. What’s the difference? Empathy is when I identifywith what you’re going through because I’ve been through it myself or Iunderstand what it must be making you feel, and that makes me either sad foryou or really want to help you. I become personally emotionally involved inyour suffering. Patient compassion is very calmly looking at someone who issuffering and saying, this is difficult for you but you will get through it,and I understand that until you do, you will be upset and not yourself. It’sattributing all suffering to want, desire, and a lack of getting what you wantas far as the material here and now. It’s looking at someone who is in a rageand very calmly saying, I understand that this angers you, and I recognize thatyou are not wise enough to know that this too shall pass. I understand that itwill take time for you to work through this, and that until then, you may beunfit to live with.

I think it is very likely that Nualahas this very serene, wise, enlightened way of looking at the world. It rendersher not really able to get overly excited about much, because to be excited,upset, angry, etc., you have to be invested emotionally. She is an observer,watching life but not overly participating in it except in a few ways she feelsfurthers or maintains the greater good. Nuada and Nuala truly are yin and yang,for she is temperance, patience, understanding, and long-term, and Nuada isvolatility, impulsiveness, intolerance, and short-term. But I feel that that’sbecause Nuada never removed himself from the emotional equation. He’s allowedhimself to feel centuries of injustice, death, loss, and degradation of hispeople, and that has done very damaging things to his mind. Nuala may seem likea whole and better person on the surface, but that is because she has declinedto become emotionally invested in her people’s struggle, which I find shameful.But… it would protect her from falling victim to the Iron Malady.

Alright, SO… Now that we’ve gottenthat out of the way, IF… Nuada did not immediately come down with the IronMalady just by association with Nuala and IF… Nuala was actually capable offalling into the emotional valley that gives rise to the illness… now what?

In the HellboyII universe, I say the Iron Malady arose in elves who feared that their wayof life was falling apart, that it would fall apart forever, and that theywould fade. That despairover their situation of having to live underground, or seeing the humansoverpopulate and all of that, gave rise to this wasting illness that, even whenproperly treated, some simply do not recover from. Nuala and Nuada’s mother wasa kind, loving, and gentle soul, but she was also a fragile one, and she wasnot able to recover. Nuala… I believe would recover with the proper treatment,but that’s anybody’s guess. But even if we’re going to say that Nuada wasn’tphysically affected by the illness, he would still be aware that she had it.Actually, you could argue that he might be able to stop if before it happens,if he really wanted to, because he would be able to sense her emotionally goingdown that path long before it manifests itself in illness. He’s used to beingshunned and shut out by his sister, but if he felt real sadness from her? Ifshe reached out to him for help? You can bet your ass he’d be there for her.

So… I do not ship Nuala and Nuadaromantically or sexually. Yes, I know it’s canon. Yes, I don’t care. XD Butjust because my Nuada isn’t in lovewith Nuala does not mean he doesn’t love her. He loves her like a sister,certainly, and like anyone bonded to someone by their soul for the whole of his life would be. Nuada and Nuala do not have a traditional sense of self because of thisbond. They may exist apart from each other, but never knowing anythingother than feeling each other’s joy, pain, illness, sadness, happiness, wounds,etc. as their own… makes for a bondthat really can’t have any clear labels. That’s part of the reason why Nuada isso angry with and resentful of Nuala, because shunning him is like shunning apart of herself and like denying him a part of himself. It’s as if Nuada was awart on her finger and she decided to, quite literally, cut him off. But…having said that… because of the nature of this bond and Nuada’s own very openand emotional nature, there is no way for him to cut her off completely. So if she came down with something like theIron Malady, all bets would be off at that point. Fights wouldn’t matter.Differences wouldn’t matter. Insults, slights, grudges, bones to pick, none ofthat would matter to him anymore. All that would matter is being there for herand seeing her get well again. He’d worry about the rest later.

His plans for the humans would absolutely takea back seat to being there for his sister.He would return to the “palace,” assuming this is happening before he killsBalor, and would stay there with his sister until she was well again, and basicallywould not accept no for an answer. It isn’t like he would forget about what hewanted to do as far as assembling the crown, gaining the Golden Army, or exterminatinghumans, but rather his sister’s life and well-being would supersede all of thatin his mind. I can’t say that he would be surprised necessarily if she was toget the Iron Malady, but it would only strengthen his anger for humans. He’s alreadypissed off that they killed his mother, the way he sees it, but now his sisteris ill? Hell no.

Also, on a very basic and selfishsense, he would realize that if he doesn’tmake sure Nuala is cared for in a suitable manner and she dies, he would diealong with her. So if he ever intends on going through with his plan, heneeds to make sure he’s alive to do it. I can see this creating an even widerrift between Nuada and Balor, simply because he resents his father for hismother’s death. He feels he did nothing to save her, or at the very least, didnot provide her with enough support in life to prevent the illness fromhappening. Nuada would make sure the same thing doesn’t happen with Nuala.

He would make sure that Nuala was notjust feeling better but had been feeling better for some time before herevisited his plan again. This isn’t like a… take two Advil and call me in themorning sort of illness, heh. It takes weeks or months for a person to recover,and even after they do, they are prone to relapse if they are not taught how tobetter manage their depression or are not left with enough of a support system.I suppose if Nuala really wanted to discourage Nuada from his plans, the bestway would be to tell him that she needed him to stay with her in order toprevent a relapse. But that would assume he’d believe such a thing, heh.

But those are like… ultimate “I getthe Army and then I dead the humans so hard” plans. What about other supportingplans along the way? There are a fewthat I think would be either put off or nixed entirely if Nuala was sick withthe Iron Malady…

He wouldn’t kill Balor. Perhaps that whole thing might have gonedifferently if Nuala hadn’t been there to give consent for Balor’s death decreein the first place, but if she had the Iron Malady, Nuada would right suspectthat killing their father wasn’t what would bring Nuala out of her sadness. Infact, that would only exacerbate it tenfold.

He wouldn’t use the forest god in the way hedid. If anything, he might have brought itto Nuala first and shown her look, one of these still exists and I’m incubatingit, to make her happy. Not… “and then I’m going to use it to kill the hoomins,”haha… but just… “look, there is hope yet.” Maybe the poor forest god would havehad a better ending (or beginning?) and a much deeper meaning if it had beenused in that way. Great. I just gave myself a sad.

He wouldn’t care as much as Abe trying to makemoves on Nuala. Nuada doesn’tlike Abe for a lot of reasons, and he doesn’t think he is worthy of his sister,but… just like with Balor, now is not the time to attack someone she clearlycares for. For the sake of her recovery, I could see Nuada allowing Abe tovisit her. Supervised visits, ofcourse. XD

Nuada’s biggest problem during this timethough, would be not falling victim to it himself. Seeing his sister with the same illness hismother died from would take Nuada to a very rough place in his mind, and Ireally think it would be difficult for him to not fall into a depressionhimself. He would most likely want to stay in her room, sleep by her beside,basically never leave her. He would start regretting things he said and did toher, would start wishing they had been on better terms, all of that. So therewould be a great deal of regret and guilt involved in addition to just thesadness of seeing someone he loves laid up like that. So I think he’d be luckyif he remained entirely healthy himself during this time.

But yeah, that’s my 2 cents… of 5dollars, since this was long as hell, haha… but I hope I answered everythingwell enough! Thank you for sending thisin!

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backwardmaptravels · 6 years

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What I wish I'd known

When ‘backwardmaptravels’ first asked me to write a post for this blog, I’ll be honest I was at a loss for what to write. Tips for fellow travellers and retellings of an adventure seems like an easy ask, but when you’ve lived a crazy life like me it all gets a little muddled. And when I say 'crazy’ I truly mean that.

As I sit here writings this I still don’t quite know what story I want to tell. Admittedly, I was asked for this months ago, but as is often the case, life gets in the way of interests and passions and loves. Anyways, the clocks a-ticking and there’s only so long I can put this off for so here we go…

There’s endless websites out there that can give you Top Tips For Your Holiday, and no one could ever accuse me of being boring, so my tips are slightly different. Below are five things that I think are essential for all travellers new and old, things I wish I had written down before I even set off on my first trip to the village hall.

1. Follow Your Interests

This may seem like a boring mundane ‘duh’ one, but you’d be surprised how many people do things because “oh everyone else does this so we must too!!” There’s no point going on a travelling holiday to Rome if the extent of your interest in Italy extends to Caesar and Brutus’ contribution to memes.

I was adamant that I wanted to go interrailing around Europe. For each city we would visit I had laid out places I definitely wanted to visit. You have to be reasonable and realise that you’re not going to be able to walk 50,000 steps and see 10 different things each day - well you might be able to but I would not recommend that. Instead pick your top choices. They don’t even have to be exact things. I wasn’t sure what to expect in Budapest and Prague but I knew I wanted to go there and experience new European cultures, and you know what? They ended up being some of my favourite places.

If you’re like me, and you don’t really mind where you go you just want to travel, then following your interests is pretty easy. For those of you who share my love for globe spinning, then my advice is reasonably simple: do what you love. This is your life to map out (see what I did there) and they’re your adventures to curate. So do what interests you, what fascinates you, what drives you; and do it well. There no point going to 20 places in one month and getting the postcard, when you can spend the same time seeing 8 places and falling in love with each one again and again and again.

So do what you love. Follow what you’re interested in. And don’t forget to slow down once in a while. The world isn’t a race. You can afford to spend a whole day lazing in bed in Rome, because you know what? You may be laying in bed, but it’s a bed in Rome.

2. Adapt

To be honest learning to adapt is just good life advice. There’s not enough fingers in the world to count all the times I’ve had to change plans because something just isn’t right, or your mate Dave just never bloody follow through. But the important thing is, no matter how frustrating it is to veer away from what I’m sure is a perfectly scheduled travel plan marked down to the second, sometimes sh*t just happens.

I used to be one of those people who liked structure and planning and detailed documents outlining each and every moment of each day (colour coded of course), but that’s just not practical. You have to go with the flow in this weird changing world.

When we arrived in Rome we had a full week worth of activities and sites to see, only to find out that of course! Of course we arrived the day before a massive festival when Rome’s transport is shut down for the day and the streets are awash with colour, laughing and booze. Our plans to see the colosseum the next day were thwarted but in many ways these bumps only helped our adventures and gave us some new ones. Instead we stayed in our little apartment and got pizza from the tiny pizzeria down the street - what would end up being the best pizza either of us had ever, and probably will ever have - and sat on our little balcony spending peaceful time doing nothing yet everything. We went to the colosseum the next day and it so happened to be one of the few days that you could get in for free. So thank you Rome! Thank you for celebrating you and giving us charming time all the while looking after our diminishing student bank accounts.

So adapt people. It’s important to learn that life isn’t a play-by-play and usually something will go wrong. But if you’re lucky, something else will just go so so right

3. Remember Home

This may seem like a silly one. Like somewhat of a wimpy sell-out more than an advice number. But truly this is one of the most important ones to me. The worlds big. It’s scary. And things don’t always go your way. For me, there’s honestly nothing more important on a wild travelling adventure then remembering where you come from, remembering home and all those you left there - especially the cat.

I’m lucky enough to have a really close relationship with my parents. As such, I would always be one to phone home and keep in at least sporadic contact with home. But when you’re travelling across Europe via one-ticket trains it’s even more important. This advice may only seem fitting for younger or new travellers but it’s important for everyone. Trust me, when things get tough and even when your heart fills with joy, you’re going to want to remember home.

Whether it’s accidentally being caught up in a Parisian protest, accidentally ordering an absinthe shot or suddenly struggling to breath in the middle of a Mongolian forest - all of which have happened to me, like I said: crazy life - you’re going to want to remember home.

4. Slum It

Look. All those travel instagram blogs and backpacking magazines are filthy liars. Well, okay some of it is true, you will be having the time of your life and you will never believe some of the beauty that makes up the world, but it’s not all exotic food, hammocks in forests and footprints in the sand. Take it from me, at one point on your travels you will find yourself drying clothes with a hair dryer and doing laundry in what might be bleach. Life’s just like that sometimes.

I recently traveled around Europe for a month and I’m amusedly ashamed to admit that on two separate occasions I found myself slumming it and washing clothes in a not quite usual manner. When traveling anywhere for more than two weeks your bound to have to wash clothes and it’s far easier to carry a weeks wardrobe than try to lug around 30 separate outfits all around Europe. There’s only so many inside-out ways you can wear socks and underwear and shirts before you need to just bite the bullet and accept the reality that the sink is your new best friend.

Rome is a beautiful majestic place, but for some people your travels there will very much boast a highlight of washing clothes in what, to this day, I’m still not convinced isn’t bleach and then fashioning a rather fetching sock drying tower out of an old lamp. These adventures reach their peak the next morning when you need to pack so first you’re just going to have to accept the fact that you’ll be spending the next two hours of your life drying clothes with a dodgy hair dyer.

These laundry adventures will continue throughout your holiday as four cities down the line in Prague you’ll inevitably find yourself washing socks and underwear in the sink while your friend rinses in the bidet. I’ve said this once and unfortunately it’s now my catchphrase: life just be like that sometimes.

So don’t sweat the small stuff. Travelling isn’t glamorous. You will have to wear socks of questionable cleanliness and wash underwear in sinks but I promise you this it’s worth it. When you step out of your falling apart home-for-the-night, you’ll forget about wet socks and third-time-around shirt the second you see the world spilling out at your feet.

5. Trust Yourself!

The most important advice I could ever give you if simple: Trust Yourself. You need to believe that you know more than you think you do. The world is big and scary but it’s also so beautiful and awe-inspiring. By the time you step on your first train, plane, bus, you’ve already done all the leg work. You’ve got yourself this far. You can do it. If travelling is what you want to do then do it, don’t sweat the ins and outs it’ll all work out magically.

It’s important to learn to listen to your gut. I’ve been travelling from a young age but almost always with Mum holding my tickets and Dad navigating the stations. But when I started this whole travelling thing without that parental safety net I was scared, but I also realised that I knew more than I thought.

Trust yourself.

You know how to look after yourself. You know what a train station looks like, a plane isn’t new to you. You know how to stay alive, how to feed yourself, you don’t need someone to change your nappies anymore.

Trust yourself.

Listen to your instinct and don’t go where you’re not comfortable. Go where you want to. See the world explore this crazy planet we live on, But if you feel off, if something feels off, just turn around and walk away - they’ll be an adventure around the next corner.

Trust yourself.

You know what you’re capable of. You know what you’re comfortable with. Don’t be afraid to ask for help but I promise you now you’ll be okay. Don’t be put off pursuing your hopes and dreams because you don’t know if you can do it. You can. I promise you. You’ll be okay.

Trust yourself.

(and find out what ‘exit’ is in each language so you don’t spend your travels trapped in the metro because you don’t know how to get out)

I hope these mis-matched tips gave you all a better view on what it is to be an adventurer, an explorer, a traveller. Top Tips will only get you so far and it’s no use knowing how to budget and whether or not you should get travel insurance (the answer is yes, you most definitely should) if you don’t know what’s coming, what to do when you get there.

So go forth. Embark on each of your individual crazy adventurers. Write down what you do, take pictures of what you see and tell everyone everything that made you laugh, cry, smile. The world is full of wonder and such an amazing place. Travelling is how we see it all.

So just follow your interests, adapt, remember home, don’t be afraid to slum it and in everything you do, all that you see don’t forget to…

Trust yourself

- MiraSophia

( bumblingtravels.tumblr.com )

Thank you so much @bumblingtravels for submitting this perfectly put travel post. I have said many times that travel isn’t always “Instagram Worthy” and your submission summed up why that isn’t always a bad thing.

Do you have a story worth telling about an adventure you took? Maybe you just have a quick piece of advice that other travelers would like to read. Whatever it may be submit your story here! Happy travels!!

#travel #my story #traveler #trip inspiration #misadventure #adventure #wanderlust #backpacker #travel advice #submission #submit #backwardmaptravels #bumblingtravels

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uomo-accattivante · 7 years

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SCREENPLAY REVIEW - ANNIHILATION

This is a very old review (from 2015) of Alex Garland’s Version 10 screenplay I came across on the site below. (SPOILERS BELOW)

*** Extracted from website link below:

Screenplay Review – Annihilation

Genre: Sci-fi Thriller

Premise: A young biologist is recruited on a mission into a mysterious energy field that threatens to destroy the planet.

About: Writer Alex Garland has blessed us with some of the best sci-fi of the last 10 years. He wrote Ex Machina, 28 Days Later, Sunshine, Dredd, and even adapted mega-project, Halo, before the 67 lawyers and producers representing the 13 companies involved in the film blew the thing up. In short, if you have a sci-fi project, Alex Garland is one of the first guys you call. This time, just like he did on Ex Machina, he’s writing AND directing. Annihilation was adapted from the novel of the same name. It is being referred to as the first book in the “Southern Reach” trilogy, which means nothing to me at the moment, but will hopefully make sense at the end of the review. It will star Natalie Portman.

Writer: Alex Garland – Jeff VanderMeer

Details: 126 pages (version “10” according to the title page, whatever that means)

Longtime screenwriter Alex Garland stormed onto the directing scene early this year, writing and directing one of the best indie films of 2015, Ex Machina. How did he parlay his writing into such a deftly directed first film? By, um, not giving a shit about directing apparently! Garland’s gone on record as saying he doesn’t like directing nor does he care about it. To him, it’s all about the writing. Spoken like a true screenwriter.

With that said, you have to wonder why someone who isn’t into directing has agreed to direct another movie so quickly, and a big one at that. My guess is that the salary bump from writer to director is enough to make even the most reluctant writer reevaluate. And hey, spending three months in close-quarters with five beautiful woman doesn’t sound like such a bad gig.

Biologist Lena Kerans, who specializes in cancer research, is struggling through the most difficult time of her life. Her soldier husband went missing in battle over a year ago, and Lena hasn’t been able to move on.

Then, one day, inexplicably, her husband (Kane) returns home. Kane has no memory of how he got here and no memory of where he’s been. When Lena rushes him to the hospital, a government motorcade intercepts them, and the next thing Lena knows, she’s waking up in a military base.

Eventually, she meets Dr. Ventress, who informs Lena that they’re off the coast of Florida where a large growing anomaly is taking over the area. Within a few years, it will extend down into Mexico. Within a decade, it will usurp the entire planet. Great, Lena says. Now where the fuck is my husband?

Ventress explains that her husband is being kept on life support, and with the anomaly approaching, they’ll have to desert the base soon. If that happens, they will have to leave Kane, as he’s in too fragile a state to be transferred.

It just so happens that Ventress is going on one last mission with a group of three woman into the anomaly to see if they can figure it out. We gradually learn that Kane was on one of the former missions inside the anomaly and that he’s one of only two men who made it out alive.

Naturally, since her husband’s life is on the line, Lena demands to be a part of the mission. And she makes a good case for herself. She’s a biologist, and this growing anomaly is basically a cancer. Maybe she can help.

Ventress agrees, and the team of five women head inside. Once in, they notice that everything is both the same yet different. The animals (gators!) are twice as big. The plants are twice as exotic. And time doesn’t seem to exist wherever they’re at. But when they come across video of Kane’s old team, they begin to realize just how dangerous this anomaly is, and that just like everyone else who’s ventured into this bubble, they’re probably not making it out alive.

“Annihilation” asks a pretty interesting question. What if the earth got cancer? What if a mutation started to spread and expand to the point where the earth itself died? That’s a great sci-fi question. But it also teeters on the edge of “3 A.M.” idea territory. You can almost smell the pot wafting through the outline’s pores.

Indeed, I can hear the echoes of someone nicknamed “Lugnuts” ingesting an epic bong hit and wondering aloud, “And what if, like, all the animals were, like, TWICE AS BIG,” to which he receives a smattering of delayed approvals, peppered with the occasional pot-cough-slash-laugh. Surely, a pizza will be ordered soon, charged to whichever member of the group is getting his entire tuition paid for by daddy.

Okay, that may be a cheap shot. But Annihilation does suffer from a case of the over-idea. It’s the price you pay when you go from something contained and clear, like Ex Machina, to something sprawling and ambitious, like this. You gain scope and complexity. But you’re forced to juggle more balls. Which means a better chance of those balls falling.

But I’m not here to judge (okay, maybe a little). I’m here to observe. And one of the first things I observed was the concept of “mystery replacement.” When you write a script like Annihilation, where the first act is centered around a mystery (a growing field that people go into and never come out of), you’ve set yourself up for a front-loaded movie. That is, once you show the audience what’s inside the bubble, they’ve got nothing left to look forward to besides the next bong hit.

Because the entire first act is predicated on the mystery of this unexplainable phenomenon, Annihilation is a prime candidate for front-loaded status. Luckily, there’s a solution to this. Every time you answer a giant mystery in your script, you replace it with either another giant mystery, or a series of smaller mysteries. VanderMeer and Garland do a good job with this. Once we’re inside the phenomenon, new questions start arriving. Giant animals. Grotesquely altered humans. What happened to Lena’s husband’s team?

I also want to commend Garland on the structure, which is one of the first things beginner screenwriters must learn before they can make the move to the more complex aspects of storytelling, like character development and theme. So instead of sending our characters into this big anomaly blob and “seeing what happens,” (a common mistake I see a lot), Garland immediately establishes a goal. Get to the lighthouse. The lighthouse is where the anomaly began, so by that logic, that’s where the answers will be.

This may sound like a minor thing, but it’s actually really important. Having a physical destination gives us form and focus. We know where the story needs to go, so we can give in to all the craziness that happens along the way. Had we shown up here and the characters said, “Uh, okay, let’s look around,” we the reader are going to get frustrated quickly. “What’s the point?” we’re going to ask. “Where is this going??”

An overarching goal is a great start. But sub-goals are what really give a script structure. In Annihilation, the characters know they can’t get to the lighthouse in one day, so they create a series of checkpoints they’ll try to make it to each day. Again, this may seem insignificant to the casual screenwriter. But what this is doing is dividing the screenplay into easy-to-follow bite-sized chunks. We know we’re trying to get to A. Let’s see if we can get there without getting killed. Next morning, we have to get to B. Okay, let’s see if we can do that. Then C, and finally D. And, of course, if you’re doing your job, each leg will be more challenging.

Think of these mini-goals as pillars. If you were to place a pillar under the left side, or beginning, of the screenplay, and then place a pillar under the right side, or ending, of the screenplay. What’s going to happen to the middle? It’s going to sag right? So you have to place a series of pillars along the middle section of the script. That’ll keep it from drooping, or worse, falling down completely.

And if structure were all this script were being judged on, I’d give it a good grade. But I also have to judge it on its ideas, which are interesting in some places but muddled in others. The “What if earth got cancer” question is fun. But I’m not sure I understood why plants and humans and animals were meshing into single forms. And why sometimes that meant weird hybrid entities, and while other times it meant dolphins as big as whales. There was an inconsistency there that became frustrating after awhile.

And something smelled fishy about this team being all-female. The explanation we get is that men could potentially be more violent inside the vortex and therefore less likely to survive. The problem with that explanation is that over 500 people have gone into this thing, and only two have gotten out. They were both men. This tells me the all-female team is more a result of that being the hot new thing in books than it is a logical decision. And hey, if you want to go all-female or all-male or even all-horse, that’s fine. But it’s your job as a writer to come up with a legtimate reason for why that’s happening. If you don’t, the suspension of disbelief is broken (note: Suspension of disbelief is broken every time an audience veers out of the movie to ask a logic question: “Wait a minute? Why are they all women? That doesn’t make sense.”)

It’s the same issue I have with the Ghostbusters thing. What’s the reason to go all-female other than that’s the trend? There isn’t a story reason behind it. And if you’re deliberately excluding men from the story, isn’t that just as bad as deliberately excluding women from a story?

But I’m getting off-track here. Must have been that five minutes I spent watching Trump debate earlier. The main point is that Annihilation starts out with an interesting idea, and keeps its story moving swiftly, but once the answers start coming, they do so in unsatisfying muddled ways. With that said, I’m curious what Garland’s first large-scale directing effort will look like. The cinematography as well as the robot concept in Ex Machina were gorgeous, which is reason to stay optimistic.

*** @losethehours @coolfayebunny @charliexowrite

#oscar isaac #kane #annihilation #alex garland #spoilers #southern reach trilogy #natalie portman #lena kerans #gina rodriguez #tessa thompson #jennifer jason leigh

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stimtoybox · 7 years

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I know you've already answered something similar, but I sometimes think that I might be on the spectrum. I've become more aware of my stimming/need to stim. But I feel like I'm faking it. That I only think that I see the symptoms because I want to be in with the in crowd (my friends, most of them are) or whatever. And I feel like I would've been diagnosed earlier. Idk I'm just really afraid of bringing this up with my therapist.

It’s okay to be afraid of bringing this up, anon. Bringing anything up with a therapist or psychologist is scary, and this is a big thing to bring up. Especially if you have any reason to feel as though you’ll be ignored or dismissed, and given the ableist ideas many professionals have about autism and how it presents, there is a chance of having to endure the pain of this. It’s a very real, very valid thing to fear, and I think we’ve all felt it at some point.

It’s also okay to feel like you’re faking it. But, honestly, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to be autistic that doesn’t have a connection or similarity of experience that draws us to the label. Being openly autistic means opening yourself up to an awful lot of ableism. It’s hard, scary and sometimes incredibly dangerous. I’ll be honest and say that this word is one of the better things that has ever happened to me, in that it has given me a label, a connection, a community, a way to conceptualise all that is strange in me - and it has opened the door for me to conceptualise other identities (being aro and grey-ace, things I consider connected to autism in me, like my lack of gender). Being able to go back and look at my characters through the lens of I am autistic and accidentally writing characters who are also autistic was a delight I find hard to put into words. But … it is dangerous to be autistic. It means not being understood by so many medical professionals; it means being dismissed. It means having your stims questioned on the street by strangers. For me, it meant having to quit a job because “not being able to control my facial expressions because I’m autistic” wasn’t good enough when a customer got angry at me. It means people having a label to put to your difference and that label used against you.

What I mean is this: on the off chance anyone is actually faking autism to be popular or part of a crowd, they’re opening themselves up to an awful lot of awfulness. That’s an incredibly high price to pay for connection. (I know we autistics are awesome people, but I don’t think many allistics are willing to endure the social consequences of being autistic in return for that awesomeness.) The reality is that most of us are trying to fake allism (consciously or unconsciously) to be popular or part of a crowd, not the reverse.

If you think you might be autistic, please explore it. Please. Follow autistic blogs, track the #actuallyautistic tag here on Tumblr, ask questions of autistic people. The worst that can happen is that you find out you’re not autistic, but you come away having learnt more about us. That harms nobody.

I can tell you, from the very depths of my heart, that time and age has nothing to do with the validity of your diagnosis. Nothing. It has everything to do with the fact that parents, doctors and teachers are awful at recognising autism, especially if you aren’t a cis white boy. Even then, if your autism presents a little atypically, you can still fall through the cracks. It’s only relatively recently that SPD symptoms were even included as part of an autism diagnosis, meaning people with communication skills good enough to muddle through (people like me) were overlooked entirely. It didn’t matter that I had few friendships growing up; it didn’t matter that I lacked a lot in interpersonal skills; it didn’t matter that I had no small talk skills, or any meaningful conversation skills, unless it happened to be a special interest of mine. I could rattle off a script for buying items (after many years of trying to figure this out) and I didn’t stim too much (largely because it had been abused out of me) so I was just shy and quiet, and my parents never mentioned the screaming matches we had about their stealing my pillow (to replace it with a “better” one) to our family doctor.

Anon, I was diagnosed last year. I’m thirty. (I’m a bit older than most people here. I don’t usually give my age out online other than “adult” because, as a writer, so much of my personal details are already readily accessible. But I think, today, this is something you need to know.) True, I’d been told at seventeen by an autistic friend that she and her mother thought me autistic. True, I’d been told at twenty-eight that my psychologist, parent of an autistic son, thought me very similar to him. True, I’d been told at twenty-nine that an autistic friend thought a character I wrote was based on her … when it was actually an exploration of my own SPD symptoms. True, I’d self-dx’d as having SPD for a couple of years. So when I underwent a BPD assessment only to have them tell me that they suspected I was autistic and assessed me for that … well, the evidence was there, but as I’ve said before, I was still shocked. And then I was angry, so angry.

The evidence was there, and two strangers saw it after a couple of one-hour sessions, but so many people who’d known me all my life (the people with the power to improve it) didn’t see it or refused to say the word. How could they have not have seen it? How did they all make me go so long before a professional finally said the word? How was it that I had to spend so many years feeling different, feeling alienated from all the things people don’t struggle with, until finally someone professional told me I’m autistic?

(Of course, now I know more about professionals, I don’t consider their words very important. Reading autistic people’s posts here on Tumblr affirmed my autism. Seeing how similar their challenges and feelings and experiences are to mine affirmed my autism. We are not identical - very autistic is different - but we have enough in common that autism is right for all of us.)

Yet, when I came online, I discovered that this is normal. So normal. That there are women and NB people who are being diagnosed in their thirties, forties, fifties and older. That so many people are only now getting the word that makes sense of their lives. That ableism, racism and misogyny all combine together to routinely deny many people a diagnosis that gives us understanding, identity and community.

As a late-diagnosed autistic, I swear to you that there’s many reasons why you might not have been diagnosed earlier, and none of them invalidate your autism.

My advice is the same as in this post, if you decide you want to bring this up with your therapist. But please know that you can take your time. Do it at a pace that is comfortable for you, if you want to. And if you don’t want to, don’t! If you choose to self-diagnose, the vast majority of the autistic community considers it good enough (as we should) because we know how many of us are missed by professionals. We know the professionals are awful at recognising autism and we’re not going to let their biased viewpoint keep our own from connecting with us and sharing the resources we have.

It’s natural to feel the way you’re feeling, anon, but I don’t believe you’re faking or doing this to be popular. I believe you’re discovering similarities in your own experience, those similarities drawing you to connect with other autistics. ND folk (even unknowing ND folk) tend to folk together - other ND folk make better sense to us, after all!

It’s hard for me to message with people because of my chronic hand pain, so I tend to be quite erratic in this (and if it’s been a high ask day I might not get to them at all that day, so expect that, too) but if you need to talk to me about this, the message box on my personal blog is always open, okay?

Best of luck, anon.

- Mod K.A.

#actuallyautistic #autism focus #autism discussion #discussion post #not a toy #ask #anon #text #personal #long post #very long post #mod K.A.#reassurance post

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thenaivereview · 7 years

Text

Katherine Collins One Afternoon

About a year after U.S. politics ate my interest in comic books, I found myself sitting outside Vancouver Comic Arts Festival, studying a Ben Sears print. It had been the longest, shittiest winter in a hundred years and now I was in the sun, staring at a picture like a child.

I had decamped that morning from Seattle to Vancouver, which is both foreign to me and closer to my original home in Alaska. Trump had decamped to Saudi Arabia. Between the two, my constant IV drip of political news had dried up. My phone didn’t work that well in Canada, so I couldn’t even text anyone for a secondhand hit. The Asian stock markets wouldn’t re-open for another 24 hours. No information was coming in except the colorful details of the Ben Sears print in my hands.

Being in an unfamiliar place in new sandals gave me a feeling from childhood that I’d forgotten. There’s liking yourself, and there’s being all right with the world. As adults we try to do both those things and be reasonably happy. But sometimes when you’re a little kid you have this sensation of liking yourself in the world. Liking the places where you and the world touch.

So that’s where I was, with the sun warming my back and bright artwork in my eyes, when my boyfriend tapped my shoulder and said, “We have to go to this panel—not enough people are showing up!”

I hurried inside with him, out of the sunlight and into a small, dark auditorium. In a pool of light, a woman my mother’s age and a man about my age sat at a table. The woman was Katherine Collins, and the man was Brandon Graham. He was interviewing her about her life and career, and her return to actively working as a cartoonist. A collection of her Neil the Horse stories was being republished in a thick volume after a long hiatus. She held her Neil the Horse book parallel to the table and let it drop with a thud. “That’s my favorite thing about this book,” she said. She had a deep, wry voice and as soon as she spoke, I wondered if she had worked in radio.

The conversation started with her youth and her cartooning inspirations. I didn’t get the cartooning references, but I liked that she set workmanlike goals for herself when she was 9 years old. I liked that she was competitive and bluffed her way into a radio gig even though she didn’t have experience at the time. Among many other things, Katherine adapted old comic strips to radio skits. She said, “All the other people in the skits were much better than me, but I didn’t care. Because I wrote them.”

I didn’t know what Katherine and Brandon were talking about half the time, about cartooning and the CBC, and the scene in Vancouver and Toronto. It was like listening to BBC World Service when you can’t sleep, and letting the enjoyably unfamiliar flow past you. They talk about cricket and you stare at the ceiling knowing nothing about cricket, clenching and unclenching your toes.

When I was a kid, I tried to hear BBC English as a foreign language, reduced to the aesthetics of sounds bumping up against each other, and the texture of voices. We only got one FM station up and down the radio dial—it was static soft and hard everywhere else. That was the local community radio station, relayed by receivers on mountain tops to tiny logging camps and roadless fishing villages. There was also one station on the AM dial—a rightwing commercial Christian radio station.

At night I’d troll slowly through the static on both dials, listening for changes, trying to sift voices out of the noise. Once in a while, if conditions were just right, the CBC came in from somewhere. It was as if aliens made contact, me cross-legged on my bed in the dark, absorbing wisdom from another culture. But the next night, and the nights after that—no more CBC. Just fuzz.

Katherine said, “I’ve always had a great capacity for ignoring things I’m not interested in. It’s called being a snob.” This is the sort of bitchily quotable thing my Grandma Ann was always saying. She had a presence and a deep voice like Katherine. She even had a similar handsome look, with a strong nose and pleasing facial planes.

Ann was big-chested and rangy at the same time. From my bedroom perch, I watched her loping up and down the cannery dock throughout the 1980s. She was a jack of no trades. She did all right as a housewife but wasn’t into it. She was a little disorganized. She helped with her husband’s business and she raised three kids as well as her personality would allow. She liked her grandkids, but not excessively. She scribbled in notebooks. She liked novels, the newspaper, baseball on television when she could get it. She liked playing cards. She was sardonic and opinionated and mellow and mirthful. She walked her dog, admired her cat, and knew the names of wildflowers. She was probably depressed. She was hard on herself in a way that cut other people down too. Ann’s potential was unfulfilled, like everyone else’s I knew, but she had an air of just being and that seemed like more than enough at the time. Nobody at her memorial suggested that she’d been kind, and I was glad they didn't lie just because she was dead.

Katherine isn’t like Ann at all. Besides being a generation younger, she had and has direction, and passion, and ambition. She made Neil the Horse, and she interviewed comic book and cartooning greats on national radio. She wrote songs for a musical version of Neil the Horse that she produced. She was and is the voice of Neil the Horse. And then she'd been sidelined from that by life, circumstances, the publishing world, animation studios. In the early 1990s, when she was in her early 40s, she said she could no longer get published. Katherine said, “It’s kind of sad and ironic and irritating that I was stopped doing my work back when I had momentum."

I’m going on 40 and I feel like I haven’t worked up that initial head of steam yet. I’m low energy and inefficient, I lack confidence and am an all-around foot-shooter. If I were in Alaska, it would matter less. If I were fifty years ago, I would have had a family along the way. I could have been like my grandmother but I was trying to be like Katherine, and falling through the gap between them.

Katherine is trying to get that productive part of her life back, but has less energy and more health problems now. She’d just been granted a big award in Toronto. She said, “Now I have to come alive again and do the work I’d hoped to do.” She said she might only have about fifteen minutes before she keeled over. She was joking, sort of, but she’d been sick and the people in her family tend to get Alzheimer’s and check out by 80.

A man in the audience asked her what she’d done since the 1990s. Even if she didn’t get published, was she still working—did she have a backlog of work to bring to light? She had an answer about a half-finished graphic novel but I understood that she had just been living life and sometimes that’s the thing that takes you away from your work. Meanwhile, you watch people fall off the edge of the world and disappear, and you feel yourself getting older and closer to the edge.

When Katherine said, “The next thing is to see if I can actually do it,” it bolsters me. I need to see other people lack confidence so I know to muddle on despite my own lack of confidence.

She’s going to do more Neil the Horse, but she talked about the contrast between a singing, dancing horse and the state of the world. “The human race is exhibiting the worst characteristics all over the place,” she said. She wants a different point of view than before. “I don’t want it to be somber, but I want it to be a little more aware of what’s happening in the world.”

I don’t want to be somber either, but every day I’m shellacked. All day I feel the fact that we’re living through a national emergency. I listen to political podcasts, show up to marches, attend meetings, and shell out more than I can afford for human rights and life on earth. At night I religiously blog the headlines and the press briefings in a hit and miss, scrapbooky way. I keep this blog under the radar because I work with Republicans in a conservative industry. Still, every few nights a maudlin personal essay finds its way in. I’m flying off the handle and white American men will feel the heat of my scorn.

What I haven’t done is anything else. No Wednesday trips to my local comic book shop. No reading floppies on the bus ride home. No reading comics on a bench by the lake and scribbling notes. No reviewing, no blogging, no musings about comics.

Katherine reminded me of something I did know before—anything you want to say about the world you can say in a cartoon, even one featuring a singing, dancing horse. And more than that, writing about comics was never just an escape for me. Anything I wanted to say about the world, I could say it in essays about comics. Not in a direct, social justicey way. But just about these lives we lead and the things that hit our eyes on the way down.

(P.S. I learned later that night that Katherine Collins is a transwoman who previously published under the name Arn Saba. Although this information did round out my understanding of her childhood and the first part of her career, this essay is just about my experience of watching her and listening to her that afternoon when I didn't know.)

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