#fun fact: I’ve had this poem pinned to the side of my bed for like. 2 ish years.

[sentientsky]

“Wishbone,” Richard Siken

welcome back to another episode of Wren Projects Her Own Gay Angst onto Anthony Janthony Crowley

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Boys Who Speak With Silver Luck

Joe Liebgott x Reader

Ok, so THIS is more what I was intending to write for you, @itswormtrain​​! Hope you can learn to forgive me!!

This one is a soul sister/unofficial sequel to ‘You’ve Been Sad (Because I’ve Been Lonely)’ bc I’m bad at doing one shots 

Warnings: SMUT, domesticity, fluff, healthy dynamics, poetry being an aphrodisiac, feels(?)

All poetry mentioned is from the anthology No Thanks by ee cummings, and the title is from the song (inspired by 44 by ee cummings) comes from The Boys Are Too Refined by The Hush Sound

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I still don’t see how you can read those things.”

 You smirk to yourself, nudging his thigh with your foot as he sits at the foot of the bed. 

In retaliation,  Joe lightly traces the tip of his finger up the arch of your right foot and chuckles when you flinch at the tickle of it, the chuckle becoming a laugh when you lower your book and frown at his mirth.

“And here I thought you were actually wanting to do something nice for me,” you tease, letting him pull your foot back into his lap and watching him smirk as he returns to massaging the sore muscles there. “Should’ve known you were gonna betray me eventually….”

 He scoffs at your theatrics, mumbling a soft apology when you hiss in discomfort as his thumb works on a particularly tight knot just above your heel.

 “Why do you wear those things if they hurt your feet so badly?”

 You furrow your brows at him, resting the book on your stomach as you let a smile play on your lips.

 “They’re called heels, and I wear them because they make my legs look amazing.”

 Joe tilts his head to the side as his face takes on a contemplative expression.

  “‘This is true…” he says with a nod. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous in ‘em.”

 You offer a hmph in smug agreement, picking your book back up and continuing where you left off.

 Tonight had been the night of Chuck’s family’s yearly holiday party, the one night where both you and Joe dressed to the nines and got to rub elbows with people Joe and Chuck lovingly referred to as ‘rich snobs with inherent mommy fetishes’. 

Joe never failed to leave you starstruck when he wore his nicest uniform, and even though you didn’t wear yours, Joe always managed to convince you to pin your Purple Heart and as many unit citations you could fit to the breast of whatever dress you picked out. 

 “Fuckin’ love watching those ignorant fuck’s faces when they realize what a badass my wife is,” he had growled in your ear as you had gotten ready that night. “Gets me harder than a goddamn rock, you got no idea…”

 The two of you had danced and drank and laughed over some of the most amazing food you’d ever tasted. It had been perfect.

More and more things were becoming perfect as time went on and the dark horrific shadows of war began to shrink away under the bright California sunshine. 

It was heartbreakingly nice to see Joe happy, truly happy. He deserved it- you all deserved it.

 A groan of frustration is the only warning you get before Joe crawls up your body and plops himself atop you, the suddenness of the action making you release a grunting giggle. Undeterred by the obvious fact that you’re trying to read, he kisses at your chest through your shirt.

 “Pay” kiss “attention” kiss “to meeee” kiss

 You take one hand from the book to scratch lightly at his scalp, smiling at the sound of him humming in annoyance.

 “What’s in that dumb book that’s got you glued to it, huh? What can big words give you that my big—OW.”

 You cut him off by clunking the book gently against the back of his head, giving him a soft smile when he looks up at you with a frown.

 “You’re so needy,” you chastise hollowly. “Never thought you’d get jealous over something as silly as poetry—”

 Joe rolls his eyes. “Poems are for kids and nerds, don’t get what it is about-” he sits up a bit more so he can see the cover of your book. “Whatever an ee cummings is that’s got you so gaga over it…”

 You raise an eyebrow at him. “Believe it or not, Joseph, I think you’d actually like this guy’s poems—”

 Joe snorts before bringing his head back down to rest on your chest. “Yeah, okay—”

 “Hey,” you challenge, scooting up on your pillows so you can sit up, the movement bringing his head to your ribcage. “I’m serious! If you were to like any sort of poetry, you’d need it to be as sexual and swear-y as you are…. Here, listen-”

 Before he can protest, you flip to the one you had in mind: 44.

 “the boys i mean are not refined 

they go with girls who buck and bite 

they do not give a fuck for luck 

they hump them thirteen times a night

 one hangs a hat upon her tit 

one carves a cross on her behind 

they do not give a shit for wit 

the boys i mean are not refined…”

 “Gimme that!”

 Suddenly, the book is ripped from your hand- and before you can protest you are shocked to see Joe turn the book so he can bury his nose in it. Careful not to be smug about it, you bite back a smile as you watch him mouth the words as he reads. 

 The fact that you’re able to hold in a laugh when his eyebrows shoot up in surprise should make you eligible for another Purple Heart.

 When Joe’s eyes flick up to meet yours, he’s looking at you as if you’ve just done some suspicious slide of hand- intrigued but still somewhat cautious.

 “Well?” you ask. “What did you think?”

 Joe flicks his gaze down to the book again, like he thinks it may have changed somehow when he wasn’t looking.

 “Are they….all like this?”

 You do smile now. “Well, I’m not sure- I haven’t read them all yet.”

An idea pops into your mind as he flips through the pages of the book.

 “If you give it back, I can see if I can find another—”

 Joe suddenly smirks, and when he lifts his face so you can see him, he’s looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Read this one.”

 Now you’re the hesitant one, taking the book back from him as if it could suddenly turn into a snake.

The poem he’s picked  is one you haven’t read yet, but if it’s one that Joe picked out you can only imagine what the subject matter is.

 “Okay then,” you say slowly, clearing your throat as you cast him a brief look of suspicion before beginning.

 “may i feel said he

 (i'll squeal said she 

just once said he) 

it's fun said she”

 (may i touch said he

 how much said she

 a lot said he) 

why not said she….”

 As you read, Joe’s hands come up to hold your sides as he kisses slowly across your chest, your stomach. Every so often, his thumbs smooth upward to rub across your shirt-covered  nipples, and you can feel him smile as he kisses at you.

 Your shirt has bunched up, revealing your hips and the sensitive skin between them. Your cheeks feel hot, and your mouth suddenly becomes dry as his lips drag between your hip bones promisingly.

His hair tickles your skin when he begins mouthing lower, to the waistband of your underpants.

 “Y/N?”

 “Yeah?” you sigh, tongue wetting your bottom lips as you begin to breathe heavier.

 “Keep reading.”

 Oh. You hadn’t realized that you’d stopped.

Clearing your throat, you blink a few times before finding the place you left off.

 “Uh, (let's go said he 

not too far said she 

what's too far said he 

where you are said she)

 may i stay said he 

(which way said she 

like...like this said he 

I-if you kiss said she- shit, Joe….”

 Joe’s warm hands have worked your underwear down your hips and around the swell of your bottom, and the heat of his breath across the thinner skin that he’s exposed has you losing focus again.

Because he’s nothing if not a consummate tease, he doesn’t do anything more than kiss only a sliver of the newly revealed skin.

 “Y/N…” he reminds you, nipping lightly at you when you groan in frustration. “I think there’s still some to go—”

 Your heart is thrumming in your chest, and it takes you a few seconds to find where you left off this time.

 “M-may i move said he

 is it love said she) 

if you're…..uh, if you’re willing said he 

(but….. you're killing said she….”

 The words have started to dance across the page, a whine coming from somewhere deep in your chest at the first touch of his fingers to the slick lips of your sex.

You’ve officially lost your place, now. You just pick the stanza your eye catches first and hope for the best.

 “(tiptop said he 

don't stop said she

 oh no said he) 

go slow said she- fuuuuuck…..

 I-(cccome?said he….goddamn it Joe, please!”

 You throw the book off to the side, sweat beading on your brow from how deliberately cruel Joe is being as he continues massaging at you. When Joe sees that you’ve started to shake, he lunges up the bed to wrap a hand around the back of your neck and kisses you messily- your teeth clacking together briefly as he buries his fingers inside of you and immediately finds the place that never fails to ruin you.

 Clinging to the front of his shirt, you squeeze your thighs together as a delicious tremor rolls up your body from where you’ve trapped his hand. You’re so worked up you almost want to cry, the heat in your lower belly almost bowing your back.

 “Does that feel good, Baby?” he mumbles against your lips. “Who is it that’s making you feel this good, huh?”

 You make an incoherent noise, quickly wrapping am arm around his shoulders to try and bring his mouth back to yours, mewling in frustration when he refuses to do so.

 “Ungh! Joe, I’m begging you!”

 “Say it again,” he says darkly, and if you had the strength to open your eyes you’d see just the power-drunk way he is looking down at you. “Do it—”

 “Joe! Joe Joe Joe Joe Joe….”

 You chant his name like a prayer, your voice dying in your throat as he starts using his palm to stimulate your neglected clit.

 With a silent scream, you come apart, head lolling back as he continues to coax you through your orgasm, dimly aware of the praise being kissed across your chin as he refuses to relent the punishing paste he’s established.

 Your face is throbbing with the strength of your thudding heart when he finally starts to slow down, your body still bowing and writhing as he begins to coo down at you sweetly, capturing your lips with his as your shaking starts to subside and your sweat begins to cool.

 “Good girl,” he sighs into your mouth. “You’re such a good girl for me….”

 You don’t reply- can’t reply.  Joe’s reduced you into a boneless mess of a woman.

 When you do eventually open your eyes, Joe is smiling down at you with an obvious affection that threatens to get your heart racing once more. Not taking his eyes from yours, he gently slides his fingers from your still-fluttering sex and makes a show of licking them clean. 

 With a mischievous wink, he uses his other hand to smooth your hair from your forehead before carefully rolling so he’s laying beside you, his shoulder pressed against your as he chuckles.

 “Huh, whaddaya know,” he says after he releases one of his fingers from between his lips with a lewd pop. “Guess poetry isn't that bad.”

 Using all of your energy, you turn your head to give him the weakest glare you think you’ve ever given.

 “When….when I can breathe witho’ havin’ to think about it so hard, I’m gon’ make you cum til you pass out.”

 Joe gives you a smiling kiss.

“And I’ll let you….once we finish round two.”

 Well, looks like I’ll be going back to the bookstore sooner than I thought.

~ ~ ~ Taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @teenmagazines​ @liebgotttme​

[reddieorrnot]

short soulmate au where richie is a little bitch :)

“So... I finally heard him last night.”

Eddie snapped his head up from his book and glanced over to Beverly. The redhead was perched on her bed, looking right back at him. It took him a second to realize what she meant, his eyes widening when he finally connected the dots. 

“Your soulmate?” He exclaimed, setting down the piece of fiction and crawling up to her bed to sit beside her body. She giggled at his excitement and gave him a small nod, her hair moving along with her head. “Well? How’d you do it?”

Everyone knew that when the time came, you could hear what your soulmate was hearing. It all came at its own moment though, if it was too early in one’s life or one of the soulmates weren’t ready yet, you wouldn’t be able to hear anything. But if it was the right time, communication could be done by talking out loud. The idea always excited Eddie, and it made him a tiny bit nervous at the same time. He, like most people, was a little anxious that their soulmate wouldn’t like them. Beverly always told him that was impossible because it would be his literal soulmate. He was also scared he would just never hear anything, that he just didn’t have a soulmate. 

Late at night every day, when he was positive his mother had fallen asleep, Eddie would lie in his bed looking up at the ceiling. He would close his eyes, and put all his focus on his hearing, listening to everything around him. He would try to find some sort of noise that sounded like it couldn’t be coming from his room, like some sort of cough or sneeze or anything. He would have taken anything at that point. And when he didn’t hear anything, Eddie would gently whisper into the night a small greeting, just in case his soulmate was too shy to speak first. He would do that daily and had done it for a while. But there was a consistent rate of failure. 

His personal disappointment, fortunately, did not cloud his happiness for Beverly, though. 

“Well, I just knew somehow when I started hearing him. Like even if there had been a highway next to me, which there wasn’t because I was just in my room, I would have heard even the quietest pin drop from his side.”

Eddie listened to her, lips parted in a tiny gasp, hanging onto her every word. Maybe it was because her words were so enchanting, or because she was so beautiful, but Eddie couldn’t tear his attention away no matter what. Beverly and he had been friends since sixth grade, now going onto 5 years as they started Junior year. Eddie would never understand why such a cool girl would ever want to be his friend. She wore the coolest clothes, listened to the coolest music. And Beverly even carried around gum and a small perfume for after she smoked, just for Eddie’s behalf. It was incredibly kind, and made Eddie feel like his opinion mattered. Beverly was one of the best things to ever happen to him. 

If I wasn’t gay, Eddie thought, I would wish for you to be my soulmate. 

“He was writing a poem, something about the seasons, and I guess I must have heard him proofreading it out loud. I was so freaked out, Eddie, you don’t understand,” By this point, Beverly had sat up and now was facing Eddie, clutching his hands on hers. “And then, I finally spoke. I was like, ‘Hello?’ and he immediately stopped talking. Probably from like... shock or something.”

“Then what?” 

“Then he replied, and he couldn’t believe he could hear me! He’s got the sweetest voice, I swear. We stayed up so late talking, just about ourselves and our lives. He actually doesn’t live too far...” Beverly’s gaze drifted from Eddie to out her window, it reminded Eddie of some cinematic moment, the way the light hit her eyes that you could see them twinkling. 

“Bev, what’s his name?”

She giggled again, “Oh gosh, I forgot to tell you that part, didn’t I? His name is Ben, Ben Hanscom.”

Eddie smiled and brought Beverly in for a hug, “I’m so happy for you.”

“I'm just not quite sure if he can always hear me, or if he just tries to? It’s all very peculiar.”

“You’ll figure it out, you always do.”

She pulled away from the hug and took Eddie’s hand within hers once more. “You’ll hear yours soon, Eddie. I know you will.”

“I hope.” 

- Three Months Later -

It was while he was sitting on his bed one afternoon, doodling on his AP Chemistry homework. Eddie’s day had been long, and excruciatingly boring. Mike, Beverly’s friend, had invited Eddie to go along with the two out to the town. Eddie had politely declined, even though it sounded fun, he’d much rather prefer simply relaxing at home. And that’s what he was doing, and he was, in fact, enjoying it very much.

Suddenly, Eddie heard the sound of a pencil dropping. The impacted surface sounded like wood, which didn’t make sense because Eddie’s room was carpeted, but he still leaned over the bed to check if one of his pens had rolled off. Seeing no indication of such, Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, leaning back into his old position. 

A few minutes later, Eddie heard the sound of something falling on the ground once again. This time it did not mirror the previous sound, differing from the phantom pencil that must have dropped. It was more hushed, something lighter. Eddie immediately jumped from his bed and looked all over his floor, searching for what had grabbed his attention. That’s when he heard it. 

A soft whisper filled Eddie’s ears, “Oh, you motherfuck, just land in the can.”

Eddie nearly jumped, desperately looking around his room for some intruder. Perhaps he could have chalked it up hearing his mother pass by his thin room walls, but the voice was too different from hers, even in its quiet state. That revelation prompted Eddie to realize what was occurring. His soulmate. If he hadn’t been nervous beforehand, when he believed someone was in his room, he sure as hell was nervous now. He moved to the edge of his bed in a rather slow fashion, leg bouncing as he sat down. As quick as he could, Eddie then mustered up enough courage to speak into the quiet environment around him. 

“Hello?” 

There was no way Eddie could deny he heard a sharp inhale be taken right after he said that simple word. Something told him that his soulmate was most probably as nervous as he was now. Silence returned and Eddie was about to start convincing himself he was going crazy when a voice filled his ears once more. 

“Holy shit, I mean, hey?”

They were definitely a guy, Eddie thought. It sounded like someone his age, but Eddie had a hard time painting a mental image of him in his head. 

“Hi... I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what to say...” Eddie struggled to come up with a coherent thought, phrases sprinting into his mind and leaving just as rapidly. In all honesty, he wouldn’t be surprised if the only reason he had spoken again was to hear his newly found soulmate’s voice. 

“I, uh, I actually know exactly what to say to you...” The sentence made Eddie’s breath get stuck in his throat, as he located the shy tone coming from the other boy. The shyness didn’t do any diminishing toward his deeper voice though, it wasn’t Mike deep but definitely not Eddie’s higher voice. He felt a little self-conscious for a second about how possibly sounded but quickly shook the thought away. 

“You know exactly what to say to me?” Eddie leaned back into his bed, hugging himself, trying to knot away from the nerves in his stomach. What could his soulmate have to say? Had he planned it out for the first time he would hear Eddie? Was Eddie really that important to someone, where they had prepared for their meeting? All these questions made Eddie’s brain buzz, as he couldn’t focus on anything. 

“Yeah... I’ve been waiting to hear you,” Eddie’s thoughts were confirmed.

“Really? Tell me what you have to say.”

“Okay, just listen, though, alright?” 

The verb use made Eddie chuckle, “As if I wasn’t already doing that?”

“Okay, whatever,” The other boy was laughing too, “Just... listen...”

Eddie nodded, then remembered no one could see him, so he mumbled a small, “I understand.”

There was quiet for a second, then the small noise of gentle tapping. He couldn’t pinpoint what could be making the noise, perhaps Richie had written what he had to say on some note. It was all Eddie could assume, as he was a little lost. He continued to do as said, keeping quiet and simply focusing on his sense of hearing. 

Then some familiar music began to play, it had some beat filled intro, and once again, Eddie couldn’t pinpoint what song was. It had a piece of upbeat music and it was so familiar. 

Then it hit him.

“Are you fucking-”

“We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I,” 

“I cannot fucking believe-” 

“A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy,”

“Do you know how goddamn annoying-” 

“I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand,” 

“Holy christ, please turn it off before it gets to the-”

“Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you,“ 

It was a few lyrics afterward where the boy ended up pausing the song, to which Eddie believed he only did because his so-called soulmate started laughing so hard both of them could barely either Rick Astley at that point.

“I wish there was a way I could hang up on you after that,” Eddie said with an exhausted sigh. This only made the other boy laugh again. 

“Well aren’t you fun, I’m Richie,” The name gave Eddie butterflies, and hearing that voice made him melt right back into the previous puddle.

“Richie, you are incredibly annoying.”

“No, I’m not annoying, I just told you I’m Richie!” When Eddie groaned in response, Richie continued, “Okay, now tell me your name.”

“Why should I?”

“Because we’re soulmates, duh.”

It was obviously a good reason, but Eddie still rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. 

“My name is Eddie.”

“That’s absolutely adorable. Eddie... Eds.” 

“Don’t you dare call me that!” 

“Too late, you cutie.”

Even though he had instantly refuted it, Eddie knew that deep inside he actually hadn’t hated that nickname as much as he had let on. And he also knew he definitely didn’t find Richie all that annoying.

But hey, he wasn’t about to just say that, was he? 

[fangirlingmuch]

Closing the Distance Ayapin fanfic PART 12

There are no words to describe how sorry I am. I left this fanfic unfinished for too long. We need closure and they need to be happy. I hope Part 13 or 14 will be a final part. I am planning to use bits from some of my different drabbles and one shots to help with the plot.

Thank you to all of you who were still waiting and I am sorry if you are disappointed with the outcome. This part includes a poem by Beki Coxon, link at the end.

 Graduation was coming closer. Decisions needed to be made. Everyone was stressed about their future and if their choices were the right ones. Ayane has spoken with Sawako and Chizu about theirs and realised they will all end up in different places. It has caused more than one crying party but they also came up with ideas to stay in touch and make sure to meet up regularly even if it means seeing each other only every 2-3 months.

- Waaaa…. . – Sawako was crying again.

- All of us have different dreams. You will still have Chizu. You both will have each others.

- Are you sure you will be able to stay by yourself? – Chizu asked. – Is your mum still doubtful?

Ayane stayed silent for a moment. Her mother wanted her to be committed and give her best, not regretting her decision or giving up half way.

- No, she is not. She is supportive in her own way. – Ayane was hoping her mum would not end up disappointed in the end.

Ayane decided to take an entrance test for a bigger University in Tokyo and recommendations to be send to the smaller ones. She wouldn’t be able to attend all exams no matter how hard she tried. One thing she knew for sure: one way or another she will end up studying in Tokyo. Her mum was already looking into small apartments and dorms to find something convenient and also cheap to live in there.

Now that she was thinking about it she started to wonder what exactly she was trying to accomplish when she decided to confess to Pin. Even back then she was fixed on leaving the town soon after graduating so what she was expecting to happen with them? Back then she was drowning in her feeling to him. It felt like she would suffocate if she doesn’t say something but she wasn’t really thinking about the future, she was focused on the present and on how intense her feelings were. Previously when she agreed to date someone she could never envision a future with them. It was easy and fun at that moment but she never made long-term plans with them. It was also something her mum was worried about, that she wasn’t able to commit fully.  As painful as it is to admit at the back of her mind she always knew that Pin would reject her. He also knew she was planning to study away. Risking his career for less than few months of a relationship – was it really what she was expecting of him? One thought was still stuck in her head: will he miss her? Will he miss her when she is no longer here?

Her eyes fell on her desk, there were still assignments to complete. Some teachers were giving them a lot of free time considering the end of school was near but some didn’t care and were planning to torture them till the very last day.  The one she was working on at the moment was to find or write a poem. All the poems that were speaking to her were about sad love and were breaking her heart every time she read them. She has also tried to write her own and it went even worse because all she could think of was writing about Pin and there was no way should be able to share it with the class. Her mind wondered again and in utter frustration she decided to open the poems book on a random page and take that as her homework. She did it with her eyes closed praying for a good result but once she opened her eyes and saw it she knew that once again luck was not on her side. Her luck took her to the poem she has reread so many times that it was engraved in her heart.

-------

It was so difficult for Pin to see her in the classroom. Ayane seems to have changed her attitude from ignoring him to being indifferent. At least now they would make an eye contact once in awhile but no interaction was going between them outside of the classroom.

He tried to ignore the feeling growing inside his chest. He was longing to have her close. He missed her. Soon he wouldn’t be able to see her at all. Not in the classroom, not in the hallways, during PE or even in town. She will be nowhere for him to see. It was taking a toll on his heart. And he also became curious – she said she was trying to stop loving him, did she manage to do that already? Does she no longer love him? Could she forget her feelings just like that? He wanted to know if it was that easy and if it will happen to his feelings as well.

Few more days have passed and he was back in the classroom talking to the class. Ayane was sitting at her usual place looking unbothered.

-        I hope everyone is ready for the graduation. The fact that you feel ready to leave this school and you can see the end of your misery – he continued smirking at the students. – it doesn’t mean there will be no homework. – student whined and booed. He continued with odds bits he was asked to pass on and complete from different teachers. – The literature teacher is off sick but she has asked you to find some poems to share with everyone and to discuss. I am sure some of you have tried to write your own as well.  Has everyone brought one? - students who forgot just lowered their heads. – Please bring them forward and I will pick few to read out.

Pin glanced at Ayane and he saw her tense up and hesitate to hand out her paper to pass forward. He mixed up the papers that were given to him and decided to pick 3 randomly. The first was a well-known children’s rhyme which was really cute and made everyone laugh. Second was obviously a self written one. Everyone was impressed with the rhymes and thoughts behind it.

- We have 3 minutes left. Let me read one more. – Pin exclaimed when discussion about the second poem was running over.

He pulled another paper and read out loudly the title: My Gorgeous Handsome Soldier. Few students giggled at the title, he smiled as well but then he saw Ayane’s name on it. She picked this poem.

He started reading trying to keep his voice even:  

Today my heart is aching

For a man that's far away

I would give anything to hold him (few students giggled again but were quickly hushed by the rest of the class)

And any ransom I would pay

I find my mind just wanders

To a sandy barren hell

And pray that my loving thoughts

Find my soldier safe and well (the class was completely silent at that point)

Each night before I go to bed

I look up to the skies

And the moon brings me comfort

As my tears brim in my eyes

Despite the miles between us

We still share the stars and sun

So I gaze upon them often

It helps me know we are still one

So as I lie down on my pillow

I close my eyes and think of you (Pin stuttered)

Not only in my waking moments

But you are in all my dreams too (his voice started breaking up)

My gorgeous handsome soldier

I love you with all my heart

And the hardest thing I've ever done

Is have to accept we had to part

But our love is so much stronger

Than any force I've ever known

In the short time we've been together

It's amazing how much it's grown

So until we are reunited

Please stay safe and strong

My heart is yours forever

With you is where it belongs

Think about me often

My gorgeous handsome man

To wait for you forever

Is my battle plan

 And the bell her rung before anyone could comment on the poem or the fact that Pin’s voice cracked while reading it. Most of the students were excited the school day was over and were happily leaving the classroom. People said their goodbyes and rushed outside. Chizu and Sawako left with their boyfriends but Ayane was still sitting at her desk. There was no movement from her or from Pin.

- I think we need to talk. - it was Pin who said it.

- I think we do. – Ayane answered her eyes locked with his.

  I will post the fanfic on ao3 once it is completed.

Source for the poem: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/my-gorgeous-handsome-soldier

[yetanotherbuffyblog]

Let’s talk about the trippy dream episode, part one

So I finished season four. What was the actual finale? The trippy dream episode.

I’ll not go into too much detail about the dreams until my notes. Then I’ll dive head-first into interpreting what the eff it was all supposed to mean.

So after defeating Adam’s plan and the Initiative being shut down, the Scoobies decide that they’re going to relax with a well-earned movie night at the Summers house. Riley’s going to testify about the Initiative to the government, so it’s just Buffy, Giles, Willow and Xander. Joyce wonders if they’ve slept since the whole thing, but the Scoobies insist that they’re too hyped-up from everything to sleep. So as Joyce goes to bed, the gang puts Apocalypse Now into the VCR and...immediately fall asleep.

The rest of the episode takes place almost entirely in their dreams, going from Willow, to Xander, to Giles and finally to Buffy. Their dreams reveal their insecurities, their fears, and their confusions. But worse than that, there’s something hunting them through their dreams, some kind of monster; it sucks the life from Willow, rips out Xander’s heart and cuts open Giles’s head. It appears as some sort of primal figure, with clawed hands and a painted face. Of the first three, only Giles is the one who actually figures out what it is, but he’s too late.

Buffy’s dream goes much the same, but she is the one who finally speaks with the being hunting them. Turns out that this whole thing is a side effect of the Enjoining Spell they used on Buffy to defeat Adam. The point was to put the attributes of the other four (Willow’s power, Xander’s heart/strength, and Giles’s mind) into Buffy’s body, by calling upon Sineya, the First Slayer. And now the spirit of the First Slayer is haunting their dreams.

The First Slayer confronts Buffy and communicates to her (through simple speech and using a dream version of Tara as a mouthpiece) that the Slayer is meant to be alone, to be a primal killing beast to destroy the evil of the world. But this obviously doesn’t work for Buffy, who is the best Slayer we’ve seen because she’s not alone and has her friends. And Buffy doesn’t overcome the attack of the First Slayer as much as ignore it. By refusing to accept the idea that she’s meant to be alone, she defeats the nightmare, and wakes up.

Oh and there was a weird Cheese Man in all of their dreams?

But the interesting bits aren’t the Plot as much as the dreams. So we’re going to talk about them! What could they possibly mean?

Person: Well I think--

Shut it! I listened to Joss Whedon’s commentary, fool! I have all the answers MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Okay well not all the answers but let’s talk about some things.

Person: You cheated.

Well suck it.

Notes!

-Willow’s dream opens with her in a room with Tara, talking about not knowing the name of something. Willow seems to think they’re talking about their new cat, but they mention something about it ‘revealing its name to them,’ so I have my doubts? But I don’t want to throw that out entirely. Tara is also laying on the bed without a shirt and Willow is painting something on her back. I was curious if she was actually writing anything, as it looks to be ancient Greek letters--in the commentary Joss confirms that it is, in fact, a Greek poem by Sappho; specifically, “Deathless Aphrodite.”

Now Sappho, for you history/literature nerds out there, was a famous female poet from the island of Lesbos that wrote tons of love poetry. Historians assumed Sappho was a man for the longest time because many are directed at female lovers, but nope! She was a woman. And that’s where we get the word ‘lesbian.’

No really.

-The idea, explained in the commentary, was that Willow’s place of comfort was in Tara’s room with her. And that the idea of ‘letting the thing name itself’ is more feminine than the male ideal of conquering and imposing a name on it (which reeks of 80’s mystical feminism to me, but whatevs Joss). I think we could also talk about how Willow is, at this point in her life, still discovering who she is. In fact she’s been doing it the entire show. And instead of trying assert who she is, like Xander (who utterly fails at this), or having who she is handed to her forcefully, like Buffy, she has a better time of it when she lets herself work it out naturally.

-There’s a bit where Willow is in the hallway of the college and is going to drama class, and she talks to Xander and Oz. I don’t think there’s that much to this bit, though it has Xander give a joke about thinking lesbians are hot after Willow walks off, which Joss admitted wasn’t very dream-like, given that Willow’s not experiencing it.

-Willow shows up at drama class, but it’s the opening night for a play. Specifically, Death of a Salesman, where Harmony (their classmate who became a vampire and was briefly Spike’s girlfriend) is in a weird Bavarian costume, Buffy’s dressed as a femme fatale from a noir film, and Riley’s a cowboy. And Giles is director. They make jokes about Willow stepping on cues, and say that everyone Willow knows, including themselves, are in the audience, and Willow’s family looks angry. The bits of the play we do see don’t make sense, because Riley’s character says he’s come to the small town hunting down a salesman to kill. Or something.

Behind the curtains Willow expresses her confusion about it all to Tara (BEHIND RED VELVET CURTAINS GET IT BECAUSE LESBIANS). Then something starts clawing through the curtains, and she escapes, to find herself in an abandoned high school classroom. Buffy is there to help, but demands she takes off her “costume” which is just her normal clothes. Buffy rips it off, revealing...season one Willow, who has long hair, and dresses much more conservatively (read: like a nerd). And everyone is there, Oz, Xander and Tara laugh at her as she tries to read a book report of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and then she’s attacked, pinned to the floor by the First Slayer, and the life is drained out of her or something.

-Joss said something like the play that you haven’t rehearsed is a common dream, but I haven’t had it?

-Also the Cheese Man is there saying he’s made space for the cheese slices, showing a table with a dish and all the slices of cheese laid out.

-Also there’s a lot of hints that Willow is scared about the people around her knowing who she really is, and the red herring you’re supposed to get is that she thinks people will judge her for being in a relationship with another woman. But it’s actually not that at all--it’s that she’s worried people will think of her as the same shy, nerdy kid she was before all her character development. And that deep down, she still feels that she is that way.

-In short Willow’s dreams are all about identity; not knowing who she is, and worried about others knowing who she is. I think there’s also something in that she’s writing Greek poetry and performing a play, both of which are hallmarks of ancient Greek culture. And given that she’s going further and further into the ancient traditions of witchcraft, maybe we’ll see something of that in the future?

-Xander’s dream starts with him waking up on the couch with Willow asleep, and Giles and Buffy watching Apocalypse Now. Except the movie on the screen has crappy green screen and the guy on it exclaims every war movie cliche in the book. And Giles thinks it’s a stupid movie. Xander gets up to go to the bathroom, and goes upstairs, where he meets Buffy’s mother Joyce. Joyce acts like she’s trying to seduce him, asking if he wants conquest, and Xander responds that he’s like a conquistador, though Joyce then says he looks like he wants comfort, and Xander calls himself a “comfortador.” He then finally goes to the bathroom and is about to start peeing but then looks over, and the rest of the bathroom is the underground area of the Initiative, and all the soldiers and scientists are watching him, with the dudes in labcoats writing on clipboards. He decides to go somewhere else and leaves the room, goes across the hall and finds himself...outside in a playground.

-Alright so Joyce’s comments that he wants comfort and not conquest--that’s loaded. Because Xander is explicitly a character who’s way too into sex, but it’s never gone well for him. And he tries so hard to force what he wants, whether it be hating on Angel, or getting a job, or a sexual relationship. He doesn’t want sex, even though he’s convinced himself of it, he wants comfort and tenderness, because he lives in an abusive household, as past episodes have indicated.

-Joss said that the Initiative watching him is just the common dream of someone watching you go to the bathroom, which he says everyone has, but I don’t know if I’ve had it? I don’t remember having that dream. In any case, if we want to we could interpret it another way. The Initiative being an intrusive part of their lives, invading their most private times. They were just some guys, but then it turns out that Buffy’s dating one and they became a huge focus for each of them, even though aside from Buffy, the Scoobies were all very wary of them.

-There’s also a bit where Joyce says something but her lips don’t move, which Joss said was a dream thing. I dunno.

-In the playground, Buffy is playing in a sandbox. Giles and Spike are both wearing tweed suits and are swinging together having fun in the sunshine, and they say that they’re training Spike to be a Watcher because he’s like a son to Giles. When Xander tells Buffy to be careful of the sandbox, as it’s bigger than it looks, there’s a shot of Buffy sitting in the sand of a massive desert, and she says, “It’s not coming for me yet.” Xander looks over to see the ice cream truck he used to drive, and he’s the one in it giving out ice cream, and then he’s driving the ice cream truck with Anya next to him.

-I...don’t know what to make of this? Arguably that he sees Buffy as in over her head as to what she’s doing, or that she’s seeming of the same world as him while being in a completely different place in every way. He might also be disturbed about Spike becoming a sort-of member of the group, thinking that it’s weird and out of place.

Also the ice cream truck he sees himself in is distant from everyone else.

-In the ice cream truck he talks to Anya about where he’s going (which he doesn’t know), and Anya says she wants to get back to being a vengeance demon. Xander opposes, thinks it’s dangerous. Then in the back, Tara and Willow are there, very skimpily clad, and start making out (though the camera doesn’t show it, only Xander’s reaction, which Joss says the network made them cut shorter). They ask if he wants to join them, and Anya lets him so he goes to the back...crawling through an absurdly long back of the truck, over boxes and things that weren’t there before, and when he gets to the back...he stumbles into his parents’ basement, where he lives. Someone is knocking on the door very loudly and angrily. The Cheese Man tells him that the cheese won’t protect him.

-The conversation about not knowing where he’s going is kind of a no-brainer. Skip.

-Joss points out that Xander tends to view all the female characters sexually at some point or another and does not apologize for it. It’s just...Xander. I think it’s also telling that while his dream shows plenty of the female characters, and some of them sexually, he never actually interacts sexually with them. Joyce just walks off while he goes to the bathroom, and Tara and Willow aren’t there when he gets to the back.

-Joss also points out that he ends up in the basement again, which he doesn’t want to be in; he just ends up there.

-Xander takes another door and finds himself at the college, and see Giles. He asks Giles for help, if he knows what’s going on, and Giles tells him to calm down and starts to communicate what to do...which then switches to French. French that doesn’t match with his lip movements. Anya also comes over talking French. Xander doesn’t understand them, and they get increasingly agitated… when the student population swarms him, and drags him away… and he finds himself in front of Principal Snyder.

-the French dialogue, btw, is this (taken from here):

GILES (in English) The others have all gone ahead. Now listen carefully. Your life may depend on what I am about to tell you. You need to get to --

(switch to French)

the house where we're all sleeping. All your friends are there having a wonderful time and getting on with their lives. The creature can't hurt you there.

XANDER What? Go Where? I don't understand.

GILES (still dubbed in French) Oh for God's sake, this is no time for your idiotic games!

Anya rushes to them, worried. And dubbed.

ANYA (dubbed in French) Xander! You have to come with us now! Everybody's waiting for you!

GILES (still dubbed in French) That's what I've been trying to tell him.

XANDER Honey, I don't -- I can't hear you...

[Anya grabs his arm, starts dragging him.]

ANYA (dubbed in French) It's not important. I'll take you there.

XANDER Well, wait. Where are we going?

-The Xander being dragged away scene is supposed to be a shot-for-shot scene from Apocalypse Now, as is the scene with Snyder. Joss said the crew watched the scene over and over to get it right. Not having seen that movie, I couldn’t tell.

-The scene with Snyder is taken from the scene with Kurtz in AN. Snyder tells Xander his time is running out, and that when asks him who he is, Xander says he’s a comfortador. Snyder tells him that he’s neither that nor a conquering; he’s “A whipping boy, raised by mongrels and set on a sacrificial stone.” Xander tells him that he’s glad that Snyder was killed by the Mayor at the Ascension.

-Joss said they explicitly didn’t want this to be a parody, at least not played as one. So the tone is dead serious.

-Snyder saying he’s “raised by mongrels” could be reference to the abusive household Xander was raised in. “Set on a sacrificial stone” is a bit more ambiguous, but possibly in that Xander still thinks that his friends see him as nothing more but a waste of space? To be used?

-Also Xander said to Snyder that one day he’d give him an honest comeback, and he never did. Except in his dream, where he told him he was glad he got killed.

-Xander runs through several scenes: Giles’s house, where the Scoobies are arguing about something, then the dorm hallway, then Buffy’s room. He goes into the closet, digging through and finds himself...back in the basement. The door that someone was banging on finally opens, and it’s his father, who’s angry. Xander’s father insults him and calls him useless. He then turns into the First Slayer and rips out Xander’s heart.

Alright that’s it for Part One! I’ll talk Giles and Buffy’s dreams in Part Two!

[ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog]

Crutchie, Cursed: Chapter 1

So, here’s the first chapter of an Ella Enchanted AU that I accidentally fell in love with. A couple people seemed interested, so here’s the start of it. Basically, what happened is I started rewatching that movie last night and kept thinking how Newsies characters could fit in here. And then I texted my roommate and she just said, “Go for it, Ostrich.” I went for it. 

Also, as a side note, I have read the book, but back when I was in elementary school or junior high, so I have no memory of it. In other words, this will mostly be based around the movie. Which, also means that there will be some movie quotes in here because some of that dialogue is just too perfect to neglect. Plus, I have changed a couple of the scenes, settings, etc. It will all make sense, trust me. Do tell me how you like it, though! Reblogs and comments will encourage me to finish the next chapter sooner!

It wasn’t as if Crutchie hated his life. No, that wouldn’t be fair to say. There were lots of aspects of his life that he absolutely loved. His godmother, Medda, for one. His best friend, Katherine, of course. The fact that he was passing all his community college classes and had even managed to be recognized in his speech and debate class—although that was probably due to all of Katherine’s help—were definite pluses. Really, everything made his life just fine, all added together.

“Hey, crip! Get down here!”

Except, no, his life was not all that great, despite the smiles he faked. Years ago, Crutchie’s father died and his mother, a rather forgetful, hapless woman, never seemed to truly understand the impact of his death on her son. Sure, she had held him close and promised that everything would be okay. Crutchie wondered if she ever meant the promise, or if it had just been something nice to say to her hurting son. Only a couple months ago, she had remarried to a small, shriveled man by the name of Wiesel. She had explained that he had the money that their family needed, and, as much as Crutchie appreciated the full cupboards and the warm, plentiful meals, he almost wished they could go back to the time when he had gone to bed hungry, but had been happy. When it was just the two of them. Or, rather, when it was the three of them, and Crutchie had never foreseen the dark storms and heavy grief ahead of him.

“Move slower, ya stupid crip, I dare you!”

Wiesel had brought his two sons along with him: Oscar and Morris. While Morris tended to be quiet and brood in the corner of the room, a small black book in hand—Crutchie suspected it to be a collection of Poe’s poems, after he heard Morris mutter something about a sepulchre by the sea—and a quick frown for Crutchie whenever he entered the room, Oscar was more vocal with his dislike towards his new stepbrother. Both stepbrothers looked remarkably similar. They had dark brown hair and sported twin sneers, especially whenever Crutchie was present.

“I’m coming,” Crutchie said, trying to force his suddenly leaden limbs to move faster.

That was the other problem. Upon his birth, a benevolent—though, Crutchie wasn’t sure he quite agreed with that terminology—fairy granted him the gift of obedience. Which meant that Crutchie was stuck obeying every small command uttered around him. It had led to all sorts of unfortunate experiences, including, but not limited to, the time he punched a bully, the time he ate a worm, and the time he couldn’t tell anyone about the mean kids that teased and bullied Katherine for her big books and owlish glasses.

“Took you long enough,” Oscar remarked once Crutchie entered the living room. “Today we’re going to the rally for the Prince. I do not want to see your ugly mug there. Got it?”

Crutchie nodded, muttering under his breath, “Won’t be that hard with your eyesight.”

“What did you say?” Oscar challenged.

“Nothing. Have fun supporting a politician that has managed to destroy over a century’s peace. And all because he thought free labor would have no consequences, even though if he had ever taken the time to study a history book, he would see—“

“Shut up,” Oscar snapped.

Crutchie’s rant immediately stopped, all words dying in the back of his throat. His silence didn’t keep him from glaring at Oscar and Morris, as they headed out of the door, chattering eagerly about the Prince’s new hair style and how it compared to how he had worn it the previous spring.

Prince Jack was the talk among every citizen of marriageable age. The rumor was that the Prince would need to marry someone before he could actually be officially coronated and named King of New York, great land that it was. Men and women, alike, fawned over his deep, chocolate eyes and his wavy, brunette hair. Oscar had even been elected president of the Jack Fan Club that had been organized in Manhattan. Crutchie still scoffed whenever he entered his step-brother’s shared room and noticed the many posters of the Prince on the walls. Really, it was all a publicity stunt to distract the idiot townspeople from the atrocities being committed around them. And, much to Crutchie’s dismay, it was working.

A knock on the door interrupted Crutchie’s thoughts and he grinned when he saw his best friend waving through the window. “Hey, Kath,” he said, letting her bounce through the door.

“Okay, I painted all these great posters for the rally,” Katherine said, unrolling a poster that called for the end of ogrecide and equality among all. “I tried to see if Specs could come, but Romeo got sick, so it’s just going to be the two of us. Is that okay?” she asked, her eyes crinkling with worry behind the clear frames.

“Of course, Kath. And these look great.”

Katherine smiled. “Thanks, Crutch. Now we better get there before the mob of our great Prince’s fans manages to bring the rally to an end.”

King Snyder—for only a few short days more, until Prince Jack would be crowned the rightful King—stepped out into the bright sunshine. He blinked at the sudden sunlight, waving cheerfully to the crowd of people who had shown up to the rally for their King and Prince. He started speaking, but Crutchie wasn’t paying attention. He noticed that Oscar and Morris were at the front of the group of Jack’s fans, homemade hearts pinned to their chests. Oscar’s head started to turn and Crutchie reacted instinctively. Crutchie immediately ducked behind a pillar, his body acting on its own. He couldn’t be seen by Oscar, he couldn’t be seen by—

“What’s wrong?” Katherine asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Crutchie said, playing it off with a laugh. “Just, uh, like the shade, is all.”

“Well, we’ve got to be out in the open, where the King and the Prince can actually see the posters, or else all this work will have been for nothing.”

“Um, yeah, of course,” Crutchie said, peering around the pillar. Oscar wasn’t looking his way. He stepped out around the pillar, lofting the poster into the air. “Let’s do this, Kath. Show ‘em what’s what.”

As soon as Prince Jack stepped out onto the stage, the crowd burst into cheers and screams and catcalls. The Prince smiled weakly, waving to his adoring fans. He opened his mouth to say something, but Katherine began shouting, “Say no to ogrecide! Say no to ogrecide!” Her voice carried loud and clear over the rally’s crowd, catching the attention of the King, the Prince, and everyone in the square.

Normally, Crutchie would be proud of his friend taking a stand for her beliefs, but not when Oscar’s scowl deepened at the sight of his step-brother. Oscar shoved a couple of the rally-goers aside, stomping angrily towards Crutchie. A slightly-confused Morris followed along, glancing back at Jack longingly. “What are you doing here?” Oscar demanded, ripping the poster from Crutchie’s shaking hands. “I told you not to show your face here. Go home,” he commanded.

Crutchie winced, before muttering softly, “I gotta go, Kath. I’ll see you around.”

“Crutch, wait!” Katherine tried, but Crutchie was already limping out of the square, ignoring the stares from all of the citizens.

“That was a waste,” Crutchie muttered, wiping angrily at his nose. All Crutchie had ever dreamed of, since he was young, was making a difference in the world. But, how could he ever do that, if he continually was forced into following others commands. It wasn’t fair. No one else had been cursed at birth. Only Crutchie seemed lucky enough to have been blessed with some fairy that apparently had decided his life wouldn’t be crappy enough between his twisted leg and his father’s sudden death, and had “gifted” him with obedience.

Crutchie barely had time to notice the sound of screams echoing throughout the forest, before someone grabbed him, dragging him to the ground. He immediately elbowed his assailant in the stomach, but that only managed to trigger a small grunt of pain. A soft hand was clamped over his mouth, while his attacker hissed, “Shh.”

A crowd of men and women, all wearing those tacky “I Heart Jack” pins, ran past them, screaming excitedly. Once they had passed them, Crutchie’s assailant let him go, muttering a small apology. Crutchie turned, surprised to discover that assailant was, in fact, Prince Jack. “That’s a fine way to treat your citizens, shoving them to the ground,” Crutchie muttered, standing up and brushing the dirt from his pants.

“I’m Jack,” Jack introduced himself, handing the other man his crutch.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Oh,” Jack said, running his hand through his brown locks. Crutchie started away, but Jack caught up. “Hey, I never got your name.”

“They call me Crutchie.”

“Do you like the name Crutchie?”

“It’s a far cry better than ‘crip,’ or whatever semi-clever insults the kids on the playground could think of,” Crutchie remarked.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, but Crutchie shrugged his concern off, continuing on his way home. “You know,” Jack continued, “you’re the first person who hasn’t swooned at the sight of me.”

Crutchie snorted. “Then maybe I’ve done you some good.”

“No, I meant—“ Jack fell silent, as a strange sound emanated from the forest on the side of the road. “I’ll go investigate,” he explained, pulling his sword out of its sheath. “Stay here.”

At the command, Crutchie’s feet seemed to freeze in the center of the dirt road. “Jack!” he tried to call, but the Prince either ignored him, or didn’t hear. “Great,” he muttered, tugging uselessly on his legs and trying to will them to move, even though he knew none of his efforts would be successful. Eventually, Crutchie simply gave up, scanning the forest and waiting for his prince to come—Crutchie rolled his eyes at that particular thought—and free him from his temporary stasis.

A quiet rumbling surprised Crutchie. He hadn’t expected any sort of storm, especially with the sky so clear of clouds. As the rumbling grew louder, he glanced behind him, immediately discovering the source of the noise. Some madly drunk man had whipped the horses driving his carriage into a frenzy, and the carriage barreled towards Crutchie, with no sign of slowing. “Jack!” Crutchie shouted again, annoyed at the note of desperation that colored the name. He wasn’t desperate, he wasn’t—only, he was, because his feet still would not move and the carriage was getting closer and—

“Move!”

Crutchie immediately obeyed, leaping out of the way of the carriage and the cackling drunkard. For a moment, Crutchie merely laid on the ground, breathing deeply and thanking everything that he was still alive. His fingers shook, but he quickly fisted his hands to hide the trembling. Ignoring the slight tremor in his voice, Crutchie shouted, “What the hell was that?”

Jack blinked in surprise. “What was what? You weren’t moving; you were just standing there!”

“Clearly, I moved out of the way in time,” Crutchie said, levering himself up with the aid of his crutch. “No thanks to you. How was your little romp into the woods?”

“It wasn’t an ogre.”

“You find a scawy wabbit?” Crutchie teased, focusing on annoying the Prince instead of the way his knees still shook after that near-death experience. He could’ve died, he could’ve died.

“Oh, shut up.”

Crutchie’s mouth snapped shut, but the Prince didn’t seem to notice, as Oscar and Morris ran up to the pair. “Jack!” Oscar called out, taken aback by the appearance of the Prince with his step-brother. “H-how are you? You’re looking,” Oscar paused, examining the Prince’s body, “swell.”

Crutchie snorted, catching Oscar’s attention. “And, Crutchie, take Morris home.”

“Oh, come on,” Morris complained, pouting. But, he listened to his older brother and motioned for Crutchie to come home with him.

“Watch out for rabbits,” Crutchie told Jack, a farewell, of sorts.

“And you stay away from carriages,” Jack told him, a soft smile at his lips.

Crutchie nodded his good-bye, before joining Morris on the road home. “I don’t see why you get to meet Jack,” Morris complained. “Sometimes, Crutchie, I think you’re the luckiest guy alive.” And while Crutchie had never been inclined to agree to a statement such as that, he found himself wondering if this was a start of a new, luckier chapter in his life.

[soundonreadings]

Sound On InstaReadings Series Volume 2 with John Elizabeth Stintzi & Kyla Jamieson

Welcome to Sound on InstaReadings Series. Our second installment features readers John Elizabeth Stintzi and Kyla Jamieson and is hosted by Dina Del Bucchia. Posted here for your enjoyment are the bios of our fine readers and the text of their readings. Thanks!

John Elizabeth Stintzi is the recipient of the 2019 RBC Bronwen Wallace Award for Emerging Writers, and their work has appeared in the Malahat Review, the Fiddlehead, Kenyon Review, and Ploughshares. They are the author of the novel Vanishing Monuments as well as the poetry collection Junebat.

Excerpt from John Elizabeth Stintzi’s VANISHING MONUMENTS (for SOUND ON, April 24):

The concrete path, the door, the hallway. The house. I remember Mother stuffing me into down jackets and snow boots, hobbling me into the thick snow pants she’d bought for me at the thrift store.

“I bought it big like this because you will grow,” Mother said when she first pulled them up my legs as I sat braced on the stairs.

It was late October, which back then meant there was already a foot of snow in Winnipeg, and the rivers were frozen. It was morning. I don’t know where we were going. She’d bought me the pants with a too-big jacket because I’d outgrown the one-piece snowsuit I’d used for the last few years. I must have been around eight or nine. She rolled up the legs, took an open safety pin from between her lips, and started pinning up the rolls of extra length.

“If you buy big clothes, your body will know to grow into them. Do you want to be big one day, Alani? Like me.”

I don’t remember answering, but I must have, because that was back when Mother and I still responded to each other. My mind doesn’t usually decide to remind me of us speaking. Instead, I remember thinking about my body getting larger, as she pinned the legs, and how hopeful that made me. I wanted there to be more room for all of me, I wanted my body to feel as bare and roomy as our house did, like I could fit everything in. When I was in kindergarten, because it was too cold to have recess outside, our teacher brought out the projector to show us a documentary about hermit crabs. I couldn’t understand what the voice-over was saying because of its speed and accent, so I just watched the crabs switching shells and started to think that’s what life is like: you live as long as you can in one body, then once you can’t fit into it anymore, you move to a new one. And someone smaller takes your place.

For a while, I didn’t understand what growing up looked like, didn’t know how it worked. For a few years after Ilsa died and gave Mother the house in her will, Mother helped other elderly people in the neighbourhood keep up their lives in their own homes. Over the years of looking after Ilsa and me, she had perfected her technique of caring for fragile bodies.

Before I was in school, or during the summer, I went along with her in the mornings and wandered around the old person’s house while Mother was in another room, helping them get out of bed, bathe, eat, or take their medicine. I spent most of the time there either avoiding their mean old pets or walking around their living rooms, their hall- ways, looking at the family pictures on the walls. I remember looking through those photos for the old, frail things that Mother cared for and never once finding them.

I never thought that they could’ve been the result of one of the young bodies in those photos. After a certain age they stopped being documented, or else the newer photos were never hung. Mother hadn’t ever taught me about aging, about time’s effect on a body. I’d never seen a picture of myself as a baby; I don’t know that I’d ever seen a picture of myself at all back then. I thought that everything was inside me, that as far back as I could remember was as far back as I ever was. I assumed the people in the photos, in different stages of their lives, were each a different person. I thought I was going to be myself—a child—forever.

Nobody told me that I’d already been things that I didn’t remember, that as far back as I could recall was not the start of me, and that my life would consist of slowly leaving myself behind. I hadn’t yet realized that I didn’t remember anything about the year or two we still lived in Germany. All I’d known was that whenever I looked at myself in the mirror, there I was. Back then, with that mindset, things seemed stable.

“What does it mean being big?” I asked, as Mother took my hands and pulled me to my feet at the bottom of the stairs. She tugged at the pants, put her eye close to the floor—her tied-back hair flopping onto the hardwood—to squint and yank at the pinned legs. By then, I knew people grew, that there was no escaping the body I was in. “Why do I want to do it?”

She sat up—the memory is tack sharp—finished adjusting one of the straps of the snow pants, pulled back a little, and looked me straight in the eyes. Her face was so close to mine. I can remember the smell of her shampoo, the weight of the snow pants hanging on my shoulders, her hands grazing down along them on their way to brace her against the floor with that swooshing sound of scraped polyester. I remember everything about that moment, everything but her mouth. I want to remember her smiling, but I can’t see it. I can’t see her mouth or the inflection that the words came out with.

“Because it is going to happen, Alani. Getting big. You should be welcoming and excited for things that are going to happen.”

* Kyla Jamieson is a disabled writer who lives and relies on the unceded traditional territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh Nations. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Room Magazine, Poetry Is Dead, Arc Poetry Magazine, Vallum, Peach Mag, Plenitude, GUTS, and The Account. She is the author of Kind of Animal (Rahila’s Ghost Press), a poetry chapbook about the aftermath of a brain injury. Her work was longlisted for the 2019 CBC Poetry Prize and her first book-length collection of poems, Body Count (Nightwood Editions), placed third in the Metatron Prize for Rising Authors. Find Kyla on Instagram as @airymeantime or at www.kylajamieson.com. 

BODY COUNT like every intelligent (traumatized) woman full of self-hate (shame) I have always been a perfectionist / before I wanted to be pretty I wanted to be on time / most improved most present best /my high school history teacher emphasized obedience / everyone I talk to remembers him fondly idk why / I researched the rape of nanjing / my paper was a failure / nobody really knew how many people died there / I couldn’t establish the simplest facts / it was hopeless / I forgot I asked for an apology from the prof people say I got fired like that’s what I wanted & not his respect / can writing be healing without inviting mockery? / according to google george orwell said journalism is what somebody doesn’t want printed & everything else is just pr / lately I worry the poetry I like is just pr / I wonder about the carbon emissions of a body’s decomposition / like is killing yourself better for the planet / anorexia runs in my family / studies associate it with trauma & perfectionism / I used to think I could trade obedience for safety / I rewrote my paper on gallipoli / I got an a / white history is easy / internment is only two letters from internet / that’s where I read they put us in horse stalls / my great-grandfather said I have three boys & we’re all willing to work / they were sent to a farm instead of a camp / fyi japanese soldiers raped nanjing / fyi it doesn’t matter how perfect you are / tl;dr I tried to be perfect for a long time & it didn’t keep me safe / today I went in the shower & shaved for so long my calluses fell off / I don’t like what this might be seen as saying about my politics like maybe I’m secretly as misogynistic as that man who’s in love with his sex doll as well as his sex doll side piece / but it made me feel so clean

I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THE FUTURE SINCE MY ONLY LIMITS ARE IMAGINED

there is artificial grass here but that’s not what i’ve been smoking like all great millennial visionaries i am caving under the weight of my ambitions my grandma says life is a gimmick i google virgin-whore dichotomy plus intellectual how to define evil without capitalism what even is normal how valuable optometrists will be during the apocalypse i am not ready for the unending applause at that one point in trump’s address to congress was gruesome when will i see you again

 EXCEPTING MY INFIRMITIES

concussed I land bed & sleep my belly is hot like heat I wear my fingernails are getting along the smiley face’s mouth corners drip condensation I dream of rivers & apocalypse opium in the dark & fear silverfish I want to write a chopped book in series voice jess sends smiling pile of poo I say to you little brother I can go to america on the internet

WBU?

I’m on Bumble & people are asking what I do for fun. How to explain no free will for a year, each day shaped by however pain appeared that morning?

I NEED A POEM

Can we talk about the moon tonight? Low & full in the baby-blue sky. A friend at my door, the sound of her laugh & well-loved heart. I want to be held up like that. I need a poem about happiness I haven’t written yet, an ode to the ducks in my neighbours’ pool, another for the pink magnolias of spring—some trees make it look so easy: yes, I can hold all this beauty up.