#i am a writer...inside of a clown

[lokittystuckinatree]

Happy Pride losers, I’m ready to be clowned but my dumb ass is now convinced Rogue is the Master…

Rogue and Renegade have eerily similar meanings under the right circumstance.

To rebel against an organized group. To go rogue.

An endearingly naughty person

Koschei, our second fave Renegade Time Lord

Apparently they were also called a Rogue Time Lord? I am not making this up.

Although Maestro is Master in Italian and look how that turned out

“Lord” interesting.

Red and Blue. The master and 13 were red and blue coded respectively. Have they switched, Symbolically?

Rogue was looking at the Doctor rather nefariously, even once they were buddies. Just go through some of the scenes again. It’s harder than you’d think to tell if he’s trying to seem seductive or evil

The entire premise of this ep seems to be “things are not as they seem; people are not as they appear” which is a Master staple

The Master has been haunting the fuck out of the narrative lately.

Here’s my thread on just how much

When I saw the first trailer, I instinctively thought “ballroom dance guy” was gonna be the new Master

The inside of Rogue’s (familiarly messy) ship has controls eerily similar to the configuration of a TARDIS.

Rogue is obviously a time traveler if he has that space ship and knows DnD (Rogue + Time + Lord. Oh?)

DnD might be a dead giveaway

Was Rogue’s name being inspired by DnD necessary to include? Cute thing the writers wanted to put in, or clue?

Why would Rogue know what DnD was but not know what cosplay or improv was?

The Master has been taken prisoner by the Toymaker, infamous for his love of? Games. You know who also has a running theme of “winning” and “losing”? The Master

In DnD you play as a character and rely on skill and chance to survive within the confines of a structured storytelling game. Bending the rules is often involved. The Master tried that against the Toymaker and failed.

DnD players will often have little tiny figurines of their characters. Remind you of anything?

the Master is a dnd rogue archetype. Trickster, lone wolf, shapeshifter.

If the Doctor is symbolically trapped in a TV show, is the Master trapped in a game? If the Toymaker is the DM, is he going rogue against the Toymaker?

The Master is infamous for their disguises and “cosplays” and has catfished the Doctor before.

Rogue is almost suspiciously too much the Doctor’s type. He’s like the love child of River Song and Jack Harkness. He is exactly the type of character the Master would create to lure and seduce the Doctor.

He and the Doctor just…get each other. It’s like they’ve known each other for much longer than a few hours. They’re too cushy (haha)

Rogue threatened to kill the Doctor, and then imprisoned him in a nice little cage. Familiar?

He tried to make the Doctor kill Ruby, who we all know is just Clara 2.0. Familiar?

He knows too much and too little

He knew the party was attended by alien birb people but only knew about one alien birb? And did he reaaaally think Doc was an alien bird?

The Dancing. They knew they wanted there to be a dance party before they even settled on a time period setting for the episode. Enough said.

The ring was…interesting

That’s a lot of commitment, even if only a promise ring. Something tells me he intended it as an engagement ring though

Someone tried to write a book in the 80s where 5 and Ainley were ex spouses, but it was shot down

Just an unrelated detail, but a ring on the pinky is a gay thing

Mirroring. Thoschei do that. A lot.

“You!” “No, you!” “no, you!”

The way they danced

The scene where they kept turning on and off the music

Speaking of music…Bad Guy by Billie Eilish? Too on the nose? Can’t get you out of my head? Poker face?

You remember that lady’s hand that picked up the Master in his widdle toof? Hand of the Rani?

This episode was written by two women. The Master would literally be in women’s hands

I remember watching Sacha Dhawan’s Spy Master for the first time and going…darn, he reminds me so much of Avengers era Loki. Kate Herron directed season 1 of the Loki Series and had a lot of creative control. Would it really be surprising if RTD (confirmed Loki fan) went to her for the Master after Sacha?

Didn’t Russell say he’s leaving the Master for “other writers?”

“The Master is parked” did he happen to park a Tardis disguised as an everyday spaceship???

In an interview, Kate said she and Briony designed Rogue to be the Doctor’s “equal”

References

“When I see him, I’ll know” and he is drawn to Rogue like a magnet.

“Travel with me” who must you be to want the Doctor to be your companion instead of vice verse

“We can argue across the stars”

“I’m in your head” + “can’t get you out of my head” + the Master being referenced multiple times in almost every episode since PoTD

“I’m trigger happy” feels really fucking intentional

He said “find me.” If he is the Master, the person he lost was the Doctor, (notice he said “them” and not “her” or “him?”) and the Master and Doctor always find each other.

Scream of the Shalka? And didn’t the Master fall through the floor like 40 times in Curse of Fatal Death? Richard E Grant was the Doctor in both of those.

For more, @bugeater77 and friends have this lovely thread

Guys CHECK MY REBLOG, RTD posted something wild.

[pianocat939]

I stumbled across your blog, and from one writer to another you make excellent work. So I bring you this.

*sips tea*

Three words:

Sick

Yandere

Turtles

In the episode “Down with the Sickness” there’s a stage where the patient becomes very and I mean VERY affectionate, (it was the Captain Cuddle-Cakes stage if I remember correctly) I rewatched the entire series and I couldn’t stop thinking about this when I watched this episode.

Like imagine them getting all needy for affection and attention while the reader is taking care of them. The shenanigans would be unreal.

—————

You started to sweat under the hazmat suit still confused as to how they managed to get anything done in these things. For once Donnie’s insistent medical procedures came to your rescue, because all four of the turtles managed to come down with the infamous “Rat Flu”.

You remembered how the illness came with several stages, one of which being the Must-Say-Yes stage (as Leo called it). If you could manage to not get sick, you could finally be free from this nightmare.

“[Name]~”

“What is it Leo?” You groaned, somehow the slider managed to be more needy while sick.

“Can you come into my arms so I can be whole again, Mi Vida?~”

It was going to be a long day

—————

- 🫖 Anon

I shouldn't be taking this since requests are closed but um

Tw: MC gets hit into a wall but no major head injury, forced cuddles at the end-, mostly turtaleles begging for affection

Sickly in Love

Ok, so the five of you are trying not to get sick with the rat flu. With only the biohazard suits made by Donnie as your only protection.

So far, everything is great, until Leo decides to be a little idiotic and not keep his suit on. Which ended in him getting ill.

He's locked in the quarantine area with his only companion an empty space. He complains endlessly about the heat, which is ironic considering he's a reptile.

And before you know it, he hits stage 2.

While the others go off and attempt to contain Splinter, you're stuck with a red-eared slider who is absolutely in love with you.

——————————————————

"Mi cariño~ won't you come closer? I want us to hold hands." He calls, his palm scraping against the plastic barrier.

"No, Leo. You might infect me if I do." You retort, scrolling through your phone.

He pushes himself against the temporary wall harder, wanting to be closer to you. "Oh but if I infect you, we can cuddle and give each other love!”

“Mh yeah but the group might need me so…No.”

Leo whines in response, clearly unhappy with the situation. He can’t help it! He wants to be held and adored by you so desperately! He longingly stares at you through the transparent cage, the urge to cry swallowing his entire being.

Just then, Donnie barges through the tunnel or rather thrown. He lands clumsily on the floor, a bit shocked by the impact. He groans in pain, rubbing his arm.

"Quick! Get 'em in there!" Raph commands, carrying Mikey in one arm. He then dashes off, escaping from the murderous rat behind him.

You lightly guide Donnie to the containment area, unsure of what else to do. Right before you open the zipper, he snatches the end of your sleeve, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. "I am not sick thank you, I just happen to- achoo!" He's interrupted by a high-pitched sneeze, his body hunched from the sudden action.

Skeptically, you move an eyebrow muscle; unamused by his statement. "Mh yeah, let's get you inside." You reveal the entrance, gesturing for him to enter.

Once he's inside, he shivers, rapidly rubbing his limbs. "Ugh, it's freezing in here..."

Leo snickers from a distance, pointing a finger at him, "That's the first stage kicking in!" He turns back to stare at you, hearts practically floating from him.

"So...Who would you rather have as your significant other, me or Donald?" Donald Duck Leo inquires, still pressed up against the barrier.

"Ronald McDonald. This situation is only getting worse."

"Wha- EXCUSE ME? I'm obviously the better choice than some ketchup clown!"

As Leo rages about how he's the superior one, Donnie stops shivering, his eyes blank. He glances up at you, holding his knees to his chest. He rocks back and forth a little, seemingly pondering about something.

"Donnie? You good?"

"Did I ever tell you about the time I hacked into your enemy's bank account? I took vengeance for you." He smiles slightly, tapping his feet against the floor.

"I- what? Who?"

Donnie breaks out into a psychotic grin, emotion waving through him. "Your enemy~ The ones who hurt you!"

"The fact you're grinning either means you're really happy or a maniac. I'm scared it's a mix of both."

"Why wouldn't I be happy? I protected you from those evil, disgusting heathens!"

Offended, Leo hisses, "Donnie back off! They're mine, you weirdo nerd!" He claws at the plastic, wanting to engage in a fight with his brother.

"Please no. Leo, don't hit the 3rd stage I'm begging you."

And as if things couldn't get worse Raph walks in, his walk agonizingly slow. "Ugh...Gettin' sick is not fun."

You frown, realizing the situation is much direr than expected. "That means Mikey is the only one left. Maybe I should leave to go help out." You ponder to yourself, grimacing a little when Raph collapses into his little chamber.

“No! You’re not leaving me! You’re staying right here with me!” Leo pounds against the transparent wall, angered by the statement.

Donnie whimpers, “What? No, don’t leave me! I get anxious if you do!” He taps his feet faster than before, his stims taking over.

“But if I don't go help Mikey, then you guys will have no chance of getting what you want!"

"Y/n, you listen to me right now. I don't care if we won't win if it means you'll stay. Now come here before I try to destroy everything." Leo hisses out, stomping his food and starting to hit the flexible barrier, trying to break it.

You look in the direction where Mikey is dealing with Splinter and back to Leo and Donnie who both stare at you longingly: one of aggravation and the other of fear. You can't deny, their faces make you want to calm them down so you sigh and sit next to their individual quarantine enclosures.

"You guys are seriously going to be the death of me..."

The two turtles only chirp and churr joyfully as they sit as close as possible to you (while still in their enclosures).

"Sweets! C'mere! I want snuggles please!"

You hear Raph exclaim as he motions for you to come closer to him, and you form a slight frown on your face realizing that Raph has already advanced to the 2nd stage in such little time.

"Raph, you know I can't. You're contagious."

He makes dejected whines from his throat as he presses his face against the wall, pouting with puppy eyes.

"Please...?"

"No, sorry Raph-" But you were interrupted by Donnie who sneered at his elder brother, "Stop it. You're making me want to gag at this lovey-dovey affection you're begging for." You give a short, small glare at the scientist, not enjoying his sudden cruelty. Looks like he's forwarded to the 3rd stage.

"I don't care...I only care for cuddles and kisses from you sweets!" Despite Donnie's harsh comment Raphie seems to bounce right back up and ignore him, which was quite unusual for the watchful turtle. For a split second, you look at Leo's area and notice he's sleeping on the floor soundly, occasionally letting out a small snore.

"Hey, hey! Your attention should be on me! Not him!"

As you were about to turn your head back to the big guy, a sudden weight crashed into you, slamming you against the wall.

"Agh!" You yelp, wincing at the throbbing pain in your head that came soon after you were hit. "What the..." You were then met with the youngest one, Mikey, snuggling into your abdomen with a grin on his face.

"I love you so much, my divinity!"

And before you know it, all four brothers are surrounding you (Leo somehow woke up out of nowhere) with smiles so big it's unnerving.

"We all love you so much,"

"And we think it's best~"

"If you stayed with us forever,"

"So that you can always be happy!"

You then find yourself in an enclosure of your own, except this time it's not for quarantine; no, your enclosure was their arms that wrapped around you so tightly, not letting you escape for freedom.

——————————————————

This was sitting in my drafts for a long time so I decided to just finish it and get it over with- so the ending might be rushed. Apologies.

- Celina

[coderooster]

I know lots of people have been saying that 7x04 is going to be the tipping point to whether buddie will go canon or not and the new stills are really backing this up. But I'm slightly(very) concerned it's not gonna turn out how we want it to (buddie canon).

Like, from what I personally am getting from the stills, Eddie seems to befriend Tommy without Buck knowing which leads to Buck's 'envy'.

The stills from the gym with Buck and his emotional support basketball are giving 'we were going to play now but oh look my new bestie is calling and wants to show me round the helicopters that's much more cool let's take a raincheck'.

Then you've got Buck just gatecrashing that and Tommy and Eddie having already bonded and having inside jokes and Buck being all :( about it.

THEN you have the basketball court which could either be Buck and Chimney going for a 1v1 game and bumping into Eddie and Tommy OR Eddie inviting Tommy along to a group game without telling Buck. Either way Tommy is once again taking up Eddie's attention. Which causes Buck's abandonment issues to rear their head resulting in The Incident.

Now this could very well be Buck realising his feelings for Eddie in a very roundabout way, but I'm concerned they're going to play it platonically, especially with the way they've been speed-running Buddie's best hits the past couple eps. They could easily pass it off as Buck worrying Tommy is replacing him as Eddie's BESTfriend, allowing the writers to really solidify their friendship to the new audience.

But hopefully, with Oliver's excitement over the episode and the general attached-at-the-hipness Buck and Eddie have had over the past 3 eps, maybe just maybe, Eddie could just be making friends outside of the 118 (which is probably a good thing tbh)(also another of their greatest hits) which prompts Buck's feeling realisation, getting the ball rolling on future buddie canon, which would leave this nice bestfriend-shaped gap in Eddie's life when it eventually happens that Tommy can just slide into, allowing him to be around more often, leaving everyone happy.

But that's the perfect scenario. I still think we're clowning HARD and it's just gonna be the aforementioned reassertion of Buck's position as Eddie's bestie. But one can hope.

[tootoomanycats]

PERFORMANCES: Chapter 1 -The Storm of The Century

Summary: In the wake of a historic hurricane raging across the treacherous waters of the East Blue and Grand Line, islands and their resilient inhabitants must either adapt or flee to ensure survival. Sleep Haven, a once-tranquil oasis, now finds itself shattered by the merciless storm. What took years to build and nurture with your own hands lies in ruins, demolished in mere hours. What should have been a fleeting tempest stretched into endless months of devastation. With little left but dwindling supplies and scant funds, you and your fellow islanders embarked on a desperate flight for survival. In your hour of dire need, you reached out to a mysterious benefactor whose aid came at a staggering price. The cost: to divert the attention of the clownish "Leader" of the Cross Guild. As events unfold on BariBari Island, amidst schemes and dangers, you find yourself grappling with emotions long suppressed. Is your interaction with the clown merely a facade, or is it awakening something you've denied yourself for years? Will the repercussions of this precarious pact only affect the flamboyant clown, or will it unravel the last vestiges of your guarded heart as well? The storm may have ravaged Sleep Haven, but the true tempest now brews within your soul and the choices you are forced to make.

Warnings for THIS chapter: None

Performances Master List

Pairings: Buggy/Reader

Word Count: 4,417 Words

AO3 Link

Warning for this Story:

Reader is a retired sex worker

Both Buggy/Reader are in their early to late 30's

There will be smut scenes

There will also be cute fluff scenes

Please note that betrayal does happen to Buggy in this and as of right now I still dont know if Buggy will forgive Reader or not.

Switch/Switch sexual dynamics so its really anyones game.

Author Notes: Hello everyone! Please note that this story already has some spicy teasers that can be found on the MASTER LIST. This story was origionally only supposed to be a few smut peices, but its become what will probably be one of the most intense and intricate stories I've ever tried to take a crack at. A few things to note before you should dig into this story. Reader is a fem presenting person and there will be pronouns of She/Her for this story. I am working on stories for nongender presenting works, but for this one it is a designated identiy. Anyway if you like it, please remeber that fanfic writers live off of Likes, Kudos and Comments of encouragment and conversation. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Storm of the Century

"Get to the bunker!"

Amidst the cataclysmic wail of the hurricane, screams became echoes lost in the torrent. The quaint island town, once a portrait of tranquility, was now an arsenal of airborne debris, propelled by winds that shrieked at a hundred miles per hour. Mari, a slender blond woman, sprinted through the chaos, clutching a young child to her chest like a precious gem. Her eyes were set on the concrete sanctuary that had morphed into a last haven for the island's residents.

Once safely ensconced inside, her eyes scanned the room in a frenzied dance, landing on face after face, each one not the one she was looking for.

"Where's the Mistress?!"

Silence strangled the air. The group of women inside exchanged worried glances; their faces etched with a mutual dread. Finally, the child's voice broke through the din, its pitch climbing to be heard over the relentless battering of the storm against the shelter's walls.

"She said she was heading to the Ustesse family's place! Their mom is 'bout to have the baby!" A wave of collective gasps swept the room, whispers and murmurs swirling like mini vortexes. "They're gonna be okay, right Mari?" The child clung to her leg, his small face etched with terror, tears cascading down his cheeks.

Bending down to his level, Mari swiped away his tears with the corner of her apron and tenderly swept his disheveled hair from his eyes.

"Don't you worry. I have faith she's hunkered down with our friends. I'll go check on them, okay?"

The child clung to Mari's skirt, his small fingers knotting the fabric tightly until another woman tenderly pried him away and cradled him in her arms. With a resolute nod to the remaining occupants of the makeshift sanctuary, Mari clenched the rustic wood handle of the door, leveraging her entire body weight to wrench it open against the ferocious wind.

Outside, the storm raged on.

Ominous, dark green clouds churned in a frenetic dance, intermittently pierced by jagged bolts of lightning that shot from sky to ground and an encroaching sea line. Amid the apocalyptic landscape, she nearly missed her turn; the familiar road marker had been uprooted, now likely a part of the storm's airborne arsenal. Navigating just ten feet felt like an insurmountable quest as she lunged from one gnarled tree trunk to another, grasping their deeply anchored roots to avoid being swept away, her fingers ached, and the muscle of her palms cramped at the strength needed to hold on. What should have been a brief traverse felt like an agonizing odyssey.

Finally, a welcome sight emerged: the door of the Ustesse residence, peeking timidly from the slope of a small hill. Its unique architecture had rendered it a fortress amid the devastation. With the final sturdy tree and fence line a daunting hundred feet away, Mari resorted to crawling on all fours, her body encrusted with a sludge of mud and saltwater, her hair a tangled net of debris.

Summoning her remaining strength, she rapped on the massive wooden door before leaning into it, a low groan escaping her lips as she exerted herself to budge the door just an inch. Once safely enveloped by the fortress of solid oak, she gave one final heave, sealing the door—and with it, the cacophony of the storm and the haunting screams of the world outside. Silence filled the space, air stale with its humidity from the storm.

Catching her breath and hastily combing her wind-tangled hair from her face, Mari delved deeper into the short corridors of the dwelling. Just as she was about to call out, a gut-wrenching scream echoed from the far reaches of a back bedroom. Without a second thought, Mari charged down the hall, heart pounding.

"Hello? Is everyone alright?!"

A bedroom door burst open, revealing the cherubic faces of two children—twins. The boy’s eyes brimmed with tears, while his sister, a portrait of grave concern, gestured urgently toward the bed. As Mari neared the warm glow of a flickering lamp, her eyes widened at the spectacle before her.

A woman in the throes of labor crouched on all fours, her fingers clenched around the headboard with such force that the wood itself seemed to wail in sympathy. A statuesque figure—her mistress—kneaded the laboring woman’s back, offering rhythmic chants of encouragement between her cries.

"Mistress?" Mari’s voice quivered as her eyes met those of, you, her friend.

"Mari! Oh, bless the gods, you have perfect timing. We need hot water and clean cloth—fast. The twins are too petrified to leave their mother’s side." With graceful, efficient movements, your arms supported the laboring woman, guiding her to sit at the edge of the mattress. "Listen, Hannah," you spoke, tone laced with gentle humor to try and lighten the moment, "I know this isn’t your first time at the rodeo, but with the baby being breech, we need to proceed with the utmost caution. Are you with me?" You watched the mothers body language with worry, the feelings tel-tail signs hidden behind a well practiced smile. The last thing needed was for the poor woman to panic because the person she was depending on couldn't keep it together.

Hannah's face was flushed, a vivid crimson, her hair clinging like wet tendrils to her sweat-drenched forehead. Cheeks puffed rhythmically as she exhaled forcefully, desperate for enough oxygen to ward off fainting. Gripping the mattress's edge with white-knuckled hands, she heeded your guiding words. Meanwhile, Mari stationed herself behind her, soothing her flushed skin with icy rags and murmuring words of encouragement.

"You're doing beautifully. Keep breathing, just like that."

While the intimate tableau of new life being ushered into existence unfolded within the sheltered chamber, the hurricane outside continued its relentless havoc. Hours slipped by like minutes, until finally, the culmination of Hannah's strenuous labor bore fruit—a tiny, newborn life. Arms carefully swaddling the freshly cleaned infant, lips curving into a tender smile as you approached the exhausted mother while whispering.

"Ten fingers and toes—a classic choice."

Exhausted but elated, Hannah chuckled as she cradled her newborn daughter, feeling the infant's minuscule fingers wrapped around her pinky. She looked up at you, her Mistress while reaching for your hand, and planted a reverent kiss on the back of it, before pressing it to her flushed cheek. "Thank you, Mistress Your presence—and Mari’s—made this infinitely more bearable, I think we would have been in big trouble without both of you."

Warmth spread from the hand on the mothers damp cheek, up into your chest and heart before being expressed through a smile that radiated love. Bending down, you bestowed a gentle kiss upon Hannah’s forehead.

"I’ll always do whatever I can to support our little village of misfits."

A sudden cough diverted everyone's attention to Mari, who stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Her eyes were a mix of exhaustion and sorrow, burdened with news she wished she didn't have to relay. "Mistress, there are urgent matters requiring your immediate attention."

The exhaustion from the last few hours gripped your shoulders, sagging them for a brief second at the added weight of remembering the growing storm outside, and the towns precarious condition. You had been called to the home so early, that everyone in town had still been a sleep, even the baker. Something told you that todays dawn of ominous black clouds that had filled the horizon, had turned into a much more worrisome outcome than just the usual tropical depression.

You needed a drink, a stiff one at that.

Something strong enough to not only burn your tongue but also this day away. With what little energy that could be mustered from aching joints and stiff muscles, your spine straightened, with head held high and a stiff upper-lip you nodded before exiting the room, Mari trailing closely behind.

"Thank you, Mari. Any indication of when this storm might subside? I saw some dark clouds on my walk here earlier, but I haven't had a chance to see what its damage is yet." Turning down the hall towards the front of the Ustesse earthen home, the round wooden door and windows stood before you. Windows that faced out to the front of the town came into view, but your brain was having trouble comprehending what it was seeing. Lead filled your feet and forced the once hurried forward momentum you had to stop. The sudden change causing the blond to bump into your lower back, but you didn't budge. Body unable to move at the new and terrifying view in front of where you both stood.

The islands usually calm, crystal clear, blue waters were the backdrop for the small islands only town. It had taken months to bring the supplies for just the first houses foundation, let alone the last three years for the rest of the buildings to be finished at the beginning of this year. Untold hours of sweat, blood and so many tears from your own two hands had been put into creating this safe haven from nothing.

Saliva built in your mouth, a normally wet tongue felt like blooming cotton in its dry texture. The sensation forced the already cord tight muscles in your neck to swallow. A new view showed through the windows glass, one that could only be what clothes perceived of the outside world trapped during the spin cycle of a washing machine. Wind howled by so fast that you were sure you could see bits of earthen chunks being thrown at breakneck speeds. The storms dramatic change of atmospheric pressure caused both window frames to bow and groan, threatening in anguish to break. Thank god you had splurged for the hurricane rated windows this time around.

This home and the bunker had been built as a test, trying to put less financial investment into the usual and expensive construction supplies and more into a sturdier outcome with what was already on hand from the land around them. Building them both into the side of the hill had been the hardest part, but it seemed that the gamble had paid off. You blinked as dust fell from the ceilings boards, realizing that the chunks of earth you had seen were from the homes moss roof.

The home still held up, so far.

How had that storm turned into this so fast? Normally the island had plenty of warning from the weather monitor to prepare. A den-den mushi connected to the stations from the main island, it had guaranteed constant updates and warnings. In the years you had lived here, not once did even a small ‘just in case’ not get sent out. A gut sinking question pushed its way to the front of your mind.

Had the main island been caught off guard by this storm as well?

Mari had stood silent next to you, the top of her head barely reaching your shoulders, her emerald green eyes observed calmly, as a blank expression took the place of a once truly happy smile of her friends face. Years of friendship taught her patience, especially when it came to the time that you needed when processing information. She stood in worry at the events outside, but also in confidence knowing that plans for multiple outcomes were already swirling in the back of your mind while taking in what was before you.

Finally moving, you walked to the front door and grasped the copper handle to pull it open when a sudden gust of wind slammed it shut, pulling you against the unyielding wood with a loud thud. "What the—?"

Mari intervened, gently brushing your hand aside. Taking a few long strides back you watched as the short blond braced a foot against the doors frame for leverage, she clenched the handle with a firm grip and mustered all her strength to yank the door open.

With a gritty shove, the door finally yielded, breaking the vacuum seal between the tempestuous storm and the home's still air. Both of you stood silhouetted in the doorway, squinting into the blinding onslaught of the storm—visibility reduced to a mere five-foot radius. Mari shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, her nerves starting to win against her patience.

“Whats the damage so far Mari?”

"The storm appears to be getting closer, Mistress. As it stands, only Hannah's home and our newly erected shelter have withstood the havoc.”

With wide eyes and mouth gaped in shock, you turn to look down at your friend before placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Another ball of saliva forced its way down as panic set in, had the people who had come to depend on you made it to safety? The words had to be forced out with what little air it felt your lungs could grasp, voice scratchy and hoarse as the question was asked.

“Is everyone…are they okay?”

Mari gave a small smile and nodded her head in reassurance. She understood intimately the fear you had; she had been a first-hand witness to this islands ceaseless endeavors, helping lost souls and vulnerable women find not just shelter, but a home and small community to depend on. It might have been humble, but it was one of safety, filled with love and warm meals. More than most had experienced before in their lifetime.

"Everyone is safe," Mari whispered, her voice tinged with solemn relief as her smaller hand lay gently across your own. “So far it is just the buildings that have been destroyed. This storm came on so quickly the others didn't even have time to grab any personal belongings.”

Both of you looked back out the door as the hurricane seemed to stay in place on the tiny island.

“I guess we will have to wait and see what we can salvage, hopefully we can make enough to repair everything”.

Now where was that drink?

Two Months Later.

That's the length of time the colossal hurricane had churned off the coast of the Grand Line, its path ever changing, sometimes even veering dangerously close to BariBari Island. The last hurricane of this scale had been the stuff of legend, occurring generations ago. The kind of things elders spun as eerie tales for younger ears at bedtime, recounting a storm that raged for an entire year before vanishing as mysteriously as it appeared. These stories painted nightmarish scenarios—mighty ships splintered like kindling under the hurricane's wrath, lush islands stripped to barren wastelands, and entire communities swallowed up, leaving nothing but memories and fear in their wake. Its unyielding presence disrupted every facet of maritime travel and daily life for the Cross Guild.

And now, the behemoth storm showed signs of further intensifying, prompting the leaders of the Cross Guild to recall their entire armada back to the island. They aimed to minimize the loss of their assets, salvaging whatever could be spared from nature's fury. But this strategy made from necessity had a double edge to it, while it saved their assets, it also lost them time and money in doing so. The lack of incoming funds creating great irritation in the largest of the three leaders, and terrified the shorter showman. A stop to income meant debts couldn't be paid fully or on time.

The formidable warlords congregated around a large circular worn table. Emptied wine bottles, extinguished cigar stubs, and disheveled piles of coins and playing cards surrounded them like the aftermath of a battlefield. Initially convened for a formal meeting, their gathering had dissolved, as it often did, into late-night poker and calculated wagers. The air was thick with a smoky haze, trapped by the room's tightly shut windows. Scant candles flickered on sparse furnishings, casting ominous shadows that danced in rhythm to the distant roll of thunder. Raindrops pelted the windowpanes, each gust of wind testing the mettle of their rusted latches.

Just as a new round of thunder shook the very foundation of the room, the silence was shattered, with a high-pitched whine. Slumping dramatically in his chair while disembodied hands remained frozen, Buggy sneered at cards that he had yet to reveal—a losing hand, if the theatrics were any indicator. After already losings the last four rounds, his mind was craving After four loses from the last few rounds, and his chips stacks getting smaller and smaller, his brain started to struggle staying focused. Weeks of being kept inside, no sunlight and temperatures fluctuating between sweltering and freezing would make anyone irritable. Even more so for someone who’s brain never seemed to stay quite or still.

"This storm has been raging for weeks. The longer this damn hurricane goes on, the more I’m starting to think its possible to die from boredom."

Buggy stormed from his grandiose chair, boots thudding against the floor as he glowered through the windowpanes. Just two hours ago the rain-droplets had been freezing to the glass, and now it was so warm that the inside edges were dripping in humidity. It was impossible to stay in one layer of clothing for the whole day now, having to now switch between snow and winter ware to summer beach attire constantly. His usual outfit was reduced to more comfortable wear for the late night. Long azure-colored hair held up in a high ponytail to keep anything warm off his neck, classic makeup smudged after hours of wear and humidity. The fur-lined coat draped over the backing of his chair, accompanied by his stripped bandanna.

Pouring another full glass of wine, Mihawk's eyes flicked from Crocodile to Buggy. Setting the crystal glass down, a pale hand tossed a few more coins into the pile as cards were discarded and new ones added. The usually well-poised swordsman felt his patience wearing thin with being cooped inside for so long, finding time alone to read had become near impossible. Add the irritation of never having a moments peace and the shifting weather it was no wonder he had grown more and more quite as the night went on. Even his normally immaculate appearance had loosened to something more casual. Hair tousled, mustache bristling in odd directions from the sweltering dense air. Hat and coat hanging on the wall, sword leaning next to them forgotten and left to try and stay cooler during this hours choice of temperature.

Crocodile delicately ashed his sizable cigar into a nearby used glass. Leaning back into his chair, he relished the sound of the wooden joints creaking under his weight. "I've got some old acquaintances that are going to dock on the island soon. They asked if they could stay until the storm passed, its a smallish group of maybe twenty at most.”

While still looking out the window, Buggy rolled his eyes in boredom. “Oh yeah? What do they do for work?”

The behemoth man paused in his reach for a new card, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he searched for a fitting descriptor. "They're a group of retired performers—some of the best at what they used to do." Plucking the new card, Crocodile grabbed an four of clubs to throw into the discard pile before nodding to the brunet next to him that it was his turn now.

Buggy perked up, spinning to face the table, his eyes alight with eagerness. "Performers?" Then, his excitement deflated. "Oh, wait. You said they're retired, right? So, they're old and boring." With a disheartened sigh, he laid down his cards and folded them, leaving the game to the other two men.

Silence once again fills the room, the clown could feel his skin crawl from under-stimulation and the banal environment, feeling the frenetic energy of his brain becoming louder.

“So when do the geezers get here?”

Crocodile stiffed a chuckle at Buggy's question, now turning to face the sword-smith to continue their card game, deliberately ignoring the clown's feigned indignation. “They should be arriving in the next few days, If the storm allows it.”

Shifting in his seat, Buggy swung one leg over the armrest and gazed out the window again, sulking in his boredom and already reaching for his coat as the temperature started to drop again.

A few hundred leagues away

Ornate tubes of lipstick danced like marionettes across the creaking floorboards, swept away by the hurricane's invisible hands as the storm outside orchestrated an all-out assault on the ship's integrity. Each howling gust and bone-jarring wave turned the vessel into a seesaw, rocking it in erratic patterns that defied gravity, from fore to aft, starboard to port.

When a particularly large wave crashed against the ship's bow the buckets in the room slid across from one corner to the other along with the smaller trunks of storage, their scraping noises adding to the symphony of the ship's already overstimulating orchestra. Falling to your knees with a harsh thump, a hand flew to cover your mouth as a particularly intense wave of nausea made itself known. Moans, groans, and the unmistakable retching of seasick passengers reverberated through the timbers as if the ship itself were in agony.

With a sense of urgency, the that Mari had help to adorned with delicate rings reached out in a desperate ballet, snatching up the errant lipstick tubes before they could escape into the narrow abyss between creaking planks. Then, as if provoked by your defiance, a colossal wave—fit for a sea monster's grand entrance—slammed into the bow. The impact sent buckets, dainty trunks, and sundry personal items skidding and screeching from one end of the room to the other. The shrill scraping of metal against wood joined the discordant orchestra, lending another layer of chaos to an environment already awash in sensory overload.

A knock at the door was heard before it slowly cracked open. A voice gently called out, "Miss? Are you alright?" In walked the familiar petite blond with a white apron cinched around her waist. Her eyes darted to where you stayed kneeling on the floor, curled over a bucket, trying to hold back from heaving up what little food you had been able to keep down so far.

"Oh dear, you poor thing. I knew this voyage would be trouble, especially with your seasickness." Mari helped guide you to sit up on the bed before wiping the sweat that had grown across the heat of your forehead with a rag dunked in a bowl of cool fresh water. "I didn't think it would be so rough when we're gaining distance from the storm's center. Are you sure we can trust this acquaintance of yours?"

Letting out a low, contented hum as the icy touch of the damp rag caressed your feverish forehead, taming wayward strands of hair that clung to moist skin. Head tilted back, eyes blissfully shut, you surrendered to Mari's nurturing touch as if each swipe of the cloth washed away a morsel of discomfort. "No, he is not someone to be trusted. I'm afraid turning back isn't an option, Mari. Since that storms appearance we’ve burned through almost all our emergency supplies. We’ve no money to speak of and nowhere to retreat to. Did the captain give any indication of how much longer this hellish ride will last—oh God!"

Even in so much discomfort and exhaustion your hand shot to a bucket tucked covertly under the bed, just in time for you to dry-have, retching into its emptiness. Mari's face crumpled in empathetic distaste, yet she remained steadfast, gathering your hair to prevent it from falling into the line of fire. "The captain assures us it'll only be a few more hours," she replied.

With a groan that seemed to echo the creaks of the ship, you withdrew your head from the foul-smelling bucket, collapsing onto the bed that swayed like a pendulum in sync with the ship's motion. "By gods, thank you for that news. Please, check on the others. From what I was hearing they might be faring even worse than me."

Mari bit her lower lip, a visible manifestation of her brewing concern. Sensing this, an eye cracked open, lips stretching into a warm, reassuring smile as you gently squeezed Mari’s arm. " You are too good to us, Mari, there is no one else we could hope to depend on. Please, they might need you more than me.”

At the encouraging nod, Mari pivoted gracefully and moved toward the door. Pausing on the threshold, her eyes lingered, bathed in the dim light of the room. "If you need anything, just holler, Miss." With that, she vanished into the dizzying corridor, momentarily losing her balance in the ship's wild sway. Bracing herself against the wall, she pressed on, intent on delivering the same vigilant care to the other ladies enduring this maritime ordeal.

Back in the sanctuary of your private chamber, starring at the ceiling, transfixed by the droplets of water that seeped through the holes in the timeworn deck above. Each droplet felt like a punctuation mark in the million thoughts that seemed to swirl repeatedly—a relentless reminder of your dire circumstances. Letting the right arm go limp, fingers loosely clutching the now lukewarm rag before letting it tumble to the floor. Your thoughts careened like a tempest, mirroring the chaos outside.

"We're in desperate need of help," the words murmured softly, as if verbalizing it might summon the assistance you so urgently required.

Shout Out To: @gingernut1314 @oddmawd @fanaticsnail @diabolicemerald @hey-august @lemony-snickers for being such amazing authors. All of you have given me inspiration and strength from reading and experiencing your creations to to able to spread my own wings. Thank you.

[piplicious]

Dip Week Day 3!!!

Hello I wrote a little something based on a conversation I had with @/pipcorn. But I have like no experience as a writer!!! So you have to be nice to me. + theres a drawing inside :3

Word count: 1366 words

Ship: Damien x Pip

Warnings: none whatsoever

Summary: it's Damien's Birthday and everything is on fire.

"By the power of all unholy and evil I command --all the mortals come to my birthday party!!!"

Despite the very clear and easy to understand demand of his highness son of Satan, no one was there. Creatures of darkness were present, of course, but that was about it. The little black demon beings were all sat at a special table, reserved specifically for them, with all the appropriate evil meals served and ready. But what about Damien's other friends (or so he'd like to think of them)? Did he not manage to make everyone in class like him by being a little asshole?

Unfortunately, Hell was going through a bit of a financial crisis, and some unplanned budget cuts had to be made. Instead of a big fancy banquet Damien had to make do with a regular size birthday party. Well, it was a bit below regular, you can't underestimate the impact inflation and excessive risk taking by systemically important financial institutions have on otherworldly dimentions. Obviously.

As a result, materialistic humans didn't really feel like attending such an underwhelming event.

"AAARGH"

The AAARGH didn't help. So strange! At least one boy should've come. One very specific little lad! And a very important one, too, but shush about that.

And yet no one was there. The party had started whole 5 minutes ago after all! Could it be… that maybe the invintations got lost? Well, no, because then Pip surely would've come. Damien made sure to personally disturb the signal in the 500 meters radius area by shooting his rubber duck-like voice all the way to Pip over the phone exactly 5 times. One time -- a month before the birthday, so that the blond has enough time to prepare the presents. Then a week before the celebration -- enough time for Pip to make sure to cancel all the plans for the special day. Then one day before the birthday - in the morning and in the evening. And don't forget the mandatory 5 AM call.

And so, utterly dissapointed, the grumpy lump of rage continued pouting even harder than usual. I'd like to say that his hope for humanity was completely gone by that time (6 minutes past the official beginning of the party), but let's be honest, it's South Park, why would it ever be there in the first place.

"Happy Birthday, son. Today is a beautiful day and you're only 9 years away from the day I tell you the truth about how you were made."

"Dad. WHE--??"

"I know, I know what you want to say, I see that half of the room is on fire already. But first I have a very important gift for you."

"DAAAAAA--"

…!

And there, a sudden strike of silence hit the room. Damien's instincts freezed and crashed! The "gift" that loomed out of the hallway made him unsure whether to hiss or wag his tail. Or both?

"G-good morning, Damien! I'm here to wish you a very happy birthday and hopefully entertain you for the duration of my stay here…! Hope you didn't… miss me?"

The little british boy that just came in already managed to pick up that something about Damien's reaction was off, as the later made incomprehensible noises and it was hard to read what exactly he was feeling at the moment. It would seem illogical, as Pip was the exact person lacking at the event, and yet the way he appeared rubbed the demon in a wrong way.

"Are you… mad at me? Ohh… I see… No one has come to your party? No worries!!! I understand how you feel, sogga, no one attends my celebratio--"

"Why are you wearing that!!!"

"Oh it's a clown outfit, your father asked me to--"

"DAD?????"

And so Satan had to step into the conversation between the fourthgraders. What an interesting sentence out of context!

"You see, due to the financial situation we couldn't afford a professional entertainer, and dead soul tortures are already reserved for when you get good grades, so I figured getting your buddy to pretend to be a clown for your birthday would be good enough."

"I DON'T WANT HIM TO BE A CLOWN!"

"But why?"

Giving absolutely no answer, the hissy boy left the room and it almost seemed like he had a little tear in his eye. And so, Pip, Satan, and a hoard of unholy creatures whatever they are, were left astounded in a room with more fire in it than food or tables.

What a confusing situation! But of course giving up would mean missing the chance to save your lo-- your friend's important day, right? That's not a very caring behavior. Pip would not want to leave Damien behind, no. It takes some thick gloves and a lot of bravery to deal with wild kittens like that. And a heart big enough to give them all the space they need to not feel intimidated anymore.

"There, there."

Pip sat near the curled up demon, petting his back and waiting for him to cool down and relax his eyebrows at least a bit. And boy did he take his sweet time cooling down, this is not your average tray of freshly baked brownies.

"I-I don't want to rush you or anything, but could I perhaps get a hint about why you're mad at me?"

Nope. Not happening.

"It appears I have to try guessing myself… Do you want me to leave?"

Damien shook his head. Somehow everything became even more confusing.

"Are you… afraid of clowns?"

Not that either.

"I don't know what else it could be then…"

"…I wanted you to come because you want to. Not because you have to."

The boy who for some reason had to remind Pip about his birthday 5 times looked away in embarassment. Could it be that there was actually some kind of thought process happening behind those eyes? It seemed that this time his friends' intentions actually mattered to him and it wasn't just about seeming cool in front of the elite of the class. Pip was nice sincerely and it made a big difference! If he came willingly it would be clear what he came for. Damien's smile or something gay like that.

"…How much did he pay you?"

"For what?"

"For you to come."

"Oh good golly i'm going to get paid?"

The utter confusion in blonde's eyes eventually cleared up all the doubts in Damien's mind.

"No."

"Oh alrighties."

"I think I understand. Only a brit would willingly attend a party where the only food being served is unholy goop and satanic porridge."

"It's not that, Damien, I just--"

Pip started fidgeting awkwardly with the fabric of his clothes like a shy anime girl. Unusual, since most of the time when he liked someone it was extremely visible to everyone around. Well, it was, it very much was visible this time either but somehow not to Damien.

"You see, back when I was born as a little baby in a small town of--"

"Shorter."

"I have feelings for you."

"Oh. Wait what. Wait. That's gay."

"Indeed it is, Damien. I understand if you want me to leave even harder than before now, I--"

Instead of jokingly utilizing the diverse pallete of homophobic slurs in English language the demon boy's eyes immediately brightened up. He didn't exactly know why yet, but it actually… cheered him up? His buddy was actually more than just a buddy! They could spend so much time together like those two yaois from their class! Now the hard part is actually somehow returning feelings and admitting the same thing. Oh Go-- Oh man it sure is more embarassing than he thought… But it must be oh so worth it!!!

The poor British thing just sat there waiting for any even remotely coherent answer. His anxiety was only soothed by the fact that the fire in the house began slowly extinguishing, which probably meant that Damien wasn't angry with him. Fortunately he didn't need to wait too long.

"You're my boyfriend now."

"Okay."

There. The hardest part is now behind, time to jump straight to the part that has handholding and fun dates in it.

***

[your-old-sins-tournament]

12 YEAR OLD OCS; SIDE A

Kishimaru [@notagutterrat] (He/Him)

One of the first (if not the actual first) fandom OCs I ever made, he was a very overpowered Naruto OC that was from a powerful clan and also had a demon/beast sealed inside him and it basically made him a catboy as well (An orange-haired catboy...is it obvious what other manga I was into at the time?)

Excavator [@enjoliquej] (he/him)

Behold, a mere mortal man, born with the name Excavator, destined to become part of one of the most fantastical endeavors known to man: Archeological Excavation.  Being gifted with a genius and brilliant name as Excavator, and having a career that shared the same name gave him some trouble with introductions.

A bold and thoughtful quote from our hero:

"My name is Excavator, and I am an excavator."  --  Excavator

Follow Excavator, the world's WORST and luckiest archeologist as he embarks across the world to different locations that his 12 year old writer was learning about in history class. Watch as his boss constantly fires and re-hires him on account of Excavator's stupidity and luck at finding rare artifacts. Embark on his first adventure when he accidentally hurled himself into a tar pit from clowning around and found the Rosetta Stone buried deep beneath. Join him on his trip to China where he gets thrown into a basket and is forced to float the Pacific Ocean for days until he discovers ancient Chinese scrolls hidden in the basket with him, narrowly escaping being fired by his boss yet again. Follow him to India where he believes he traveled to the 1800s and is mistaken for a butler and cleans precious furniture with bleach which ruins everything until he realizes he was just staying at some guys house the whole time and he didn't time travel to the 1800s.

All this and more on The Silly Adventures of Excavator, The Indiana Jones Wannabe!

[thatswhatsushesaid]

hi hi hope youre doing well!! i was wondering if you had any good recs for fics that explore jin guangyao and su minshans relationship? platonic or romantic idm i just wanna read more fics about their dynamic!! no worries if not, you just seem like youd know some good fics for them lol (compliment)

anon you have come to the right clown with this request, let me throw some stuff at you:

a painting missing strokes, a song missing notes by occasional_boy_reporter is a cql post-canon xiyao fix-it fic that includes probably my favourite brand of suyao, which is one-sided, unrequited, but nevertheless not something minshan makes jgy's problem to manage. he might be eaten up with envy on the inside, but his ride-or-die loyalty to jgy overcomes everything. anyway, i am sad to say the fic is incomplete, but it is still such a beautiful read, and sms's role in it really can't be overstated! i also really like how the writer handles lxc and sms's dynamic!

favor by venndaai is a hunger games AU which primarily focuses on a romance between meng yao and lan xichen in the games, but also features background nieyao and very minor background nielan--which, if you know anything about me and my preferences, is so high up there on my list of NOTPs as to be in the stratosphere, so for me to not only read and finish this fic, but turn around and recommend it to other people as often as i do.... idk if it says something, exactly, other than i think it's REALLY FUCKING GOOD! minshan's role in this one is very minor in contrast to what you'll see above, but it is nevertheless an extremely important role that, imo, closely mirrors sms and jgy's canon dynamic in spirit, if not in function. just be prepared for things to go very dark. i cried at the end.

sainted, untainted by gloriousmonsters is a suyao oneshot that veers very closely towards dubcon territory, though the kink in question is one that they do negotiate in advance. things just... happen... in the thick of it, and they struggle, but the whole scene from start to finish remains consensual. what i love about it isn't even the sex, though that is very steamy and intimate dgmw. it's that everything about this scene, from start to finish, is also an examination of trust and vulnerability, and i think if there's anyone in the canon material jgy would be willing to give up his dearly bought power and control to--other than lan xichen--it's going to be su she.

those are the ones that immediately leap out at me! beyond that, here's a shameless plug for my post-canon xiyao fix-it WIP glorious, which only has one chapter up atm, but it is all jgy and sms. their dynamic is going to be as important as the romantic xiyao in subsequent chapters so 👉👉 watch this space etc.

[agentnico]

Boy Kills World (2024) review

Voice of Archer inside Pennywise’s ripped body… I was surprised he at no point screamed “LANAAAAA!!”

Plot: Boy is a mayhem machine who's been training to assassinate the bloodthirsty Hilda Van Der Koy and avenge his family's murder; guided by his sister's mischievous spirit, Boy uncovers one stunning revelation after another as he barrels toward Hilda.

Let’s get real - a cheese grater in a horror or gore film is simply the worst. Just the thought of it scraping away a hefty chunk of flesh is nothing short of skin crawling. Evil Dead Rise and now Boy Kills World - you guys are messed up. Nevertheless, we have another funky revenge action flick, a genre of which has seen a real resurgence since the success of the John Wick franchise. And it stars in the lead one of the eight Skarsgard siblings, though when you think action star you usually would pick Alexander. Bill up until now has carved out a niche as the best one to hire if you’re seeking a creepy vibe, be it the mysterious stranger in Barbarian or a killer clown in the IT films. However that changes with Boy Kills World, as Bill Skarsgard, rippling with muscles, plays the typical I-am-an-instrument-shaped-for-a-single-purpose; essentially a killing machine who disposes of his enemies in a variety of bloody styles (like a damn cheese grater!!).

This would have been a generic example of the revenge tropes, however the movie has an interesting stylistic choice in that Skarsgard’s character of Boy is a mute, so we get to hear his thoughts through a voice in his head, who happens to be the same voice as Archer from the FX cartoon series. I admire that the writers were trying out something new, but I must say as much as I enjoy H.J. Benjamin’s candescent voice, it did become over indulgent. It’s as if they were trying to imitate Deadpool’s fourth wall breaks and profanities, but without it being that funny. I also found it difficult to reconcile them as being the same person, as the mismatch of Bill Skarsgard’s physical performance with Benjamin’s voice was so stark that it became a distraction. Again though, I admire the creative effort.

The action sequences are hyper stylised and fun, with plenty of CGI blood splattering about and the camera zooming in and out of the action like it’s high on cocaine. The cast all seem to be having lots of fun, with the likes of Sharlto Copley, Michelle Dockery and Brett Gelman giving energetic cartoony performances, and overall I enjoyed it. The story is as by the numbers as you can expect, and 99% of what you see on-screen has been done thousands of times before. I liked the plot twist at the end though it was no M. Night Shyamalan, and in the end, it was a decent way to disengage the brain. Will I remember it though? No chance! Minus a point also for boy not actually killing a whole world. Like I get that they didn’t have the biggest budget, but don’t give false promises in your title.

Overall score: 5/10

[esotl]

Performance - Chapter 11 (Part 20)

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring

Characters: Hokuto, Wataru

Translation Directory

It's known as a tragedy, and yet, I can't agree with that assessment.

Location: Inside a Train

Wataru: In actuality... I've never once come across one, a person who declares "I want to be like Hibiki Wataru!"

Which is to say, I am indeed still half-baked.

Hokuto: That's because you're out of the norm... No-one can even dream of being like you.

The more I come to know you, the more I feel that distance, too.

Wataru: Eh~ even though I'm close enough for you to touch? Please do your best, Hokuto-kun!

When I first saw you, I was a bit inspired.

"Aah, he's imitating my hairstyle," I thought... "Perhaps he wants to become like me."

Remembering the previous conversation, I held an interest in you...

Your mother must have predicted that, and tied your hair in a braid.

That's why I said she's discerning.

Her preparation is flawless, she knows all about a performer's weak points. Because if you're faced with someone imitating you, there's no way you could be unhappy.

Though, with just a few minutes of talking to you, I could tell you had no interest in me at all...

You only think of yourself, don't you?

Hokuto: Should I not? I don't have time to think about other things right now, and aren't I the one who thinks of myself the most?

There's no-one who thinks of me, of Hidaka Hokuto, so... I'm the one who has to consider me, to produce me.

Wataru: Right. That's the natural and correct answer, people don't really think about others often.

Though I personally don't have much interest in myself~ that seems to be rather unusual.

I'm always thinking about the characters in works of art, and the people surrounding them.

"Hibiki Wataru" is the means by which, the point of contact for interacting with those kinds of lovely things.

Hokuto: You're pretty distorted, aren't you... Are all "geniuses" like that?

Wataru: What do you think? Geniuses, no, all people are slightly different from each other.

You can't analyse all of humanity on an individual level using inflexible interpretations or common consensus.

That's why. You, who is captivated by such things, is rather laughable.

Hokuto: Hmph... I feel like I'm being made fun of by a clown.

Wataru: What a fitting phrase! Ahaha, chatting like this is fun...☆

Hokuto: Isn't this is strangely conceptual for a "chat"?

Wataru: Perhaps it is, by common consensus' standards! You're still restraining yourself, is your braid a chain or something, Hokuto-kun?

Be more flexible!

Relatedly... I just so happen to have tickets for a play being held at a theatre near the next stop!

Would you care to join me?

It's a rather intriguing stage, quite avant-garde... perhaps your sense of values will change upon seeing it!

Hokuto: I refuse. School is starting soon, I shouldn't skip.

Wataru: Isn't it fine every now and then? Let's be bad boys together~♪

Even if you do as your parents say like a good boy, it's not like you'll be rewarded for it, will you?

Hokuto: Don't interpret me like a character from a story.

Wataru: Apologies, it's an unconscious habit! This is troubling though, I didn't imagine you'd refuse.

Even after I went through all the trouble of moving you onto a different train without waking you?

Hokuto: So you're the reason I'm going to be late for school? I thought it was strange for me to sleep past my stop.

Wataru: Apologies, I just love tricks like that!

When faced with unexpected developments, humans always reveal some sort of interesting reaction without fail!

Getting mad, losing their cool, being bewildered, speaking unfavorably of me...

They confront me without hiding their true face behind a mask, or at least, they don't ignore me.

Hokuto: Did your parents not care about you as a kid?

Well, whatever. I already studied the contents of today's lessons last night, so it won't be a huge problem if I don't attend.

Even if I'm not there, I doubt anyone would notice.

I'll accompany you, President. But only for today - it'll be a problem if I'm constantly getting kidnapped to places I don't know.

Wataru: "Kidnapped" makes it sound scandalous... But I'm glad, let's have fun watching a play together.

Both acting and viewing are lonely when done by yourself. Let's snack on popcorn and excitedly discuss our thoughts with each other.

Japan has strict theatre manners, but plays have been that sort of event since time immemorial. Like in Shakespeare's time.

Hokuto: Don't speak like you were there for it, President.

Wataru: I've been doing my research you know, Shakespeare's a classic after all.

As is the play we're going to see today, "Romeo and Juliet"♪

It's known as a tragedy, and yet, I can't agree with that assessment.

Hokuto: ? Isn't it a standard tragedy?

Wataru: If you think about it using the common rules of this fleeting world, yes. But they were surely united after death, no?

One committed suicide, the other committed murder, so they certainly both fell into hell together.

However, "wherever you are is Heaven"... is what's conveyed in the play.

Because they went so far as to repeat such a sentiment over and over, time after time, the ending is not a tragedy.

Death is not the end, nor is it hopelessness. It is proof that they were finally together.

It's a connection, a blessing. That is how I interpreted the story's meaning.

If it's not true, then... Ah, God, Shakespeare, for what purpose did you document the suffering of this man and woman?

To sneer at these pitiful two, or else, to feel self-satisfied in your pity for them?

No - "Romeo and Juliet" is a congratulatory address for the two being united for eternity!

[Chapter 10 • Directory • Act 8]

[cf56]

My thoughts on episode 10

SPOILERS for season 3, episode 10 of the Animaniacs reboot

So that's great. I took two hours to write this entire review, and then with one press of control + Z, it was completely gone. Great site Tumblr. Really works as intended.

I was in a better mood, but having to rewrite this ENTIRE thing sucks so badly. I try to give my genuine thoughts as I go, and it's impossible to replicate that on the second try. I want to scream. Why can't this week just go right?

So now you're getting a negative opening for what was a super positive review. I seriously want to punch a wall. A website meant for long posts doesn't have an editor designed for them. That's just great.

I can't rewrite that whole thing. Just have a collection of screenshots and some jumbled thoughts.

I'm sorry for Pinky and the Brain fans that their final showing was so short. I didn't like Brain talking about the "endlessly repetitive formulaic rebooted franchise that relies on just a handful of tired characters." You can say it's the writers taking a shot at themselves, but it really isn't. It's not their show. They didn't create the characters. Combined with the ending, it just feels a little disrespectful to the people who put their heart and soul into creating this show in the first place, and to the fans who genuinely love these characters.

Look at them being silly!

I can't gush enough about the song. Such cute animation, such powerful music!

I teared up while listening to it this time. I'll probably do the same on every future watch.

I liked that Wakko was right about everything and had the idea that saved the day. The Warners literally saved the world and they'll still be treated like garbage by everyone around them.

The Joe segment was funny, especially the zoom out at the end. I liked hearing "Waltzing Matilda" in the background.

Dot was so cute wanting to go on the teacups, just being infatuated with the idea of spinning around in a little teacup!

This segment is the epitome of "this is my life now."

Poor Wakko has the worst luck. The SAME CLOWN just happened to be at this carnival? At least we know he got down from Mars.

I thought it was weird to have two cataclysmic endings for the reboot six minutes apart from each other. Although they say this sketch was written for season 1, I find it really hard to believe that this wasn't originally meant to end the season/reboot, especially with Dot's quip at the end. I'm not sure I would want this to be the ending, though. It would have sucked if the Warners were the ones who explicitly ended their universe and killed everyone inside. That would have proven everyone right about their destructive nature all along.

I thought this was a refreshing segment. Slappy sounded and looked great. Like I expected, it was short and there was no Skippy, but I'm happy it exists. I was surprised and happy to see that they got Sherri Stoner to return for work on the reboot.

I liked how Everyday Safety was just a never-ending cascade of total nonsense.

The Council is not pleased.

I thought Wakko's bottle song was catchy. I liked that it actually sounded like Wakko blowing. I wonder if they got Jess to do that for real in the studio?

And the ending. I wrote four paragraphs about it, and it sucks so bad because I thought I made my points quite well. Let me try again.

I understand the metaphor with the abrupt and sudden ending. I know the asteroid is meant to represent Hulu. I just don't think they should have pushed their bitter disappointment with the show ending directly onto us. They should have thought it through a lot better.

If they were going to go doom and gloom, which they shouldn't have, they should've at least given the ending some emotional weight. How am I supposed to feel anything when the characters themselves don't show any reaction to their unexpected, oncoming violent deaths? I'm not saying it should have been super depressing with crying and begging. They just should have given a genuine reaction instead of doing business as usual. The closest set of siblings in the world is about to go out in a fiery blaze, and they're not even touching each other. They're just standing near each other awkwardly. Have them embrace and accept their death with a positive remark about how it was all worth it. That would at least give some closure.

What they should have done, if I could rewrite it from scratch, is give us a satisfying, happy ending. Show the Warners finally earning their freedom from the tower after 90 years. Maybe have them gaze at the sunset together, mirroring how the sun rose at the very beginning of the reboot. Even if they didn't have time to animate new scenery for something like that, anything would have been better for this. This ending just feels empty. It lacks any emotion besides pure shock and it feels like an F you to everyone who cares about the show. The creators might have intended that F you to feel like it was coming from Hulu, but Hulu didn't write this scene. The reboot writers did, and they had the power to leave us with something better. This could be the last Animaniacs we ever see.

I'm at least happy they attempted an ending. The original didn't have one at all. It just sucks that Animaniacs had to end unexpectedly and unsatisfyingly both times it's been suddenly cancelled. The reboot was supposed to fix that.

This was perhaps the most entertaining episode of the season for me. It has one of the greatest Animaniacs songs ever, maybe the best song of the season, I'm still not sure. I still love The Island of Dr. Warneau a lot, so I'm giving this episode a solid second place in my final ranking for the season.

Episode 6

Episode 10

Episode 3

Episode 9

Episode 7

Episode 4

Episode 2

Episode 1

Episode 5

Episode 8

That means that the majority of episodes this season are episodes I would consider really good. The top 4 are all episodes I would consider really great. I'll give my thoughts on the season as a whole in my collective season 3 review, but I'll need a few more days before I start writing that. I need some time to collect myself and reflect.

I'm sorry for how this review turned out. The first version felt a lot more positive, because in this attempt I just wanted to express my more well-developed thoughts, which happened to be criticisms. I liked this episode a lot. I just so desperately wish I hadn't lost that first version. It only adds to the most heavily conflicting mix of emotions I've ever felt in one week. I was feeling good, and now I'm knocked down again. I'm sorry to be the one putting so much negativity into the fandom. I want this to be a positive place for all. If I wasn't able to express my emotions here, though, I wouldn't be able to deal with them at all. So thanks to those that have been listening.

I encourage you to add to the discussion of this episode if you want. If you're from the future, please don't say anything about any of the episodes that come after this ;)

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[bloodydrew]

NEIL GAIMAN?

STUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING NEIL GAIMAN GOD DAMN FOOL BOOK WRITER DUST EATING RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIOT AVATAR OF THE WHORE BIGGEST CLOWN IN THE CIRCUS LAUGHED OUT OF TOWN COWBOY MOTHERFUCKING NEIL GAIMAN

STOP PINNING ME WHEN I TALK ABOUT NEIL GAIMAN I HATE HIM SO MUCH WHY DOES HE WROTE THAT SCENE IN SEASON TWO WHY DID HE DECIDE TO FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT JUST TO SET HIS FANS LOOSE AND CRYING IS HE DEAD IS HE A BASTARD MAN HAS SUCH A VISCERAL AFFECT ON ME NOT EVEN IN THE ROOM NEVER SEEN THIS MANS FACE AND I KNOW HE HAS THE WORLDS SHITTIEST MESSY HAIR GET AWAY FROM ME

if i wanted to get into heaven and god said Neil Gaiman waiting inside i would piss on gods feet for the sole purpose of getting sent back down

if i have to deal with Neil Gaiman speaking one word after this episode not only will i close the tab i will delete my bookmark out of spite and have to rewatch the entire series again for the experience of being able to skip the intro and the credits when he’s mentioned

i dont even know why i hate him so much. he writes books but i am just mad because i am angy

he better have some fucked up backstory to explain this if hes just some shithead whos a fan of sad gays and wanted to make his version ill go ham

BETTER have had a book make him kill a man cuz if he didnt Im going to make him

paypal.com/IFuckingHateNeilGaiman

episodes not even about him. vaguely mentioned in the credits bc he wrote it and I lost it

where the fuck is Neil Gaiman if hes still alive im going to so deeply wish he wasnt

crusty old man

ill punch Gaiman and his sad frail old man twig bones will simply flake apart under my epic huge meat fist and he will disintegrate until all thats left is one final book he kept on him at all times simply titled Now You Fucked Up in ancient yiddish

im not breathing im hyperventilating at this point

i hope theres a date given for when Neil wrote the second season script so i can make it a reminder on my phone

everyday once a year i will see it and do anything but be happy about the second season of Good Omens

[lenjaminmacbuttons]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box for the last 5 people who interacted with your blog and get to know your mutuals and followers. 💕

this ask! and your whole blog! and you!

my sweet waifu....we just celebrated our one year anniversary last night and i am so excited for our next 3477758890000 more anniversaries forever and ever. maybe next year we'll get wine that doesn't aftertaste so bad lol

i am currently eating pancakes that i made with starbucks apple brown sugar syrup in the batter cus we got to take the surplus home after we stopped selling the fall flavors and yall. these pancakes are delicious

we recently moved the dog's bed from our bedroom to a little nook under our tv stand so he can chill there while we're in the living room & he won't jump up on the couch and eat our food lol. and he looks very sweet all curled up down there.

cecilsweep. which had freaking BETTER get all you clowns who havent listened to wtnv since 2016 to get caught up. it's so good. intern kareem kidnapped his double's parents. joseph fink the writer is physically trapped inside the town he helped create and can't escape. there's some kind of snake god apocalypse coming??? listen. listen. this matters to me a great deal.

[theauthorsarchive]

Statement 1: The Music

[CLICK]

Hello…Hello…Test,test,one,two,three… Alrighty.

My name is Zaine Allgood. I am currently a college student and an aspiring writer. Throughout my life I had seen and heard of strange things: ghosts, monsters, etcetera. I have decided for the time being to compile stories I have heard and maybe even some personal experiences. 

To begin I would like to talk about an experience that stuck with me all these years. This story takes place when i was really young so sorry in advance for the vivid nature of the story. 

I was eight or maybe ten when this first happened. I lived with my parents in my grandparents' home. Times were hard and my parents were very young. I lived across the street from my elementary school so I usually walked there myself with my parents usually standing across the street for safety. 

I wasn't the most social butterfly, even today I have my struggles, but the friends I did have were loyal enough, all and all a very normal if not socially anxious childhood. 

However, one day I had a play for class. It was a retelling of some old fairy tail story. I was proud because I had somehow managed the part of the main antagonist, Mr Naughty Bones. After the play had ended around nine all of the children left with their parents. But mine were probably held up at work. 

The teachers knew where I lived and saw no problem with me crossing the street by myself. I was nervous of course being a small child alone at night. But I feared talking to people more than I feared kidnappers. So I trudged along at night to my house. 

When all of a sudden I heard a strange song it sounded like an organ, only the notes were like an ice cream truck. I tried to turn back to my school to see if the theater was still playing music but all the lights had turned off. 

Curiosity got the better of me and I followed the music. As I got closer and closer to the sound it began to warp. From  cheerful whistles it instead became gloomy and distorted. Eventually I found myself in front of an old building towards the back of the school. 

It was dilapidated and rust covered. Without a second thought I walked to the front of the door and put my hand around the handle. Inside was a shed filled with old balls and other playthings. The shed was claustrophobic with a high ceiling and tight walls. The music came from the darkest part of the shed in the back. 

The air inside was cold and stuffy. I entered and called out for anyone. Out came a clown. It was dressed in a dirty white costume, too tight for its body - it had frills on its collar and sleeves. Its face…its face was shiny and reflective, like it was made of plastic. It was taller than me by quite a few feet, almost hunching in the shed. It stared at me before stretching out a hand it stretched to an impossible length. Its hand was leathery and wrinkled like an old glove that didn't fit.

I stared at the hand in front of me and strangely enough I took it. The hand wrapped its fingers around me; they seemed to wrap like a snake. Tight and claustrophobic it began to pull me closer to it. The arm recoils into its body like a fishing line. Its face remained the same but its eyes were the worst part, like the eyes on a doll. 

I began to scream for help, kicking and trying to escape from my captor. As I did the music began to become louder. I realized the music was coming from the clown, from inside it, from inside its mouth, from inside its stomach. I got so close to it that I could see that its face was a mask. Underneath it was a mess of teeth and flesh, like paper mache from the darkest pits. 

Then I felt something tug on my other arm. I turned and saw my father. He was screaming and took something out of his pocket. It was his knife he turned it upside down and stabbed it through the clown's hand. It made no sound as it cut through flesh. It let go and lept above us and ran, the music following as it fled. 

The police were called after that, my father made up a story about a kidnapper in the shed. The police asked me questions but i didn't say a word, naturally they put it off as shock. Afterwards my parents sued the school for child endangerment. We won and the money went towards moving out of my grandparents. The knife left a mark in my hand from where my father stabbed. Ironically it left a scar in the shape of a smile.

[CLICK] 

[CLICK]

If you have any stories you want to share please submit to KewlzDude@gmail.com. Where I will review and possibly record them. Thanks for listening, this has been your host Zaine. 

[CLICK]

[pesterloglog]

John Egbert, Roxy Lalonde, Kanaya Maryam, Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider, Terezi Pyrope

Act 6, page 7929-7936

JOHN: hey, they're back!

JOHN: how'd it go?

ROXY: went cool

ROXY: dropped callie off with jade + mayor

ROXY: gave kanaya space egg

ROXY: shit is shaping the heck up

JOHN: nice!

JOHN: hehe.

JOHN: hello, hummingbird.

ROXY: :)

ROXY: hay whats happening to skaia

KANAYA: It Looks Like Someone Has Finally Released The Grist

KANAYA: Its Ready To Receive Echidnas Offering Now

KANAYA: If Someone Is Able To Light The Forge That Is

ROXY: oh

ROXY: soo...

ROXY: how do we do that again?

KANAYA: In Our Session By This Time It Was Trivial

KANAYA: Under Present Circumstances I Think It Will Be

KANAYA: Tricky

JOHN: huh?

KANAYA: Every Magic Ring I Am Aware Of Is Currently In Use

KANAYA: Some By Friends And Some By Foes

JOHN: oh.

JOHN: well, i wouldn't worry about it right now.

JOHN: there are more pressing things to think about, like fighting a lot of bad guys.

JOHN: by the way... where's karkat?

ROXY: hes meditating

JOHN: what? meditating??

KANAYA: Yes

KANAYA: Inside A Pretty And Spiritual Cave

ROXY: echidna really blitzed his chakras apparently

JOHN: what the fuck is a chakra.

ROXY: shrug

ROXY: some soul junk that gets blitzed in the presence of a snake goddess??

JOHN: um.

JOHN: this doesn't sound like something karkat would do.

JOHN: are you sure this isn't some sort of bullshit?

KANAYA: Its Definitely True And Not Bullshit Lets Change The Topic

ROSE: Agreed.

ROSE: I think I speak for all of us when I say we've indulged in entirely enough bullshit already.

ROSE: Let's get on with this.

ROSE: John, you're our leader. And if you try to deny that one more time, so help me god, I will acrobatically pirouette so hard off this lilypad, I'll perform a supersonic swan dive through Skaia and impregnate the battlefield with my own incredulous torso.

ROSE: Now please tell us what to do.

JOHN: wow, ok! i won't say i'm not your leader anymore, jeez.

JOHN: i think it's about time to get going!

JOHN: by my estimation, all the bad guys should be getting here any minute.

JOHN: so we should go find the condesce and ambush her.

JOHN: she's supposed to be on derse, right?

ROXY: yup

JOHN: alright, then let's go.

JOHN: i think we are as ready as we are going to get.

JOHN: we all have weapons, cool powers, a plan of attack, and most importantly of all, each other.

JOHN: never forget, team work is our secret weapon here.

JOHN: probably the most powerful weapon we have!

JOHN: second ONLY, perhaps, to the power of friendship itself.

JOHN: remember that, guys.

JOHN: as long as we have team work, friendship, and cool powers on our side, we can't lose.

JOHN: you are my best friends ever... rose and roxy, and kanaya and terezi, and dave and jade and karkat, and also jane and dirk and jake, and...

ROSE: John.

JOHN: hold on, rose, i'm almost done...

JOHN: and callie, and tavros, and cat rose, and um, the sweaty guy, uh, PROBABLY not the clown in the fridge though... oh, yeah, and even probably vriska.

JOHN: oh, and the mayor! he's great too.

JOHN: did i miss anybody? i think that's it.

JOHN: anyway, i believe in you all, and i know we can do this together.

JOHN: now let's go kick some ass!

ROXY: mmm thas good shit

ROXY: very leadery :)

ROSE: ...

JOHN: how was that, rose?

ROSE: I don't know what I expected.

JOHN: huh?

JOHN: wait, did i say something dumb?

ROSE: No, it was fine.

ROSE: Roxy's right. It was very leadery. Very... "John".

ROSE: I'm just wondering now, if you're really going to embrace this business of leadership,

ROSE: Maybe you'd consider hiring a speech writer?

JOHN: a speech writer??

JOHN: i dunno, rose. i think i'd be pretty bad at memorizing speeches.

JOHN: especially ones YOU wrote. :p

ROSE: Touché.

TEREZI: WH4T?

TEREZI: D4V3

TEREZI: 4R3 YOU T4LK1NG THROUGH TH3 L1TTL3 FO4M 4SS 4G41N

TEREZI: UGH!

TEREZI: N3V3R M1ND

TEREZI: 1 W1LL B3 R1GHT TH3R3

TEREZI: OK 3V3RYBODY

TEREZI: SOUNDS L1K3 D4V3 4ND H1S BRO 4R3 R34DY

TEREZI: 1'M GO1NG TO FLY OV3R TH3R3 NOW

TEREZI: 1 HOP3 YOU 4LL H4V3 FUN MURD3R1NG YOUR D3S1GN4T3D V1LL41N

TEREZI: C4TCH YOU L4T3R >:]

JOHN: BYE, IDIOT!!!!!!!

ROXY: ......

ROSE: ......

TEREZI: WOW JOHN, CH1LL OUT

JOHN: heh.

JOHN: sorry, i guess i got carried away.

JOHN: no offense.

TEREZI: SOM3 T4K3N >;]

[streetlightdiaries]

You’re so cool, yeah, you are

A few months ago, I told a confidant that I felt like a party clown whose friends roll her out for cheap nostalgia. Terica, who will wear fishnets and Dr. Martens, shows up with pre-dirtied hair and a demeanor that suggests she is just coming off a heartbreak or hangover. My confidant laughed at me, objectifying me far worse than others would dare, and I wondered--what exactly do I get out of this arrangement?

In the wavering sun of May, I go through the motions of becoming Terica. I have been asked to come see a set and am already running late. Still, I make an effort with the grease paint partly because I don’t want to disappoint and partly because I don’t know how many more chances I’ll get to be her. Once in the city though, it takes at least ten minutes to work up the courage to get out of the car. I saw a little girl with wild hair, running across a yard in mud boots on the drive in; I wonder if she’d be proud of me if she knew me now. Would she be impressed? Would she think I was cool?

The Syracuse music scene is punkier than Long Island ever dreamed of being. It gives rough edges and real dirt, and I am taken aback because for me, it’s love at second sight. I cross the street to meet a crowd of happily affected outcasts as they spill out of the venue onto hot sidewalks. It’s cool to see a punk in the daylight. The frays of their denim vests become individualized in the light breeze, and their smeared eyeliner is so textured I have to concentrate on controlling my gaze. 

Inside, performers appear the way they are supposed to; they have all the right tattoos in the right places and look perfectly cute in their mildly skinny jeans and winged eyeliner. I wonder how long it took them to get into character. It’s pretty clear who in this room knows me, who wants to, and who needs me to act my part. I can tell all of this by where they stand when they look back at me, by how hard they try to summon that staircase wit, and how they act when I lean into ask about the opening riff, as if I don’t already know the answer. 

I am quickly charmed by the band I’ve turned up for. They’re sweet, but keep up with my sarcasm. They drink white Russians, have never read this blog, and when tempted by a debate over the new Foo Fighters song, their eyes light up the same as mine. Is it a match made in heaven or hell? Me with my red lips, them with their black hoodies. We talk in tight circles, too old for games, too young for white flags. Sometimes it’s safer to coolly stay in the role you’ve been given and it has always been my position to stand, possibly approachable yet highly flammable, just off the back wall. So when the merch guy tugs my coat sleeve in an effort to coax me closer to the stage, I can’t help but laugh out loud in discomfort. It’s then that I dare to think I’m not their clown. Maybe not here, not them. I buy another round and a few more laughs. Show me something I haven’t seen before and I will show you the parts of her you haven’t yet known. 

I like frontmen who watch the local bands and girlfriends who don’t want to be there. I like photographers who ironically wear “pancakes, pancakes, pancakes” tees to a waffle house. Did I want to take someone home? Fuck yes. Somewhere in the middle of a disenchanting setlist I got that glow right in the center of my chest in a way I thought was long since dead. But I played it cool, and I took what I could get in the low lights of a familiar scene.

The next day, I lie out on porch cement daydreaming about things that did not happen. The going rate of a nostalgic scene clown is the privilege to spend time with characters who perhaps would not be immortalized on page, if they hadn’t found a writer who is as equally uncool.

A few days ago, I told a confidant that I thought Streetlight was a waste of energy. But it’s my diary. It was my first crush. And it carries on, like a nonsensical conversation on a tour into Upstate, New York. 

T.

“Kool” by Meet Me @ The Altar

[7r0773r]

Little Failure by Gary Shteyngart

My grandmother is always in the background, chewing an apricot down to its pit, her eyes firmly affixed on my once-skinny and now-somewhat-flabby body. She is making sure nothing and no one will cause me harm. The other kids have similar minders, women who grew up under Stalin whose entire lives in the USSR were devoted to crisis management, to making sure the arbitrary world around them would treat their children better than it had treated them. These days my grandmother is talking about going to "the next world," and that Bar Mitzvah summer, having passed a milestone of my own, I begin to see her as an older woman in decline, the shaking hands clutching the apricot pit, the trembling voice as she begs me to swallow another forkful of sausage. She is a figure as anxious and helpless before eternity as any other. Maybe this is what America does to you. With the daily fight for survival abated, one can either reminisce about the past or face the singular destiny of the future. For all her talk of the paradise to come, my grandmother does not want to die. (p. 166)

***

Now that I have true friends who tell me about what goes inside their asses, now that I am able to talk honestly about my life with a woman who loves me ("I love you, Gary," to quote yet again from her letter), I can finally begin to think of myself as a serious person. And that seriousness will not lead to Fordham Law School, where I would most certainly clown around for the first two difficult years and then fall into a disastrous cocaine-fueled tailspin by the third. For me, this means the one thing I pursue with competence and with passion. I write.

Let me reiterate: I don't know how to do anything. No fried egg, no coffee, no driving, no paralegaling, no balanced checkbook, no soldering a fatherboard onto a motherboard, no keeping a child warm and safe at night. But I have never experienced that which they call writer's block. My mind is running at insomniac speed. The words are falling in like soldiers at reveille. Put me in front of a keyboard and I will fill up a screen. What do you want? When do you want it? Right now? Well, here it is.

My output is a story a week or a batch of poems. I write as soon as I wake up, the hangover still pulsing in the damaged front of my brain, to the thwacka-thwacka sound of roommate Irv's first vigorous masturbation. I write before coffee; I write with Big Blue gurgling in the corner; I write like a child who needs to prove something. The Oberlin creative writing department takes me on, takes me in. There is a professor called Diane Vreuls (such a strong Dutch last name), tall and striking, approaching retirement, who gets what I'm doing. In her tiny cramped office in the basement of the building that resembles the first three floors of the World Trade Center, she points out a passage where one of my characters crawls through the woods. "How does he crawl, Gary?” she asks. And then she gets down on all fours, and, with all six feet of her plus the gray halo of long hair, she crawls every which way. And I get it. And I understand how it's done. How the words convey the world around me and the world trapped inside me.

I am walking on water. Yes, that's what writing can do: I am walking across the Atlantic Ocean at a diagonal, looping up the English Channel, making hash of the Danish archipelago, sliding up the Baltic Sea, down the Gulf of Finland. "Well, we know where we’re going," David Byrne is singing on the stereo, "but we don't know where we've been.”

I am going to Moscow Square, to Tipanov Street, but what I don't know how to do yet is to go beyond my childhood courtyard with its sooty black pipe and rusty rocketship.

To the Chesme Church. To the helicopter launching pad. Up, up, into the air and between the spires. (pp. 276-77)

***

We are heading up Nevsky Prospekt. The broad Nevsky cuts across the center of St. Petersburg at a northwestern tangent, as if trying to lead the way to Scandinavia. In the times of Gogol and Pushkin most everything happened along this street, from commerce to love to café-scribbled poetry to the choosing of seconds for duels. Today, it is still the place for a long aimless walk from the low-rent Uprising Square to the city's focal point, Palace Square, where the de-tsared Winter Palace sits on its haunches in a green provincial funk. On Nevsky, chicken is fried in the Kentucky manner, and stores like H&M and Zara will, if given the chance, clothe a newly middle-class person from the shapka on her head to her galoshes.

St. Petersburg is a sad place. Its sadness lies in a mass grave in its northeastern suburbs along with the 750,000 citizens who died of hunger and German shelling during the 871-day siege, which began in 1941. Petersburg never truly recovered. It is impossible to walk down Nevsky, alone or with my parents, and not feel the oppression of history, the weight on our own family and on every family that has lived within this city's borders since 1941. CITIZENS! a preserved sign at the northern mouth of Nevsky declares, DURING ARTILLERY BOMBARDMENT THIS SIDE OF THE STREET IS THE MOST DANGEROUS. And so it is. (pp. 328-329)