#posting here because why not

[digitalstains]

“i'm sorry” — the bear, season 2

[letusbehappy]

i’ve made up my mind .. i like the glasses 🤓

[sylkiddsey]

Say my name and everything just stops

Small scrap sections from a longer work that will never be finished. It acknowledges the shift from “Casey” to “Matt”

1. Late season 6:

It’s kind of like Matt’s engaged in some sort of really serious game of hide and seek, but one person is not really hiding, and the other is somewhat seeking, but also not really.

His marriage has become this game of avoidance where they just keep passing each other. They pass in the halls of the firehouse. They pass in their own home, from room to room. Even in a confined car, it feels like they’re just passing.

He and Gabby are so off kilter. Everything feels unbalanced and it’s driving him crazy. This isn’t the marriage he envisioned, and he doesn’t know how to go back.

He’s well aware they’ve always had problems. They’ve never been perfect, but he had been able to fix it. Usually, that involved him complying and going along with his very independent wife, but he’d done it.

This time, he can’t comply so they’re stuck in this holding pattern while he waits (and also avoids her) for her to do the compromising.

He can’t go along with her plan to have a child, basically without him. She pretty much implied she was going to get pregnant with or without his help which stung. He can’t give her a baby if it means having to raise their child without his wife. That guilt will kill him, so he refuses.

His refusal didn’t kill her plan. Like always, Gabby Dawson found a way around and wants a baby…wants to endure a risky pregnancy and possibly carry some other guy’s child if he won’t do it.

His own wife won’t budge and he’s not going the extra mile to solve this, so they are just passing by.

When he arrives home to the condo, he freezes in his doorway. He was expecting his wife, probably perched on a stool ready to pick another battle. He’s ready for it, but it’s not Gabby in his kitchen.

Brett’s standing at his island, wearing a faded apron he vaguely remembers was gifted to Gabby as a wedding present, mixing bowl and a big wooden spoon in hand.

Her hair is piled up on her head, chocolate smeared on the corner of her mouth, and he assumes Antonio fucked her over again. She’s probably eating her feelings and drinking wine with her best friend, but that’s not the case.

She looks up from her chocolate concoction, blue eyes widening like a cartoon. “Matt, hi. Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be home so soon.”

He stops dead in his tracks, but not because Brett has apparently broken into his home. He pauses because she called him Matt which she doesn’t do.

It’s not like he has a problem with it, but pretty much everyone at 51 calls him Casey. It’s just become this thing so when Sylvie Brett says it so casually, in his damn kitchen while his marriage crumbles somewhere else…it strikes him.

He’s not even sure she’s ever called him his name before. She might’ve in the past, but it never registered.

He’s only really Matt to his wife and his sister. Although, his wife does use his last name when she’s pissed (which has been happening often).

She finishes swirling the brown batter in one of the big glass bowls Gabby chose. “I know I shouldn’t have used my emergency key, but I wanted to make Gabby her favorite brownies just to…I don’t know, cheer her up. I should’ve asked first.”

He shakes his head, sets his keys on the hook and adverts his gaze because he’s pretty sure he makes her nervous. Brett can’t see him as anybody other than 51’s Captain which he gets. He just doesn’t want her to think he’s so uptight he’d dress her down for being a great friend.

“No, it’s fine. I’m just passing through anyway,” he explains. “I’ll be out of your hair in like ten minutes.”

“It’s your place,” Brett replies. “If someone should leave it should be me.”

He figures Gabby would rather have her friend here instead of him anyway.

“Seriously, I’m heading out the door anyway. Stay. Finish the brownies.”

She smiles a little, sweeping a loose strand of long blonde hair away from her face. “Thanks, Casey.”

Casey.

Everything shifts right back to normal where he’s just Casey, Brett’s just Brett. He’s in his home. The one he shares with someone who shares practically nothing with him and Brett’s doing what she does best; being good to her people.

It’s one thing he has always appreciated about the paramedic. She’s good. She’s good to her patients. She’s good to 51. She’s extraordinarily good to his wife.

He passes her by, ready to change from his construction job and head to Molly’s. He stops in the doorway, observing a flustered Brett as she tries to perfect the homemade frosting. She tastes it with her finger and groans when it’s not good enough.

He knows from Gabby that she’s still a little heartbroken over Antonio and a bit raw from certain ambo calls, yet she’s here…supporting Gabby with sugar and chocolate.

“Brett.”

She startles again, almost as if she’s afraid he’s changed his mind and is mad she’s here. “Uh, yeah?”

“You’re a good friend. She’s lucky to have you,” he says.

Her blue eyes look a little misty in his kitchen lighting. “She’s lucky to have you too.”

He doesn’t think his own wife believes that, but he’s grateful for the words anyway.

The oven timer dings behind her, and she struggles to pull out batch one of her brownie mission. He contemplates offering to help, but his life is currently burning to the ground, so he doesn’t have time to salvage some brownies.

Some things are better left unsalvageable anyway.

2. Early season 7:

He’s on his third or fourth beer at Molly’s. He knows drinking won’t numb the fact he wasn’t good enough for his wife, but it does help a little.

The stool next to his squeaks obnoxiously loud and he hears a quiet gasp. Pink painted nails clamp on the counter and Brett has nearly fallen off the stool.

He wants to laugh, but she looks partially embarrassed…or maybe more ashamed

“I’m sorry, Casey.”

He raises an eyebrow, dumbfounded. She has nothing to apologize for. The last shift had gone well, and he doesn’t even remember scolding her for anything. Hell, he’s not even sure he talked to her at all at the station.

“Sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have blamed you for Gabby leaving,” she mutters, pulling at the edge of her sweater sleeve.

That’s a conversation they had weeks ago. He’s completely forgotten about it. She had been blindsided and upset which he absolutely understood. God knows he felt all that with her, so he really didn’t think too much about her minor lash out

“Brett…”

“I was just hurt I guess,” she admits. “And if I felt hurt…I can’t imagine how hurt you were. It was selfish and dumb.

Sylvie Brett and selfish don’t fit in the same sentence. She’s too kind even to her own detriment.

Still, it feels good to have someone recognize how hurt he is. Yes, they all care and pity him, but no one acknowledges how much Gabby hurt him. It might not have been intentional but her constant rejection about what he wants and needs fucking hurts.

“Brett, it’s fine,” he replies. “I get it. I do and honestly, she was always going to chase bigger things. She was always going to leave, and I was always going to stay.”

It sums up majority of his relationship. Gabby was always leaving in some way. She’d leave to pursue a new career, leaving him to stay and deal with the fallout. She’d leave to adopt a child and again, he stayed and followed. She was always leaving him and somehow, he just kept staying.

Brett frowns, looking into her glass. He watches her stir the blue-ish margarita with a toothpick umbrella. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you stayed.”

For the first time in a long time, her words soothe the crippling ache Gabby left behind. It doesn’t completely fix everything, but it feels good to know that he didn’t make the wrong decision by not following her.

At least according to Brett.

“Yeah?”

She nods, a smile passing over her face. Lately he hasn’t seen Brett very happy so it’s good to see a glimmer of their past.

“Honestly, I just can’t imagine what 51 would be like without you, Matt.”

He’s struck by the fact she’s using his name again. It’s odd because he’s been so used to Casey for so long and every once in a while, Brett calls him Matt.

There’s something interesting about the way she says it. The syllables just roll off her (now blue) tongue differently in a way he’s never heard. It feels like two different voices and sounds absolutely nothing like it does on shift, surrounded by firefighters and in between blaring bells.

Wow, maybe he’s had a little too much to drink tonight.

He nudges her arm lightly, thanking her for her kindness. He’s surprised she’s giving it to him of all people, but he appreciates it, nonetheless.

Prior, Brett has always been connected to him through association. She was Gabby’s best friend. She was Gabby’s ambo partner. She was Gabby’s brother’s girlfriend.

She’s never been anything to him, but now with Gabby long gone…he thinks maybe Brett won’t be such a stranger anymore.

“God, do you imagine if you left, and Severide became a captain or something?” She asks through a snort.

He has to admit that’s a funny picture. “You’d all be dead because he was too busy making out with Kidd.”

Brett laughs a little too hard at his pitiful joke. He starts to think she might’ve had a few drinks herself. “Oh you are so right, Casey!”

He’s too caught up in the allure of her contagious laugh to analyze the name shift. He’s heard this laugh way too much from his living room or the common room on shift, but this is the first time he’s really taken by it

Sylvie Brett has a wildly adorable laugh. Who knew?

3. 7x08

He starts to appreciate new things he hasn’t had the chance to while married. For one, he has complete freedom of his own life. Every decision is his. Plus, he has more time to spend with 51 and he surprisingly enjoys fishing with Boden of all people.

However, his newest discovery happens to be drunk Sylvie Brett. Brett’s incredibly charming on any day but mix her with alcohol and she somehow becomes more and more dorky.

He has to say he greatly appreciates drunk Brett because it’s hilarious. She can’t hold her liquor and each sentence come out in mangled fragments, but it’s not annoying. Not at all. He actually quite likes Brett when she drinks.

She’s absolutely drunk after Foster pumped her full of alcohol. He’s had the front row seat to her nose scrunch, big doe eyes and flailing hand which had turned his crappy night around.

He’s not even thinking about Naomi or what it could’ve been if he had pretended to be ready.

He had planned to go home a little early but decided to stick around to observe Brett. She’s very drunk and he’s concerned about how she’s going to get home.

Foster left hours ago. Kidd ditched too, probably to make up and make out with Severide. He expected Cruz would take her back, but he disappeared with Chloe and hasn’t returned. Even Otis has vanished.

He makes conversation with Hermann and waits for someone to get her home safely.

At some point during the night, he loses track of her just as Hermann closes. He took his eyes off to help the older man move a shipment of beer and now, she’s gone.

Shit. He hopes she’s not inebriated enough to think she can drive. Although, he’s not sure a taxi or ride share is better when she’s this out of it.

Men are assholes.

Matt hurries out the door, hoping to catch her before she disappears in some sketchy car.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to look far because Brett’s sitting on the bottom step, chin in hand and phone clutched in the other.

She tilts her head up, grinning. “Hey, Casey.”

“Hi. What are you doing out here?”

She points her turned off phone in his face. “Waiting for a cab. I’m just a teeny tiny bit drunk.”

Yeah, just a teeny tiny bit…

Again, he doesn’t want her getting in a car like this where someone could easily try something.

“I’ll drive you home,” he offers, reaching for her hand. He pulls her up, braces her stumbling with his chest and holds one hand on her arm to keep her grounded.

“No. No. You should be calling cute reporter,” she slurs, eyelids drooping lower and lower. She pokes his chest with one slender finger. “Go and make your move, Casey. Girls don’t like waiting.”

Naomi is not his concern at the moment. She’s just a girl he casually kinda sorta dated and Brett’s…well, she’s Brett. She’s an essential part of 51 and far more important than some possible girlfriend.

“She’ll be there in the morning. I’m concerned you won’t be if I don’t get you home myself,” he explains. “You’re drunk, Brett and I don’t trust some taxi driver so let’s go.”

She sticks her bottom lip out. “Fine. Fine. Fine. Lead the way, Captain.”

He steers her by the shoulders so she can’t fall flat on her face towards his truck. When he gets the door open, Brett needs a boost into the seat.

He watches one of the best paramedics he knows fumble with a seatbelt for five minutes, amused. Eventually he gives in to her frustration and does it for her.

Super talkative drunk Sylvie seems to have left for the night. As he navigates down the streets of Chicago, she’s quiet and pressed against the passenger window.

He pulls up in front of the place she shares with Otis and Cruz ten minutes later. He turns his truck off, unlocks the door for Sylvie to jump (or probably fall) out. She doesn’t make a move though, and when he looks over, she’s sleeping against her seatbelt.

He should’ve seen this coming. She drank a lot so of course the alcohol would knock her out.

“Brett?” He asks.

She snores a little in response and he can’t help but chuckle. He stays in the driver side for a few more minutes, thinking of the best way to get her inside.

While thinking, he observes her drunken sleep. Her hair is a mess, tangled against the window. She has mascara rings all around her eyes and cheeks and she’s even drooling a little.

He admires her unkept look. He’s always liked how she’s fearlessly herself and just doesn’t care if it’s well received or not.

It’s a very admirable quality.

Her neck is gonna hurt like hell if she stays in that position much longer. He climbs out his truck and goes to her side. He eases the door open, managing to keep her from tipping out with a hand against her head.

“Brett,” he says, shaking her shoulder a little. “Brett, come on. Wake up.”

She’s dead asleep, nestling further into the hand keeping her head from lolling. He can’t stand all night like this with her face in his palm.

Fine. He’ll carry her in. He undoes her seatbelt and when it clicks, she startles.

The sudden panic vanishes the second she realizes it’s him. She smiles sleepily. “Matt.”

Matt. Not Casey. All evening he’s been Casey aside from when she full named him earlier. Now that she’s drunk and tired, he’s Matt again.

He wonders if it’s purely accidental or if she consciously chooses when to change it up.

“How’d you get here so fast?” She asks, looking around the sidewalk.

“You fell asleep,” he explains. “Come on. Let me get you to your apartment. Can you walk?”

She nods and stumbles out of her seat. He braces her fall, laughing at how ridiculously uncoordinated she is after some tequila.

“Hey! Are you laughing at me?”

He helps her inside the apartment building, pointing her in the direction of the elevator.

“I’ve never seen you like this. It’s wildly entertaining.”

“Well, at least I didn’t accept a proposal this time,” she yawns, leaning her head into his shoulder as they wait for the right floor.

“What?” He asks.

She shrugs as the doors slide open. “A green card thing. I was drunk…didn’t marry him. Long story.”

Sounds like it. They make it to her door, Brett halfway asleep on him. He fishes her key out of her purse and then let’s them inside.

“Casey, hi?” Cruz greets from the kitchen. His eyebrows raise when he sees Brett. “Oh man, I completely forgot.”

He knows Cruz was too focused on his new girlfriend to look out for her, but still. She’s his room dog or whatever they call each other. He shouldn’t have left her alone.

“She needs to go to bed,” he explains, doing his best to pass her off to Cruz. She doesn’t want to leave his side for whatever drunken reason so they both have to get her into her bed.

Once she’s buried under a thousand blankets, he turns to Cruz. “Make sure she drinks a lot of water tomorrow because that hangover is gonna be brutal.”

Cruz laughs. “Drunk Brett might be fun, but hungover Brett is not.”

He can imagine. She’ll definitely be miserable tomorrow.

When he goes to leave, Cruz stops him. “Thank Casey.”

“Yep.”

It’s not like he was going to leave her anyway. He’s just glad she’s home safe.

4. Post 8x09

That night he and Gabby hadn’t just passed by but went straight through. They fell right into familiarity and slept together. She was his wife. She knew him better than anyone. Well, he’s starting to think there’s someone else who understands him better, but he’s not gonna go there.

The night is good, but just not as good as he remembered. He expected that cosmic pull (or whatever) but if anything, something is pushing him further and further from what he thought was his future.

There was a disconnect and when he left, it felt like closure. Gabby’s so happy in Puerto Rico. He’s genuinely glad she’s doing so well for herself, even without him. Plus, he’s happy too in Chicago with 51. His future is here.

Gabby leaves the voicemail about how she always has an opening for him, and the bitterness resurfaces. It’s a nice gesture, but it proves how things will only ever progress if he makes the life changes. They can have another night together if he goes to Puerto Rico.

He has no plans to do that.

Someone knocks on his door at a quarter to eleven. His best guess is Severide forgot his key and he and Kidd got in a fight.

They fight and make up a little too much.

He hauls himself off the couch and opens the door. He expects Severide in the door with a permanent frown and a string of curses. What he doesn’t expect is Brett in his doorway, mini dress on and perfectly applied make up.

She looks amazing. He’s always thought Brett was a cute girl. It’s a fact, but he’s starting to think she’s more than just cute. She’s shockingly hot.

“Hi,” she greets.

Did he black out and ask her on a date something? She’s clearly dressed for the occasion. God knows he’s thought about making a move, but he has no memory of doing it.

Even if he somehow lost his mind and did plan a date, he wouldn’t choose such a late time.

He must look as confused as he feels because she chuckles.

“Sorry. I know it’s late.” She looks down at her tight red dress and then back at him. “I had a date. I don’t usually wear this kinda stuff.”

So, someone else asked her out? He doesn’t remember hearing about anyone new. To his knowledge, Ryan was the last.

“You look…fancy,” he compliments. Other more expressive words are on the tip of his tongue, but he settles for fancy. It’s probably best he doesn’t tell her she looks hot in that dress.

“Late dinner. Completely disastrous dessert. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about my failed attempts at romance.”

He’s not sure why he’s relieved the date didn’t go well. He’ll analyze that later.

“Why are you here?”

He’s still confused about the events that have led to her stunning appearance at his place.

“I was at dinner, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about you, Matt,” she says so casually as if that’s not a completely loaded confession.

She can’t stand there in a tight red dress and roll his name off her lips like this and expect nothing. She was thinking about him? She was actively thinking about him when she was with a date?

“You…couldn’t stop thinking about me? “

Her eyes widen and she covers her face. “Oh my god. That came out wrong. I don’t mean…geez, I keep doing this.”

His racing heart slows a little because he misinterpreted her words. He thought this was heading in another direction. He thought he wasn’t crazy thinking something might be happening between them.

She brings her hand back down to her side. “I was worried because I know Gabby left today and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Oh.

“I’m fine,” he dismisses. “Really, Brett.”

She eyes him like she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. In hindsight, he didn’t sound very convincing.

“I worry no one checks on you,” she continues. “You’re this steady presence at 51 for everyone else and I just couldn’t stomach the thought of you all alone here blaming yourself.”

He leans in his doorway. Now that’s he is closer, he can smell her addictive perfume. It somehow smells like Christmas and fruit.

“Blaming myself?”

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “For not feeling like enough. I can’t pretend to know what went down with Gabby, but I do like to think I know you. I know that she unintentionally hurt you by leaving and now she left again.”

“Brett…”

She edges a little closer and his heart rate quickens again. He’s half convinced she can see his neck pulse thumping from where she’s at.

“If I’m crossing a line here, let me know, but I don’t like the thought of you sitting here thinking you somehow failed,” she rambles.

He swallows, breathing in deep because she’s definitely doing something new to him. She’s not touching or anything, just hovering a few inches and God, he wants to kiss her.

Huh, that’s new.

“You didn’t fail and truthfully, I love me some Gabby, but she was wrong to make you feel like you’re…I don’t know, nothing?”

There’s a lingering question behind that confession. She’s not sure she’s reading his feelings right, but she’s nailing it. Somehow, she’s articulated everything he’s felt better than he could.

“You’re not nothing, Matt. If you ask anyone at 51, if you ask me…you’re pretty much everything there is.”

He’s shell shocked which doesn’t happen often. He’s good at reacting. He’s trained to be ready for anything, but he wasn’t ready for this.

For her.

She’s healing parts of him he didn’t even know were broken with her kindness and consideration. She didn’t have to leave a date to ease his pain, but she did.

She knew he’d need to hear it before he even did.

She’s standing in his door in a strapless dress that pushes up her boobs saying things he’s never heard from anyone. He’s not leering at her, of course, but he’s human. He spares a few glances since she’s so close.

He’s also only been Matt tonight. She hasn’t called him Casey once. Somehow, he’s hearing his first name from her more than ever and he quite appreciates the change.

Matt brings his hand to her bare arm, brushing his palm down her skin. “Thank you, Sylvie.”

He knows he should pull his hand away from her soft skin. A normal shoulder squeeze is one thing, but this lingering grip is another. He traces his thumb around a freckle on her forearm.

Her skin erupts in little goose bumps and he figures she’s probably freezing her ass off in that dress. “Do you wanna come in? I can get you a sweatshirt or something.”

She looks at her heels before gently easing out of his grip. When she replies, she looks anywhere other than at him. “No, that’s okay. I better go home before Foster goes on a manhunt for the guy who took me out. I told her I’d be home by now.”

Right. It’s probably best she doesn’t cross the threshold. He’s afraid of what he’ll do with a few beers in his system and her looking like that.

She’s sweet, kind and so empathetic while he’s just a mess.

“Yeah, good call. Foster with a pitchfork and torch is a scary thought,” he comments.

She laughs, wrinkling her nose. “You make a very good point.” She swipes some hair away from her face. “I’ll see you on shift, Casey.”

Casey again. It feels like the shift is definitely intentional. She’s creating distance.

He nods, moving all the way back into his apartment. “On shift.”

She waves and he unapologetically watches her walk down the hall. Once she turns the corner, he shuts the door.

[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

[forgettable-au]

I think about this call so much

[opikiquu]

iknow my comics are ugly please just hear me out

[originalartblog]

Apparently much-needed reminder that reposting artists' art (by saving the images or screenshotting them and reuploading them yourself) on other platforms without the artists' expressed permission and without credit is theft and an insult to their passion and craft. You are profiting (in views, in attention, in feedback) from someone else's work and ideas, who do not get that feedback for sharing their creation.

If you are an art reposter, you are a thief and I have no respect for you.

[angelmembrane]

…I guess I’m posting here now.

Check it. Follow me on Twitch for more!

[radiance1]

Damian: [brushing his teeth]

The shadow hanging over his shoulder: [Gets its teeth dangerously close to Damian's shoulder]

Damian: [Shoves a toothbrush into said shadow move and starts brush]

The shadow: [Pauses before starting to let out a contented purr]

Damian then spits out the foam and washes out his mouth, then makes the shadow do the same and then picks out pjs.

Damian: [Currently decided if he should go with the cat, dog, or knife imprinted one]

The shadow: [Starts getting dangerously close to Damian with, toxic green spirals it calls eyes]

Damian: [Throws the dog imprinted one behind him at the shadow and takes the cat imprinted one for himself and tells the shadow to put it on]

The shadow: [Stares at the clothes before hesitantly putting them on before letting out a noise of distress]

Damian: [Turning around to find the shadow somehow stuck in the pjs, lets out a sigh, then starts to help them fit]

Damian then moves over to the bed, he points to one side and tells the shadow to go there. The shadow listens, laying down as Damian also lays down, grabbing the sheets and covering them both.

It barely took a few seconds for the shadow to fall asleep, and Damian stared at it. Damian wasn't quite sure why the shadow of his dead twin was following him, nor why it was even able to and seemed to hide itself from anyone who isn't Damian.

Nobody besides him knew about it, and Damian decided that he liked it. This could have been his younger brother, if the other had survived, and they would have probably been told to fight to the death to decide an heir.

At the very least, that won't ever happen.

Even if his brother was slightly unusual.

===

Danny did not remember much of the before, he remembered people with blurred faces and features, blurred colors. He remembered a lot of colors, then red, then white, then pain.

He doesn't like pain, he believes.

Then he remembered going to sleep, and then he woke up. It was dark and slimy and cramped when he woke up, especially when he realized someone else was in their with him.

Then he fell asleep again, then woke up to that same dark and slimy place, then fell asleep again, all in some weird cycle. Then, moving, and pain.

It hurt, and he was sluggish when it eventually stopped. Then came pain again, and he was asleep.

Then he woke up, again.

He didn't know what was happening, wasn't really aware of too. But he woke up next to the other who was in that dark and slimy with him, and decided he wanted to stay with them.

He wasn't aware enough for most of the things that happened when Damian grew up, but he still stayed regardless, and hide from everyone else.

Danny loves his brother, and he thinks his brother loves him too. Even if he was slightly unusual.

[lilybug-02]

Wow. That could not have turned out worse.

Part 23 || First || Previous || Next

--Full Series--

This comic will be on Holiday Hiatus this December and January! While on a cliffhanger? What a scam! >:/

[digitalstains]

mmmm...

[somethingcorenotsure]

I think it's so adorable that early humans took wild gourds - a tiny fruit that hollows out as it dries, making it float - and decided to make something out of it

they thought the tiny fruit was so good that they bred it for thousands of years, making it larger to form into bowls and cups, and different shapes to become bottles and spoons

and musical instruments

And then, people took the hollow gourds they farmed, and they turned them into houses for birds. We adapted them into the perfect houses for birds, and now there are specific breeds of birdhouse gourd just for making into birdhouses

And humans dedicated gardening space and time and thousands of years of breeding to make the gourds so absolutely perfect for birds, that there is a species of bird that lives almost exclusively in them

[heartorbit]

revstar emu save me

[corvidcall]

None Of You Know What Haiku Are

I'm going to preface this by saying that i am not an expert in ANY form of poetry, just an enthusiast. Also, this post is... really long. Too long? Definitely too long. Whoops! I love poetry.

If you ask most English-speaking people (or haiku-bot) what a haiku is, they would probably say that it's a form of poetry that has 3 lines, with 5, and then 7, and then 5 syllables in them. That's certainly what I was taught in school when we did our scant poetry unit, but since... idk elementary school when I learned that, I've learned that that's actually a pretty inaccurate definition of haiku. And I think that inaccurate definition is a big part of why most people (myself included until relatively recently!) think that haiku are kind of... dumb? unimpressive? simple and boring? I mean, if you can just put any words with the right number of syllables into 3 lines, what makes it special?

Well, let me get into why the 5-7-5 understanding of haiku is wrong, and also what makes haiku so special (with examples)!

First of all, Japanese doesn't have syllables! There's a few different names for what phonetic units actually make up the language- In Japanese, they're called "On" (音), which translates to "sound", although English-language linguists often call it a "mora" (μ), which (quoting from Wikipedia here) "is a basic timing unit in the phonology of some spoken languages, equal to or shorter than a syllable." (x) "Oh" is one syllable, and also one mora, whereas "Oi" has one syllable, but two moras. "Ba" has one mora, "Baa" has two moras, etc. In English, we would say that a haiku is made up of three lines, with 5-7-5 syllables in them, 17 syllables total. In Japanese, that would be 17 sounds.

For an example of the difference, the word "haiku", in English, has 2 syllables (hai-ku), but in Japanese, はいく has 3 sounds (ha-i-ku). "Christmas" has 2 syllables, but in Japanese, "クリスマス" (ku-ri-su-ma-su) is 5 sounds! that's a while line on its own! Sometimes the syllables are the same as the sounds ("sushi" is two syllables, and すし is two sounds), but sometimes they're very different.

In addition, words in Japanese are frequently longer than their English equivalents. For example, the word "cuckoo" in Japanese is "ほととぎす" (hototogisu).

Now, I'm sure you're all very impressed at how I can use an English to Japanese dictionary (thank you, my mother is proud), but what does any of this matter? So two languages are different. How does that impact our understanding of haiku?

Well, if you think about the fact that Japanese words are frequently longer than English words, AND that Japanese counts sounds and not syllables, you can see how, "based purely on a 17-syllable counting method, a poet writing in English could easily slip in enough words for two haiku in Japanese” (quote from Grit, Grace, and Gold: Haiku Celebrating the Sports of Summer by Kit Pancoast Nagamura). If you're writing a poem using 17 English syllables, you are writing significantly more content than is in an authentic Japanese haiku.

(Also not all Japanese haiku are 17 sounds at all. It's really more of a guideline.)

Focusing on the 5-7-5 form leads to ignoring other strategies/common conventions of haiku, which personally, I think are more interesting! Two of the big ones are kigo, a season word, and kireji, a cutting word.

Kigo are words/phrases/images associated with a particular season, like snow for winter, or cherry blossoms for spring. In Japan, they actually publish reference books of kigo called saijiki, which is basically like a dictionary or almanac of kigo, describing the meaning, providing a list of related words, and some haiku that use that kigo. Using a a particular kigo both grounds the haiku in a particular time, but also alludes to other haiku that have used the same one.

Kireji is a thing that doesn't easily translate to English, but it's almost like a spoken piece of punctuation, separating the haiku into two parts/images that resonate with and add depth to each other. Some examples of kireji would be "ya", "keri", and "kana." Here's kireji in action in one of the most famous haiku:

古池や　蛙飛び込む　水の音 (Furu ike ya　kawazu tobikomu　mizu no oto) (The old pond — A frog jumps in The sound of the water.)

You can see the kireji at the end of the first line- 古池や literally translates to "old pond ya". The "ya" doesn't have linguistic meaning, but it denotes the separation between the two focuses of the haiku. First, we are picturing a pond. It's old, mature. The water is still. And then there's a frog! It's spring and he's fresh and new to the world! He jumps into the pond and goes "splash"! Wowie! When I say "cutting word", instead of say, a knife cutting, I like to imagine a film cut. The camera shows the pond, and then it cuts to the frog who jumps in.

English doesn't really have a version of this, at least not one that's spoken, but in English language haiku, people will frequently use a dash or an ellipses to fill the same role.

Format aside, there are also some conventions of the actual content, too. They frequently focus on nature, and are generally use direct language without metaphor. They use concrete images without judgement or analysis, inviting the reader to step into their shoes and imagine how they'd feel in the situation. It's not about describing how you feel, so much as it's about describing what made you feel.

Now, let's put it all together, looking at a haiku written Yosa Buson around 1760 (translated by Harold G. Henderson)

The piercing chill I feel: my dead wife's comb, in our bedroom, under my heel

We've got our kigo with "the piercing chill." We read that, and we imagine it's probably winter. It's cold, and the kind of cold wind that cuts through you. There's our kireji- this translation uses a colon to differentiate our two images: the piercing chill, and the poet stepping on his dead wife's comb. There's no descriptions of what the poet is feeling, but you can imagine stepping into his shoes. You can imagine the pain he's experiencing in that moment on your own.

"But tumblr user corvidcall!" I hear you say, "All the examples you've used so far are Japanese haiku that have been translated! Are you implying that it's impossible for a good haiku to be written in English?" NO!!!!! I love English haiku! Here's a good example, which won first place in the 2000 Henderson haiku contest, sponsored by the Haiku Society of America:

meteor shower . . . a gentle wave wets our sandals

When you read this one, can you imagine being in the poet's place? Do you feel the surprise as the tide comes in? Do you feel the summer-ness of the moment? Haiku are about describing things with the senses, and how you take in the world around you. In a way, it's like the poet is only setting a scene, which you inhabit and fill with meaning based on your own experiences. You and I are imagining different beaches, different waves, different people that make up the "our" it mentioned.

"Do I HAVE to include all these things when I write haiku? If I include all these things, does that mean my haiku will be good?" I mean, I don't know. What colors make up a good painting? What scenes make up a good play? It's a creative medium, and nobody can really tell you you can't experiment with form. Certainly not me! But I think it's important to know what the conventions of the form are, so you can appreciate good examples of it, and so you can know what you're actually experimenting with. And I mean... I'm not the poetry cops. But if you're not interested in engaging with the actual conventions and limitations of the form, then why are you even using that form?

I'll leave you with one more English language haiku, which is probably my favorite haiku ever. It was written by Tom Bierovic, and won first place at the 2021 Haiku Society of America Haiku Awards

a year at most . . . we pretend to watch the hummingbirds

Sources: (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Further reading:

Forms in English Haiku by Keiko Imaoka Haiku: A Whole Lot More Than 5-7-5 by Jack How to Write a Bad Haiku by KrisL Haiku Are Not a Joke: A Plea from a Poet Who Has Had It Up to Here by Sandra Simpson Haiku Checklist by Katherine Raine

[azellene]

Lol guess who watched atla (im on episode 5)

I want to draw them more just let me watch more eps wait lang

[collophora]

Do yourself a favor and go read the entire fanfic work of @fanfoolishness

(In order: Under sun and shade, Blind Side, and Breathless (patching up is one of my fav too, I just had no cool sketch idea for it)