#The vastness of space always gives me an existential crisis

[jackoshadows]

#James Webb Space Telescope #Space #The Universe #Douglas Adams #the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy #The vastness of space always gives me an existential crisis

[lurkingshan]

Hi....If you don't mind, can I ask, what are your top 10 (or top 7) favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series)? Why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before......Thanks....

Thank you for the ask, I don't mind a bit! Though I will say that this particular question sent me into a minor existential crisis, because how on earth could I ever pick just 10 things that I love across all media. I don't know if y'all have picked this up about me yet, but I consume vast amounts of media, like...unbelievable amounts of media, it is my great joy in life. I consulted @bengiyo about how to approach this question, and he suggested a frame to help narrow it down: what are my favorites that someone else recommended to me, that I then felt compelled to recommend to others? Hope you don't mind the tweak! As always, keeping this in the realm of Asian media for this blog, here is what I got:

What Did You Eat Yesterday?

When I met @bengiyo and @waitmyturtles I learned very quickly that this was their all-time favorite, and if I didn't like it we were gonna have a problem (jk but not really). I hadn't watched it on my own because until recently (shoutout to our savior Gagaoolala) it was quite inaccessible and I hadn't yet stumbled onto @isaksbestpillow and found her amazing subs. Luckily, I have impeccable taste and WDYEY is in fact a masterpiece, so they watched me watch it, I lost my mind over how unique and brilliant and technically flawless it was, and we are now all bonded for life over our love for this show, which just returned for a second season and will hopefully continue forever. I love it so much I have even started reading the manga, and I am not a manga girlie by nature (I prefer reading prose), so you can be assured I absolutely will not be shutting up about it anytime soon.

Go Ahead

Credit for this one goes to @ginnymoonbeam for watching it first and then sending up a flare for me as a fellow cdrama enjoyer that this one was worth prioritizing immediately. I love big sprawling family stories that unfold over time, I love digging into intergenerational family trauma, I love good dad characters, I love found family dynamics, and I love a well done romance subplot embedded in a much bigger story, so this show hit so many of my sweet spots. It's #1 on my list of modern cdramas and I would recommend it to anyone.

Mo Dao Zu Shi/The Untamed

Speaking of cdramas, I must give a shoutout to @dangermousie who wrote this post summarizing their favorite danmei novels, which I found when I went looking for recommendations and was trying to figure out a way into this segment of Asian media. I admit I am a bit bougie about my reading material and modality, so I really can't deal with machine translations or reading on html pages, and thus I still have not read some of these as I am patiently waiting for official English translations to become available (me and 2HA are gonna have a party in 2024 I tell you what). I had already heard of The Untamed, of course, because I am a human person who lurks in online spaces, but reading the novel got me significantly more interested, and I quickly fell down a months long rabbit hole that included consuming the novel, the show, and copious amounts of fanfiction. This story is so complex and layered and full of fun mysteries and meaty moral quandaries and interesting family relationships and has an A+ second chance romance and one of my all time favorite characters to boot; it really took over my brain for a minute. And while it hardly needs me to recommend it given how popular it already is, I'm still gonna do it whenever I get the chance.

Mo Du/Silent Reading

And while we're on the subject of danmei, let me give a shoutout to my favorite modern danmei novel, which was recommended to me by an IRL friend who is not on tumblr. Mo Du is a sprawling mystery novel that spans five major interconnected cases, and it centers on an exceedingly competent police captain, Luo Wenzhou, and a young business heir/super genius, Fei Du, who start out with an adversarial relationship (but I bet you can guess what happens next!). The crime stories in this are almost shockingly intricate and every detail comes together in the end without a single loose end, which is impressive enough on its own, but somehow the author (Priest, who some of you will know as the writer of Faraway Wanderers aka Word of Honor) manages to also write a perfectly paced, incredibly compelling love story between the two leads that is layered with complex trauma and psychological hot buttons and secrets and lies that unfold organically alongside the mystery. I am in the middle of re-reading it right now and my love for it only grows stronger. The gif above is from a recent attempt to adapt this into a live-action drama that got quickly canceled, but honestly, the less said about that, the better (though Zhang Xin Cheng will absolutely remain the Fei Du of my heart). With China's censorship laws, there will be no faithful live action version of this story, so I highly recommend reading the novel.

Pachinko

While we're on the subject of novels, I must mention another IRL friend recommendation: Pachinko. This one is a sprawling multi-generational family historical fiction epic that tracks the lives of a Korean family that is forced to migrate to Japan during Japanese occupation in the early 20th Century. Y'all, this book is amazing, and it has now been turned into a television show airing on Hulu that is also quite good (though structured quite differently, but that's another post). I learned a ton of real history in the course of reading this, and I found the journey of Sunja and her family so compelling. The book has a real intersectional lens and digs deep into themes of oppression, racism, class disparity, and sexism, and is rooted in Korean values around filial piety, respect for hard work, religion, moral condemnation, and of course, the importance of food to communicate.

The Great Indian Kitchen

Switching gears, let me give a shoutout to this Indian film that my bestie @neuroticbookworm recently recommended to me and @waitmyturtles. This film is about a modern young woman who enters an arranged marriage with a family of high status (though maybe not of the kind you think) and explores her experience of oppression as a woman in a very patriarchal religious setting. The story is really compelling, I learned about a common experience for women in India, the narrative ended in an unexpected place (in a good way), and I really enjoyed the watch. And this film is on YouTube with good subs which I linked above, so it's quite accessible.

Be Melodramatic

Let's get back to dramas, shall we? I credit this one to @kdramaxoxo, who recommends Be Melodramatic constantly, and thank goodness because otherwise this under appreciated gem would have never landed on my radar. This is a beautiful story about a group of friends who move in together in the wake of personal tragedy and tracks their progress as they heal and move on from their hardships. The themes of grief and growth and change are quite poignant, the relationships, both platonic and romantic, are all very compelling, and the music is beautiful. If you haven't seen it yet, what are you waiting for (@nieves-de-sugui this is definitely a good one to add to your list).

Make it Right

Time for @bengiyo to get another shoutout. This is a Thai bl classic that doesn't get the love it deserves, and he is its number one promoter. I don't know when I would have gotten around to watching this if he hadn't recommended it so highly, and I'm so glad I did. I wrote about this one, why I loved it, and why I think it's under appreciated, and I highly encourage others to give it a try.

Coffee Prince

We will end on an OG kdrama classic, which I watched early on in my kdrama journey thanks to a recommendation from an IRL friend who said it was the best version of the well worn Asian drama genderbend trope that they had ever seen, and my god were they right. Not only was this my first Gong Yoo drama (a life changing experience in and of itself) but this one really took me by surprise for how sharp and progressive it was about gender fluidity, sexual identity, and the struggle toward self-acceptance way back when it aired in 2007. I recommend this one to everyone, and its a great entry point for people who prefer queer media and have (justified) suspicion of mainstream kdrama's treatment of queer narratives.

#what did you eat yesterday? #go ahead #the untamed #mo du #pachinko #the great indian kitchen #be melodramatic #make it right #coffee prince #drama recs #danmei #shan answers

[slightly-gay-pogohammer]

indont think i have megalo..... well ok stuff like the risen Mystery Flesh Pit art thing really freaks me out, but i DO have thalassophobia and submechanophobia, do yourself a favor and DONT google these. Basically stuff like the deep blues and greens of water and pictures like the sunken titanic give me a sense of dread and primal fear. which is even funnier bc i was OBSESSED w/the titanic as a child. not "go and see it" but likr i poured oved as many books as i could get my little hands on.

oh and i was afraid of the Operation! boardgame buzzer when i was small. like piss your pants screaming toddler terrified. still dont know what that was about.

honestly im so fascinated by submechanophobia specifically bc. jax told me about it One Time and suddenly i discover that so many people have it and it's so interesting to me fr fr,,,

........but also i feel w thalassophobia but its like. a mix of it and megalo bc its the Vastness that gets me specifically rather than the creatures inside it?? like the fact that we literally know more about space than our ocean is so terrifying and existential but also it's one of my biggest interests and YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS. DO YOU KNOW. HOW BAD IT IS TO GET AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS OVER ONE OF YOUR BIGGEST FEAR THAT YOU GOOGLE EVERYDAY orz

,,,and omg i wouldnt say i was afraid of operation but there was always that hint of nervousness about it. it's about removing bones and organs from a man who's very much awake and can feel pain i think

#gio replies

[always-andromeda]

hi! this is in response to your earlier post about inadequacy, mental health, etc. so absolutely feel free to not post this (or even read it) if you don't feel comfortable

I just wanted to say that I have had very similar feelings and when I read the last bit of your post where you spoke about finally changing those habits and not always trying to be accommodating to other people when it hurts you or when it's contrary to who you really are... whoo boy did I feel that 😭 I had never really thought about it that way before, so your post was so incredibly eye-opening and now I'm having a little bit of an existential crisis (but I good one, I promise!)

bc idk I just can't ever be mean or even like slightly contrary to anyone. it even got to the point where I was going thru some really serious mental health stuff and when I told people about it after the fact they were like "oh really? I never would have known bc you were always smiling and so happy all the time." and I think your post gave words to that feeling of incongruity in a way I couldn't.

when I was helping clean out my grandmother's house I found a letter she had written to her psychiatrist in maybe like the 60s where she basically said "I believe I'm a likable person and I can get anyone to like me if I try hard enough." and when I tell you I cried right then and there. just as you described, I felt like I've always been trying to make myself as "perfect" and "nice" as possible to that people like me and don't get mad at me. but it's both so comforting and so heartbreaking to know that my grandmother experienced something similar over half a decade ago. idk if that helps at all to make you feel less alone and/or isolated with your feelings about this, so sorry if that's too much!

I'm so sorry for just rambling, I really didn't want to make this too much about me but I just wanted to let you know that you are totally and completely not alone and I am so incredibly proud of you for healing and growing into the person that you've always felt you were.

my grandmother is about the sweetest person I've ever met, and I absolutely know that she would never want you or me to feel like we weren't enough, so I guess even though you don't know her, I absolutely know that she is so proud of you for fighting to be yourself in a way that she wasn't given the opportunity to

yeah again, sorry. I feel like I'm just rambling and I'm not sure if this is like helpful at all. so sorry to like have therapy in your ask box (I have a therapist, I promise) I just wanted you to know that you're not alone and that your words resonated with me very deeply. I hope you're able to continue giving yourself grace and space and warmth and love as you continue to grow and discover your truest self. sending so much love ❤️

Hey, anon, don't ever apologize for sending this kind of stuff in. I realize that when I open up online about things like that that are especially vulnerable, I'm opening myself up to potentially getting responses in that same vein. And I promise you, when I do get those responses, it's usually very gratifying. I'm including the rest of my response underneath the cut lol to spare my mutuals. Love you guys!! ❤️

Of course it's sad knowing that my feelings are ones that a lot of other people share. But there's a lot of comfort in knowing that while the human experience is vast and undefinable, when we do understand one another, I think that's when the magic of humanity happens. So, truly, I appreciate you taking the time to reach out and I'm glad my words could speak to you in any.

That being said, boy, do I get that bit about people just simply not knowing or not being able to tell when there's something going on with you. So often I faced that kind of isolation from friends? Like there were moments where I had people doubt that I was actually struggling that much because I simply didn't talk about things? And like, yeah, communicating with your friends is important but so are trust and understanding and compassion?

And another thing, it's so strange because sometimes I kind of forget that even people less than a century ago probably also felt a little bit crazy sometimes? Especially AFAB folks; not only because of misogyny but also the stigma around mental health. I think in that way we're kind of lucky. Like of course, just because we're in the here and now, it doesn't mean that the here and now is perfect. But sometimes I think back to the experiences that our mothers, grandmothers, and all of the grandmothers before them had? And how those experiences have only become more complicated as time and the world have both progressed?

I'm so sorry that you've held this burden for so long. And I want you to know that not being able to meet that impossible standard isn't a sign of any sort of failing on your part. You are allowed to feel how you feel. You are allowed to be human. You are allowed to be a fully fleshed human being with your own personality. You are allowed to like yourself as you are. And you are allowed to want to grow for yourself. You deserve to like yourself–to love yourself, anon. Thank you for sharing all of this. I hope you're taking care of yourself too. I love you and wish you all the best. 💞✨

#askmeda✨ #anon ask✨

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing xiv.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 5, 690

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

hello!!!! we’re here at fourteen chapters omg ✨✨when i first started this series it was mostly self-indulgent and now there are people who actually enjoy reading it??🥺 it almost doesn’t seem real T.T 

thank you so much for the love and support!!! just so I don't give too much spoilers for this chap - I apologise to my fellow geminis for the potential slander 🤣 this is more of a self-drag lmaooo 

anyway, I hope you enjoy this chap!!!

“Ah. I’m getting allergies.” Yena sniffs, scrunching her nose.

You furrow your brows in concern, “Are you okay? Do you need any medicine?”

“It’s just the seasonal changes,” She brushes you off.

You nod in understanding, “I get it. My mom has horrible reactions towards pollen so—”

“I’m not allergic to flowers.” She blinks.

“Then what—?”

“It’s Gemini season. It’s like—literally the worst time of the year.” She blinks.

You gawk at her, taking a whole ten seconds to process her serious tone when she doesn’t waver under your scrutiny.

“I’m a Gemini,” You inform her slowly.

“I mean …” She shrugs all as you scowl at her, opting to throw the closest object you had, which was your favourite pen so you decide against it; simply shooting her the meanest glare you could possibly muster.

“Look, it’s not you,” She sighs, and you’re half-expecting her to finish with an it’s me to make you scoff, “It’s me.” And there you go. “I mean, it’s Gemini’s in general because they’re two-faced bitches who have the worst emotional attachment issues. Like they’re literally what the opposite of glue is. And they’re so over-analytical. How is it like psychoanalysing every person you meet only to hurt your own feelings and sulk about it?”

You blink.

“I mean it’s not you but if the shoe fits.” She says casually, plopping a grape into her mouth that you’re tempted to slap away.

“You’re so mean!” You pout indignantly.

She cackles, throwing her head back as you continue to sulk. You weren’t that bad. You just … you were risk-averse! You liked having the freedom to observe everyone and anyone and package them into tiny compartments in your head so you could understand them better. You weren’t … that Gemini.

“You’re so cute,” She coos pinching your cheeks. “No wonder Beef One and Beef Two like you so much.” She teases.

Your first reaction is to blush because you know who exactly she’s talking about, but you have more pressing matters, like—

“You have nicknames for them?” You ask, baffled.

“Hey, I wasn’t friends with many girls in high school. Don’t girls usually have nicknames for their crushes?” She says through a pout.

You stay expressionless as you try to gauge the level of seriousness you can extract from her tone.

You realise she’s dead serious.

“Yeah, but we’re in college,” You argue, scrunching your nose, “And sides’, it’s not like they’re strangers. We know them.”

She rolls her eyes, waving you off like you were the inconvenience here. Then she leans forward, her eyes twinkling as she takes a complete one-eighty that you try to adjust to.

“So … you Gemini hoe, what’s your plans?” She nudges you.

You raise a brow, “Did you just call me a—?”

“Plans, ___. Stay on track.” She scolds.

You sigh, still fond but you pretend to be annoyed. You really couldn’t get annoyed with Yena. After all, the more time you spend with her the more you realise how much life sucked before you had her in your life. You spent each moment learning more about her quirks and habits, her choice of words that made you giggle or laugh until you were crying.

And you realise that this is how she loves, a little rough but welcomed nonetheless.

“If you’re talking about my birthday then … not much. I’m probably stuck doing admin work for the college’s charity programme.” You shrug, stabbing a fork into your soiled salad.

Yena gapes at you, “Not much—excuse me? It’s your birthday! You’re turning twenty-five!” 

You look at her dryly, “I’ve been twenty-five since the year—”

She groans, “That’s not the same! You’re like—officially twenty-five. You’re literally hitting the mark for a quarter-life crisis. Isn’t that something to celebrate?” 

“Me going through an existential crisis at the end of my degree is not how I want to celebrate my birthday but okay,” You blink.

She rolls her eyes at your realism.

“That’s not the point. Point is, this is our first birthday together and I want it to be special.” She points out.

You snort, “What? Are we doubling my birthday as our monthsary or something?”

She shoves you with a brute force that has you snickering but she continues to pester you anyway.

“You’re so dumb. So smart, but so dumb,” She shakes her head, “You’re always studying or doing some form of work that requires the use of more than one brain cell. You deserve a break. Besides, you have two dudes to pick from on how you’d like to be wined and dined and—”

“Yena!” You whine.

“—it’ll be like an episode of the Bachelorette! But just with a super cool and smart best friend that’ll make the decision for you. It’s not your birthday. It’s ours.” She emphasises towards the end.

You stare at her for a long second, before the two of you are bursting into laughter at the absurdity of her statement. 

It was nice, just to laugh about things without having your heart feel so heavy. Even if it was a mild distraction, it was still wholly pleasant to be able to just talk about mindless things that didn’t require much mental gymnastics to navigate the conversation with.

“What are the two of you laughing about?” Taehyung and Jimin arrive at impeccable timing, sliding into the booth with their own packaged food. It’s very college-student-esque, a cute paper (because no plastic) container filled with an array of assortments.

“None of your XY chromosomes business.” Yena retorts.

Jimin blinks, “You are literally so hostile.”

“Then don’t give me a reason to be.” She sticks her tongue out petulantly.

You laugh, nudging her with your shoulder, “Be nice.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes but manages to keep a civil smile on his face. Always the more rational one between the two. 

“Anyway, Yena definitely isn’t going to answer me so, what’s up?” He turns to look at you.

You roll your eyes but it’s half-hearted, “She wants to celebrate my birthday like we’re on the Bachelorette.”

“Like you’re on the Bachelorette.” She corrects.

“Oh my God, our baby’s turning twenty-five!” Jimin coos at the reminder, pinching your cheeks as he coddles you. You scowl and weakly shove him away, even if you preen under the attention.

“I’m literally older than the both of you.” You huff.

Yena blinks, “There’s no way I’m the oldest person at this table.”

Taehyung furrows his brows, “Wait—how old are you?”

She sends him a scathing glare that has his arms raised up in defence.

“Jeez, okay. Don’t answer.”

“I’m going to answer because you told me not to.” She clips. “I’m twenty-seven.”

Jimin blinks, “No wonder you and Yoongi hyung are so alike.”

You almost miss it, but as Yena so eloquently pointed out, you were a sucker for psychoanalysing people (even if you didn’t want to admit it yet) that you notice the way she flushes ever so slightly as she scoffs.

“Him? How dare you compare me to that sorry excuse of a—!”

“Okay, everyone is beneath you. I’m sorry your highness.” Jimin rolls his eyes.

You make a note to ask her about it because you know for a fact that Yoongi ‘complains’ about Yena every hour he can. It’s almost as if he can’t go long enough without mentioning her.

You smile to yourself as you duck your head.

“Exactly,” She flips her hair over her shoulders before turning to face you. “Anyway, back to you—our baby.”

Taehyung nods, “Exactly, the baby.”

You scrunch your nose, “Don’t coddle me.”

He pats your head before cooing at you like he would to an actual baby, “But you’re just so cute. You’re too good for this shitty world. Too good for the likes of mere mortals like us.”

“Not me.” Yena blinks before gesturing to their bodies, “You.”

Jimin sticks his tongue out in retaliation as you sigh at their never-ending bickering.

Somehow … it felt right. You think it most of the times but you don’t know any other way to describe how it feels to be back with your friends, laughing, bickering and just appreciating their presence.

When you and Jungkook had your issues, it was like you made the conscious choice to avoid everyone and anyone as much as you could, and any interaction you had during that period was purely out of coincidences and not the intention. You remember actively avoiding Jimin and Taehyung because it felt too draining to pretend like you didn’t have a battle in your head. Even studying or spending time with Namjoon made you feel guilty, the thought of Jungkook lingering in your mind. Yena was there through it all, but even then you saw her as much as you did with any of your classmates you so happened to share a class with.

In fact, if it weren’t for Yena you’d probably have zero social interactions as a whole because she just knew. She somehow picked up on your internal conflicts but never outwardly shamed you or confronted you about it. All she did was be there for you, offering you her presence and you were grateful.

So, yeah. Things were better, but your heart was still at its core—confused. Your feelings for Jungkook didn’t disappear overnight and you knew that you were the one that asked for space.

You forgave him … you did, honestly. But there are things you can’t forget, and those are the things that you wished you could. The words he said in principle, was outright shitty. But the fact that it came from him only poked at every single one of your insecurities that you developed over the years.

You knew it wasn’t healthy to compare yourself to other women when they were living vastly different lives than you were, but it’s proven difficult when you’re forced to see these type of women every day, at college, in your community work or on the media. 

Believing Jungkook’s apparent feelings for you was harder because, well. Jungkook was Jungkook. He wasn’t just another guy, and despite his shortcomings, he had more merits than he’d let on and you knew that people saw that. It was also the fact that Jungkook had a charm that drew all types of people in. He was soft-spoken but passionate, and people loved a quiet achiever.

You … knew about the women. Way before Jennie and way before the thing between the two of you happened. Jimin and Taehyung would always update you about the new fling or girl he had tied to his hip just as he was in his final year in high school. You had to force a smile every single time they’d snicker and joke about how your Jungkook suddenly became a man overnight.

And you noticed the trend with the women he liked. They were … captivating. Beautiful wasn’t even enough to describe them because they looked like they could carry the world on their shoulders and spark immense change with just the movement of their lips. They were confident and charismatic, outgoing and just the right amount of flirty. You were anything but.

It sucked, majorly, because you spent years agonising over the fact that you were already coined with the older sister title in the group because of the way you acted—just a little more uptight than the average woman your age. You were quiet but loud in the right company; you didn’t like crowds, socialising or mingling around with people you didn’t know and based on your observations it seemed like that was the only thing that Jungkook’s been doing ever since he made it to senior year in high school, and even in the first years of college.

You don’t resent him, you think. You couldn’t blame him because you weren’t honest either. You consented, to all of the kisses and touches even if he hadn’t officially had sex with you. You wanted to, but you were terrified. Not at the prospect of penetration but at the prospect of not being enough and the fact that Jungkook was the only person you wanted to have sex with while he had options that were far more attractive and experienced than you were.

That’s why you needed time because at least you could get your shit together even if it was an uphill battle.

“Earth to ____?” Taehyung waves a hand in front of your face with a concerned expression.

You blink, snapping out of your daze as you offer a meek smile and an apology.

“We just asked you if you wanted a small get together at Tae’s and I’s place for your birthday?” Jimin asks.

“Really?” You beam. That was exactly what you preferred.

“Yeah, we know you don’t like clubs and stuff. Just a small and intimate gathering with all your best buds.” He grins.

You nod your head, but Yena beats you to a response.

“By best buds you mean the three friends she has, which is us and the two meatheads duelling for her affection.” She snorts.

You flush, “Y-Yena!”

Taehyung snickers at your embarrassment.

“It doesn’t help that both of them are literally the biggest dudes on the football team. It’s literally like watching King Kong and Godzilla getting into a fight for world domination.”

Jimin throws his back in laughter as you fold your arms across your chest at post at the way your friends are practically crying in laughter at the image. Jimin was clutching onto Taehyung for his dear life because if he didn’t then he’d fall off the chair.

“Stop,” You whine, “you guys are being mean.”

“Oh my God, you’re literally the only person on this earth that would take two people fighting for your attention as an offence.” Taehyung groans.

“I-It’s not that!” You deny exasperatedly, “I-It’s just … awkward …”

Jimin sighs with a small smile, patting your head.

“If it’s any consolation I think it’s offensive that Jungkook thinks he even has the right to breathe in—”

“Jimin!”

“Wow. It really is like King Kong and Godzilla.” Jimin whistles lowly, eyeing the scene before him with amusement lingering in his eyes.

“Do you think they’re gonna start slamming their chests soon or …?” Taehyung trails off in a whisper, leaning into Jimin so that the two other men wouldn’t notice.

“I can literally hear you.” You say dryly.

Jimin offers you a plastic smile, “You’re meant to hear us, babe. How about you try to tame them like Jane did with Tarzan?”

Jimin nearly shrieks when you shove him so fiercely that he topples over into Taehyung’s grasp as the second part of the duo only catches him in the process. 

You sigh, completely ignoring the way that Jimin’s muttering curses that were directed to you under his breath. Instead, you were transfixed on the scene before you—which specifically is Jungkook and Namjoon staring each other down through the mirror of the gym. You were lucky that it was just the five of you since Namjoon was able to use his captain privileges to book the gym because you had no idea how to explain the fact that two big-sized men were attempting to outdo each other in their circuit reps as if they were on a suicide mission.

“Listen, when I agreed to help you out with your sets I thought I was meant to help log it in for a report.” You exasperate, but the two men continue their manly lift-off as they huff and puff their exertion away.

“Trust me, you are helping. Being the motivation is more than—”

This time it’s Taehyung who faces your wrath as you thwack him upside the head. 

From where Jungkook and Namjoon were, Jungkook can only deliver death stares into the direction of his captain who returns it tenfold. He wasn’t even sure why they were doing this but something a flicked definitely switched in Jungkook when Namjoon (purposefully) revealed that you were helping out with something. At the gym. Supposedly alone.

Jungkook’s primitive side came out because the next thing Namjoon knew was that Jungkook managed to drag himself, and Jimin and Taehyung as a diversion. He still feels his chest swell with pride when recalling the scowl on Namjoon’s face when he entered the gym, all fake smiles and a pep in his step.

“____, could you help me spot?” Namjoon breathes, sitting up from whatever the hell he was doing with the barbell. You weren’t fixated with gym language and you weren’t even sure why he was asking you when there was an entire Jimin and Taehyung right next to you.

“Uh, okay sure—“

“Noona,” Jungkook calls.

You freeze.

“Jungkook … I thought we established that you don’t need to call me that anymore.” You raise an eyebrow.

You miss the obvious glare that Namjoon shoots his bitchass friend, as well as the snorts that leave Jimin and Taehyung’s mouth.

“Pay attention to me,” Jungkook pouts. Like, actually pouts. You somehow flush because he seemed so much like the younger version of Jungkook who used to always coddle you for attention.

“Okay but after I help—”

“Yeah. After she helps me.” Namjoon interjects, and you nearly jump at the way he’s suddenly behind you, more so—pressed against your back with his hands on your hips as he moves you aside to get to another piece of equipment.

Your breath hitches because while you weren’t exactly invested in Namjoon in the romantic sense, he was undeniably attractive and … big. You could salivate in private.

“Oh my God, do you see that?” Taehyung hisses in a hushed whisper.

“Hyung is petty,” Jimin gawks.

“This is Namjoon we’re talking about. Didn’t he steal all the umbrellas from your dorm because you ratted him out to the librarian when he broke a bookshelf?” Taehyung recalls.

Jimin pauses to retract his mind to that moment.

“He’s so petty and I’m living for it. Look at Kook’s face,” He snickers, nudging Taehyung with his shoulder.

Jungkook only can clench his jaw in return because he knew that you wouldn’t be a fan of him reaching out to strangle the shit out of Namjoon. But the older boy seems fine, if not pleased with how Jungkook’s fuming in his own spot.

“Let me just …” You cock a thumb to Namjoon, before releasing a breath of your own and going to help him with whatever he needed in the first place.

“Jimin can help him. I have a more pressing problem.” He complains.

You stop in your tracks before turning around, raising an eyebrow at Jungkook who finally sits up, still staring at you like you held all the solutions in the world.

“Literally wait for your turn,” Namjoon scowls.

“My arm hurts,” Jungkook says, raising his arm to show you. 

“I don’t … see anything?” You furrow your brows.

“Because my muscles hurt, Noona,” Jungkook emphasises with a flex of his bicep and you can feel yourself get hot in the way your eyes can’t stray away.

You’re momentarily distracted by the blatant display of muscle by Jungkook that you completely miss the way that Jimin and Taehyung are struggling to breathe because of how hard they’re stifling their laughter or the way that Namjoon is contemplating on throwing the nearest dumbbell into Jungkook’s direction.

You flush, “Okay, you know what? Wait here. Let me get the first aid kit.” You mumble, quickly scampering off to alleviate yourself from the situation.

The moment you leave the room, Namjoon takes two long strides until he reaches where Jungkook’s sat, before wrapping a hand around the arm that was supposedly hurt—and squeezes.

“Ow! What the fuck hyung?!” Jungkook shrieks.

“Don’t hyung me, you brat.” Namjoon seethes, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jungkook gapes, while Jimin and Taehyung watch in amusement.

“Me?! What’s wrong with you?” Jungkook retorts, equally as agitated, “Oh, _____, help spot me! Woe is me! Like she wouldn’t get crushed under you, you meathead!” 

“Like you’re any better,” Namjoon snaps, “Oh, Noona, pay attention to me. My arm hurts. You might as well have asked her to change your fucking diapers at the rate you’re acting like a damn child.”

“You’re the one that started all of this!” Jungkook exasperates, “With all due respect hyung, I love you and you’re my captain but I really feel like smashing your head into the wall right now.”

“That’s it?” Namjoon scoffs, “Well I’ll do you one better and let you know that every time you breathe in my direction I feel like—”

“Oh my God will you two idiots shut the fuck up?” Taehyung interjects, snapping at the two boys who pause, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Even Jimin is surprised at Taehyung’s intervention, purely because he was the type that usually let shit slide or let other people put problematic individuals into place. He was the mediator, the diplomat—not usually the aggressor.

“Wha—”

“Another peep and I’m going to smother your body under the dumbbells and leave you here to rot and die.” Taehyung seethes, staring straight into Jungkook’s soul.

That shuts him up.

“Both of you are acting like goddamn children, and for what? To battle out your masculinity to see who gets ____’s attention first?” Taehyung exasperates.

Namjoon clears his throat, “We were just—”

“—acting like a bunch of barbarians who’s never seen civilisation?” Taehyung retorts dryly, “Yeah. Because that’s exactly what this looks like. The two of you are so petty and for what? You two are literally rubbing the last remaining brain cells you have with each other but nothing is coming out from it. Like—nothing. Do you think she’d give a shit which one of you can lift more reps? That means absolutely nothing! She’s already freaked the fuck out at the prospect of her childhood best friend being in love with her and now we have Big Tit Number One and Two battling it out like you’re in the Greek Olympics.”

Jungkook blinks, and Jimin is mildly impressed.

“So before she comes back and tends to Jungkook’s hurt muscle,” Taehyung sneers, eyes narrowing at a guilty-looking Jungkook, “Both of you better sort your shit out.”

Namjoon flushes, embarrassed at the prospect of being called out, all while Jungkook is avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Oh my God, do you have a crush on each other or something? Apologise!” Taehyung gestures towards the two boys who awkwardly blink at each other, feeling much like reprimanded children.

It’s Namjoon who breaks the silence first, clearly the more mature one in the situation.

“Look … Jungkook,” He sighs, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … drag it out like this. I don’t mean it maliciously and you’re my friend and teammate, so I’d really hate if a girl got in the way.”

Jungkook nibbles on his lips, eyebrows still scrunched; and the irrational part of him tells him to ignore the apology. But with the way that Taehyung is glaring him down, with Jimin’s expectant gaze, he knows that he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“I’m sorry … too,” he winces at his own voice, “But just to let you know … I really …” He shuts his eyes, feeling his chest tighten when he tries to force the words out, “She isn’t just … a girl to me, hyung. I really, really like her. And—I know you like her too but … I fucked up and I really want to make things right and seeing you—”

Jungkook is flushing while he rambles on, fully aware that the rest of his friends are listening intently to him speaking his heart. But a hand rests itself on his shoulder, and when Jungkook opens his eyes he sees Namjoon offering him a gentle smile.

“I know,” He says, “I know I said I wouldn’t back off …” He trails off and Jungkook recalls the conversation he had with him in the very same gym just a few weeks back, “But I don’t think I can compete with a decade long love story.” 

Jungkook scoffs, though his ears are flushed.

“It’s really not—”

Namjoon waves him off, clasping a tight hand onto his back that tells him it’s okay, and whatever that was going on would get better. And Jungkook feels marginally better and allows himself to let out a sigh of release.

“So are the two of you gonna kiss or what?” Jimin asks in the midst of the silence.

Namjoon glares at the boy, “Don’t make me give you an extra ten laps.”

He backs down immediately, raising his hands up in defence. And at that moment, you return, all smiles and with a pant as you raise the first aid kit up.

“Your arm?” You smile sweetly, and Jungkook can only offer a weak on in return.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Depends. Will I have to run from the government if I answer you honestly?” Yena ponders out loud.

You roll your eyes but shake your head anyway. The two of you were meant to be cooking dinner but you’ve surrendered yourself to Netflix and Yena’s witty live commentary on horrible films you were scrolling through an hour earlier. Though, your head wasn’t quite in it, to begin with; your thoughts drifting to other aspects, ones that you thought too hard for and didn’t necessarily know the answer to.

It was frustrating, the way that you wanted to have a solution for everything but overthought every single case that happens to pass by your mind. 

“No one’s hunting anyone down, your anarchist,” You say, “This is a little … personal.” 

You didn’t have any girl friends prior to Yena, and that was your first mistake. You weren’t the person that actively avoided having girl friends because you thought they were dramatic or overly emotional but purely because you never knew how to befriend women. It was weird—being a woman yet being muddled with your own sense of femininity that suppressed your ability to form meaningful friendships with your women peers.

Throughout most of your childhood and teenaged life, you only had Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook. While they were more than enough to keep your memories cheerful and filled with laughter, there were more personal things that you couldn’t quite approach them with. They had each other to confide in their ‘manly’ discussions, small talk that you’d often flush at—but you couldn’t ask them the same things you wanted to.

You knew, that on a fundamental level that your personal things were just … things. It wasn’t that deep, nor did it require a PhD in Gender Studies to fully understand the nuance of periods or apparent ‘girl’ problems; you just needed to listen. But you were timid, and you got embarrassed super easily—so that never boded well whenever you’d want to approach them with a question of your own.

But now, you had Yena—debatably the most open and understanding person you’ve met in your life; and you owed it to yourself, and her—to be honest, to live yourself vicariously in your girl best friends eyes—and ask:

“How do you have sex?”

Granted, there was definitely a smoother way of peeling off the bandaid, but you supposed if you were going to be discussing this one way or another, you’d go big or go home.

“I’m sorry,” She coughs, “What?”

You blink.

“Sorry, I guess I should’ve asked if you were a virgin first …” You mumble.

Yena stares at you with a stupefied expression as she gapes at you.

“Hey, repeat after me: candy, tree and cat.” She grabs you by your shoulders.

“I’m not cerebrally compromised, Yena,” you say dryly.

“Repeat,” She glares.

You huff, shoving her hand off your shoulder.

“Candy, tree and cat. There, happy?” You huff.

She eyes you weirdly as you sigh. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes!” You exasperate, “So like … how? Do you just? Penetrate?”

Yena blinks one more time, her eyes trailing to the ceiling as she asks for a higher being to give her strength before she returns her gaze onto your figure.

“Babe, that is literally the unsexiest way to approach sex.” 

“Penetration?” You furrow your brows.

She scrunches her brows, “No.” She gestures to you, “That.”

You scowl.

“I don’t know how to approach sex! That’s why I’m asking you. I literally don’t know who else to approach. If I went to Jimin or Taehyung I’m pretty sure they’d just stare at me and cry. Namjoon is out of the picture because he’d likely approach sex textbook style and I don’t need that level of detail right now. I definitely can’t ask Jungkook because he’s the guy I wanna have sex with. So yeah. I’m here because you’re a woman and the only person I can have a full conversation with without losing my will to live.”

Yena gawks at you, jaw slack as you finish your ramble; ears flushed.

“… you …” She begins, wracking her brain for the words that seem to fail her, “… okay. You know what, the fact that you’re here and putting your big girl pants on and asking me this is a feat in itself so I’m going to just ignore the fact that you said you wanted to have sex with Jungkook.”

You flush, “I was word vomiting—”

“Ah,” She holds her hands up, levelling you with a knowing glare, “If you want honest, you be honest too.”

You slump in your seat, sighing as you nod your head defeatedly.

“Firstly, I’m not a virgin. I could never be a virgin.” Yena declares, “Granted, I’ve slept with three people and two of them were women. But the idiot I lost my virginity to was, unfortunately, of XY chromosomes so … I guess I can answer your questions.”

“I mean … I know how sex works but … approaching it …” You mutter.

“And sex isn’t this groundbreaking act that requires Einstein’s IQ to partake in. It’s both intimate and not, and that’s definitely a personal preference. You can know the semantics of how people have sex, for hets in this case, which is just the classic ol’ penetration method where the penis enters the—”

“Your point?” You exasperate.

“—okay, I got a little carried away. But really, sex isn’t … difficult. It’s scary, I’ll give you that. But you don’t go into your first time thinking you’ll be great at it. Hell, you won’t even like sex that much your first few times unless your partner is a sex demon or something.”

“I mean when Jungkook …” You shudder, “When he … I … you know, did things … it felt …” You fiddle with your fingers. Your ears were undoubtedly on fire, and you were so embarrassed saying these things out loud because it was just so awkward!

“Good? You know I’m not going to judge you for it,” she says pointedly, “That’s what friends are for, right?”

You flush, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment. You knew that Yena would never judge you for something as trivial and as unimportant as your sexual endeavours, but this was still a road you’ve yet to properly navigate yourself.

“I … came,” you wince at your breathy voice, “It felt good. And … he’s experienced, you know? I just don’t want to …”

Yena looks at you inquisitively.

“You don’t want to …?”

You sigh deeply, considering your next words with a soft murmur, “I don’t want to not live up to his expectations, you know?”

She frowns at you, “Jungkook’s made some mistakes but you said it yourself. He’s in love with you,” she says softly, “There’s no pressure to have sex with him just because it’s out in the open now, you know?”

You nibble on your lips.

“It’s … more than just that,” you tell her, “I told him I needed time, and really, I do. But it isn’t because I’m confused. I mean, kind of—but really it’s because I don’t want to walk into something and disappoint him … I’m just … scared.”

Yena holds your hand in hers while offering you a gentle smile.

“It’s valid that you’re scared. But there really isn’t anything that can come out of being scared right now. The two of you worked through an obstacle, and here you are creating another one that doesn’t quite exist yet. Trust me, when the time feels right, it does. And you’ll feel ready. Will you still be scared? Maybe. But it’ll feel like it’s meant to fit within your timeline.”

You nibble on your lips, “Is it bad that I’m overthinking this?” You wince.

Yena shrugs her shoulders, “Like everything else in your life?” She teases.

You whine, shoving at her shoulder playfully where all Yena does is snicker in response. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting out of the conversation, even if it was vaguely about the ins and outs of sexual exploration. And she was right, you’ll always be afraid of something, whether it’ll benefit you or harm you because that’s what change does. It shifts your comfort zone into a space that may be unfamiliar but necessary.

You lean into Yena’s shoulder, and a wave of overwhelming emotion washes upon you when you look at her. You really didn’t know how you survived a time without Yena in your life. And as if she’s noticed your glassy gaze, she raises an eyebrow at you.

“What are you looking at?”

You grin at her, all teeth and gums on display as you hug onto her arm like a koala.

“I’m just really happy you’re in my life.” You sigh wistfully.

She pauses for one whole second before she snorts.

“Wow, talk about sex once and suddenly you’re in love with me?” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, “Tell Jeon and Kim that you’re mine now.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes.

“They’re not even competing in the same league as you are,” you assure her.

She smiles.

“So … does that mean I don’t need to get you a birthday gift?”

That earns a thwack on her shoulder.

#bad boy good thing #bbgt #bts #bts fics #bts series #bts angst #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook x oc #jungkook series #fluff #angst #smut #jeon jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook angst #jeon jungkook smut

[biqherosix]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ohh how about lance and keith with an s/o who has elemental powers!! (i’ve always had this idea in the back of my head but i cannot write so i’m requesting it 😌✨)

oceana terra - headcanons

fluff

(voltron legendary defender — romantic! keith kogane x waterbender! reader; romantic! lance x earthbender! reader)

if a world with a giant robot as the universe's strongest weapon exists, there's bound to be a part of that universe where element bending also exists

cw / bloodbending

a/n — uh hi :) for once, i have nothing to say other than i miss keith akira kogane and lance mcclain. space bfs for the win ! oh and also the lance mcclain portion of my personality analysis advice column is in the works anon !! but anyway, the bending shown is loosely based off atla / tlok, so enjoy mwah !

keith

this angsty boy has such a fiery personality (him, zuko, and mako are the holy red trope trinity and you can fight me on it) that it's the literal law (my law, you can reference all my atla / tlok fics for that later lmao) that he end up with someone opposite his elemental vibe thus ending up with a waterbender

but your powers are a little more broad, so any liquid also ends up in your spectrum to bend

the plot twist is that you grew up thinking you were a human, enrolling in the galaxy garrison completely unaware you weren't human at all, instead a rare species of bender the galra yearn to destroy

you always wondered why you were always so attracted to any vast body of liquid despite being trained as a fighter pilot

but it all made sense when allura explained it to you since you weren't a paladin but "made for greater things" and keith took a really long time to process it

he didn't know if it was because of the actual news or because you immediately made a water pun upon finding out (lance who? and sokka? we don't know them we only know y/n l/n in this household)

keith doesn't treat you any differently, but you lowkey have to work up to the amount of trust you had from pre-voltron events

it's just a big deal for you and you don't really know how to deal with it, and on top of that keith just has an existential crisis since he liked you because you were so familiar and then they drop the waterbending bomb on him

but y'all get through it after lance annoys him enough bc his banter makes him miss you (for payback you freeze lance's cups of water during breakfast)

omg pidge keeping up with the earth calendar in space and you make it snow in the castle on christmas !!!

also epic pool fights >>> expect the pool to turn into a water park

anyway back to the regularly scheduled headcanons

imagine keith being touch starved, it gets worse bc you feel as though he shouldn't hold your hand or you'll accidentally hurt him or something (this boy just needs to be protected someone give him a hug, cause it ain't gonna be me)

you compromise with tapping each other's hands or loose pinkies interwined (ohh just wait till you bloodbend)

your relationship is definitely spontaneous, hot headed, and badass af !!! with an emphasis on competitive

and i mean competitive, the vibe just goes through the roof after discovering your powers

y'all would always fight for the top grades in your crew bc you were baby and you wanted to make shiro proud but y'all took it to a whole other level in space

choose your fighter: a beginning waterbender who's being trained by an ancient altean or a fast learner who happens to wield a sword?? my bet is on the fast learner (everyone has bets on who wins between y'all, it's a weekly match at this point)

my mind immediately going to angst oop- okay keith has been through a lot okay, his mom left, his dad died, shiro was previously announced dead, and now you're a waterbender who can manipulate the water in one's body

however allura didn't think to inform you of mf bloodbending, so it came off as a shock when you did it upon being captured in season seven and zethrid and ezor had pidge

you shut down, and it was so hard to talk to you even if you shared a space in the black lion with keith (jeez poor krolia having to hear that confrontation)

but when you let it out, keith is right there and he tells you of the times he's been scared of himself whenever his galran side pops out sometimes

and he tells you how he's going to be there with you and that at least y'all will finally have some familiarity being back on earth (jokes on you-)

it's a big step though because keith vocalizing things is a rarity but he's also a simp for you and he'd do anything to make you feel better

especially after he left for the blades so if anything he's just making up for lost time

lance

this boy has had feelings for you since the minute he met you and thinks the whole universe of you

they had found you in a galra prison during a simple recon mission, which then turned into saving you, as the rumors of the galra finding rare benders and exploiting them for their power turned out to be true

well they didn't actually have to save you, you mocked one of the guards enough to have them let you go and you wrecked them with the surrounding metal in the room

lance had been the one to come and retrieve you, to which you weren't expecting the paladins to find you anytime soon so it surprised you when you were met with a laser gun to your head, and suddenly he was pinned in metal

he may have enjoyed that a little too much and wanted to kiss you right then and there, having literal heart eyes at your intense glare, and as per usual shiro had to come to the rescue

but since you were a high risk prisoner due to your powers, the paladins thought it would be safer if you stayed with them until you could go into hiding (which means once sam holt is found, you're headed to earth because you look human enough and you could help make earth believe in alien life)

which meant spending more time with lance !!

okay but lance has always been for having a badass powerful significant other wbk, so it's no surprise y'all ended up together

he says your bending makes the relationship more fun and thrilling (he just has a type okay)

and his sparring sessions are actually challenging for once

but also y'all just work well together, two peas in a pod, two people sharing one braincell, the like

y'all do self care nights !!! and y'all happen to be quite the explorers so occasionally on foreign planets you'll find stones, turning them into crystals with your bending

lance was so in awe that there's always a pack of stones waiting for you in your room, and you've amounted to so many little crystals that you make jewelry together

it can be a separate date on its own or something to pass the time while wearing face masks

the first thing he made were matching bracelets, it was pretty cute

but when he's sad he'll just pull up to your room, pull out the space crystals (you totally have a stash of self care products for when lance isn't ready to leave your room) and make jewelry for his family as an homage to them

he'll ramble on and on about them, stopping abruptly to be able to string the tiny crystals along into a bracelet or when he needs utmost concentration

but you listen wholeheartedly, contributing to the abundance of bracelets and other trinkets in hopes they'll like them too

it's a small gesture, but for lance that's enough (and that's when he realizes he loves you)

when you inevitably leave for earth, he gets sad because you'll have to be experiencing earth without him, but thinks it's a perfect time to give you the promise ring with a special crystal he managed to find without you

he finally tells you he loves you and promises to see you back on earth (he got a little carried away and made you a video for earth too for days you missed him, however you accidentally gave it to his family and they immediately took you in as their own; especially veronica who took you under her wing as you venture the garrison together)

aw and when you and lance reunite it's the cutest thing he has a mf heart attack

granted you hug keith first bc he didn't necessarily have anyone to come home to and he was family considering y'all are lowkey alike, and you ramble about how you jumpstarted and metalbended a train with veronica when lance just pulls you into a kiss like bro i missed you

the mcclain family cheers him on bc their baby is here alive and thriving but keith is like ugh ew gross

but everything is almost back to normal bc you and lance are together again and that is all that matters !!!

#keith kogane x reader #keith kogane imagine #keith x reader #keith kogane #keith vld #keith kogane voltron #lance mcclain x reader #lance mcclain imagine #lance mcclain #lance vld #lance mcclain voltron #voltron x reader #voltron imagine #vld x reader #vld imagine #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #daniza's fave characters are paying rent

[joannasteez]

𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: EZ Reyes x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Mature Themes.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.7k

Credits to who made the gif @angelreyesgirl

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered

Let me know if you’d like a tag!!!

✞

Your annoyance was simmering, daring to merge into the depths of some irreversible state of agitation. The engine of the classic Dodge Charger RT in your possession had, with incredibly poor timing, began to knock. The unsavory noise resonating into the thick air of the street, stilled heat of the day pushing back the regular ebb and flow of the Santo Padre streets to make way for the obnoxious sound of your engine. Your head was spinning, dazed by the bitter humidity and a steady brew of fear trembling in your fingers to dance just under the surface of your skin. The classic car was given by your father, who'd gotten it from his father, the mass of glistening matte black metal of significant value. If the engine failed, you'd be reduced to tears, wading in the dread of some existential crisis.

Your grandfather had had this car for twenty years, the imprint of his essence etched into the leather seats, and when he became grey and withered, he relinquished it to your father for another fifteen years, till finally, it was yours.

You pulled over just as the last knock sounded, the tremble in your fingers worsening. Your eyes welled, sure to leave a soft red glassiness. The need for air consumed you, the space to walk freely about, a puff of smoke or two maybe.

The pavement was hard under your feet, slam of the door accented by vexation. You picked behind your ear, that nicely rolled spliff safely kept and waiting to be lit. The lighter in your front pocket an easy grab, the flicker of orange a short friendly blaze as it singed the paper. The pull you took was slow, measured, as if to savor this minuscule moment of stillness that lived among others not so still. Not so peaceful. With release, you blew into the air, dried eyes taking in the vast blue of the sky. The never ending expansion blurring your vision as your mind sifted through slim courses of action. If you could just get the car to your garage, then you could figure the battery out on your own, saving time you didn’t have on a mechanics trips you couldn’t afford. All you needed was a—

"Need a boost?"

"Yes". The answer was so quick, it nearly gave you whiplash. The tension in your bones dissipating as you got rid of the sizzling flame around your spliff.

The stranger spun his car from its position just beside yours, the hood of it now facing yours head on before he turned it off and got out.

"Thanks so much for this".

"No problem. It's a nice ride you got, don't really see too many classics rolling around Santo Padre much", he said, eyeing the shine of the paint job. His fingers skimming the hood before he lifted it. "Where'd you get it?"

You step closer to him, a grin stretching your lips at his admiration. The RT was your pride and joy, the height of your ego bursting through to rise above some invisible ceiling whenever folks gave it compliments and stares of approval. "My dad had it for a while, gave it to me when he couldn't keep up with it anymore".

With a nod, he retrieved the cables from his trunk, the wide stretch of his back shifting just under the white fabric of his t-shirt to reveal the curve and ripple of muscles. They traveled down his arms, the bulge of them mixing with defined veins that ran across thick powerful looking fingers. He stretched one of those hands out toward you.

"Ezekiel Reyes".

You considered his hand for a moment, slipping it into your own as your eyes racked him with all the subtlety you could muster. It mustn't have been enough because that innocent friendly smile he gave you had turned into something more knowing. He knew you were checking him out but he didn't mind much. "Y/N".

His thumb skimmed the back of your hand just before letting go, turning his attention to attaching the cables to both cars properly. You minded his movements with the cables closely, triple checking the order in which he connected them with a hawks eye, a concentrated intensity that your dear old Charger RT deserved. Abruptly then, like the quickness of a blink or some single strike of lightning, a thought came to you. "Wait, not Reyes as in Carniceria Reyes?"

"Yeah it's my pops shop",

"Felipe's a real sweet guy. It's not everyday you can look through a deep book collection while the butcher cuts up your dinner". You paused, giving the beauty of his face another glance. "He should've warned me though, never told me both his sons were so handsome".

"You met Angel", he stated, a low dip in his tone. Was it disappointment?

"A couple of weeks ago. He was passing through when I stopped by to pick up somethings. He's a real charmer your brother, but I wouldn't worry. I don't think he's messed up your chances just yet", you flirted.

The assurance produced from him a toothy grin. "I'm not worried".

Silence took ahold of you then, anticipation of the moment charging the pressure in your chest to fall straight to your gut. ‘Please work' you whispered while swinging the door wide to slide into the warm leather of the drivers seat. With the key in the ignition, you twisted your wrist forward, a huff of relief puffing from your chest when the engine roars to life. You close the door quick, that relief bubbling under your skin, your head sticking out the window.

"Thanks again Reyes".

He stepped to the window, those warm endearing eyes taking in the summer glow of your face. His tongue slipped just over the plump flesh of his bottom lip. It was a rosy color, the curving dip of it enticing. He liked the way you said his last name.

"It's no problem".

You put your RT in reverse, backing away from his broad body. "See you around?"

"Maybe", he called.

You speed off, the rev of the engine blending into the ebb and flow of the town once again. Existence dipping into the horizon.

✞✞✞✞✞

You'd saw him again at some hole in the wall you frequented at. The smooth slow tempo of some classic 70s song strumming through the stereo to seep into your ears richly like fresh honey. The atmosphere was subdued, the short clinks of beer bottles and incomprehensible murmurs of frivolous conversations sating the air. It was the perfect place to think, to allow your mind to wander directionless through the never ending abyss of happenings and circumstances that had presented themselves down through the week. You made idle chitchat with the bartender about a laundry list of things of no particular significance, small smiles and light chuckles ringing from you both every now and then.

The night was going good, till you felt a creeping touch just at the low end of your back.

"Let me buy you a drink". The voice was rusted, withered by too much tobacco.

You held up the beer in your hand. "I've got already, I'm good".

This guy was tipsy, blood red creeping into his eyes, body swaying just the slightest bit. "Don't be like that, let me buy you another".

"I said I'm good", you asserted. The coolness of the bottle creating a tingling sensation in your hand. You'd crack it over his head if he touched you again.

"Sorry I'm late, everything alright?", another voice asked, but this one you knew. That deeply textured tone wrapping sweetly around your senses. You tore your irritated gaze set on the almost-drunk guy, softening it as you took Ezekiel in. He looked slightly different, refreshed it seemed, or maybe it was just his barbered hair. A Mayans kutte rested over him, comfortable like a second layer of skin, the black leather accentuating the swell of his muscles. You'd have to figure out later why your eyes diverted to them so often, they were becoming a hindrance to your thinking.

"Everything's good now", you played. Giving him a light peck to the cheek to sell the story. His arm wrapped around you in what appeared to be some reflexive reaction, all natural like he'd done it countless times before. When he realized Ezekiel wasn't leaving, the guy swayed away in true tipsy fashion. Mumbling incoherent things with a griped attitude. Ezekiel took his chair, the proximity of it in regards to yours making the point of his knee knock and slide the smooth plain of your jeans. You watched him take a glance over the bar before he called for a beer.

"Thanks for that".

"No problem", the corner of his lip turning up. "Seems like you've been needing my help a lot lately".

"Don't flatter yourself Reyes, this is just a coincidence".

"Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

Your face screwed up in a show of confusion, but you could guess quickly the reason for the question. "Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

He sipped at his beer. "Outside gets loud sometimes y'know, hectic. It's quiet in here. Good place to think".

"Exactly".

"A little unsafe for you though no?" And there it was.

"Everywhere's unsafe for me Ezekiel, I'm a woman. I mean I couldn't guarantee safety in my own home if I wanted to, but that's just how the world works". You paused, mischief rising in your face. "Don't worry though, I've got a little surprise for anyone who wants to test their luck".

"Oh really".

"Yeah, you men are dangerous out here. I gotta be prepared always".

His brows furrowed. "That's a bit of a big generalization to make".

"But if it's true it's true. Name one thing a man doesn't get dangerous about. Doesn't even have to be rejection", you say, turning to fully face him.

He considers the question for a moment, staring into the color of your eyes as if he'd find the answer in them. "Love".

"A man who loves, whose in love, would do any and everything, no matter how mad the shit is. He'd risk lives, his life even. If that's not dangerous then I don't know what is".

A speck of something lit in the hazel of his eyes. As if your words had brought to the present some memory buried deep within the grave of his soul. What you said hit rather close, closer than expected. "Who is she?"

"Doesn't matter, it's in the past".

"Humor me".

His jaw ticked before he spoke. "Her names Emily, but that shits all just history now. Doesn't matter". He turned the focus from himself. "What about you. Whose going all reckless about you".

"Who says he exist"

"You just did, I never specified who in particular".

So much for playing dumb. "His name is Jason".

"Sounds like an asshole".

You snort, the teasing of a headache coming as you thought on the insufferable man that was Jason. "He is. He's got that weird alpha male thing about him. Has to be in control of everything, doesn't know when to leave well enough alone".

The muted energy of the bar rose between the two of you, each taking quiet sips of your beer. You took notice of the way he surveyed the room from where he sat. That golden gaze sifting through the space and over bodies with quick ease. He was assessing, the gears in his head turning, calculating and considering every and all the possibilities of danger. It reminded you of someone.

"How long were you in for?", you ask.

"How'd you know?"

"You've been on the defensive since you sat down, lookin’ everywhere like someone's gonna up and shank you for no reason. My cousin was the same way when he got out, always looking over his shoulder". You shrugged. "Grew out of it eventually.

His eyes were a bit sullen, as if the truth would scare you. "Eight years".

"He was in for fifteen, and that prison shit is unbelievable, I mean the stories he's told me are crazy". You laugh suddenly at a memory, the resonance of it making him smile in admiration of the sound. "He did this thing for a while when he got home where he'd only have one knife, one fork and one spoon in his kitchen and I swear it was the funniest shit".

The smile falters, his body shifting awkwardly in the bar stool, embarrassed. 

"Oh my God Reyes don't tell me you've been doing the same thing".

"In my defense I live alone".

"But what if you have a special guest over, you'd be a sorry ass host", you tease.

"If you wanted to have dinner with me then just say that".

You force away the heat daring to rise in your cheeks. "We have to take a trip to home goods before I even consider a dinner with you”.

You both give hearty laughs, till the vibration in your pocket pulls your focus. With a quick slip of your phone, you realize how fast time had gone on. “Shit I gotta go, but it was real nice seeing you again Ezekiel".

"It was good seeing you too".

You press your hand against his patch, laying a sweet lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Make it home in one piece for me yeah".

"I have to. You might need me again".

"I'm counting on it".

✞✞✞✞✞

You were a joke it seemed, the universe and fate in a gaming mood, as they were using you as a source for their own amusement. Commissioning their faithful associate to do the heavy lifting of masking their scents. The two of you were at the right place, at the right time again, what a damn coincidence. Before the present week, you'd never even seen Ezekiel's face, just learning of his existence a week or so before that, and now you'd seen him twice in a matter of days. This night being the third.

He was surrounded by men who donned the same kutte as him, curious eyes swimming through the sea of bodies as they did in every other setting, till they met yours. He came to you without a second thought, eyeing the tight leather of your pants and how they clung to your thighs. The cropped cut of your vintage top revealing skin he longed to touch. Since the first time he saw you his mind raced with thoughts of your voice, visions of your lips touching his skin again, plaguing his body with the desire to have you.

You stepped away from your group of friends, meeting him half way. "You're just stalking me at this point. Not that I mind".

He clutched the openings of his kutte, that signature grin lighting his face, even with the casting over of the nights darkness. "Something told me I'd see you again. How's your RT?"

"Good, resting in my garage. I've been kinda scary about replacing the battery".

"Why?"

"I'm good with cars don't get me wrong, but something about fucking it up just makes me sick. It's a lot of history behind that car. I don't wanna destroy it".

"Understandable", he nodded. Noting the caution behind your words, the way you spoke with such passion and care about the thing you loved. It was endearing.

The heavy crunch of gravel and sand tore through the beginnings of some silent stare, an undeniable enticement brewing. It was Angel.

"I see you met this asshole already", the older Reyes said.

"I'm not an asshole Angel, just 'cause I turned you down".

He sent a smirk your way. "You didn't turn me down, we made a mutual decision that you couldn't handle me remember?"

"Right. That's exactly how it went".

A call sounded through the dewy air of the night, signifying the start of a race. You started toward a cherry red car.

"That's me", you said. In regards to the call.

Ezekiel was confused, intrigued. "You racing?"

"Yeah, the mustang", you called, strutting over to your 1970's Mustang, adding the slightest dip to your hips. Giving the brothers something to admire, before dropping low into the leather seats.

With a quick twist, the mustang roared to life, the rumble tearing through the air, growling like a fierce rolling thunder through hazy storm clouds. Another car pulled up on your right, the blue electric color of it dazzling, clashing against the fine cherry red of your own to deliver a sweet contrast for the eyes that watched on in excitement. A woman, with a dangled bandana in her hand, set herself between your car and the other, whistles of admiration thrown her way as she gave the summer evening crowd an alluring smile. At the point of her finger you revved your engine, adrenaline pumping through your veins, rushing from your chest to pulse under your skin. The leather feel of the steering wheel was smooth, the grip you held to it steady. With the downward pull of her hands she set both cars to race and you pulled your mustang swift into the night.

The road before you was a muddled darkness, the outward spreading glow of your headlights stabbing it and tearing it apart as your wheels took a glide against the smooth road. At the mark line, you shifted your car into reverse, whipping left, back into drive, soaring back down the road to where the crowd watched and waited. Their rigid bodies of anticipation lit by your headlights, bellowing screams waning under the busting sound of your revving engine. Your mustang tore through the finishing mark, the tingle of victory surging through you.

Pulling back up to the crowd, you rolled your window down, a slim roll of hundreds placed in your hand by the guy who’d set the race up. You showed up to win and now you were done.

Ezekiel and Angel were a little ways away from your car, your voice carrying over to them. "A little party at my place. You and your guys are cool to come".

They both nodded, heading to their bikes when Angel answered after you. "We'll follow you".

Ezekiel swung his leg, resting on the seat of his bike as he buckled the helmet over his head, his fingers gripping the ape hangers, feeling the vibration of the engine as he followed the sleek vibrant red of your car. The afternoon he met you, he'd been turmoiled, plagued with the natural uncertainties that came with being a member of the MC. That new patch stitched into the upper corner of his kutte had bought a sense of pride and belonging he hadn't felt in forever, it gave him drive, fueled his determination, but as the saying goes, all that glitters is not good. Expectation deceived him, the reality of all things made clear. And that reality was shoveling makeshift graves for men whose names he couldn't even remember, but he remembered yours. Committed himself to it like the loving kiss he gave to the jar that held the remnants of his mother every time he stepped a foot into his fathers house.

He found you flustered, out of yourself with anxiety in the dimming light of the afternoon, and then at the bar, body rigid, eyes wired and ready to do your worst to a guy who could barely keep his posture straight, and now he was following behind you, backing his bike toward the sidewalk that laid just in front your home.

Upon entry, the knock of the speakers bled a thumping bass that pulsated through the floors. Your home had seemed to expand with every new corner that came into view, the walls pushing back to make room for the swell and scatter of bodies. Sweet smells mixed with more pungent ones, the hazy aroma of weed slipping past him as he walked further into the house. A hand placed itself at his side. It was you.

"Can I get you a drink? A beer or something".

"Yeah a beer is cool".

You intertwined your fingers with his, leading him to the kitchen where the sound settled some. Beer bottles clinked, the air releasing as you opened them, handing one over to him.

He gave a quiet "thanks" before sipping, eyeing the way your lips wrapped around the top of the bottle to taste the liquid. They looked soft, full and alluring. He redirected his gaze before the temptation overtook him to do something impulsive that had the prospect of unnerving you. His eyes flitted to the side of your face, an illustration about two inches or so etched into your skin. He hadn't noticed it till now.

You could feel him staring as you tasted the beer, the heat of it tingling your skin. "It's a dagger".

He reached forward, thumb skimming over the finely crafted design, it was a professionals work. With the simple touch of his thumb, your nerves were riling, heat rushing to pulse under your skin, he could feel it. It drew him closer, lured him in. "Did it hurt?".

"Like hell, but when you've felt more painful shit, tattoos like this don't really compare". You lifted the hem of your top some, bringing his fingers to feel the raised skin there. Four inches or so worth of a healed gash rested under his considerate touch. "Got it when I spent a year and a half inside. Grand theft", you admitted.

The reasoning behind telling him wasn't sound in the slightest bit, but what was reasoning when Ezekiel had awakened such dormant feelings inside you. With those beautiful, sunny colored eyes and the warm hand caressing your side, you were liable to tell everything. Truths you hated and dark secrets that laid deep inside your past. You reached up to lay a kiss to those pouty lips, the feel of them mesmeric, dazing. Fulfillment burdened itself onto you, finally you'd got a taste of that rosy pink bottom lip, and now your body was calling for more. Begging for it with such longing that you licked your way through his mouth, his tongue acting in kind. It was slow and all consuming, his body pressing you into the counter to surround you.

"Come with me", your voice airy. Breathless. You lead him to the back of the house. Your room first on the right. A gasp left you when your feet left the floor, body in his arms as he laid you against the fresh feel of the sheets. You kicked your shoes off with ease but the discarding of other pieces left behind a sinking feeling, a pressure forming in your chest to push down straight into your gut. He was glorious, the plains of his skin bound by rich thick tanned muscles and long veins. The dilation of his pupils darkened the air around him, physique imposing. This is what you’d wanted, Why were you feeling so anxious all of a sudden?

"What's wrong?"

Your body had raced miles ahead of your mind and now you were trying to catch up. "I don't know, I just... I feel..."

"Nervous".

"It's sounds so stupid when you say it out loud".

"But it's not, It's natural, and I'll do whatever you want me to do. Whatever makes you feel comfortable baby".

He sounded so sure of it, it made you believe him. You laid against the pillows, beckoning him with the outstretch of your fingers. "C'mere".

He obeyed, body atop yours, your legs wrapping loosely around his waist as your head tilted up to give those lips another kiss. It was messy this time, fueled by desperation, your tongues slow to lick as they tasted each other's. The remnants of beer still there. He took hold of your lip, sharp teeth pulling before he kissed his way down to the heated flesh of your neck. There he sucked, bombarding your skin with pressure causing your hips to grind against the coarse fabric of his jeans. The thin cotton layer of your underwear leaving you to erupt with a fresh wave of need. He feathered kisses down your body, pushing your legs up and apart to open yourself for him. A shudder drove down your spine, that soft wide tongue of his licking so close to where you needed him. He peeled away your underwear leaving you bare before him.

"Talk to me baby. What do you need".

You could hear the pulse of your heart in your ears. "Take care of me Ezekiel, make me feel good".

He hummed, loving the airiness of your voice. So drenched with need for him you were. He was methodical despite the desire boiling in his blood threatening to burn through his skin, so he'd settled with toying with you for now. Giving that sweet glistening clit teasing licks. They were measured, the constraint of them existing solely to wreck you, to kill your resolve completely till you were reduced to in-apprehensible words filled with air. The wide-ness of his tongue felt so good, your nails running over the faded part of his head as your hips drew tight circles.

The teasing, the game of it all. He didn't know but you loved it so much. "That feels so good baby, so good", you praised.

Your words were disembodied, wandering in another plain of existence as they rolled off your lips. Your senses were bursting at the seems, and then reborn again to erupt on impact when he sucked against your sensitive nub, lapping your slick salaciously. As if he'd been starved for years, only just finding you now. The line of your spine arched, waist swiveling, grinding to meet his wet tongue. A low "fuck" fell in the air as your felt the rise of your impending release. With taut, rough fingers he hooked at the back of your knees, pushing them into the sheets. The action opened you completely to him, no choice but to surrender to his will and the feel of his lips as he drew you closer to the edge.

"Please, I'm so close", you whimpered. Vision splotchy, thump in your ears intensifying.

He sucked at you again, holding his lips still as your body shook. Quivering against the sheets. He reverted back to soft licks, tasting as you rode the high.

He rose when you settled, eyeing the heavy rise and fall of your chest as he did away with his jeans. "You Ok?"

It took you time to register the question but when you did, you threw a pillow at him. "You just sucked the soul out of me, don't ask me that damn question".

He laughed, watching your eyes dim in bliss. You hadn't noticed, but he'd done away with his underwear as well, the weight of him causing the bed to dip as he came up to where you laid. His thick fingers rolled you over, setting your face to rest against the pillows as your hips raised in the air to rest against the hot flesh of his length, the veined skin laying along your slit. You moaned in anticipation, pushing back against him.

He gripped your cheeks, spreading them to see the quivering flesh of your opening, the flushed pink shinning in the dim light of the room. His tongue slipped against his bottom lip again, reveling in the taste of you as he pushed in. He groaned, and you gave a single fleeting "yes" , the thickness of him giving a delicious stretch, rigid length hot as he pushed and pulled in and out of your depths in a slow manner. Wanting to test the waters same as he did moments ago before building you back up again. The squeeze of you made his chest tight, head swimming with delirium.

"You feel so good mama, so tight around me", he groaned.

His thrust were dizzying as they picked up to set a steady pace, your hips rolling and pushing to take him deeper. To reach that place in you that would force your vision to blur and be replaced by disfigured stars. You reach to lay a finger at your overstimulated bundle of nerves, rubbing the soft slick flesh with lazy pleasuring circles that spurred the knot in your gut to grow. A single tear fell to dampen the pillow, your depths tightening at how full you felt, at how unrelenting the stimulation of his strokes were.

The sharp drive of his hips made you go rigid, the vice like grip you formed around him causing him to fall into his own high. Pace going all slow sloppy to ride out the blissful feeling.

He pulled from you, both your body and his collapsing against the bed. His face formed with satisfaction, a beautiful buzz running through him. "You know what this means right?"

"What", you asked.

"We’ll have to see each other around more often now".

#ezekiel reyes x reader #ez reyes x reader #mayans mc #ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes imagine #ezekiel reyes imagine #joannasteez

[whatsupspaceman]

What your avatar-sona says about you!!:

The Buried

- you bought a weighted blanket out of curiosity and now you can’t sleep without it

- made potions out random shit in the backyard as a kid

- gotta wear layers!!!

- have eaten an assortment of things you found outside on dares

- as nice as chilling in a soft pile of dirt sounds you still hate elevators and being trapped

The Corruption

- don’t you just want to be fully consumed by what loves you?

- obviously gay for jane prentiss

- thank god you don’t have trypophobia amirite

- touch starved

- traps spiders under a cup and takes them outside

The Dark

- hate the summer, heat, humidity, and wearing shorts

- you’re probably trans

- “hey what if we did actually destroy the sun thou-“

- running through the dark halls after you turn off the light in the basement is kinda exhilarating tbh

- stays up to ungodly hours bc the night is just so much more peaceful

The Desolation

- you’re a lesbian

- you stuck sticks in campfires just to wave them around and see the sparks

- probably got yelled at by an authority figure for literally playing with fire

- you’ve burned yourself cooking so many times because you get cocky and for some reason never wear oven mitts?? you always use random jackets or towels to take shit out of the oven Why.

The End

- grim reaper aesthetic and/or classic goth

- just wants some peace and quiet

- halloween is your favorite holiday

- takes naps whenever anything goes remotely wrong

- introverted, quiet, want to live in a witches cabin in a nice secluded wooden

The Eye

- we get it you’re gay

- you got bullied in middle school and would escape to the library to read books at a voracious pace you haven’t been able to replicate since

- you know so many obscure facts but you have the insecurity that it’s all surface level knowledge and you don’t actually know shit

- gifted child syndrome

The Flesh

- are you ok....

- tired of having a physical form but also put so much effort into your appearance

- idk the flesh kinda grosses me out you’re on your own for this one

The Hunt

- you like archery but you’ve probably only done it like twice

- every once in a while you get the panicked urge to run away and try to make it on your own in the woods bc wouldn’t that be simpler?

- weird kid. definitely pretended you were an animal 6/7 days of the week.

- also probably growled at people you didn’t like. you Probably grew out of this

- camp counselor aesthetic

The Lonely

- :/

- you’re also gay

- please take care of yourself

- you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that you might never be loved and known truly, but you will, once you find the right people. don’t give up!

- *mitski’s nobody on repeat*

- *also write me letters by the hot freaks on repeat*

- you are a tender soul and hopeless romantic but also like. haha is love even real

- once again don’t give up!!!

The Slaughter

- you’re one of those artists that draws either really aesthetic or really cutesy type gore

- you like knives. you own and carry around a switchblade not because you think you might actually Need the protection, but because it makes you feel cooler. also it makes you feel like a threat.

- you like vampires, and fangs, and anime

The Spiral

- flamboyant and trans

- you probably have adhd

- your main motivation is: you know what what if Other people felt like they were on the verge of going crazy for once? huh??

- “i saw this shirt at a store and the colors literally gave me a headache so of course i bought it”

-another really weird kid. you definitely make art and sometimes it’s the only way you can express what’s goin on inside your head

The Stranger

- you don’t know how to describe yourself that’s why you take so many personality quizzes

- *stares in the mirror* who is that other dog. i don’t like them.

- “haha i don’t have a personality i’m just an amalgamation of everything i’ve ever liked and stolen it”

- hush you Do have a personality. clown

The Vast

- you were obsessed with space and astronauts as a kid, obviously.

- you had your first existential crisis about space and the meaning of life and how small we are at a very young age and it changed how you think about the world

- just a little tastey hint of nihilism

- skydiving!! sky!! diving!! and rollercoasters

- you get flying dreams n wish you were a bird

The Web

- pretty likely to believe in fate

- less likely to believe in free will

- every time you get into a piece of media you have a wall of red strings and theories about plot and predictions

- over analyze everything

- also you have anxiety

- you can’t write Anything until you plan out every single plot point and character arc and scene and shot. i admire your resilience and commitment.

#here it is! after lots of thought it is complete #additions are welcome #tma #the magnus archives #avatarsona #avatar sona #fearsona #fear sona #text #rusty quill #the eye #the desolation #the spiral #the web #the dark #the corruption #the flesh #the lonely #the vast #the stranger #the hunt #the slaughter #the end #the buried

[moonah-rose]

Right Here

Quick Hellstrop brotp mini-fic.

Fluff, hint of one-sided romantic feelings, emotional hurt/comfort.

It wasn’t until he saw the leather jacket on the desk that he began to worry. Before then, when he’d seen Eleanor make a rather impromptu exit out of Tahani’s party, he’d been a little confused. In what crazy dimension did Eleanor Shellstrop leave a party before all the shrimp had been devoured? The platters had barely been touched.

He’d waited a while, in case she came back, mingling among the fake residents, the real humans as well as the rest of the team, head constantly rotating back towards the door for a sign of her re-entry. Na-da. 

After making his own excuses, he followed the scent of her perfume, which had also left a pink mist in her wake, visible only to his supernatural eyes. He regrets having told his friends about that aspect of his abilities a little, mainly after Jason compared him to the sniffer dog that slobbered over him once at a bus station. 

The path lead him to their office, or the ‘Hot God’s Throne Room’ as she’d once named it. Hardly a false analogy, Michael had silently thought.

“Eleanor?” he’d asked, making his way in. All of his adversary-turned-friend-turned boss that awaited him was the jacket on the desk that she’d worn over her dress on the walk to the party.

That and two pairs of high-heels kicked unceremoniously to the side.

“Oh, Eleanor...” He whispered, grasping the jacket in his hand, instantly inhaling the odour of discomfort and anxiety. 

The smell said half of it. The fact some of her clothes had been hastily abandoned here rather than at her clown house said the rest. Something was wrong.

Fortunately, a burned out Eleanor is easy to track. 

It doesn’t take him less than fifteen minutes to follow the pink trail in the air, cutting through the deserted town, over the fields, out towards the lake. Ah, of course. As soon as he recognises the significance of her destination, he knows what prompted her to leave in such a rush. He doesn’t need to follow the trail, he knows exactly what wooden bench she’s going to be sitting on.

She doesn’t look up as he treads closer to her, head buried between her knees pulled up onto the seat, hugged to her chest. The little bumps on her exposed shoulders tremble while the rest of her stays rigid.

“Getting chilly?” he says, softly.

Eleanor lifts her head, the tiniest of gasps, her eyes sparkling with the briefest flash of excitement before they dim. Disappointed.

Were you expecting someone else? Of course.

Tears mark her blotchy cheeks that she rushes to dry with her fist; “No...Just way too hot at the party and I thought I could cool off back at the office but it was like a forking oven, so I came out here and....now I’m cold, yeah.”

He nods, understanding all too well how the world can turn into a furnace when everything feels as though it’s about to collapse in on you. And this is coming from a guy born and raised in magma.

Eleanor might not have had anxiety attacks the same as him. Her usual response to stressful situations was to lash out, toss over some cakes, kick some chairs, consuming a ton of alcohol on the way. Without any of those options being acceptable for an Immortal Heavenly Being; her only outlet was to do as she did as a frightened child; and hide away.

“Here,” he doesn’t wait for her to accept the offer as he removes his jacket and places it over her shoulders, just to cover the little bumps; “Wow, you’re small...It looks like you’re popping your head out of a molehill made from cloth.”

“Shut up, you flagpole” Eleanor manages a chuckle, sniffling after, tugging it around her shoulders, “...Thanks.” she remembers, with a mumble.

He lingers, this time waiting for her consent; “D’you want company?”

“No...” she responds, staring out at the vast body of water beneath the full moon; “I wanna be by myself.”

“Okay...”

He starts to step away, only for her to grab his hand.

“What the fork are you doing?”

Michael blinks; “You just said-”

“Yeah. By myself. And you’re like...ridiculously similar to me that we’re practically the same person, so you can stay.”

He blinks again.

“That’s...insanely confusing!”

“Just sit down, dummy.” She tugs him again. As she wishes, Michael places himself down beside her, taking note of how short of breath she still is from crying. As soon as he’d noticed the tears shining, he’d had to ground himself to avoid rushing forward to dry them.

Now he’s close enough, having been invited to share her space, he dares to reach out and rub her back.

“Just breathe. You’re okay.” he whispers, softly, “No one’s gonna be out here, you can cry if you want.” Fork the garbage Donna fed her about hiding her emotions. 

She sniffs, gulping for air; “M’so sick of crying...And I thought I was over this, I mean...We’re so close to the end and I’m sure we’ve got this but...Fork.” Eleanor looks down; “Seeing them dance...Seeing him kiss her...They look so happy.”

“Not half as happy as when he danced with you.” He’s tempted to give her the memory of their little dance in the rain in #119, in case it stopped being fresh for her. He’d been so pissed off about that not being enough to spoil their date at the time. 

“What does it matter if he doesn’t remember that?” She scoffs, untucking her knees and looking back at the lake; “What does the first kiss we have here mean anything if he comes here with Simone, all the time, and they have dozens of their own kisses!?”

“He will remember. I promised, I’d give him all his memories back when this is over.” It can’t come soon enough. Saving humanity was beginning to come second to just seeing her be happy again.

Eleanor’s shoulders slump; “...And if he still chooses her? What then? We could win this whole thing and he could come back and I’m just...back to being alone!”

“Okay, now you’re being an idiot.”

“Thanks, pal! And you wonder why I refuse to call you Hottest Savior?!”

“I mean it!” He almost growls, putting his hand on her shoulder; “Do you really think you’re gonna have none of us around you, on the one in a billion chance that Chidi doesn’t wanna get back with you? You don’t think what you’ve got to look forward to in the Good Place extends beyond being with him? C’mon. Chidi would the last person to want you to be thinking like that.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes; “Yeah well...Sometimes I wanna say ‘fork Chidi’. I mean...obviously I wanna fork Chidi but I mean-.”

“I get it.” Damn horny bipeds.

He reaches out to take her hand, linking his fingers between hers, caressing the joint of her thumb with his own.

“Listen. If you were ever alone without him, do you think I’d have followed you out here? Do you think Tahani or Jason or Janet wouldn’t have noticed, if not me, and done the same?” He lowers his voice, inching closer.

Eleanor pauses. 

Her other hand moves up to touch with the hem of his jacket covering her.

“It’s always you.” she mumbles, eyes casting over his chest. I’m up here, he wants to say, or would that crane her neck?

“Yeah, well...I could say the same about you.” The first one to ever pick him up after an existential breakdown. The last one who held him during a crisis, paralysed at the thought of losing his friends in the worst possible way. “Who else knows rock bottom better than us, hmm?”

Finally, she smiles; “We pretty much founded the place. It’s like our own little kingdom at this point.”

Michael shyly smiles. Hades and Persephone. All those times, in his past, when he pictured Eleanor at his side, not as an oblivious victim but his partner. His one worthy equal. Then he found himself constantly bested by her, beaten, to the point he was at her heels, following her lead, waiting for her to say jump so he could ask how high? Willing to cast himself into the fire if she deemed him unworthy, or she needed him gone. 

He will never understand how Chidi could resist her pleas to stay. If she asked for Chidi’s memory back tonight, even at the risk of dooming humanity, he would obey.

Perhaps the knowledge that he shouldn’t is all that stops him from making the offer in the first place.

Fork, when did his arm find its way around her shoulders? When did she start leaning in so close? She’s practically snuggling against him now. She must be getting cold.

He waves his hand, warming up the night breeze that passes over the lake. She still doesn’t move away. He doesn’t exactly push her either.

“Y’know...The reason I was looking to find you at the party when I saw you leave was I was gonna ask you for a dance.” he confesses, needing to break the tense silence.

“Oh, really?” She glances up, raising an eyebrow; “Well...I’m not walking all the way back.”

Michael nods; “It’s okay...I was expecting a ‘no’.”

“Did I say ‘no’?”

He looks to see her giving that cheeky smile. Shirt, he must be blushing. She always looks at him with that smug, endearing gaze when she knows she’s succeeded in teasing him.

It feels a shame to pull away from the cuddle she was beginning to relax into as he gets to his feet. Probably for the best none of the humans come across their Goddess sleeping in the arms of her Architect out in the open...especially Chidi, no matter how chaste it may be.

“No trying to trip each other to fall in the lake, deal?”

Eleanor groans, leaving Michael’s jacket on the seat; “I guess...Spoilsport.”

Neither are going to make that promise. What would be the fun in that?

He gives her his best ‘devilish’ grin and holds out his hand.

“May I have this dance, Boss?”

Eleanor’s eyes flutter up and down his front before locking his gaze again, her tears all but dried. “Only because you’re rockin’ that tux,” She gives him her hand; “You may, buddy.”

He gently tugs her up onto her bare feet. Without her heels, she barely meets his neck. She doesn’t seem to mind, smiling as he moves her onto the pier, beneath the strung up lights along the boardwalk. 

A snap of his fingers and a song begins to play on the invisible surround sound system.

If I see you next to never, How can we say forever?

Fingers smooth gently up her back as he holds her close. Her head rests into his chest as they sway to the 80′s ballad. Stroking her shoulders, he finds the same little bumps are still there, but no longer trembling. He wishes he knew enough about being human to understand what that meant. So long as she no longer feels alone, that’s all he wants.

“Michael...” she murmurs, sliding her other arm around his side.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being here.” 

He resists the old urge to make a nonchalant quip for humor sake and gives into the sentiment swelling beneath this suit. He kisses the top of her head, whispering adoringly;

“Always.”

Wherever you go, Whatever you do...

It feels a little wrong to be dancing with Eleanor Shellstrop in the spot where she had her first kiss with the love of her life, but as she pointed out, he’s had just as many dates here with Simone. Michael allows the remnants of his demon past to find a weird taste of satisfaction, for Eleanor’s sake anyway. It’s hardly as if the nerd was here to see it, or even care in his current state. Maybe one day, in the future, if he’s feeling particularly petty and satantic, he’ll brag to Chidi’s face about how he had one of most romantic, moonlit dances with his girlfriend. Because only a fool would give up that chance, even if to save the Universe.

All for no other reason than to make sure his friend is always grateful for being the one Eleanor Shellstrop loves with all her heart, and wanting to make up for every moment he missed with her this year. Just as Michael thanks Upper Management every day that he has the honor of dwelling in a fraction of it.

Whatever it takes, Or how my heart breaks, I will be right here waiting for you.

#hellstrop fic #pininggg #idk if i like how this turned out #i just really wanted to write something like this #and i always do sad michael in s4 #i rarely do sad eleanor but she's going through so much #and i like doing caretaker michael outside of npl sometimes

[skzss]

Walk with me

Member: Any? Written with Lee Minho in mind but it’s never specified so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ x reader

Warnings: Car crashes, death, slight claustrophobia, slight nyctophobia (fear of darkness)

Genre: Angst

Word count: 1997

Description: You don’t know at all what happens after death but at least there’s someone there to guide you.

Author’s notes: I had an existential crisis thinking about my life and what it would mean if I died right now and then I got to thinking about how reapers are much kinder than we think they are. After all, they guide us through to the other side, wherever that is, so we’re never alone. 

You knew this day was coming. 

After all, everyone dies someday. Some go easier than others but everyone goes someday. 

You had hoped, in vain, that you would die a little softer and a little gentler than you did. But you don’t get to choose these things. You remember screaming, hearing squealing wheels and smelling burning leather. You remember feeling very hot then very cold. You remember flashing lights before your consciousness dripped away. 

“Hey.” You feel someone shaking you. “Wake up already.” 

Huh? Aren’t you supposed to be dead? That car hit right against your passenger side door, there’s no way you’re not dead right? You crack open an eye and it’s dark. Definitely not the hospital then because those places are always the worst sort of fluorescent yellow light. It doesn’t smell like any kind of hospital either. The air is rich with decay and you wrinkle your nose at it. The voice you heard scoffs, mutters a “typical human”. You look up and you blink, once, twice. 

A hooded figure towers over you. A reaper holding a stereotypical scythe, though this one seems impatient. They nudge you again with their foot, sighing. “Not very fast are you.” 

“I just died, can’t you give me some slack?!” You grumble as you sit up, surveying your surroundings. You don’t see the crash anymore, or your body, though that’s for the better. You might be mangled up by now and you definitely don’t want to see that. 

“No, I’ve got other souls to see too. Let’s go.” The figure doesn’t even bother offering you a hand, instead immediately striding off. You scramble to your feet and dart to their side. It’s much too dark for you to find your way without them. Way to where you’re not even sure but you sure as hell don’t want to be left behind here. They set a breakneck pace and you struggle a bit to keep up. Even if you’re a spirit now, a soul or whatever, you still aren’t very fast. Apparently your dead lungs still transmit signals to your dead brain to slow down. You couldn’t exactly wheeze but your ghost got as close to that as possible. Sparing you a glance, the reaper slows down marginally and you manage to catch up. 

“So,” you huff, “where am I going?” You weren’t a bad person. You weren’t necessarily good either. Everyday, you just lived your life, with some care for the world around you and some care for yourself. Whenever you could you’d use recycled materials or avoid printing excess pages, but you didn’t stop using plastic entirely or give up your air conditioner either. The best you could hope for was probably something akin to purgatory, where you’d be neither heralded nor hurt. 

“You’ll see,” they say. You frown. First of all, cryptic as fuck. Secondly, why do they sound so annoyed? If anything, shouldn’t you be annoyed at dying? You grumble under your breath but they don’t seem to care at all. 

For a while it’s quiet. There’s no sounds, even from your plodding footsteps. You don’t feel any  more tired than you did when you first started. Perhaps you could walk infinity without feeling tired. The figure next to you glides along, ever forward without taking any turns. Though could they even take turns in this vast, endless darkness? 

Your mind wanders back to your life, or rather who’s left alive. You hope someone will take care of your cat. She does get rather hissy when she isn’t fed on time. Someone will probably tell your parents. Your heart clenches. Your mom will probably collapse on the spot in shock while your dad silently holds her, hands gripped tight around her arms. They’ll ask to see your body maybe. They’ll definitely cry. You send a quiet apology for dying so soon. Your friends, they’ll know too sooner or later. You apologize to them too even though they’ll never hear. Hopefully they’ll divide your belongings among themselves without too much fuss. Your mom will want some of it but the vast majority of your stuff will go somewhere else. 

“Will you stop,” a voice snarls. You snap your head up to look at the figure who’s gripping their scythe so tight it’s turning their knuckles white. Now that you’re looking at them properly, they kind of look like a regular person. You can’t see under the hood exactly but their hand isn’t skeletal at all. Their fingers twitch on the pole. “You’re thinking too loud.” 

You stop. “You can hear that?” 

They groan and stop as well, a few feet ahead of you. “Sort of. It’s not the exact thought if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Your face scrunches up. “What does that mean? You’re sensing auras or something?”

They snort. “Sure, auras. Feelings. Whatever you want to call it.” 

Ugh, just what you needed. A nosy reaper to take you into the void. You start walking again, standing next to them and waiting for them to continue onward. They seem to look you up and down before doing so. 

“So what am I supposed to do while we walk? Does this ever end or am I stuck strolling around with you?” You sigh, throwing your hands up in the air. 

“As if. I told you, I’ve got other souls to see too.” 

“So then when-” you start but they silence you with a flick of their wrist. 

“You will know when we get there.” 

Again, cryptic and unhelpful but you sigh and allow the silence to fall again. If you’re not going to get answers out of this guy then why bother? But since you can’t dwell in your thoughts too long, you don’t know what to do. What were you doing before the crash? Singing? Probably. You love music, so much that you were constantly listening to it. Even in your sleep! Perhaps the only moments of silence in your life were when you were taking exams for school. 

What was the last song you were playing? Hopefully something good. Your playlists weren’t exactly filtered through so some of the songs were from before your music tastes changed. You hear a defeated sigh. “You were listening to Teenager. GOT7.” Well, you muse, at least it was a good song. 

You wonder how much long you’ll be walking but apparently the answer was not long at all. The pure black melts into a gloomy grey so you can see a little better. The reaper holds an arm out in front of you, making you stop in front of what seems to be nothing truthfully. But you can sense something from the space in front of you and well, your guide should definitely know what’s going on. 

“Wait here.” They push you back just a bit before stepping forward and- You blink. They’re gone, utterly vanished into that pale light. If you squint just a little harder, you can see the barest outline of a doorway. 

Left out there by yourself, it’s… Eerie. It may not be pitch black anymore but even in the dim light, you feel uneasy. Your skin crawls because it’s too quiet. There’s not a sound at all, nothing to indicate that this space even really exists. Or that you exist. That reaper had really put you at ease, hadn’t they? Walking by your side, a presence to shield you from some of the suffocating clutches of the vast void. You regret being a little impatient with them now, even as you hope to whatever deity listens that they’ll be back soon. Something tells you that you don’t want to be left here, alone, for any reason at all. You can’t help pacing around a little, thumb coming up to your mouth. Bad habits don’t die apparently. 

Your throat feels tight and it’s hard to breathe and everything feels smaller even though it’s just a great empty nothing and and and-

“Quit that.” You jerk your head up to see the reaper. Even from their voice they sound agitated but when you look up, you actually. Woah. 

He’s really cute. His lips are drawn in a tight line and his forehead is wrinkled as he stares down at you. Wait, since when were you on the floor, crumpled up like this? You jump up, a little unsteady. Fuck that’s embarrassing. Anyways, back to the cute guy who’s apparently been walking by your side the whole time. 

“Come on.” 

The door materializes, heavy and dark wood. It looks as ominous as you would expect but there’s also comfort in seeing something so real. You attempt to take a step forward but your legs give out. Now of all times, you think as you collapse. The guy sucks in a breath and darts forward to catch you even a little, his hand gripping your arm tight. “Sorry,” you mumble, your other hand firm on the ground. “Sorry, I’ll get up, I-” 

Your brain races to recap this whole situation. You’re dead. You died and you left everyone you loved behind and you never did anything meaningful with your stupid life and you, you, you-

You’re crying. You’re crying and your tears are warm. Some part of you thought they’d be cold. But they’re warm, down your cheeks and your chin and your nose. Your hands tremble even as they fly to your face and touch the tracks carved. Your chest heaves and you cry awfully human like for a ghost. 

Since when were you cradled in his chest? Since when had he set you down and pulled you quietly, gently into his arms? Since when had he begun to sing, a melody so soft it breaks your heart? He rocks you right there on the floor, surrounded by terrible gloom. He’s awfully warm for a reaper.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, again and again and again. Your face is pressed right into his robe and he’s shifted to stroking your head, tangling and detangling his fingers from your hair. “I’m sorry.” 

He clicks his tongue. “This is why you’re all so troublesome.” But he still keeps stroking, steadily draining away your desolation. 

You’ve never really given thought to reapers. They’re caricatures of Halloween and death and usually overly sinister to the point of being ridiculously goofy. But this one isn’t like that. He’s not just a skeleton dressed in a scary robe, using his scythe to tear down lives. He didn’t make you die. All he did was wake you up and walk with you through what could’ve been years of darkness. You grip his robes and look up. You probably look like shit honestly, with puffy red eyes and red cheeks. He looks down to meet you with a slight curve to his lips. “You’ve stopped crying.” Ah, how beautiful he is like this. 

You swallow. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, it was to be expected. You didn’t die very nicely. Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t break halfway through.” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it with more strength than you thought you had. “Now, are you ready to go?” He gestures to the door. It creaks open but you can’t see what’s beyond. 

But you are, strangely, ready. Did you leave behind everything you had? All your regrets and sadness, there on the floor in his arms? Just what kind of magic did he cast on you? 

You take a deep breath and step forward until you’re just before the door. He’s held onto your hands this whole time and some part of you expected him to continue through the door. But he lets your hand float out of his own as you pass through. You whip around and manage to catch one last glimpse. 

Oh, how sad he looks, with his kind smile and crying eyes. It was a blessing to have him by your side as you went, wasn’t it? You muster up everything you have to shout.

“Thank you!”

#stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz blurbs #skz drabbles #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids angst #skz angst #stray kids #skz #bang chan #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #pls be kind this is my first time writing smth like this #death tw #car crashes tw

[umbrellalad]

An Excerpt from a Book I’ll Never Finish

The Galaxy and all it’s Stars

Why is quiet so hard to hear? Sitting in the quiet, listening and thinking and all I can hear is the static in my brain. No matter what I do I can’t turn it off. Even when I try to use it all the thoughts do is jam together, running into each other jumping around until all it’s caused is a headache. I try to sort them out, to figure out what it is the universe is trying to whisper in my ear, but all I hear is noise, noise, noise, until I have to just stop trying. 

My thoughts are as vast and as jumbled as the universe itself, so you’d think we speak the same language, but I guess the two don’t mix, because all I can hear is static. My room reverberates with the stuff. A box full of echos only I can hear. Still, it’s better than outside, where all of my thoughts are trapped inside my own head. Outside they swirl in the wind, forming a cloud around my head. I have to reel them in, chain them up to keep them from running out. I don’t know why they’re so hard to control. Others don’t seem to have a problem with controlling their own heads. They walk around perfectly content with the way they’re thinking, the way they’re acting, the way they’re talking. To them the world is nothing but hopscotch for one to enjoy. For me the world is a tight-rope across a windy canyon. One wrong step and it all goes tumbling down, down, down.

I find comfort in the universe. With something so colossus and magnificent, how can anything I do possibly ruin it?

Still, at times it feels like the universe is shrinking in on me. Gravity increases and the galaxies collide in on themselves. Then I go to bed. Wake up. And the universe has begun expanding again. 

Waking up today was easy. Summer had begun. I no longer had to worry about the load of homework or projects piling up while I sat in my room doing nothing.

I roll over and look at the clock at the side of my bed. It’s a retro rectangle of an alarm clock, because somehow turning the clock face into a rectangle made it more desirable then. 

9:26. Not a bad time to wake up. Early enough that I haven’t wasted the day away, and late enough to feel like it’s too late to go back to bed. 

So I get up. Whatever extensional crisis took it’s turn last night has retreated back into the basements of my brain. If it was a good day hopefully I wouldn’t have another one until at least four.

Downstairs my mom is cooking breakfast for my sisters and my brother. I can smell the bacon as I walk into the kitchen. What would be described as a peaceful, welcoming scene to wake up to is anything but. There’s not so much serenity and love in the air as there is simply hunger and tension.

My youngest sister Brielle is sitting at the table, smearing scrambled eggs on the table. Now with this behavior one would guess Bri is three? two? She’s ten. My theory is she doesn’t have that little voice in our heads that tells us our actions will have consequences. Or that she does have this voice, but only listens to it when the consequences include her. She knows that she could get up from the table right now, and Mom would go over and clean it up without a second thought.

The twins Adalyn and Asher are play fighting. A game that will without doubt turn into a real duel the moment one of them knocks their elbow the wrong way on the couch. They’re both 13. Old enough to know that actions have consequences, but still too young or too sociopathic to care. 

My mom sees me first. She’s making more eggs for Adalyn and Asher along with frying bacon. “Morning sweetie, do you want anything?”

White Dwarf

A white dwarf, also called a degenerate dwarf, is a stellar core remnant composed mostly of electron-degenerate matter. A white dwarf is very dense: its mass is comparable to that of the Sun, while its volume is comparable to that of Earth. A white dwarf's faint luminosity comes from the emission of stored thermal energy; no fusion takes place in a white dwarf.[1] The nearest known white dwarf is Sirius B, at 8.6 light years, the smaller component of the Sirius binary star. There are currently thought to be eight white dwarfs among the hundred star systems nearest the Sun

My mom is a white dwarf. She was once a shining star, a radiant young woman, full of life, energy, and excitement. When she was young my mom would go on spontaneous adventures with her friends. They would go skydiving or cliff jumping or bar hopping or just go on a road trip to the middle of nowhere. I’ve seen pictures from back then. She looks so free, so unburdened. When Mom had kids that part of her life took a decline, and when my dad left it ended completely. No more time for spontaneity. No more opportunity for it either. Now she’s only a remnant of the woman she used to be, but she still manages to give off the same warmth. 

I know she has a lot on her plate, so I try to stay out of her way most of the time. I do my best to be self-sufficient and try not to cause her too much worry. 

I wish I could be more like she was, when she was a kid. I find it hard to even leave the house without planning it a day in advance. She would board a plane and fly to Italy without a second thought. My life consists of the same thing everyday, no changes, no excitement. Is it because I made it that way or is it the way it was made for me?

I say no, like I always say no. Not because I don’t want to accept her hospitality, but because I don’t want to add to her plate of things to do. 

Nor do I want to partake in this mess we call a home life.

I grab a banana from a bowl on the table and sit on the opposite side of Bri. I look down at the egg she’s using to decorate the table. She stares at me challengingly. 

I take a bite of my banana.

Adalyn and Asher’s voices rise. Someone hit someone else a little too hard. 

Bri glares at me harder, increasing her pressure on the eggs.

Asher screams.

The banana feels tough in my throat.

The sizzling of the bacon rises.

Bri smooshes her eggs.

Adalyn yells.

My head hurts.

The scent of bacon gets thicker.

My heart picks up pace.

A cry.

A scolding.

A challenge.

A throbbing.

A yell.

I get out of my chair and go back upstairs.

My room is safe. In my room I don’t have to worry about screaming children or a messy home. The only things I have to worry about in my room are the things I create myself. Still challenging, but at least here I have a sense of control.

My headache lessens and my heart slows to its normal pace.

This house is like a prison. Everyday it feels like it’s closing in on me, tightening it’s hold on my life. There’s nowhere to go, no escape. It just drives me deeper and deeper into my own brain. 

I’m sitting on the floor. I’ve found that sitting in places where one wouldn’t normally sit when there are chairs available, is calming. It gives me a fake sense of personality.

Looking up I examine the face looking back at me in the mirror. I inherited my mother’s thick blond hair. It falls past my shoulders in ringlets. Needing something to do, I part my hair and braid it into two plaits. 

Full lips. Brown eyes. A freckled face.  Heavy brows. A pointed nose. Thick lashes. 

This is who I see in the mirror. It’s me. This is the body which my mind, my soul, my essence is encaptured. An infinity of possibilities, an infinity of features and these are the ones I’ve been graced with. An whole wide universe to choose from and this is where my soul settles. 

Oh look there’s the existential crisis. In almost record time.

I sigh and fall back onto the carpet. Stare up at the ceiling. The quiet is nice.

A crash sounds from downstairs. More yelling.

A sudden urge strikes me. Like my chest will explode if I don’t do what it says. 

I need to get out of this house.

I pull on my shoes from my closet and jog downstairs.

“I’m going to go on a walk,” I call to Mom.

She’s busy trying to talk Bri into eating some fruit with her eggs. She doesn’t hear me. I stand in the middle of the kitchen. I don’t see Adalyn, but Asher is sitting on the couch, looking very upset about the book he’s most likely being forced to read. No one sees me.

I’m used to being invisible.  As soon as the first attempt to be seen goes unnoticed, all of the others just melt away. 

I go out the front door, not bothering to take my phone with me. I don’t have to worry about getting texts. I was never really one for making friends anyways. Whenever I did find people to hang out with it always felt superficial, like they were just pretending to tolerate my company. Besides, I could never find the right thing to say. My mind wouldn’t go with the flow of their conversation, it would pick at each word, each voice inflection, each micro-expression. Trying to decipher the hidden meaning in every one of their simple sentences. 

When I was 14 I had a friend named Blake. She was my first real friend. We had met at school when she said something funny in history and I laughed. She turned around and smiled at me and I smiled back. We exchanged numbers and then every night we would text for hours. We talked about school and the teachers we hated. She talked about the boys she had crushes on and I told her why they weren’t good enough for her. We traded music suggestions and talked about how Sherlock deserved a fifth season. 

I would lay on my side in bed and smile in the glow of my phone screen. It was the best feeling in the world.

But then the spaces between her texts got longer. And I started to realize that the only nights we talked were the nights where I texted her. And then that feeling started to melt, to harden in my stomach. I worried that she felt obligated to text me back. What if she didn’t actually want to text me, and only did because she felt like she had to?

So I stopped texting her, and I waited for her to text me. 

And the text never came.

A couple times after that she would say something like “Hey we haven’t talked in so long!” and I would reply “omg what’s up?” But it was just that. An obligation. She had gotten bored of me and after a while I began to wonder why it hadn’t happened sooner.

My feet slap against the hot concrete as I walk away from home. I don’t know exactly where I’m going, but it feels good to go. I keep walking until I find myself at the edge of the sidewalk. Trees, tall and proud, loom over me. 

I step into their embrace. In the trees the air feels cooler and the light is muted. Sun shines in through gaps in the leaves, trickling over the stones and the roots. I go deeper into the woods and I feel the pressure in my head drop with each step. The world seems to sparkle and I find solace in the quiet beauty of it all. This is a place untarnished by whatever messes us humans decide to create. 

Eventually, I find what would become my refuge. It was a large pile of  massive stone blocks, shaped so that if there was a fourth side it would have been a square. But the fourth side must have fallen out, must have given way to nature, because all that remains are a few scattered blocks leading up to the top.

I like to think that it was once part of a grand castle, and that this structure was all that remained from that era we’ve romanticized so. But I live in the United States so that’s unlikely. I don’t know why it was built, or what it was meant to be, but now it stands in solitary, unbothered by whatever expectations were once put onto it.

Excited, I move towards the stones. It stands over four times taller than me, but still I climb. I crawl over the blocks and pull myself up until I stand at the top of the ruins. My heart clenches as I look down, but it’s not a completely bad thing. It’s… exhilarating. For the first time in a while I’m not stuck inside my own head. The thoughts that normally ping ponged around in my head had flown out. My mind was clear.

It was amazing. 

I felt like I was alone, sitting on an island of time just waiting. I don’t know what I was waiting for, but I didn’t mind the rest. I laid down across the stones and looked up at the sky. It was framed by the trees, a perfect little viewing spot just for me. 

I laid there for a long time. Watched as the clouds raced across the sky, eventually moving out entirely and leaving the sky open for the stars. It’s so funny how when we think of stars we think of tiny little dots sprinkled across the heavens, while in reality stars are massive, flaming orbs of heat and gas, so big we can’t even comprehend how big they really are. The sun is the closest star to Earth and we are so used to it that its mass settles slightly better in our tiny brains. But if you think, if you truly think about how immense stars, the galaxy, the universe is… Our brains aren’t big enough. 

Proxima Centauri

Proxima Centauri is the closest star to our sun. It is a small, low mass star and is a member of the Alpha Centauri system. It is located 4.244 light-years away from the Sun in the southern constellation of Centaurus. This means that even if traveling at the speed of light was possible, it would still take 4.244 years to reach the star.

The second closest star in the entire universe, and at the height of technology right now it would take 73,000 years to get there. An amount of time past comprehension. We think that time is something we observe, but time will continue long after everything else is gone. The only thing we do is give time a little more meaning, a little more use. Time goes and goes and goes and goes every if there’s no one and nothing to observe it.

I don’t know how much time I spent laying on those ruins, but eventually I stood up, climbed down, and walked home. 

Quietly pushing open the door I stepped inside. It’s moments like this I don’t mind being at home. When the house is silent everything seems a bit more bearable. The shadows give everything mystery, making each step a small adventure.

I tiptoe upstairs, making sure to step over that one stair that always groans. I peek into Mom’s room. 

She’s asleep, sprawled out across the bed. She had probably thought that I was just in my room all day. I couldn’t blame her. It wouldn’t have been off brand. 

There’s just a small part of me that wishes she would have stayed up so that we could have talked without the commotion of my siblings wrecking the house. But it’s unreasonable, it’s late and she’s tired. 

I’m tired too. Closing the door to my room I fall onto my bed. My head is still clear from my little adventure.

It was a pretty good day.

#writing #writer #lgbtq #short story #wip #wip tag #new wip #writblr #free write #lgbt #top stories #story #stories #my story #mental health #read it i dare you #try it

[spamzineglasgow]

PART ONE: Glitching the Collective Mind (Dan Power)

Figures 0.1, 0.2, 0.3, 0.4

“I am not a nihilist, but a mood of grim, jolly absurdism comes over me often, as it seems to come over many of my young peers. To visit millennial comedy… is to spend time in a dream world where ideas twist and suddenly vanish; where loops of self-referential quips warp and distort with each iteration, tweaked by another user embellishing on someone else’s joke, until nothing coherent is left…”

> This quote comes from ‘Why is millennial humor so weird?’, in which journalist Elizabeth Bruenig (2017) taps into the vein of gleeful absurdity which is emerging in online creative spaces. This insight seems to have struck a chord with creators and consumers of online content, as in response, the article itself has become widely memed. Above there are four examples of this, with each taking a meme that existed independently and reframing it with the ‘millennial humor’ headline. There is a degree of self-awareness to this reframing, as if the content creators have taken the label ‘weird’ as a challenge to rise to. The absurdity of the source material is heightened by recontextualising it as formal journalism. By prefacing this image with a frame that draws attention to the image’s weirdness, these anonymous content creators are wilfully resisting interpretation, revealing their intent to baffle, bemuse, or maybe even unnerve internet users.

> Bruenig observes a tendency in some memes to celebrate meaninglessness with comic sincerity. By responding to the article in the way they did, these content creators have proved Bruenig’s point. The theory is put into practice: a meme has entered circulation where the intention is to be deliberately and playful obscure, and where the individual memes are linked only by their deployment of the same frame. Importantly, for all the incoherence of the memes themselves, there is a coherence to the methods producing them.

> What sparks these acts of coordinated communal nonsense – are the motivations personal, political, or is it a celebration of weirdness for its own sake? By exploring the dark absurdism creeping into post-internet artwork, particularly in video content, this series seeks to examine the latent ideology underpinning the dark surrealism of internet humour, and how its rising popularity changes the ways we think about ourselves and our realities.

-

“...that which was intended to enlighten the world in practice darkens it. The abundance of information and the plurality of worldviews now accessible to us through the internet are not producing a coherent consensus reality... It is on this contradiction that the idea of a new dark age turns: an age in which the value we have placed on knowledge is destroyed by the abundance of that valuable commodity, and in which we look about ourselves in search of new ways to understand the world.”

-

In New Dark Age (2018), his examination of the internet’s infiltration of our daily lives, James Bridle only just stops short of declaring that the internet will be the death of humanity. As well as the environmental cost of constant streaming and downloading, Bridle argues that the internet poses an existential threat in a more epistemological sense, by attempting the impossible task of collating and networking humanity’s collective knowledge, history, and culture.

> This cataloguing is conducted through the use of databases, which media theorist Lev Manovich argues are becoming (if they aren’t already) the new dominant media (2010, p.70). The database is distinguished from a physical collection of items and information by its flexibility, and the user’s ability to manipulate the structure of the content by searching for key words. Here there is a paradox: because it is so meticulously structured, the experience of using a database is one apparently devoid of structure. Manovich notes that the database is “distinct from reading a narrative or watching a film or navigating an architectural site” since these experiences are all linear, and so are experienced by readers or viewers in the same way, with point b always following point a, and so on (p.65). In a database users navigate the information however they choose, in effect creating their own narratives, with no guarantee that any two users’ experience of a database may be the same.

> This same notion is put forward by Henry Jenkins in Convergence Culture (2006), where he says “each of us constructs our own personal mythology from bits and fragments of information extracted from the media flow and transformed into resources through which we make sense of our everyday lives”. The narratives we forge through our online experiences become part of our understanding of the world – and they seem to be creating more confusion than clarity. These narratives are arbitrarily structured, and may contain false information or information devoid of meaning. Also, thanks to the volume and speed of online messaging, language is evolving faster than it ever has before (Press Association, 2015). Information may be conveyed to us in unfamiliar terms, and so be open to misinterpretation.

> Internet users are bombarded with information, little of which has any meaningful or memorable content. Exposing people to a transparent mapped network of humanity’s knowledge, history, and culture has irrevocably warped our perception of ourselves, and our relationship to the world. As Bridle later notes, “the more obsessively we attempt to compute the world, the more unknowably complex it appears”. At best the database makes the sum of all the world’s content feel overwhelming, and at worst having it all laid out makes it feel mundane. Either way, the damage done is to expose internet users to too much information, and this can lead to an existential crisis.

> Spending too long online (or rather, too long outside of the real world) must saturate the mind. This oversaturation of meaning gives way to feelings of melancholic or manic absurdity, or as Bruenig puts it, a “creeping suspicion that the world just doesn’t make sense”. From this suspicion arises a new wave of disillusioned artists, who we will refer to as the post-internet surrealists. Unlike other meme creators (whose work arguably is surrealist in its Dada-like remixing of disparate elements), the post-internet surrealists are surrealists with intent, who respond to one another’s work, and whose videos consistently evoke alienation and absurd bemusement within digitally-rendered worlds. Videos such as BagelBoy’s pront (2017) engage with infinity as a source of existential confusion, and others like surreal entertainment’s What Kanye really showed Trump in the white house (2018) abstract real-life events to the point of absurdity (or make their inherent absurdity more apparent) by transporting them to a digital non-setting.

-

Manovich argues that the database is a distinct cultural form, like a novel or film or building, in that it presents its own distinct model of how the world should be experienced. Unlike narrative, the database is non-linear. Unlike architectural structure, the database is non-spatial. It appears to us as information without structure and without context – in short, information divorced from the reality in which it takes meaning.

> This creates a tension, which grows stronger the more we rely on the online world to conduct business in the real one. It is resolved, or at least eased, by the digital world bleeding into the physical. The world becomes what Bridle calls ‘code/space’, which he defines as “the interweaving of computation with the built environment”. This term isn’t internet-specific, and covers anything which requires users to think computationally in order to interact, such as self-service checkouts, or traffic light buttons. However, its impact is most significantly felt in the prevalence of internet-connected devices such as the mobile phone, which turn the whole world into potential code/space.

> The internet is omnipresent. It is so vast in size that popular indicators of space and size fail to adequately describe it. It’s a hyper-object, to borrow a term from philosopher Timothy Morton, so large and far-reaching that it surpasses the boundaries of location, so and complex that it cannot be entirely comprehended at once.

> Morton is an ecologist, and develops his idea in relation to climate change. In the blog Ecology Without Nature, he describes the hyper-object global warming as being so “massively distributed in time and space” that we can consider it “nonlocal”, not existing wholly in any one place. He writes that when you experience rain you are “in some sense” experiencing climate, but “you are never directly experiencing global warming” (2010). Global warming is too big an object to meaningfully encounter, but to dismiss its existence on these grounds would be ridiculous. We may be unable to comprehend its existence entirely, but still we know it exists through the traces it leaves across the globe.

> Like global warming, the internet is a hyper-object, and the data we glean from it is just a fragment of the whole. When we consider the internet as one hyper-object, rather than a collection of individual data objects, then all internet-connected devices become components in a single global network, one global code/space.

> To meaningfully discuss the surrealism emerging online we will consider the internet not as a collection of individual texts, images and videos, but as one networked whole. Matthew Smith argues that, since digital media work by translating data into “universally exchangeable” bits, “all digital media are therefore identical in structure; like Campbell’s soup cans” (2007). The content of two memes may be worlds apart, but fundamentally they are both the same thing. Furthermore, if they both exist online, they are equally tiny composite parts of a larger total structure. This is not the same as, for example, claiming that all paintings in a gallery are part of the same work because they share a building. With physical objects, there is always the possibility of them leaving the gallery or entering a new one. This does not work digitally; you can’t have objects within the internet because the internet itself is an object of which digital artworks form a part.

-

Briefly, we’ll consider a post-internet artwork which isn’t a meme. Crispin Best’s ‘pleaseliveforever’ is an eight-line poem which regenerates every few seconds under a new, randomly generated title (2017). By making the content arbitrary and fleeting, the poem draws attention to its medium, and flaunts its ability to do things pre-internet poetry never could. Musing on this, SPAM’s own Denise Bonetti asks “what is the poem, then? The structure? The algorithm?” (2019), and indeed, if the content of the poem is continually being remixed then the only constant by which we can define it is its invisible network of underlying code. Because it exists digitally, the poem’s structure and algorithm are indistinguishable – the algorithm is the structure. And it’s not a structure in its own right, but one small part embedded within the hypertext of the internet as a networked whole.

> The internet is a database of databases, one giant non-spatial structure too large to pigeonhole, but within which we can observe trends. It will be useful to conceptualise the internet as one giant work of art, a hyper-artwork with an uncountable number of authors and viewers. This artwork is mutable, and continually evolving. Since the internet is a network of information relating to the real world, it might be considered a reconstruction of reality. The internet then is a constantly changing map of the world, and if we consume its content on a daily basis, and if we never distance ourselves from its code/space, it throws our understanding of the world into a constant state of flux.

> This uncertainty, and the anxiety or absurdity arising from it, is key to understanding the work of the post-internet surrealists. BagelBoy’s icced (2017) might be set in the real world, but there’s no way to be certain. The plot is simply that a man goes to a store, buys a cola, then goes home to drink it, but through means of information saturation and a post-internet aesthetic these events are abstracted beyond relatability and almost beyond recognition. The film’s world is constructed out of PNG images, stock photos and text boxes – spoken words appear as text, characters glide across the screen at will, and at the end the film’s entire diegesis is hijacked by an advert. Either the video is deconstructing real-world events by moving them to a digital setting, or it’s physically depicting a virtual interaction (typing replaces speech online, people navigate between internet sites without physically moving, and adverts can materialise from anywhere at any moment with no prior warning). Like the explicitly surreal memes we’ll encounter in future instalments, icced presents an absurd but coherent depiction of code/space, a version of reality infused with internet logic.

> But before we examine these surreal memes in detail we’ll go briefly to the very beginnings of cinema, a period of experimentation and genre consolidation similar to that occurring in online spaces today. By examining the developments of early cinema and viral video in tandem, we’ll see that giving consumers the power to create and share their own work makes profit a less important factor in filmmaking, and that this fundamentally changes the kind of video content which gets produced and distributed.

-

The prototype digital cinema emerging today may seem worlds apart from the first few years of cinema itself, but in fact the two share many common features. One scholar notes how “Both films of early cinema and online video clips are short films, mostly staying well under ten minutes in length” (Broeren, 2009). These short films were exhibited collectively in cinema’s early days (Gunning, 1990), keeping audiences supplied with a steady stream of novel content. Today they are exhibited side-by-side on databases like YouTube, where viewers can view as many as they desire in a single sitting, and sustain their own engagement by varying the content they consume at whim.

> In the early days of cinema, exhibitionists would often “re-edit” the films they purchased, and personalise their own exhibitions with offscreen supplements. This, too, occurs in online film. The media theorist Limor Shifman (2013) notes how “user-driven imitation and remix” as a mode of content production is integral to internet culture, and with video meme creators often accompanying their edits of other videos with captions, active comment sections, and links to other media, the off-screen supplements of old are today integrated into the on-screen experience.

> These similarities are not just superficial – they arise from the same factors. The birth of cinema saw large masses of people consuming and participating in the products of newly available commercial technologies, and the emergence of a distinct online cinema is, essentially, an accelerated replay of this process. Sharing in the same global code/space makes internet users a bigger potential audience than has ever previously existed, and the quantity and style of content produced by and for internet users is determined by the activity of this networked mass.

> Early cinema was concerned with newly-formed masses of people resulting from twentieth century modernity, not just for audiences but also as subject matter. According to Gunning (2004), the ‘local films’ of Mitchell and Kenyon would document crowds of people moving through public spaces, and when doing so they were tuned in to the growing public discourse around newly-visible congregations of people in developing urban areas. One particular style of film they produced, which we will take as out main focus, is the ‘factory gate’ film. These would document workers streaming out of a factory at the end of the day, almost universally consisting of single (occasionally sped up or spliced short) static long shots (LS) or extreme long shots (XLS). While the single take, duration and static camera are the result of practical limitations, the choice to employ LS or XLS is an artistic one. Greater distance allowed the frame to fill with a greater number of subjects, creating a visual cacophony and increasing the spectacle. The framing was often loose, meaning there were no focal points to direct attention. Viewer’s eyes would rapidly scan over the moving crowd, heightening any sense of the crowd being overwhelmingly large.

> As well as directly engaging with large masses of people, the demands of large audiences to see films made specifically for their local area meant Mitchell and Kenyon had to develop a way of turning out new films efficiently and affordably. In order to exploit the collective spending power of the masses, the form and content of these local pictures are wrapped around the desires of the masses to recognise themselves and their towns on-screen. The masses were not only the subject of the films, but also determined their mode of production, and by extension their formal properties.

-

The factory gate picture is a genre, and films in this genre are produced by following the Mitchell and Kenyon template: set up a camera by a factory gate at closing time, framing the exit in LS to capture as many moving people as possible. Templatability allows for films to effectively be cloned, so it’s necessary in commercial filmmaking, allowing things to be produced and reproduced at more profitable rates. By following templates to easily reproduce a standardised kind of content, the early genre films of Mitchell and Kenyon reproduce similarly to online memes. Sean Rintel (2013) argues that “templatability lies at the heart of online memes”, and explains that “memetic process is a product of the human capability to separate ideas into two levels – content and structure – and then contextually manipulate that relationship”. A meme, fundamentally, is the deployment of a familiar template to reframe and alter our perception of otherwise familiar or unfamiliar content. It is almost mathematical in its generation of novel content, since there are as many potential remixes of movies and songs as there are unique combinations.

Figures 2.1 and 2.2

> Take these memes as an example. Their origin is the YouTube video Gordon Ramsay cannot locate the lamb sauce (2016), a remixed clip of gameshow Hell’s Kitchen (2005-) in which Gordon shouts at contestants who have not made lamb sauce in time. The video cuts out anything other than Gordon’s shouting, and accentuates the moment’s absurdity by elongating and pitch-shifting the word ‘sauce’.Figures 2.1 and 2.2 combine elements of the remix with existing meme formats (figures 2.3 and 2.4) by adding a picture of Gordon and key words ‘lamb sauce’ and ‘located’, either in reference to the video, or to other memes derived from it. These memes were created by reshaping the source material to fit another meme template.

> The prominence of the remix in post-internet art produces huge amounts content which can only be fully understood in relation to other content. Memes function like in-jokes, and in this way they are participatory. The collaboration and participation between an unknowable number of anonymous contributors is part of the enjoyment not just of post-internet surrealism, but of all memes. It’s like shouting into the abyss and waiting to see what echoes back. The communication is rapid and blind, and sublime.

> In commercial cinema templates are used to maximize profits, so it might seem contradictory that they have been embraced by meme makers. But, in online spaces, the use and misuse of templates is what makes the art form participatory. Just as the viewers of local films would attend screenings to see themselves projected, thus participating in the production of the product they consume, so internet users riff off each other’s jokes and meme formats as a way of contributing to the continual evolution of a meme they enjoy.

> It has been argued by film historian Charles Musser (1990) that “modern” cinema begins with the birth of the nickelodeon, the implication of this being that modern cinema is necessarily commercial, whereas pre-cinema films were not. This distinction might be crude, since films were being produced for profit before the nickelodeon came into fashion, but it’s a helpful distinction to make. What makes the form, content, and distribution of pre-cinema and post-internet film resemble each other so closely is the same thing that makes them dissimilar to industrial filmmaking: they’re not driven by profit, but by novelty for its own sake; they are not produced by companies of people, but by small teams or individual auteurs; they experiment with newly-accessible technologies to see what effects can be created; and importantly, since they do not rely upon the systems of capitalism to support their growth and distribution, these films can afford to scrutinise these systems rather than reinforce their ideology.

-          

> Today’s advances in affordable camera technology, internet access, and free video editing software have shifted the power of content creation away from industry and into the hands of consumers. Anyone with a smartphone can be an auteur, and anyone with a wifi password can become a distributor. Creating and sharing content is easier than it’s ever been before, and developments within the medium now occur at a rate too fast to thoroughly document. The continual crossing of templates and content items produces countless proliferations and variations of existing memes each day. These memes are characterised by hyper-intertextuality, each new remix a thread that further thickens the intertextual tapestry.

> In his seminal essay The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, Walter Benjamin (1982) observes that as reproduction of artworks becomes more common, artworks are increasingly “designed for reproducibility”. With the emergence of templatability and ease of creating and sharing content in online spaces, this process is now more efficient than ever.

> Any image or video online can be downloaded in seconds, and a number of user-friendly picture and video editing programmes come pre-installed on most commercial computers. Mechanical reproduction allowed for films to be copied with ease and re-shaped at will, spawning a number of variants which today is unknowable, since many will not have been preserved. Online however everything is preserved, and this coupled with more efficient and accessible methods of reproducing and adapting works means that videos can be adapted, and their adaptations adapted, at such great volume and speed that they can quickly bear no resemblance to their origins. Cataloguing all the varieties of meme is an unfeasibly large task, but by examining trends within meme-making we can observe how the nature of an artwork changes, becoming more amorphous and apparently meaningless, in an age of digital reproduction.

~

Tune in later this week when we’ll be looking at ~ v a p o r w a v e ~, and navigating the maze of digital non-places and non-times which is rapidly becoming less distinguishable from the world we live in today.

Full list of works cited plus bonus discography are available here. 

This is part one of a three part series. Part two is available here and part three available here. 

~

Text: Dan Power

Published 5/10/19

#essay #dissertation #SPAM essay #post-internet #meme #meme culture #Gordon Ramsay #Dan Power #convergence culture #image #video #cinema

[teratoscope]

Unbounded Lands postmortem

 this takes a kind of circuitous path and gets heavy fast.

The fall before I started Teratoscope, my brother and I were in a car accident.

The morning of, I made a stupid turn that put a headlight out of commission and mangled the fender pretty badly. It was the first time I’d ever really fucked up a vehicle. Every forty-five seconds or so the car would make this brief scraping noise. I had a good three-hour drive ahead of me that would take me through St. Louis and, I would quickly discover, a torrential rainstorm. Stupidly, I pressed on anyway. I had to pay rent that day. I was full of miserable thoughts about how much it was going to cost me to get the headlight replaced and the body work done, about what might happen if I crossed paths with a cop, you get the idea. I had this recurring imp-of-the-perverse notion that if the car got utterly trashed at least I wouldn’t have to worry about getting the damn thing fixed.

Because I was eager to put a long convoy of semis behind me, I spent a lot of time in the left lane and above the speed limit—way too far above for the amount of water on the asphalt and the crap visibility. Eventually, I got to thinking I was clear on the right; anxious to get back to a reasonable speed, I started to change lanes.

There was somebody coming out of my blind spot; I caught them coming and started to course-correct. We were on a pretty dramatic curve in the highway, or coming up on it, on approach to an overpass.  I started hydroplaning. I panicked, not remembering how to stabilize, and the car spun out.

I don’t have a great sensory recollection of what happened next, but this is what the bystanders saw. The car threaded the needle between two semis, tore through a good ten feet of highway railing and a lamppost (just barely clearing the concrete nub it was bolted to), and ground to a halt after slamming into the hill the overpass was built into. It was sitting mostly on its side, with bits of hill stuck in it.

My brother and I were completely unharmed, aside from some unpleasant bruises.

What I remember from the accident is the sudden, overwhelming loss of control, the terrible lurch I felt as everything outside the car blurred together into an unintelligible slurry, and then the smell of gunsmoke and my hands clawing in horror at this vast volume of gray, thinking this is what death is like, then.

It was the airbag.

These are things that snuck up on me in bed and in the shower for many months afterward. I don’t get the flashbacks anymore, but when I’m not distracting myself with work or stories I’m susceptible to this visceral awareness of my presence as a body in time. I can feel myself hurtling through the fourth dimension, and it feels a lot like being in that car.

It forces me to reckon with big questions about death and consciousness and embodiment. Which is what got me thinking very seriously about sizes of infinity and negative spaces—not just in space but in time and possibility.

I don’t think I started Teratoscope as a way of coping with my trauma and the existential challenges it forced me to acknowledge, but looking back on Unbounded Lands it’s hard to ignore that they’re in there. The Unbounded Lands are, to an extent, a vision of the world as riddled through with existential anxieties as I am. It’s a place with negative possibility space bleeding into it, with multiple ambiguous pasts and futures looping back around into the now and forcing it to confront the moral exhaustion of perpetual being.

I don’t think I’ve fully reckoned with this stuff. That DNA’s carried over to Freestar One; if anything it’s only going to get more so in the next series.

On a lighter note, design!

I did a lot of wavering back and forth about damage and lethality; it’s something I’ve struggled with designing monsters before, partly because I’m lethally allergic to “strategic balance.” Challenge Rating as a concept can eat my whole ass. Generally speaking I think of D&D as in large part a horror game, and so I tend to lean towards lethal critters, but as wary as I am of turning into a 4e-style fight clockmaker, I’m equally concerned about the “Killer DM” rep that so much OSR design carries with it. This is definitely still a problem I’m wrestling with—I think the root of it is that, much as I love the mode of tabletop these critters are for, I don’t get to play it much with the regular group I’ve got. We’re more of a storygames crowd in practice.

Something I mostly tried to avoid while writing Unbounded Lands was giving critters “spell-like abilities.” Something I fucking loathe about later editions of D&D is the way it sucks the mystique out of its own design by making the bulk of its game effects modular. Now, there have always been monsters with spell lists in D&D, but I think it’s gotten progressively more egregious with each subsequent edition. A lot of the problem has to do with feature bloat and the need to turn away from the monster stat block to look something up; in my opinion a tabletop game should be designed such that one needs to do as little cross-referencing as humanly possible. On a related note, whoever came up with giving monster writeups long lists of feats should be caned.

That being said, I should note I’ve broken my own rule a couple of times in Unbounded Lands—the Catalyst Sprite and Slinn are both pretty clear examples of this kind of design. I’ll admit they were ideas I liked, but didn’t have elegant mechanics in mind for them at the time. I’ll likely revisit them in one form or another one day, once I’ve built up a sufficient stock of critters that no longer appeal to me as they did when I first conceived of them. Like a “Misfit Monsters Revisited,” but, you know, for a system I find bearable.

Finally, I figure it pays to rattle off a bit of an “appendix N” for Teratoscope—readings and extracurriculars that played an inspirational role in developing the setting:

any of China Mieville’s Bas-Lag novels. Mieville’s a fucking legend when it comes to whipping up critters; Iron Council is the overall best of the three. Also, his essays and lectures on variations upon the uncanny are absolute must-reads for any teratologist.

A Storm of Wings by M. John Harrison. The Unbounded Lands are a bottomless time abyss, not dying by degrees like Harrison’s future-Earth, but the ontological crisis/alien invasion that forms the central plot of the second Viriconium novella is a very appropriate sort of horrible thing to happen there. As a side note, I would kill for a game with Soulsborne-inspired gameplay and Viriconium’s genre sensibilities.

Fire on the Velvet Horizon. My most direct inspiration for writing a monster manual, period. My resolution at the start of Teratoscope was that if I could create critters half as fucking baller as Patrick Stuart’s and then bolt some pretty serviceable mechanics to them, I’d have succeeded.

the artwork of Alexander Kostetsky. There’s a lot of art references I could drop in for Unbounded Lands, but Kostetsky marries the ludicrous scale, kaleidoscopic palette, and feverish organic form that I think is integral to the setting to this sense of bleakness, patience, silence, openness. Which is a fucking challenge, and also suits Unbounded Lands quite well. The barren stretches of Manmonumeq and sunken spires of Old Hyrkonia are his.

YT//ST - Yamantaka Sonic Titan. My brother once summarized this album’s sound as “being sung at by a sea witch and her army of clothes dryers with bricks thrown in them.” He’s not wrong. It slaps. Put on Crystal Fortress over the Sea of Trees and go fight the Hecatoncheiropolis.

[stubert87]

I've felt the need to return to my old safe space to put something out into the universe. I've not been in a great place now for at least a month. What started as a mild wobble in confidence & self esteem, has escalated into a severe depressive episode.

I woke up this time 4 weeks ago and didn't want to be alive anymore. I should add some context to that. I didn't want to kill myself, quite the opposite. But all my desire to walk this earth and breathe another breath was gone. As soon as the thought of not wanting to be here appeared in my head, it very quickly made itself comfortable and became a very unwelcome guest. Every day became a nightmare, my head a battlefield on which what little willpower I felt I had slogged it out with the army of negative ideations that had dug their trenches and made their stand.

I think I'd forgotten what this felt like. The overwhelming urge to have the ground swallow you and never be bothered by anything again. The panicked reaction in your head, telling you to hide from the seemingly very real and immeasurable threat. But where do you hide from your own thoughts? How do you run from yourself?

It's been a long four weeks and I'm not sure I'm out of the woods yet. I'm more coasting along the treeline, enjoying the fresh air and sunlight again. I think at this point it's definitely worth reflecting on how I ended up here. How I wound up on the brink of a very dangerous existential crisis.

Between September last year and January this year I unfortunately lost 2 family members. Added to that the trip of a lifetime I'd saved and counted down to went a bit let's tong and it all got a bit much. I listened to my little brain and took some time off. Spending it with family and close friends. Connecting with the amazing support I have in my life. And then 2 months later lockdown happened and all that wonderful support felt like it had been ripped away. It just felt like one knock after another that leaves an already hurting soul, and vulnerable psyche very open to further blows.

Living by yourself, isolated from friends and family back home, having nothing but work to go to day in, day out, whilst managing the fear of this new pandemic, and the multitude of "what ifs" it generates... I know I'm not the only one to have found themselves in this position. The vast majority of humans aren't hard wired to live in isolation, and definitely not an isolation that generates so much fear and anxiety.

But lockdown restrictions have eased now, why is it that my latest episode has hit me now? Why not back in April or May when the lockdown was at its most stringent? The only reasoning I can settle on, is that we've entered the dreaded "new normal". The vast majority of us entered lockdown hoping to spend a few months in isolation and exit lockdown in a joyous victory over covid and go back to our normality. When the fact is we've slowly trickled back out of our anxiety ridden hideaways, into a world of new rules and behaviours and guess what... More anxiety and stress. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, if you will. Nothing about how we're living now is normal. Every masked individual, plastic screen and social distancing sign pushing us further into a state of anxiety and worry.

Even if you're not worried about your own health. There's the worry of the health of those close to you, as well as worrying how people see you, will people judge you for not wearing a mask, how will someone react if you get too close, and the wondering when all this will be over and you can just hug your nana again. An endless lists of what's, what ifs, how's, and why's. It's a draining cycle for all involved. The human fight or flight mechanism isn't the best of states to be living in for a prolonged period of time, and the effects of this long term stress and worry are more and more evident in wider society.

I always try to keep talking to those around me. And I've tried talking my way through this current episode I've found myself in, but what I found petrified me. In an effort to reach out, to talk, to try and steady myself and get help from those around me, I found far too many people in very unsettled states of mind. It added another overwhelming feeling to this all. It seemed like no one was in a position to help, because they themselves needed help. This evidence of living under social distancing induced anxiety was showing on so many people I spoke to. There is no doubt in my mind that there is a good portion of our population on the verge, if not in the midst of a mental health crisis and it worries me deeply.

The biggest thing I can say to you all if you suspect someone close to you isn't in a great state of mental wellbeing and you feel in a position to help is simple. Act. Don't talk. People think that talking is the answer, and to some extent it is. But "it's time to talk" is a years old slogan and we need to progress past this. In order to talk, we that are suffering need help getting un-stuck. Un-stuck from the negative ideations, the constant rumination, and the sluggish brain-fog that consumes us. Sometimes the best way to do that is to kick start us into action. Don't just tell the person you're concerned about that you're here if you need them. Be there. Tell them (don't ask) that you're taking them for a walk, or to dinner, or popping round for a cuppa. The jolt to the system these acts give often helps awaken the senses, and just the same as a tiny spark can set away a blazing inferno, the smallest bit of positivity can snowball and help the person to find their footing on their path again. Be prepared to be cancelled on. But as someone who's been here before, I ask you not to give up on them if they do cancel. For some people the whole process of meeting up can feel too overwhelming and they will try cancelling or making excuses. Gently persevere with them, they're not being inconsiderate, they just can't quite face it yet.

One thing I'd love people to normalise is talking about coping mechanisms. A rather pretentious way of saying "things you do to keep you going". I seem to auto-deploy them these days when I get unwell. I like to meditate and practice yoga to try and calm the mind and align it to my breathing and be present in my body. I try to read. I make sure I make social plans, but also make sure I take time out away from the hustle and bustle. I have to say they're working a treat. Which may sound a bit hypocritical considering the fact I've said I've had one of the worst depressive episodes I've had in a long time, but the last time I felt like this was 2014 and I had to go on medication. Here I am finding myself in a better place without medical intervention, having managed through my coping mechanisms, and some brilliant people who arrived just as I needed them, whether they knew it or not.

It's a hard hard task managing your mental health. For some of us, it will literally be our life's work. But growth doesn't come from never having experienced difficulties, it comes from seeing those difficulties and working through them. I for one am always looking to grow, which means I must expect further difficulties on the way. My biggest offering to those needing help through their poor mental health is to explore and find your coping mechanisms. Even if that's just picking one person a day to phone or text or making one social plan each day. I can never ever stress the importance of some kind of physical activity. It's no surprise my mental wellbeing took an upwards turn the second I re-engaged with my yoga and started cycling again. The mind and body aren't separate entities. They should both be nurtured together.

Before I sign off, I want to say that if anyone reading this is wondering why I never reached out to you, I'm sorry. It's not that I don't value you, or see you as someone who can help. My brain was in a thoroughly irrational state, and didn't make rational choices. But I want you to know I got there. And I will always get there. I know nothing else but to fight this.

[ulrichfoester]

We’re All Doing This During the Pandemic

Does your emotional status depend on the day, hour or possibly minute?  You are not alone.

If you’re like me, you’ve noticed an increase in online content around COVID19 and psychological health.  Because there is such a range of experiences in this pandemic, the topics are vast and what may speak to one sub-group, will be off the mark for others.  I’ve noticed myself challenged when attempting to write helpful pieces, feeling sensitive as to how they might be read by those who can’t relate.   In this country (and world) there are so many in survival mode while others, at least for now, are secure enough to “only” be facing the massive changes in family, work, school, social and community dynamics.  But there is one thing we are all doing during this pandemic.

We are all riding on our own personal emotional roller coasters.

No matter who you are, you have feelings about this situation and how it impacts you now and how it might impact you later.  The collective trauma yields different feelings depending on circumstances and how you typically deal with emotions.  You might be angry in one minute, sad in the next and even hopeless the next hour.  Perhaps you feel little to nothing as numbing is a trauma response too.  Yes, mixed feelings and ambivalence can also be encountered as the roller coaster ride continues.

There is no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way to feel.  Your feelings are always valid.

Unanswered questions cycle through our minds on a daily basis, often fundamental questions about security around sources of income, health of loved ones and how life will be different in the future.  The overall sense of ongoing loss is confusing and can even lead to grief being suspended, not allowing you to come into contact with it because the totality of it all is still unclear and overwhelming.  Yet others may be fully aware of their grief or other strong negative emotions such as fear, anger and worry rotating through.  And happiness can also happen.

The highs

Some seem to be able to notice the good feelings that come when an awareness of what’s positive in this horrible situation reveals itself (New York Governor Andrew Cuomo this morning spoke of the joy of knowing his family more deeply because of the extra time they’ve had together).  Some are speaking of the benefits of slowing down.  Even gratitude is unfolding.   Like Andrew Cuomo, there are people considering how they will positively change when this is over.  Unfortunately, in the big picture, the roller coaster highs are probably more fleeting at this time when so much uncertainty abounds.

The lows

Many are also cycling through desperation, worries about fundamental needs and for those who thrive on physical contact with the people they love, sadness for not being safely allowed to hug their friends or family outside of their cocoon at home.  As we stay strapped in on our rides, we zip and zoom up and down from the highs of noticing silver linings and perhaps fleeting moments of, “I got this, it isn’t so bad,” to possibly very deep lows steeped in panic around survival concerns.

Perhaps your ride is less volatile and you’re noticing fewer rises and falls.  That’s your ride.  Because we all have our own filters, paradigms and unique situations going through this, no one’s emotional roller coaster will be the same.

If you are feeling worn out, emotionally frayed at the edges or over-stressed with your ride, it’s important to find ways to minimize this impact.  Try these steps:

ACCEPT This is really hard and it is normal to cycle through a variety of emotions.  Acceptance of this and how the pandemic directly impacts you will make space for the next steps.

SELF-COMPASSION Much time is spent managing the new conditions of our lives like school, work, exercise, entertainment and overall health.  Self-compassion has a three point focus on 1) self-kindness, 2) recognition of our common humanity and 3) mindfulness (skill of being present) to boost your resilience and happiness.  It will allow you to give yourself a break if your emotions feel “too big” or there is any shame around them.

SELF CARE  Be sure to prioritize yourself to be better able to self-regulate if the roller coaster lows are deep and lengthy.  Take good care of your physical body, emotional and mental health.  Learn ways to stay calm even when things are not calm.

TALK ABOUT IT Awareness that you are not the only one riding an emotional roller coaster, find opportunities to process your feelings with a trusted other.  Share them to avoid an unhealthy build up or showing up in other less productive ways.

FIND MEANING In Victor Frankl’s book, Man’s Search for Meaning, he observed how prisoners in Jewish concentration camps transcended their suffering.  Can you find new meanings of this existential crisis?  Is there new meaning to the extra time at home yielding improved or deeper relationships?  Meaningful creative projects?  Does the earth’s apparent healing help allow for a shift in meaning for you?

Now it’s time for kindness, understanding and validation of our collective emotional experience in this pandemic.  No matter what your emotional roller coaster ride looks like, simply acknowledging you are on one is the first step in thriving the best way possible through this crisis.

Our journeys are unique but surely we share the same hope for health, security, the overall wellness of our communities and the world.  One day we will be able to tentatively disembark our roller coasters, shake off the impact and look around with bright eyes at what lays ahead.

We’re All Doing This During the Pandemic published first on https://familycookwareshop.tumblr.com/

[mrmichaelchadler]

True/False 2019: Over the Rainbow, Midnight Traveler, Treasure Island, Let It Burn, A Wild Stream

My third trip to Columbia, Missouri to attend the True/False film festival confirms that the setting has become a source of comfort in these trying times. Each year, talented filmmakers, artists, writers, and journalists convene to witness the year’s best crop of non-fiction filmmaking. In between films, they soak up great food, cheap drinks, and smart talk. The festival’s precise, specific programming identity has always been its greatest asset, and this year was no exception. Programmers Chris Boeckmann, Abby Sun, and Amir George put together a lineup that challenges instead of placates and embodies diversity rather than merely paying it lip service. Its lack of cynicism and its commitment to promoting/exhibiting capital-A Art never fails to overwhelm me, especially considering it exists adjacent to an industry defined by slick, commercial interests. I’m eminently grateful to take a minor part in such a joyous excursion each year.

Over the course of five days, I saw many films that raised provocative questions, shined a light on unseen corners of the world, and remained in my head long after I left the theater. Here is the first of two dispatches from the festival.

“Over the Rainbow”

Popular documentaries like Alex Gibney’s “Going Clear” and the A&E series “Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath” might have exhausted new information about the controversial religion, not to mention sated audiences’ appetites for disturbing scoops about cult-like brainwashing. However, director Jeffrey Peixoto doesn’t adopt an exposé angle with his experiential feature “Over the Rainbow,” which has no fresh revelations about Scientology. Instead, he takes an observational tact by interviewing current and former Scientology members about the origins of their New Age faith. Peixoto spent almost a decade gaining the trust of his subjects and, subsequently, their confidence in his project shines through the film. In turn, “Over the Rainbow” becomes a compassionate, nuanced discourse on faith as an operating principle in one’s life, especially when the religion in question is in its most nascent stage.

Given what we already know about L. Ron Hubbard, David Miscavige, and the organization’s history of abuse, it’s tempting to think that Peixoto takes a naïve, even immoral, stance with “Over the Rainbow.” Does giving documentary subjects the space to wax poetic about their history with Scientology amount to a tacit endorsement of the religion itself? That might be the case if Peixoto’s formal approach didn’t systematically defamiliarize the vast majority of “Over the Rainbow’s” participants. Aided by an unnerving score from Australian electronic group HTRK, Peixoto films the Scientology members in lingering long takes that render their visages alien and unknowable. (It’s no coincidence that “Over the Rainbow” opens with a discussion of the psychology of UFO abductees.) In between the interviews, Peixoto fills the frame with ominous B-roll footage of Scientology retreats that compliments equally ominous footage of anonymous strangers walking in an urban metropolis or abandoned country roads. All life becomes a series of abstract, alienating enigmas when viewed through a narrow worldview. 

“Over the Rainbow” doesn’t unsettle because of what its subjects explain or disclose but rather how Peixoto presents them, i.e. people who have gotten so in touch with themselves that their relationship with the rest of the world has been corrupted. The gap between the subjects’ comfort on camera and their non-fiction staging creates a nerve-wracking liminal expanse for the viewer. “Over the Rainbow” might run the risk of confirming pre-conceived biases from those within or adjacent of the organization, but to claim there’s no moral dimension to the film would be abjectly false.

“Midnight Traveler”

Hassan Fazili’s “Midnight Traveler” might be the most compelling argument for the iPhone (and, presumably, Cloud storage) as the best available vehicle for vérité filmmaking. Fazili brings gripping immediacy to his three-year, 3,500-mile asylum journey from Afghanistan to Germany after he and his family are targeted by the Taliban. Three different iPhones capture the danger and uncertainty inherent in such a voyage: Fazili and his family are often forced to sleep in the woods or in abject housing conditions while facing prejudice because of their refugee status. Yet, Fazili, a sentimentalist as well as a staunchly political filmmaker, also includes plenty of warm scenes with his family as they try to carve out something that resembles a normal life amidst the global chaos. (It helps that his two young daughters, Nargis and Zahra, are adorable testaments to the resiliency of children.) An existential road film with life-or-death stakes, “Midnight Traveler” presents a ground-floor portrayal of the refugee crisis that smartly privileges experience over solutions.

Screenwriter and editor Emelie Coleman Mahdavian deserves credit for shaping a lucid narrative from hundreds of hours of footage, even if, as a result, “Midnight Traveler” occasionally suffers from a neat storytelling sensibility. It’s not difficult to imagine a fiction adaptation of Fazili’s film, considering that all the A-to-B, three-act elements are already present. However, Mahdavian finds sideways approaches to Fazili’s story that impress, e.g. close-ups of Zahra’s bedbug bites that cover her arms and face communicates the dehumanizing condition of refugee camps better than standard B-roll footage. Interestingly, “Midnight Traveler” introduces but never resolves the tension between Fazili’s filmmaking impulses and the responsibility he feels towards his family. Whenever Fazili’s wife, Fatima, implores him to stop filming, he almost always refuses. Later, when Zahra goes missing for an hour, Fazili chastises himself for even considering how he might film her safe return. It’s an overwhelming concern, but one that’s dwarfed by the myriad practical complications Fazili and his family face as they try to find safekeeping.

Similarly, the way “Midnight Traveler” touches upon, but doesn’t directly analyze, a litany of political issues—xenophobic bigotry towards global migrants, the hijab as a symbol of oppression and/or cultural pride, broad institutional failures to protect marginalized communities fleeing state violence—only amplifies their resonance. These topics are the fabric of Fazili’s life, not abstract notions primed for TV pundit debate. It’s a feature not a bug that Fazili and Mahdavian allow these ideas to pulsate in the background rather than touting them front-and-center for easy liberal digestion. Sometimes the best tactic is to let the footage speak for itself.

“Treasure Island”

One of the more whimsical entries at True/False this year, “Treasure Island” offers a broad portrait of a suburban Parisian water park. Director Guillaume Brac exploits his unfettered access to capture multiple groups that flow amongst each other: jubilant swimmers itching for a good time, exhausted security guards who try to keep kids from sneaking inside the park without paying, and administrators making decisions behind closed doors that keep the lights on and people safe. The park’s recreational modus operandi connects them all even if their intentions are at cross-purposes.

Brac crafts a hazy, semi-utopian landscape in “Treasure Island”; it’s a place where multiculturalism exists without much consequence and life’s nasty realities are elided for fun under the sun. Splashes and joyous screams dominate the sound mix. Teens and twentysomethings eagerly flirt with each other in between awe-inspiring water stunts. In this regard, “Treasure Island” embraces its liberated French core: a sequence featuring a hunky lifeguard and two young women culminates with his arms around both of them, smirking up a storm, and repeating the mantra, “Life is great.” Brac contrasts the park’s charged adult energy with scenes of children embarking on their own carefree parallel journeys, as if to suggest that the space exists to be consumed from multiple vantage points. Frederick Wiseman’s institutional approach meets a pop sensibility in “Treasure Island,” which is content to privilege leisure over sharp insight.

“Let It Burn”

Maíra Bühler makes the admirable choice to resist almost all exposition for her film “Let It Burn,” a profile of São Paulo’s Parque Dom Pedro hostel that houses and employs drug addicts, until the very end. It’s only then that she explains that Brazil’s newly elected conservative government plans to shutter the harm reduction program that keeps this community off the streets. This choice retroactively provides weight to the purely observational film that otherwise offers dignity to people written off by society at large. 

Culled together from four years of footage, “Let It Burn” carves room for strung-out citizens to exist outside of a punitive system, illustrating how their addictions operate while refusing to let it wholly define them. Men and women frequently break out into song, cannily performing for the camera and themselves. Violence permeates the environment but it’s presented as an unfortunate byproduct of a program designed to support instead of punish. Idealistic activists who run the hostel strive to keep the order while maintaining empathy for their charges. Lovers quarrel and make up. Tenants ride the elevator for amusement as much as they use it for transportation. Even as “Let It Burn” occasionally gets mired in repetitive rhythms, or too frequently loiters in overly familiar footage, Bühler’s generous eye keeps the whole project afloat. Judgment isn’t in Bühler’s vocabulary. Instead, “care” is the operative emotional framework.

“A Wild Stream”

Two men bonded by circumstance on the coast of Sea of Cortez, Omar and Chilo spend their days fishing and their nights drinking in a shack. Though not fast friends, they eventually reach an appreciably understanding of each other, partially because their isolation from larger society necessitates a relationship of some sort. 

Their chemistry grounds Nuria Ibáñez Castañeda’s “A Wild Stream,” which splits its time between character study and regional portraiture. She captures the sea as a prideful entity, one that will exist long after Omar and Chilo have gone, but emphasizes the loneliness of the men who dedicate their lives to its upkeep. Castañeda strips away the rest of the world from her frame and only hints at a larger world outside of Omar and Chilo’s eye line. Thus, the coast becomes a confessional space for Omar and Chilo; they’re cautiously vulnerable with each other while maintaining enough emotional distance so that neither gets too uncomfortable. Suggestions of past lives, lost children, and scummy citizenry are bandied about, but Castañeda never pushes for explication. This approach might render “A Wild Stream” an opaque work for some, but any time the film threatens to get into the weeds, Castañeda returns to fishing and the mundane joys of working with ones hands. It turns out that nature and friendship are still sustainable resources.

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