#light world momence

[the-one-called-f]

Howdy player!! Hows it goin!! You know F by any chance?? Haven’t heard from him in a while.

* Fon? Yeah, that's who we're looking for.

* He's probably in the dark world right now, can get you there if you want.

#light world momence #player #oops I thought I answered this

[crystallizedkingdoms]

“Family”

short little fic of Johann having a found family momence? In MY house? Of course!

@johann-appreciation-week ty for having this week <3

word count: 874

For someone’s whose music can send someone into tears, Johann doesn’t think of himself as a sentimental person. Sure, he’s certainly not heartless, but sentimental is a bit much in his opinion.

Sometimes, however, Johann wonders if he might be incorrect when he says that.

That feeling of finding a genuine family doesn’t come gradually, but neither does it hit him with a blinding light. There is no grand epiphany when the realization comes to him. In fact, Johann is probably the most relaxed he has been. There’s a lute in his hand that he half-heartedly strums on occasion, but his fingers are loose. He doesn’t even correct himself when a tune sounds off, that is how relaxed he is.

Five Grand Relics. The infamous Trés Horny Boys are out to get the sixth. Yet, in spite of the anxious atmosphere the fake moon held as they waited for the Seekers to come back from their mission, Johann relaxed with his small group of friends.

Avi is lying next to the chair where Johann sat, Killian and Carey sprawled across each other not too far from him. The dorm rooms on the moon have never been the largest, so they’re all fairly close to each other. Johann’s foot grazes across Avi’s propped up knee, Avi’s hand lays on Killian’s shin, Carey resting her head on Killian’s lap.

Family is hard to come by in a work environment like the Bureau. The whole fear of dying and being forgotten by the outside world, watching your friend get overtaken by one of the ultra-dangerous relics of unmeasurable power the entire organization is supposed to be hunting down, it’s not the most ideal place to find the love of a family.

But that love comes to Johann anyway. It floods him after a bad strum of the lute causes Carey to snort with laughter, her tail jolting to slap Avi’s face. “Hey!” Avi hisses, but it falls apart underneath his own hushed giggles. Killian makes an indistinct noise, but she moves a hand to flick Carey’s forehead with gentle fingers.

The moment caresses Johann with a sentimental feeling. As he sits upon the chair, head above everyone else’s, he looks at all of them and is filled with an overwhelming sense of love. It is sudden, but it does not overtake him. Ah, Johann realizes, and it’s all he can afford to think. He allows this love, this sense of finding a family in such a genuinely terrifying place of work, to spread across his skin until his fingers buzz and his heart is alight.

It’s a small chain of reactions, so small that one would probably wonder how something as insignificant as a giggle and a few pokes could allow someone to realize such a grand dynamic of love. Johann is aware of that, but it floods him with that warm love all the same. Though the worries and fears that come with working in the Bureau don’t go away, not even in this moment, Johann finds that it doesn’t bother him as much as it should. He has a family now, he’s had it for a while now… there’s a strange sense of strength to that. The Bureau’s dooming nature comes to be a little more bearable.

“Hey, what happened to the music?” Killian asks and her voice is hardly above a whisper. The silence the room holds is not unfriendly and none of them seem intent to disrupt that.

Johann sighs and plucks a lazy chord. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Hmph,” Carey sticks her nose higher in the air, “I was kinda enjoying the little song you were playing.”

“You laughed at it.” Avi’s voice is light with sleepiness, but Johann can hear him loud and clear from his chair.

“Yeah, I did. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t enjoying it.”

“What am I, your jukebox?”

“Yup. Play us a tune, bard boy,” Killian mumbles. Carey and Avi laugh under their breaths, and while Johann keeps quiet, he doesn’t deny that jokes like these make his heart burn hotter with this sincere emotion of love.

Johann adjusts his position on the chair— Jeez, the Bureau really needs more comfortable seats, Johann groans as his bones pop audibly when he does so— and props the lute up properly. He is still relaxed when he begins a proper melody off the top of his head. The notes fall out of his fingers with the emotions he felt embedded in them. Johann often finds it easier to communicate such complex, indescribable feelings through his music, and he hopes that his friends… er, family can make sense of them.

As Johann’s music settles into the cramped dorm room on a fake moon the rest of the world could not fathom, Carey, Killian and Avi do not say a word. There is a warmth that touches their hearts, but Johann is not aware that it happens, for they don’t comment on it. It is a melody that does not create a family; instead, it has simply brought awareness to one that has already existed for a long while now.

Johann doesn’t think of himself as a sentimental person, but he does not deny himself the occasional indulgence in sentimental moments.

#i am not main tagging this bc i am an embarrassed little victorian boy #also is it obvious that I was listening to mitski while writing this? #anyways. I cannot wait for the rest of the week! #as for the day I missed... well. I’m saving that for a later date ;) #johann appreciation week #my writing

[stasammenarchive]

@timberfell​ asked:      “ who was your first kiss? “ //clemberto momence

kissing prompts || xx

 oh. this was a conversation they were having, was it? for a moment, alberto’s hands stilled in what they were doing, hand hovering outwards in the middle of putting a stick on their small fire, since they were actually sleeping in a sheltered area for once, it was much safer to light one. but for a moment, he simply stood, frozen, running over the question in his mind, before he shook himself out of it, tossing the stick down onto the fire. 

“ uh.. i mean, my friend.. from back home.. luca? when we were like.. younger.. we kissed once.. just to see what it was like. we saw parents doing it a lot, wondered what the big deal was.. but we were like.. i dunno? eight or something? wasn’t a proper kiss, just a weird peck, trying to copy what grown ups were doing because we were curious. never meant anything. ”         had alberto wondered? what things would have been like had the apocalypse never happened? the type of people that he and luca may have grown up to be? if that stupid, childish kiss would have grown into more?     no  . he couldn’t afford to think like that. thinking about luca? thinking about his life before all of this? it hurt. it was better to leave those thoughts in the past. 

 turning to face clem once more, alberto shot her a small smile.      “ end of the world happened pretty soon after that.. and the only people i’ve really been around have been my dad, you, and the few people we’ve worked with along the way.. not a lot of chances for kissing.  i mean if i wanted to i could totally get another kiss but.. who’s got the time, right? ” 

#timberfell #001 : ( interaction: ask ) #007 : ( asks: alberto answers )

[leepennino]

The Sky Sucks

I must have been 5 or 6 years old, sitting outside on the sidewalk of my only childhood home. A pink house, that my mother and father - who tirelessly restored it called “MAUVE” and what the rest of our tiny town of 3,000 people in Momence, Illinois called “Embarassing”. We were an outsider family in this town of people who’s familial lineage ran so deep and they farmed all the land around us for all the years it’s been a farmtown.  There were the Johnsons, the Gilberts, the Murrays and everyone else who was related to them. We were the Goodrich’s from Chicago and the only family we had, who we followed to Momence were the Gobervilles. 

The Gobervilles literally lived on the other side of the tracks... 4 sets of railroad tracks that kept them far away from the rest of the town. All the houses on that side of town were pretty disheveled and most of the residents were unemployed. When we visited our cousins, in their dark dank house we felt like we were in a scary world very far from the christian farm town we had known. Kids literally ran around the streets without shoes and often had dirt on their clothes and faces, not because they hadn’t bathed but most yards on the East Side had no grass. This is the deepest part of the midwest where people actually somehow got southern accents and were pregnant by the age of 13. 

As I sat on the sidewalk my dad popped out of the house and said “Mom says I have to go and take you for a haircut, let’s go.”

My mom thought of me as her little princess.. which, I know sounds really lame and someone growing up with that usually turns out equally as lame. When I was this age I still had my baby blonde hair that was barely ever cut, it hung long down to my butt and I had bright blue eyes. My mom was obsessed with me, always showering me with compliments and “you’re so pretty” “You’re my little angel”  She was a bit obsessed with me, as all moms are I’m sure. But, my mom was especially in love- in a weird selfish way. I believed her words of “You’re my favorite, don’t tell anyone I said that” landed on me because I looked exactly like her. At an early age I knew this was probably not a cool thing to say to one child of three. And, anyway.. my brother and my sister were actually the coolest ones. I looked to them for everything, companionship, playtime, their cool clothes, my sister’s crimped hair, the way she danced to MTV and my brother’s room filled with black and blue toys instead of pink and flesh colored like mine. Jim and Julie had cool friends and even shared a pet iguana named Beavis. So, when I sat down in the salon chair,  6 year old Adi decided she needed a change, and something very ‘cool.’

Across from me in the salon were the normal posters, showing various styled and cut hair to inspire the customer to be brave and try something new. There were men with flat tops, shaved heads with all sorts of designs on the sides of their heads, lightning bolts, the Bull’s logo and zig zags. And there was one poster that really stood out. It was a large poster, a glamour shot of a woman on a deep black background. Small blips of light like lazers behind her. She looked at me with a confidence that said “ you can be this if you try” She had purple eyeshadow, very blue eyes and black eyeliner that accentuated them like a lioness. Her cheeks were airbrushed with glitter and a fade from coral to pink ending with white high on her cheekbones. And her hair, that’s what really won me over. It wasn’t long and soft and blonde like mine, it was dark, short and spikey. This woman was hot. She was sexy and she looked like a renegade. This woman was pretty much everything I currently was not, especially in my mom’s eyes. This woman on the poster could never be called a princess and I wanted to embody her look of dissident. 

When the high-school aged hair dresser sat me down and draped a vinyl cape over me I knew what I was going to do. 

“Just a trim, huh Dad?” She said looking to my dad for approval. 

“Yeah.” 

I slowly and confidentally kept my gaze to the poster lady’s eyes and squeeked out in my tiny voice “ No, I want that.” and pointed to the poster. 

“Oh... what?” The hair dresser questioned. 

“Dad, I want my hair like hers.” Pointing to the poster. 

My dad walked over, kneeled next to me and put his head beside mine to make sure my gaze wasn’t looking at the poster directly next to it, an image of a small girl with ribbons in her hair. 

He saw what I saw, the 30 something super model with lazers behind her. “Honey, are you sure?”

“Yes.”

So, the teen hair dresser lopped my hair off quicker than I thought possible. She kept me pointed away from the mirror, likely knowing I’d squeel to see my blonde locks disappearing. When she spun me around and I looked at myself I immediately knew I looked GOOD. I not only looked good, I looked hot and new and my blonde hair was surprisingly gone. The inch long hair was now only my brown roots, they had been awaiting this day and new era of cool rebellion. 

My dad helped me up into his 1991 Ford Ranger and I rolled the window down to feel the summer breeze on my newfound neck and ears on the short ride home, down the town’s single main drag, Dixie Highway to our Mauve home on Maple St. 

My dad brought me home to a puzzled and hysterical mother that didn’t know what to do with her daughter that now looked like her son. I felt pretty dumb. 

Every few weeks we’d head up to Chicago an hour away from Momence going a full 60 miles an hour for 60 minutes to visit Grandma Dorothy. My grandma lived in a house that had zero rules or restrictions. We did and ate anything we wanted and we were often accompanied with the Goberville cousins, John, Tony and Robbie. 

Dorothy had endless amounts of Fannie Mae candies, oreo cookies, ice cream and cases of RC Cola stacked on the steps to the basement. She aimed to keep us hydrated and happy with whatever we wanted. Dorothy isn’t the grandma to make home made meals and she had an extra freezer in the basement filled with Sam’s Club frozen Veggie Lasagna, Family sized Turtle Cheesecakes, Chicken Kievs and other easy to prepare meals and desserts for 6-10 people.  

Back in Momence, my dad mowed the lawn, drank beer and sat on a new maroon leather couch while my mom cried and threw all of my lacy outgrown dresses in the trash. In Chicago, we were LIVING THE LIFE. 

It was a standard 90 degree Midwestern summer day. Hotter than any other place on planet earth and the humidity made the tiny hairs on our faces drip with sweat.  My grandfather, Sonzo, ran a small power washing business.  So, while he was power washing semi-trucks needing a clean on their way across America, we kids would run the place and our grandma would read romantic novels. Grandpa’s equipment was always something we’d get into. He had  large 500 gallon drums that served as pools for us kids in the summer. Pools that were strapped on the back of a pull-behind trailer, but they still were mini pools. 

As we were splashing and playing my first-ever real life crush, Keith, the neighbor came by. He didn’t notice me and I didn’t really care until I realized he probably didn’t recognize me with my new haircut. I also realized I was not being babied in the way I normally was. The boys were treating me like a normal human, allowing me to splash and scream. They weren’t lifting me out of the pool as they generally would, they weren’t telling me to go inside and hang out with grandma on the couch.  As I was putting two and two together I realized I was finally in!  In the club, the club of being loud and crazy and filled with a summer’s rage that could not be stopped.

 I kind of figured my new haircut had something to do with it all. I asked my brother “Hey, Jim, do I look like a boy” And he kind of shrugged me off and replied “Yeah, I guess so”. Oh my god.. I AM A BOY! I instantly remember taking off my shirt and I felt like I was one of them, splashing away bare chested and having the most fun I had ever had at grandma’s house. We played and played and I laughed and knew I would never be dismissed again thanks to the poster woman I was now a fierce kid that everyone accepted and loved. 

As the sun began to set and the air grew colder we put the top back on the water drum and ran inside to grab as many fudgcicles we could eat. We sat in the backyard gobbling away the ice cream bars. I was so calm, happily I looked up at the sky and said with my new found confidence. “This Sucks!” Everything went silent. This seems like a simple word to be used by kids, but this was not what a 6 year old Adi Goodrich was supposed to say. The Gobervilles used that kind of language freely, but not us, not the Goodrichs. We were the good cousins that obeyed the adults and would never use poor language. I obviously had no idea what that word even meant looking up happily at the clouds. My brother shrieked as I said it. “ADI!” Scolding me like a parent would normally do. I was embarrassed and felt my coolness slowly disolving. Jon, Tony and Robbie began laughing and I felt my eyes instantly moisten. Trying to keep it together I dropped my head and became quiet. They all noticed my instant embarrassment and started making fun of me “Aw, Adi baby is cryyying” “Poor baby!” Jim, being the good brother he was put his arms around me and assured me it was okay “Adi, it’s okay, but you can’t say things like that.” And, I lost it.. I began weeping and I left my ice cream on the table and went inside to find Dorothy. I bursted through the door screaming and crying. She probably thought I was hurt saying “What’s wrong, what happened” I couldn’t obviously tell her “ I said a bad word and now I”m not a cool again” So I blurted out “they called me a boy!” and I continued to cry. “awwwww...Adi, it’s okay, I love your new haircut! It’s like mine! Don’t you think grandma is pretty? You look like me! You don’t look like a boy” She put her hands on my shoulders looked square at me and said “We just need to fix it up a bit.” 

I’m assuming all good midwestern grandma’s are the same.. all having a handy salon ready in their bathroom. You could curl, dye, crimp, cut and style anyone at anytime you needed to without spending too much at the salon. So, my grandma placed a vinyl cap with tiny holes on my head and described ‘tipping’ to me. “It’s just a little bit of blonde pops, we’ll dye it and then we’ll curl it. Those boys are going to love your new hair.”  She proceeded by using a tiny hook to pull out portions of my hair to dye. I sat for 45 minutes with a strong smell of chemicals eating away my new brown hair. After the dye set she permed my hair, more chemicals and more sitting in the bathroom. Dorothy smoked her long Viceroy cigarettes the entire time. She washed and dried my hair and styled it with a little mouse. I looked into the mirror with my grandma saying “Isn’t it cute, you look like Shirley Temple! Oh my god, you look just like her! You look adorable” I looked at my self in the mirror with horror and back to my grandma and realized that I didn’t look like Shirley Temple at all. What I looked like was a 65 year old Grandma Goberville with a puff on top of my head that was peppered with bits of bright blonde curls. I did not feel sexy or mysterious or cool, I felt like an old woman inside a 6 year old body. And I no longer felt like an honorary neighborhood kid in the boys club. 

I smiled a tiny smile of embarrassment and remained silent as my proud grandma brought me down the carpeted stairs, into the cigarette smelling kitchen, pushing open the metal 1970′s era door, walking me down along the house, down the long sidewalk to the backyard where all the boys were lounging in the sun. I joined all my cousins and brother on the pavement and sat down quietly hoping they wouldn’t notice.. Jim said it looked nice and as soon as my grandma left my cousin Tony hit it perfectly with the most current 90′s pop culture reference. “Adi! You’re Boy Meets World!” AKA Ben Savage.

Back home to Momence, I arrived to an even more startled mother who said she was going to murder Dorothy and I felt a quivering guilt for my grandma’s untimely death. I went to bed feeling like a total loser and awoke to a dress hanging in my room. 

“Put your dress on, Adi, it’s picture day today!” My mom added a bit of mouse that my grandma packed for me and I was off to school resembling Ms. Ostrow my elderly school teacher as I walked into the room. Somehow no one really cared about my new haircut and sat in front of the camera with my tiny smile, faking confidence. 

My portrait is of a 6 year old girl looking a bit uncomfortable, nothing new for this age of school-portraits. I wore a denim dress with tiny red heart shaped buttons going down my chest. In that picture I can see myself dreaming of the day I’d swim in the water and look up at the sky happy as can be and say “this Sucks!”

[the-one-called-f]

well, what are we waiting for!!! lets find F and throw an orange at him or something

* THAT'S THE SPIRIT!

(Player joined your party! They'll probably know how to get to the darkworld from here, but you could also take a moment to see if there's anything else in the forest. Your call.)

#light world momence #player

[the-one-called-f]

no :( i cant say tone tags out loud

* Sucks to suck then lmao

#player gremlin moments #light world momence #player

[the-one-called-f]

you can talk with tone tags with your voice??

* What, and you can't?

#I imagine they're just saying the letters aloud #light world momence #player

[the-one-called-f]

Hiya!! Who are you? Is that you F?

* Damn, forgotten already? /lh

* It's me, Player. I said id meet you on the inside.

#light world momence #player

[the-one-called-f]

Oh, er, hello? Who’s out there? *squints into the distance*

* Yo.

#light world momence

[the-one-called-f]

Go left! Left is always right!

No, silly! Left is left!

#light world momence

[the-one-called-f]

Okay, how do we find this goober if we’re in the middle of the woods??? YO, F!!! COME ON OUT!! WE’RE LOOKING FOR YOU!!!

Perhaps try taking a look around the area?

#light world momence

[the-one-called-f]

Following player, you end up in a bright forest. The rift is nowhere to be seen.

#light world momence

[leepennino]

Artist

I’m not sure how to say this, but I’ve been running away from myself for a long time. Running away from what I actually am.. who I actually am. Where I’m actually from. I tell people I’m a set designer, but I don’t know how to really design anything. I tell people I run a design studio, but I don’t really know how to do that either. I tell people I’m from Chicago, but I mostly remember staring blankly and endlessly into the cornfields and soybean fields of Momence, Illinois.. a tiny town an hour’s drive from Chicago (going 65 miles an hour for a full 60 minutes). I tell people I am surrounded by good friends, but I often feel alone and lonely, like no one really understands who I am, understands what I want to do and who I want to be. 

The truths of me are this, (I’ll try my hardest to type truth):

-I like to wonder, to look at small things and how they work side by side. (1)

-I enjoy connections, very much. Connections in the way things are built, glued together, screwed together, what holds one thing up from another thing, and how it’s all secured to the ground. (2)

-I like the relationships of colors. Not necessarily color at all, but the way one color with another color makes you feel a certain way, the subjectivity of color. That blows my mind. (3)

-I like people thinking very hard and being their true self. I don’t like art-talk and I don’t like when people feel like they have to prove who they are. I just like people being truly who they are. In a sense, their weirdest self.

-I like to have a team of people making my art. I really enjoy making drawings, drafting, writing notes and outlines & thinking about measurements and how connections will be made. I like telling people what finishes to use and materials to purchase. I like walking into a wood-shop days after I’ve given the team my drawings and seeing how they personally decided to make those drawings into reality. I ask them to walk me through the process and I ask too many questions on their choices.

-I love creating objects that are very large. The miniature does not impress me or inspire me the same way that something large and simple does.

-I like materials very much. I like finding new materials to work with, materials that are not intended to be used in those ways. I feel clever when I stumble upon those materials and they seem to be the perfect thing for the piece I’m making.

-I can’t quite grasp how set design is art, but I’m really interested in that idea. I think I have a problem taking it too seriously beyond the concepts I have when I make a set. I don’t think it’s necessary to have a grand philosophical or conceptual thought behind the work, I think the WORK (labor) itself is enough. BECAUSE...

-I believe in work. I believe in bodies and minds figuring things out in a room together. I think when that’s happening, in my work, when guys are in a shop building, I think that’s the concept, that’s the big idea behind the whole thing to me.. it’s simply employing the people, giving them a paycheck and time spent working that is useful in this world. I think that's the best thing I can offer, minds working towards something that hadn't existed before.

-I don’t believe in leisure or time-off in the obvious sense. I don’t believe in laziness.

- I want to make very large things in the world that will sit in a city and will be viewed from bus windows and airplanes.

-I don’t want people to critique the importance or smartness of my work. I’d rather have builders surrounding it to discuss HOW we did something, WHY we chose a material or what steps we took to build something. I want people to question the color choices and I want them to feel the sturdiness.  

-I want people to be quiet around the work, I don’t want people to dance or be loud or instagram it, taking selfies in front of anything I do.

-I don’t think being beautiful is an important thing, I think it’s a worthless trait.  

-I don’t think being sexy is very important outside of feeling it within yourself.

-I do think having humor and a lightness is critical to being alive.

-I do believe in standing up for yourself and speaking what you believe to be morally correct as often as you feel you need to.

-I believe in forgiveness, complete forgiveness if all things are laid out and discussed.

-I believe that artists should feel the freedom to always change. Because, we need to morph as we grow, as the world grows around us and as our inspirations and world around us affect the work we make.

- I believe in ancestors being the people that came before you. I don’t think these people need to be related by blood, family, place in time or place on earth. I think you can choose who your ancestors are and follow them like they are your personal gods.

-I believe in friendship. I don’t think friendship needs to look like something standard, regular drinks or texting each other very often.  I believe friendship is being there for someone on whatever deep level they need. For me, it is often someone who can talk about these same struggles, these same questions, these same moral obligations and these truths.

- I do believe in love being the most important thing. Loving the work you do and respecting it in the same way you would respect the love of your life. With commitment, patience, understanding and gentle care. I believe in showing love to all the people you face day to day. I believe in giving love to the things you decide to touch.

-I try to ‘phone it in’ on jobs sometimes but I can never make it far.

-I don’t believe in repeating. I believe every project needs to feel different to help facilitate growth, personal understanding and the necessary struggle. Even if that things is simply a new tool used, a new timeline or way to build.

- I believe in community. Though, community does not need to be called friendship. It’s being aware, being present and being involved in facilitation of what you stand for.

-I believe in loneliness as well. Making time for being alone is crucial, this is when you can actually hear yourself. Sometimes what you need to hear is stifled by friends and outings and politics. But, when you are alone and your phone is away you can actually start having a conversation with yourself. If you’re an artist, this is the only way you can dig into something and hear your inner voice very loud.

- I believe in building. In all ways artful and personal. Building means demolition sometimes.

(1)  Today it was a tiny vine that had slowly wrapped it's way around very delicate leaves on top of Griffith Park

(2) Every moment of the day my mind is thinking of these connections. As I type I can't stop thinking about the windowsill in my bedroom and how it's mounted onto the frame of the house, what type of nails were used in the 30's and if they've popped beyond the surface of the wood underneath.

(3) The Eiffel tower, when you visit it, you notice the chocolate brown color of the paint.. it's never shown this color on the little tourist sculptures you can buy. But, when your underneath the impressive tower you feel it's lighter than you expected because it's not steel colored, but a color of chocolate.