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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
One Nice Bug Per Day
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YOU ARE THE REASON

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Peter Solarz

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@eryndol
Eryn heard Charles call out from the room. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out!” she said and headed out her bag on her shoulder. “It can’t be that big,” she added a little quieter, well aware that the mansion it self was huge.
She wandered down the halls going up and down stairs. May as well take the advantage to look around, seeing as she could be headed home tomorrow. This might be the only chance she got to see the legendary school. Despite the grim outlook tomorrow, she tried to enjoy her surroundings. The school really was beautiful, she could only imagine what it must have looked like when students had been rushing around and the place was void of cobwebs. Mahogany floors polished, marble columns, a blooming garden, giant windows that gave the rooms natural light. If she did go home, at least she would be an expert on what it looked like inside. She wasn’t usually a big person on bragging rights, but breaking into this mansion was pretty cool.
At the same time she was aware that she was ignoring what she had seen a few minutes ago with Charles. Was it something she would be willing to bring up tomorrow at breakfast? She’d make that decision tomorrow, but she could already feel a part of her saying, You’re never going to see the man again if you leave. May as well say something. Maybe you can help. She shook her head, it was silly of her to even think that way. He didn’t want help.
Soon enough she found what looked like student dorms a while back. She picked a room that suited her and when her head hit the pillow she didn’t have time to register how exhausted she was. The sun was already starting to peak through the trees when she fell asleep.
“I can control time and motion. They sort of go hand in hand.” Avery had never met anyone as fascinating as Jean, at least from what he’d heard. It wasn’t everyday you met the one who’s stopped the apocalypse. “I work mostly with Hank. My gig before all of this made me pretty good with my hands. Building things, I mean. That wasn’t a pick up line.” His cheeks flushed once more. He was having a terrible time just taking with her.
Emily laughed at her brother as he tripped over his words. He always got tongue tied when he was around one of his crushes, but this had been the worst she’d seen. ‘I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,’ she sent to Jean.
“I bet you could karate kid? Wax on. Wax off” she teased Peter, mimicking the motions from the movie. She gave him a playful tap on the chest between his hands, already distracting him. “Why don’t we battle it out on Altered Beast instead? I bet you a box of your Twinkies I make it to the end faster.” She glanced over her shoulder at her brother and Jean. “Besides, the lovebirds obviously need some time to get to know each other,” she laughed. Not to mention she wanted to get to know Peter better without her big brother looking over her shoulder.
Jean smiled, finding Avery’s flustered nature endearing. “That’s fascinating. Maybe I’ll see it sometime. I’m assuming Charles is going to want you guys to start training with us soon. That’s something to look forward to.” She enjoyed it most days. Others when the situations were tough, they left her exhausted and sore. “What exactly did you do before all this?” she asked and added, “Hank’s fun to work with. He’s had me take things apart and put them together. That knowledge came in handy when rebuilding the school.”
Sounds good, have fun with that one, she thought back to Emily. If you need anything, just let me know.
He circled his arms giving his best impression before miming catching a fly with his fingers as chopsticks in front of their faces. He looked down briefly at the tap on his chest. “Oh bring it! It’s on,” Peter said. “Make that two boxes.” He laughed following her gaze and made a small wave at the two and blew them a kiss before following Emily.
With the last of this sickness behind me, I’m back. Get ready for some replies.
Places where reality is a bit altered:
• any target • churches in texas • abandoned 7/11’s • your bedroom at 5 am • hospitals at midnight • warehouses that smell like dust • lighthouses with lights that don’t work anymore • empty parking lots • ponds and lakes in suburban neighborhoods • rooftops in the early morning • inside a dark cabinet
playgrounds at night
rest stops on highways
deep in the mountains
early in the morning wherever it’s just snowed
trails by the highway just out of earshot of traffic
schools during breaks
those little beaches right next to ferry docks
bowling alleys
unfamiliar mcdonalds on long roadtrips
your friends living room once everybody but you is asleep
laundromats at midnight
what the fuck
galeries in art museums that are empty except for you
the lighting section of home depot
stairwells
•hospital waiting rooms •airports from midnight to 7am • bathrooms in small concert venues
I just got the weirdest feeling I swear
OK LISTEN THERE ARE REASONS FOR THIS!!!
A lot of these places are called liminal spaces - which means they are throughways from one space to the next. Places like rest stops, stairwells, trains, parking lots, waiting rooms, airports feel weird when you’re in them because their existence is not about themselves, but the things before and after them. They have no definitive place outside of their relationship to the spaces you are coming from and going to. Reality feels altered here because we’re not really supposed to be in them for a long time for think about them as their own entities, and when we do they seem odd and out of place.
The other spaces feel weird because our brains are hard-wired for context - we like things to belong to a certain place and time and when we experience those things outside of the context our brains have developed for them, our brains are like NOPE SHIT THIS ISN’T RIGHT GET OUT ABORT ABORT. Schools not in session, empty museums, being awake when other people are asleep - all these things and spaces feel weird because our brain is like “I already have a context for this space and this is not it so it must be dangerous.” Our rational understanding can sometimes override that immediate “danger” impulse but we’re still left with a feeling of wariness and unease.
Listen I am very passionate about liminal spaces they are fascinating stuff or perhaps I am merely a nerd.
I, for one, appreciate your passion for liminal spaces and thank you for explaining it to the rest of us.
“Yea. Xavier’s got me in a whole bunch of stuff. Mostly to control my powers better. Late bloomer and all,” he said running a hand through his hair. “I imagine he’s got you in some pretty advanced classes, all things considered.”
It was as of Peter and Emily weren’t even around. Avery focused all his attention on Jean. Had he not been her brother, she would have been offended, but he didn’t get this stuck on someone very often so she let it slide.
“I bet I could show you a thing or two about combat,” she said to Peter with a smirk and a raised brow. She liked his spunk. And since Avery seemed to be more interested in the red headed psychic she didn’t see the trouble with going off on their own.
“What’s your mutation,” Jean asked turning towards him. “I’m in a few one on one classes with him where we work on things that have more to do with telepathy and telekinesis. Other than that, I’m in mostly regular classes, and training hours.”
Jean gave Emily a knowing smile, as she felt them growing more distant. Peter would keep her company. Peter whipped up his fighting stance, fully equipped with karate hands, “Oh you think so? Bring it on,” he said playfully. “I just happen to know some sick moves myself.”
Emily smirked at the smile on Peter’s face. “Guys. This is Avery. My big overprotective brother.” She gave him a nudge as she introduced him. “Peter and Je–,” she said introducing the two of them.
“Jean Grey,” Avery cut off and finished for her.
Emily gave a him a confused look and continued on. “–an. They’ve been showing me around.” Avery started talking to Jean as if no one else was there. “I’ve heard a lot about you from the professor. Not that we sit around and talk about you. I mean, he told me about the whole end of the world thing when he recruited me…I’m gonna stop now,” he said with a laugh.
Em couldn’t help but laugh at the way his cheeks burned. Her brother was acting like an idiot. And all because he seems to have a crush on Jean. Emily wouldn’t be surprised if she was half the reason he’d decided to come to the school in the first place.
“I think I prefer Peter’s version of the apocalypse,” she said glancing over her shoulder at him. “At least he didn’t get tongue-tied,” said with a playful nudge and laugh. Avery’s cheeks burned even brighter.
Peter gave a small wave to Avery as he was introduces. He laughed and shot a smile at Emily, wiggling his eyebrows when her brother started talking to Jean.
“It’s nice to meet you, Avery. The Professor is glad to have you both here,” Jean said with a smile, “It’s alright, I understand. The end of the world isn’t the greatest selling point for the school, but it comes up. Are you planning to take classes here?”
Peter held his arms up with a little shrug, “What can I say? I’ve got a way with words.” He clapped Avery on the shoulder partly to show he meant no offense as he laughed at his expense, but also to maybe give Avery the support he might need as he pined after Jean.
Jean turned towards Emily, “He may have left out a small bit. I wouldn’t be able to do much if Peter hadn’t given him a few good punches first.”
Eryn noticed that Charles had responded as though he had plucked those words from her mind. Despite this she noted his quick defense and failed to ignore the comment he made. You’re only saying that because you know it’s hurting you. People only get angry when they hear a truth they’re not ready to face yet.
How much of it can he hear? Eryn tried to get her thoughts away from anything that would irritate him further and focused on getting him up the stairs. She played concentration with herself. Category is… names. Charles, Joe, Maria, Hank, Joanne, Claire, Andrew. Step after step, they made it to the top.
They shuffled to the door, and inside Hank was preparing the medicine, a needle in hand and a rubber tourniquet draped over his shoulder. Instantly Eryn felt as though she was seeing something vulnerable and turned her eyes to the ground as she continued to support Charles’ weight.
Charles cast the girl a scornful look with reddened eyes, as her thoughts along with Hank’s, and so many others seemed to pound in his ears. “It’s not… I-it… It allows me to walk, and sl-” The man’s voice cut off croakily, and his eyes trailed away from Eryn, choosing to try and focus instead on making their way up the steps, on how close they were getting to relief, and to the feeling in his legs returned to him…
How much of it could he hear? “Much of it. Your conscious thoughts and emotions are particularly noisy, and-” The man winced as a sudden flurry of voices scraped their way into his mind. “P-presently countless others’ are also coming back.” Xavier attempted to explain.
As they approached the door, a mixture of eagerness, anxiety and relief rolled about in his stomach. Charles noticed how Eryn looked down after seeing the syringe and tourniquet, but didn’t comment on the reaction. He leant forewords in an attempt to travel more quickly, and once they’d gotten close enough, released his grip around Eryn to fall into a sitting position on the bed. The man reached up to take the tourniquet Hank offered him, and his eyes were filled with desperation as he tightened it with shaky hands. Picking up the needle, he licked his lips, eyeing the liquid in the vial for a moment, and positioned it in the proper angle over his arm.
Eryn hovered near the doorway, feeling that she in a way had made this more of a problem then it had to be simply by coming to the mansion at night. Still, she found herself watching. Standing there she realized that she must have put her bag down somewhere and thought it would be a good idea to go find it. “I’ll, um, speak to you tomorrow Professor,” she said while I’m sorry played in her thoughts.
She didn’t fully understand everything he was trying to tell her about thoughts, but she knew that it seemed similar to something she experienced. Still, there would be time enough to ask him tomorrow, when he was in a better state. Or, so she hoped. She had no idea how exactly this medicine worked, when it kicked in. She put the thought aside and turned to go. She’d done enough.
the most implausible thing about superhero movies is that these guys make their own suits, like seriously those toxic chemicals did NOT give you the ability to sew stretch knits, do you even own a serger
I feel like there’s this little secret place in the middle of some seedy New York business neighborhood, back room, doesn’t even have a sign on the door, but within three days of using their powers in public or starting a pattern of vigilanteism, every budding superhero or supervillain gets discreetly handed a scrap of paper with that address written on it.
Inside there’s this little tea table with three chairs, woodstove, minifridge, work table, sewing machines, bolts and bolts of stretch fabrics and maybe some kevlar, and two middle-aged women with matching wedding rings and sketchbooks.
And they invite you to sit down, and give you tea and cookies, and start making sketches of what you want your costume to look like, and you get measured, and told to come back in a week, and there’s your costume, waiting for you.
The first one is free. They tell you the price of subsequent ones, and it’s based on what you can afford. You have no idea how they found out about your financial situation. You try it on, and it fits perfectly, and you have no idea how they managed that without measuring you a whole lot more thoroughly than they did.
They ask you to pose for a picture with them. For their album, they say. The camera is old, big, the sort film camera artists hunt down at antique stores and pay thousands for, and they come pose on either side of you and one of them clicks the camera remotely by way of one of those squeeze-things on a cable that you’ve seen depicted from olden times. That one (the tall one, you think, though she isn’t really, thin and reminiscent of a Greek marble statue) pulls the glass plate from the camera and scurries off to the basement, while the other one (shorter, round, all smiles, her shiny black hair pulled up into a bun) brings out a photo album to show you their work.
Inside it is … everyone. Superheroes. Supervillains. Household names and people you don’t recognize. She flips through pages at random, telling you little bits about the guy in the purple spangly costume, the lady in red and black, the mysterious cloaked figure whose mask reveals one eye. As she pages back, the costumes start looking really convincingly retro, and her descriptions start having references to the Space Race, the Depression, the Great War.
The other lady comes up, holding your picture. You’re sort of surprised to find it’s in color, and then you realize all the others were, too, even the earliest ones. There you are, and you look like a superhero. You look down at yourself, and feel like a superhero. You stand up straighter, and the costume suddenly fits a tiny bit better, and they both smile proudly.
*
The next time you come in, it’s because the person who’s probably going to be your nemesis has shredded your costume. You bring the agreed-upon price, and you bake cupcakes to share with them. There’s a third woman there, and you don’t recognize her, but the way she moves is familiar somehow, and the air seems to sparkle around her, on the edge of frost or the edge of flame. She’s carrying a wrapped brown paper package in her arms, and she smiles at you and moves to depart. You offer her a cupcake for the road.
The two seamstresses go into transports of delight over the cupcakes. You drink tea, and eat cookies and a piece of a pie someone brought around yesterday. They examine your costume and suggest a layer of kevlar around the shoulders and torso, since you’re facing off with someone who uses claws.
They ask you how the costume has worked, contemplate small design changes, make sketches. They tell you a story about their second wedding that has you falling off the chair in tears, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. They were married in 1906, they say, twice. They took turns being the man. They joke about how two one-ring ceremonies make one two-ring ceremony, and figure that they each had one wedding because it only counted when they were the bride.
They point you at three pictures on the wall. A short round man with an impressive beard grins next to a taller, white-gowned goddess; a thin man in top hat and tails looks adoringly down at a round and beaming bride; two women, in their wedding dresses, clasp each other close and smile dazzlingly at the camera. The other two pictures show the sanctuaries of different churches; this one was clearly taken in this room.
There’s a card next to what’s left of the pie. Elaborate silver curlicues on white, and it originally said “Happy 10th Anniversary,” only someone has taken a Sharpie and shoehorned in an extra 1, so it says “Happy 110th.” The tall one follows your gaze, tells you, morning wedding and evening wedding, same day. She picks up the card and sets it upright; you can see the name signed inside: Magneto.
You notice that scattered on their paperwork desk are many more envelopes and cards, and are glad you decided to bring the cupcakes.
*
When you pick up your costume the next time, it’s wrapped up in paper and string. You don’t need to try it on; there’s no way it won’t be perfect. You drink tea, eat candies like your grandmother used to make when you were small, talk about your nights out superheroing and your nemesis and your calculus homework and how today’s economy compares with the later years of the Depression.
When you leave, you meet a man in the alleyway. He’s big, and he radiates danger, but his eyes shift from you to the package in your arms, and he nods slightly and moves past you. You’re not the slightest bit surprised when he goes into the same door you came out of.
*
The next time you visit, there’s nothing wrong with your costume but you think it might be wise to have a spare. And also, you want to thank them for the kevlar. You bring artisan sodas, the kind you buy in glass bottles, and they give you stir fry, cooked on the wood-burning stove in a wok that looks a century old.
There’s no way they could possibly know that your day job cut your hours, but they give you a discount that suits you perfectly. Halfway through dinner, a cinderblock of a man comes in the door, and the shorter lady brings up an antique-looking bottle of liquor to pour into his tea. You catch a whiff and it makes your eyes water. The tall one sees your face, and grins, and says, Prohibition.
You’re not sure whether the liquor is that old, or whether they’ve got a still down in the basement with their photography darkroom. Either seems completely plausible. The four of you have a rousing conversation about the merits of various beverages over dinner, and then you leave him to do business with the seamstresses.
*
It’s almost a year later, and you’re on your fifth costume, when you see the gangly teenager chase off a trio of would-be purse-snatchers with a grace of movement that can only be called superhuman.
You take pen and paper from one of your multitude of convenient hidden pockets, and scribble down an address. With your own power and the advantage of practice, it’s easy to catch up with her, and the work of an instant to slip the paper into her hand.
*
A week or so later, you’re drinking tea and comparing Supreme Court Justices past and present when she comes into the shop, and her brow furrows a bit, like she remembers you but can’t figure out from where. The ladies welcome her, and you push the tray of cookies towards her and head out the door.
In the alleyway you meet that same giant menacing man you’ve seen once before. He’s got a bouquet of flowers in one hand, the banner saying Happy Anniversary, and a brown paper bag in the other.
You nod to him, and he offers you a cupcake.
Have you read The Tailor? It’s a Batman fan comic by TerminAitor on Deviantart and it’s a fantastic little piece about the tailor who makes some of the costumes for the criminals of Gotham… whether he wants to do it or not. Great stuff.
The costuming thing in general seems like it would make for a great one-off or miniseries. Or a book of shorts including stuff like kyraneko’s seamstresses. Someone has to be making this stuff… and not breathing a word of it to anyone.
There actually was a comic in one of the Spiderman titles about the 90-years-older-than-dirt Jewish tailor who makes all the superhero and villain costumes, telling them how to update their look as he does so. So, yeah, it’s canon.
SUPER HERO COSTUME DESIGNER IS THE ONLY JOB IM CUT OUT FOR
Hozier covers We Are Young by Fun.
Someone make out w/ me to this for like 3 hours ok
Holy damn
@asteriea
In the first episode of Netflix’s Stranger Things, there’s a slip of an X-Men reference. It’s tiny, barely there. “Race back to my place? Winner gets a comic,” Dustin says, as he and Will speed home. “Any comic?” Will says, before taking off into the darkness. “I’ll take your X-Men 134!” That mention of a specific X-Men comic is the last thing Will says to his friend, and to the audience, before disappearing. And it’s not just a random comic book in Dustin’s collection. Uncanny X-Men No. 134 is one of the most popular and significant issues in X-Men canon. It kicks off the most important X-Men story in Marvel history, and it contains the first appearance of one of the most destructive forces in the X-Men universe. And viewed through the lens of Stranger Things, it’s both a taste of what’s to come on the show and an homage to the X-Men character known as Jean Grey.
Stranger Things is a love letter to the X-Men’s Jean Grey
(via
sapphic-buffy
)
Oh sweet lord
IT’S HARDER THAN YOU THINK. NO USING GOOGLE. EVERY ANSWER MUST START WITH THE FIRST LETTER OF YOUR MUSE’S NAME.
• NAME - Eryn, Jean, Peter
• ANIMAL - Elephant, Jackalope, Peacock
• BOYS NAME - Evan, Justin, Patrick
• GIRLS NAME - Evelyn, Joanna, Patty
• COLOR - Evergreen, Jade, Pink
• MOVIE - E.T., Jaws, Pan’s Labyrinth
• SOMETHING YOU WEAR - Earrings, Jacket, Poncho
• DRINK - Eggnog, Juleps, Punch
• FOOD - Eggplant, Jalapeño, Popcorn
• SOMETHING FOUND IN A BATHROOM - Emory board, Jewelry cleaner, Popurri
• PLACE - Edinburgh, Johannesburg, Paris
• REASON FOR BEING LATE - Event went late last night, Just woke up, Poured my coffee on myself
I WAS TAGGED BY: @zenredneckarcher
TAGGING: @charlesxavierthetelepath, @rocklandjbrin, @graytitaniumalloy @emilyxfairchild
Stranger Things (2016)
honestly what year is it
I HATE THIS FUCKING WEBSITE
Eryn noticed that Charles had responded as though he had plucked those words from her mind. Despite this she noted his quick defense and failed to ignore the comment he made. You’re only saying that because you know it’s hurting you. People only get angry when they hear a truth they’re not ready to face yet.
How much of it can he hear? Eryn tried to get her thoughts away from anything that would irritate him further and focused on getting him up the stairs. She played concentration with herself. Category is. . . names. Charles, Joe, Maria, Hank, Joanne, Claire, Andrew. Step after step, they made it to the top.
They shuffled to the door, and inside Hank was preparing the medicine, a needle in hand and a rubber tourniquet draped over his shoulder. Instantly Eryn felt as though she was seeing something vulnerable and turned her eyes to the ground as she continued to support Charles’ weight.
‘Think I’ll save it for top secret stuff,’ she passed on in response. As much as Emily thought Jean’s mutation was indeed amazing, she wasn’t ready for anyone to go digging around in her thoughts. There was too much she wanted to keep hidden.
“About this apocalypse, what exactly did you do to thwart it?” she asked as they walked on. “From what I understand she was the only reason it didn’t happen.” Emily turned at the sound of her brother’s voice behind her. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other, and he’d decided to become on of Xavier’s students leaving her behind. A twinge of anger over the forced separation tugged at her heart, but the joy of finally being reunited overruled it.
“Avery!” she said letting her excitement take over as she pulled him into a tight hug. “Where the hell have you been? Thought you’d be the one to show me around since you were so keen on Charles finding me,” she said parting herself from him.
He had changed so much. She almost didn’t recognize the man in front of her as she took him in. Obviously his time here had been good to him. “I was with the professor actually. Plus I know how much you hate when your big brother bosses you around,” he teased her.
Jean walked with her. Fair enough, she thought. In fact it would be strange for someone to want her in their head. She thought for now it was best not to pry. Emily would show what she wanted when she was ready to.
Peter was quite ready to act out the whole thing. He was already making his best Apocalypse face as he turned to face Emily. His face was in a scowl and his arms out to make himself look bigger, “Oh, man, you should’ve seen him let me tell you...” when he heard a voice. He straightened up and observed the situation, a small smile on his face as he watched the family reunion.
It reminded him enough of seeing his own little sitter when he went home. He’d open the door and peek in, slowly coming in and throwing his stuff down. He’d hear footsteps fumble down the stairs fast enough he thought his sister would just roll down the rest. She’d run into him as he picked her up saying, “Hey, kiddo, what have you been up to?”
Jean had heard about the brother from Charles, but never met him in person. Still, she thought she’d let the siblings catch up before introducing herself to him. She wondered how long it had been since they had seen each other.
@truustissues
“Hello there, what can I do for you?”