#egg week

[stickynotebirds]

160. Eggs!!

[tommyssupercoolblog]

HAPPY EASTER, OSTRA/OSTARA, OR WHATEVER ELSE UR CELEBRATIN AROUND NOW (if u have a march holidaye)

Since Ostra is usually on the 21st and Easter is on the 31st, I'm posting these now- in the middle!!! Backgrounds under the cut because I spent wayyy WAYY too much time on them to throw them aside unseen in full,,,,

I didn't even realize his was lined and mine wasn't until now....sighs. oh well. I WORKED TOO DAMN HARD TO TURN BACC!!!!!

[blunderkinder]

update

so uh, it’s probably obvious to y’all by now that Egg Week didn’t happen. unfortunately, there was a death in my family, so i was rather busy. however, even though we missed official Leah Day, i’d still be happy to host it if interest remains! our dear Ms. Thomas and her wonderful books deserve all of the love, unpunctual though i may be. :’) if you want to participate in Egg Week and would like me to make it happen, please interact with this post to let me know! also, feel free to suggest a time frame— i know this can be a hectic time of year, and i wouldn’t want to exclude anyone as a result of that.

stay hydrated! love, admin el

[ourladyphantom]

moritz: i hate everyone

also moritz:

[browntwinks]

“This is the story of a girl called Bridget. This is the story of a girl who tears her heart out.”

Moodboard of Bridget from Nowhere Near You by Leah Thomas

[probablyalizard]

Sibs

[lordoftheglockenspiel]

Egg Week #1: The Sound of Silver

For Egg Week, started by @blunderkinder!! This smol letter from Ollie to Moritz was so much fun to write.

What’s happening, Morizzle Farbizzle? I know that you’re super busy and everything on your American tour, looking for your mom and all, but I demand attention from you. DEMAND, I SAY! I COMMAND YOU TO RESPOND TO EVERY LETTER I SEND YOU! HENCEFORTH! ERGO!

I’d better just get to the point. I know that I should probably keep these letters short, but this is my third time trying to write this in the most concise way possible without wasting any of your time with Ollie silliness. You and Fieke are in America! Don’t waste all of your time listening to my dumb ramblings when you could be face-to-face with the world’s largest ball of twine. I’d love to know how you would see it— you’d probably have more appreciation for it than anyone else in the whole world. You could see all of the detail put into it, the individual strings, all of the dust collected on it, showing the wear and the age of the thing…

Anyway, I’m getting off topic. I’m writing this because of something that I just realized happened when we met, Moritz. Something that doesn’t make me feel so lonely while you’re hanging out with eight million feet of twine and Fieke Abend.

Isn’t it funny how we can see each other’s heartbeats? I mean, I kind of can see yours; the pulsating silver near the center of your chest that beat steadily and oh-so-calmly. I definitely can’t see it the way that you see mine, though— I don’t hear the blood coursing through your veins, traveling from the very bottom of your tiniest phalange’s distal phalanx to the very top of your parietal bone. But that didn’t make it any less impressive— that steady silver beating created the most beautiful rhythm in my head, a rhythm that I tap on my fingers even when you’re thousands of miles away from me.

I guess that’s all I wanted to say. I miss you, Moritz. I want to hear about everything that you’re doing as soon as you do it, but I think that me being unable to use a cell phone kind of messes that up.

Instead, the rhythm of your heartbeat is keeping me connected to you while we’re so far away from each other. All electricity is alive to me, Moritz, but seeing that pacemaker keeping you going was the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. That tiny little silver light inside of your chest is better than the whole skyline of Chicago. Even better than standing next to the Bean in the center of the city, which was pretty amazing. You’re better than the Bean, Moritz.

I’ve been thinking about the best way to describe what silver looks like to you. It’s the sound that you hear when your fork and knife hit up against each other and the entire room is silent so everyone stares at you. It’s the sound that you hear when bells jingle and when someone plays the triangle, or exactly what you’d imagine Tinker Bell to sound like. Maybe you could even hear silver in water that’s leaking from the sink when you thought you shut it off completely.

I don’t want to write too much and waste all of your time. I hope that you’ll get back to me soon, but don’t worry about it if you’re too busy. I miss you.

~Ollie

[moonliuna]

All the Wrong Notes

For egg week 2017 I decided to rewrite Nowhere Near You from Owen’s perspective. He’s a great character and I just want him to be loved tbh. So, please enjoy~ 

Fandom: Because You’ll Never Meet Me- Leah Thomas

Word count: 1,702

Read on Ao3 here

“Ich bin hier.” 

It’s what I’ve been signing to Fieke for as long as I can remember. Sometimes angrily, sometimes in self-pity, sometimes as if to remind myself. 

“Ich bin hier!” I am here.

See me.

Talk to me; let me respond with shaking hands, with pen, with music notes spilling from a stage. Allow me to tell you my secrets. 

Using anything but this void- this voiceless mouth.

I hand him a book, tapping the spine so he can see it. “Orchid”, I mouth. We’re volunteering in the school’s library, arranging the children’s books in rainbow order.

“How is orchid a color? It is already a plant. Is that not enough of a thing to be?”

I try to hold back a smile, and he elbows me. Leaning into him, I keep tapping the spines, pretending I can hear notes coming together.

He doesn’t meet my eyes. He can see me without doing so. The dull purple reflects in the black of his goggles. 

Him, lacking eyes; me, lacking a tongue. Sometimes I wonder if we make up for each other’s emptiness, or if this just makes the both of us worse. Creating black holes in the inches between us.

He sees using sound- some kind of echolocation. So I’m always tapping, trying to illuminate the world. Or maybe just myself. 

Ich bin hier.

“If you can’t handle work this simple,” the librarian, Frau Pruwitt, says, “how do you expect to get along in a respectable school?”

She’s not talking to me. 

I hear his breath catch, sense his anxiety. I start tapping. My nervous energy rushes the beat. 

Flowing water escapes my reach.

“Tomorrow,” I trace carefully on his arm, “come over.”

I laugh at his questioning reply.

“It’s a surprise!” 

And it takes him a minute to meet my eyes. But when he does, he’s smiling.

My phone chimes. 

Gutschein? (“Rain check?”)

I can’t help but worry.

Ist alles ok? (“Is everything ok?”) 

I imagine text-to-speech reading my message to him, explaining the words trapped inside a flat surface. Impossible for him to see.

Ich habe erkrankt. Es tut mir so leid. (“I’ve fallen ill. So sorry.”) 

It could easily be a lie, but I want to believe in him more than that. Still, it’s difficult. I feel like I'm making a song with all the wrong notes. 

Even a change of key can’t fix it.

He’s not home. I leave his gift- an orchid- with his father.

Surprise.

Get well soon.

I pull out my phone once I’m back home. Of course, Fieke is furious at him. She’s my sister- the only family I have left. Of course she’s protective. I just want to know the truth.

Hey, Moritz. Looks like you decided to surprise me today instead. Frau Pruwitt said you left angry. But we could have talked about it. You didn’t have to lie. You never asked me what I thought about you switching schools. You clam up! But I know that if I had a chance to leave Bernholdt-Regen, you would send me on my way. I’ll miss your frown. But Kreiszig isn’t that big. 

It doesn’t take long for him to respond.

Some of the schools aren’t in Kreiszig.

Owen?

I pause.

Yes?

I’m apologizing. Profusely.

Another pause. A breath of hesitation. I hope it doesn’t knock down this house of cards I’ve built.

Apologize in person.

In person?

You said “rain check”. That part better not have been a lie! 

It wasn’t a lie.

“Owen,” he whispers. “I haven’t apologized.”

“Owen. The orchid smelled like cinnamon.”

I am here. For the first time, it’s for someone else.

“If you think this is going to get you closer to him somehow- wake up. He’ll think you’re an idiot or he’ll think you’re being cute. He doesn’t take you seriously.” Fieke rants. We’re sitting in the pub, as usual.

All I can do is sign furiously in response, filled with the urge to scream. 

Back off.

I know.

I just want a chance. 

Of course, he appears. I pick up my phone, tap away at my latest project. Fail to block out their conversation.Their voices raise, and when I look up, the air has changed to ice and fire.

“We...”

“Us...”

“Our...”

I gaze at the two in disbelief. When did I become an accessory? When did I lose what little voice I had left?

Fieke slams her fist on the table.

I stand. I walk to the empty microphone in the front of the bar. Clutching it in my hands, I make eye contact with them. I stand on the tiny stage, mouthing the same words I always have. Yet, I’m silent.

“Ich bin hier.”

“Ich bin hier.”

“Ich bin hier!”

I am here. 

See me.

It’s 4 am.

I want to listen. If you want to speak.

I’m angry. But I still respond.

If you’re doing this out of pity, forget it!

You shouldn’t believe everything your sister says.

Leave her out of it. And you’re still talking down to me.

I’m sorry. It isn’t intentional.

It never is. People think that being silent is the same as having nothing to say. It’s not.

I don’t think you have nothing to say. Your actions speak volumes. Tomes of chronicles of volumes.

You can never say things simply.

Things: simply.

And you have a terrible sense of humor! 

God. I can never stay mad.

You mean a great deal to me, Owen.

I need to hear that more.

Love you.

He doesn’t respond. I knew he wouldn’t.

I walk into the pub nearly an hour late. I’m still surprised he got there first.Tapping on my phone, I slide into the chair across from him. Only when I’m finally done do I pull out a pen and start writing on a napkin.

Why did you want to see me Moritz.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Our conversation is long and fruitless. Frankly, it just leaves me exhausted. He’s constantly busy; am I not allowed to be?

Eventually, I fill up the last space on the napkin.

Have to go, DJing downtown.

He offers to come. And though he’s abysmal at reading sign language, I refuse to pull out another napkin; it’ll just invite more conversation.

I have to repeat myself, but he gets the message.

“I don’t want you to.”

I manage to leave without revealing my feelings once.

He shows up at my apartment a few days later. Fieke leaves immediately.

We exchange small smiles as the atmosphere slowly shifts from fear to comfort and back again. 

“What are you up to?” He sits next to me and gingerly places his head on my shoulder. 

I turn my computer screen away, before belatedly realizing the movement was pointless. He can’t see screens.

I type into my computer, the electronic voice reading my answer. “I set up a text-based role-playing forum. Weeks ago.”

His expression turns surprised, then vaguely interested. When he questions me further, I explain the premise to him. “This is an MORPG about the lives of superhuman kids created in a secret laboratory on the edge of Germany’s Tharandt Forest. Set a decade ago.” 

He sits up, borderline panicked. “Beg pardon?”

It’s where he lost his eyes- as a child stuck in a laboratory that his mother ran. They were trying to fix his heart, he told me. They altered his genetic code when he was only a fetus. Obviously, it failed. He not only lost his eyes, but his heart doesn’t work properly either. He still uses a pacemaker. 

The scientists experimented on other kids too. Dozens, now scattered across the world- each with a different mutation. 

I’m not one of them.

I explain further, “I’m trying to connect with the kids you knew…”

“How could you do this?”

I half close my laptop. This isn’t what I wanted. 

“I did this for you. I thought you’d want to meet the others.”

“No. I only wish to meet one of them.” 

As he slowly inches away, I understand.

Of course. 

A boy he’s been writing to for nearly two years. Who he’s known for longer than he’s known me. A boy who lives over 8,000 km away, in the middle of America. A boy who I wrote to recently. 

The boy who helped me create this forum. 

I wonder if he knows. 

I can’t bring myself to ask.

Our argument is long and by the end I thought I’d run out of both patience and misery. But when I kick him out and slam the door, I sob.

The next time I see him, I’m with a boy who introduced himself as Max. We’re standing outside his university. It’s the same one Moritz goes to. 

When Moritz comes near us, I can tell that something’s off. He reacts far too slowly, walks unsteadily. Max doesn’t see a problem. He walks forward, claps Moritz on the back.

“Nice to see you. This is… well, he’s very quiet. I didn’t get his name.”

“His name’s Owen,” he responds. 

I don’t bother signing.

The last time I see Moritz is at the airport- overall, a fitting spot for a goodbye. Fieke is leaving with him. Somehow, they ended up working everything out. I know now that we weren’t meant to.

Others from the forum came to meet him; he ended up using it after all. They’re the ones who helped him locate his mother. He’s leaving for America to meet her. Maybe he’ll see the boy too.

He turns to me last. I can tell he wants to speak, so I hold up a finger. Scrawling in a notebook, I hold it out to him.

Moderator. Username bachandbeyond 

Like the others, I introduced myself using my titles from the forum.

“Owen.” 

I can feel his regret. 

“All you’ve done. The board. This flight. I could thank you a thousand times, and you’d deserve more.”

I’m trying to pinpoint my feelings. I’m not vexed, or even sad anymore. It’s bittersweet. There’s nothing left of us, is there?

“Have I ever known you, Owen?”

Maybe not.

But you heard me.