#brettimaeus

I finished Nier: Automata's Ending E this past week, at which point the game instantly became one of my favorites of all time. I can't be sure, but the entire game suddenly seemed structured, brilliantly, around the player's choice in this segment, which completely justified the problems I'd had with the story up to that point. Here's a very brief piece I wrote about it, which I thought was worth sharing:

The first 2 playthroughs of Nier: Automata set up a world with meaningfulness everywhere. Machines talk about their interests/hobbies, what keeps them going in life, and who they care about.

A nlovely fanfic I started writing years ago. Then I lost it, but for some reason I couldn’t get it out of my head so I rewrote it last week.

SO basically in an effort to lube up my desire to write and make myself think significantly less highly of my writing, I will be doing weekly installments of this dumb as shit series of Metal Gear fanfictions. I think this is perfect because Metal Gear’s already dumb as shit and treating it with a stream-of-consciousness Khonjin House-esque wacky tonality will be the perfect way to shit out something every week, because it can be the worst shit ever, and I can leave it wherever I want or make an episode as short as I fuckin’ need if I can’t find the time to write one week. Anyway, the point is, it doesn’t matter how shitty it is I’m gonna be shitting it out once a week because that’s what I told myself I’d do and if I start slowing down instead of speeding up then I’ll fall right off the train and onto the train tracks and it’ll be so easy to just sit there on the train tracks instead of catching another train so take it away Raiden:

The Raiden phone buzzed, alerting him that he must go to New Zealand for his new mission. Raiden checked the time. Yup, it was still the year 2033. He’d been contently fucking murdering people for 19 years. Making people stop living was a heck of a living, but he reminded himself that he was doing it all for his family, who happened to be living in New Zealand so he would get to see them while he was there so that was really good.

He took a public flight and had his knees cramped by the seat in front of him, so he stabbed his high frequency blade through the back of the cushion to kill the person sitting there and then chopped the seat up by its roots and kicked it away. A flight attendant reminded him that murder wasn’t actually legal. He excused himself by saying that he’d actually forgotten, since he was really used to murdering people basically weekly, and everyone found that understandable until he started arguing that since they were also over international waters the rules shouldn’t apply anyway. Considering there are no countries where murder isn’t legal, it didn’t seem like a defensible argument, and perhaps even weakened his original point. Raiden resisted the urge to murder them for attacking his opinions, and therefore himself as a person.

The plane touched down and Raiden sprinted to Rose’s house in a couple minutes. He kicked the front door off its hinges and shouted “RRRRRROOOOOOSSSEE????” From the kitchen, he heard a counter-shout, “No blood on the carpet!” He took mild offense that she would just assume he had blood on him, but he did have to swipe his sword outside the front door and paint the sidewalk and hedges with some chunky blood, so he didn’t utter a retort. Wait! That’s the only greeting he got??

“Rose, I- I’m home!” Stammered Raiden, attempting to catch a verbal consolation prize.

Week #7

Just a quick little thing I wrote. OH WAIT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN POSTED A WEEK AGO BUT I’M A FRAUD WHO’S CLEARYL LOSING INTEREST IN THIS BLOG JUST LIKE I SAID I WOULD. OH FUCK, NO, I WAS ENJOYING THIS FOR A BIT. HAVING CREATIVE STUFF ONLINE BESIDES VIDEOS FELT REALLY GOOD.

My comeback will be in the month of November. In the meantime, take two posts as penance.

I spent the first 10 years of my life in the state of Iowa. The same house was my home those 10 years, and the same backyard to that house was my best friend’s backyard. We literally shared the same backyard. We could walk out our back doors and walk across a stretch of grass to see each other. This may even be why we were such good friends, after all, our personalities didn’t mesh.

In retrospect, that boy, Mike, was not my type. He was into all the trappings of adulthood and manhood and the gangsta hood, where I was very much content to stay a child forever. I was a kid who wouldn’t play in the mud because it was gross, he was the opposite. In elementary school, I played Mario, he played Call of Duty.

Heyo here's fanfiction I wrote last year I guess Don’t Read It

So I show up on a bus in Beach city and get off and I'm hungry so I go get a pizza at the fish pizza place. I walk in and Ronaldo is on his latop bloggin about keping tBeach City weuird. I compliment his blog as a huge fan and point out that he's getting pizza on his keyboard. We establsich good rapport by this, and I sit down and order my pizza.

Outside, throught the glass doors and windows I see Lapis Lazuli land. She's the hottest ever, and I turn to Ronaldo to make eye contact. He's as excited as me, and asks if I want to see some fanart he drew of Lapis. I say yeah I look at fanart of Lapis all the time. So he turns his laptops toward me and show me the fanart.

In it, Lapis is crying a river, she is hugging Japser, and she has blue nail paint. I am repulsed at this ruination of my waifu, an d proceed to don my opinion pants.

I state that there's nothing particularly wrong with the anatomy, but the coloration makes her look too intense and removes the cuteness from her. He says he didn't want her to look so cute, and I say he's a heckin moron.

I roll with it, pointing out that her nail polish is uncomfortable and doesn't fit the charaacter. He says we don't actually know enoughtabout the character to say that she'dnever wear nail polish and I say he's right but I hate the nail polish and wouldn't want any waifus to wear it. If she wore stuff like that I'd feel uncomfortable and not want to hold her hand as much.

Ronaldo retorts this by scrolling to the next piece of fanart. Lapis is waering high heels, earrings, and has a shoulder tatto o visible under her roughly torn blue dress.

All purity is gone from this world and I feel the urge to vomit. The red lipstick he's drawn on her makes me wanna never kiss her for sure. no thanks. And the high heels what even. Can you imagine flying around with those big old things throwing off your balance.?

Week #4

Lucy is a character I want to detail in a variety of stories, many of which will feature her friend Britt. I’m not confident I have their character’s nailed down, which is why I need to do so. They’re somewhat important.

This story is the first, and it might be a standout. After a full night of racking my brain for ideas, I slammed these thousand words down in an hour. So it’s coming from a rather visceral place that you can probably read into. I haven’t edited it, and I likely won’t? because of course I need to be willing to crap this stuff out and never look back. So here’s to that. *clinks licorice tea glass against monitor, spiliing tea on my keyboard*

When Lucy was a kid, her neighbors asked her to catsit for 2 weeks while they were out town. Every day when she came home from school, even though she had homework to get to, she would go straight into the living room to pet the cat. Her mom would seize the opportunity to ask her how her day went, and she would give a brief summary before bringing up her homework and excusing herself. For the first week this was the case. But finals were next week, and she needed to make use of all the time available to her, so over the weekend, Lucy locked herself in her room to study.

The goings were rough, and the word problems were tough, but Lucy carefully staved off distractions. She put her phone on silent and her laptop on airplane mode, and even then she found herself rereading sentences until they stuck. But she was as in the zone as she could be, and that's what counted.

Then her mom called up to remind her about the cat. The call ripped her from her state of zen. She realized there were responsibilities at conflict here. But her work took greater precedence, so she called back down to her mother and said she couldn't come at the moment. Her mom's cry of “awww,” was cut off by Lucy closing the door. She resumed her study. It took her about an hour to reenter her zen state, but once she had things went swimmingly. She finished reviewing her Geography flash cards at 8:00 PM, but she still had 3 subjects to go that Saturday evening.

And her mom called up to remind her about the cat. It needed it's food and water changed, not to mention some attention. This frustrated Lucy greatly, but she knew it was getting late, and she was better off finishing that chore before continuing into the night. She ran down the stairs to the living room and grabbed the bowls from the corner. Her mom greeted her with delight, thanking her for being responsible. Lucy silently cleaned and refilled the bowls in the kitchen, then brought them back for the cat. Her mom said, “I think you'd better give him some pets before you run back off again. He misses you.”

Lucy stared at her, then at the cat, who was already busy chowing down his food. “Wish I could mom, but I gotta get back to work.” She headed back upstairs, somewhat abject, and got to getting back to work.

THE NEXT DAY, SUNDAY MORNING

Lucy woke with her face in a textbook, and her mom poking her shoulder. “Hey you,” she remarked, “The cat's downstairs if you want a good wake-up from him...”

Lucy blinked at her, half-processing. “That- That was a plenty good *yawn* wake-up right there, mom. I gotta find where I left off.” Lucy had intended to pull an all-nighter. She'd lost a lot of ground overnight, and she wasn't even sure how much yet. That made her grouchy enough as is, not to mention the uncomfortable, unsatisfying desk-sleep she'd gotten.

Her mother frowned at her. “Alright, well don't deprive yourself of sleep and snuggles just for this.” She left Lucy alone, thank god.

Lucy buckled down. She cracked open boxes of cereal to eat raw, as substitutes for meals. She peed in the crappy, tiny upstairs bathroom instead of the one downstairs she usually used. And she focused all her efforts on staying in the zen zone of her room.

But her mom called up to remind her about the cat. Lucy snapped to look at the clock, it was somehow 6 PM. Her mom called “Hey sweetie, I think the cat wants some love!”

“Love!? It wants, love??” She shouted back.

“Yeah, is that too much to ask?” Coerced her mother.

“Yeah!!! Right now it is!”

“Well that's too bad! Come down hear and show him some attention.”

Lucy's eyes widened in frustration. She closed her laptop, snatched it up, and stormed down the stairs with it under her arm. As she entered the living room, her mother once again greeted her with delight. Lucy once again said nothing. She looked around the room for the cat, and found it cowering underneath the pedals of the exercise bike. She dropped her laptop on the couch, went over to the cat, and sat criss-cross applesauce next to it, facing away from her mom. The cat slinked away.

Her mother spoke up. “Boy a real grumpus, aren't we?”

Lucy's mouth tightened. “Yeah. Now's not a good time for this, I think.”

“What? Of course it is. Here, if you turn around you can watch TV with me while you pet him.”

Lucy turned around and saw the Big Bang Theory was on. That was the last straw.

“Mom, I'm busy!”

“Oh come on, you're always busy. I've seen you all of five minutes today.”

Lucy stared at her mom, overcome with the feeling that she was being extremely selfish. She decided to get up and leave. As if reading her mind, her mom asked her if she could perform a favor. Lucy asked what. She said the neighbors were posting online about missing their precious cat.

“...And?” said Lucy.

“Can you take a picture of him, for me to send them?”

“Why can't you take a picture mom?” she asked

“Well, you're better with technology...”

Lucy stared at her mom, sitting on the couch with iPad outstretched in a trap. She looked back at the cat and realized he'd escaped to the opposite corner of the room. He was in the jumpy sort of mood that would make this job very difficult. She got up, took the iPad, and set about trying to take a picture of him. The light was low, and the iPad's camera sucked, so her mom rephrased that goal to a good picture of him.

After a while of giving angling advice from the peanut gallery, which made Lucy fume, her mother got up to help corral him into a good spot in the center of the room. Their combined efforts were enough to get some acceptable products, ready for shipping to the lonely set of parents who'd missed their fur-baby. But it took a half-hour which felt to Lucy like an epoch.

She passed the iPad back to her mom, who admitted she could go upstairs now. Lucy rebutted “I'd go upstairs anyway, thanks. I told you I was busy mom!”

Week #3

Already missed the Sunday night deadline because am dumb.

Anyway this was inspired by a writing prompt, but I used it more as a jumping off point for a weird idea. Turned into a hearty short story with some sort-of character arcs and a twist ending? It’s not very good!

I was in a killer mood. Freelance work was a rough enough business, but today had been a real bitch, since I'd been cut outta another deal by the same anonymous shithead as usual. Shit like that was bog standard in this industry, but after awhile you started to get extra sick of it. The world really is against you, kids, and it's on you to work against it. The only people you can count on are the ones right next to you, your pack. Friends who'll show up at a funeral they got nothing to do with just to comfort you when you need 'em. For me, that was Leo, and today, he needed me. Whether I was in the mood for it or not didn't matter, I could bite a bullet for a friend. I walked down the city blocks to his apartment, and there he was waiting outside.

“What up you motherfucker!” I shouted.

“Lionell! Hey, watch your language, people are just getting to bed.” He embraced me in a big muscly hug.

“Yeah, and the fuckin' crimelords are just getting up. Why the hell'd you want to talk to me so late?”

He frowned, “Just had to talk, I really appreciate it.” Then he set off walking down the sidewalk. “But if there is a crime, I might have to ditch you.” He added. I followed.

“Naaahhh,” I said, trying to preemptively lighten the mood, “If anyone pulls a gun, they're gonna have to go through the Kings of the Jungle. We've made it five years here together, and whatever you're going through is somethin' temporary.”

“Actually, it kinda is the fact that we've been here for five years. Five whole years, and I've been doing the same darn thing the whole time.”

“Mhm, poor guy got a steady job.” I rolled my eyes.

“Well, you make it sound silly, but yeah, it's kinda too steady. I feel like I haven't changed at all in the past 5 years. And y'know, when nothing changes, you feel staleness hanging in the air. Everywhere. It sucks. But- it's just a feeling right? You shouldn't give feelings like that any credit. Because, you're still technically doing the right thing, right? So what if you plateaued, as long as you plateaued somewhere good...” Leo paused for me.

“Uhhh...” I muttered.

“I guess, it's just like, when you get this far along from the original reason you started, it's impossible not to doubt it? It's just natural that you phase in and out of passion for what you're doing. But you gotta try not to think about it, because if you think too hard you'll let the self-doubt in. You have to just, take it on good faith that your original reason for starting out was good, and is still good.”

“Holy shit. You're an athlete not a fucking starving artist.”

He said apologetically, “I know! I'm well off, this is a stupid problem! Like I said, I'm trying not to give these ideas any credit. But the truth is, I've had this on my mind for years.”

“Really? Managed to keep it a secret from me. How many?”

“Maybe two. Not one of those things you can pin down. But, I've been telling myself it's not a problem for a long time. I'm telling you about it now 'cause I think that was unhealthy.

“No, I'm glad you told me. But I'm not sure what you want now...” I questioned.

“Me neither.”

I looked him over. Weakness was unlike Leo. I'd never seen myself in him like this. Ever since we moved to the city together, he'd been successful, confident. He'd handled things so much better. I'd learned that the world was an impenetrable current of misfortune, so when I saw weakness, I saw an opportunity to take advantage of it. But this was my friend, my pack, and when I saw weakness in him, I knew I had to protect him like he'd protected me.

“Plateaued, huh?” I asked, straightening my speech a little, “I- I see what you mean, but I think you've got the wrong perspective. You still gotta strive for self-improvement, even if you don't achieve it. Because otherwise you're not actually plateauing, you're just slowly losing altitude. Uh... It's like sharpening an axe every time you use it. You don't just do it so you can have the sharpest axe in the world, you do it so your axe, at least, doesn't get duller.”

Leo smiled coolly. “That's... a good point. But, I still feel like, uh... I think my physical axe is plenty sharp, I think I've kept it in good condition. Like, my skills, I mean. They're top notch, I make sure of it. But again, it's a mental thing... I think my mental axe is dull... And I have no clue how to sharpen it.”

That really threw me for a loop. “I- I see what you mean... Wow man, when you put it like that I really feel you. I don't think I was giving you enough credit. I figured you were blowing this whole 'mid-life crisis' thing outta proportion, 'cause I've always figured you for kind of a meathead. Bein' an athlete seems as simple as you can get to me, but what you're describing is a lot like what I been feeling. I guess... Well, you're not alone.”

He smiled again. “Yeah, that's a comfort. Bettin' a lot of people go through this... But I'm still not sure how to get through it. I really have to shake this, for other people's sake, not just mine.”

“Okay, we gotta find you your grinding stone! Backin' up here, time for a little armchair psychiatry... Uh, you mentioned your 'original reason' a couple times earlier. What's up with that, seems pretty important here?”

“Well, I can't really talk about it...”

“Okay, I know you can't talk about behind-the-scenes business-y shit. ...But how did that make you feel?” I said, holding out a pen like a microphone. “The 'origin' thing, not the stupid secrecy thing.”

He stopped walking. We'd made it seven blocks. It was properly dark now, the lamp-posts were coming on. There were no cars on the street and no other people on the sidewalk. The only thing nearby was a shitty old phone booth that hadn't worked for a decade. Leo stared at it.

“Well, it was... like, a big... inspiration. I was all kinds of inspired.” He paused, then sighed. “I disappointed someone. Like eh i- it was a nightmare-level thing. I messed up and I was feeling like shit,” His cursing caught me off guard, but he continued, “A lot like right now, but way worse. The difference was, at the time, I was able to... convert it all into this crazy intense determination. That person was a perfect storm of inspiration, and I just acted on it... Everything was crystal clear and, and, and perfect. It was really like I just got handed the sharpest axe, d- mental axe I mean. It- it didn't seem like I'd ever have to sharpen it!”

“W- Wow! Bro have you been, like, riding a high for 5 years?”

Leo sighed again. “This is really hard to explain without actually explaining what happened.”

“Well I think I'm getting it. It sounds like you need another hit.”

“Okay, I don't like the drug analogy. It's a littl-”

“Course ya don't ya boy scout. You get what I'm saying though. You just need to sniff out a new source of inspiration.”

“It is not that simple!”

“Why not!?”

Leo stammered. “Because we're- talking about... some complex shit here! This isn't the kind of inspiration you can just sniff out.”

“How is one type of inspiration that different from the next?”

His mouth tightened like a tight-rope as his teeth clenched in frustration. “D- g- This is impossible to talk about! GAH.” He swung at a lamp-post like he was going to hit it, then slowed down and hunched his head against it.

“I don't think so. Inspiration is probably everywhere. It's one of those ephemeral kinda things. It's also, as you have demonstrated, disposable. I wish I could look for you buddy, but unless you let on a little more here, this is the best I can do.”

Leo lifted his head. He had a confused look, like two halves of his brain were butting heads in an attempt to fuse. “Maybe they're the same thing.”

“...hhhhwhaat?”

“...You. …Telling you everything... And fresh inspiration... They might be the same thing!”

I was the confused one now. Leo had this crazed look.

“Yeah! Forget it. This might be perfect actually.”

“Uhhhh...”

“Shhhh... Okay, no more confusion. Everything's gonna make perfect sense. Gimme a second.” He dashed into the phone booth, hastily taking off his coat.

“Wh-” I watched the phone booth rock and shake, and after a minute, Leo emerged in-costume. “WHAT THE FUCK,” I screamed, “You're Leonidas?!?!”

Grinning from ear to ear, Leo stepped forward proudly, “Yeah,” He held his hands up in a gesture of confirmation. “Everything makes sense now right?

I was silent, but my look confusion was verging on disgust. I grimaced and spat, “Did you let someone die!? Is that what you meant by disappointed? That you killed them?”

Leo recoiled, not expecting such a fatal shot, “Okay, d- yeah.” The leap of logic had put him off his desperate action, and in the delay he rationalized, “That just makes sense I guess.”

“Was it a good friend?”

“Yes! And the important part is obviously that I took that to heart. It inspired me to save others!”

With mouth still arched in revulsion, I repeated, “...Myeah. What the fuck.”

“I don't know, what? This is not how I expected you to react!”

“Sorry, this is just, a particularly big pill for me to swallow.”

“W- Should I not have told you??? I was just trying to do what you told me. You said inspiration was probably right in front of me, and I realized you were right. I've been trying to live with this as a secret for years, worrying that it might be unhealthy, but the solution was right there! I don't know, I was so desperate, I might have just done something really selfish... 'Another hit' might have been the right phrasing after all, ah Jesus.”

“No.” I looked at him with determination. He looked up at me. “I'm glad you told me this...”

He heaved a massive sigh. “Ohhh, god, thank you.” He exhaled in satisfaction.

I shot him in the heart with a gun. “...You motherfucker.” He fell over dead.

“Glad you got your inspiration.” I smiled in disgust, standing over the lifeless body. “Y- you thought you could just skip over the fact that the 'good friend' you killed was my SISTER? Like what, I wouldn't get it? Guess what. That fucking funeral was my inspiration too. I'M THE FUCKING FANG!! I've been seeing your vigilante ass once a week for years, right up to this morning, you piece of shit; been trying to kill you just as long.” I thought of my sister, saw red, and spat on his corpse.

“Thanks for the pep talk though. It was just the inspiration I needed to get back on the horse. Good reminder that the world is fucked, I can't trust anyone, and I should be taking advantage of everyone!” I smiled cruelly. “Fuck, if even the 'hero' gets his inspiration from the 'friends' he's killed, I oughta be set for life.”

Prompt: “You’re a teenager and it’s the last day of summer break. This is especially painful for you because, over the course of those summer months, you fell in love for the first time and that person is moving away (and breaking up with you). Write the scene where you say goodbye (500 words or fewer).”

In early June, the yearbooks dispersed, filled with names, notes, and sometimes paragraphs of sentimentality. I signed the five or six of the people I knew personally. Then Nicole's. She was a girl I'd never spoken to, but had observed often wearing A-cut dresses and cute block-pattern sweaters. I assumed she had an eye for simplicity, and I uniquely appreciated that, I think.

I left her a simple message, "Your fashion sense rocks!" and passed it on. Fifteen minutes later, she approached me, struck by receiving a compliment devoid of outright flirtation. She said she appreciated it, since her friends always criticized her judgement in the fashion department. In fact, her friends were going on a beach trip for the first two weeks of summer, while she had to stay home and help her parents pack for their move in August.

I told her I was staying home for the summer too, and if she needed any company to let me know. She smiled appreciatively again, and asked for my yearbook to write her number in. I went home crapping my pants about how to handle the situation. Obviously she wasn't staying in the area for long, so, perhaps my stakes were low? On the other hand, I didn't want to ruin her handful of weeks alone with no friends!

It was a small window, so urgency got the better of my discomfort. In week 1, we went to get ice cream and talked about how the school year made us want to scream. In week 2, we went to the state fair multiple days in a row, and talked about the state's unfairness in a recent local lawsuit against farmers. By week 3, her friends were back... but she said she preferred to go see the new movie I'd been selling her on all week. Slowly my discomfort turned to extreme comfort. Week 4, we went to the mall of all places, and talked about how fashion had truthfully been leading to class discrimination since the dawn of time.

By week 7, we were hanging out 7 days a week. It was less about the location at this point, and more about the talk. We never ran out of stuff to talk about, which was perfect; it kept my mind occupied all the time. I could never shake the feeling that if I stopped rolling with it, the combo would be broken; the temporary nature of our friendship would solidify.