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novamirmirsblog · 3 years

Text

No more bed

Word count: 2113

Genre: Not actually sure :3

Request: No

Warnings: Swearing, kissing?

A/N that's the end of the only one bed trope. Technically requests are now closed but if you think of another overused trope you want me to write then feel free to send it in!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You didn't eat that night and went straight to bed when you got too tired to focus on the words. You had made sure the pillow wall was twice the size it was to begin with. You turned off your light when you heard Natasha's footsteps come to the door, turning your back to her and pretending to be asleep. Your breaths were deep and completely even, there was no way Natasha could have guessed you were still awake. You felt her hesitate over you and the smell of reheated food invaded your nose and then heard her walk away.

The words she said back in that forest shouldn't have hurt you as much but they did. You shouldn't care what she thinks. It doesn't matter that she doesn't believe in your skills as an agent, that she doesn't think you're pretty enough to grab someone's attention.

If Natasha thought the bickering and coolness was bad at the start of the week, she was in for a shock. When she finally came back to that tiny, godforsaken bed and did her usual trick of sliding her foot over the pillow wall, you got up, took a pillow and the spare blanket and went to sleep on the rug in the living room.

When morning rolled around, you couldn't even be bothered to talk to her, focusing much more on the task ahead, just wanting this week to be over. It wasn't even the hurt you were feeling, it was the frustration that you felt hurt that drove you to stop talking to her. You hated her. She was annoying. She had no respect for anything anyone does.

You spent most the day preparing for the party that evening. Sure, it shouldn't take you over half a day to get ready but you had finished your paperwork early and you wanted to try on every single dress and suit SHIELD had supplied you with. You ended up choosing a navy blue, off the shoulder ball gown. Thinking logistically, it was quite possibly one of the worst things you could have worn. A pantsuit would have been a much more suitable choice and yet you looked and - more importantly - felt hot in the dress.

~~~~~

"You're not seriously wearing that are you?" Natasha asked as we both began to change into our formal wear. She had let you splurge out on a taxi but only after you had to walk what felt like 500 miles so no one would know where you were staying.

"Why not?" You asked with a fakeness in your voice "It's a no contact mission, plus, no one would look at me anyway, right?"

"Y/n, that's not what I-"

"Oh look. We're here." You get out the cab before Natasha can finish what she's saying.

Ivan might be an evil person, but he sure does know how to throw a party. It was elegant and high class and he made his way over to you as soon as he saw you. You had both agreed that you would keep him distracted while Natasha grabbed the relevant information.

"Dorogaya, u tebya poluchilos!" (Darling, you made it!) Ivan opened his arms wide, grabbed you by the shoulders and placed a kiss on both of your cheeks.

"Konechno, kak ya mog ignorirovat' takuyu zagadku?" (Of course, how could I ignore something so mysterious?) You laughed and he moved his arm to around your waist.

"Prikhodite, prikhodite, yest' lyudi, kotorykh vy dolzhny vstretit'" (Come, come, there are people you should meet)

~~~~~

Ivan spent most the night introducing you to different 'modelling' agencies. You knew what he was doing, he was showing you off to potential buyers. Ivan ran a human trafficking ring along with some other not so nice business. You weren't worried - not in the slightest. Although, as the night drew on and Natasha still hadn't said anything, you were getting a little more... concerned.

You managed to excuse yourself to the bathroom. Once inside, you tapped the earpiece repeatedly, praying Natasha would answer you.

"Romanoff where are you? Have you got the data?"

Silence

"Seriously, I'm sorry I've been ignoring you but this is childish now."

More silence

"I'll let you have the bed?"

Static rang out in your ear.

Of course SHIELD gave you a crappy ear piece. It was ridiculous. They provided you with three million dresses but couldn't give you a working piece of tech.

Just as you pulled out the burner phone, you felt a needle slide into your neck and the world went black.

~~~~~

"Y/n I have the data."

Nothing. Maybe you were still mad at her.

"Y/n do you copy?"

Still nothing.

"Y/n?"

Natasha's heart beat a little faster.

"Come on Y/n. I'm sorry. I'll let you have the bed?" Her burner phone pinged. It was your location. Shit.

~~~~~

You woke up and looked around, seeing that you were in the rundown hideout, you put your head back on the pillow. Everything felt heavy.

"You were drugged." Natasha states, standing in the corner of the room, her arms crossed and eyes never leaving you.

"Oh." It was all you could muster up the energy to say.

"We leave tomorrow morning."

You push yourself up into a sitting position. "How long was I out?"

"3 hours."

You looked at Natasha, really looked at her. "Then why are you still covered in blood?"

Everything of Natasha's had some kind of bloodstain. She hadn't even washed her hands. It may have been dark in the corner she was standing in, having only the side lamp to illuminate the room, but her skin seemingly glowed, making the blood stand out.

She turned around and left, heading towards the bathroom. You wanted to get up to follow her but while your mouth worked again, your legs did not. Apparently whatever they used on you was a lot stronger than you thought because you fell out of the bed. Again. Natasha rushed out, getting to you in an instant, except this time there were no sly remarks.

"Careful princess, people might think you care." You grin, only for it to drop immediately when you saw a slight wetness to the corners of her eyes. "Hey, it's okay." You said softly. If she wasn't as close to you, Natasha would have missed it.

"I didn't know where you were. I-I thought you had gone off to try and prove something and then I saw you lying there, in some basement Ivan had. You-you looked so... dead."

"But I'm not." you reached up and gingerly stroked her hair, not wanting to spook her. "And look!" You gestured to your toes that were wiggling "I can feel my legs again!"

Natasha let out a slightly wet laugh. "I'm really sorry."

"For what? These things happen all the time. Although I will say, you seem to be unlucky because my missions always go wrong with you." You nudged her shoulder, crossing your legs so you faced her, both of you still on the floor.

"For making you think you weren't attractive. For basically drugging you myself."

"Don't be ridiculous Natasha. You didn't drug me."

"I might as well have done! If I had just agreed with you instead of fighting you, then you wouldn't have felt like you had to prove anything."

"You think I'm attractive?"

"Seriously? That's what we're choosing to focus on now."

"Umm yes? I know it wasn't your fault at all but now I want to hear about how attractive I am." You smirked and Natasha stood up abruptly.

"I'm having a shower."

"Is that a nice cold shower for you to try to get over me?" You shouted as she slammed the door shut.

~~~~~

Natasha came out of the shower half an hour later, towel drying her hair.

"I think you're attractive too." You whispered out, half hoping Natasha wouldn't hear it.

She stilled. Looking at you, trying to see if you were lying.

"Then why do you hate me?"

"I don't think I do. Not anymore."

Natasha stayed silent, encouraging you to continue.

"I didn't like the avengers in general. You guys all act like you're so much better than us. You get all the perks of looking good and none of the paperwork. You don't know the amount of times I've seen top level agents filling out avenger paperwork when they should be out in the field. I thought you were all lazy but spending this week with you... well it made me realise that maybe you're not all that bad."

Natasha had moved herself to the bed, just watching you speak. You looked over to her, signalling that you had finished all that you wanted to say.

"I'm sorry I ever made you doubt yourself. I'll talk to the team about actually doing their paperwork. Who's the worst?" She asked, curiosity laced in her tone

"Steve."

Natasha let out a full blown laugh at that. "Wait seriously?"

"Yup. I see him all the time, constantly trying to offload his paperwork to someone else. I always thought it would be Tony but it's definitely Steve, then Bruce. Then it's probably Tony."

"I promise I'll try to make them stop."

"I wouldn't make promises you can't keep." You laughed.

"Why...why did you doubt me?" You asked, a little more serious than before.

"It's not that I doubted you... I guess I just didn't like the way you spoke to Ivan..."

"You mean the flirting?"

"Maybe..."

You sat in silence for a bit, you couldn't figure out why. It's not like it was against any rules and it all worked in your favour. Then, it clicked.

"Natasha Romanoff were you jealous!" You let out a slight gasp and grinned at her.

"No. No of course not." Natasha got defensive. There was no way she was jealous of that old, wrinkly, nasty smelling man.

"Aww princess!" You adjusted yourself so you were completely facing her. "I can flirt with you too if you want." Your voice got slightly lower and your eyelids dropped a fraction, making your pupils seem bigger. While you raised your voice a few octaves for Ivan, you knew that to seduce a woman you had to lower it a little.

"Stop it." Natasha hit you.

"But why baby?" You grabbed her chin and tilted her face towards you. "Now you don't have to be jealous." You sent her a wink and let her chin go, watching as her eyes got a little darker.

"Go away. I want nothing to do with you or your terrible flirting."

"You say my flirting is terrible" Your voice now back to normal, "But your body is saying something different."

"Wrong. My body is saying nothing."

"No?"

No."

"Okay then! Night night princess." You leant over to switch off the light when Natasha grabbed your arm, causing you to look back over to her.

"Calling me princess... it - ugh... well it -" Natasha looked conflicted before glancing up to you, looking at your lips and kissing you.

You were shocked. You knew you shouldn't have been. All the signs were there and you were a very good flirt but actually feeling her lips on yours made your brain short-circuit. You kissed her back and climbed into her lap.

"We're not doing it here." You said when you both broke the kiss

"Why not?" Natasha looked at you, her hands running all over you.

"Because I'm 90% sure there are rats and I really don't want to catch something"

Natasha laughed and kissed you a little more. "Fair enough. We should stop this now then."

You kissed her neck. "Yes. We should definitely stop now."

~~~~~

Just before you were due to leave, you called Natasha into the bedroom.

"Y/n, we have to go."

"I know I know but watch." You bounced excitedly as you threw a match at the bed.

"Y/n what the hell!?"

"Well, if you remember correctly, I said that if you crossed the pillow divide, I would burn the bed with you in it. As you can see, I'm generously leaving you out of the bed. You're welcome."

Natasha just looked at you. "I can't believe I like you."

"Aww you like me? That's kind of embarrassing for you." You laughed as you linked arms with her, walking to the jet, but not before Natasha convinced you to put out the fire on the bed.

You watched as the fire fizzled out and silently thanked that damn bed for bringing you and Natasha closer. Literally. It didn't mean you weren't going to have a long chat with Fury about proper size beds though.

#natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanov #natasha x you #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #black widow x female reader #black widow imagine #black widow x you #black widow #black widow x reader #only one bed trope

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cadence-talle · 4 years

Text

Lavender-Inked Silence

Pairing: Fitz Vacker/Keefe Sencen

Wordcount: 1,883

Summary: Peer grading isn’t fun by any measure, but they can trust each other not to judge. And it’s nice, having a little note to look at before he goes home and has to explain to his father why he only got a 95 on the science test.

(Keefe keeps all these notes in a box under his bed, ripping them out of tests and rereading them when he can’t sleep. He’s not quite sure why, but they help.)

(There are quite a lot of notes, over the years.)

Notes: Thanks to @loverofallthingssmart for the prompt and @vibing-in-the-void for betaing! (Also for coming up with the title “a for effort, g for gay”, which is the best thing i’ve ever heard.

Taglist: @everyonehasthoughts, @clearlykeefitz, @loverofallthingssmart, @a-lonely-tatertot, @enbies-and-felonies, @molly-sencen, @lemontarto, @appalyneinstitute1, @ruewen-and-rising, @silver-snow, @linhamon-roll, @hyperlollypop, @never-ever-too-many-fandoms, @keeper-of-the-lost-queers, @impostertamsong, @vibing-in-the-void, @yeetersofthelostcities, @mistythegirlfluxmess, @diamond-dreamerr, @we-have-no-bananas-today, @an-absolute-travesty

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood.)

Spelling tests are, in Keefe’s opinion, the worst thing in the world.

Some words are easy; “fan”, for example, or “kitten”. They’re written exactly how they sound, so Keefe has no problem with them. It’s only with others that he gets tripped up, the extra vowels and unnecessary consonants, combined with Keefe’s terrible spelling, twisting words into unrecognizable shapes.

The worst part is, he knows most of these words- he’s seen them in books his father has made him read. He can see the letters in his mind, can see the definition of the word. When he tries to write them down, though, it turns into something completely different.

“Neither,” the teacher says, walking slowly around the room. “Neither. ‘Not the one nor the other of two people or things; not either’. Neither.”

Niether, Keefe writes, then scribbles it out and changes it to netheir. That doesn’t look right either, but the teacher has already moved on.

“All right, last one,” she calls as Keefe adds a bill and tiny feet to the duck he’s doodled earlier. “Beer. ‘An alcoholic drink made from yeast-fermented malt flavored with hops.’ Beer.”

To be quite honest, Keefe is pretty sure he knows how to spell beer. Although, with everything he’s learned about spelling, it’s very possible there’s another vowel in there somewhere. Maybe an a?

But that would be bear, and time’s running out.

Baer, he scribbles down just as the teacher comes to collect his paper. She gives it a cursory glance, raising an eyebrow in an expression that reminds Keefe of his father. “We’ll be partner-grading these,” she says cooly. “So when you get someone else’s test, I’ll put the answers on the board and you can mark which ones are wrong.”

Keefe sighs a little, tapping the edge of his desk with his pencil. He’s positive he got almost everything wrong, and now one of his classmates will know too.

Figures.

He corrects the (few) errors on the test he’s given angrily, not even glancing at the name on the top until he’s done. When he does, his stomach drops a little.

Fitzroy A. Vacker, the signature at the top reads. Fitz; one of the best students in their class, so well known he can’t walk down the hall without being high-fived. And if Keefe has his test, that means-

“Here you go.” Keefe’s test drops back onto his desk, the other boy appearing next to him. Wordlessly, Keefe hands him his test. Fitz nods and walks back to his seat, and Keefe picks up the paper.

It’s not as bad as he was expecting. He made a lot of mistakes, true- apparently beer is not, in fact, spelled with an a- but there are no rude comments. Just corrections made in light purple pen.

And in the corner, next to Keefe’s halfhearted doodle of a duck, is a little note.

I like your drawing, it says, and then, you’re a really good artist.

You’re a really good artist.

No one’s ever said that to Keefe. Art isn’t a thing he’s good at, because it’s not a thing he does for fun- it’s not a thing he’s allowed to do for fun.

But here, out of the blue, this compliment from someone he barely knows because he drew a stupid duck.

Keefe stares at the paper and smiles.

(He doesn’t know, not yet. But this, in the form of a lavender-inked note on a spelling test, is the start of something amazing.)

-/-

He doesn’t talk to Fitz, of course. That would be stupid. They’re not friends, so no matter how much he’d like to thank the other boy, he doesn’t. He stays silent, keeps to himself, doesn’t ask his father to arrange a playdate. (Father would be overjoyed if he asked. That’s probably why Keefe doesn't.)

No, he doesn’t do anything until they have a math quiz.

Keefe is actually pretty good at math. Addition and subtraction have always come easy to him, so he breezes through the questions and is done with time to spare. When Fitz’s quiz lands on his desk again, he’s barely even surprised; they’ll probably just be partnered up for the rest of the year.

He is surprised, though, when the grade comes out to an 85/100. Not bad, but not good either; certainly not what Keefe would have expected for everyone’s favorite Golden Boy.

But then he remembers the way his father had sneered when he’d come home with his spelling test. The hours he’d had to study on a subject he didn’t understand, words swimming in front of his eyes.

Everyone’s bound to have one bad subject. Maybe this is Fitz’s.

So Keefe puts a little :) next to the grade, writing great job! before standing up and handing it off to Fitz. The other boy looks at the paper, his face scrunching up as he reads the grade then melting into surprise when he sees the note.

“Thanks,” he says, looking up at Keefe. “You too.”

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them.)

(But Fitz’s smile, right then, speaks volumes.)

-/-

By third grade, Fitz has switched to using a sky blue pen, and by fifth, he’s writing with green. One thing never changes, though- he and Keefe are always in the same class, and they always grade each other’s work.

It’s more a decision than a teacher-mandated thing. Peer grading isn’t fun by any measure, but they can trust each other not to judge. And it’s nice, having a little note to look at before he goes home and has to explain to his father why he only got a 95 on the science test.

(Keefe keeps all these notes in a box under his bed, ripping them out of tests and rereading them when he can’t sleep. He’s not quite sure why, but they help.)

(There are quite a lot of notes, over the years.)

CHEMICAL CHANGES QUIZ: Fitzroy A. Vacker, Class 302

98/100. Pretty sure a flame test isn’t setting something on fire, but good job anyway! I drew you a flower in compinsashun so you would feel better. -Keefe

Basic Fractions Worksheet: Keefe S, Class 401

100/100! You’re so good at math. -Fitz

Exports & Taxation in the American Revolution: Fitz Vacker, Class 503

100/100. This was really good! I couldn’t stop laughing at the sentence “the colonists rebelled by throwing tea in the ocean”, though. -Keefe

(And there are others, too, not written on schoolwork; tiny messages scrawled in the margin of a sheet of paper and folded into a tight square.)

(Blue ones.)

I passed the principal on my way to class. She’s… not happy. Did you really cover her office in paint? -F

They have no proof. -K

(Green ones.)

Hey, can you come over this afternoon? -K

Yeah, sure. What’s up? -F

I just… I don't want to be alone with my parents. They’re always… nicer. When you’re around. -K

Ok. -F

(And in eighth grade, when Fitz has run out of different colors of pens and is back to purple, there are purple ones.)

Are you going to Stina’s party next weekend? -F

I might. If you’re there. -K

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them. Of breaking yourself.)

(There are a lot of messages. None of them mean much.)

(Keefe keeps them anyway.)

-/-

The house is packed, people laughing and whooping over the loud music. The lights are flashing, there’s something suspiciously bitter in the punch, and almost everyone here is a stranger.

Keefe’s been at this party for five minutes. He already regrets coming.

In the crowd, someone lets out a high shout. Fitz flinches slightly at Keefe’s side, taking a step closer to the other boy.

“You want to get out of here?” Keefe murmurs in his ear. Fitz nods and they turn towards the door.

The diner they stop at on the way home is bright, but the lights are constant and the slowly rotating cheesecake in the display case is as familiar as it is inedible. Keefe breathes a sigh of relief. “That was terrible,” he says, taking a seat at the counter. Fitz laughs.

“It really was, wasn’t it? I think most of the people there were highschoolers.”

Keefe nods, thanking the man behind the bar who’s handed him a burger. Fitz is drinking a strawberry milkshake.

“Honestly, I don’t want to go to high school if that’s what people are like.”

Fitz raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think you have much of a choice there, unfortunately.”

“Eh, I don’t know.” Keefe takes a bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “I could always just get held back a year. Wouldn’t be too hard, with my track record.”

Fitz laughs again, bright and happy under the fluorescent lights. Keefe watches him, watches the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his nose scrunches up. He’s beautiful.

Beautiful. Where did that come from?

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them. Of breaking yourself. Sometimes there are realizations under bright-bright lights that you can never say.)

Beautiful.

Hmm.

Shit.

-/-

As it turns out, being in love with your best friend isn’t as hard as it sounds.

Keefe hasn’t managed to get rid of his feelings, by tenth grade, but he’s managed to ignore them. Ignore the way his gut clenches whenever Fitz grins at him, ignore the flush that appears on his cheeks whenever their hands brush. Ignore, ignore, and hope Fitz ignores too.

There’s less peer-grading in high school. Tests and projects are more important now, so the teachers grade them in most of his classes.

Except in Spanish, because apparently the teacher just doesn’t care.

Keefe marks the last incorrect verb conjugation on Fitz’s test, doodling a tiny heart in the paper’s margin and handing the paper to the boy sitting across the aisle from him. Fitz glances at it, eyes narrowing slightly. Keefe knows that look- that’s his determined look.

He’s not quite sure why Fitz would have something to prove right now, though. He scored a solid 97. Unless-

Shaking his head, Keefe forcefully directs that train of thought.

It comes crashing back in just a second, though, when Fitz hands him his graded test.

100! It says at the top in purple pen. Do you want to get dinner with me?

Keefe glances up and towards the other boy, who’s staring at the board as if it contains the secrets of the universe instead of the quiz answers. With shaking fingers, he writes a single word and passes the paper back.

(And sometimes, there are notes written in multicolored pens, years and years of silent conversations. A message on top of a Spanish quiz that promises something amazing. Sometimes, there is a word, unspoken but still heard.)

Yes.

(Sometimes, a lavender-inked note is all you need.)

#lynn rambles #my writing #keefitz #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #kotlc #kotlc fanfiction

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cosmicmoved · 3 years

Text

TSAI YUCHEN / self - para

a reflection on the first time a then-sixteen year old yuchen met his friend from the beach, a girl who had died by way of drowning in the ocean some years prior (this is not mentioned at all in the story, there’s no detailed reference to any death). yuchen, for the record, is utterly unaware of this. to this day, yuchen is wholly not aware of abilities so it might help to read this as though it was written in the future. this is a slightly older yuchen looking back on his memories.

( also, this is an edited version of a short story i submitted for class and that’s why it’s fairly vague and ends abruptly, as it was intended to read as an excerpt of a longer story that i will never write. it is edited because i had to cut a lot of things from the original draft to meet the word count but the version i submitted was also better than the original draft so i decided to just add certain things back into the final version rather than share the messy original.)

Looking back on it, I never considered my friend from beside the sea might have been dead. I can’t say I’d know right away if I were to meet her for the very first time now either. Maybe you’d work it out much quicker than me but. whether or not it was down to goodhearted ignorance. the thought never crossed my mind. I was only sixteen the first time I saw her but I remember the whole thing clearly, the first time I met her and every other time after that. There are things I’m good at forgetting, like what time I’m meant to show up somewhere and where I put my phone when I’m distracted, but I’ve always been good at remembering people. This might well have been last week.

I had this routine of going to the beach after school and, because I refused to tell anybody why I was going, I felt terribly mysterious. It sort of became this secret rendezvous with myself. The reality, however, was pretty shallow especially compared to what I’d learn in the next few months. You see, this was when I’d first found my love of dance and any time of the year it wasn’t teeming with sun-seeking crowds, the beach became my own personal dance studio. a year or so before I’d gotten really into dance. I’d lock myself up in my bedroom, copying tutorials on YouTube, and I thought that was private enough. It wasn’t. All it took was for my mum to walk in on me once and that was my perfect little bubble burst. It took me about a year to forgive her for joking about it at a family gathering that same weekend. I remember somebody (some aunt or uncle, I was too dizzy with humiliation to care who it was) saying that it didn’t matter how well I could dance, I was too short for it not to look all wrong and I really took it to heart, swearing through a clenched jaw that I’d grow tall and shock them all. Right now, I’m a whopping five foot six so you can tell this didn’t exactly pan out. From the day of my mum’s intrusion onwards, I’d storm down the road by myself as soon as school ended and it didn’t matter much that I wasn’t spending this time with other kids because most of them didn’t seem to like me much anyway. I never knew why but befriending stray beach spirits probably didn’t help.

This February afternoon was no different than any other. The air was thick with the coarse clammy scent of wet sand, the tang of salt and fish lingering beneath, and the cold bit away at my cheeks until they were red raw. My ears were buzzing with the music blaring through my earphones -- the soundtrack to my dance routine. I was used to staying there all evening and not seeing another soul, besides the odd dog walker, but she had been a surprise. Catching sight of her, I stopped mid-spin but felt my gut go on without me. I stood stock still like the bitter February air had frozen me through in the hopes it wouldn’t look as though I’d just been dancing but, even if I weren’t about as subtle as a foghorn dressed with twinkling fairy lights, the Swoosh-emblazoned footprints dashed and circled across the sand were a dead giveaway. If she thought I was funny, she didn’t laugh. As a matter of fact, she didn’t do anything. Her skin was pallid and her eyes distant and hair clung to her forehead in damp tresses. I took one good long look at her and instantly took her for someone grim and miserable. A goth, maybe?

Despite my shock, I managed wave to her with a stupid, lopsided grin on my face. Her eyes widened just a fraction and she turned her head away. I sighed for relief, reassured that I wasn’t the only one around here daft enough to believe that standing in the middle of an empty space could hide you from anything. ‘Aren’t you cold?’ I called out. She looked for a moment as though she wanted to scurry off and away from me but she did not move an inch. Despite the dismal weather, she was dressed only in a school uniform, the sleeves short and her legs bare beneath the hem of her skirt. ‘I don’t think you should talk to me’, was her only answer. Her voice was muffled like a person submerged. ‘People don’t talk to me.’ ‘They don’t talk to me either. Are you sure you’re not cold?’ She didn’t answer and hung her head, as if in defeat. I was often told I was bad at recognising boundaries. The weight of coins in my pocket called out to me then, almost like they too were aware that I needed to change the subject, and I was reminded of the van down the street that sold hot snacks all year long. Even when I had no money to spend, I would smile at the man inside, seeing anybody else who spent their Winter by the sea as a kindred spirit. My stomach was reminded of this too and I felt it start to tighten with hunger, like it didn’t think the guilt was working hard enough. ‘Erm, I’m gonna go buy fried chicken,’ I told her, pointing vaguely in the direction of the van. I was eager to calm myself with the smell of grease and sugar, ‘I’ll get you one too.’ Without even raising her head, she shook her head and told me she couldn’t eat them. ‘Ah,’ I said, all sympathetic and understanding, ‘It’s cool, my cousin’s vegan too. I get it.’

And so I sped off, across the sand, up the path and onto the street, my feet thundering against the concrete. I don’t know how long it took me to get there and back but I knew I was developing a stitch in my side. When I did get back the beach was empty yet again, save for me, a piece of fried chicken that was almost the length of my head and a bag of hopefully meat-free fries. I looked around, eyes narrow, trying to work out she possibly could have gone so but for all my efforts, the only footprints I could see were my own.

#« 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐒 (ʏᴜᴄʜᴇɴ) » / 「 self para. 」#OKAY JUST POSTING IT < 33 #the ghost chat on the dash made me suddenly remember this existed #I'M SO NERVOUS TO POST IT LMAO I HAVEN'T POSTED A SELF PARA IN /YEARS/#like i literally stopped posting them bc they made me feel weird and nervous ASDFGHJHGFD BUT MAYBE TODAY I FINALLY GET OVER IT #it might suck though i simply do not know :flushed:#i didn't get a bad grade on it or anything so idk why i'#m so nervous but my brain is fried so. that's FINE.#aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

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franstastic-ideas · 4 years

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Oh my GOD LIBRA AND CARMINE!!!! I love them!! Please do write more of them oh my goodness

You want more Libra and Carmine?

It’s been a while, but here you go!

~~~~~~~~

She wasn’t sure exactly when it began, but as of late, Carmine and the river-bound merman she had accidentally befriended and endeared herself to had initiated a ritual of sorts every other afternoon when classes weren’t an issue.

Libra would tangle himself around her far smaller frame, he had done so the very first time he had made it onto land like a sad sort of seal, but it was only recently that she had begun to reciprocate his physical acts of affection. The redhead found herself more than once carding her fingers through his own long locks of turquoise and awkwardly wrapping an arm or two around him.

As time passed, her touches had grown less awkward, less hesitant, and soon she had begun to not only inwardly enjoy but anticipate the increased intimacy between them.

However, as soon as their cuddle time ended, Libra would immediately head towards the water and submerge himself once more, almost desperately so. She supposed that being an aquatic being that lived in water, he needed to do this to survive. She wondered if Libra was endangering his own body just for the opportunity to hold her, his claimed true love, longer.

On this particular day though, Libra had slipped up, made a fatal error in his previously established routine. Somehow, the two of them had dozed off together, the sound of the stream nearby and the warm sunlight on their bodies having easily lulled them into a peaceful slumber.

Carmine hadn’t the slightest clue how long they had been unconscious, but she was awoken by the sound of a shrill yelp next to her.

She instantly rose from her place on the grass, turning over to face Libra in the fraction of a second in order to assess the situation and uncover the reason as to why he would cry out in such an alarming manner.

But when Carmine’s bespectacled eyes fell on him, another cry, and just as shrill as the one before, punctured the once tranquil air around them, this time falling from her own lips.

Next to her was not a merman, but a man, still unmistakably Libra, but without the traits she had become accustomed to seeing - his fins had retracted, and most glaringly obvious was, his tail was missing, a pair of long legs in its place.

And the most glaring detail of all was, he was naked.

He turned so his back was facing her, still feeling the urgent need to conceal what was left of his dignity from the girl.

“D-Don’t look!” He nearly squealed before rising to his feet and making a mad dash for the river, diving in such a way that an Olympic medal swimmer would have wept - even while in a furious panic, he still held a great amount of grace.

“Can I look now?” Carmine asked once she heard him resurface, her eyes still covered just in case.

“Yes…” He meekly replied, his voice uncharacteristically wobbly. “This… this is exactly why I can’t leave the caves for long, or this river. I’ve been stuck here in this spot for… most likely several years now.”

“Because you’ll turn human, and this is a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not really a bad thing - it’s our race’s camouflage, and what you just said isn’t really how it works either. I may appear human in that form, but I’m still a merman! A werewolf is still a werewolf, even if he looks like a normal human man among other men, right?”

“I… guess so?” She decided it was best to just nod and agree, because now her mind was dangerously close to spinning out of control over the fact that he had just strongly implied the existence of werewolves being a reality. “But why can’t you leave the river? You seem like you have a pretty good grasp of walking on your own two feet, so…”

“Because… well… you know… somebody might see me like… that…” He sunk lower and lover into the water until only his eyes and the top of his head was visible, obviously ashamed.

“Wait, wait, wait…” Carmine waved her hands about, doing her best to fight off a grin threatening to manifest. “You mean to tell me that the entire reason you’re always here isn’t because you’re bound to the water or that you can’t walk, but because you’re afraid someone’s gonna see you in the nude?”

He didn’t respond verbally; Libra just nodded his head, not meeting her eyes.

“…AHAHAHAHAHA!!!” The redhead burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, collapsing onto the ground as she clutched her gut. “That’s hilarious! I can see the headlines now: Naked and Afraid Blue Man Spotted Downtown! I always wondered why you always hung out here, how you got here, but this? This is the last thing I could ever have expected-”

“It’s not funny!” He yelled over her, his face undeniably and frighteningly stern, silencing her in an instant.

“I… I’m sorry…” She spoke softly, a sense of shame creeping into her heart.

She would never have laughed out loud with no restraint like that had she known he would have reacted like that. His feelings were not only obviously hurt, but from where she was standing, Carmine could spot tears beginning to flow from his eyes.

She had expected him to, at the most pout at her, but otherwise this would have been something for them to laugh about together. But no, this wasn’t so.

She had hurt him terribly.

“…I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you like that.” Libra admitted after a few more seconds of silence between them. “Please try to understand; this entire situation is near unspeakably embarrassing for me, in numerous ways I can’t even begin to explain. I’m stranded here until I can acquire another set of clothes - my old ones were stolen a long time ago, so… here I am.”

“Then, maybe I can make it up to you? For laughing when I wasn’t supposed to?”

For some reason, Libra’s entire face had turned scarlet, his voice dropping down to a hoarse squeak.

“A-A-And… how do you intend to do that?”

“I have an older brother who comes by my house sometimes and stays a few days whenever he does. He leaves behind a lot of his stuff, including his clothes. See where I’m going with this? I think they might fit, or at least cover all the stuff that needs to be covered…”

“Oh…! Um, I… I would like that very much, if you would…”

So the next day, Carmine brought over a set of clothes as promised. She had assumed they might have been a bit too small for him, and she was correct - the pants weren’t as noticeable, but the black tank top was so short on him that it exposed his stomach… and consequently, all of his toned abdominal area.

But Libra didn’t seem to mind at all.

He thanked her profusely for the clothing, but something about the way he was behaving still seemed off to the girl. She wondered if she should question him on the subject, assuming that he was still upset with her, but Carmine didn’t have long to ponder over this until…

“I owe you an explanation.” He nervously toyed with the straps of the top, still not meeting her gaze. “You see… I was careless. To someone of the opposite sex to see a merperson in that form, their body bare, well… I… I’m so sorry, Carmine!”

He suddenly grasped her hands in his, holding them tightly.

“We… We have to marry now!” He continued to speak over her alarmed shriek that immediately followed. “This… This is my fault, but… but we have to be responsible about this! I mean, I was planning on marrying you anyways, but… but not like this! This is hardly the most romantic way our lives could have been entwined together forevermore, but… But I promise! I’ll be the best husband ever! You won’t have any regrets in this arrangement and you’ll want for nothing if you’ll give me your hand!”

“Libra, we can’t get married! We don’t have to!” She attempted to talk some sense into him. “Your weird merman honor isn’t at stake here; nobody will know!”

“But I’ll know, and the guilt is already eating me alive!”

#franstastic writes #monster boyfriend

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

Text

Cerebus #18 (1980)

This is the kind of cover that probably kept me thinking this book was too adult for me and that I should just stick to Groo and Elfquest.

In Dave's Swords of Cerebus essay, he explains how he didn't know what the fuck he was doing when he was writing this story and I'll tell you a secret: it fucking shows. He explains how he wrote one idea but realized that idea wasn't going to work and then wrote some other ideas but they weren't going anywhere and then he went back to the first idea and wrote a small novella which still wasn't going to work so then he tried some other idea but couldn't really get anywhere and pretty soon his week that he plans for writing was over and he just had to start drawing one of the scenes. So he picked one and strung it out and then he needed a new scene and took the Lord Julius epilogue and stick that on page 5 and 6. By that time, he sort of had a new idea with the help of his brother-in-law and even though that new idea was pretty lame, what more could he do?! He doesn't admit that his new story is lame; I think he thinks he really pulled one out at the last minute. But it's really kind of lame. I get it though! He's written seventeen previous stories (plus some Cerebus stories that appeared in other magazines) and they were all pretty good and working toward building a portrait of Estarcion and Cerebus and some kind of weird aardvark mystery. He was due to slip up some time! I'm just glad he was honest about how the writing part when all wrong and since he couldn't fall behind on the art, he had to just kind of start drawing and hope for the best. I suppose in that regard, the comic wasn't so bad. It told a coherent story that moves Cerebus' plans for the invasion of Palnu ahead and Dave even gets some funny jokes in. But as far as the extended story goes, not much happens? Cerebus and the T'gitans took over Fluroc by murdering everybody in it and then needed more money for troops and they got more money for troops by conning a merchant that came to town. That's it! That's the whole story! Did we need this story? Probably not! But did we really need any Cerebus story so far? Almost certainly not (with the exception of all the stories that showcased new characters!). But what I really liked about this comic book was the Aardvark Comments section! Things are really getting good finally! It's not just a few nerdy nerds nerding it up for Dave Sim.

I mean, it is some nerdy nerds nerding it up nerdily!

The first letter is what I'm assuming was the introductory or cover letter from Marvel's Jim Shooter when he sent out contracts to prospective employees.

Is this the worst thing Jim Shooter ever wrote? Sadly, it is not.

If you're one of those people who like to describe 95% of everything as "cringe," you'll love Dave Sim's response:

Remember, this was 1980 and "written blackface as hyperbolic response" was probably just something taught in creative writing classes.

Casually whistling past the terrible method of his response the way you simply steer the conversation away from racist tirades every time your grandfather speaks up at Thanksgiving dinner, this feels like the first time Sim really calls out the two big publishers and how they conduct business. It'll become a hallmark of Dave Sim in his crusade for independent publishers. And this sarcastic and also racist response (I can only whistle nonchalantly for so long!) isn't his only response in this Aardvark Comments. But as his first response, I'll assume it's the most closest to how he truly feels about Marvel and DC. In 1980, he's already calling them out on their practice of stealing their employees' intellectual properties. Okay, "stealing." The contract is to make the "stealing" legal so they don't wind up in constant lawsuits and can continue to offer the artists whose creations make them scads of money little to no future compensation on their efforts. Dave Sim could think of no other attack on Marvel than to pretend he's a caricature of a slave. I'm not in disagreement with Dave here and, believe me, in 1980, I almost certainly wouldn't have thought the mintrelesque response was anything but a clever way of making his point. Although I was also 9 in 1980 so I probably would have had to ask an adult why the fuck Dave was writing like that. But as I said, there's more! The next letter is a bit of a response to Dave's crusade against the Big Two Corporations. And from his peers!

I guessed I missed the comments in Issue #15. I'd better go back and see what the Pinis were talking about.

Here's what Dave said in Issue #15's "Aardvark Comment": "Maybe Marvel can turn its corporate back on you. As they never grow tired of explaining, fan sales make up a very small fraction of their profits. They don't think much of your taste in comics, artists, writers or anything else." It's a little hard to parse this comment being that I don't know what was happening in comic books in 1980 concerning the fans and Marvel but doesn't this sound a lot like the Comicsgate argument of today? That Marvel doesn't give a shit about what its "real fans" want? Anyway, back to the Pini's letter. The Pinis' letter reads like Elfquest trying to talk Cerebus out of gutting a merchant. I suppose when you point out that artists and writers working for Marvel and DC are idiots for not publishing their work as an independent, I can see how they might get upset with you. I'm sure Richard and Wendy had a number of discussions with Marv Wolfman where Marv would say things like "I'm not dumb! You're dumb!" or "I'm not a piece of property! You are!" or "I'll show you who's a slave to the man! I'll kill Cyborg!" After that, the Pinis were probably all, "You know what? Criticizing work-for-hire in the comic book arts just isn't worth all these Marv Wolfman tantrums. Let's just bite our tongues." After a couple of letters from some nerd groupies in which Dave laments the target audience of comic books, he responds more in length to the . . . well, wait. Let's first look at his response about his core audience!

I'm offended! I always fix it immediately when a headlight goes out.

I mean, after seventeen issues, "Aardvark Comment" is finally getting interesting! Okay, so now to Sim's actual response to Wendy and Richard Pini.

Dave Sim being serious. Probably.

I'd like to point out the end of this letter in which Dave states fairly plainly the main theme of criticism behind Eee! Tess Ate Chai Tea for nearly a decade: "I just don't happen to think that the system in operation now is the best thing for this medium and that it is not the most conducive way to get the best from the creative talents that exist. Quite the opposite, it seems to encourage half-assed efforts in order to guarantee that you are not surrendering your rights to something of value. And how many of us, Steve Gerber included, could know in advance that our ducks were of any value?" This was as true in 1980 as it is now. It's just that in 1980, it was much harder and a lot more work to retain the rights to your creations through self-publishing. So most comic book writers and artists were doing their best work at DC and Marvel. What other reasonable choice was there? Dave and Deni have discussed multiple times across the last dozen and a half issues how hard self-publishing has been for them. Now imagine a company like Image exists or a place like Kickstarter. Creators now know to save their best ideas for places that will give them full control and full potential earnings on their creations. DC and Marvel can't help but be full of writers doing half-assed jobs with their half-assed ideas and saving their truly monumental and mind-blowing work for Image or another, now more easily accessible independent publishing venture. This was in 1980 and Dave Sim was seeing creators screwed out of future royalties on ideas that wound up making fortunes for the parent companies. Some people accept this as business as usual and would be able to garner no sympathy for a creator stiffed out of royalties. But those people are unimaginative, pitiable, and sad. Something being legal has never in the history of everything been a convincing argument that that something is ethical, moral, or just fucking compassionate. Hopefully this "Aardvark Comment" begins to stir some serious discussion with Cerebus readers because I'm eager to read a lot more of Dave's thoughts about comic book publishing and fandom. Eventually there won't be a whole lot of separation between the comic book and the letters page. I mean, when the author inserts himself into the story as both some sort of omniscient being and also another fictionalized author, it gets hard to separate what you believe from the ideas expressed within the story. Cerebus #18 Rating: B-. That rating was for the lackluster story! The "Aardvark Comment" page gets an A! Oh, and I forgot to mention "The Single Page!" Imagine my surprise when I turned the page and saw this:

Tim Kreider in 1989! (Remember, this is from the 1989 Bi-weekly reprints of the 1980 Cerebus #18.)

You can just see Tim's eventual style in these early characters. The main male character is basically a baby-faced version and immature style of his eventual renditions of himself.

This is from Tim Kreider's book of essays and cartoons, We Learn Nothing.

I can't recommend Tim Kreider's essays and cartoons highly enough. Read his books, We Learn Nothing and I Wrote This Book Because I Love You and maybe search the Internet for a cache of his old cartooning website. You probably won't be disappointed. I say probably because I've learned that a lot of people on the Internet aren't exactly like me like I expect you all to be. Idiots.

#Dave Sim #Cerebus #Tim Kreider

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kokichi-and-co-imagine-blog · 5 years

Note

Lucky you Mod Kiri, finishing the semester on the 10th. I have at least a month more. Anyway, now that you're offering... can we have some more Naegiri? Don't know what to request exactly (other than even more PMD AU) but I know I'll love it regardless if you're writing it. Although if I had to think of something specific... I don't know, maybe Makoto trying to surprise Kyoko with a gift or something?

You always like to feed my obsession with these two, don’t you? Not that I’m going to complain about it. And you know I’d always be willing to continue the PMD AU.

The opportunity this request presented however, was too good to pass up on.

She recognized the look on his face from the moment he walked in to her office. The sheepish, slightly nervous smile, the hand scratching at his cheek, the apologetic gleam in his eye. All of it.

She knew exactly what it meant.

“Hey, Kyouko,” he greeted. He moved to the side where she sat and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, which she gave a small smile at. “So… I think I need your help wi-“

“What did you lose this time?” She interrupted, still looking down at what she was writing.

“H-hey!” He sputtered. “What makes you think-! I mean… why is that your first guess?”

“Because the last three times you’ve come here with those exact words was because you’d lost something and wanted help finding the object in question,” She reminded him, tone remaining flat.

“T-true, I’ll give you that.” He said, scratching at his cheek again. “B-but it’s not like that’s the only reason I’d ever ask for your help with something. It could be about something else.”

“True. It very well could,” she conceded. Then, she finally glanced over at him. “So?”

“‘So?’” he echoed. “So what?”

She turned her head fully to better look at him. “Why do you need my help this time? If it’s not for locating something you misplaced, then what is it?”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

“…”

“…Ok fine, yes I lost something.” He finally admitted, his face turning a bright shade of red. The urge to laugh at the downright adorable look on his face was too great, and she let out a chuckle at his embarrassed expression. “Kyouko…” He let out a whine and dropped his gaze to his shoes, shuffling a bit on his feet.

“Makoto, you know I don’t mind helping you when this happens. I just would’ve thought that you wouldn’t get so embarrassed about asking by this point with how often it happens is all,” she reassured him.

“I know, I know…” he muttered, still staring holes into the floor.

She shook her head at him, suppressing another laugh. She then stood up from her desk and started to move toward the door.

“Your office, I presume?”

“…Yeah,”

“And what exactly am I looking for this time?” She looked back at him as she opened the door and stepped out.

He let out an ‘ah’ sound and practically ran to catch up with her as she held open the door. “Ah, thanks Kyouko!” He quickly fell in line walking next to her. “And as for what it is it’s… kinda hard to describe it? It’s kind of a small, dark… thing?” He frowned, trying to use his hands to draw out the shape. When that failed, he let them drop to his sides and gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, I know that’s really vague. B-but! I think you’d recognize it when you see it at least!”

“Hm…” she hummed. They fell into silence after that, he only sounds between them being their quiet footsteps. It was a nice change of pace from the chaotic noise usually heard within the hallways. With school having finished for the day hours ago, she and Makoto were the only ones still here.

Still, she couldn’t enjoy the quiet too much; her mind was already racing with thoughts from what he’d mentioned. A hand came to her chin as she went over his descriptions again. Something small, dark, and easily recognizable to her… not exactly much to go on. And very bizarre to hear from him.

It was strange he was so unspecific about it, he was normally a lot better with giving her details than that. She gave him another quick side glance to see him fidgeting with his fingers as they walked, his gaze pointed squarely in front of them, almost as if to avoid her own. He was still this wound up about it? She could understand him feeling a little guilty about asking her for her help in this again—that was normal for him—but this was excessive even for his standards.

Did this have to do with the item in question? But what could he have lost that would make him this anxious? She couldn’t think of anything he had that he could have lost that would make him this frazzled—unless of course, he was nervous because it was something she didn’t know about. But he hated hiding things from her, and he was terrible at it to boot, so what-

“You know, I still find it weird walking in these hallways after all this time,” his voice suddenly cut through her musing. “It looks so different now but… I still can’t shake off how familiar it feels. The good and bad.”

Deciding to put her other thoughts on the backburner, she gave a nod. “I understand. I feel the same some days.” She let her hand run along the wall as they turned the corner, closing her eyes for a moment.

Though the structure of the school had remained the same, much of the school, if not all of it had been completely redone. Even in spite of that, there were some days where it was difficult not to get lost in the memories from their lives in these wall, both before and after the Tragedy. Some days, the sickly smell of death that she knew had long gone lingered just a little too strongly on the walls.

“…We’ve been through a lot in these hallways, haven’t we? In this school.”

It wasn’t a question. “We have.”

“…Do you ever regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“I mean, ever coming to Hope’s Peak in the first place,” he motioned around them. “So much happened because of this place and… sometimes I just wonder about it, y’know?” He gave a shrug as he met her eyes again. “Was just curious if you ever did too.”

She had given the idea a passing thought or two over the years, but…

“I prefer not to dwell on the what-could-have-beens,” she answered, running a hand through her hair. She tucked a few loose strands behind her ear. “There’s no way to make them real by this point. I think it’s best to move forward without lamenting about regrets.”

Makoto let out a soft laugh. “I thought you’d say something like that. It’s just like you to think practically about it.”

“Hm, and what about you then?” She asked. He drummed his fingers n his thigh for a moment, seeming to be collecting his thoughts.

“I… do think about regrets I have sometimes. Most of all about how I wish I’d never dragged my family into any of what we went through; they didn’t deserve that, any of them. And sometimes I think about those kind of regrets a lot. But…” His face hardened with resolve, and he looked back at her with a brilliant smile. “Then I think of the good that came from me going to Hope’s Peak. All the friends I made, the memories with them that I’ll always cherish. About all the good I get to do now, even if I wish the situation as a whole was better. And, most importantly… I know that if I never went to Hope’s Peak, I never would have gotten to meet you. And I could never regret getting to do that.” He reached down for one of her gloved hands, intertwining their fingers together. “I’d go through it all again if I had to just to do that again

Almost immediately she felt her face warm at that. She ran her free hand through her hair again as she looked toward the window to attempt to avoid his eyes. She could practical feel the grin he was wearing. “Of course you’d answer in such a sentimental way. You’re just as much of an open hearted optimist as always I see.” She said, though she was well aware the words were undercut by the twitch of her lips. His grip on her hand tightened in a light squeeze which she soon returned.

He laughed. “What else would you expect from me? It’s what I do best, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is a part of your charm. How else would you have managed to convince to most reclusive person in our class to warm up to you without it?” She folded her arms across her chest and smirked at him. He gave a sheepish expression and rubbed at the back of his head.

They stopped in front of the door to his office. He reluctantly retracted his hand from hers, then rushed forward to open the door for the both of them, letting her enter first. She acknowledged it with a nod, then set to work analyzing his office for anything out of place or off. She moved toward the side to get a better overall view of the room. Her hand went to her chin as she took in the details.

Makoto trailed behind her, not unlike how he would when they were trapped here all those years ago. “I’d say it makes us quite the pairing then, wouldn’t you? The difference between our personalities?” He offered. “I think it balances us out pretty well, me being the optimistic one who believes in people and you being the more reality, logic based one.”

“Is that how he sees us?” She silently wondered. She couldn’t say it was inaccurate, he certainly helped be able to believe in people, even if only a fraction more. Instead of verbalizing that, she nodded, still scanning over the room. “I suppose it does, yes.”

…Over there. A shadow caught her eye near the window. On his desk, partially obscured by a stack of papers that he probably needed to sign and his computer monitor, there was something there. She hadn’t seen it when they walked because of the angle, but from here it was quite clear, and it seemed to match what little descriptives he’d given.

“Odd though. He would’ve been able to see it sitting there,” she noted. There would have been nothing blocking his view of it from behind the desk. Unless he was just that unobservant.

…Which to be fair, he certainly had his moments.

She once again decided not to voice that thought and instead started to walk toward his desk.

He stayed where he was standing by the door. “I think it’s part what’s made us such an effective team over the years with all that we’ve done. From before the Tragedy, to the killing school life, to our work with the Future Foundation and the Neo World Program, and to now with restarting Hope’s Peak.” He continued, a few nerves creeping into his voice, but otherwise remaining strong. “A-and I hope that it will continue to be that way, don’t you? For a long time?”

“Yes, of course I do,” she answered carefully, giving a quick glance behind her at him. This seemed like a strange time to be bringing this up. She stopped right at the edge of his desk and started moving some papers out if the way to get a better look.

“A-ah, that’s great! I hope so too. But uh… if you don’t mind me asking… how long do you consider a ‘long time’?”

“What do you-“ The question died in her throat when her eyes finally fell onto the object she’d been looking for. She felt her breath hitch.

It was a box. A small, darkly colored box, that she most certainly recognized the most common use for.

She struggled to retain her normal composure as the implications of what was happening hit her full force. “He couldn’t be… he’s not…. this isn’t…!” Her thoughts trailed off until they were nothing more than jumbled static in her head. This couldn’t be what she thought it was. This couldn’t be the reason for his nerves, no!

Her other hand started to move shakily toward the box before she was aware of what she was doing. She had to know. She could be jumping to conclusion. It could be something else entirely. With trembling fingers she grabbed hold of the box, then opened it up.

She almost dropped it.

It was a ring.

“…because I was kinda thinking that long time could mean… permanently,” Makoto finished. She turned to look at him, but found him much lower than she normally had to look. He was on one knee. Her normal, cool and controller mask shattered completely. A hand shot to her mouth to keep the gasp from getting out. Something pricked at the corner of her eyes.

“Kyouko… I know I kinda already said this but… you’ve been such an important part of my life through everything we’ve seen; I don’t think I’d still be here if not for all that you’ve done for me. We’ve stood together through so much and I know we’ll continue to for the years to come. You’re just so incredible and amazing and I just… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I hate to reuse your own words but…” He took in a deep breath, shoulder heaving, before flashing another pure, genuine smile at her. “Will you always stay by my side?”

Kyouko Kirigiri knew many things about herself. She was not often one to enjoy being surprised. Or to allow herself to show much emotion, let alone tears. Or to find herself at a loss for words.

And yet, as she stood in front of the man who, as he’d stated in his own words, she’d been through so much with together, she found all three occuring. A smile that she could not fight off, nor wanted to, worked its way onto her face from behind her glove. Tears began to fall from her eyes as she rapidly nodded her head, too overwhelmed with emotion to trust her voice to work.

Makoto let out a joyful laugh and rose up from where he’d been kneeling, wobbling a bit as tears began to fall from his own eyes. He practically tackled her as he enveloped her into a tight embrace. She practically collapsed into his arms, head resting on his shoulder.

He leaned closer to her ear. “I’m so glad to hear you say that, you have no idea.” They pulled away from the hug and looked at one another.

She let out a shuddering breath to collect herself. “Did you anticipate I’d reject it?” she asked with an amused, still slightly watery smile.

“N-no, not necessarily but… I did worry about how I was gonna say it all. I may or may have not rehearsed that a lot… And maybe kinda still went off script on a lot of it…” He scratched the back of his head with a sheepish look. “…I sounded like a total dork while saying all that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes you did,” she laughed. She took hold of his face and pointed it towards her. He gave her a shy smile before she bent down to kiss him. He took hold of one of her hands and threaded their fingers together.

He was a complete and utter dork, but she wouldn’t have him any other way.

And she couldn’t wait to see what the future had in store for them next.

#Mod Kirigiri #naegiri #Makoto Naegi #Kyoko Kirigiri #Kyouko Kirigiri #danganronpa #danganronpa 3 #fluff #let them be disgustingly fluffy together damnit

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miilesgmorales · 5 years

Text

Abilities far beyond the ordinary (1/7)

A/N: So uhm. I don’t know what this is. Probably not a drabble cause I feel like per definition that’s something where you’re like “hey I was super inspired and just wrote this quick drabble for you guys” which is definitely not what happened; I had this fraction of an idea, just like one short sequence, in my head, and then tried to build around it. It’s not really a one shot either I feel like cause there isn’t really much of a story here. Honestly, it’s just a thing. I’ve never written anything before in my life (apart from the two headcanon thingies my brain spit out) so if whoever reads this could not judge me too hard for it, that’d be great. I’m open to constructive criticism though, I know there’s a ton of amazing writers out there, and I’d just like to get better I guess, so if anyone reading this has any idea how I could achieve that, let me know!

I have a few ideas on how the others discovered their powers, and I’d like to try to write them all, even if I’m not good at it, sorry everyone.

Tagging some people (aka incredibly talented writers) who might be interested and/or able to help (sorry to bother you guys, feel free to ignore me and this mess of a thing): @diego2hargreeves @gayouijaboard [wow it really feels terrible to tag you guys cause you’re literally amazing and I’m just here like hey. wanna look at some literal garbage, say no more.]

Luther

For quite a few years of his young life, Luther had thought of himself as clumsy. Things around him always seemed to break, of their own accord or if it was his fault, he didn’t know. Everything was so damn fragile, and no matter how careful the boy was, most of the time, he couldn’t prevent it. According to Grace, it had always been that way. When he was just a baby, they had to replace his bed four times over the course of two weeks because he tended to break the bars that were supposed to keep him inside and safe.

Sir Reginald and Grace had almost gotten into a fight over it – almost, because no matter how unacceptable it was to Grace - they really needed to take care of the children - after all, she was supposed to just do that, not designed to argue about it, talk back or question Sir Reginald’s methods.

Of course, the bed wasn’t the only incident that had led to Luther not quite trusting himself with touching anything. Most of the time, when all he wanted was to pick up his favorite mug, he ended up with hot chocolate stains all over his uniform and broken pieces of porcelain in his hand. Eventually, he stopped choosing a favorite mug altogether. What’s the point in having favorite things when they are too fragile to use?

Then there were all the times he excitedly ran to his sister’s room – and ended up dumbfounded in front of her door, locked out while she was trapped inside. He had ripped of the door knob. Again. Sometimes he really hated the old mansion. Needless to say, Sir Reginald wasn’t too happy about replacing door knobs pretty much constantly either. Luther had lost count of how many times he had been told that, even though in his eyes they were just door knobs, exchangeable things no one ever even looked at, they were expensive items, manufactured exclusively in Italy.

Sometimes Luther would retreat into himself and barely leave his room, afraid that if he did, he’d just end up breaking something else, perhaps something that was irreplaceable, even for a billionaire like his father. Allison tried to cheer him up, assuring him that it wasn’t his fault.

“Happens to the best of us, Luther.”

“Is that what I am?”

“Of course, Number One.”

However, even with Allison by his side, there were days where he doubted himself. When he had broken something for the 17th time this week, and it was only Wednesday. When he had the same talk with his father that left him feeling like he was a disappointment to the man who had taken him in, every time.

"Number One, what did you do?”

“Nothing, father, I swear I’m not lying.”

“Does this look like nothing to you?”

“It’s an old house, it’s not my fault.”

“Out. I don’t want to see you until dinner.”

Sure, his father was also always telling him how he was special. But if all he was, was especially clumsy, he could live without being special.

Day in, day out, Sir Reginald was always going on about how they needed to train, to find what made them extraordinary, their super powers if you will, to change the world, to save it even. He had all of them wondering what it was they could do.

On a cold and rainy day in February that had already set the mood for Luther from the moment he had woken up to his curtains hanging in shreds (he swore he had just tried to close them when he had woken up in the middle of the night to the waxing moon shining in his face), Luther was feeling particularly low. After lunch, he was so frustrated and caught up in his own thoughts, that he was somewhat convinced his only ‘super power’ was to eat 16 hot dogs in one sitting.

Little did he know this would be the day he would finally figure it all out. Why everything in his general vicinity always seemed too damn fragile. Why it had always been him.

They had just finished their training for the day and Luther had gotten in an argument with Diego over what would be the most efficient way to take someone down – Diego insisted a knee to the bad guy’s stomach would get the job done while Luther preferred a safer approach such as blocking their attack first. It had gotten a little heated and the boy wasn’t being his usual overly cautious self.

“No, you gotta disarm them first or they’ll get you,” he exclaimed, looking pointedly at his brother.

“Whatever, you don’t know what you’re talking about anyway,” was Diego’s way of ending the argument.

Luther just sighed, annoyed at his brother’s stubbornness. He didn’t want to make an even bigger deal out of it. This was Diego after all, it was pretty much pointless to argue with him once he had made up his mind. So, to escape the situation, he didn’t correct his brother, but simply shoved past him instead. Or so he thought. Later, Luther would swear he had barely grazed him, he really had just wanted to shove him out of the way so he could get through. All of which was hard to believe in that very moment, considering that Diego was thrown across the entire foyer, crashing into the wall on the opposite side of the room. For a good three seconds, Luther could do nothing but stare. What on earth had just happened? Dumbfounded, he looked around, trying to find whatever had attacked his brother. Only when Diego started yelling at him did it dawn on him. There was no intruder, they weren’t under attack. He himself was the cause of this. He did that. No outside force, but a force inside of him. Luther couldn’t explain it, it had happened so fast, he hadn’t realized.

“Luther, WHAT THE FUCK?”

[Pogo, from God knows where: “Language!”]

“I’m sorry, God, Diego, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Do that again and you’re dead!”

Diego stared him down from across the room, furious, bleeding from a cut above the scar on his left eyebrow. Luther was praying it wouldn’t leave another scar, although Diego didn’t seem to have too much of a problem with the other one, it probably made him feel tough. When Diego charged at him from the other side of the room, it was really just his instincts that kicked in – and maybe also the intense training he’d undergone in the past few years. Of course, Luther raised his arms to defend himself. Diego’s fists collided with his forearms. Luther ducked to escape Diego’s following forward momentum and used the newfound room to take a swing at his brother himself. Nothing unusual for two boys who were constantly pitched against each other during training sessions. What was unusual, however, was that Luther’s punch sent Diego flying across the room once again. Just when Diego came crashing down on the floor, the large wing doors on the east side of the foyer opened, and the boy found himself at Sir Reginald’s feet.

“Number Two? Number One, what is the meaning of this? Why are you not getting ready for your evening classes? They will begin in 10 minutes! Don’t look at me now, Number Two, get up.”

“Luther attacked me!”

“Did you deserve it?”

“Did I…no! Dad, you didn’t see… He threw me across the room!”

“Why didn’t you defend yourself? You should be able to. We will have to intensify your training if you are still not strong enough to even get yourself out of a harmless situation like this. How will you ever be suited for missions, Number Two?”

“Father, it wasn’t Diego…Number Two’s fault. It was…I think it was… me.”

“What did you say? Speak up, Number One.”

“I said I think it was me!”

“What do you mean by that, explain yourself.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t even hit him that hard.”

“Like hell you did!”

“Language!”

“I mean… I didn’t intend to do it, it just happened. Like… I was really... like super… oh…super strong!”

“Okay, you really didn’t hit me that hard, I wasn’t expecting it, you know, my balance was off, you snuck up on me…”

“We were having a conversation, Diego, I didn’t sneak up on..”

“Silence! Number One, with me.”

And with that, Reginald Hargreeves turned on the heel and marched down the hallway to his office. Luther threw one last questioning look back to Diego, then set to follow his father.

Was this really it? Could this be? Super strength? Like a real hero?

Maybe he could fulfill his father’s vision, live up to the old man’s expectations.

Maybe he could truly save the world one day.

#the umbrella academy #a thing #my dumbass brain #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #sir reginald hargreeves

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vcepsis · 5 years

Note

hi hello i am also loving your shiro whump so much, god bless. can i request I + 5 for the drabble prompts, with sheith or miro?

I am so sorry this took so long oof but thank you so much for the request!! Taken from this drabble request meme (fever + in public)

Have 2k of my first ever vld AU (college AU whatup) and my first ever Miro woooo (thought I’d do something different for ya) massive shout out to @feverflushed as always for reading it over and listening to me whine

—–

Matt had to fight the impulse to sprint down the hall, pulling out his phone again to check the time. Damn, he was coming up on being thirty minutes late. While being a TA meant he didn’t have a set clock in time, but he always tried to be in the office when Professor Shirogane got in. Matt always liked to be around to help with anything he could: grading papers, sitting in on exams, even writing test questions from time to time. Professor Shirogane—Shiro, he insisted Matt call him—trusted him with a lot, and Matt tried to keep a somewhat timely schedule in return. It was the least he could do, after all.

He finally stopped at the door of Shiro’s office, trying not to look like he ran all the way here from his car. Even after six months of being Shiro’s TA, Matt couldn’t stop the butterflies from dancing in his stomach every time he showed up. Not only was Shiro the most attractive professor on staff—the most beautiful person on campus at any given time, if Matt’s being honest—he was wickedly smart, and kind, and wonderful, and—

Get it together, Holt. Sometimes he felt like a kid crushing on his teacher, instead of a twenty-four year old man with an adult job and half a Master’s degree.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on Shiro’s door.

No answer.

Huh. That was weird. Shiro had class in forty five minutes….he was always in his office at least an hour before.

Matt turned the doorknob, and, finding it unlocked, gently pushed the door open. Shiro always insisted on a casual relationship, even going so far as to give Matt a key to the office if he wanted to work when Shiro wasn’t around. Even so, it felt almost intrusive to enter the room uninvited. “Shiro? You in here?”

It didn’t take Matt long to find Shiro, who was sitting at his desk as usual, but it did take a few moments to register the scene before him.

Shiro’s head was pillowed on his arms in front of his laptop, his glasses pushed up to rest on top of his head. Sound asleep.

Matt gaped, unable to help it. It was rare to see Shiro ever slow down by even a fraction, let alone sleep.

Closing the door as quietly as he could, Matt tiptoed up to Shiro’s desk. The laptop’s screen was dark, and Matt wondered just how long Shiro had been asleep. His breathing was deep, but slightly uneven, and he was snoring softly.

It was the cutest goddamn thing Matt had ever seen.

His face was smushed against his arm, the glasses resting precariously on his white bangs. Matt couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was nice to see Shiro get some actual rest, for a change.

The smile faded when he noticed the red flush across Shiro’s cheeks and the slightly congested sound of his breathing. There was also a box of tissues on his desk that had most certainly not been there yesterday. Was he getting sick? It was that time of year (then again, in a school this size, it always seemed to be that time of year) and Shiro wasn’t exactly great at remembering to sleep enough. Matt bit his lip, unsure of what to do.

But then, Shiro’s breathing suddenly stuttered, and he lifted his head, blinking tiredly at Matt. His glasses slipped down his forehead to land somewhat crookedly on his nose. Combined with the ruffled hair and the sleepy expression, Matt couldn’t help the way his heart clenched in his chest. Too cute!!

At the same time, though, the flush on his face was darker than Matt had originally thought, and there were dark smudges under his eyes. Matt was beginning to grow concerned.

Clearing his throat slightly, he put on his best not-creepy smile. “Hey man. You feeling alright?”

This seemed to snap Shiro awake, and he sat up so fast it looked like it made him dizzy. “Shit,” he mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes with his palms and straightening his glasses. “What time is it?”

“Don’t worry, you still have…” Matt pulled out his phone. “Thirty-eight minutes until your next class starts.”

Shiro nodded, yawning into the back of his hand, only to have it turn into coughing on the exhale.

“But….” Matt hesitated, feeling like he was overstepping. “Maybe you should cancel?”

Shiro smiled sheepishly, sniffling a bit. “I look that bad, huh?”

God, no, Matt thought silently. A little rumpled, sure, but still the hottest fucking thing within a fifty mile radius. “Nah, just…tired.”

Shiro hummed in agreement, leaning forward on his elbows and rubbing his temples. “Yeah. Think I’m coming down with that bug that’s been going around.” He eyed Matt warily, looking a little apprehensive. “You might not want to work here today. Wouldn’t want you to get sick, too.”

Matt waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about me, dude. It’s not like anyone can avoid getting sick here, anyway.” As if he’d leave Shiro alone when he looked so miserable. Plus, Matt’s heart jumped at the prospect of taking care of Shiro, even if it was just doing little things like making sure he had enough tissues, or that he didn’t die in his office.

“Still—” Suddenly, Shiro’s breathing hitched dangerously, cutting him off. He swiped a few tissues out of the box with a desperate urgency, swiveling in his chair away from Matt to sneeze harshly a few times into the folds.

Matt resisted the urge to rub Shiro’s back as he blew his nose in the aftermath (because that would be the exact opposite of professional), but he couldn’t help make a comment. “You sure you’re ok? You sound kind of….terrible.”

“I’ll be fine, Matt.” The words sounded a bit dulled, the congestion evident in his voice. He sniffled again and tossed the tissue in the trash. “It’s just a cold, anyway.”

“Sure,” Matt said, not convinced in the slightest. “But isn’t the best part of being a professor being able to cancel class whenever you want?”

Shiro shot him an exasperated look. “Most people would say it’s the joy of teaching,” he said flatly.

“Ok…sounds fake, but ok.” Matt deposited himself in one of the plush chairs opposite Shiro’s desk, rummaging through his bag to find his notebook. They lapsed into silence then, save for Shiro’s occasional sniffle.

Matt tried to concentrate on his work, but it was difficult to ignore Shiro’s deteriorating condition. The cough he was trying to keep contained was sounding worse and worse as time went on, from dry and quiet to crackling and harsh. It sounded downright painful. Matt knew Shiro thought it was “just a cold”, but he also knew Shiro had the tendency to work himself into the ground and turn a simple illness into something worse. And sure, Shiro was an adult, but Matt couldn’t help but worry.

Soon enough, though, Shiro was packing his bag to head to his class. Matt sighed internally, knowing Shiro would work through literally anything. So he did the only logical thing.

“What are you doing?” Shiro asked as Matt shoved his notebook back into his bag.

“Coming with you to class,” Matt said, as if that was what he always did and there was absolutely no reason to be suspicious about it.

But Shiro was, of course, not buying it. “Ok, but….why?”

Matt shrugged, trying to make it all seem natural. “Because you’re teaching a class that’s relevant to my Master’s? You know…the one you’re helping me with?”

“It’s an intro level class,” Shiro said slowly, rubbing his pink nose with the back of his wrist. “You probably know this stuff better than I do, at this point.”

Matt scoffed. As if that was possible. Shiro was probably one of the smartest people he knew. He did have a point, though; Matt did know this stuff inside and out. Mostly he wanted to make sure Shiro didn’t traumatize his students by passing out halfway through the lecture.

Shiro sighed as Matt zipped up his bag. “Alright,” he said, slightly exasperated. “It’s not like I can stop you anyway.”

Matt beamed as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Nope!”

—-

To his immense credit, Shiro did not, in fact, pass out during the lecture.

By the end, though, he looked pretty damn close.

Matt sat in a chair off to the side, where the podium with Shiro’s laptop sat. He got some odd looks from a few students—normally they only saw Matt during midterms or exams—but he ignored them, focusing his energy on monitoring Shiro.

Shiro had started off strong, only a hint of congestion in his voice giving away his condition. But as the class went on, his voice got worse, his energy seemed to wane, and he had to stop a few times to sneeze into the crook of his elbow. The ugly fluorescent lights of the lecture hall did nothing to hide the dark flush across his cheeks and nose. At some point, Matt realized had completely tuned out what Shiro was actually saying, keeping a close eye on the time, waiting anxiously for the class to be over.

After what felt like an eternity, Shiro finally dismissed the class, and Matt jumped up from his seat. Shiro made his way to the podium and started packing up his bag, taking longer than usual, his movements sluggish. Matt wanted to help, but didn’t want to cross the boundary of their professional relationship.

Well…he did. Very, very badly. But now wasn’t the time for that.

“Hey.” Matt leaned against the podium, looking up at Shiro’s flushed face. “I really think you should go home.”

Shiro checked his watch—of course he wore a watch, what an old fashioned fool, and Matt’s chest grew warm with affection. “I have my fourth year class in an hour—”

“So?” Matt straightened and put his hands on his hips, the picture of defiance. “There are like, ten people in that class. They’ll survive. Plus, you’re sick. They’ll understand.”

“But—”

“No!” Matt exclaimed, frustration welling up inside him. God, why was Shiro so bad at taking care of himself? “You’re sick and you’re miserable and you definitely have a fever. You need to take care of yourself too, you know!”

Shiro at least had the decency to look admonished. “It’s not that bad…”

“Not that—” Matt choked on the words. And in a move of absolute rage-fuelled insanity, he shoved his hand under Shiro’s bangs, with his palm on Shiro’s forehead.

Shiro’s eyes went wide, and Matt suddenly realized what he’d done. But before the mortification could eat him alive, the heat searing into his palm demanded his attention.

“Holy shit dude, you’re burning up.” He dropped his hand as quickly as possible, as if that could salvage the situation. His hand tingled in the aftermath, and Matt wasn’t sure it was just because of the heat. “Let’s get back to your office so you can email those students because you are cancelling your next class.”

Shiro’s shoulders slumped under the weight of Matt’s words, and finally, he nodded. It was a testament to how terrible he was feeling that he relented so quickly. He turned away from Matt as another coughing fit took over, the sound wet and harsh as he buried his face in his elbow. Matt’s heart hurt from the sound.

“This hit you like a truck, huh?” Matt felt his frustration evaporate, only to be replaced with concern as Shiro used one hand to steady himself on the podium. As Shiro stopped to catch his breath, Matt circled around the podium, grabbing Shiro’s laptop and his various papers and stuffing them in his bag. It wasn’t the neatest thing ever, but it would do for now. With his own bag on one shoulder and slinging Shiro’s bag on the other, he reached out a hand to tentatively touch Shiro’s back.

“You ok?” Matt asked softly, feeling a little guilty about his previous outburst. But Shiro didn’t seem upset, until he looked over and saw Matt with his bag.

“Matt, no, I can take my bag…”

“I got it, Shiro,” Matt said. I got you ran through his head, but he managed to quell the thought before he did something stupid, like use it to confess his undying love. “Now let’s get you home, alright?”

Shiro ran a hand over his face, letting out a congested sounding breath. “What would I do without you?”

Matt grinned. “Probably be dead in your office.”

The smile Shiro sent him in return was a little tired, a little exasperated, but it was bright and beautiful and it melted Matt’s heart.

Ah, shit, Matt thought as his own smile grew wider. I love him.

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vampiricalthorns · 6 years

Text

Piercings and Pastels pt 2

Yo, so it’s finally here! Just ... 17 months too late. This is a continuation of Piercings and Pastels one-shot that I posted ages ago. There will maybe be a part 3 to this if I can be bothered to write it. I really do spend a lot of time on creating content, and even though I don’t post original stuff as often as I probably should... anyway, there’s a link to my ko-fi in my blog description if you want to support my content.

“And therefore, the sum of this equation will be …”

Will sighed, looking down at the notes he had so nicely drawn in red and black. Math class had never been of his favourites, but he was well aware that it was a subject he wanted to be good at. He did care a lot about school, even if he happened to be punk as fuck and wasn’t hesitant to have slightly questionable style choices. Will knew that his sister Kayla wanted him to have the best shot at life possible, and that was why she kept criticising his clothing.

“Mr Solace, are you paying attention?”

Will looked up sheepishly. “What?”

“I asked you if you could be so nice to tell us the answer on the blackboard.” The teacher was glaring down on him, and Will could have a fair guess that he was not too happy with Will’s inattention.

Will looked at him, and then to the board. Realising he had not solved the equation, he caught Nico’s look and peeked into his notebook for the answer. “X is 8, and Y is 4.5.”

The teacher looked at him for a minute before nodding. “That’s correct Mr Solace, but please refrain from spacing out in my classes in the future.”

Will ruffled his hair and looked up at the big Starbucks symbol hanging over the entrance door. He took a deep breath and walked inside, being ambushed by the warm, coffee-scented air as opposed to the slightly chillier outside weather that did not smell like coffee. He had agreed earlier that week to meet Nico at the Starbucks so that they could work through their ridiculous amounts of math homework. Will was taking a fair guess that their teacher was not terribly happy with how inattentive his class actually was to his teaching.

“Hi, Will! Over here!” Will heard someone call from further inside the store. He looked around for the black mop of wavy hair that belonged to his now best friend. Today, Nico was dressed in pastel galaxy leggings, the same brown boots as he had worn the last couple weeks and an oversized pink knit sweater.

He slung himself into the chair opposite Nico. “What’s up?”

Nico smiled- the type of smile where he closed his eyes and held his hands up to his chest as if he was about to flap them. Will thought that was oddly cute. “Not much. Work’s drowning us as usual, but at least that’s an excuse to be productive.”

Will nodded. “Should I go get something to drink while you figure out exactly what we should do today and what we can wait with for later in the week?”

Having Nico’s nod of approval, Will put his bag down and got up. Placing himself at the back of the line, he looked over at where Nico was reading in his planner while pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. The purple hair clips didn’t look like they were there for anything than decoration. Cute.

He had only known Nico for a little under two weeks now, but it felt like they had been friends for way longer than that. He was like a missing childhood friend Will had only just met again, but he knew that was impossible. Will let a small smile slip as he looked up at the menu for what to get. Nico seemed like a hot chocolate person. Or maybe a Frappuccino.

“One Coffee Mocha and one Hot Chocolate please,” he told the barista, who nodded and then told him the sum of what he had to pay. After paying, he stepped to the side and looked out of the window.

They were just a couple weeks into the school year, but Will didn’t feel overworked like he usually did. Will had easily fallen into the routine of working along with Nico, who had surprisingly good control of schoolwork and when stuff was due.

“What did you get me?” Nico asked curiously when Will came back to the table and put down two cups. Will looked at him, suddenly slightly anxious that he had gotten the wrong thing for his friend. “You didn’t specify what you wanted, so I just got you hot chocolate. Was that okay?”

Nico looked surprised for the fraction of a second before grabbing the cup with both of his hands and smiling up at Will- the same adorable scrunched-up eyes smile that made Will’s legs just the tiniest bit weaker. No, we will not fall for this person now, William, even though you already did, you dumb fuck.

“Thank you, Will,” Nico said earnestly. “I thought you were going to get me coffee, but hot chocolate is just as okay. Really. I enjoy hot chocolate too.”

Will sat down again and thought for a moment before pushing his cup of coffee over to where Nico was sitting. “You can have a sip or two if you need caffeine. That’s really okay. I don’t mind sharing at all.”

“It’s a nice apartment you got,” Nico commented after Will had locked himself into his and Kayla’s apartment. It was later in the day, and Will had invited Nico over for food and video games- if Nico was up to video games of course. In the back of his mind, Will was very well aware of all the boxes still unpacked in their apartment.

“Thanks,” Will replied, throwing his keys into the bowl on the small table they kept in the hallway. It was filled with what looked like Kayla’s asthma medication (Will knew she kept one in her bag too, so she was good, a pack of chewing gum and what looked like post:it notes and pens. “It’s a bit messy since we only moved in here like three weeks ago.”

Nico shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s not like my home is pristine at all times too. We’re all human, Will.”

Will snorted and flashed Nico a creepy grin, one that made his lip piercing glint in the hallway light. “Are you sure about that, di Angelo? For all you know, I could be a demon preparing to steal and devour your soul.”

Feeling accomplished that he had made Nico laugh, Will made his way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He hadn’t had enough to drink that day, and to be entirely honest, he was aware that his head was not too happy about that. “Do you want a glass of water too, Nico?”

He turned around when he heard the sound of soft socks moving over the laminate floor. There was Nico, hands hidden inside the oversized sweater and dragging his feet across the floor. His feet- clad with soft purple socks. What an adorable person.

He didn’t hear Nico’s answer. “What did you say again?”

Nico laughed again. “No, it’s okay, Will. Yes, I would like a glass of water, thank you.”

Will turned around again and grabbed a glass, filling it with water from the tap, trying his best to hide his blush. He was sure that the water was safe to drink.

“Thank you for helping me out with homework today,” Will mentioned as he handed Nico the glass. “I’m a horrible procrastinator unless someone kicks my butt the entire time I’m working.”

He put down his glass next to the sink and looked at Nico. “I need to go to the bathroom, but I will be right back. If you want, you can wait in my room. Second to the right down the hallway.”

Having Nico’s nod of approval, he left the kitchen, walked down the hallway and into the bathroom, sinking down against the wall with a sigh. He was falling. Hard.

Why am I doing this to myself? Will thought desperately, staring at himself in the mirror. Staring back at him was a teenager with faded red-dyed hair, piercings and a black band merch hoodie. It had been through the wash so many times that it was impossible to read exactly which band it was. He knew though, and somehow Nico had too. My Chemical Romance was always recognisable.

Deciding that he had stayed long enough in the bathroom for it to be convincing that he hadn’t just contemplated 666 ways of isolating himself from the world because he was an emotional little shit, Will flushed the toilet and left the room. He took yet another deep breath before walking into his bedroom, where Nico was sitting on his office chair. “You look like a child when you swing your legs back and forth like that.”

Nico rummaged through his pockets and dug out a lollipop, ripping off the wrapper before sticking it into his mouth. “Do you mind that?” The look he sent Will made Will’s heart skip a beat. How dare you be so adorable you little shit. This is unfair because I really want to kiss you but what if you don’t want to kiss me. This is kinda awkward.

“Not really no,” Will admitted, slumping down on his bed, shielding his eyes from the harsh bedroom ceiling light. “I can’t handle all the light. Nico, protect me!”

Nico sighed, kicking Will’s shin with one of his floofy-socks-clad feet. “Oi, you’ll survive. Get over it. It’s not like the ceiling light will give you a sunburn or anything like that.”

Will looked at him through the curly dark red fringe. “Are you honestly sure about that? Don’t test me here, I can manage everything if I try hard enough.”

“Sure, because you can fly. I’ll believe it when I see it, Solace,” Nico said, not quite able to hide the smile and giggles.

Will didn’t even reply to that as he stared at Nico, wondering what he was supposed to do with himself if Nico continued to act like the cutest person alive. God damn it, he wasn’t supposed to deal with complicated feelings like this. Love really was a weird thing.

He coughed, trying to clear his throat, although there was nothing to clear. “Is there anything, in particular, you want to eat? I can order pizza.”

Nico nodded. “No, pizza sounds good. I don’t eat it a lot, but pizza is always good.”

After discussing back and forth for a couple minutes trying to find something they both liked, they settled for something along the lines of ham and mushrooms (neither of them liked the mushrooms, but they were always peel-off-able so it wasn’t an issue.)

They ate the pizza discussing different tv shows they had watched recently, but it quickly turned into a heavy debate and rant about the shitty teachers at school.

“The English teacher, Mr Reynolds, is shit,” Nico argued. “He’s always mean to me because my English isn’t perfect and he hates Italians for a reason I don’t even understand. I think his life goal is to see me fail, although I wish him good luck with that since I manage to score well on every single test.”

“He’s not the best, no,” Will agreed. “But the history teacher is worse. Or, the worst, Blackwell, math. He’s the nightmare of nightmares. I don’t like him at all. Especially with the amount of homework he sent us home with this week.”

Nico nodded, a piece of cheese hanging out from the side of his mouth. Will had to fight the urge to remove it. “That was ridiculous. He can’t expect that much of us this early in the term.”

“Well, apparently he doesn’t care that we have to sit an hour longer every night solving equations and trig questions,” Will muttered, staring towards his backpack that was on the couch, containing the damned math homework they had barely made a dent in. “I need to go buy more paper Monday afternoon. I’m out of grid loose leaf paper after all the homework.”

“I can give you some if you remind me tomorrow night to put some more in my backpack,” Nico offered around a giant piece of pizza. “Should last you through Monday at least so that you can go after school and get more. I can come with you if you want to. I need to get more whiteout anyways so I might as well get it done then so I can stop borrowing yours all the time.”

Secretly, Will hadn’t minded that Nico had borrowed his whiteout, even though he was running low too. It wasn’t like both of them wrote everything perfectly on the first try.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Will! We-el! I’m here! Behind you!” Nico shoved his way through the school corridor calling for Will. “Will! You big emo oaf, stop so I can catch up to you!”

Will turned and looked down, where he saw a pastel figure fight his way through the sea of navy and beige trying to get to him. He motioned towards the door in the gesture of “I will meet you outside so I don’t get killed by the rest of year 10 for causing a clot in the school circulatory system.

Will quickly got out of the door and closed the flap on his bag while waiting for Nico. He had barely lasted through the day, being out of whiteout (he had given the very rest to Nico and resorted to writing with pencil most of the day which he typically didn’t like but it was worth it), but he had somehow managed. He had remembered to bring his wallet (a personal achievement in his opinion, considering how forgetful he usually was) and his crush on Nico was (as always) very present.

He looked at Nico fighting his way out of the mob of students either getting to a new class or leaving and smirked.

“Are you okay there, Nic?” Will said, teasingly bending down to the same height as Nico’s offended face. He knew that Nico was sensitive about his height, and truth be told, Will loved teasing him about it.

Nico scoffed and crossed his arms. “Don’t call me that.”

Will just laughed and ran his hand through his hair before staring in the general direction of the bus stop. “So, do you wanna go to the tiny bookstore around here somewhere and get paper and whiteout or do you wanna go to the city and get what we need and some coffee afterwards?”

Nico smiled up at him. “That sounds nice.”

And Will melted slightly inside.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #hoo #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #percy jackson #riordanverse #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pastel punk au #pastel!nico #punk!will

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klance-fic-central · 6 years

Text

My Top 10 Favorite Klance Fics

So, I promised this a week ago for hitting 200 followers, then thanksgiving hit and while I was at home I have gained almost 200 more followers. Welcome to all of you new beautiful people and I apologize for the delay on this and answering asks. I’m working on the asks that I have and I’m going to post them after I finish finals. So, if someone wants to ask for recommendations, do it now and I’ll answer them all in two weeks.

This list will be in reverse order so my favorite fic is on the bottom. All of these works are amazing and if you haven't seen one, I HIGHLY recommend you read them. A lot of them have been recommended on here before, but this list will contain works that are in progress because I love them so much. Well anyway, here’s my top 10 favorite klance fics.

10) From Across the Platform | By: foxsmouler | Ongoing | 107,008 words | Mature

On one seemingly normal day, on his commute to work, Keith notices a rather eccentric-looking guy across the way on the opposite platform, they make awkward eye-contact and suddenly everything in Keith's life changes. Keith doesn't like change.

A.K.A a story about how Keith reluctantly learns to have faith in mankind again.

Notes:

This fic is almost entirely fluff and its the greatest when you just want something sweet instead of angst. Its a modern fic and is worth the read when you need a pick me up. A lot of the later chapters, I feel, can be read as one shots. So, if you find that you want to stop reading its easy to do.

9) Dear Keith | By: Redjay27 | Completed | 71,995 words | Teen & Up Audiences

Keith receives a mysterious note in the mail. There's nothing written on the envelope but his name. When he reads it he learns of some guy named Lance who is writing to Keith to tell him the story of how he messed everything up. Lance is distraught after he is left all alone after his big screw up. To ease the pain, he writes a letter to a made up person...or so he thought. Keith was just a name he picked randomly but when mysterious drawings start appearing in his dorm room, depicting scenes that he's written about, he starts to think Keith might not be just a figment of his imagination.

Notes:

I love this fic, but had one problem with it. I wasn't a big fan of the epilogue, like at all. If you read everything, but the epilogue its a fantastic piece, but because of the epilogue that's why it’s a little lower on this list. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, just didn't like that epilogue.

8) Web of Sins | By: charlotteXOyates | Ongoing | 70,791 words | Explicit

Stripper!Lance AU: Keith is a hardworking college student who is devoted to spending all of his time studying to become a pediatrician; so it sounds ridiculous to him when Shiro and Matt suggest he's working TOO hard. After a bit of peer pressuring, they finally convince Keith to check out a gay strip club called "The Web of Sins" in order to relieve his stress.

At first he goes just to make them happy, but upon meeting a seductive young man who just so happens to be the club's most popular stripper named Lance, he begins to get drawn into the Web. Only, Keith has no idea what sort of demons lie hidden in the twilight that is Lance's past...and he has no idea how closely they follow.

Your mistakes create a web of sins around you, and once you're too caught in it...you can never escape.

...not on your own, that is.

WARNING: This fic starts out relatively light-hearted and cute, but if you didn't look at the tags(you should ALWAYS look at the tags), let me warn you now that stuff will get significantly darker, eventually. I promise that none of the dark stuff is ever glorified; this is not a kinky story. This is a story of two boys trying to overcome the dark past, together.

Notes:

So, this is an ongoing fic not a lot of people know about and its so flipping good. The first part just finished up, but this fic has so much potential and I just know that the author is gonna do an amazing job with this. It’s one of those really good smut with plot stories that are actually insanely good.

Kadochrome

| By:

HoddieMaine

Ninke_A

| Completed | 55,526 words | Explicit Keith has been at a loss for a while now. His job is terrible, his passion for photography has waned, and his pseudo brother has moved to some little town and keeps insisting he visit.

Notes:

Fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff with a little tiny bit of angst.

6) There’s Trust in These Wings | By: zeerogue | Ongoing | 134,258 words | Explicit

For generations the Ice Masters of Altea and the Fire Masters of Ko-gane had been warring over the lands that divided them until a new enemy in the west rose to power. Uncertain of their chances fighting two wars at once, a treaty is made to end the battle between Masters and have them join as allies. And what better way to become allies than through marriage. Keith trusts Prince Shiro's choice in marrying the Altean heir, and if anything was to go wrong, he has sworn to protect the third Ko prince, but the Alteans seem to be more dangerous in diplomacy than they ever were on the battlefield. Luckily, Princess Allura has a protector of her own who might be the only ally Keith has in his new home. Even if he is insufferable.

Notes:

This is such an amazing story. It’s ongoing, but its 100% worth reading as it’s released.

5) A Cradle of Flesh and Bone | By: bffimagine | Completed | 70,773 words | Mature

He was born with a misshapen, malformed heart. They tried to fix it, but the complications left him with the kinds of scars that meant he wasn't expected to survive until his thirtieth birthday. He's still got dreams--one day, he would be a doctor--but someone has to give up their heart for him to make it. Sure, he was sick, but he wasn't down and he certainly wasn't out for the count.

At least, not yet.

-----

Keith Kogane was the star of Altea University's medical school. He was destined to be the greatest surgeon of his generation, and probably for generations to come.

Well, until he dropped out, anyway.

Notes:

All I can say is, keep tissues next to you as you read this, you’ll need them.

4) Hearts Dont Break Around Here | By: klancekorner | Ongoing | 51,714 words | Mature

Keith chuckles softly at Lance’s faded face in the old photo. He was still a little chubby, couldn’t be more than eleven years old, but nevertheless had his arms slung over the shoulders of two pretty, giggling girls. The smug grin on his face is dazzling. Keith wonders how Lance, to this day, manages to make it look so believable.

Or, Lance and Keith have been best friends since first grade. Lance’s brain is always on overdrive and Keith’s blunt, realistic ass can never keep up. They both come to realize that sometimes you can learn a lot about loving yourself by loving someone else.

Notes:

LET ME TELL YOU, you have to read this. If there is one fic that I would tell you to seriously read, its this one or Lion’s Chain. That’s all I’m gonna say, go read it and you’ll see why it’s this high on this list. You will not be disappointed.

3) Follow My Lead | By: klancekorner | Completed | 114,261 words | Mature

Becoming “hook-up buddies” with Lance Sanchez was just supposed to be a small, insignificant fraction of Keith’s life. But of course, things don’t work out that way at all.

aka a Friends w/ Benefits AU that nobody asked for where Lance wears sleeveless hoodies, plays basketball in abandoned parking lots, and follows his dreams, and Keith comes from a high class, reputable family who never let him have any dreams of his own. They go home with each other and don't expect it to matter until it totally does.

Keith POV and Lance POV

Notes:

This fic, my lord, I have sinned. This is easily the greatest smut with plot fic out there and at this point I’m sure many of you have read this. Honestly, I almost put it in the number two spot, but I didn’t only because I read Let Me Catch My Breath first, that is literally the only reason. It’s a modern AU with rich boy Keith and aspiring Basketball player Lance. God the heartbreak is real. Klancekorner you are the goddess of fanfiction in my eyes, keep it up. <3

2) Let Me Catch My Breath | By: Smiles4Voltron | Completed | 228,919 Words | Mature

So, Lance has to fight five champions of an alien race to save Keith- wouldn't sound too hard if he wasn't blind from an injury at that very moment. Oh, and did he mention that if he doesn't defeat the five then Keith is given to them like some prize? Some delicious little prize that they will most likely do whatever they please with?

Left to fend for themselves, blinded and injured, two unlikely Paladins must work together to survive. Tensions get high with horrid creatures, a determined assassinator, and their growing attraction to the other. So, both a frustrating tension and sexual one, huh? Or could you consider those the same thing?

Notes:

So, this was one of my first Klance stories. I joined the fandom in like February this year and this was one of the first fics I read. Obviously it holds a special place in my heart, but it’s a beautiful piece. Its a crash landing scenario on an alien planet gone wrong in my opinion and its great.

1) Lion’s Chain | By: Luna_Vulpes | Ongoing | 241,680 words | Teen & Up Audiences

Keith is returning from deployment overseas, officially released from duty in the military. However, his first stop back in the states isn’t the place he expected to be - the funeral of his military partner Miguel McClain. There he meets Lance, the younger brother of the fallen soldier, along with the other grieving members of the McClain family. Unsure of the next steps in his life and unable to separate his military and civilian life, Keith looks to the one place he can even consider home - the family Miguel loved and left behind.

Using group therapy, meeting new people, and becoming closer with the McClain family, Keith tries to put his life back together and live past the tragedy of losing his best friend. In turn, he grows a bond with Lance and realizes that maybe Miguel was right along - the two seemed made for each other.

Notes:

This is my favorite fic for many reasons. The writing is beautiful, but the best part about it is the journey. The emotions this fic will make you feel and just the journey this author takes these characters on is a fantastic one. This is one of those fics I see update and I drop everything I’m doing. It’s worth the wait for each new chapter and god I just love it so much.

#Voltron #Voltron legendary defender #fanfics #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfiction recommendations #fanfic recommendation #klance fic #LMCMB #Lions chain #Follow My lead #HDBAH #Klance #Laith #fluff #angst #top 10

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rjcauthor · 6 years

Text

How to Make a Living as an Indie Author

[Author Note: Originally published on my website in 2014. The basics remain the same.]

I thought about titling this post, "My Advice to Writers 2014 - 150,000 Books Later," [2018 Update - 1,000,000+ sold and counting] but it'd be disingenuous. I'm not speaking to all writers here. There are plenty of advice guides/blog posts for basic writers, for the hobbyist, for the person who wants to get their book queried and submitted, etc, etc.

I'm not really an expert in any of those fields, so why spend my day off writing a blog post about it? (Why spend my day off writing a blog post at all, honestly? Fuck if I know. I should be on the couch partaking of the last day of the Titanfall beta or rewatching a few of the Harry Potter movies on Blu-ray. Instead, I'm doing this. I must be mental.) Anyway, I'm writing this because I want to speak to a certain segment of the writing population, and that's the person who wants to make a living as an indie author.

I've written advice posts before, and a lot of them were filled with caveats that were designed to protect people's feelings and avoid controversy, and also protect my ass from anyone who might get upset. Let me get those out of the way ahead of time: I'm assuming if you're going to read further you're:

a) Looking to make a living as an indie author, and are unwilling to accept any other means of making a living long-term.

b) Are smart enough to decide after reading my advice if the methods I describe are a fit for you.

c) Are willing to work for 100 hours per week for a sustained period of time if that's what it takes.

d) Are smart enough to know that I'm too busy to personally mentor anyone beyond this post. You're going to need to figure out the rest for yourself. Find some author friends, some like minded people you can talk to. It'll help a lot.

(As an aside, my harsh words here in this post are going to be the least of the slings and arrows you'll have to deal with if you go down this road, so maybe take it as a warning to look for surer footing elsewhere.)

Some quick background:

In March of 2011 I had been in financial services for seven years. It wasn't going terribly well, and I was spending all my free time working on a story idea that was absolutely haunting me. It kept me up at night writing, and I was having my friends read it and waiting anxiously for their feedback. I loved it - loved writing it, loved hearing what they had to say about it, loved every part of it enough that I was forgoing all my other hobbies just to write.

That was a unique experience for me. I'd gotten a degree in Creative Writing with the intent of becoming a novelist, but gave up on that dream by the time graduation had rolled around. I hated writing after getting my degree, my love of it all ground out of me by years of being forced to write about subjects I did not give two fucks and a shit about. I'd started half a hundred novels from the time I was in fourth grade until college; after college I didn't write anything for eight years.

I had started writing again in the summer of 2010. I kept writing for a few months during that summer, in spite of everything that was going on - work demands, a toddler running around the house, a pregnant wife, a house that we were doing a ton of work on to sell, selling said house, moving in with my in-laws, and a hell of a lot more.

I wrote in spite of all of this. I wrote DURING all of this. I kept coming up with ideas to advance my plot, ideas for interactions between my characters, ideas, ideas and more ideas. I'd sit at work and write ideas down during meetings - whole chunks of scenes and dialogue. I was a financial services salesperson and trainer; I was supposed to be paying attention.

It got bad. I didn't care about my financial services business anymore, all I cared about was writing. So I started trying to figure out how to become a full-time writer, and looked into traditional publishing (which was the only game I had heard of back then). It wasn't a happy answer I came back with. The short version: Good fucking luck, kid, and don't quit your day job.

A little depressed, I put aside my writing for a few months and redoubled my efforts in financial services in preparation for the upcoming baby. By the time January rolled around, I was twice as frustrated, and I was back on the writing again. I looked for answers to the question of, "How do I become a full-time author?" again, and this time I found something different.

Self-publishing. Amanda Hocking. Joe Konrath. They told tales of copious sales, of massive amounts of money, and of working hard, but being in charge of your own destiny. I found a few other names like David Dalglish and B.V. Larson, and I started studying up to figure out how I could do just a fraction of what they were doing. It took me about a month or so to figure it all out, but I came up with a plan, and on March 5, 2011, I told my wife I wanted to quit financial services and stay home with the baby so I could write in every available moment.

I'll spare you the argument and say that eventually she went for it. So I stayed home with our youngest and wrote obsessively during naps and after bedtime, defraying daycare expenditures for the first year and releasing two books with a third finished by the end of the year. After that, we put both kids in daycare all-day, every-day and I started writing full-time as of January 1st, 2012. I was making a living by the end of September, just after my sixth book came out.

And here's what it took to do it.

1. Be calculating

Whenever I talk about what I do/did as an indie author, I inevitably hear people in the background say, "Ehh, he just got lucky, that's all."

To them I say: I planned for both failure and success, understanding that as long as I did not yield, I could work until some level of success was inevitable. Luck may have vaulted me to way above what I'd planned for, but I didn't count on it and it wasn't required to be able to making a living, which is what I wanted - and what I planned for.

I worked my ever-loving ass off in ways that no one ever saw, spent most of my off-hours in analysis, took mighty risks, gambled a lot of money, time and basically my entire future on my own success, and then watched things work ALMOST EXACTLY LIKE I PLANNED FOR IT TO BEFORE I EVEN FINISHED MY FIRST NOVEL.

You need to constantly assess the landscape by reading about your industry. You need to know about what's going on in the world of publishing, the world of craft, everything about your industry that you can soak up. Even if it sounds stupid, even if you violently disagree with it, the time you spend learning these things can all weigh in the formulation of your game plan.

Watch the people who are doing it, and try to distill the common denominators of their success. I heard some motivational coach say, "Success leaves clues." No successful author is doing it exactly the same way, but a lot of them are doing similar things.

A lot of people speak of planning like it's something you do once and forget about.

Are you fucking kidding me? Planning is an ongoing process. Like Sun-Tzu said, your plan ain't gonna survive contact with the enemy (pretty much everything is your enemy, btw, this publishing environment is like Australia) so you have to revise it constantly. Throw out what isn't working, make new plans, revise old ones. My overarching plan (strategy) was this:

i) Write a shitload of books

ii) Get them in people's hands somehow

iii) ?????*

iv) PROFIT!

*(Step iii is actually, "Get them to pay for the next ones.")

It's the little plans (the tactics) - how to get those steps done - that needed changing. And you must assess where you are CONSTANTLY. And it cannot get in the way of your writing. (Starting to see why obsession - #5 - is important?)

I had this basic strategy/plan when I came to my wife on that day in March, and frankly, the strategy hasn't changed in the (nearly) three years since. What has changed are the tactics - the little ways I carried out said plan. Back then the way you carried out ii was through 99 cent pricing. That no longer works the way it once did, so now it's permafree or box sets (or the nuclear option, permafree box sets). (See points #2 and #7).

Caveats/Pitfalls for Point #1:

a) You will need to spend your off hours studying this business the way a horny teenage boy studies every line of the pretty girl in front of him's body while he's bored in math class. (See point #5, re:obsession.) You will need to read articles, journals, blogs, books and possible advice scrawled on rest area bathroom walls. (Jenny - 867-5309 and other assorted bathroom stall wisdom is probably not going to help you, but collect it anyway. Better to have it than not.)

b) If you have no experience running a business of any kind, things will be more difficult for you. I don't know how much. I spent eight years running a business in financial services before taking on this responsibility, and it was like an internship that prepared me for being an indie author. I learned to manage my time, I learned about marketing and sales, about loss leaders, and about picking up the shovel and doing unpleasant work I didn't want to do in the name of staving off working for someone else. I hate the thought of working for someone else. It's a powerful motivator for me. If you don't have motivation to drive yourself, this is going to be tough for you.

2. Write fast

Ingredient number one in the souffle of success is hard work. But simple hard work is not enough; results are key here.

In fact, this is probably the biggest caveat to the whole equation, because if you can't write fast (and a lot of people can't, no shame in that) it might not work for you like it worked for me. I wrote 140,000 words of fiction in my evenings over the course of a couple months while I was still running my financial services business because I was so obsessed with the story I had to tell.

Some things that *might* help you write faster - writing sprints of 15-60 minutes, reinforced by taking your laptop computer somewhere that has no internet/distractions or using an internet blocking program like Anti-Social or Freedom. Still, if you can't write fast enough to get out four books per year...again, this might not be the plan for you. I'm not dogging on you, I just know what it took for me to get to my present level of success, and I'm not sure what it will take below that level of output. Is it still possible? I'm sure it is. I just didn't plan that way so I can't really advise you.

Additional caveats/pitfalls of fast writing -

a) Make sure you have an error correction process in place. Spellcheck alone is not going to do it. Professional editing would be a great idea.You have to decide what your Quality Assurance process will be, but you need to have SOMETHING in place. Not every reader is turned off by tons of errors in a manuscript, but a lot of them are. These errors take away from your story. They're a distraction. You're fighting the wind instead of using it. Don't get me wrong, there's such a thing as TOO MUCH when it comes to time spent on error correction, but you need to find this balance for yourself.

b) You can write crap to get the words out, but you damned sure better edit/rewrite it until it's professional-grade. I can fix words on a page that suck, but I can't edit a blank page. Make sure your stories are good (See point #4), that they're engaging, that they keep the reader moving through. Get beta reader feedback to tell you where people are putting your books down and try to figure out WHY they're doing it. HINT: They may not know the reason why, exactly. Study craft to narrow it down.

3. Learn business

There's a lot of bullshit out there. Tons of it. Enough to fertilize the entire world. In your opinion, maybe this post is filled with it. It doesn't really bother me if that's what you think, because once I write this post, I'm done with it. I'm not an advice guru, I'm a full-time independent author who derives all his income from selling books, not writing advice posts. So if you don't like the material herein and think it's bullshit, you know what to do with it - fertilize something.

What does this have to do with business? Everything. If you're going to be a full-time independent author, you have to fill your time with things an indie author would do. You also have to develop a really exceptional bullshit filter. You need to seek WISDOM (publishing information) from a variety of sources and develop the DISCRETION (bullshit filter) to decide what to apply and what not to. Some of the things you decide not to apply may not be bullshit; they just may not be a fit for the direction you want to take your career.

For example, discounting. Lots of people run sales on books, run specials on books. I haven't done hardly any of this, with a couple recent exceptions. This particular strategy is NOT bullshit, it just doesn't fit for the direction I want to go with my career. It's a perfectly reasonable business plan that works, just not one I want to employ.

Another thing about business - if you're not able to understand basics of profit and loss, contracts and how they affect you, the concept and application of loss leaders, basics of time management - okay, this is going to be a problem. The indie authoring industry is a place of shifting sands, where things are changing rapidly and what worked yesterday isn't necessarily going to work tomorrow.

What else goes into the business end of things? Tracking sales, choosing vendors, figuring out your budget, figuring out how to grow top-line sales while improving the bottom line by controlling costs, and dealing with the ten thousand assorted land mines that could crop up on a daily basis. Other business activities could include trawling through the data on your bit.ly or smartURL links to determine where you sales are coming from, figuring out which the best venues are for adbuys (I have no comment on this) or networking with other writers and talking shop.

Caveats/Pitfalls:

a) This is probably the least clearly delineated subject in this post. The reason why is because I don't really know how fast you can learn what you need to know. Maybe you've already got all the business experience you need to start with the basics. Maybe you have no business experience and are starting from scratch. I'm not even sure what all I've learned along the way from my previous career and how much it helped me, at least not in quantifiable terms. I just know it's helped a TON.

b) If you don't know anything about business, that doesn't mean it's GAME OVER, MAN. You can learn. I highly recommend constantly trying to assess your weaknesses and figuring out how to shore those up. A couple areas I think authors struggle with - Time Management/Procrastination and Self-Discipline. If you've got those areas down, good for you. A few books I think might help if you feel out of control or unsure are Kris Rusch's Freelancer's Survival Guide and Brian Tracy's Eat that Frog! (which is a time management/priority setting book). Actually, I've read a lot of books by Brian Tracy and they've all helped. The Freelancer's Guide is a good starting point, though, for general business basics.

4. Learn your craft

I'm not talking about grammar and spelling. Spellcheck can save you in one of these regards. You do need some basic knowledge of sentence structure, syntax, etc, but a good editor can help you if you're close on that. Grammar and spelling aren't really elements of craft.

Here I'm talking about descriptions, narrative voice, all the components that allow you to take the reader from beginning to end without losing them. There are a LOT of pieces to this particular puzzle, and you'll spend a lifetime working on this if you're serious about it because there's always something new to learn. Still, some fundamentals:

a) Openings

b) Cliffhangers

c) Pacing

d) Character Voice and Setting

Classes on all these topics (and more) can be found online. Make sure you use your bullshit filter to determine whether the person you’re learning from is actually worth learning from.

If you can't afford classes, let me suggest you at least read heavily in these and other areas of craft. There are tons of books on craft from experts out there. I'll try and compile a list to place at the bottom of this post in the comments, but I don't have time for it right now.

Be deliberate, as Joe Konrath would say, considering how best to improve and giving all due thought to how you can employ what you've learned in your next work to make your writing better.

All craft exercises boil down to one purpose and one alone: HOOK YOUR READER FROM THE FIRST WORD AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO NOT FUCKING LET THEM GO UNTIL YOU'RE DONE.

Everything you learn in craft, from characterization to plotting to whatever is essentially boiled down to the essential storytelling skill of keeping them interested in what you're saying. Find the obstacles in your writing that are knocking people out of your work and shave the rough edges off them as fast as your peppy little fingers can figure out which keys to punch to do so.

Some things that can help you build your audience - write in a series. Same characters when possible (not EXACTLY possible in romance to keep the same main characters book after book, but in mystery, sci-fi, fantasy, etc, you should do this). Can you build a career writing standalone novels? Yeah, but I don't know how to do it so go find someone who can instruct you in this manner. (see point #7 for more on the benefits of writing in a series.)

Caveats/Pitfalls:

a) Your first million words is (probably) going to suck. I had an advantage here in that I've been writing books since grade school so I expelled a lot of these crappy words during my teens/early twenties the way White Castle hamburgers are expelled from your digestive tract - violently and messily, with much disgust from anyone who witnesses this spectacle.

b) Taken alongside the first caveat, realize that sometimes you're better off jumping series as your craft/ability to hold the reader improves. My first series did not take off the way my second series has (probably because the first book isn't as strongly written/well-crafted with hooks in the first as the second). It doesn't mean I abandoned my first series (in fact it's doing quite well now) but I did put it on the back-burner for the last couple years as I focused on the one that was paying my bills. The first book of my first series was...my first book. Ever. I was still learning to write a damned novel. My craft got stronger and my second series did much better.

5. Be obsessed

To quote Bree Bridges (half of the Kit Rocha writing duo of hilarity and awesomeness), "When I say it's possible to make money in publishing, I'm assuming you've tried the easier things like digging for pirate treasure."

This does not mean it's impossible. It does not mean you can't do it. It just means that if you're just looking to make a living, it's easier to get a job that works you 40 hours a week that allows you to shut off your brain afterward.

You CANNOT do that in self-publishing and expect to have it work. You will need to think about it all the time. Wanting to make your living telling stories has to be the thing you get up for in the morning and the thing you go to sleep at night thinking about.

I wanted to spend the rest of my life telling stories and getting paid for it. I wanted no boss, no schedule but that I set for myself, and I was willing to work 100 hours per week for myself so I didn't have to work 40 for someone else (thanks to L.T. Ryan for that quote).

6. Market

Lots of people have different definitions for this. I have only one - help people who are looking for a book like yours to find your damned book. You can call it visibility, you can call it discoverability, you can call it the gorram hillbilly rock for all the fucks I give on the subject.

How did I market? One way, and one way only, pretty much. I wrote in a series that had an overarching story, and I set my first book in said series to free. Permanently. That's right, you can read the first book in my two series for absolutely nothing in e-reader formats. (More on this in point #7.)

But wait, you say! It's now 2017 and that doesn't work anymore. Amazon has come along and killed the permafrees to death using an algorithm attached to a death ray.

Fine. What's the lowest possible price you can get as many of your books to? Do that and see how many copies you can give away. No, I don't care if you've got a ten book series and you're selling 9 for 99 cents in order to collect full price for that last one. If that's what it takes to move some fucking books, you'll find me there doing it, too. I will race you to the damned bottom, and I feel confident that I can whip the ass off most of the other people there because I'm obsessed, I'm a fast writer, and I have no problem with discounting ridiculous amounts of my backlist in order to get people to TRY - JUST TRY - my writing. I dare you not to read on.

And really, this is all marketing is. I'm trying to expose the readers who will LOVE my books to...MY BOOKS. Some will merely like them, but keep reading. Some readers will get caught up along the way and only somewhat enjoy my books. Maybe they'll read more, maybe not. A certain percentage will dislike my books. A certain percentage (hopefully small, if I've done my craft job correctly) will absolutely DESPISE my books and want to flame them in perpetuity with bad reviews and bad word of mouth. This number is baked into the cake of success, so get used to it. I want AS MANY OF THOSE HATERS to read my book as possible, because if they're reading it, so are the people who will love it.

Marketing is just finding ways to get those people exposed to your books. I don't do interviews, blog tours, (or blog posts, really), Twitter spamming, etc. I did it my way - permafree and having enough reviews to get the big sites like Pixel of Ink, E-reader News Today, Bookbub, Indie Book Bargains in the UK - to give me some signal boost so my books could go up the freebie charts. Kobo has given me a helping hand before as well, getting visibility on their site. I didn't ask for it, they just gave (and I'm grateful for it). Ultimately, though, none of these things would help me if I hadn't set the damned books free and gotten enough positive exposure to push them up to where people could find them.

Exposure. That's the magic word. And I don't mean the kind that gets you sent to jail for indecency, so put your pants back on. (Until you're a full-time writer, then pants are optional.)

7. Don't be afraid to give your work away for free

Between 11 April 2012 when I released my book Alone: The Girl in the Box, Book 1 and when I set it free in September 2012 some five months later, I sold 42 copies of it through all channels. In August I released books 2 and 3 in that series, ended up making four figures that month for the first time, five figures in November, and I've never even come close to a four-figure month since.

Would that have happened if I hadn't set Alone to permanently free? I doubt it. Sales weren't even moving in the right direction on it before I set it free to boost its exposure. The month before it went free it sold 3 copies. Since then it's been downloaded some 320,000 times for free and generated some 100,000+ paid sales for the rest of the series (almost all at $4.99 or the foreign equivalent).

There are two ways to look at those numbers - the first is to say, MY GOD, YOU MISSED OUT ON 320,000 SALES, ARE YOU MAD?! The answer is no, not really, because I've probably only missed out on the 3 sales a month I'd have generated without the additional visibility brought on by Alone being free, and I traded it for a boatload of money in the form of subsequent sales. That's not even counting all the people who finish reading the Girl in the Box series and move on to the other books I've written, because there are those people, too. (And I love them. My truest fans.)

That's the second way to look at it. The thought that follows is, "if only I could give away MORE copies for free, I'd be able to push that paid number to 200k+ or 300k+." (Which I'm working on).

Let's talk about the emotion of this for a moment. It hurts to set your beloved book free. It's painful to drop it to a low price. But a recent survey of successful indie authors found that something like 85% of those making over $500k per year had at least one permafree. Look for commonalities, right?

Whatever promotion hurts you the most will be most appealing to your readers. (That's according to one of the most awesome gurus of the indie movement, Edward W. Robertson.) I agree with that statement wholeheartedly, which is why this morning I started the process of setting my two biggest sellers - Untouched and Soulless, books 2 and 3 in my Girl in the Box series - to FREE. Why would I do that? Because I'm thinking even if I go from 3:1 freebie to sale ratio, if I could give away a million of those free (because of the added appeal of 3 BOOKS FOR FREE OMG DEAL) and it drops to a 5:1, I've still sold 200,000 more books. Boom.

It hurt when I set my first two books free, but it gets easier every time. And yes, it even hurt when I was selling a couple books a month, because I put blood, sweat and tears into those books, making them as good as I possibly could. However, their true value is not in the price on their cover; it's in how much money they're making for the author. After all, I'm not in this to make $10 per book; I'm in this to make a living. Free is just another tool in the toolbox for making that happen.

Caveats/Pitfalls:

a) Maybe your book isn't appealing to readers (NOTE: I DID NOT SAY YOUR BOOK SUCKS. Though it may. I don't rule that out, having not read your book. It may be sucking the balls of every donkey in the shire, for all I know. But maybe not.)

If this is the case, a few things will happen - once you get to about thirty reviews, you'll probablyknow it it's not appealing to readers because your review average will be low. What's low? If you're below 3.5 on 30 reviews on Amazon.com, it's not a good sign. (Caveat to the caveat: Whatever you do, don't read the reviews for your work on Goodreads. This will not be helpful to your career - or your mental health, in all probability. And definitely don't base any judgments about what to do in your career on Goodreads reviews. Goodreads reviews skew much lower than Amazon, and as far as I'm concerned, anything above 0.1 on Goodreads means I'm doing aight.)

Again, just to be plain, for bad reviews - does it mean your book SUCKS? No, not necessarily. It means that for whatever reason, it's not CONNECTING WITH READERS. Which is the name of the game to make a living. Creating pure and beautiful art is the province of people who don't have any outside concerns (and don't write genre fiction). Us lesser mortals (aka Genre writers) have to get by on the time, energy and money we have.

I would never tell you to base your career decisions on one or two reviews, but if you've got 30 reviews on Amazon and half of them are 1-stars...you're going to have a hell of time getting even a permafree enough exposure. It may be time to jump ship to another series, and possibly another pen name depending on how bad it looks.

Writers are terrible judges of their own work, and the authors who most need to be told their work sucks would still think it's awesome even if they're running a 1-star average on 5000 reviews while an author who writes amazing work tends to bash their own brains in because they got their first 1-star after 9 5-stars in a row. (Another point, which I'm going to say only once here - In the words of Troy McClure, "Get confident, stupid.")

b) Maybe you're in a genre that's not selling. Maybe it's awesome, but it's in a genre that Bookbub is ignoring. (Sorry, Bria!) That can happen. If you can, pick a popular genre. I'm not telling you to defile your art (or whatever), but I was fortunate in that the stories I wanted to tell more or less fit into a reasonably decent-selling genre (Fantasy). If you write second-person POV octopus mysteries, your mileage won't just vary - it will suck. Even if your book is awesome.

8. Never stop learning

Things change rapidly. If you're not constantly paying attention and reading industry blogs/keeping up with the goings on through some form of peer group with its ear to the ground, you will miss opportunities. You will miss landscape changes. These can be subtle (the slow death of Amazon Select - actually, know what what? That wasn't all that subtle) or obvious (I dunno. The caffeine is wearing off. Find an example on your own.) Either way, you'll lose out.

I had my plan, I had my basic strategy, and I started to make money in September 2012. I could have coasted, thinking I had my shit together. Instead, around October or November, I made an enormous change, one that felt like a pain in the ass to implement, but that has made enormous difference in my career.

I implemented a mailing list with links in the back of my books.

I didn't fully finish implementing this until February 2013 (and I kick myself for failing to do so) but HOLY CRAP does it make a different. If you're wondering what I'm talking about with a mailing list, go read THIS POST on Kboards by my friend SM Reine. I'll wait for you here until you get back. Make sure you read her follow-up posts as well, down the thread.

This single change is revolutionary. If you're waiting for your audience to come find you every time you release a book, you're basically throwing your baby into the waiting wolves of the Amazon algorithms. Want to make a bigger splash? Want to "game" the system? Get your damned fans to all buy your book at once. It'll make a bigger splash. If you have half a dozen cherry bombs and you light them one at a time, it's like launching a book with only social media to inform your audience. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop!

Get a mailing list together and send that puppy while you're informing your Facebook and Twitter, and it's like wrapping those cherry bombs together to create a stick of dynamite. It can help you push your new release up the genre list and garner you exposure for your entire series. "Oh, look, book #9 of this series looks interesting. I should go back and read book #1." Boom, you hooked a new reader. And best of all, once they sign up for your mailing list, they're added to the dynamite for future launches.

If you're going to go to the hard work of writing and releasing books for a living while you're trying to build an audience, don't be yutz by skipping the last steps to success. Find a way to make it easier for readers to hand you money. Make it simple for them to know you've got a new book out.

Don't get stuck in marketing like it's 2009 and you can just format a warm turd into a .mobi, price it at 99 cents and have an Amazon Bestseller. ( #1in the Fiction -> Fantasy -> Turds & Burglars category! Oops, sorry, they eliminated that category in the great 2013 category shuffle. Which you would know if you were paying attention.)

Never stop learning. Or you'll get your ass beaten by someone who's figured out something you haven't.

Caveats/Pitfalls:

a) Honestly, no matter how much you're learning, you're going to get caught flatfooted by big changes every now and again. Try and limit how often this happens by keeping your fingers on the pulse of the indie author world (and off other places - you will go blind, dammit, STOP THAT).

b) You're probably going to get your ass beaten by people anyway, so you might as well be a good sport about it. Be honest: from where you're sitting right now, if you were suddenly selling a million books per month at $2.99, would you be happy? What if you were selling that many but you were still #1,987 on your category's Author Ranking?

Put another way, who cares what your peers are doing if you're meeting your goals? Focus on you, because you can't control what others are doing, you can only learn from it and apply it to your own career if it fits.

9. Don't be afraid to fail BIG - and find a way to use it as a stepping stone for future success

My first year as an indie author (2011) I made $12.25. I actually earned more than that, but because of the limitations on how big your earnings need to be before they cut a check, that's all I made. I never cashed that check, and it's still sitting on my desk right now (which is how I knew the specific amount).

That's kind of a big failure, isn't it? Would you be happy earning that much for your year's labor? Whatever your answer (please say no), realize that I was expecting that, so I didn't get disappointed when it happened. The game I was playing was long term, and I was aiming more for growth than anything. I was excited when I went up to 25 sales in a month, and I didn't get all bummed out and pissed off and demotivated when I sagged the next month. New releases and promotions help push you up, but there's a natural sag given time.

Another "failure": I launched a book last month, a collection of short stories in my Sanctuary Series. Thus far it's sold 468 copies, and at a lower price than I usually price my work. Whoops. I wrote a short story collection in my lesser-selling series and it bombed. This isn't a huge surprise or anything, but it's a failure. I'm not going to go crying over it, but you can bet I'll think long and hard before I spend my time writing another short story collection.

Of course, here's the biggest one of all: Every month before I started making a living was a failure, really. It was a calculated failure, but it was a failure nonetheless. We were sinking money into daycare costs, losing time for me to go get a degree in something that would pay me (with an English degree and financial services experience, I don't have a great resume). I was willing to accept as many of those failures as it took to cross through to success. My wife, however, was not going to wait forever.

Every month (even now) I do an autopsy on my calendar. What did I do right this month? What did I do wrong? What can I improve? (I also track my wordcount, sales, and number of books presently for sale.) My entire career in finance ended up as a failure, but that doesn't mean I didn't take away a ton of salvage for use in this one.

Comb through your fuckups. Often times you'll learn more from those than your successes.

Caveats/Pitfalls:

a) When you start to see some success, don't be a fucking idiot and stop working. Work twice as hard, because now you know your strategy is doable. I worked even more in 2013 than I did in 2012 because now I was 100% sure I was on the right track. I'm going to see if I can beat what I did in 2013 this year.

b) I think this probably goes without saying (but I'll say it anyway in case any of you are morons): don't go into something TRYING to fail. Unless it's low risk/low loss. Assess the amount of time/energy/money you're going to sink into something before you commit to it if it's got a high failure rate. Don't waste your time doing stuff you're almost certain is doomed unless it's like five seconds of your time. And don't get bummed when it goes to shit, expect that in advance and be pleasantly surprised if you get anything out of it.

10. Keep writing

I think I'm exhausted and the caffeine is wearing off, so I'm going to make this as quick as I can. If you're the type of person who's easily discouraged, this is going to be tough on you. If you're the type of person who flits from job to job always looking for the "better deal" or the "next thing"...you're probably not going to have much success here, either. If you're not okay with spending ten hours per day hammering at your writing career on various fronts for a while without much of a vacation or break...I don't think I can help you. If you're not bursting with excitement at the stories you have inside that SIMPLY MUST BE TOLD, I'm not sure this career thing is going to be the right fit.

But if you're dedicated beyond the capacities of most humans, if you're obsessed, and you're smart, and you're willing to learn and do whatever it takes (on this side of the legal and ethical bounds please, you Frank Underwood, you) to build a backlist and get your books in front of people, you can make a living as an indie author. Will it be huge? Maybe. Will it be minimal? Maybe. I don't know. There's some definite variance in mileage between writers, but I've seen enough of them MAKE A LIVING to know it's possible if you approach it correctly and you're willing to work hard enough to make a one-armed paperhanger look idle.

Once you've got all these other points down, it's really down to you to keep writing. Keep putting books on your bookshelf. Take the hits that will come and do not stop tapping keys on that keyboard. I don't know how long it will take you to get there, I honestly don't. Personally, I didn't care how long it took. The eighteen months it took for me passed like nothing because I was having the time of my life.

This isn't the lottery; there's not just one winning ticket. There's really no luck involved either, just an obscene number of things that are outside your direct control. There are so many things you can do to influence these events, though, and I've outlined as many of them for you as I could here. I probably missed some; I'm kinda tired by now, and it's my day off.

The bottom line is that if you *really* want to be a full-time indie author, I think you can do it. Will it be easy? FUCK NO. If you're looking for easy, scroll back to that paragraph with Jenny's phone number. This will be a lot of "nose to the grindstone."

But will it be worth it?

In every year of my financial services career, I interviewed people looking to hire them. I'd listen to their stories, hear them talk about their work lives. Every day I did that, I put myself in their shoes and imagined what my life would be like if I had their career. Sometimes I'd shudder, sometimes I'd wonder what it'd be like if I'd made the choice to do what they did. Sometimes I'd wish I had. A lot of times I wished I had. Especially when things got bad.

Since the day I started to write full-time, I have never once imagined myself as anything other than a writer. I have never wanted anyone else's life or job for my own, and I have never wanted to be anyone but me. I've maybe wanted to have other authors sales numbers if they're doing better than me, but I've never wanted to swap anything else.

I don't want to do anything else but what I'm doing. I love this gig. It's the best job I've ever had. Last year I went to England for a week to research a novel and meet some fans. Had one of the best times of my life. In January, it got damned cold here so I picked up and took the kids to Florida for a week to hang out with my parents and go to Disney. Sure, they just went last October, but you only live once, right? (I also wrote something like 12,000 words on a book while I was on "vacation" so...)

For me, it was worth it. It was everything I'd ever wanted and when I got here, it was everything I'd dreamed of plus more. I guess what I'm saying is, if you're the kind of person who wants it that badly, who's willing to do what it takes to do it, I hope this helps you.

Keep writing. That's the last key. Through the bad times, and the good - hopefully it'll mostly be good, but you better plan for the other. If you want it bad enough that you're willing to put in effort in these areas, you can do it. If you're hating every day of it, though, then it's probably not for you, and there's no shame in that.

What being a full-time indie author basically boils down to is that you keep writing, because you love it so much you can't stop. No caveats. No pitfalls. Just a love of writing that won't ever let you quit.

(Editor's Note: There is no editor and I'm sure this post is riddled with errors. Fuck off and go write, okay? I'm going to go play Titanfall.)

#writing #writers #writeblr

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bmgmw · 7 years

Text

Homecoming (chapter 2)

I finally reunited with my computer so I could write chapter 2! Apologies for any grammar/punctuation errors. I’m running on 4 hours of sleep after a long work day, so…

Anyway, I think this thing may end up being more like 5-6 chapters instead of the 3-4 that I initially planned…..oops!

Thanks for all your lovely comments on the first chapter (chapter 1). I don’t really (aka ever) write fiction, mostly just research or poems, so this is all pretty new to me!

Chapter 2: Observer of Humanity

The harsh city streets of Greenwich Village softened as the autumn leaves speckled the asphalt in shades of red and gold. The wind provided an encouraging nudge to the throngs of people moving about with their own individual rhythms to form the city’s unique collective cadence. Mid-rise luxury apartments, renovated 19th century row houses, and NYU’s signature purple flags encircled the downtown neighborhood, inflicting architectural warfare on the ghosts of the Village’s bohemian past. As Riley made her way down MacDougal Street, she passed one such ghost, the cornerside club Cafe Wha?. Home to one of Bob Dylan’s earliest NYC performances, the club still stands today–although rising cover fees and the changing neighborhood landscape have slightly diminished its once bohemian atmosphere.

But as Riley gazed at the club’s quirky signage over the door, her train of thought wandered to the club’s lesser known history. Observer of humanity, the phrase formed in her mind. Her great-grandmother Rosie McGee was a frequent patron of the club in the 1960s, and although the two had never met, Rosie’s story came to life every time Riley passed by Cafe Wha?. Riley pictured Rosie in a cozy booth feverishly jotting down poetic fragments in her journal, about the nomads she encountered passing through, about the folk artists attempting to get their music and message to travel beyond those four walls, and about the love she found–and then lost–there. Observer of humanity, the thought echoed once more. Riley was fascinated by her great grandmother’s intuition regarding others and her uncanny ability to tap into previously unbroken ground in order to connect so deeply with people. As Riley thought about the people in her own life, she desperately hoped she had inherited even just a small fraction of that talent. Riley crossed the narrow street, weaving her way carelessly between taxis stalled in traffic, and descended the stairs into the courtyard of Topanga’s. She eyed Farkle and Smackle tucked away at the corner table seated across from each other and deep in quiet conversation. With their eyebrows furrowed and their backs slightly hunched, they emanated a sense of gravity that Riley did not want to intrude upon despite her natural curiosity. From the corner of her eye, she swore she felt them glance in her direction. I’ll say hi later, Riley thought as she made her way to the entrance.

Riley continued on through the door, and the warmth of the bakery enveloped her as she took her place on the orange sofa next to a very relaxed Maya. Maya dropped her feet to the floor from the coffee table and turned to Riley. “So how’d it go? Did Ranger Rick finally show up?” she asked. “Yes,” Riley replied. “You were right. He didn’t forget about asking me to homecoming!” Well, of course I was right. I did help him with this after all... Maya thought to herself. She smiled and revived her best terrible 1950’s educational video accent. “Well, golly gee whiz! Riley Matthews asked to the homecoming dance by that swell lad Lucas Friar! Cheese souffle!” she joked, with accompanying gestures. “Did he bring ya a Yogi on skates, Sally?” The joke had long worn thin, but Riley didn’t have the heart to say anything. Instead, she forced out a slight chuckle. "No, no Yogi on skates. But lots of my favorite candy.“ Riley tossed a handful of chocolates from her bag to Maya. “I got some for you and Auggie”.

“Thanks,” Maya said, losing both the ‘cheese souffle’ accent and enthusiasm. She couldn’t help but feel weird taking the candy that she had told Lucas to buy, unbeknownst to Riley. Maya slowly unwrapped one anyway, hoping the sweet chocolate taste would overpower her discomfort. “So are you excited? It’s only a week away,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m excited! But I still need to pick out a dress! Want to go to Demolition later?” Riley asked as she took out her mountain of textbooks, grasping them tightly in order to keep in place her scattered notes burrowed in the pages. “Sure. I guess I should get a dress too.” Maya didn’t have a date, but that wasn’t going to stop her from having fun with her friends. “But I can’t stay long,” she added casually. She glanced at Riley with slight apprehension, hoping Riley wouldn’t ask for a more detailed explanation that Maya wasn’t ready to give. Luckily, Riley was already buried deep into página 72 of her Spanish textbook, trying her best to memorize the long list of verbs for the upcoming quiz. “Caminar…..cantar…..conseguir…..cambier…” “Cambiar”, Maya corrected. “To change.” “Cambiar”, Riley repeated intently. Spanish was not her strong suit and she was glad to have Maya to help her. Riley giggled as she went through the vocabulary list one final time. “Even when I get them right, I still think I sound like Chewbacca.” She uttered its cry and Maya laughed. “Well if you’re Chewbacca, then does that make me that Han Solo guy then?” Maya asked. She had never seen a Star Wars movie, despite telling Riley otherwise, but she had read enough of the Wiki page at least to pacify Riley when the subject came up. “Sure,” Riley answered, her eyes glued to her textbook. Sudden silence grew between them, teetering the fine line between comfortably studious and tensely awkward. As it slowly evolved into the latter, Maya pushed a tuft of her soft, blond waves out of her eyes and picked up her strawberry smoothie. "So why do we always order these things when it’s not even warm out? I’m much better at pouring them than drinking them anyway,“ Maya stated, hoping the self-deprecating humor would lighten the mood. She wasn’t quite confident in its success, but it was her go-to method in awkward situations. Riley looked up from her book. "Out of habit, I guess,” she replied. Maya smiled and stretched her feet back out on the table and began to drink her smoothie. Feeling deserving of a study break already, Riley looked over at her friend and did the same. “Ya know, life’s pretty good right now,” Riley said in earnest.

“It’s–,” Maya began, before she was interrupted by the bakery door being swung open with urgency. Smackle and Farkle stood at the door in tandem. Their expressions had softened since Riley had seen them, although neither looked entirely comfortable. They stood in front of the girls and took a deep breath. “Riley. Maya,” Smackle began, turning towards each girl as she addressed them. She continued on, quick and undeterred. “Farkle and I were just discussing homeostasis— how variables are actively regulated in order to remain constant……like how the plasma ionized calcium concentration level is controlled in our blood via the parafollicular cells of the thyroid, as well as the parathyroid gland.” Smackle paused and looked intently at the two girls. They stared back. Unsure of what to say, they said nothing. Farkle took a half step back and listened silently as Smackle continued. “Sorry, I forgot we’re not all in AP Bio. Let me rephrase.” Maya and Riley exchanged a glance before smiling back at Smackle. They were neither angry or offended, but rather, slightly surprised that Smackle didn’t call them amoeba brained or some other colorful description. “Yes, Smackle, explain to us lowly peons, please,” Maya said in slow exaggeration. The girls loved Smackle, refreshing honesty and all, and Smackle was used to the girls giving as good as they got. Smackle looked at them warmly and continued. “In biology, an organism being able to regulate and remain constant despite outside changes allows it to maintain life.” The girls nodded. “Okay, that makes sense,” Riley replied. “Yeah, yeah. Science and stuff. But what about it?” Maya chimed in. She knew they were going around in circles to get to a point, and she wanted them to arrive at it sooner rather than later. Farkle straightened his shoulders and looked up towards friends, still avoiding eye contact. "Smackle and I were talking not just about homeostasis at the molecular level, but at the human level as well. When the external variables of this world make us go haywire, who is the one that helps us return to homeostasis? Who helps us maintain our true selves even as we grow? “ he recited. For a boy whose eyes typically gleamed when it came to science, there was a dullness to them today. An unusual reluctance replaced the typical ardor in his speech.

Riley and Maya’s eyes remained fixated on Farkle, expecting a further explanation, or at least some type of follow up. This wasn’t the first metaphorical science speech Farkle and Smackle had given, and the girls were waiting for the pair to answer their own question as they usually did. But Farkle offered no answer. He turned to Smackle, who stood up and announced simply, "If we are not each other’s regulating factors, then we cannot achieve homeostasis. Based on this scientific fact, Farkle and I have decided it is in our best interest that we separate ourselves on amicable terms. We wanted you to be the first to know”. Farkle nodded silently in agreement, keeping his eyes glued to the floor and his hands glued to his jean pockets. Before either Riley or Maya had a chance to process the bomb that had just dropped in front of them, Farkle and Smackle nodded and left the bakery as quickly as they had come in.

Maya finished the last sip of her smoothie, still not quite sure of what had just occurred. Smackle and Farkle were the most stable relationship of anyone in her class. “What the…? Well Riles, I definitely did not see that coming, did you?…”

Riley absentmindedly shook her head as Maya continued on. But Riley wasn’t listening. She had scooped up her books and bag, and before she knew it, was halfway out the door. I have to go talk to him. She wasn’t sure exactly what to say, or what she thought talking would accomplish, but she could feel every instinct in her body screaming at her to go. This isn’t the Farkle I know, she thought as she entered the courtyard. He was holding something back, though Riley had no proof nor any inkling of what it could be. As she brushed passed the round tables on the way to the stairs, flashes of conversations past rang in her head. “We don’t lie to each other, Riley.”

Riley accelerated as she went up the stairs and onto MacDougal Street. The evening sun was reflecting off the windows and for a moment, it almost felt like the Village was glowing.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Maya appeared at the foot of the steps, puzzled.

“I’ll be back soon and we’ll go to Demolition, I promise,” Riley replied, eager to keep moving.

“Okay, but what about Lucas?” Maya shouted as Riley walked down the street.

Shoot. Lucas was supposed to meet them at Topanga’s in fifteen minutes once he finished his baseball practice. Riley fiddled with a strand of her hair as she thought about what to do. She had already not watched his practice, and the thought of ditching him at Topanga’s made her feel worse. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t excited for homecoming. Feet frozen on the cement, Riley bit her lip. “Tell him, I’ll be back in half hour!” she replied. Pivoting, she continued down MacDougal and unlocked her phone.

‘hey. can you meet me @ the arch in ten?’ she clicked away with her thumbs with ease.

The purple doors to Cafe Wha? peered at her as she made her way north towards Washington Square Park. The doors were closed, but she could picture Rosie’s booth clearly. She paused and gazed at the doors for a few seconds longer, hoping this feeling in her gut about Farkle wasn’t just her imagination. She hoped she read him as well as Rosie read the people surrounding her.

Observer of humanity. Riley repeated as the arch of Washington Square Park began to emerge in the distance. Or at least…so I hope.

#gmw #girl meets world #riley matthews #gmw fanfic

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angeltriestoblog · 7 years

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Your Comprehensive Guide to Surviving Grade 11

WARNING: The longest post I’ve ever made in the history of my blogging “career” is up ahead. Nevertheless, please read it so my efforts won’t be wasted.

In a nutshell, last school year was me trying to secure the Guinness World Record for the number of breakdowns on a bedroom floor. The amount of workload was unforgiving, the pressure to perform was crippling, the competition was inadvertently fierce and the standards set were higher than fun.'s friends in the Empire State. (Please get this reference.) Surprisingly, I survived and lived not only to tell the tale but to also help incoming Grade 11 students prepare for the year that is to come so they won't have to deal with the many risks of premature stress like I did! This is where this guide (with some unnecessary blabber on the side because will it really be an Angel Martinez post without it) comes in. Though it's a given that not everything that happened to me won't apply to you, I still hope you use these to better your experiences and emerge as a stronger and more productive person! Like me, I guess. In a way.

To kick this off, let me just say that I know this notice might be coming in a little late, since enrollment for most schools (in the metro, at least) have already come to a close. Thus, by the time you've read this, you may have already chosen a strand of your own! The selection of some schools may be limited to the basics: Science, Technology, Engineering and Math (STEM), Accountancy, Business and Management (ABM) and Humanities and Social Sciences (HUMSS) which are all pretty self-explanatory in terms of the topics of focus. But from what I know, others also offer Arts and Design and Sports for those who wish to devote their full attention to the talents they wish to hone and even a general academic strand for the benefit of those who remain undecided. I, for one, chose ABM: I didn’t feel like committing to a certain career yet and wanted to opt for the safest option among the choices.

The process of choosing which way to go is pretty intimidating at first especially once you figure out that the rest of your life may very well be at stake. But, it isn't that much of a pain once you reflect on your interests enough and see if those align with what you want to do and where you want to be in the future, if that’s not too forward looking for you! I know a couple of people who’ve had to compromise their true passions for the sake of pleasing their families. Whether it’s to continue a legacy that’s been passed down for several generations or fulfill a dream that belonged to someone else, some parents believe they have every reason in the world to demand their children’s future, even if it’s obviously against their will. Yes, I believe that it’s their responsibility to guide their kids through the process of figuring out what they want to be in such a fast-paced and ever-changing world where anyone can influence and be influenced for better or for worse. They must be able to provide the insight that only they possess after all the years they’ve spent collecting wisdom. They should help us plan out what’s gonna be on the blueprint of our lives, not finish it by themselves, present it and expect us to follow without any questions.

But as per usual, I digress. TL:DR choose the track you want, you don’t owe anything to anyone.

Generally, Grade 11 will be the hardest year on you. It doesn’t care if you came terribly unprepared, if you haven’t slept a wink in eons or if the people you live with barely even know who you are anymore. It’s unforgiving and relentless in the pursuit of giving you the biggest ordeal of your life. Based on my personal experience, I reckon it’s due to the fact that our teachers stand by their decision to treat us as young adults, seeing as we’d be in first year college anyway if the K-to-12 program wasn’t a thing. When we were children, everything we needed to know about a certain topic would be put on a silver platter and handed over to us, usually in the form of photocopied sheets of old handouts. All we’d have to do is memorize whatever was on them and eventually ace the tests that usually came in multiple choice or matching type form.

But now, we’re in charge of making our own notes, deciphering cryptic explanations for a certain lesson and most of all, making our own creative output based on what we could be often inaccurate interpretations. Grade 11 gave big importance to the performance task, much to the dismay of everybody. Whether individual or by group, it was always half our grade and due way before any of us were ready to face the task at hand. It also required coming up with original ideas, or solutions to the most common problems and it’s either bland when working alone or chaotic when with classmates, because everyone wants to be heard when we’re actually fighting for metaphorical spots.

I didn’t feel it much during the first semester though, because I had the best schedule on campus. Classes ended at 2:30PM for me so I had plenty of time at my disposal. I could hang out with friends, have a chat with my mom and procrastinate (responsibly) before proceeding with my work and still be able to go to sleep before the clock struck ten. My subjects weren’t terrible as well. Yeah, not all of them were anchored in the very foundation of my track but I was able to get grades far better than I would have expected, so it’s all good. Here’s a briefer on each:

General Math

A solid 8/10, which is a big deal considering the fact that Math has never been my strong suit. First quarter covers topics I barely understood when they were discussed to me in Grades 9 and 10, namely functions (linear, quadratic, polynomial, The Problematic Trio aka rational, exponential and piecewise) and equalities and inequalities. Second quarter focuses on business math, weirdly enough when there’s an entirely different subject for that, but the lessons don’t overlap. Annuities, stocks and bonds, and loans were explained plus a little bit of logic towards the end.

The key to Math is a heck lot of practice. Practice, practice, practice. Even when you know the answers, or more preferably when there’s no key given. Answer every problem in the book on a separate sheet of paper, make up your own, explain the procedure of solving to yourself, help a friend out and refresh your memory simultaneously. Do it when you get home, or when you have a free period at school or you have no idea what else to do seeing as that’s the only way you’ll develop the skills needed to become a human calculator.

Business Math

A more practical Math subject: every single topic discussed was something that could be applied in real life and useful to us when we have careers. The first few weeks consisted of our reviewing our favorites: fractions, decimal and percentage, and ratio and proportion, so it evidently started on a good note. It later on proceeds to buying and selling, computation for salaries and wages then the presentation and analysis of business data in table and graph form.

Though the lessons here are undeniably easier than our previous Math subject, it still wouldn’t hurt to practice, especially if everything isn’t clear to you from the get go. If your teacher is anything like mine and thrives on class participation, recite as often as you can whether it’s to give a recap of yesterday’s lesson or show the solution on the board. Her personal favorites in our class were those who made it a point to raise their hands as often as possible.

Physical Science

A mix of the deadliest sciences mixed in one subject. Physics and chemistry, folks. Just as appealing as it sounds. If you like both of them, you’ll breeze past this, no sweat. But if you’re like me and you stopped paying attention in science class after the teacher was done discussing the body system, you’ll have a lot of catching up to do. Subject matter included motion, energy, chemical reactions, force and energy. Don’t be too excited that there are only five, because these took two semesters to properly shove in our craniums.

There’s no downtime in this subject, you have to hustle every single day or else you’ll fall behind while the work just keeps piling up. Read up on everything and do not leave out even a single detail: know which causes what, and why well enough to the point that you can recite it in your sleep. Memorize the formulas and most importantly, invest in a double liner calculator! It’s a bit pricey but spending the amount required is far better than having to enter multiple parentheses to work your way around an equation.

Earth and Life Science

Personally the superior science for me, considering that the topics were genuinely interesting and made me gain a better understanding of how the world works. We studied the origin and structure of the earth and beyond, earth processes, natural hazards, bioenergetics, perpetuation of life, evolution, organ systems and interaction and interdependence.

The only downside for some is that many terms will be introduced throughout the course of this subject, and you’ll obviously be required to memorize them all and at the very least, identify their definitions. Making flash cards for each lesson would definitely come in handy, even if takes a while and could very well cramp your hand but there’s this app called Quizlet which basically serves the same purpose and is easily accessible in any device you download it on.

Oral Communication

I think I was the only one in class who actually enjoyed what was going on for the most part of Oral Com, since I enjoy talking to a crowd and writing. If the mere mention of that phrase alone gives you shivers down to your spine, I guess you’ll have a lot of mental and emotional preparation to do. Normally, this subject would heavily rely on application of learnings through exercises and presentations but there was still a bit of (unnecessary) discussion here and there on topics like public communication skills and communicative strategies.

Expect a lot of speaking in front of the classroom! Tasks will range from impromptu (no time to think beforehand), extemporaneous (short preparation time upon receiving the question) and prepared speaking. Groupwork is also high in number: the teacher will give you a situation (e.g. you’ll be selling a product, your house is on fire and you need to call the fire department, ya know… the usual [?]) and you’ll need to propose your solution in the most eloquent and spontaneous way possible. Which means no reading aloud of lines scribbled on your hand with a G-Tec.

Organization and Management

Basically an introduction to the world of business and thus an essential subject for my strand. Points discussed were the nature of management, the firm and its environment, environmental scanning (PEST and SWOT analysis) and the functions of a manager in detail (planning, organizing, staffing, leading and controlling).

This subject was very detail-heavy so as much as I was willing to learn, I couldn’t avoid being overwhelmed by the number of things we were trying to run through in around sixteen weeks. It also didn’t help that we didn’t have a book to refer to and had literal stacks of photocopied handouts to lug around instead. But I guess by now, your school has a textbook to provide you with and if not, there are some published by Rex Bookstore available in big branches of National Bookstore like in Quezon Avenue. The best thing to do to survive this subject is to read so you can understand all the concepts. Everything discussed is important and the quizzes and quarterly tests you’ll take will require not only what you think it means, but also how you’ll use it IRL

Understanding Culture, Society and Politics

Potentially one of your favorite subjects, if you’re given the right teacher, since it focuses on the intricacies of our lives as human beings. From the study of humans past and present and the complexity of our cultures (anthropology), we head on to the analysis of government systems and activity (political science) and the nitty-gritty of our development and functions in human society (sociology).

I didn’t have a problem with this step the lessons were comprehensible enough to grasp my attention but just make sure that you exert effort to understand everything! Because even though a chunk of the activities also include matching type, true or false or fill in the blanks, essays are a mainstay. Usually, they’re not based on facts too but on your own personal opinion and the teacher will be able to tell if you don’t have a particular stand or you do yet you fail to back it up with actual evidence, so be sure to find a basis for everything you say.

Unfortunately, all fun and games were over when the second semester rolled in. Our privileges were taken back and our schedule was reverted back to the usual 4:20PM. Thanks to the fact that my busmates never went straight to the bus upon dismissal and liked roaming around the campus, leaving our conductor to search for them like she was in some sort of treasure hunt, I went home at 6:00PM every day. To make matters worse, this just so happened to be the season when the research papers started rolling in, one by one, all poised and ready to kill us ever so slowly. Let me give you another quick recap:

Pagbasa at Pagsuri

Definitely not the kind of “Pagbasa” I was expecting, if I’m being frank. I thought we were going to be reading and analyzing contemporary Filipino literature, which excited me since my knowledge in that genre was close to non-existent. Turns out, we would be looking at different kinds of texts (informative, persuasive, analytical, etc) then finding out how to write them afterwards. There’s a chance you might not experience this unless we go to the same school, but our teacher invented the ADIDS method in order to help us learn this more effectively through application. I forgot what it stands for, but basically all you do is discuss each facet of a very broad topic thoroughly in the form of a well thought out class presentation.

Meanwhile, the research paper takes up one whole semester. Not to sound boastful, but I had thought that I would be able to do this with ease because all I ever do with my life is write I mean I practically came out of my mother’s womb with a pen and paper in hand and I speak more Filipino than English these days seeing as I spend a bigger portion of my day in school. But, the finished product is often bland and makes use of the same words over and over in a failed attempt to accurately describe what I want to put on paper. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the topic also had to be narrowed down repeatedly to suit a particular audience, from a specific place within a specific time frame so we ended up doing a research on the effects of Jason Derulo’s songs on the opinions of Grade 11 students from our school in the academic year 2016-2017. Please don’t laugh at us.

You also don’t just write the entire paper, but also be briefed on its parts, their functions and determine what sets them apart from each other, and the specifications in making each of them. Which includes stuff as minuscule as the measurement of the margins, font sizes and types to use et cetera. It’s not that hard though because as you’re working on the paper, you familiarize yourself even more.

Komunikasyon at Pananaliksik

The easiest one I took the entire semester, and for obvious reasons, my favorite. Our teacher was brilliant in the sense that he was well-versed in the subject matter and got work done yet let us watch Train to Busan or Seklusyon on the TV if the schedule permitted. The topics weren’t mind-boggling either: we just covered the history of the Filipino language and communicative skills (which further cemented my belief that this was basically the counterpart of Oral Com). They may be confusing at first but the key is to notice sentence patterns! The number of activities given to us was reasonable and not particularly stress-inducing: just quizzes that were few and far-between, a groupwork and reaction paper for a performance task.

Fundamentals of Accounting

A lot of people are intimidated by the idea of studying Accounting, and I’m not surprised. It’s always described as something that relies on analysis and numbers, two things that we normally don’t excel in at school. But it’s actually nothing to fuss about as long as you do your reading, understand the basic guidelines, practice at home and have a qualified teacher who has the proper training and skill set. The first few chapters don’t even involve computation of any kind yet. You’ll just be acquainted with the very foundation of the subject: the branches of accounting, the users of accounting information, the forms of business organizations and types of businesses. Maybe the most important lessons that you could pick up are the accounting equation (assets = liabilities + equity), types of major accounts and the generally accepted principles because they serve as the rules to follow for making your accounting-related decisions.

Eventually, you’ll make it to business transactions and their analysis, where you’ll be taking a trip around the whole accounting cycle. You’ll have to fill out a journal, ledger and unadjusted trial balance then adjust that trial balance using the adjusting entries normally provided to create your income statement, balance sheet, closing entries and the end goal, the post-closing trial balance. Sounds like a lot of work, but it’s seriously not that difficult if you do your homework! It’s also best to invest in an actual journal and worksheet, instead of solving on sheets of yellow pad that can easily be misplaced.

Statistics and Probability

Stat was weird for me in the sense that our lessons were generally ambiguous unlike what their names insinuated and I seemed to understand everything while it was being discussed but the minute I got home to work on assignments, I found myself staring at a wall until a friend who actually knows what to do goes online on Messenger. Later on, I found out it was because I needed to practice on my own to be familiar with the procedure instead of trying to memorize all the steps when it depends on the type of problem. We covered random variables, probability distributions, normal distributions, sampling, estimation of parameters and hypothesis testing (which was actually quite fun).

If you’re not keeping up to speed with everyone else, please do work on it as early as possible. The lessons here are somewhat connected to each other so if you failed to catch the drift on one of them, it’ll create a chain reaction and by the last topic, you’ll have zero knowledge of how to solve anything. Ask help, preferably from your teacher because not only do they explain it most accurately but it helps them see your initiative to do better, which they take into consideration when computing for your final grade. Do not settle for the exercises found on the book. Make your own, if you’re in the mood to cramp your hand, or turn to websites like The Oxford Math Center for useful worksheets with answer keys.

Contemporary Art

The very bane of my existence. The perfect way to sum up this subject in six words. Art was never my strength, anyone who knows me is aware that I can’t draw to save my life, but it didn’t really have much of a dent on my report card since it happened to be a minor subject. But thanks to the implementation of the new curriculum, it is given a new sense of purpose as a core subject with a weight of O N E. We had dealt with the different periods of Philippine art extensively, the National Artists of the country and different contemporary art forms such as film and the oddly interesting performance art. (Trigger warning for some graphic content though, so do be careful when searching these up!)

Activities ranged from making presentations similar in format to those in Pagbasa at Pagsuri, creating manifestos for the Philippine youth in relation to their role in the art world, holding a class exhibit to display the work you’ve made and my favorite: going on a fieldwork to hunt for contemporary art in the city. All this will lead to the culminating activity: the creation of your very own output, where anything is possible and depends solely on the one calling the shots.

This art class is no longer focusing solely on the physical aspects of a certain work, but also on what it actually means and what its relevance to society actually is. So, a good tip would be to always look at the bigger picture when given something to analyze! It’s hard at first, I admit I didn’t have much to say during the first few meetings but as the floor is opened to more interpretation and intellectual discussion, you’ll get the hang of it and instinctively feel the need to join in.

** We are about to dive in a zone that is fittingly named The Deadly Trio. ** Actually, if these were stand-alone subjects, I’d be fine but the fact that there are three of them in one semester when they’re basically discussing the same things and giving the same ridiculous amount of take home work was enough to drive me up the wall.

Practical Research

As implied by the very name of this subject, the main focus would be the creation of a qualitative practical research paper throughout the entirety of the semester. Discussions here were very minimal, as the teacher thankfully wanted us to focus on getting as much work done in the classroom as possible. I slacked off moderately during her period instead of lessening what I’d have to do at home, and in the end I ultimately suffered. But anyway, topics discussed include the importance of qualitative research, finding a good topic and sources to build it up, reviewing different types of literature, understanding and collecting data and further analyzing it to later on be able to report our findings.

One another thing to look forward to (not in a good way) is the dreaded thesis defense, where your paper will be dissected and closely examined for any possible shortcomings and held against you in front of a panel. It doesn’t always have to be the bane of your existence: as long as you contributed to the making of the project, you’ll know enough that you won’t be humiliated the minute you open your mouth.

A tip to take into consideration is to choose the right groupmates. Unless teachers pre-determine who you end up working with for two straight quarters (in that case, you’ll just have to learn how to accept your fate, whether it is for better or for worse), as much as possible, go for those who are responsible and actually care about their grades. It’s never fun to work with people who send you a montage of copy-pasted statements from Wikipedia pages and pass it off as their “contribution”, go offline Messenger the minute you even think about asking for help and think that printing the paper is a valuable addition to the team.

Reading and Writing

Contrary to what I initially thought, this was not the counterpart of Pagbasa at Pagsuri in the English language and I was thankful in a way because God knows the pain that inflicted upon me. The first quarter starts off quite easy, with critical thinking, fundamental reading skills, selecting and organizing information and critical reading skills. It may sound like a mouthful, but most of these are stuff you’ve picked up long before, without the assistance of a teacher! Some people may find patterns of development a hard topic, but if you read books, I guess identifying them just comes natural to you.

The latter part of this subject is where the ugly stuff goes in. I personally felt deceived into thinking that it would be as simple as our first lessons: identifying and writing the thesis statement and topic statement then it suddenly escalates and turns into SO MUCH ACADEMIC WRITING. When I saw that we were going to be making book reports and article critiques, I shelled out some of my favorite fictional reads and Man Repeller stories of the month only to find out that we’d be reviewing serious, educational material with very specific and strict guidelines to follow to make it as formal and cohesive (and basically not fun) as possible. Research reports, project proposals and position papers will also be in the works at some point: they are very structured and usually have to revolve around topics that are related to your strand, so there is a chance you may find it boring.

English for Academic and Professional Purposes

When I saw I had this for a subject, I was actually glad at first since English has always been my forte. So I was anticipating a repeat tutorial on all parts of speech and the basics of the subject-verb agreement when in reality, all I got was a dupe of Reading and Writing. Which is why, I had no idea why we had to take up both of them during the same semester.

Besides all subjects that required the submission of a research paper as some sort of culmination, this was the most demanding in terms of written output. During the first quarter, it’s still permissible to chill as you’re only going through reading and writing different types of academic texts (does this sound familiar to any of you?) but as the next one rolls along, BOOM. Reaction paper. Reflection paper. (Yes, there is a difference.) Concept paper. ANOTHER position paper. Report.

Now, if you’re already thinking about how you’re going to make it through when your writing is as lifeless and flat as can be (e.g. It is a sunny day, I ate an apple, I need to pee), don’t sweat it. That is exactly what your EAPP teacher will be looking for anyway. Academic texts do not require flowery writing that went through EDSA traffic before getting to the point (which was obviously an inconvenience for me): nobody cares about your opinion unless they say so and even if they do, they’ll probably require a sentence limit.

Well, that’s a wrap! I spent approximately twelve hours working on this post: one of which was spent on the Kitkat bench in Landmark trying to find a catchy way to start it off, and my eyes hurt and I may be suffering from carpal tunnel but all of that means nothing as long as I’ve been able to guide one hopeless soul out of the dark. I’ll be back with much lighter content very soon if I can factory reset my head and get it to work properly again.

Stay in school, kids!

Angel

#advice #grade 11 #senior high school #k to 12 curriculum #philippines #angeltriestoblog #pagod na ako #recs #life dump

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cutiesaeran · 7 years

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The Star in the SKY - Chapter 8

A Yoosung x Saeran College AU (You can read this on AO3 here)

CH 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 |Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7

Another week passes before I decide to attempt the interview again and this time, I call Seven before showing up. After confirmation that he is home and still willing to participate, I pack my stuff up and head to the bus stop.

Hopefully today will go well enough between all three of us. Depending on the atmosphere between the twins, I’m prepared to be either professional and distant or my normal self. I don’t know that I’ll be very good at the former, but if it’s necessary, then I will do it. I need to get this interview done and if I must walk on pins and needles for it to happen, then I will. I can try to solve the mystery of their behavior after, when I can focus without always having my paper nagging at me in the back of my mind.

The past week has been… interesting, to say the least. Ever since Seven essentially kicked me out, he’s been having the weirdest mood swings. Some days he texts me non-stop, acting like his old self for the most part while other days I won’t hear a thing from him. The car rides have become immensely awkward because of this; he’ll either be teasing me and playfully talking - although with an almost desperate edge to it now, like something has changed but I don’t know what - or he’s sullen and silent. Those days I take the bus home after class.

Saeran hasn’t been avoiding me, per se, but neither does he come up and talk to me...not that he was doing that before. If I make contact he’ll respond, but that’s about it. I can’t help but feel a bit of whiplash between the both of them, like I’m constantly being thrown off-kilter no matter what I do. It seemed like I made such amazing progress with Saeran, but then after Seven interrupted us… now I don’t know where I stand with him.

On Monday Saeran did stop by my desk to give me the sketchbook I’d left at his place; I’d assumed I was borrowing it, but apparently he had every intention of giving it to me. “You have potential,” he’d said as he handed it off to me before heading back to his seat. When I flipped it open, I was shocked to see that he had drawn me standing next to Rika, colored in and everything. I looked… happy. He made me happy in the picture. That struck a chord in my heart, for some reason.

I want to be closer to him. But will I have to sacrifice my relationship with Seven for that?

That’s the question left on my mind as I take the elevator up to their floor, nervously tapping my foot on the ground. Admittedly today may not be the best day on my end for this, since all I can think about is the conflict between the twins and how it affects me. Selfish, I know, I should be more concerned for their relationship but I don’t want to lose my best friend or my new friend. I don’t know why I can’t have both…

The elevator dings and I shift my bag on my shoulder nervously, stepping out and rushing down the hallway to their door. With a resigned sigh, I lift a hand to knock on the wood, eyes closed and ready to be annoyed. When I reach out, I find nothing but air.

What?

Opening my eyes, I flinch immediately upon seeing a hand just inches away from me waving back and forth eagerly. Peering around it I find Seven standing there with the door open, a cheeky grin on his face. His facial expression looks too jovial to be real and there are dark circles under his eyes. Normally playful golden eyes seem empty and almost dead, and his skin is definitely paler than the last time I saw him. Did he not sleep well? Did he get called into work and do another all-nighter, or does this have something to do with… me?

God, I hope it’s not me.

The hand starts waving in an erratic pattern. “Earth to Yoosung. Are you there?” I blink at him and give a small nod; yeah, something’s definitely up. He’s not using his normal obnoxious nicknames. This isn’t foreboding, I try to convince myself as I follow him inside the apartment, shutting the door carefully behind me. He’s just tired. That’s all it is.

Saeran’s already sitting at the table, bent over and scratching away at a sketchpad fervently. Slightly mussed red hair is falling forward to partly cover his eyes, but the look of concentration upon his face is still unmistakable. I notice that his tongue is just barely visible between his lips again; it must be something he just does when he’s completely absorbed in whatever he’s doing. It’s cute. The sweater he’s wearing is tan and drapes off one shoulder; maybe it’s too big for him? Regardless, it looks like it was made to rest on him that way.

I jump when the sound of fingers snapping bursts in my ear and turn to see Seven watching me with an indiscernible look. “Lost you for a moment,” he says quietly, a hint of sadness in his voice. Before I can even question why, he motions me over to the empty chair on the opposite side of the table from Saeran, taking a seat next to his brother. I sit and dig through my backpack, pulling out my binder and a gray voice recorder and setting them on the table.

“No.”

I glance up quickly from where I am flipping through my notebook to try to find the questions to see Seven staring directly at the recorder. “No…?” I question, glancing over at it. It’s just a tool to catch what they say in case I don’t write it down fast enough or I want to go back to make sure I don’t misinterpret something. From what I gather, it’s pretty common to use during proper interviews, so I’d purchased one and brought it with.

“You can’t record this.” Shaking his head, Seven uses a tone that brooks no room for argument.

I argue anyway.

“Why not?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. “It’s not like I’m going to do anything with it other than listen to it again to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I’m not going to, like, give it to the news or anything.” The very prospect of that makes me snort. “Like the news would be interested in you anyway.”

Saeran actually looks up from his sketching and exchanges a glance with his brother before both pairs of eyes land on me. They way they’re looking at me makes me feel weirdly uncomfortable, and I shift in my chair slightly as I look from one to the other. “I think I agree on this, Yoosung,” he says softly, setting his pencil down carefully. “It would be better not to record this.”

That’s confusing, but whatever. I huff and grab it, shoving it back in my bag before holding my hands up and raising my eyebrows. This is not starting out at all like I planned.

Clearing his throat, Seven leaned forward, folding his hands on the table and looking at me intently. “Look, I know we agreed to this, but I need to lay down a few ground rules before we proceed. Okay?” He gives me a pointed look, waiting for my answer. It’s not like I have much of a choice, so I give him a curt nod. Letting out a sigh, he continues, “first, you can’t ask about our childhood before V. No, Yoosung,” he added on sternly when I opened my mouth to protest, “this is not up for debate. I doubt it would do much to help your paper anyway.”

My back slams against the chair when I throw myself back in frustration. That is actually a major part of it; how one is treated in early childhood is crucial to how well-adjusted they become later in life. Folding my arms over my chest, I stare at him, assuming there’s more to come.

“Second, you can’t ask any detailed questions about Saeran’s time in the gang. It’s still…” Seven pauses, eyes squinted up at the ceiling as he searches for the right term. Saeran beats him to it.

“My time there was very harmful and certain things about it can trigger an anxiety attack or worse,” he says flatly, tilting his head to the side, green eyes piercing through me. The way he says it in combination with the intensity of his look almost make me feel like there’s more that he’s trying to say to me. Maybe… maybe it’s in relation to our friendship?

“I wasn’t planning on asking about anything like that.” I am mostly interested in what led Saeran to join the gang, not his experiences in it. No, wait. I mean, I am interested in that, I’m interested in everything about him, but… it’s not relevant to my paper. “Most of my questions are about childhood experiences and then generic ones about what you guys think is different between you, and maybe some elaboration as to why you think that is.”

It’s quiet for a moment and then Seven sighs again, fingers pushing his glasses up fractionally as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, we won’t answer anything from before age thirteen, so. If your questions can apply to that, then let’s get this over with.”

“Thirteen,” I say bitterly, letting out one small laugh. “That’s… that’s useless to me. I need to know about your experiences before, when you were little. Things that maybe happened to one of you but not the other. Things that shaped who you are because of that.” Seven flinches visibly, casting a guilty glance at Saeran. Saeran is still watching me, a considering look on his face. Of the two of them, I think I have a better chance of getting through to him. “Please, Saeran,” I plead, turning my focus on him. “You’re in class with me, you know how important this paper is. What can be so… so terrible about your childhood that it has to be kept a secret from me?” He blinks at me slowly, his mouth twitching just the slightest at the question.

I jump when Seven suddenly stands, slamming his palms down on the table. “The. Answer. Is. No,” he growls, biting off the end of every word. “If you are going to keep pushing, then I’m going to need you to leave.”

“Wow, twice in two weeks. What a great best friend you are,” I say sarcastically, grabbing my stuff and aggressively cramming it into my bag. “First time you do it because I’m here, hanging out with your brother instead of you on a day you forgot to tell me not to come by. Were you jealous? Was that the problem?” The flash of pain in his eyes tells me I hit the nail dead on. I keep pushing. “Jealous that Saeran got to spend the day with me and you didn’t? Afraid that he’s going to replace you?” Okay, I’m getting mean and I know it. I should… probably reign this in. “Now you tell me that you’ll let me interview you but won’t actually let me do it. You know what, don’t worry about kicking me out. I’ll show myself out the door.” I heft my bag onto my shoulder and stand, carelessly shoving the chair back under the table. I make it about halfway to the door before Saeran speaks quietly.

“Why don’t we just tell him?” I freeze, daring to look back at them. Saeran’s staring down at his hands in his lap, picking at the cuticles anxiously while Seven’s eyes are wide in disbelief. “It’s been ten years, I think we can trust him not to go running off to sell us out to him.” My eyebrows furrow; sell them out?

“That’s not the issue and you know it,” Seven says a bit too roughly. My heart clenches when I see Saeran cringe at his brother’s tone, shrinking into himself a little. “That hasn’t been why I’ve kept him in the dark for a long time now. It’s not because I don’t trust him.” Suddenly he pivots to face me, all anger drained from his face and replaced with a weariness I’ve never seen in him. “That’s not the reason, Yoosung, I swear.” His voice cracks on my name and before I can process what’s happening, he’s closed the distance between us and pulled me into his arms. If I wasn’t confused before, I certainly am now.

I feel Seven bury his face into my neck and I slowly raise my arms to hug him, giving Saeran a baffled look that he just averts his eyes from. Wait a minute, I’ve seen that look before; that resignation, where all of the light is gone from him and he wilts - but where?

“I know I’ve kept so much from you,” comes the thick and shaky voice by my ear and I startle; is he crying? “But it’s not because I don’t trust you. Please know that I do. I haven’t told you because if I do, I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe, and I need you to be safe. Do you understand?” I drop my arms as Seven pulls back to look at me, placing both of his hands on my cheeks. There are unshed tears glistening in his eyes as he continues to speak, “I don’t think I could go on if anything happened to you.”

Suddenly there are lips on mine, pressing against my mouth softly as Seven cradles my cheeks gently, pulling me in closer. The kiss doesn’t last long; he withdraws after a few seconds. He doesn’t go far, just enough to search my face for my reaction.

My reaction.

What is my reaction?

I stare into his eyes, golden and so warm, warmer than anything I’ve ever seen before, but I don’t feel… I don’t feel what I think I should feel in a moment like this. My heart isn’t fluttering, my stomach isn’t filled with butterflies, there isn’t a rush of excitement running through my veins, like when… when… Oh.

I jerk out of Seven’s grasp suddenly, backing up quickly toward the door. “I… I gotta go. I… I’m sorry, I just… I… gotta go.” As soon as I feel my hand hit the doorknob, I turn it and flee, unable to look at Seven’s crestfallen face any longer. I don’t hear the door slam behind me - which means I probably didn’t shut it completely - but I don’t stop as I bypass the elevator to run down the stairs.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This is the only thing repeating through my mind as my feet hit the concrete sidewalk outside. How… how did I not notice? How did I not notice that Seven had fallen for me? That he no longer thought of me just as a friend? The signs were all there, neon-green and pointing in big arrows at the obviousness of it. Worse is that I played into it naively , letting him cuddle me and hold my hand, all things I knew friends didn’t usually do.

I need to think. I need some space, some fresh air. There’s a park nearby with a small stream running through it, a place I’ve gone in the past to watch the water as it flows steadily on, through the rocks and under the bridge. It always gives me a sense of peace. I need that right now.

My footsteps sound loud as I run and I feel tears running down my cheeks, but I don’t stop. I’m sure I must look a mess to anyone who sees me but I can’t bring myself to care. Right now there are two things taking up all of my thoughts, churning and twisting throughout my mind in an all-consuming manner.

One, that my best friend is in love with me, and that I don’t feel the same.

Two, that I have developed feelings for Saeran… his twin.

Shit.

#yooran #yoosung #yoosung kim #saeran #saeran choi #the star in the sky #mystic messenger #mysme #mystic messenger fanfic #mysme fanfic

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ghoultyrant · 7 years

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Madoka: Rebellion

So I finally watched Madoka: Rebellion because some people insisted I would actually like it and have my concerns about its awfulness addressed if I watched it.

These people were badly mistaken.

Massive spoilers, of course.

As with my FoZ notes, [bracketed text] is notes I added in after the original writing, taking into account information from later in the movie.

---------------------

So wait, in Fixed-Verse, anyone can Witch out? (Yes I know they're called 'Nightmares' now. You know what I see? SUPER WITCHES) WHAT THE FUCK MADOKA. [We’re not actually seeing fixed-verse, so it’s not as dumb as I thought]

It took more than fifteen minutes for the plot to start going anywhere.

What is Kyoko doing in the same school in the same year as Madoka and Sayaka? She's more Mami's peer, so even if she was going to the same school she should be in a year above. THIS IS NOT HOW CAUSALITY FUCKERY WORKS. [”But Ghoul Tyrant!” I hear you say. “It’s supposed to be wrong like that because It’s All Just A Dream!” Sure. Fine. And Kyoko is still in their school in their year at the end of the movie because?...]

Oh: and of course we have 'fanservice'. Kill me. [It’s far, far more common than these notes might lead you to believe, as I was not going to note down every goddamn individual instance]

… why are the transformations in the Witch art style? (With a million panty shots fuck everything forever) I note we get a split-second Witch-word cut during Sayaka's one. Then Homura's did a Witch-word cut with, like, silent film surroundingness. Twice. [Taking into account later events, this is actually somewhat competent foreshadowing]

… they call themselves the 'holy quintet'? Really?

THE WITCH IS EL KABONG I INSTANTLY FORGIVE... some... of the horribleness.

Why are we doing the Cake Song. [Knowing what’s actually going on doesn’t make this any more sensical] Why are we 25 minutes in and I still have no clue what's going on?

It took thirty minutes for Kyoko to actually eat and talk at the same time. Kill her now, Homura, she's clearly a pod person!

“I came, I saw, Mitakihara”. Cute.

FINALLY, not quite 40 minutes in we get Homura going “I remember the past, no one else does”. No, sorry, the scenery porn wasn't interesting enough to hold me for the first third of the movie.

I keep wondering if the extreme closeups on Homura are supposed to look like Witch art style as a hint or if it's a coincidence they failed to notice. [At this point I’m pretty sure it’s an ill-thought-out coincidence, as they also do it with Madoka’s eyes at times]

Goddammit, no, punching a button in timestop shouldn't un-timestop the windows. And what kind of lunatic would design windows so high up to open like that at the push of a button anyway? [Answer: Homura, apparently]

The thing that's crazy-making about Fake Mitakihara City is that the real thing is such an insane collage of nonsensical and/or improbable architecture that what parts are “crazy because Labyrinth” and what parts are “crazy because Mitakihara City” is difficult to parse. So when weirdness is supposed to be a hint... er... how am I supposed to tell?

Okay, so I thought Mami and Homura's mega fight sequence was pretty dumb when I happened to watch it in isolation on Youtube, but now I know how it starts, and it goes from “dumb” to 'Dumb with a side helping of the Idiot Version of Just As Keikaku.” [Why did Mami have an invisible ribbon on Homura when she timestopped? What made her that paranoid about Homura? Oh, you wanted your story to make basic sense? You poor fool, you’re watching Rebellion. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here, because there’s no fucking quality or sense here. Ever]

Wait, why did I just hear a Pokeball release sound? [Charlotte made it]

Let me expand on this fight sequence being dumb: I thought it was... like, occurring in a post-apocalyptic town or something, when I watched it on Youtube. Okay, sure, now I know Homura thinks everything is fake so WHOO COLLATERAL DAMAGE GO! So... why's Mami recklessly tearing apart everything, beyond “it looks cool shut the fuck up and enjoy our five billion yen lightshow”? Also, why did Homura re-initiate timestop, given it does nothing to help her in this (utterly retarded) fight? And frankly the choreography is awful, as you spend the first half with no way to get a coherent idea of what's actually happening beyond that they're Shooting At Each Other A Lot. The second half is easier to follow, but makes even less sense as a fight scene, with the bit where they keep trying and failing to shoot each other in the head from point-blank being probably the best example of how Cool But Nonsensical Shit is happening because fuck you enjoy the spectacle!

It was neat to break up the monotony the first... five or so times we were viewing people through reflections or whatever. At this point I'm starting to think whoever headed the art of this movie had an actual psychological problem, though.

I would like for events to at some point progress because the characters make some kind of sense and are working toward actual goals, rather than spouting cryptic nonsense or fighting or whatever because lol. Kyoko and Homura trying to leave the city and it failing is so far the only time anybody has done anything that really made sense.

Dog drug reinforcement? The fuck, crazyland DDR?

Okay, I'll admit, the bus slamming into the ground out of the sky got a laugh out of me. Good on you Rebellion. I legitimately liked... a 0.5 second sequence. I'm over an hour in. Congrats.

No, I'm sorry. This “Isolation Field” bullshit doesn't explain jack. It's a copout. “We're supersciencers, ergo we can make a field that blocks out what amounts to a god and/or law of physics.” No. A million trillion times no. This isn't even a lampshade, as the movie clearly intends for me to take this nonsense seriously.

Oh, and it's one-way! Except when it isn't! Hold up, stop, even if I accept this utter and total bullshit, it fails under the weight of its own bad writing anyway. Who would Homura invite in first? Madoka, you utterly godawful writer. Who is 'the Law of Cycles'? Fucking Madoka. Fail. Terrible. Nonsense. I don't have words for how much I hate this crap.

No, saying “well, you see, Madoka could only come in as a victim and not as the semi-omnipotent Law of Cycles” via Kyubey is not an explanation. Kyubey doesn't know shit. He knows he doesn't know shit, or else he wouldn't be doing the fucking experiment! So having him make random baseless assertions the audience is supposed to accept without question doesn't fucking work because we know he doesn't know that for a fact. In the anime, we could accept that he was an authority figure/expert because he was talking about shit that had been occurring for thousands of years, and it only really broke down once Madoka made her wish and Kyubey was suddenly just the writer talking directly to Homura/the audience, at which point I could basically pretend he's just the most convenient voice actor to play the role or some such vaguely reasonable crap.

Here though, we have several essential plotpoints simultaneously hinging on “I am ignorant! SCIENCE TIME!” that are then being explained by him with “I know everything. Trust me.”

No. This is like the definition of bad writing, and nothing prior to this point has gotten me invested enough in the story to overlook what a colossal fail this is on every level.

One hour and fifteen minutes in, with 40 minutes left to go. The remaining 40 minutes better be the best shit I have ever seen. [Spoiler: Not even slightly]

THIS IS NOT HOW SCIENCE WORKS ON ANY LEVEL. “We don't know this thing exists. It has clearly observable effects, which we know for sure are happening, albeit we don't know its actual mechanism” is what Kyubey should be saying. Not “Oh man this 'law of cycles' thing is a mere hypothesis with no evidence!” I hate this movie.

Kyubey: “Gosh darn all you illogical people.” ← the most illogical being in the universe in this movie.

Now, I'd like to like that we're watching a Witch attacking someone with the Witch as the protagonist, except so far it's been lame and primarily been an excuse to draw Weird Symbolic Shit. There's bits that I like... but only bits. And what the hell is with Kyubey just reappearing somewhere nearby each time he 'dies'?

Okay, I like Kyubey being freaked out by Sayaktavia. Congrats, two times I've actually liked a tiny fraction of the movie.

Sidenote: imagine that every third line or so I instead said SUICIDE METAPHOR INTENSIFIES. Yes, really. [The original anime was kind of bad about its suicide metaphor subtext not being very sub. The movie is far, far more blatant]

GAME OVER. RETURN OF GANON RISE OF HOMURA

So why exactly is the movie condemning Homura rewriting reality to... do... something... vs praising Madoka for rewriting reality to do away with Witches? What has Homura even done that is so contemptible? Why am I supposed to agree with this awful narrative? Oh no, her wish was ‘selfish’ vs Madoka heroically sacrificing herself for the benefit of everyone. And? Has anyone actually had their life made worse? What has she even done, beyond bring Madoka back into humanity and rewrite history to flip some things around? I mean, she even says she intends to destroy all the Wraiths! She’s doing something noble, for sure, so, again: why am I supposed to conflate her with Satan?

And why am I supposed to care, given nothing at any point made even dreamlogic sense?

Also, Kyoko is still in their goddamn class in the 'real world'.

This movie is dumb. This movie is just “look, a bunch of artists were given billions of yen to draw whatever they wanted, and then I guess some writer tried to pretend it made sense?” If you want to watch visually interesting stuff and never, ever have it make any kind of sense -okay, occasionally make some symbolic sense- then okay cool this is a decent movie.

Otherwise?

What the fuck this movie is awful.

Okay: the stinger ending having Homura dancing to Kyubey's corpse? Made me laugh. Seeing Kyubey horrified? Also made me laugh. CONGRATS FOUR WHOLE MOMENTS I KIND OF ENJOYED IN THIS HOUR AND FIFTY-EIGHT MINUTES.

THAT'S LIKE MORE THAN A MOMENT OF NOT-AWFUL EVERY THIRTY MINUTES.

--------------------------

Having slept on it, I've realized I have still more criticisms.

Audio: Back in the anime, I wasn't necessarily a fan of how any given episode used the music available to it, but the music was fantastic on average. I actually had one of the credits/Witch battle tunes as my background music for reading for a while there, that's how good they were on their own. Rebellion continues the trend of putting its music to questionable use, only now the music itself is fairly forgettable and boring. The best stuff tends to be riffing on established 'Madoka music', and even then it's merely okay, not actually engaging in its own right.

I touched upon this indirectly when covering the Mami/Homura fight, but the choreography is weaker in general. The anime had its weak moments, but it also had some great moments, like how it handled Homura's “teleportation”. Rebellion is just... weak, other than it's occasional questionable 'gotcha' moments.

After the Mami/Homura fight, Sayaka swoops in to save Homura and jabber at her a bunch. This is not any kind of natural flow of events, it just sort of happens without an actual explanation. I didn't like the scene when I was watching the movie, but I was sort of half-expecting it to make sense somewhere down the line, particularly with Sayaka indicating she's more in the know than she 'should' be, but no, it just... is a thing that happens, because.

Similarly, why is Charlotte Bebe the only Witch to act as Goddoka's right-hand woman aside from the bizarre case of Sayaka apparently being able to... tap her Witch powers?... even though Madoka's wish prevented Witches from occurring in the first place? What is any of this crap?

Why was Homura able to entrap a 'piece' of Goddoka at all?

If the Incubator's retarded Isolation Field blocked out all outside forces, why does gravity apply? Why does light apply? Why does, you know, myriad physics apply? Oh right I'm applying critical thinking to a retarded plot device. How foolish of me to expect the story to make even the slightest bit of sense. I might then be able to derive some enjoyment from the movie, and that would clearly be a mission fail.

I just. I have no idea why there are people who watched this movie and went “This is a good movie and I enjoyed it” instead of “This is a terrible movie on pretty much every level and I will make sure everyone everywhere forever knows it isn't worth watching even if you're a fan of Madoka.”

I have difficulty imagining it even if I turned my brain off and just took in the wacky art. I have difficulty imagining anyone, anywhere, deriving any enjoyment from it at all in any manner ever.

But people have, somehow.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

#PMMM #Madoka #Argh #Hate

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