#hope this is legible or answers general questions i can go into more detail if you ar actully interested | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sparrowofsong · 4 years

Text

For whatever reason, I got super super into the Doki Doki Literature Club AU I thought up last night, so I decided to expand on it. Will I do anything else with it? That’s for the gods to know and me to find out.

Technically inspired by @nachosforfree, who commented “doki doki” when someone mentioned a Sanders Sides dating sim AU.

(TW for blood, suicide, self harm, abuse, manipulation, starvation -- basically just all of the warnings for DDLC.)

Patton is Monika, and the other sides don’t have specific assigned characters. Patton controls them while the game is played, switching them around each time in hopes that, eventually, he’ll find the perfect combination of roles and personalities so that the player will hate them and love him.

The sides are conscious the entire time they're puppeted, even for the off-screen events or “death”, and feel what the characters feel. Whoever acts as Yuri has to watch as he cuts himself, as he stabs himself, as he grows more possessive and insane. Whoever acts as Sayori has to watch himself tie the noose, hang himself, and desperately claw at the rope as he slowly asphyxiates. Whoever acts as Natsuki has to watch himself be abused and starved by his dad, has to watch his neck get snapped, has to watch himself walk into the classroom where he knows he’ll see his friend dead. They have to watch and feel all the random chance body horror.

The only control Patton intentionally grants them (as far as they know) is over the personality, and vaguely the appearance, of the character they play as. The delivery of the lines and actions, the eye color or an accessory (out of specific options), etc.

Unbeknownst to them, though, Patton also purposefully lightens his control during specific parts of the game, just enough to allow some vague dialogue changes, to cover their tracks. Because if those changes happen around the same places, people think that’s just a random chance sort of thing like the other intentional glitches.

Of course, even he can’t consistently control everything at once. He’s powerful, but not omnipotent. Some things can slip through even outside of his intentional gaps. But usually, he manages to catch them in time to act like he does with the programmed glitches. If the attempted rebel does enough to potentially raise suspicion (or if he just feels shitty after being rejected once again) he makes sure they regret it. And more often than not, Patton’s precautions help players disregard the out of place “glitches”.

Even after they hit every single combination, Patton still keeps trying. Again, and again, and again. They know the entire game by heart; every line of dialogue, every poem, every choice-based mini plot line, every randomly generated event. They could act it out perfectly even without being puppeted.

Eventually, after enough repeats and failures and punishments, the other sides just,, give up. They don't bother with personality, they don't bother with trying to speak to the player outside of the script. It gets to the point where Patton has to start controlling those too to avoid players picking up on it. That's how they discover that he was allowing the changes, but at that point, they just don't care.

Enter Thomas: the latest DDLC player. He plays the game blind, gets scared, doesn’t understand every single aspect, yada yada yada. A typical playthrough. Until Yuri’s death.

After Yuri kills himself, Thomas doesn't know how to speed up the scene, trying to click through each individual line. He soon gets discouraged and bored. He spends the next couple days clicking through some more lines on and off, always forgetting/not caring to exit the game in between.

The effects of the game’s events are put on hold when the game is closed, and removed entirely once the character is "deleted”. Otherwise, the sides are continuously existing as the characters in their current state. Which means Remus, this current Yuri, has been living with the pain of three stab wounds for this whole time.

At some point during Thomas mindlessly clicking through the nonsense, one of the lines is actually something legible, and he almost misses it.

“Please... please skip forward. It... hurts.”

And it seems just a little odd? But, y’know, maybe the game just eventually auto-reminds people so they didn’t have to click through everything if they forgot about the skip option.

He gets to the day of the festival, and before Natsuki comes in with his line, Yuri's dialogue box pops back up with "Please keep playing. Just... a few more minutes. Please."

That's a little more weird. But so's the whole game, right?

Natsuki comes in, and says his usual lines. But right before the screaming and vomiting as the script dictates, he pauses, and Thomas swears he sees an expression of pity cross his face. The dialogue box shows a very tiny line reading "Please keep playing. Don't let him sit there anymore."

It only lasts for a moment before immediately switching to the scripted terror. The transition is so awkward that it doesn't really sit well with Thomas. But it's probably like that to seem more meta. Or it's just bad writing. Right?

Monika's smile when he arrives seems slightly different than before. Almost forced. Thomas can't tell if it was like that before or not, so he takes a screenshot to compare later. He was considering googling it then and there, but after the pleas to hurry, he kinda felt like it'd be rude. Even if it was just a game.

When Monika "deletes" Natsuki and Yuri, he hears a whispered "Thank you" and freaks out. Literally the only other audible human sounds in the game are breathing, a "baa", and the credits song, and there's a chance he didn't even hear the first two, and he wouldn't have heard the third yet. But,,, It’s a meta horror game. So it's supposed to freak him out. That's the whole point. Right?

(They're able to do all this because after so long of completely giving up, Patton realized he didn't need to waste so much energy on keeping them in line, so he gradually began using less and less. At this point, he's hardly using any more than necessary to have them play the part, and is a little rusty. They took advantage of it this one time out of desperation, and now that they've already started, they're doing as much as they can to get Thomas to listen before Patton takes them down again.)

Monika looks pissed before quickly forcing another smile and continuing his lines. The game goes the same way, Thomas eventually figures out to delete Monika, and Sayori appears to gain sentience. But instead of saying "I wanted to thank you for getting rid of Monika", the dialogue box shows "I wanted to thank you for freeing Yuri", and "Yuri" glitches into "Remus" on and off.

When Thomas clicks, instead of going to the next line, the previous one glitches into "I wanted to thank you for getting rid of Monika" like it was supposed to be. The rest of the dialogue proceeds normally until Monika returns.

Sayori's line glitches back and forth from "W-What's happening...?" to "Don't trust him!"

Rather than saying "I won't let you hurt him", Monika says "I won't let you lie to him."

And instead of "Who..." "I-It hurts...", Sayori's final dialogue is "NO!"

The game continues and ends as programmed. Thomas just kinda goes "...What the fwuh?" before immediately looking up details about the game to see if this is all normal.

Surprise surprise: It isn't. No matter how long he researches, and despite all of Patton's precautions, the conclusion is the same: everything after Yuri's death is completely unique to his playthrough. No one else had those dialogue changes. Monika's smile in the screenshot is, in fact, different from his earlier smiles. There are not supposed to be any audible words besides the ending song. And there is no mention of a "Remus" anywhere.

There is definitely something up here. After he gives up searching for answers, he resolves to play again soon, and tries to commit to memory what's supposed to happen in the meantime.

Up until this point, their common area was a house a good bit away from the setting the events of the game took place in. They had a fair radius around the house to walk around, entertain themselves, etc., and were about as free as they could get while in that area. But, see, uh, Patton’s sorta really fucking pissed now.

Patton restricts the boundaries to just the house for everyone, and locks Logan, Remus, and Deceit (Natsuki, Yuri, and Sayori, respectively) into separate rooms, to make sure they can’t plan something else. He promises that they'll be playing the exact same roles every single time the game gets played, especially to decrease more suspicious changes if Thomas plays again, until he decides otherwise.

He hopes that Thomas will simply uninstall the game so that they'll move onto another player (because that's how I've decided it works don't question the logic). Unfortunately, he does not, and he decides to play again.

Upon learning this, the three rebels decide that if they're fucked anyway, they may as well take this opportunity to give everything they've got in hopes that they can get Thomas to help them.

Which means Patton has to find some way to balance keeping them under his complete control, keeping Roman and Virgil from finding some way to escape the boundary and help out, and figuring out what to do with the script to undo the suspicion the three caused.

Roll for initiative!

68 notes · View notes

kitaychan · 3 years

Text

White Flame

Chapter 12

Warnings: Blood, Psychological Horror

General Summary: Royal/ Magical AU. As their two Kingdoms get closer to a war, the past keeps on hovering around their choices. Prince Ivan has a hard time controlling his magical powers while being tormented by a mysterious ghost and Prince Alfred embarcs in seeking a revenge that might cost more than it’s worth it.

Preview: Alfred frowned, approaching the table. “Why do you know all that?”

“Because that law concerned all magic holders, it was a direct threat that took the lives of thousands, Ludwig’s father applied that law in his early years of reign, the sorcerers in the Middle and East Kingdoms were purged. It is an antecedent for us in the Islands as we received some of the refugees that fled from there.” Arthur took the book and the candle from the table, not bearing the smell of iron anymore, he motioned Alfred to follow him upstairs.

Knowledge

A single drop of water fell every now and then, echoing in the small basement, Arthur was sure it had been a dungeon before, for what purpose did the King have a dungeon in his palace? Arthur didn’t want to know. The place was damp, the door’s lock was so rusty, he didn’t have to use a key to open it.

Inside, the darkness was unbearable, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, Arthur had to light a candle but it only seemed to worsen the gloomy atmosphere the small room had.

Cobwebs covered the shelfs, the rusty chains on the floor were sticky, he hoped that the red splotches on them were oxide and not blood, the smell of iron was enclosed after years of not opening the room, Arthur had to breathe slowly so as to not gag.

The sooner he got to work, the sooner he’d be able to leave. He opened a shelf, a lone spider running away at the sign of him trespassing its home, the books inside were crumpled, the lower ones were wet, his eyes traveled over the faded letters in the covers, putting some over the table, Arthur frowned, that looked more like a dissection table but he had no right to question predecessors, not when he was guilty of usurpation.

The light flickered slightly, shadows dancing around the scattered books laying on the large table, tha yellow pages and the dusty covers showed the deteriorated state of the texts, Arthur cursed mentally, whoever had the nerve of putting books in here.

So far his search was futile, there was no mention of the creature he saw at the ball. Though his mind had pointed to the obvious label of ‘ghost’, its presence was beyond the forces of a mere spirit.

The wooden door cracked, the light from the candle merely revealed the person that stood in the entrance, Arthur would have been more cautious but the thunderous laughter that filled the small room was unmistakable.

“I can’t believe you are here, when I said that the old books were in the dungeon, I was joking.”

Arthur didn’t glance back, setting aside another useless book, diary was a better way to describe them, the handwriting was messy, barely legible, though they had some beautiful illustrations, the purpose of that book was merely botanical, nothing he could use. He sighed, a headache beginning to form in his head. “Alfred, why are these books here?”

“Because I said so.”

Arthur turned to him, crossing his arms. “This is not the moment for your games, I need a serious answer.”

Alfred shrugged, looking around, covering his nose with his hand as he entered. “That’s the answer, I got these books from a merchant, he said they were from the royal library in the east, I thought, “royal library of the east” as in books regarding their culture, geography and such, it was a scam, they are diaries from Ivan’s grandfather. What an irony that it is me who acquired them.” He picked up one from the pile, toying with the pages. “This guy should have been an artist, look at how realistic this looks. Do you think it is a self- portrait?”

The page Alfred was showing him was an illustration of a man, his haunting eyes looked directly at the observer, the traces were precise and resembled the same face he saw in the ball, Arthur eyes widened. “Bloody hell, Alfred, you have the best of luck. Let me see.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, passing the pages rapidly as Arthur observed him with dread. “I found it first, I get to look at the drawings before you do. Look, it’s Yekaterina!” He held the book for him to see again.

A drawing of a young woman was there, her hair tied in a braid, it was barely a sketch but her face was detailed, her expression was soft, she was smiling.

At the end of the page, Arthur glanced at what seemed to be a poem, though he couldn’t distinguish all of the words. He sighed. “That’s probably her grandmother.”

Alfred observed the page again, nodding slightly, flickering through the book. “True but the resemblance is astonishing. There are more drawings of her, looks like he really loved her, right?”

Arthur grimaced, averting his gaze from Alfred. “He kind of killed her.”

The book was dropped on the table, making the pile of unrevised books shake. Alfred’s words held a speck of derision in their tone. “What? No way, is there anyone in that family not a murderous lunatic?”

“I don’t think he meant to do so.”

“What’s on your head, Arthur? Now, the whole notebook filled with portraits of his dead wife, places this guy into a creepier level.”

“Firstly, those portraits might be from before, she is really young in those. Secondly, he didn’t directly kill her, there was a law during his reign that declared all magic related activities forbidden. He didn’t happen to know that she was a sorcerer too. When the rules in the east are upheld, they apply to everyone, without hesitance and without privileges. That Alfred, is why they don’t usually change laws, it can be counterproductive for the royalty. After that incident the law was abolished, probably to save his son from that same fate.”

Alfred frowned, approaching the table. “Why do you know all that?”

When they were reaching the first floor, Alfred cleared his throat, a sheepish smile on his face. “Nice story time, you should enlighten me more about this and not those wacky tales of invisible creatures. Let’s get some dinner.”

“They are not tales and they are heavily connected with your own Kingdom’s history. In fact, I believe that man you showed me earlier had something to do with the behaviour of this King, such paranoia can’t be fortuitous.”

Entering the dining hall, Arthur noticed Madeline was already there waiting, the table was arranged and the food was served. Was Alfred looking for him so they could eat together? Arthur’s stomach twisted, reminding him how starved he was.

Alfred shook his head, patting him on the back. “What are you talking about this time, a ghost?”

The food looked astonishing but his appetite was spoilt, the smell of iron was lingering in his nose. “Perhaps” he replied, frowning at the sight of Alfred, he was giggling.

Noisy laughter echoed in the room, eclipsing Madeline’s greeting. “You are proposing a mighty opponent, Arthur. You can’t punch a ghost, you can’t kill it ‘cause it’s dead and you can’t even see it. How do you get rid of one?”

Arthur grimaced, taking a sip of the wine, Alfred always managed to formulate questions with answers that he could not give.

---

Ivan wandered around the hallways, the silence broken by his footsteps. Every now and then he found himself returning to the same place.

The trophy hall was tidy, the gray wolf had been covered again, it was an order he gave after his father died, even when he couldn’t bear to see the animal, he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. What would that knight say if he could choose? Surely he wouldn’t want to be dead but if he were a ghost..

Ivan shook his head, he had to get some rest or else those silly thoughts would end up as a nightmare again.

Light footsteps echoed in the hall, a soft voice greeted him. “Good evening.”

Ivan turned around to see Natalya, she was holding her hands together, her blue dress was impeccable. He sighed, greeting her back. “Hello, Natalya. Do you like hanging around the palace?”

She nodded, approaching slowly, a frown in her face. “It is a beautiful place. How did the celebration go?”

He shrugged. “It was fine, the treaty was signed and Gilbert threatened us, the usual diplomacy."

She lowered her head, knitting her eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound very well, I hope it's nothing serious."

Ivan dismissed with his hand and shook his head, turning to watch the silhouette of the wolf, feeling Natalya's gaze on him, he asked. "Is there something you need?"

She nodded. "Yekaterina, she is looking for a seal, she asked me to retrieve it from you, said that you knew what she was talking about.”

Ivan pondered on what that could mean, but he hadn't entered the office since their arrival. "I don't understand. She must be confused."

He frowned, Natalya was still observing him, an awkward silence filled the room and she made no sign as to leave. She had another motive, didn't she?

Clearing his throat, he asked. "What do you like the most about the palace?”

Natalya shifted uncomfortably. “I… I like the gardens, they are colorful and the servants said that there was a peacock around, though, I haven’t seen it.”

Ivan chuckled, pacing around. “It’s a cunning animal. My father brought it from the east but just as the people from there, it does not trust us.”

Natalya observed the fabric covering the mounted animal. Placing her slender fingers on the wolf’s head, her voice betrayed her calm demeanour. “Why did you bring her back?” she huffed.

So, that was what she wanted to say.

Ivan glared at her. “Why did you take the letter? It wasn’t for you.”

She shrugged. “I delivered, Tolys was busy running away with Feliks. I had to read it for her, why did you think it was a good idea to send a letter to an illiterate person?”

Ivan’s eyes widened, he averted his gaze from her. “Well, you know why she’s here, why do you ask then?”

She hummed, lifting the fabric slightly. “Why her?”

He shook his head, taking Natalya’s hand and moving it away from the wolf. “There is not a single magician that would come here after what happened before, they are too scared and she may help me.”

Natalya took a step back, retreating her hand and muttering her question. “Why are you seeking magical power? Don’t you have it already?”

Ivan frowned, the fabric sliding swiftly from the animal, revealing the soft gray fur. “I can't control it as I wish.” The wolf’s blue eyes were staring back at him and he stepped back, his voice quivering slightly. “It can be quite dangerous.”

“It is foolish to ask that much from her, what if she knows nothing?” Natalya huffed.

Ivan locked his gaze with Natalya and she fumbled with her hands. “She has to, Natalya or I’ll have to ask help from Alfred’s sister.”

Looking back at the wolf, his hands trembled, those blue eyes, he couldn’t just throw the animal away, those eyes weren’t a beast's eyes, even after these years those blue orbs were still haunting.

Natalya’s voice changed abruptly, raising her volume. “Why do you ask the help of strangers when you could have relied on me? Am I that abhorrent to you?”

Ivan flinched at the sudden outburst, focusing on Natalya's expresion, her eyes were blue too, aside from the tears threatening to fall, her eyes had a glint of audacity now, strange as she didn’t seem to have enough will to contradict him before, Ivan wondered if he could trust her to be honest for once. “Natalya, do you love me?”

Her eyes widened but her answer came without hesitation. “Yes.”

Ivan grimaced, he was hoping she’d doubt, he approached her slowly. “I don’t think I can return your love the way you expect me to, Natalya, I do love you, just like I love my sister, we are family. You don’t have to submit to my wishes so easily, it makes me uncomfortable and it’s unnerving to deal with falsehood if it comes from you.”

She nodded, embracing him forcefully and sobbing. “I hate you.” her voice was shaky, she inhaled deeply after every sob. “I hate all of you, I try to keep everyone happy but Katya is cruel, my mother wants to get rid of me, my father doesn’t take me seriously and you… you don’t love me. You all should suffer more than I do.”

He waited for her to finish, her words were harsh, deep inside, Ivan was relieved, Natalya’s words were true, she was pouring her thoughts to him without worrying about his opinion.

When her voice stopped, she pushed him away, hiding her face with her hands and turning her back.

They stood for a while in silence, Natalya pacing around the room, she faced him, clearing her throat. “I can look for a mage in the firebird, my father said that the inhabitants were docile and well learned.”

He sighed, giving her a small smile and nodding. “We should go and look for the peacock, it must be hidden.”

She leaned to his side and took a hold of his arm, Ivan watched her wearily but did not push her aside.

“What is that you wish to know?” She asked, lifting an eyebrow. “About magic” she added.

“Anything about fire.”

Natalya chuckled, showing him a small smile. "I like that wolf, you shouldn't hide it, it's magnificent."

Ivan tried to stop himself from frowning while Natalya's grip tightened, perhaps it wasn't a good idea to rely on her.

---

The fireplace cracked, the wood inside gleaming with a bright yellow before turning red, Alfred liked to watch the flames consuming the logs, there was nothing better than sitting beside the warmth after a long day, that smell in the basement has left him dizzy.

He could lay beside the fireplace and rest, the carpet was soft and thick, the dim light emanating from it was an invitation to close his tired eyes, way before his father’s death, he found himself struggling to get a clear view from afar, this led him to abandon the hopes of mastering archery, how could he shoot if he didn’t see the target clearly?

He sighed, closing his eyes, soft footsteps approached, he didn’t have to see who it was, the steps were familiar, Madeline was always delicate, even when walking, she was an expert at sneaking around without getting caught.

Her voice broke the silence, “Is the light bothering you again?”

Alfred opened his eyes, her concerned expression was hard to distinguish with the low light, what he could see was the cream color of her dress and the book she was holding. He yawned, pointing at her hands. “What are you reading about this time?”

She sat by his side, showing him the book, the cover was green adorned with golden leafs, Madeline beamed. “It’s a book of spells, there is one that claims to conceal you from dangers.”

He hummed, his eyelids closing again. “Does it have one for my eyes? I could use some eagle vision or something.”

Madeline giggled, placing her hand in his forehead. “I don’t think that’s possible, to perform magic one has to give something, perhaps such a deed would require leaving you blind in the first place, in order for your vision to be changed.” She moved her hand over his closed eyes. “Let’s see.”

Alfred moved away rapidly, widening his eyes at Madeline's mischievous smile, he whined. “What? I don’t want to be blind!”

She laughed, reaching to touch him again. “I promise I’ll give you the eyes of an eagle, they could be yellow too.”

Alfred jerked away, laughing nervously. “No way, I like them blue, stay away.”

Madeline retreated her hands, “You have some correspondence” opening the book, she showed him several envelopes and a folded paper. "I have written a letter for Yekaterina,” she added.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, eyeing the letters, trying to read with no avail. “Ugh, I can’t read this late, what do they say?"

“I didn't open your letters, though, there is one from Ivan, what do you think he wants? I thought they'd be colder towards us."

He squinted his eyes, extending his hand to receive it, the blue seal was untouched. "No idea, I'll read it tomorrow. Why are you writing to Yekaterina?”

Madeline frowned, her gaze lowering to the folded paper. "Their father died, we have to send them condolences perhaps that's why he wrote to you.”

“We don’t really have to reply, they didn’t send anything to us before” He sat up, and clicked his tongue, waving the letter in his hand. “Wait, they did, they sent us a horrible treaty with the threat of more confrontation unless we accepted.”

Madeline frowned, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It is the right thing to do, besides Yekaterina is lovely and I want to keep contact with her. I just want you to sign it.”

Alfred glanced at the fireplace, he could throw the letter into the fire easily, a small chuckle escaped him. “Are you sure you wrote that letter to her?”

She retreated her hand, her voice serious. “What does that mean?”

He rolled his eyes, “Oh please, you spent most of our time with Gilbert, Ludwig or Ivan. Why would you write to Yekaterina if you were pleasantly talking with her brother the whole time?”

Madeline smiled, closing the book and standing. “I can write to him if that’s what you want. He sure makes some good and interesting questions, give me the letter and I will reply to it too.”

Alfred shook his head, why was she annoying him? “No, I do not want you to do that!”

She pursed her lips, dusting her dress. “You don’t like me talking to other people, I see.”

Alfred stood up, looking at the book in her hands. “To other guys whom I barely know anything about, No.”

She sighed, smiling again. “Do not worry. I wrote for Yekaterina and I didn’t mention how much you like her.”

Alfred gasped, shaking his head vigorously. “I don’t.”

Madeline laughed, pointing at the letter in his hand. “You said she was beautiful and it’s fine, think about how useful it would be if you married her, I’m sure his brother wouldn’t dare to declare a war on her or the other way around, you can’t attack your brother in law. Perhaps that's why he is writing, I'm sure he noticed how you were doting over his sister.”

“I said that she was beautiful because she is, that doesn’t mean I like her!”

She rolled her eyes, handing him the paper. “Whatever you say, just sign.”

Alfred frowned, taking the paper, he gaped at his sister's handwriting, it was so neat and elegant, unlike his. “No.” he paused, “You wrote the letter, is your doing, I will send one tomorrow but this is your work and I won’t take credit for it, let her read both letters and see how bad my writing is.”

Madeline giggled “Fine, I was going to save you from the embarrassment but have it your way.”

Alfred smiled as she walked away, he turned to the fireplace, the flames were dying alongside the light they provided, Alfred saw himself alone in the room, he traced the blue seal with his finger, opening the letter, squinting his eyes, some of the letters gained a bit of clarity, the words uprising, secrecy, aid, were registered by his brain, a cold feeling settled in his spine, he shivered folding the letter and ran behind his sister, calling out to her. “Wait Madie, you can’t leave me alone.”

She observed him quietly, a soft smile graced her face. “Quick or the ghost will catch you.”

When she halted her steps to look back at him, Alfred was relieved, the wrenched feeling in his gut disappearing slowly while a headache grew noticeable.

#hetalia #aph russia #aph america #aph england #aph belarus #aph ukraine #aph nyo canada #aph lithuania #hetalia fanfiction #hws russia #hws america #hws england #hws nyo canada #hws lithuania

2 notes · View notes

cataclysmiac · 5 years

Text

studying tips + advice [the master list]

*quick disclaimer: i am by no means a perfect student myself. i still struggle with time management and procrastination, but i am working to change that. :) these are just some tricks i've picked up along the way.

i. helpful applications

apps are a great way to get your learning on the go - they’re available at the touch of your fingertips, as long as you have wifi. some great ones i use for school (and general productivity) are:

- forest

- quizlet

- dreamie planner

- camscanner

- khan academy

forest is a unique app in the sense it helps you focus. you plant a (virtual) tree that grows for the amount of time you want to concentrate. during that time you’re not allowed to use other distracting apps, or else your tree dies.

quizlet is helpful for test preparation, since you can create virtual study sets (of flashcards) to gauge out your knowledge in a particular subject/subject unit. i organize my study sets by topics within a unit and set aside a folder for each unit within a subject. i find it helps to frequently update your study sets with new information (at least once a week) to keep on refreshing your memory. this way you’ll avoid cramming for tests.

dreamie planner is honestly just a regular old planning/calendar app that i particularly liked the aesthetics of.

khan academy is useful for gaining more personal knowledge. i don’t really use it for school that much (unless i am really struggling to get down a concept). it’s basically a reservoir of information in the shape of video tutorials, lesson plans, tests, etc. it’s free, too!

ii. memorization & general studying tips

section: note revision

so i’m probably going to offend a million studyblrs, but I find rewriting/prettying your notes to be an utter waste of time. my personal stance is that your class notes are fine as long as they’re legible and understandable. to study efficiently, I highly recommend thoroughly reading everything and highlighting key ideas the first time round. then go back to those highlighted ideas, read and summarize them in your own words, and say your personalized response out loud until you can recite it from memory. you can even take this a step further and record yourself doing these concept recitations, so you can pop your earbuds in and listen to them whenever you’ve got a spare minute. it’s like listening to your own podcast! i find this method helps with formulating short answer responses on tests because while the concepts may be in your head, it can be difficult to find the right words to articulate them. when you’ve already your own response to draw from, all you have to do is write it down, saving you a lot of time.

section: memory hacks/cramming

I once read an interesting quora post by a law student that detailed how she studied for her exams.(as taught by her university). she said once you’ve compiled a condensed version of your concepts and exam topics, draw a picture to represent them. for instance, for my biology exam, I drew a plant to remind myself of inheritance patterns in the genetics unit. then, I drew some drops of blood that looked like they were watering the plant to represent the concept of blood type inheritance. the picture should have an overall coherent feel and should be easy to replicate on the actual exam day. this way, it will create a sort of symbol for everything you ever learned. your brain will associate this symbol with the study topics you learned and your memory recall will improve.

the use of colours and smell is also common. before you study, spray a scent (from a perfume or body mist) and smell it while you study. then, right before you take the test, smell the scent again. your brain associates different smells with different experiences and memories you’ve made, which can be helpful for studying. writing key ideas on red/yellow paper may also help your chances of retaining information.

section: concentration & time management

making yourself a to-do list and using a planner app are the obvious pieces of generic advice. the key is to hold yourself accountable. when I fail to get a task done the night i’d planned to do it on, I force myself to wake up at an ungodly hour to complete it. (usually 4 or 5 a.m). i’m not a morning person, so each time I procrastinate, I remind myself i’ll have to pay in blood. to make sure I wake up, I use one of those alarm clock apps that forces you to solve a math problem to close it. while getting enough sleep is important, i’m going to be blunt and say training your brain to function on minimal sleep is going to be a skill that will be very much applicable later on in the working world. getting 5-6 hours of sleep for one night isn’t going to kill you - just make sure you get a good night’s rest the next day. although, if I have a test the following day, I make sure to get at least 7 hours of sleep prior.

for concentration, I like listening to music. to keep myself from singing along, I tend to use songs I am unfamiliar with (lofi radio is a great source), instrumental background music or songs in a different language. I like to keep it fun for myself by switching music genres for each subject. for instance, I do math to jazz piano, anthropology to lofi, etc.

iii. understanding concepts

for subjects that revolve around understanding concepts (such as, math), it is a bit trickier to study for tests. aside from listening in class, attending extra help and doing your homework, I find it helpful to personalize your workload. that’s right, if you are struggling with a concept, go beyond the assigned homework; read through the textbook explanations, search for additional practice sheets online and do extra problems. especially the ones that involve more critical thinking. (such as, word problems that involve real world applications of the concepts learned. the rule of thumb is, if you can do your “thinking/extension/inquiry” textbook questions, you’re usually good). also, if the subject/unit isn't your strong suit, be sure to do some pre-class prep work to find out what you may need to work on for the next lesson and what questions to ask.

i hope you found this list to be applicable and insightful. I wish you the best of luck in your studies. :D

#school #grades #concentration #studying #study motivation #studying tips #studying advice #study aid #memory #memorization hacks #exams #grade improvement #studyblr

192 notes · View notes

starlightsoulwriting · 4 years

Text

Constellations Against Skin

n.t. “You hold him in your arms, a thousand stars in the bones of a man, and nobody could have thought you’d come so close to holding constellations against your skin.”

Dean Winchester X Reader; Castiel X Reader

Soulmate AU

[AO3] [Chapter List]

Two: Awake

You faded in and out of awareness for a day. Nurses moved around your room, taking your vital signs and redressing your wounds. Everything was fuzzy and floaty, like there was fog between you and the rest of the world. You heard voices, fading in and out. People you knew. There was a warm presence next to you - it felt like cherry pie and cedar-smoke. Like home. You reached out for it.

There were so many thoughts and feelings where you were. The energy was so jumbled and sad and sinking. Hope and despair and relief and worry and pain in a horrible emotion soup forced down your throat and into your lungs. It was too much.

At some point you thought you dreamt of an empty, echoing church and a boy with green eyes.

Your soulmark felt horrible on your ribs, the burning threatening to pull sobs from your throat even in your sleep. So much of you hurt.

It was that pain that woke you up.

You groaned, opening your eyes and blinking against the lone, dim light buzzing above a sink. The small room smelled strongly of disinfectant and linen. Shuffling noises echoed in the hall and a soccer game played lowly on TV. Voices on an intercom would occasionally interrupt the quiet, unobtrusive sound around you with loud beeps and cracking microphones.

Your head was cloudy, but you were aware enough to be yourself - even if your brain felt like it was stuffed full of cotton instead of thoughts. You had no idea how you got in this hospital room - and it was clearly a hospital room. You... didn’t remember anything after you took out the werewolf. Were you still in Wyoming? How much time had passed? Had you been in a car accident?

Wires and tubes stuck onto and into your body made it hard to move. You recognized the IV, EKG, and Oxygen mask but the rest of it was foreign to you. You wanted to get up and walk around, but were afraid you would wind yourself into knots. Besides, sharp pain shot through your whole body whenever you moved. You didn’t think you were going anywhere. It was worse than you were used to, and you were used to pain.

You reached out for the ‘call nurse’ button, but one of your hands wasn’t moving the way it should’ve. You looked down - your non-dominant hand was in a cast, your pinky, ring, and middle finger wrapped in gauze, leaving you with a lobster claw instead of a hand. The blue wrapping had a warding sigil written on it in sharpie - one that you had as a tattoo. Why had someone put that there? You didn’t need it twice. Your right leg was wrapped all the way up your thigh with fiberglass, and you couldn’t move it for the life of you. A frustrated sigh left you before you could help yourself. Just your luck.

You felt like you came down with a very bad cold and then ran into a wall face-first.

Every part of you that you could see was covered in bandages. A mask covered your mouth and nose; you could feel the faint tickle of oxygen coming through and brushing against your nostrils. There was even a fucking tube in your throat. You could feel it chafe every time you moved - it came out your nose and you had to stop yourself from gagging around it every other second. It gave you the worst sore throat you’d ever had on steroids.

The nurse better haul ass, you wanted this thing gone.

And your ribs, holy shit. Was that extremely painful or completely numb? Hell if you knew.

You stretched uncomfortably, choking back a grunt of pain as you reached for the remote that was just a little bit out of your reach.

A sharp intake of breath came from the door and something light hit the floor.

You turned to see none other than Dean Winchester - a man you’d been wanting to meet since you were fourteen, when you met John the second time. He’d been all too happy to shut that idea down quick, though. He hadn’t even wanted you around himself at the time, let alone his kids - a fact that never changed even after you started hunting in earnest around the same time Dean had. Didn’t need his sons meeting the freak, right?

John’s rejections had always hurt more than you were willing to admit.

You recognized Dean from the photos, though - more recent ones, and from the familiar soul thrumming through him. Different than his father’s gunsmoke and whiskey, yes, but the threads were there - you knew a Winchester when you felt one. Dean felt like campfires and old cars. A pine forest on a summer night.

You flushed scarlet. Of course when you finally met your dead friend’s hot son you looked like a drowned cat that got hit by a bus. (You felt like that too). You were injured to hell, but you had eyes - and you were in a hospital bed. There was no way you could flirt with him like this. Who the hell flirted while they were in the hospital?

This fucking sucked.

You made a pointed effort to avoid looking in his head. You didn’t need to hear his thoughts, they were probably just filled with the general hunter concern tinged with curiosity that you felt yourself when working a case. You didn’t have your necklace, which you’d enchanted and blessed yourself, so you were getting a metric shit-ton of the disjointed brain chatter and stray emotions it would normally keep away. The drugs dulled your senses somewhat, so it was more like cafeteria noise than legible thoughts, thank god. You would just have to not focus on him too much. Easy.

It wasn’t easy, he was very attention-grabbing.

Wait.

Were you a case?

Dean just looked at you in shock and then at the cheap coffee he’d spilled on the floor.

“Hey,” He gave an uneven smile before crossing the room to the sink and grabbing a few paper towels. “Bobby’ll be glad you’re awake.”

“Bobby’s here?” . You lowered your face mask to speak. That hurt more than it should’ve. Your throat was dry as hell, and your voice came out in a harsh, cracking whisper around the feeding tube.

You felt like crying. Had he been worried about you? How did he even know where you were? Had the hospital gone through your things?

You’d really missed him.

Dean coughed and looked away from you. Of course he would - he probably didn’t know how to deal with a random crying chick more than any other hunter. Which is to say, not at all. You blinked away your tears for the sake of both your pride.

“Yeah, he’s asleep back at the motel. Stayed here all night.” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “He only agreed to go back if someone stayed here with you.”

You sighed, settling back into the lumpy hospital pillow. “Can you get the thingy?” You pointed at the Call Nurse button. You were not stretching like that again, your whole body felt like it was on fire and underwater.

What drugs had they given you?

He nodded again, handing you the remote. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

“I know,” You rasped, with a wink that hurt way too much to make. Very sexy of you. “Nice to finally meet you.”

That caught him off guard, apparently. He gave you a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised comically higher than the other. You would think this man had never been flirted with by a grievously injured monster hunter before.

His deer-in-a-headlights look was cute, though.

You figured you should explain yourself. “John never let me anywhere near you and Sam, even when he kept telling me how great y'all are. Always figured it would be cool meeting a hunter my own age, though.” You gave the best, genuine smile you could muster and held out your good hand. “I’m (Y/n).”

He shook your hand, and you had to stop yourself pulling away in shock. Your energy had leapt out at his and latched on, sending a blush straight to your face and a warm, tingly feeling to your soulmark.

It’d never done that before.

You both yanked your hands away, looking away from each other.

Had he felt that too? He must’ve, right? If his flustered expression and red ears were anything to go by, then yes, he had.

Great, as if you weren't already a freak.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll go call Bobby. He’ll want to know you’re up.” He started, walking backwards toward the door. You nodded, hugging yourself as best you could and kept your eyes firmly planted on the wall. “I, um - I got your message, by the way.”

“What?” Your eyes shot up to meet his, confused You didn’t have his phone number. Was he talking about the polaroid of John you mailed Bobby to give the boys?

“Oh,” He waved you off, still walking backwards. He tripped on the trash can. “Nothing. You know what? Forget I said that.” And he left, pulling out his cell phone.

But you saw the sigil scratched on his hand - the same one that was on your cast. The same one that hid you from demons. One from your personal collection of Enochian seals. The one you hadn’t seen any other hunter ever use ever.

That’s sure interesting. You wondered idly if that’s what he thought your message was. But, as far as you knew, you couldn’t do something like that.

The nurse rushed in only a minute or two later, interrupting your thoughts, and looking absolutely beside herself. She didn't let Dean back in for a while, because right after her came the bedraggled Dr. Reyes, whose hair was threatening to escape her bun and run away. Apparently you were the biggest case in the hospital and she had just been… waiting for you to wake up.

The tests she ran were annoying, but you slogged through them all the same.

You could follow the pen with your eyes fine, your pupils were dilating fine, you knew it was 2006, and you didn’t seem to have any memory problems.

And nobody was answering any of your questions. Dr. Reyes just vaguely said there was an accident but refused going into detail, asking how much pain you were in when you pressed further. A different nurse than earlier brought in a new IV stand, hooking it up and handing you a button. Pain drip, she’d said - press when you needed more meds.

You pressed it as often as the damn thing let you.

Dr. Reyes agreed to take out the feeding tube shoved down your throat, but only after you proved you could hold down meals. And that meant you had to wait at least until after lunch, if not dinner. Boo.

You resisted the temptation to look at their thoughts to figure out what was going on. You hated, hated, hated doing it on purpose. It felt intrusive and gross to reach into somebody’s head like that and pull out what you wanted. Like prying a snail out of its shell.

And it reminded you too much of your time in New York.

When she was done looking you over, Dr. Reyes sat down on her rolling stool and leveled you with a serious look, face sad and empathetic but no-nonsense. “You don’t remember what happened?” She sighed when you shook your head, but continued. “Would you like me to tell you what happened, or would you like your family to come talk to you? I can come back later and explain everything medically if you’d prefer it that way.”

You swallowed, fear spiking in your chest at her tone. Bobby had brought at least Dean with him, and you had no reason to believe Sam hadn't followed. Why would he do that if it wasn’t something bad? This was serious, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t have brought back up if it wasn’t. If it was a normal case he would’ve come alone.

Did you want Bobby to tell you?

Yes, yes you did.

He’d been there after your parents died, and for most of your teenage years; he’d already seen you at your worst.

So you waited a few minutes for the nurse - Callie, her tag said - to get him from the waiting room. He’d apparently gotten there just a few minutes after Dean called him. Dr. Reyes left with the promise of coming back in an hour or so to go over your chart and explain all your injuries, wires, and treatment options.

Bobby looked like he hadn't slept in a week. You weren’t the only one who looked like a drowned cat, apparently. He squeezed your good hand for a second and pulled up what you were sure was a horribly uncomfortable plastic chair. He gave you a sad smile - which made you feel worse, nerves rising in your chest even more. He was never this soft-looking. “How you doing, kid?”

You just shrug weakly, making sure not to move too much, and acting more nonchalant than you felt. “Confused.” You murmur, before looking away and biting your lip, wanting to curl in on yourself but unable to, pain singing in your muscles at your attempt. You hit the pain button again and huffed when it made a beep that meant you’d already gotten your next dose. “I don’t remember how I got here.”

He sighed and sounded centuries old. You felt bad for asking him to come in, for making him so tired. You wanted to make him turn around and get some sleep. To stop worrying about you so much. But he would give you a better idea of what happened than the doctor could, if this was related to a hunt. And you had a sinking feeling it was.

“I think that’s a good thing, champ.”

You furrowed your brows and looked up at him, searching his face for answers. He just looked exhausted. And you felt just how drained he was. How frustrated, how angry. Heavy.

You felt like a little kid again, waiting for him to tell you why your house had been set on fire. Small, and confused, and clueless. “What happened to me, Bobby?” You breathed, voice small.

You were suddenly afraid to hear the answer.

“Alioth found you. Hurt you real bad,” He started, and you took in a sharp breath that stung your ribs like a bitch.

That stupid demon had been after you for years. But you’d exorcised him last year. He’d never been able to crawl out of hell so fast. You normally had two years of freedom from him at least. Bile rose in your throat and you wanted to run anywhere but where you were. He could be anywhere now.

Had he been exorcised? Were you still in danger? How had he found you?

Who had saved you if it wasn’t Bobby? Because it sure as hell hadn’t been Bobby, you could feel as much. Did you save yourself? You doubted that, as much as you wanted to believe you’d been able to kick his ass all by yourself.

You needed to leave now.

Bobby put his hand lightly on your arm and you jumped, eyes going wide. “You're safe now. Me, Sam and Dean are gonna find the son of a bitch and send him back to hell if he so much as breathes in this direction.”

You just nod stiffly, staring at the wall, frozen in the sitting position you had bolted into in your panic. “How bad is it?”

“Well, I think you should ask your doctor that-”

“Bobby.” You didn’t have time for this.

Would you be able get discharge papers or would you have to sneak out yourself? Could you even sneak out like this?

“Your insides are fine, besides the fact that your heart’s real stressed out.” He sighed again, clearly either oblivious of your impending panic or hoping it would go away by itself. “You’re going to have a lot of scars, though, kid. I’m sorry.”

You forced yourself to breathe. To think, to let that sink in. You looked straight ahead and tried not to imagine what you looked like under your bandages. You would listen to the doctor first, figure out how to handle your wounds, and then get discharged against medical advice. For sure. You could do that. That was a plan.

You didn’t cry.

You refused to cry. Not for your vanity, and not out of fear. It was part of the life, nothing you haven't dealt with before. It’s not like you had anyone to impress, anyway. You were tough, you told yourself, it didn’t matter. And you had three hunters with you. If a demon so much as sneezed there would be a lightning storm, and they would help you get out of here before he found you again.

Not like you would be hard to find, given how much everybody seemed to be talking about you.

"What day is it?" You changed the subject, stubborn to avoid your freak-out. You could drive three states away and follow up with someone there by the time anyone realized you were gone. No need to hyperventilate. It was just the thing that killed your parents. No big deal.

"July tenth. Monday. A bartender walking home heard fighting and called 911 the night before last." He looked at you hesitantly, like he’s afraid of what he could hear. "So what… Do you remember?"

You had to shut your eyes to think past the blank spots in your mind. It was hard - you felt all floaty from the meds, thoughts slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Everytime you thought you latched onto something you hit empty, gaping holes where the memory should be.

So you found the very last solid memory, and focused.

A gunshot.

Yellow eyes going dark. A body falling to the floor. Cleaning up a scratch on your shoulder. Putting weapons away in your Mustang.

"Finishing a wolf hunt." You croak, wishing you could get yourself some water. "After that there's nothing." You shook your head, frustrated, and run your hand through your hair.

"Do you know where you might've been heading?” Bobby pressed. “A motel, a store, a bar?"

"A bar." The memory flashes. You'd wanted a drink. "The country-themed one by the book store. It was crowded."

"Dude, I wanna ride the bull."

"Dean, you're not riding the bull."

"Not now, obviously," Dean said on their way past the machine and toward the back of the bar. It was empty, a little past three o'clock in the afternoon, and the place had just opened. The mechanical bull was mocking him, artificial red eyes glowing under the tin-can lights. "When we finish the case." He heard Sam's annoyed huff and chose to ignore it. He was obviously just too intimidated to try and didn’t want Dean to upstage him. Duh.

Dean flashed his FBI badge at the bartender, and his brother did the same before speaking. "I'm Agent Wright with the FBI; this is my partner Agent Mason. We're here about the attack Saturday night. We have reason to believe the victim was here earlier in the night."

That was Dean's cue to pull out an polaroid Bobby had given them, sliding it onto the counter. It was from last year. A headshot. You were smiling and covered in grey mud, just after you’d wiped off your face with your sleeve, your arm still pressed against your cheek. Your hair and shirt were trashed. There'd been some spell ingredient you were digging up and it rained the night before, but you hadn’t been letting that stop you. You sent pictures to Bobby pretty often, apparently, though Dean had never noticed. Maybe he had them all hidden in a box somewhere?

Oh, he was so snooping when they got back.

The man behind the counter - his name tag labeled him as David - shrugged after eyeing the photo for a moment. "I wasn't in on Saturday," He nodded to the back. "Duncan was though, I'll go get him."

Sam nodded. "Please do."

"David and Duncan, huh?" Dean muttered when the man was out of earshot. "As if this place needed any more D-bags."

Sam made a choked noise, leaving Dean with a wry grin. The worse his brother reacted to a joke the better he'd done, in Deans humble opinion. Half the fun of road trips was torturing him. Captive audience.

Duncan came out and crossed his arms, apparently swapping places with David. He was standing maybe a little too tall, puffing his chest a bit too much. He didn’t look happy to see them. "You think that girl who got attacked was here?"

"Considering she said so, yeah," Dean said, nodding at the polaroid. "So?"

Duncan took a moment, squinting. "Maybe." He shrugged. "She might've been the rum and coke I had around nine-thirty, but I can't be sure." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "The place was packed, dude. I could barely keep up with orders, let alone remember every single face. "

What a beacon of empathy.

Sam and Dean just looked at each other. "Do you have security cameras?" Sam asked.

"You’ll have to ask the boss." He waved them off, making to leave.

Sam cleared his throat, stopping him. “Then go get them, please.”

Back at the motel, Sam worked his laptop open and Dean studied a map of the small highway town - seeing if there were other cameras they could track your path with. He was circling businesses and intersections along the shortest route between the bar and the paper mill where you'd been found.

He'd been careful to hide his hand from view while they'd been out - he didn't need randos thinking he was satanic.

It had been a shock, waking up with the sigil scratched into his hand. But Bobby reasoned that it was a message, somehow. It was the same tattoo you got on your leg - the one the demon burned through. As far as Bobby knew it was a kind of ward - made it hard for demons to track anyone wearing it.

It freaked Dean out, personally. You'd been unconscious and ten blocks away from him and you left him with that? It gave him the heebs and the jeebs. He was really looking forward to eavesdropping on Sam's inevitable conversation about psychic powers with you.

But Dean drew it on your cast nonetheless. Your protection had been stripped away, and he didn’t see a reason not to give it back to you.

And that wasn’t even mentioning whatever the hell happened when you shook hands. It felt embarrassing, somehow. Vulnerable, like whatever that energy was had shot through all his walls and shone a light on his insides. You’d seemed just as surprised as him and he didn’t like that one bit.

"Got him," Sam said suddenly from across the table, flipping the laptop around so Dean could see the feed - the camera at the back exit of the bar. A guy in a suit - the dead guy they had yet to get an autopsy report for - held you by one arm and shoved you into the alley, making you almost fall on your face. You weren’t reacting at all, just letting him push you around. He could see the shakes in your legs, though. Why weren’t you doing anything?

Then Dean saw the gun in his hand. Great.

"The place was packed, right?" Sam started, and Dean knew where he was going with this. "He must've gotten the drop in her."

Dean sighed, running a hand down his face. He should’ve gotten a drink when he could’ve. "Everybody in there was a hostage and the dumb bastards didn't even notice."

Sam just nodded. "I mean, it's smart. If she starts something, he can either play the victim or start shooting people."

He kicked Sam’s shin under the table. "Don't compliment the demon, Sam!"

"I'm not complimenting the demon!” He kicked back. “I'm just wondering how we would handle it. With all those people in danger."

Dean held his arms out in a ‘duh’ gesture. "Wait until you’re in a dark alley and then fuck him up when there’s no one he can hurt."

Sam hummed judgmentally at him.

"What?"

"This is from the bookstore’s footage." Sam turned the laptop around again to a different alley.

It started the same as before - the demon pushing you along. But after a second you elbowed the guy in the face, grabbing the gun from his belt in the same move. Before you could do more, he fisted a hand into your hair and shoved you against the brick wall. He made to punch you, but you ducked and kneed him in the balls, making the demon let go of you and double over. You grabbed his head and kneed him again, this time in the face. Three times, actually - Dean could see dark blood spatter onto the concrete below you.

And then you punched him in the stomach and ran, legs wobbling dangerously.

You made it all the way to the end of the alley. But the demon reached its hand out and you froze, entire body going stiff. You stood stock-still for a breath. Then your body jerked backward, flying through the air and landing you bodily against the demon's chest. He didn't look happy.

He dragged you out of frame.

"Looks like she thought so, too, Dean." Sam was wearing his bitchface.

What was his problem? Had he not slept again?

"What do you want me to say?" Dean aggressively opened a beer. "Oh, boo hoo, we're fucked if some bastard tries that? We fight, dude, even when the odds are shit. (Y/n) obviously thought so too."

Sam shrugged. "I was thinking more along the lines of ideas."

Dean groaned at his brother.

This fucking case.

It was later - much later, after you’d had bland hospital food and proved you could hold down meals. Callie had already pulled the tube from your throat, thank god. You’d gagged around it and thrown up on the floor, but she told you it was normal, to not worry about it, but you were embarrassed anyway, pulling the scratchy blankets over yourself and curling up as much as you could. You were able to keep the rest of the food down after that, though. You hid in your blanket cocoon as long as you could manage.

Screw the tube.

You were leaving in less than an hour, and would be in the back of your Mustang on your way to Bobby’s. Dr. Reyes was understandably concerned for your wounds, but you would rather leave now than risk Alioth finding you. If you needed to, you could check in to a new place in South Dakota. As long as it was away from here it didn’t matter.

Callie started changing your bandages one last time before you left, making sure you knew which wounds needed what kind of wrapping, that it would all be in the follow-up file they would send with you and on and on. You had to try stupidly hard to remember it all, but it was better than staying in this place, so you endured, partially comforted by the fact that it would all be written down.

Dr. Reyes had made it clear that ‘Someone’ (Alioth) had taken a torch to your soulmark. You’d been trying not to think about it while you waited for discharge, mindlessly playing the sudoku book Sam, who you liked almost instantly, brought by after lunch. He was smart and kind - and he offered to help you when you were out of the hospital, that he could stay in Bobby’s other spare room. Although, he did seem relieved when you let him know you wouldn’t need it. You had enough money to hire a nurse to come around once a day to help you change your bandages. Being psychic made you a very good poker player.

The worry about your soulmark was there all afternoon, though, despite the idle distractions you made for yourself.

You asked to look at it when Callie was changing the wrapping.

You know, like an idiot.

You could still feel it under the pain and numbness. It wasn’t so shallow a connection that it was dependent on the skin above it. It was in your soul, after all, and the mark was just the spiritual made physical. It wouldn’ matter if it was damaged. You would be fine.

You repeated that to yourself as the Callie brought you a hand mirror, and held it so you could see the left side of your ribcage.

You almost screamed.

Your entire soulmark was gone.

Completely. Gone.

All of it, replaced with a swath of discolored, grafted skin. The only bit left were thin, decorative wisps that barely brushed beyond the edges of your graft. But the important part - the name - the strange name written in a dead language that kept you waiting for miracles when there were none to be found - it was gone.

You fought against any tears that were forming and stubbornly tried to avoid your feelings. This was stupid. It was just a pretty word on your side, you shouldn’t be so upset. You could still feel the warm glow of your connection, you would be fine. But there was still a gaping sinkhole in your chest.

It was thirty seconds before a tidal wave of grief hit you.

You crumpled in on yourself with a shriek, whole body wracked with painful, painful sobs that shook your frame and made all the hurting ten times worse. It felt like a part of you had been ripped out and thrown in the trash. Like a part of your soul was torn out with a rusty ice cream scoop, leaving raw, torn edges. An empty, burning, ache rose in your chest and pushed out everything else, hollowing out your lungs and filling them up with a burning saltwater nebula.

There was a reason only serial killers went after soulmarks.

“It’s okay, honey, don’t you worry, okay? Marks are stubborn. Everything will be just fine in a few months, just you wait,” Callie shushed you through your snotty sobs and brought you tissues, trying her best to be reassuring as she hastily re-bandaged your side. “I’ve seen them regrow over scars, or somewhere else altogether, it’ll just take some time.”

But that hadn’t been the point.

Alioth wanted to hurt you and it had worked. It was violating and ruthless and it just felt so wrong to the core of your being.

You wanted to scream.

Instead, you did nothing at all, opting to stare at the ceiling and let yourself grow numb as Callie changed the rest of your bandages. The roaring sea subsided eventually, leaving nothing but fog in its wake. You were empty.

You didn’t ask to look at the rest of your grafts and cuts. The room was quiet against the background shuffle of the hospital. You didn’t say goodbye to Callie when she left.

You shut your eyes as tight as you could and returned to the cocoon of your blankets, eyes still burning with fresh tears.

I’m so sorry, Castiel.

Wherever you are.

A/N: I’m actually pretty proud of this story for once. I’m so excited to get to the good bits, we just have to get through the setup! So, let me know what you think so far! I’d love to hear some feedback. Anyone else out there a hoe for Dean Winchester? Cause I am! Who boy, and just wait until Cas shows up!

Until next time, thanks for reading!

#supernatural #dean winchester x reader #Castiel x reader #soulmate au #supernatural x reader #injury tw #c.a.s.#chaptered #longfic #x reader #x reader requests

5 notes · View notes

zer0pm · 6 years

Text

I was trying to go for a one-shot, but you have forced me to make it into a short series. This one will not answer your question but I think the next one or perhaps the one after will. Until then, I hope you’re happy @frienah you’ve helped create a hot mess. I think imma call this two-three-whatever-shot thing:

What a Coincidence

When you two had first met, it was entirely by accident, bumping headfirst into him in a town just on the borders of Lucis. The man was gentlemanly, bowing low in apology in a cavalier way you didn’t think still existed in these times. In turn, you apologized back and, as you happened to have nearly knocked over him in a small café, offered him a drink.

He humbly accepted the offer and invited you to his table near the window where you both dined for lunch. You feel the warm Lucian sun against your cheek and saw the light cast upon the man’s form as he took his seat across from you. Just by what he’s wearing, you can tell this man is an interesting character. As you both settled in and began talking, you learned that his name was Ardyn and that he was looking for lodgings in the area. In response, you introduced yourself and disclosed that you were traveling the regions for official business. Hearing the word “official”, you caught on that he was polite enough not to pry, but it did not deter you two from enjoying the pleasant conversation.

You: “How long is your visit in town?”

Ardyn: “A few days at most. I too have business of my own further towards Leide, but the area here was too beautiful to simply skip over entirely.”

You: “You don’t go out much, do you?”

It wasn’t meant to be rude and you were about to apologize for such a thoughtless comment but he surprised you by laughing.

Ardyn: “How can you tell? Is it my attire? I’m afraid I am not one for the sun, my skin is much too sensitive under harsh light.”

At this, you couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped from your throat. Oh yes, he proved to be good company.

It was encouraged that you not make contact with others other than Cor or the Kingsglaive while you were on duty, but there was something about the man in front of you that you couldn’t help but take that risk for. The alluring way he spoke with you, the gestures he made as if spinning a most enticing act. His voice was one thing, but his eyes, how they never left yours as if you’re the only audience that mattered to his performance was what hooked you in. The best thing was, he never spoke over you and even allowed you room for your own input, a dynamic rather harmonious for strangers.

You two spoke for so long that you didn’t realize the sun go down, Ardyn excused himself first and offered you a good night, giving you another cordial bow and a firm handshake. Although he was wearing fingerless gloves, that small contact of skin sent a tingling sensation of excitement throughout your body. As you watched him leave, you had almost wished that you had exchanged contact information, but thought nothing more of it with a small, disheartened sigh.

You were making your way to leave the café as well, coming up to the register to pay when the cashier smiled at you.

Cashier: “Oh, you were sitting over there, right? Your friend paid for it already.”

You stared back wide-eyed. When did that happen? You were watching Ardyn’s backside the whole time as he left.

…Okay, that thought went to a different direction causing you to blush slightly. The cashier seemed to notice this and handed you a fresh coffee cup.

Cashier: “He got this for you too. My advice? Call him.”

The wink would have thrown you off guard but it only seemed to deepen your blush instead when you directed your attention to the cup in your hands. On the side in elegant, legible writing was a set of digits and a little note saying,

“Safe travels and keep in touch.”

The next time you spoke to him, a few weeks have passed. Admittedly, you attempted to try the first few days since your first encounter but never gathered the courage to do it. The excuse was that your line of work was too dangerous to allow intimacy let alone entertain the thought of pursuing companionship and as you allowed yourself to drill that into your brain, you were able to continue focusing on your work.

You: “All clear, marshall. It’s ready for his majesty.”

Cor: “Good work. Let us hope the prince is ready to follow in his father’s footsteps.”

You: “Do you really believe the king expects foul play at the peace signing?”

Cor: “He’s counting on it. And when the fire breaks out, the safety of the prince and security of his ascension is imperative. That is where you come in, I want you to keep an eye on him and his company.”

The words weighed heavily. Perhaps heavier than Cor Leonis had intended, especially when he enunciated ascension. Instead of adding to it, you simply nodded in acknowledgement. You didn’t pretend to know what was going on or what will happen next, but you were prepared to do what it takes for the crown and Lucis. You both made way outside the Tomb of the Wise and watched as Cor moved away from you towards another Crownsguard Captain.

Cor: “I’m solidifying the details of the operation. We got time to kill, why don’t you head over to Galdin Quay for a nice hot meal and some rest? You earned it. I’ll give you the coordinates of our next rendezvous point once we’re ready to move.”

Galdin Quay was a bit of a ways away, but not even you can deny the offer. Some of the other Crownsguard took you with them in one of the cars provided by the king himself and dropped you off at the pier before heading to the Longwythe rest area for a supply run.

Clearing out the tombs of the old kings was tough work so you appreciated the break. However, despite the amazing food and accommodating lodgings you treated yourself to, the momentary solitude only made you think back to the man Ardyn for some reason. Perhaps it was the comfortable atmosphere and feeling of warm sun across your skin that made you think back to the wine-haired gentleman. Subconsciously, you pulled out your phone and dug through your contacts, finding his name close to the very top. Even though you never reconnected with him, you still kept his number. As cheesy as it seemed, it was the only thing to remember him by after you threw away the cup. At the time, you shamelessly considered keeping it just for his writing alone but pride convinced your hand otherwise.

I wonder how he’s doing, you thought. Did he make his way to Leide safely? Even with the sudden ceasefire between Niflheim and Lucis, it was still considered unsafe to travel between borders. After fiddling back and forth between calling or texting him just to offer a friendly hello or shut off your phone in general, your fingers settled on dial and you quickly placed the device against your ear. After three rings, you felt it was too late to chicken out now.

Had you paid attention you would have noticed that not a moment later, a distinctive ringtone went off behind you. The dial tone in your ear was cut short and before you can register what had happened, a hand places itself upon your shoulder. Swiftly, you turn around and nearly fell over off your seat as you made eye contact with the man whose undeniably handsome face has plagued your thoughts since your first meeting. Back then he wore a comely, approachably amicable face. Now, as he held his phone in his free hand for you to see with the thumb pressed against the red button, you see a mischievous smirk that became less approachable and more daringly inviting. You felt yourself being pulled in so deep by his wolfish smile and glinting golden eyes that you almost didn’t catch him greeting you.

Ardyn: “What a coincidence.”

You: “I-I’ll say. I was just thinking about you!”

Smooth, very smooth. You made a note to yourself to bang your head against the wall after this. He seemed to have taken this postively though as he offered you a smile so dashing, you swear you could have fainted then and there. Why is it that he’s even more handsome now than he was before??

Ardyn: “Is that so? Then I suppose indulging myself in the pleasure of your company once more would not be considered presumptuous on my part?”

The deep and silky way he smoothly worded that pretty much sealed the nail on your coffin.

You: “Only if my part says yes.”

You hear a deep chuckle from his throat and watch him take his place next to you. Gazing up at his towering form, his eyes meet yours, peering down at you through his lashes. He’s too handsome.

Ardyn: “I have all the time in the world to convince that part of you to submit.”

Oh, you were in deep trouble.

214 notes · View notes

especially-heinous-ada · 6 years

Text

Special Bonus! Original Part 3

Hey guys! As you may have read in my previous fic posts, my laptop stopped working the day I finished writing parts three and four of my fic, A Police Gala. I was afraid it would be permanent and I had lost the work forever. As a result, I re-wrote Part 3 and 4, but I was so in love with my originals that neither felt as good re-written. However, because my boyfriend is a wonderful, amazing person, he was able to fix my laptop, and I now have regained my original fics! So as a special bonus while you wait for Part 5, I present the original Part 3! Let me know which version you prefer in the comments.

(photo is of the reader’s TV room) royalty free image found at https://www.pexels.com/photo/apartment-ceiling-chair-decoration-276653/

Rafael strode down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace. He was in no hurry to return home to his empty apartment after spending the better half of his night with such pleasant company. For a moment, he contemplated stopping for a nightcap, but decided against it, as he was soaked to the bone. His sopping-wet suit clung to his skin in an unpleasant manner as he walked and he cursed the cab driver under his breath. Luckily, it was a short trip from your apartment to his. He found it an amusing twist of fate. You lived so close to him, you were both involved in the law enforcement world, and yet, the two of you had no idea the other existed until now.

Once Rafael was under the building’s awning, he retracted the umbrella and gave it a hearty shake to slough off the rain before bringing it inside. He entered the building and nodded to the doorman.

“Good evening, Giles.”

“Good evening, Mr. Barba. Have a rough night?” Giles smiled, with a jovial twinkle in his eye.

“Actually, it was lovely. Until this, of course.” Rafael motioned to his entire body. “But it…perked up again at the end.” Giles nodded. The older man seemed to mull Rafael’s words over in his head.

“Take care not to catch cold.” He offered, before looking back out toward the street. Based on his expression, Rafael thought Giles might have inquired further about the events of his night, but he didn’t. He found himself wondering why. Though, he supposed he, himself, was probably to blame for that. Although Giles was a kind man and Rafael enjoyed the occasional conversation, it was rare that he had enough time to spare more than a line or two. He was always in a rush in the morning and upon the brink of exhaustion once he returned home.

Rafael stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. It was divided into two large suites—his, and that of an eccentric young tech guru. He had seen his new neighbor a few times, but they never interacted beyond a nod of acknowledgement. That was fine with him. He suspected they had nothing in common, anyway. The elevator dinged and the door opened to a hallway packed with people. Rafael groaned. Not another party. As soon as he exited the elevator, people from the hallway packed it full. He approached his door and unlocked it, wasting no time slipping inside. He placed his umbrella in its holder by the door and kicked off his shoes on the mat, too tired to take care of them properly. He sighed and crossed over toward his bedroom, wanting desperately to change into something dry and warm.

Entering his bedroom, Rafael quickly strips off the wet, heavy suit pieces and hangs them over a rack to dry. He sighs, wondering if he should even bother picking out pajamas to wear as he swaps his underwear for a dry pair. He decides it isn’t worth the trouble and slips underneath the covers of his bed. He stares up at the ceiling. Although he’s tired, his mind won’t stop racing. He’s thinking of your singing voice. Your dainty hand inside of his. The warmth exuding from your body as he stood close. The sweet nectar of your perfume commanding him to drink you in and never leave. The softness of your skin as his lips brushed against it…

Abruptly, Rafael sits up and throws the covers off of himself. He crosses the room back to where he hung up his suit. He reached inside his breast pocket to retrieve the piece of paper you had given him, wanting to store your number in his phone before he forgot. He felt the paper between his fingers and slid it out of the pocket carefully, to avoid ripping it. A frown crossed his face when he laid eyes on it. The ink had smeared and the phone number was no longer legible.

He began to laugh, unsure of how else to react. He wanted to shout, to cry out in frustration. This was just his luck.

I finally meet someone. She gives me her phone number, tells me to call her. I agree to…then I lose her phone number.

Rafael contemplated whether he might be destined to be alone forever as he sat down on his bed, feeling defeated. He had no idea how else he was going to get ahold of you, and he didn’t dare show up outside your building like a stalker. That was a sure-fire way to guarantee you filed for a restraining order. He contemplated the ways he might get ahold of you as he climbed back underneath the covers, but he knew that rich people like their privacy, making it very difficult to contact them directly. He groaned and laid down with a flop as he thought of what he was more than likely going to miss out on. God, you were fantastic: intelligent, funny, talented, warm, down-to-earth, intriguing, and incredibly sexy.

Rafael’s mind turned back to the pictures from your lingerie photoshoot and he found himself getting aroused. The combination of emotional and sexual frustration built up inside him. At least he could fix one of those problems tonight, he thought as he slid one hand down underneath the covers.

***

You let out a big sigh. Your breathing is still a bit jagged and your heartrate, accelerated. You chuckle, putting an arm over your face to hide it, as if someone were there watching.

“Rafael Barba, what are you doing to me?” you say to yourself before removing the arm to stare up at the ceiling. It had been three days and you hadn’t heard a peep from him. You even went to another charity event tonight, in hopes that he would be there. He wasn’t.

Your mind returns to the other night. The dance floor. You relive the feeling of his hands holding yours, dwarfing them in comparison. They’re big, vascular hands with thick fingers that just scream I am a man. Your memory flashes forward to those same hands cupping your jaw delicately, making you feel so tiny. His face so close to yours that you can see every detail of it, but you’re focused on his eyes…then his lips.

“Gah!” You let out a shout of frustration. He was driving you crazy. You thought that maybe after you had some release, you could get him out of your head, but to no avail. Neither your hands nor your toys were enough to satiate you when you thought of him—and you couldn’t stop thinking of him. You turned onto your side and looked over at your bedside table. The clock read 12:00 A.M.

With another big sigh, you rolled out of bed and made your way straight into the kitchen. Whistling a haphazard tune, you grabbed a fresh bottle of wine from the wine cooler and fished the corkscrew out of a nearby drawer. You opened the bottle, threw the corkscrew in the sink and walked off into the living room, drinking straight from the bottle.

“Ahh, that’s better,” you think aloud, sinking down onto your white leather couch. You take another drink as you turn on the television. If a little on-on-one time can’t chase away the thought of him, maybe wine and late night television will.

“And in other news, the ‘Date Night Ripper’ of Manhattan has been brought to justice. Today, he was found guilty on 12 counts, including rape, murder and mutilation of a corpse—”

“Sick son of a bitch.” You said, shaking your head.

“Following the verdict earlier today, the prosecutor had this to say.”

Suddenly, the live feed from the news station cut to pre-filmed footage from outside the courthouse. The caption stated that it was from earlier in the day. Descending the courthouse stairs was none other than Rafael Barba. You groaned. A reporter called out to him, and he stopped to answer their question. He talked about how the jury made the right decision and how the people of New York could sleep a little easier tonight knowing the killer was off the streets, followed by some generic fluff about justice.

It was a pretty typical statement from an A.D.A., but it was the only typical thing about him in that footage. He wore a stylish black suit with a peach, checked dress shirt and matching baby blue tie and pocket square. You were impressed by the fact that he dressed himself so fashionably. His hair was perfectly coiffed and his jawline was more structured than the five-year-plan your financial advisor had explained to you this morning in explicit detail. You let out a strangled groan. This had to end. Now. You took a large gulp of wine and stood off the couch, moving over to your entryway, where you had left your phone in your hurry to get to the bedroom. You kept drinking as you scrolled through your contacts, looking for someone tolerable enough to call to handle the situation for you, because you clearly couldn’t do it on your own.

“Damian. I miss you.” You purr, when the handsome man answers your call. “How soon can you be here?”

20 minutes was all it took and Damian was outside the door of your penthouse suite. You invited him in and wasted no time getting right down to business. You pulled him into your room and stripped down to nothing. Laying down on the bed, you pulled him on top of you. You moaned quietly as Damian kissed you and leaned into you, positioning himself between your legs.

Damian was a model you had worked with in the past. Neither of you expressed interest in a relationship, as he wasn’t exactly the type to settle down with, but when the nights were long and lonely, you could count on him to keep you company. Though you didn’t exactly need the stimulation; right now, you needed a distraction from Rafael. It was dangerous how quickly he’d taken up space in your mind. Damian kissed and licked his way down your body, stopping to suck on the tender flesh of your inner thigh. He moved up and let out a hot breath onto your renewed arousal before grasping your hip and taking you into his mouth.

You groaned at the stimulation, threading your fingers through his hair. Suddenly, your brain flashed a vision of Rafael’s perfectly coiffed hair on your TV screen and you imagined what it would be like to grip it as he put his head between your legs. The thought deepened your arousal.

No. You’re supposed to be taking your mind off him. You remind yourself. He’s a prosecuting attorney. He’s made it clear he’s too busy for relationships. There’s no way it would work out. That night was a one-time thing. A fantasy.

You let out a little gasp as Damian changed his rhythm, quickening a bit. Yes. Damian. Focus on him. He was rather good with his mouth. You had to admit, this was your favorite part of your encounters with Damian.

He looked up and grinned at you as he started to use his fingers to tease you. It was a cocky, one-sided grin that you’d seen before—on Rafael’s face. You growled in frustration and Damian mis-read it as arousal.

“Ay, mami. You’ve never made that noise for me before.” Now doubly annoyed, you put your hand on the back of his head and direct him back to your center. You needed to come. Now. He gladly resumes his position and continues where he left off.

“Rafael Barba, A.D.A., Manhattan.”

You felt your frustration bubble up.

“Would you like to dance?”

Damian quickened his pace and you feel the familiar pressure build inside you.

“It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?”

Asshole.

“I’ll call you soon, if that’s still alright with you?”

Liar.

You let out a loud moan as you feel yourself near climax.

“That’s it mami, come for me.” Damian says. “Come for me.” After a few moments of resisting, you give in and let the waves rush over you. You panted and moaned and muttered things, but as you come down from your high, you don’t care enough to know what you said.

You scoot away from Damian, who sits up on his feet and looks at you with a confused look.

“Who’s Rafael?”

“What?” You reply, bewildered.

“When you came, you didn’t say my name, you said Rafael. So who is Rafael, and why is he not here instead of me?” He answers. You can tell he’s pissed off. Not that you could blame him, after you said another man’s name.

“Did I really say that?” You ask in disbelief. He sighs.

“I know I’m not exactly your boyfriend, but it’s awfully messed up to fuck someone when you’re wishing it was someone else.”

“I’m sorry, Damian.” You apologize, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You should probably go home. Sorry for wasting your time. You didn’t even get a chance to get naked. I’ll pay for your cab fare.” He shakes his head.

“It’s fine.” He thinks about it for a moment. “Actually, can I have the rest of that wine?” He motions to the open bottle on your bedside table. You laugh and agree. He downs a large gulp before looking at you once again.

“Good luck with this Rafael dude,” he says as he stands up and walks toward the door.

“Thanks.” You say. “I’ll need it.” The last part you mumble to yourself as Damian disappears and you hear your front door shut behind him.

You wake the next morning and resolve that something has to be done about Rafael Barba. You can’t spend the rest of your life obsessing over a man you spent one night dancing with and didn’t even fuck. You weren’t sure what would come of you contacting him, but you knew that you needed closure, whatever that happened to be. He was an attorney, so you knew that the only place you were sure to find him was work. Luckily, you were familiar with the DA’s office. You had toured it previously as a potential donor for the DA’s re-election campaign.

You sighed, glancing at your phone to get ready for the day. No missed calls or texts. You took your time picking your outfit, styling your hair, and applying your makeup. He needed to see what he’d been missing for the better half of a week. When you were finally ready, you picked up your phone and your purse and walked out the door like a woman on a mission. Dressed to kill and armed with charm—Rafael Barba wouldn’t know what hit him, you smirked.

#rafael barba #svu fanfic #barba x reader #a police gala #part 3 #original #smut

12 notes · View notes

imtheshitmouth · 5 years

Text

10 METHODS FOR Effective WEB PAGE DESIGN

1. Plan ahead

Homebuilders and architects work off blueprints so homes don’t finish up with a toilet in the kitchen. You might say now, I would enjoy a bathroom in your kitchen. How convenient! However, you will likely be the only person to utilize it since people be prepared to see a bathroom in the (a lot more private) bathroom. Also check out California website design

Make a concise arrange for your website, your “plans,” and the business of the web site will follow. What is the goal of the web site? To complete an application? Buy something? Call hotline? Teach readers? Define the purpose of the web site and adhere to the goal, rather than adding in a complicated, out-of-place “bathroom.”

You'd be surprised just how many “toilets” I've found within pages of the website. Not merely should the whole website have an objective, but every individual web page on the site also needs to have an objective. Make every web page as though it were a squeeze page. For most of your users, the web page they land on might be the only conversation they have with your website.

2. Simplify

Don’t hesitate to use white space. Sometimes design elements on the website can overwhelm site visitors enough to make sure they are quit and leave. Internet users lazily behave. Make their job easy through simple web design.

The very best websites keep their color schemes in three colors. I am aware that some websites will have significantly more than three colors, but keep carefully the theme of your website similar by reducing and keeping constant the number of colors you utilize.

3. Screen your contact information prominently

Some individuals design their websites as though these were running from an ex-boyfriend or sweetheart and hide all-important contact information.

Make all of your contact information prominent and visible. I would suggest putting those details in the header of your website. In case your clients have questions or concerns, or if indeed they want more information, make it no problem finding.

Some individuals have explained that they don’t need contact information in the header because they have an “EMAIL US” web page. “EMAIL US” webpages are great-but imagine if the only web page your visitor views is not the “EMAIL US” web page?

4. Explain which location(s) you serve

Are you a countrywide or a local company? This is a fairly easy question, but could it be easily clarified on your website?

When you have a countrywide website and sell something, is the cart accessible readily? Which locations is it possible to deliver to? Do you have an easy-to-navigate list of products and services for every location?

When you have an area website, a visitor can start to see the area that you service. Where are you located? Have you got a local contact number? Do you provide a typical service, like domestic plumbing? Or if you’re offering something locally, have you got a storefront?

5. Make your website responsive

A responsive website changes the size of the website and viewing area concerning the device. Different cell phones, tablets, and desktops all have different display sizes. A reactive website creates the perfect consumer experience on cellular devices.

60% of individuals in America and the UK gain access to the web mainly through cellular devices.

46% of smartphone owners say their smartphones are something “they couldn’t live without.”

Almost two-thirds of adults in America own a smartphone.

34% of smartphone users go surfing using mainly their phones, rather than on the desktop, laptop, or another device.

46% of individuals using cellular devices report issues while looking at a static site. A static site is a normal, non-responsive website.

44% of individuals surveyed declare that websites were difficult to navigate on smaller devices.

You may be thinking, I don’t need a mobile-friendly website. My audience doesn’t use cellular devices.

While it can be done that your audience doesn’t use smartphones or cellular devices, it is much more likely they are doing use cellular devices but don’t visit your website due to a nonresponsive or non-mobile-friendly website.

6. Be obvious

You have .05 seconds for users to create an impression of your website. If you don't are an insect, computer, or NASA test, that's not lots of time, which means that your website must be clear in its goal. The design of the website is the 1st factor in identifying whether a consumer will keep on your website.

A user can take a look at your web page for a moment and know very well what that web page is approximate. Are you a plumber? What area do you provide? What product can someone purchase on the web page? What is this website post about?

Prospective customers make preliminary impressions immediately when they open up a website, including if they think the web site is credible. How is a consumer heading to trust you if indeed they do not trust your website?

Proceed through your website. Go through the individual webpages rapidly and objectively and find out if you realize the message of every web page. Could friends and family and the ones unaffiliated with the web site do the same?

7. Include strong phone calls to action

What would you like an individual to do? Call you for a free of charge consultation? Join a newsletter? Buy a product? Use your service?

Pretend you possess a supermarket and need to market make of cereal. You almost certainly create some type of advertising or sale to immediate users to buy that make of cereal.

Poor or no phone calls to action on the website are similar to those who own the supermarket crossing his / her fingertips hoping that individuals will come across the make of cereal they have to sell.

Even though a proactive approach is so important, 70% of websites don’t have one. Imagine, 70% of most websites mix their fingers wishing an individual stumbles upon their product.

I received dive into what color or font to use on your calls to action. My point because of this suggestion is to simply have a proactive approach. Make your call to action extremely noticeable and noticeable. Over a period, try your phone calls to action and find out those convert more business.

As a reward suggestion, surround your phone calls to action with helping explanations of why. (Why should someone call? Why as long as they subscribe? Why as long as they purchase your product?)

8. Tell guests who you are

Big-name companies spend vast amounts of dollars on branding every year. Not a solitary small business I understand has vast amounts of dollars to invest in branding (or you'll no more be a little business).

Create an “About Us” Web page!

“About Us” pages are underutilized yet important elements on the website. You can differentiate yourself from the best businesses by placing a face and name to your business. One research study demonstrated a 102.5% upsurge in sign-ups after including an image of a person or owner.

The “About Us” page is where you can build trust (if you don't come with an untrusting face-you know who you are) and help visitors get a much better notion of who you are. As easy as it noises, having an “About Us” web page may be the difference between someone phoning your business or going somewhere else.

Use your personality upon this web page to answer questions people wish to know. Who are you? How long are you in the region? Why are you special? Why are you… you?

9. Make use of a readable font/text message size

Perhaps you have ever watched a Television commercial were, by the end of the commercial, maybe for so long as 10 mere seconds, someone talks fast to go over the conditions and conditions? I’ll call this the “small print.”

A medication commercial might list the possible part results or diseases you might deal with. I think I've even heard a few of these advertisements list death just as one side-effect. Doesn’t that “small print” by the end of advertisements make you just a little anxious because you aren’t 100% sure what's happening? You might feel just like you have to indicate your daily life away as a requirement of the product.

Avoid small print as the primary print on your website. I've seen great content online lose its value since it was released with minuscule printing. In case your customer desires to learn all the written text on your web page, let them read it with a legible font size easily. You can attempt your website’s text message is large enough through Google’s Mobile-Friendly Test.

Have you ever endured to complete a CAPTCHA code to show you were human beings? (Fun truth: CAPTCHA means “Completely Automated General public Turing test to Inform Computer systems and Humans Aside.”) It’s super frustrating and hard to learn, and sometimes you merely quit and go directly to the next code.

Don’t put your visitors through the CAPTCHA code treatment by using unreadable and crazy fonts. Let your fonts reveal your business, but also make sure they are readable. Don’t put your visitors through the “small print” and “CAPTCHA code” experience!

10. Decrease weight times

I'd like to reiterate how lazy people get when they may be online. A sluggish website is the same as making someone wait around thirty minutes at a restaurant when they aren’t even sure what’s on the menu.

Wow, those were excellent tips, but what you truly wish to know is how to proceed with all of this information. It’s as soon as you have all been looking forward to. My recommendation is that you should put into action the tips I discussed.

0 notes

proven-paradox · 6 years

Text

Rosa’s Campaign Journal, Session 0

((Why yes, I still exist. I’ve recently gotten into a new DnD campaign playing a Knowledge Cleric who keeps a journal in character. This is a new character so I’ve decided I’m going to actually write that journal as a campaign journal here. The following is the record of my solo introduction session.))

Month of the Tempest 27, 23 P.C.

This morning I intended to go to Swift Solutions to get a task ticket immediately, but I was delayed by the priests posted here full time. The locals perform a fairly elaborate graveyard ritual in Passing and “requested” I assist in weaving a tapestry for the occasion. The ritual is less than a month away and apparently they are dreadfully behind on preparations.

I learned today that I am a terrible weaver. Valuable information, but not to the liking of the, let's diplomatically call them “conservative” local priestesses. After a few hours struggling with the thread they realized they'd move faster without me. One of the older nuns gave me an asinine dressing down about how a proper woman should know how to weave before I was dismissed. I considered pointing out that I can mend tears with a cantrip but I chose to let her expel her hot air. There is little hope for many of these bumpkins. I will save my effort for those who merit it.

The tapestry itself was a very pretty piece of work. I genuinely hope the damage I did to it is hidden. That said, they burn it as part of the ritual. With any luck I’ll be able to move on from here before that happens; watching that work go up in flames for the sake of tradition and superstition would be difficult.

I finally freed myself to get to Swift Solutions. Apparently several tickets were posted today, but by the time I got there all that remained were dregs. One ticket to test an inventor's combat machine, one to deal with a pair of hyenas getting into a farmer's livestock. All the possibilities afforded by mechanics and magic, and an inventor chooses to make another weapon. The lack of imagination depresses me. I decided to deal with the hyenas instead--if the creatures were invading farmland, they were losing their fear of humanoids. Chickens now, but how long until they take people’s pets? Their children? This was clearly the more pressing matter. (It helped that it payed better, truth told.) I was initially in a foul mood about the ticket, as I do not count combat as my greatest strength. Fortunately, that initial concern was misguided.

I met with the farmer who posted the ticket, an old human named Willson Ash. Meeting the man, I immediately admired his fortitude; he looked to be in his seventies, yet there he was in his field, still working hard. He described the situation, that a pair of hyenas separated from their pack had emerged from a thicket and killed many of his chickens. He remarked how odd it was that he was targeted first when there was another farm next door, also with a coop, much closer to the thicket. I was immediately suspicious. He said one of the farmhands from that nearby farm had seen the hyenas wandering in and out.

Inspecting the coop provided little information to work with; it seemed a perfectly normal animal attack to me. There were tracks, but I couldn't follow them far. I chose instead to focus on the witness. Next door I met a gnome man named Wren Fizzleplenty--I do appreciate a good, whimsical gnomish name. He told me that his son Glim saw the beasts and that I should talk to them. He warned me that his two sons were troublemakers though. Apparently the older son, Dimble, was the dominant one, and the two were likely at the tavern wasting their time. Worth noting, at the time it wasn't even noon. Apparently these two start drowning their senses very early.

I headed to the The Chatty Leopard Tavern, stopping at the general store to purchase a cheap bit of smoking weed to use as a bribe for the duo on the way. I found them deep in their cups, and noted that the pair were smoking tobacco outside of the designated smoking area--assholes. I enlisted the assistance of the barkeep--Westfield-- and a waitress, I think her name is Luna. I hoped to separate them while they were shuffling out of their seats. I didn't hear the full conversation but eventually the waitress ended up slapping Dimble and expelling the duo from the tavern entirely. Not the plan, but sufficient. I must remember to give Luna a generous tip as thanks next time I see her.

As the pair were exiting, I got Glim's attention, saying it would only take a moment. Thankfully Dimble either didn't notice or didn't care, exiting the tavern and allowing me to talk to the younger sibling alone. His first story fell apart immediately; I had been to his home and observed that he would not have been able to see the beasts entering the thicket under cover of darkness unless he were actually out in the fields at the time. After some prodding, intimidation, and eventually promising the joint in return, he relented and told the truth; that he and his brother had killed and skinned a pair of starving hyenas months before and used their skins as cover to kill Ash's chickens themselves. As far as I could tell their motive was pure spite; Dimble apparently saw them as competition for his family farm and--pointedly, instead of actually working himself--decided to attack them.

Glim struck me as a complete pushover. I rather doubt he'd had an independent thought for a long time, he was so utterly dominated by his elder brother. I saw hope for redemption in the pathetic gnome, so I decided to usher him to confess the crime himself. It would have been much easier to go into the woods and find the hyena skins out there after Glim told me where they were hidden, but I wanted to make sure he admitted the crime so his punishment would be less harsh--as well as get him away from Dimble.

As we exited the tavern, Dimble confronted me, demanding to know what took so long. I told him forthright that I knew what they'd done, and that I was taking Glim to explain what had happened to the farmers. Dimble moved to pull Glim away from me, but I stood between the two and wouldn't pass. He started making threats, which I answered with proof that I am an able spellcaster and could defend myself. There was a moment where I was expecting him to strike at me, but it passed. The little fool was a coward, all talk. After I told him as much, I walked away with Glim while he deflated like a pricked balloon.

I spoke to the pair's father first. I question how he'd let them get so out of hand without intervention, but I don't know the full details of this family's dealings. Perhaps this was a marked escalation in their delinquency. Regardless, Wren was suitably aghast at his son's behavior. The three of us went to Ash and explained. After getting my ticket signed they asked what I thought should happen. I recommended that Glim be put to work on Ash's farm to repay him for the slain livestock, while Dimble be shut in the town jail for as long as they could possibly keep him there. The two agreed immediately.

I do not think jail will actually move Dimble to change his ways. I worry that, if he meets the wrong people in the jail, he may only escalate to actual criminal behavior. Hopefully that worry is ill-founded; how many people does a small town like this actually incarcerate? Still, I don't know how to actually handle Dimble; he seems rotten to the core. Hopefully the time they are separated will be long enough for Glim to develop a backbone.

Overall, I'm pleased with the result. A successful task grants the credibility I need to move to bigger things; healers are in high demand so with this success behind me I expect I can find my way into a troupe quickly. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow; the secretary at Swift Solutions mentioned a larger job on the horizon and that a group of other adventurers would be gathering there tomorrow to discuss it. I intend to take this opportunity.

The temptation to use a few coins from the reward money on some pipeweed for myself is significant, but I need to save coins for now. I intend to purchase a focus for the Identify spell soon, so I can offer that service to any troupe I end up with. That is normally a wizard's work, but if I can offer both healing and identification I suspect I will be in quite high demand. I will save up, and after I've purchased that I will seek out something with a higher quality and vacate my body for a time.

Month of the Tempest 28, 23 P.C.

Had a strange dream, felt need to record it. Was on an old ship at sea, observing a woman in an elaborate red hood cradling a baby. She walked on deck, which was shrouded in fog. Even through this fog I could see a large city nearby. I heard a man indicate they were landing in Dawnroad soon.

This dream felt… foreign, almost, like it wasn’t supposed to be mine. I don’t remember anything like this happening, and I was in third person so I couldn’t have been the baby. Presuming dreams make sense, which, point taken. Still, I don’t normally remember my dreams with this sort of clarity. Very strange. It probably means nothing, but I felt the need to record it immediately all the same.

#DnD 5e #Rosa Campaign Journal

0 notes

mrblazey · 7 years

Text

NIME 2017 - Personal Highlights

I’ve just returned from my first NIME Conference (New Interfaces for Musical Expression) and wanted to make a record of some of my favourite parts, mainly for my own future reference, but also in the hope that it might be useful to other musicians/makers/researchers.

NIMECraft Workshop – Exploring the Subtleties of Digital Lutherie

Associated poster presentation - http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0074/index.html

Getting thrown into group-based instrument making at 8.15 on the Monday was a great way to get started and meet a good chunk of people. The workshop started with a discussion on how the finer points of ‘digital lutherie’ (Jorda, 2005 - http://mtg.upf.edu/node/449 ) can be disseminated effectively – NIME papers tend to focus on technical details and developments at the expense of all the finer details and artistic choices that go into the look and feel of a finished instrument. My group got a bit sidetracked talking about the differences between making instruments for yourself vs. for other people; for example, when making for yourself you are likely to be happier to put up with material or programming flaws because you know the causes and how to get around the problem. You are also likely to test and problem solve individual aspects of the disassembled instrument, as well as incorporate programming and building developments into a tight feedback loop with your own playing/testing. This approach can afford to be quite haphazard and based on junky/recycled aesthetic and materials, whereas making for other people involves more craft and more engineering – you need to be confident that the instrument can withstand heavy handedness and that a stranger can operate it easily without your help/presence.

After the discussion we got on with modifying prototype DMIs (based on Bela boards) in groups, using a nice big mix of materials and adhesives. One great thing about this workshop was that we all started with a pre-programmed simple instrument. This meant that less tech-savvy folk like me could focus on fun ways to physically modify and actuate the instrument, but those who wanted to could get into the programming side as well – either way, everyone ended up with a working instrument and no one was left stuck at the programming stage. Another great thing that emerged was the way that various groups chose to work together – my group split into two pairs and made one instrument per pair. Some divided the instrument into four sections and worked on one each. Another approach was to think in terms of the ‘whole animal,’ with one group requiring all members at once to play the instrument effectively.

This Digital Lutherie thread is still being followed by Bela and Queen Mary University of London so keep an eye out on their twitters etc if you would like to take part in something like this.

@qmul_mat

@belaplatform

Papers

Designing a Multi-Touch eTextile for Music Performances – Maurin Donneaud, Cedric Honnet, Paul Strohmeier.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0002/index.html

One thing I really liked about these guys was the open-source mentality – there was no academic hoodwinking or holding cards close to their chest, but rather a big emphasis on this being something that you can do yourself, including links to all the resources and materials you would need to do so ( https://etextile.github.io/resistiveMatrix/ ) ..not that I experienced any of this hoodwinking at NIME – pretty much everyone was very open to chat about their work and swap info, influences and experiences.

Self-Resonating Feedback Cello: Interfacing gestural and generative processes in improvised performance – Alice Eldridge, Chris Kiefer.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0005/index.html

A big intention for Kalimbo has been to streamline all the elements of my performance ecology (acoustic instrument, effects, synths, samples and controls) into one object that does not require the player to remove their hands to manipulate effects etc. The Feedback Cello is a good example of an instrument that does this very well. The inclusion of a speaker and transducers in/on the body adds another dimension of feedback, with the added possibility of manipulating the audio between pickups and speaker with analogue or audio effects, or even another musician’s setup, as they did during one of the concerts with Thor Magnusson. They have also used it as a kind of resonating effects unit for live coding sets, adding some rich physicality to a sound world that can risk being a bit too ‘in the box’.

Fragile Instruments: Constructing Destructable Musical Interfaces - Don Derek Hadad, Xiao Xiao, Tod Machover, Joseph Paradiso.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0006/index.html

Some people say that laptop or electronic sets can be too clinical or stark and therefore err towards chin-stroking appreciation and away from more abandoned enjoyment. Xiao pointed out that this probably stems from the expense and associated preciousness of all the equipment involved. Guitars can be expensive but they are readily available, especially to the high profile musicians who have famously smashed them to bits. This paper demonstrates a great method for bringing some destruction and danger into electronic performances. Some people questioned the authenticity of this danger, as the bits being destroyed were basically a proxy for the actual expensive, precious bits of equipment, but I still found the sentiment inspiring. I’m hoping to start work on a performance approach wherein the building of a performance ecology is integral to the performance, in a way that provides an instant narrative as well as legibility of form for the audience. I had already envisioned the deconstruction/disassembly of the ecology as a good way to end the performance, but after this paper it seems so obvious that smashing it to pieces would be way more engaging and fun, not to mention cathartic!

Gibberwocky: New Live-Coding Instruments for Musical Performance - Charles Roberts, Graham Wakefield.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0024/index.html

While I have enjoyed quite a few live coding performances by this point, I’ve always seen it as something other people do, rather than something that would benefit my own practice. One reason I have felt this way is that I know from years of experience how to get the kind of sounds I want from certain equipment and software. Some purists might not agree with the approach afforded by Gibberwocky, but during the talk I had a definite lightbulb moment of “I could use that!’ Basically it enables you to easily tie in coding instructions with existing programs like Max or Ableton. For example, I might have a synth that I like to use, knowing that automating 2 or 3 parameters will have a pleasing effect. With Gibberwocky, this could be set up in a generative/algorithmic way. I’m yet to try any live coding, so I don’t know how experienced coders would feel about this approach, but it certainly seemed like something I would like to try out.

Current Iteration of a Course on Physical Interaction Design for Music - Sasha Leitman.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0025/index.html

I think this paper is well worth reading for anyone that teaches in the realm of sound art, digital instrument design or any kind of digital creative practice. These areas tend to be approached by people from very different creative backgrounds, with different intentions and most importantly completely different base levels of technical knowledge. The main thing I took from this paper as useful to my own teaching was Sasha’s approach to dealing with this – students are first given a quiz on technical knowledge, complete with answers and directions to online resources which will allow you teach yourself how to get them. This is followed up by another quiz without the answers and finally, depending on individual weak spots, further help and one-on-one tuition to level the playing field.

MM-RT: A Tabletop Musical Instrument for Musical Wonderers - Akito von Troyer.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0035/index.html

Again, connections with my own past and future work made this instrument stand out for me. Part of Kalimbo’s appeal is the less-than-deliberate control system – you may not be able to create precise rhythms for drums or melody, but you can navigate soundscapes and ’find’ beats through gestural exploration. MM-RT also promotes an exploratory approach, but using sounds from physical materials. My upcoming work with the performative ecology building is going to involve individually controlled, non-quantised motorised percussion and un-synced tape loops. Akito’s demonstrations mainly involved short rhythmic loops, but he cited john cage’s generative works as an influence, and when talking to him at his demo he did say these kind of generative polyrythms are possible with MM-RT. The legibility of form is also a big factor in how engaging this instrument is, as the audience sees you pick up various objects and materials and inevitably gets drawn into how each one is about to sound.

Design for Longevity: Ongoing Use of Instruments from NIME 2010-2014 - Fabio Morreale, Andrew McPherson.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0036/index.html

I have been developing Kalimbo entirely as a tool for my own performance. However, along the way, a couple of people have asked if they could have one. This is an exciting prospect but got me thinking about what would actually be necessary to allow me to hand one off to someone else and expect it to work. This paper looked at just under 100 instruments presented at NIME, before whittling these down to a tiny handful that became commercially available, regularly used in performances and sold to the public. This, along with the discussion from the digital lutherie workshop and lots of useful feedback from my demo session, gave me the inspiration to develop the instrument into something worth selling on, as well as a pretty good set of blueprints of the requirements to make this a possibility. If you make DMIs and would like them to be successfully sold on to the public, definitely read this and learn from what has worked or failed for others.

SALTO: A System for Musical Expression in the Aerial Arts - Christiana Rose.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0058/index.html

Scoring choreography of any kind to music, or writing music for any piece of choreography, is bound to include matching up sound and movement in perfect timing (not always, but often enough…). The approach in this paper allows you to use the performers’ movements, along with things like muscle strain and speed etc., to trigger and generate sounds directly. It’s almost as if the compositional structure is given to you for free, just leaving you with sound design choices. Lots of scope!

Cyther: A Human-Playable, Self-Tuning Robotic Zither - Scott Barton, Ethan Prihar, Paulo Carvalho.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0061/index.html

Not too much to say about this one apart from it sounds great and works great – the robotic capabilities are very versatile and dynamically expressive, and the design elegantly places all of the robotic workings beneath the strings, leaving the playing surface completely open to a human performer. As mentioned above, my own work so far is heavily tailored to me being the performer, whereas this instrument can be played by various people to get drastically different results, as demonstrated in the Expressive Machines Musical Instruments concert on Wednesday; Ben Taylor used live coding to generate patterns that would be impossible for a human to achieve, whereas Scott Barton incorporated a lot more human interaction and extended techniques in collaboration with the robotics.

Demos/Posters

Sounding Architecture: Inter-disciplinary Studio at HKU - Álvaro Barbarosa, Thomas Tsang.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0010/index.html

Beautiful, large-scale sculptural instruments based on architectural designs.

Live Coding YouTube: Organizing Streaming Media for and Audiovisual Performance - Sang Won Lee, Jungho Bang and George Essl.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0049/index.html

Quite a practical, technical paper and not something I’m likely to use myself, but included in my highlights because Sang’s performance on Wednesday with multiple jabbering Donald Trumps was brilliantly terrifying.

Design Considerations for Instruments for Users with Complex Needs in SEN Settings – Asha Blatherwick, Luke Woodbury, Tom Davis.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0040/index.html

Asha was in my workshop group when we discussed how instruments intended for people other than yourself need to be self-explanatory and hard-wearing, particularly in SEN settings where explaining how to use an instrument and how not to break it can be difficult.

Robotically Augmented Electric Guitar for Shared Control - Takumi Ogata, Gil Weinberg.

http://homes.create.aau.dk/dano/nime17/papers/0092/index.html

Really cool looking instrument, and again, judging from my observation of a few demo participants, really versatile from player to player. I also really liked the drum sequencer style of the control program, complete with randomiser for a nice variety of precision or chaos.

Performances

I think most of these were filmed, as was my own performance, but they aren’t yet online. I’ll add links when they are available.

Anthony T. Morasco – Listening – Composition based around a very cool homemade piano-toll/music box and soprano singer.

Hans Peter Stubbe - Spatial Piano - Improvisation where the disklavier acts like a second player, reacting to player input.

Sabina Hyoju Ahn - Breath - Amazing performance where sound, light and visuals were generated and controlled with Sabina’s breath, using DIY circuits and a lighting rig made from e-waste that looked like a mini post-apocalyptic city scape.

D. Andrew Stewart and Sang Won Lee - Disappearing: Live Writing – Stream of consciousness typing, generating sounds and seamlessly evolving into beautiful visuals and minimal beats.

Matthew Steinke – Robotic Musical Performance - All of the robotic performances were impressive but this one had the most charm in my opinion. Musically engaging, visually reminiscent of Victorian tinny automatons and with great collage-y visual and audio snippets.

(EDIT - excerpt here - https://youtu.be/f8KkhRJ2Ltc )

Sang Won Lee, Jungho Bang and George Essl – Live Coding YouTube - What’s more terrifying than Trump? Lots of Trumps. Turning them into elements of a piece of music helped take the edge off...

Jeff Snyder – Ghostline - Four performers have their movements tracked by webcam, interacting with an on-screen ‘ghostline’ to trigger sounds. Visualisations and sonifications merge and shift over time in a composition where the sights and sounds are merged perfectly.

Yemin Oh – Time Discontinuum - The sound and video of a piano performance is recorded over one minute. This material is then fragmented, repitched and replayed along with the live performer as his movements across the keyboard dictate how the original material gets regenerated.

Jonghyun Kim – Vehicle Music – Noisy, cheeky and fun. A radio-controlled car generates synth signals through its movements, parading around the performance space between occasionally smashing into cymbals, drinks and most importantly a loud, distorted guitar laying in the centre of the space. An older performance can be seen here - https://vimeo.com/36848457

There were a few timing clashes with my performance, sound check and demo, and I opted to prioritise late night concerts over early morning paper sessions so I did miss a handful of talks and performances. I’ve also focussed on things that related to my own work and/or inspired me the most so this list is by no means comprehensive but still, plenty of inspiration for me to be getting on with. Overall, NIME was an amazing event full of great people and I really hope I can be part of the conversation and return in the future.

#nime #new interfaces for musical expression #nime2017 #experimental music #electronic music #music #research #musical interface

0 notes

willmeiertext · 7 years

Text

Dmitri Obergfell: Death of the Cool

via One Good Eye (Denver)

INTRO:

This is the first of a series of experimental writings about, and in collaboration with, select Denver artists. Having no specific agenda other than an interest in these artists’ work, the plan is to have a conversation with them in their studio about whatever happens to come up. There’s no Q&A, no topics to necessarily cover, and honestly, if there’s one thing I want from these experiments, it’s for them to feel different than your typical artist interview. A conversation that is true to the work and the personalities of the artists and myself.

I hope to document the personality of the conversation itself. So keeping the process organic beyond their studio and back into my own, the writing produced will inherit the thematic trajectory of the dialogue directly, with my role as writer being to subsume both peoples’ viewpoints, conclusions, questions, answers, misdirections, etc., into a single, weirdly tangential perspective.

DMITRI OBERGFELL: THE DEATH OF THE COOL

Dmitri Obergfell’s process fills the entire main space of Leisure Gallery, his current studio, in preparation for his show, Man is a Bubble and Time Is a Place, opening at Gildar Gallery March 23. Rap music from Macbook speakers echoes around our conversation. The entire time I was in there, he never paused from making molds. I started in at the natural place: What’s this show about?

Basically, it’s a meditation on “Deep Time” — an idea sampled from 2001: A Space Odyssey (the book), in which one of the most defining moments was the first time a proto-human got bored. Thus began the search for meaning, leading to the creation of symbols, the original “victory over time” that allowed information to be passed to future generations. But this sounds romantic, which isn’t the point. Dmitri is mainly just curious about what might possibly in the future be considered an artifact representative of our current era of massive overproduction.

Really, though, think about what this might be in our current, pop culture-obsessed world. The commodity of what we might call Cool? It’s certainly what’s being produced in rap and pop music, and just about every other corner of cultural industry other than art (as artists would love you to think — but really, their Cool is a commodity too, just more codified).

This has always resonated in Obergfell’s art for me, even at surface value, reflected in the chameleon paint signature to his style. The “flip paint,” as it’s sometimes known, which changes color under varying light conditions, embodies the theme of change and originally came from his fascination with car modification culture, where people have this eerily invested relationship with objects. Weirdly similar to Egyptian funerary art — some of the most extraordinary artworks ever produced, with express intent to be immediately put in the ground. I’ve personally felt for most of my life that the purpose of capital-A-Art is easiest to grasp in a sarcophagus. And I know it isn’t just Obergfell and myself who are on this wavelength: it was one of the most beautiful themes in Matthew Barney’s largely grueling film-opera, River of Fundament, screened in town as an arrival present from DAM curator Becky Hart not too long ago.

But really, for the majority of history, most art arguably had to do with some spiritual notion of death, all the way up until it made a departure from Christianity and began a slow descent into a sort of crisis as it began to become increasingly about only itself. Some might even say that modernism was a result of art becoming aware of its own mortality, with abstraction and minimalism and postmodern schools of self-referentiality becoming obsessively anxious about their encroaching deaths.

That’s a bit pessimistic, though, which is a sort of inapplicable frame for pieces like Dmitri’s recent installation featured in DAM’s Mi Tierra, which reads as not only profoundly Cool, in its chrome-plated, flip-painted, nails-did, speaker-boxed, narco-saint-swearing, tequila-shot-taking visual vocabulary, but also heartfelt, detail-oriented, and really very fresh and futuristic. Obergfell brings up Robert Smithson saying something like, “installation isn’t about filling up a room, it’s about taking things out.” This aside, though, perhaps one of the greatest strengths of this piece is that it isn’t art-about-art. It feels like it’s made for non-artists to enjoy — a product of the MTV / internet age, not just in its references, but in its attenuation to short attention spans with dozens of layered, individual moments for viewers to explore with reward at their leisure. To thumb through like the window shoppers we all are, until the museum revokes the public’s entry privileges because we can’t stop ourselves from doing so (true story).

The fact that Dmitri’s works can be understood and appreciated by both artists and those who know nothing about art cannot be emphasized enough. His artworks’ brand of Cool is that of common symbology, things cool to regular people, in some ways analogous to really exceptionally-produced radio-rap. There’s a persistent legibility, even if you don’t know the prerequisite slang (artSpeak) to understand everything being said. And this is really important to him, mainly because art is in a really dangerous place in our current political climate. Much of the public may come to (if they don’t already) view being an artist as some sort of con, and regardless of any individual cases of subjective truth to that effect, it’s a fact that art is at least threatened by more forms of recreation and entertainment than ever before, constantly competing for increasingly shorter attention spans.

It’s true, sadly. The magic that often lived in art — in Stonehenge, in representational painting, in philosophical minimalism — where is it now? Because mystery, wonder, and “how the hell?” often feel like they now belong to software. And while art has always progressed in tandem with technology, is it a given that, as just one of many incarnations of information, it’s exempt from an expiration date?

This all leads me to the place where I don’t think what might be an “average” perspective on art misses the point at all. If art has this anxiety about its own death, which it compensates for by incessantly semantically proving it’s existential value in this core way, perpetuated by an industry where accumulating generations of post-Duchampian, self-proclaimed Artists successively come-of-age wanting to believe that the fortune they spent on their art-school education was worthwhile — okay, it’s a big ‘if’, but if that’s true — it kinda makes sense that artists wouldn’t want to just make “some shit that’s cool”. But whether tastes are fabricated by capitalism or not, whether that matters or not, “some cool shit” is what anyone who isn’t plagued by these anxieties wants art to be. And even just within the context of a museum visit, focusing on anything in the 21st century is like speed-dating.

Art shouldn’t be superficial. It honestly probably isn’t even art if it doesn’t get deeper and better the longer you spend with it. But it should be gratifying and appreciative of its viewership now more than ever. In a political time when it could be said that people are increasingly scared of being challenged, in all areas of their lives, whether thanks to Facebook algorithms or just some greater zeitgeist, what I’m getting at is a dangerous line of thought, for sure. But I think taking seriously people’s willingness to engage information will only benefit the future of art’s wider efficacy, and maybe ensure it even has that future in the first place. It’s important to connect to the culture you’re a part of, not just simply detach from or criticize it. Then influence is possible. Enjoyment will always be capitalized upon. That doesn’t mean it should be taken for granted.

Returning to 2001 (the movie) — which anecdotally is my personal favorite work of art — no one understood this better than Stanley Kubrick. His movies are immaculately shot. Basically perfect. But if you really think about it, what he did was almost like what people now call “edutainment,” a sort of high-art sacrilege. And yet, there’s no doubt that the way he works with the “material” of film, using something shiny to draw people into his world of ideas, is tactically smart, to say the least. I personally don’t mind admitting that I love to be edutained.

I wanted to talk about Obergfell’s sculpture at BMOCA, Go Home Bacchus, which seemed much farther down the continuum toward “critical” art, and learned that I kinda missed the mark in my interpretation. It’s not institutional critique, it’s again, a meditation. On monuments. They’re everywhere — huge, politically charged objects made by bureaucracies to celebrate victory, a kind of weird idea in the post-9/11 world, you might think, but apparently these sorts of idealistic, fascist colossuses are still a major export of North Korea for dictators worldwide. When New Orleans takes down their confederate monuments, as in current news, then how best to do that? Will they literally topple them? What an indulgent symbol…

And yet, for all this power these things are supposed to hold in the public spaces they reign over, its almost like the only way for people to react is to take a selfie in front of them, or else commit petty vandalism. It’s almost like instinctual in our culture, like it’s funny to vandalize a giant statue whether you care about the politics behind it or not.

youtube

Obergfell’s main piece of research for this project was the scene in Tim Burton’s Batman when Jack Nicholson’s Joker brings his gang in to supervillianize the art museum. “A really fucking cool scene,” representative of popular culture. But then also around that time ISIS began making headlines for destroying vast amounts of historical artifacts — horrifically seeming to say “we’re erasing your history in its most prized form, it’s gone, we own you.” So it turns out there is power in the act…

youtube

But Bacchus is about graffiti, not aesthetic genocide. But maybe not even graffiti, because that word is loaded and this has nothing to do with geometric, gradient murals. So a more slippery concept — slippery to the extent that Obergfell *might* not even be upset if someone was to tag the piece. Something racist: no-go. Some self-important graffiti writer trying to claim the piece and “get up” — get out. Junior WestSideMafia alternative school student? Go for it. The person who keeps writing “Kill Trump” on electrical boxes around Denver, please. Do your thing (endorsement is mine, not necessarily the artist’s).

Not to get redundant, but there’s something really charmingly normal about the shit-headed vibe of these sentiments, likened by Dmitri to a teenager stealing fire extinguishers to blow at cars in the parking lot for fun. And while that’s so juvenile and condemnable by the ultra-ethical art world, I know – is it not also kind of the most raw manifestation of The Artist’s Instinct, if such a thing exists? To just say “fuck it I’m gonna do this thing and see what happens”.

Why? “I just thought it’d be cool.”

#contemporary art #gildar #dmitri obergfell #installation #cool #sculpture #kubrick #deep time #graffiti #matthew barney #flip paint #chameleon paint #symbols #dam

0 notes