#i do these things to myself its fine. plus i blocked the knitting for my historical costume so she's good too i still have stuff to do but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themangledsans0508 · 3 years

Text

Entering the Dungeon because Bonnie said so

Read on Ao3

Summary: Marceline came to Bonnie's aide when she called for Finn and Jake. She didn't expect to be going down a hundred floors while dealing with a shady princess.

Basically, I played Enter the Dungeon over the past two weeks and I have been writing this since the second night of playtime. Trying to write things before I forget them and it is following the canon of the game with some creative liabilities taken.

Words: 3616, Oneshot

Warnings: General Depictions of Violence

Characters: Bonnibel Bubblegum, Marceline Abadeer, Flame Princess

Ships: bubbline

Additional Tags: quests, dungeons, childhood trauma, swearing, adventure, conflict, kind of resolved kind of not, I feel like marcy and phoebe would have a neat dynamic, I've never seen them interact so, some of these scenes were legit my reaction, see: screaming

"Well, it looks like Ice King will be hanging around the Candy Kingdom now," Bonnie sighed. Marceline glanced at the dark entrance to the dungeon and shrugged.

"It's better than down there. At least up here, he can't get hurt," she decided. Bonnie looked at the hole as well and then back to Marceline.

"Marcy, I think you should let the boys handle this one," she stated seriously. Marceline shifted the umbrella in her grip and unfolded her legs to touch the ground.

"Why? I'll be fine."

"Well, asides from the fact that you have been returning up here frequently covered in wounds and the fact that Death is seemingly hunting you down, those aren't just any ancient ruins down there."

"How bad can it be?"

"Mushroom war. If my associations are correct from the information you've given me, then the same city you used to live in” Marceline stiffened. "Finn and Jake can deal with this, you just take a breather, okay?"

"No," Marceline shook her head. "I can take care of it. Just some old relics, nothing a woman like me can't face." Bonnie eyed her warily.

"If you're sure," she said slowly. "Please be careful."

"Send me down, Bonnibel."

"What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!" Marceline shrieked.

"Marcy are you okay?" Bonnie's crackly voice asked, her projection appearing from the holo-pendant. Marceline leaned against the stone wall, her breathing heavy staring at her punctured legs that were bleeding.

"Just fine," she said sarcastically. "Almost got staked by some rusty metal pipes. Bonnie, this is post-war technology. What did you do?"

"I have important research down there, I had to defend it at least a little bit."

"The thousands of lost souls weren't enough?"

“It’s to protect it from them,” Bonnie snapped. “If these criminals got their hands on it, the Candy Kingdom would be in danger.”

“Oh, yeah, if the political prisoners found evidence you were a corrupt leader then you’d be overthrown.”

“It’s a real threat!” Marceline rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. I wished my healing worked down here.”

“Bodily magic doesn’t work because some of those creatures down there have natural magical prowess.”

“Too bad that there are tons of magic weapons down here.” The spikes retreated and Marceline pushed herself up, floating slowly around with her axe prone and ready. “What about the plants?”

“They’ve mutated to become immune to the limitation,” Bonnie explained.

“Speaking of plants, there’s one now.”

Marceline felt the wind leave her body as she was knocked against the wall, the deer’s antlers puncturing her legs and it licked her.

“Gross! Back off!” She kicked the deer’s underbelly and pushed it off her, slamming her axe down on the deer’s neck. She shakily stood up and was grabbed, a muzzle rubbing against her neck. She hissed as she felt new instincts override her other ones. She pushed herself up and slid under the wolf, standing up to hit it with the neck of her bass causing it to recoil. She slashed across its chest and took a deep breath, stumbling towards the stairwell.

She watched as a green portal opened and Death stepped out, a brown satchel on his waist and he tipped his cap towards her.

“I see you,” he said and Marceline braced herself, taking in the area and how much space she had. She dashed to the left and hugged the wall, growling when she felt skeletal fingers wrap around her forearm. She was jerked backwards and she felt Death’s skull touch her cheek. She could practically feel the energy drained from her as she struggled before she finally got her arm out of his grasp.

She dived for the stairs and fell down them, at the bottom turning back to look. Death stood at the top and made finger guns towards her.

“Kiss of Death, baby.”

“Fuck you,” Marceline hissed.

“Bonnibel, how did you get lava down there,” Marceline asked as she watched the wounds heal. Bonnie handed her a vial of a purple liquid that she drank, whatever cursed her fading away.

“Various tunnels and educated usage of pressure and-”

“It was more rhetorical. But I did get burned. And stabbed. And shot. And kissed without my consent.”

“What? Who kissed you?” Bonnie exclaimed.

“Death. He was blocking the stairs so I tried to duke him but he caught me. I did manage to get down the stairs though.” Marceline tapped her cheek in the spot that Bonnie assumed she was kissed. “Good thing I’m already dead.”

“Death shouldn’t be hanging around in the dungeon,” Bonnie muttered. “It’s interfering with the mortal realm and not allowing the natural flow to keep order.”

“Well, you’re throwing people in a dungeon and barring magic. That messes with the natural flow,” Marceline pointed out.

“Shut up,” Bonnie snapped. “Have you found any signs of the hoomans?”

“None. I’m going to head back down though, I’ll find them.” Bonnie grabbed her wrist and locked eyes with her.

“Marceline, you’re getting close to a bad place. A place that you were nine-hundred ninety-nine years ago. I really think you should stay up here this time."

"Bonnibel, it will be fine. Send me down."

Marceline stared at the ruined food truck, a flood of emotions overwhelming her. She listened to the sea of growling and heard a soft humming mixed in. She picked up a rock and threw it at the truck, the old voice box still working. The red siren turned on, illuminating the maze in red light. Her breathing became unsteady and rapid when the oozers began to glow, and she spotted a hooman among them. The hooman saw her as well and started happily skipping towards her.

She took out her axe and started swinging at the oozers, their green insides spilling out onto the ground. When the hooman was close enough, she grabbed her wrist and bolted, bringing her to the fence and kicking open the gate. She looked over at Susan’s grateful face and to the entrance of the maze and sighed.

“I’m booked for this, aren’t I?”

“Marceline! Marceline are you okay?” Bonnie grabbed her arm and started looking over her body, circling her and checking over the exposed skin and where the clothes were ripped.

“Bonnie, I’m fine. I can’t believe they’re still down there.” Bonnie stopped and stepped back.

“I couldn’t get rid of them. If that green goop even touches you that’s it. I just thought if I buried them then that would be the end of it. How the hoomans even got down there I don’t know.”

“Probably something to do with that buff cat chick,” Marceline jabbed her thumb towards Susan.

“Maybe. I’ll ask her later. But Marcy, that one got really dicey. Everyone made it out safely, but you almost didn’t. That swarm could have easily overwhelmed you. Can you please let Finn and Jake take care of this? I really don’t want you to get hurt.”

“And I don’t want them to get hurt,” Marceline mumbled. “I’m the best choice for this. I can teleport back to the surface, I know how to fight, I’ve been in all these places before. Plus I can literally eat the red bullets.”

“If you insist,” Bonnie sighed. She pulled her necklace and started fiddling with it. “What floor?”

“Marce, that one was close. This is the seventh time,” Bonnie scolded. Marceline shrugged and leaned on her.

“I’m exhausted,” she complained. “Magic Man hit me with some bullshit.”

“A strength-sapping spell,” Bonnie murmured. She pulled a herb out of her bag and placed it on top of Marceline’s head. “Stand still,” she instructed and counted under her breath before removing it. “You need to rest for at least three hours.”

“No,” she slurred, backing up and swaying on her feet. “I can keep going. I just…” She started falling forward and Bonnie caught her, sighing.

“Will you just go take a nap or something?” she asked. Marceline groaned.

“Don’t let anyone else go in there. I can deal with this myself,” she ordered and Bonnie pushed her back, keeping one hand on Marceline’s shoulder and crossing over her chest.

“Cross my heart,” Bonnie smiled. Marceline raised her umbrella in the air.

“I am going to the corner,” she announced and wandered off towards Choose Goose.

“Marceline, things are looking really dangerous. You keep having to retreat back up here,” Bonnie said softly. Marceline shrugged.

“Whatever, I’m still making it out,” she stated. Bonnie crossed her arms.

“You almost aren’t,” Bonnie scolded. “Do you want some help?”

“Bonnibel Bubblegum fighting in a dungeon? I don’t know.” Bonnie rolled her eyes.

“No, a token per se. Something that’ll protect you.” Marceline shook her head aggressively.

“No. I don’t need any help. None! Send me down!”

“If you say so,” Bonnie sighed.

“Will you accept my offer now?” Bonnie asked, placing her hands on her hips. Marceline put a hand on her forehead and clenched her jaw.

“Fine. Yes. What do you have.”

“Pep-but! Grab the sweater!” Bonnie called. Peppermint Butler came running with a knitted pink sweater folded in his arms. “Thanks, Peps. Marcy, arms up.” She took the sweater from his arms and held it. Marceline used her free hand to motion towards herself.

“Umbrella.”

“You have telekinesis.”

“Oh, yeah.” She let the umbrella float above her slightly higher and she raised her arms. Bonnie slid it carefully over her head and adjusted her collar. Marceline scratched at it.

“This is tight, Bons,” Marceline complained. Bonnie smiled shyly.

“It’s made of the strongest magic out there,” she said quietly. Marceline quirked an eyebrow.

“O-kay. I thought you thought magic was a sham.” She tugged at the hem of it and frowned, her eyes narrowing at Bonnie. “Why can’t I take it off?”

“Well, you see, I had a feeling you might try to take it off, and for your own safety, I may have had it engineered so that you couldn’t take it off until you were in a sound state. Since you’re going back in, it recognizes that you are going to be in harm’s way.”

“I should have known there’d be a catch,” Marceline grumbled.

“It’s in your best interest,” Bonnie stated.

“That doesn’t make it right. Look, I’m just going back down. I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

Marceline carefully pulled the pink sweater over her head and slid it over the umbrella handle.

“I’m not putting that back on,” she growled and sighed. “Everything is covered in your gum down there, you’ve been having fun without me? And since when did you have a giant pink cat thing and a huge gryphon eagle thing?”

“Goliad and Stormo? I’m glad they’re still balancing each other out.”

“I’m not getting an explanation? I should’ve expected that.”

“Also, I’m sorry but your corner is occupied now. I thought you could all use a break from the dungeon and while you may not enjoy the opportunity, the Nightosphere offered a challenge for anyone who felt so inclined. Maybe while everyone does that you can rest?”

“Why are you pushing me to slow down? I’m in my groove right now. You’re not my mom,” Marceline snapped.

“I’m not trying to be your mom! I care about you and I’m worried you’re pushing yourself too hard!”

“Well geez, it’s nice of you to care after all this time! I know my limits! I’ll show you! I’m going to the Nightosphere!”

“Marceline!”

“Don’t come after me,” she snapped and stalked off. Bonnie hugged herself and grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Are you going to calm down now?” Bonnie asked. Marceline kicked the dirt angrily.

“No. But I think I give up for now. That whole jam is ridiculous. There’s so much going on at once. I think the normal chaos is what I prefer right now. You know, I think it’d be cool if you came down too.” Bonnie shifted uncomfortably.

“Someone needs to stand guard here.” Marceline motioned towards the banana guards to either side.

“Found two,” she pointed out.

“It has to be me,” Bonnie insisted. She leaned over and whispered so only Marceline could hear. “You know how incompetent these guys can be.”

“Whatever you say P-Bubs.”

“So, how’d Flame Princess get locked down there, in the lab that belongs to you trapped in a machine you made.” Bonnie shrugged.

“No idea.”

“You can’t keep trying to ruin Finn’s relationship, girl. It’s an unhealthy obsession.”

“It’s not an obsession, it’s a coincidence! It’s a coincidence that she got trapped in my machinery

“You aren’t confirming it or denying it.”

"I don't need to. I'm not that cruel a woman that I would trap a child for a science experiment."

"Actually-"

"Don't." Bonnie held a finger out to stop Marceline from continuing. "There's no reason for me to lock Flame Princess up, especially when she herself is the biggest threat to the Candy Kingdom. It isn't wise to poke the bear with a stick, you know what I mean?"

“Yeah, I guess. She really wants to join the travel party now, so she might still be gunning to destroy the kingdom.” Bonnie placed a nervous hand on her cheek and glanced warily towards Flame Princess, who appeared to be trying to explain something to Finn.

“Could you keep an eye on her?” Bonnie asked.

“I’m not a babysitter,” Marceline snapped and sighed, “but yeah, I guess. I’d rather all of Ooo not be lit on fire. I’ll take her with me.” Bonnie smiled gratefully. “Anything I need?”

“I recommend a fire-resistance charm, in case you get caught in the crossfire.” Marceline nodded and dropped some gold in her hand. “I’ll use the charm, and that armour Finn hates too. Also, let Flame Princess use whatever token she wants, I don’t care.”

“Flame Princess! Marceline wants you to come with her!” Bubblegum shouted and the teen came running, small fires dotting her every step.

“That was exhilarating! So many things happening at once, so many creatures and questions! I knew that Bubblegum was no good!” Phoebe exclaimed.

“Hey, cut her some slack. She’s been at this for a long time,” Marceline growled. Flame Princess looked at her in confusion.

“You can’t honestly look at all this and tell me she’s not evil or at least bad. Look at all this stuff! Living beings forced to stay down here to the rest of their lives. Why? Is what they did really bad enough to deserve this?”

“Yes!” Marceline snapped. “And you don’t know Bonnie like I do.”

“Well, how do you know her so well?”

“I know her so well because-”

“You have done well to come this far,” A voice echoed, startling both girls. Marceline and Phoebe both looked to the speaker.

“Bonnie? What are you doing all the way down here?” Marceline asked.

“Something evil I bet,” Phoebe spat and Marceline whacked the back of her head, ignoring the burning sensation. Bonnibel frowned.

“This is my dungeon,” she said plainly. “And this room is the bottom of it. So, great job! You can go home now, back to the surface or whatever.”

“I don’t think so. There’s probably something in here that you’re hiding,” Phoebe hissed. Marceline raised an eyebrow.

“This doesn’t make sense. What’s down here, Peebs?” Bonnie chuckled nervously.

“Nothing! This is the bottom. That’s it. But just to be safe,” she glared discreetly at Phoebe “I need you to promise me you will not touch my desk back there. It has important research on it that you could mess up. This could be your final quest in this adventure, just promise me. Royal promise. No touchies.”

“I’m not promising anything,” Marceline insisted. Bonnie shook her head.

“You have to.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fine! Whatever!” Marceline threw up her arms in defeat. Bonnie smiled. It wasn’t one of her normal smiles, not one of the ones Marceline was used to. It was empty and cold. Her eyes were unreadable.

“I think we’re done here then. Thank you for solving the mystery.” Marceline looked her up and down and walked past her, looking down at the table. Phoebe walked up beside her and glanced at Marceline.

“These papers are unreadable,” she whispered. Marceline absentmindedly picked up one of the papers, seeing the words were faded and the pictures were half-erased. Then the wall in front of them opened, showing a dark pink gum tunnel.

“Are you serious? What the fuck is wrong with you! Where does this even go?” Marceline shouted. She spun around to face Bonnibel and scowled at the expression on her face. An expression she hadn’t seen in centuries, since they had broken up. Her eyes were narrowed and she had a slight frown. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her and she straightened her back to look at them like she was above them.

You’ll never know where it goes,” she said slowly, “you broke a royal promise. And you know what that means. I’m sorry girls, it’s business.” Marceline saw out of the corner of her eye a fireball that Phoebe had thrown before they both teleported above the kingdom, standing on a cotton candy cloud and looking up at the Gumball Guardians.

“I told you,” Phoebe shouted. Marceline growled and readied her axe.

“Well, at least I’ll get a metal song out of this,” Marceline mumbled. Phoebe scoffed.

“You’re thinking about music? I’m thinking about revolution!” Her hands lit up and she prepared to attack before Bonnibel ran out in front of them.

“Wait! You don’t understand! I know this thing looks like a monster, but you have to listen to me! It doesn’t want to hurt you! It just-” A gum tentacle swung out and grabbed her, causing both Marceline and Phoebe to jump back.

“Bonnie! You’re not getting out of this that easily!” She lunged forward only to get hit in the face with a metal ball, knocking her back. Phoebe dragged her to her feet.

“Think smart!” She barked.

Marceline was angry at Bubblegum, but seeing everyone else rail on her for something she herself had done as well, made her get a bit protective. She’d deal with the lying later.

“Wouldn’t you lie to protect your weird old parents too?” Marceline snapped. She floated down and wrapped her arms around Bonnie’s shoulders, glaring at the entire crew. She glanced at Bonnie for a split second and saw her small smile and she flashed one back. She was still holding her when the mass of gum began to separate.

“Thanks for helping me out, I do wish you could’ve done it without killing my parents though,” Bonnie said. Marceline raised an eyebrow.

“They aren’t dead. We can go catch them if you want.”

“No, no. They’ll come back if they want,” Bonnie sighed. “Marceline, come inside. I want to speak with you privately.”

“Okay, sure.” Marceline followed her up the candy steps and through the winding halls, ending in Bonnie’s room. She motioned towards the bed.

“Sit down,” she ordered and Marceline obliged, sitting down with her arms crossed. “I want to apologise to you.”

“For what? For sending me on a wild goose chase? For trying to get your gumball guardians to murder me? For lying to me and tricking me? For literally putting all of us in mortal danger? Which one is it?” Marceline snarled. Bonnie winced.

“All of that, listen, Marceline, I didn’t want to do all that! But responsibility demands sacrifice and the cost kept escalating. I didn’t expect it to get so out of hand before it was already there. I was running out of ways to stop you.”

“Maybe the best way to have stopped me would have been to tell the truth? Did you ever consider that?” Marceline snapped. “Everyone could have died, get that through your thick skull! All of us could have died!” She stood up and sat back down, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking deep breaths. “I don’t even know how long it’s been, all I know is you haven’t changed a bit. You put your own pride over the actual lives of other people.”

“Marceline-”

“No, Bonnie, listen. It’s been like this for centuries. It’s exhausting. I had thought you were different now. I really did. But I guess old habits die hard.”

“I’m trying to change. I really am Marcy. I just- I was scared. You know what it’s like to have to face the potential of losing your parents. You know what it’s like to lose them. I don’t. I just had to come head-to-head with it today. It’s not okay that I did all that, but I panicked,” Bonnie rambled. Marceline stood up and shook her head.

“I’m going home. I have a killer headache and I’m tired. I got up to come help and I did, so my job’s done.” She rubbed her temple and walked to the door, reaching for the handle only for her hand to be grabbed.

“I’m sorry. I want you to know that. I really am sorry.” She hesitated. She looked to Bonnie and inhaled sharply. She did look remorseful, but sometimes remorse was not enough.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” she mumbled. Bonnie looked away.

“I understand.” She quickly hugged Marceline and backed away, walking to filter through her closet. “It’s okay if you never forgive me. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I’ve forgiven you for worse,” Marceline stated. “But this one will take me a bit. I’ll text you eventually.” She strolled out and narrowly avoided Peppermint Butler who was coming into the room, getting called some harsh words as she opened her umbrella to make her way home.

#chara writes #at bubblegum #at marceline #bubbline #adventure time

2 notes · View notes

bettsfic · 5 years

Note

hey betts! can you give us any insight into your new drafting process (the one you mentioned on Twitter?) those results have me green with envy

sure! this is going to be a fairly quick run-down because i have to start planning my classes here soon.

(anon is referring to this tweet)

required reading

shitty first drafts by anne lamott, which is where i modified my process from

on fear by mary ruefle, which talks about procedure and i may have taken the wrong meaning from the essay but basically, my entire process is about mitigating the fear innate in writers’ block by having a procedure in place to counteract it

tools

google docs (or some other word processor)

google calendar (or some other calendar app; i wrote about my scheduling process here)

toggl (or some other timekeeping app)

airtable (i’ve also used trello, but i like airtable better. ps big thanks to @electricalice for introducing me to it! it’s a lifesaver)

pre-writing

so first you need an idea. whenever i have an idea, even if there’s 0 chance i’ll end up writing it, i add it to my airtable, plus any notes or details i come up with. i also copy and paste any text convos i have about the fic, like if i headcanon something with a friend. (i used trello for this until recently; it works just fine and is a bit easier to use. airtable also has a kanban function though, along with other formats, so it’s a bit more flexible)

airtable is a project management spreadsheet software. i’m sure there are others out there, but i started fiddling with this one and haven’t looked back. it takes a little while to figure out, and you might have to google some things you want it to do that aren’t terribly intuitive.

my fanfic table, filtered by ideas, looks like this:

(you may have to expand to look at it, also note that the pretty colors are a Pro feature of the app and i’m still on my trial)

the idea here is to have space to store my ideas. let’s say i hang out with a friend and we started talking about fic, and i bring up i have an idea for a endgame coda but i’m not really sure where to take it, so we start headcanoning back and forth, and now i have a few scene ideas. i made my endgame coda card already right after i saw the movie, so all i have to do is open the app and jot down the main points of my headcanoning. now when i go home and start working on it, i can easily pull up our brainstorming session.

narrative outlining

i have never been an outliner or a planner. i’ve always been a pantser. i have a premise and i run with it, and that worked for me for a long time. pantsing has a lot of benefits: your story always surprises you! you can get really immersed! it’s certainly the more whimsical writing process.

but what i found was that i would often write myself into a corner, or lose steam once i realized what should have been a 10k fic was actually going to be 80k and i didn’t like the story enough to sit with it for 80k. i also spent a long time thinking about future scenes and writing them down but losing them later, or forgetting about them.

so i started doing narrative outlines, which are just me going “and then THIS happens” repeatedly and sometimes inputting “and something causes this other thing” until eventually i have the whole story written out. the goal of the narrative outline is pacing. all you have to do is get the major beats down. it doesn’t have to be good. no one is going to see it (unless you want them to).

ideally my paragraphs will be all around the same size. those are going to become my chapters. if a paragraph is significantly shorter than another, it’s likely that i don’t have that beat fleshed out yet. i call chapters “beats” because to me, each one should have its own arc, and end at a high or low point in the story.

in my fanfic airtable, i have a table for chapters. all chapters of all multi-chap wips go here, and i can filter out ones that are complete later.

the beauty of the chapters table is that it can connect to your ideas/wip table and vice versa so everything is kept together. i had 7 paragraphs in my narrative outline so i made 7 rows.

notice i also gave myself a due date. i don’t really like due dates, but i’m trying them on for now and seeing how it goes.

i copy and paste the chapter paragraph as i go into the “summary” field. then, as scene or line ideas come to me, i toss them in the “scenes/lines” field. I was in a car for 8 hours and coming up with scenes all over the place, and i needed somewhere to put them. if i didn’t know where they went, i put them in my idea table instead, and filed them later.

you’re still idea-ing, you’re still outlining, but now it’s time to write.

gauge

i make a folder for the fic and open a doc and label it ch1. then i copy and paste the narrative outline paragraph into the doc and separate it out by scene with an asterisk between each one.

here’s where the timesheet and calendar come in. i have a reminder on my calendar to schedule the following day, and on that schedule i put my writing time. when it’s time to write, i start the toggl clock. at the end of each week, i put in my time in my personal timesheet.

the first chapter or 10% of anything i’m writing tends to take longer than the rest, because i need to get into the story, and choose the voice and tense and tone and things like that. so i take however long i take to make what i call a gauge. in knitting, a gauge is the thing that determines the size of the piece. if you’re knitting a sweater, you knit a little square to make sure the sweater comes out the size you need it to be.

so i write the gauge and it takes however long it takes. sometimes i rewrite it a few times, test out POVs and tenses and description and whatever else. what i like best, what seems the most sustainable, is what i choose. i wrote 3 chapters of a novel in present tense and a childish tone before i decided it needed to be first person reflective and i rewrote the whole thing.

don’t get frustrated with yourself if your gauge doesn’t work. that’s what the gauge is for. you’ll know you’ve chosen the right voice if, by the end of your gauge, you’re really eager to keep writing.

down draft & punch list

so now you’ve got a pretty gauge to follow, and the rest is going to be an absolute mess. the down draft is exactly what it sounds like – you get the idea down. i personally believe you need to tell the story to yourself a few times in order to get good at telling the story, or to know what the story is. you’ve told yourself the story once in outline form, and now you’re just breaking out the scenes a little bit more.

the key to the down draft is not to self-edit. i’m not talking about going back and tweaking typos and shit, that’s fine, whatever. i mean doubting yourself structurally. like, oh shit, you forgot to mention that they took off their clothes and now they’re naked.

here’s where the punch list comes in, which is yet another table. (i’ve also used google tasks for this, because it pops up in a side window. either works!) a punch list is a to do list. instead of fixing things, you put the thing on your punch list and save it for the next draft. a down draft is all about speed and figuring out where all the pieces go. revising during the down draft only slows you down.

the punch list is my solution to the contrived advice “you can fix it later!” to which i always say, “BUT I WON’T REMEMBER TO FIX IT LATER I HAVE TO FIX IT NOW.” as soon as you think of something to fix, put it on the table. it may seem like it’s faster to fix things as you go. it is not. i promise.

this is all my punch list notes for all fics, which i then connect to my other tables/filter as needed. put everything in your punch list. it’s better to make a punch list item that you don’t end up implementing than forget an important revision note. if you end up putting the project down for a while, you’ll want to know what you’d intended.

up draft

in the up draft, you clean up the down draft. here, i take each document in a new window, put it on the right half of the screen, and open a new document to put on the left.

then i rewrite the whole fucking thing. i pull up my punch list and fix all the things as i go, to the best of my ability. here’s where the writing gets pretty and fleshed out. but still, it doesn’t need to be perfect. you have more revisions to go. it’s important to remember during this entire process that everything can be changed. nothing is permanent. you’re not writing in stone. there’s no cost to words or documents, so you can revise as much as you want.

it’s also worth noting that the longer your project, the more sectioned out your story will be. sometimes you’ll have a chapter on a down draft and another chapter on an up draft. sometimes you might down draft out of order just to make sure you get your ideas down when they occur. whatever works for you. the idea is that you’re constantly building spaces in which to put your stuff that can be easily found and implemented. the creative process is messy, so you need to make clean spaces to put the mess in.

while you’re up-drafting, you’re still idea-ing and outlining and down-drafting and punch-listing. maybe you don’t have the answer to a problem yet, but you might later. decision fatigue in the creative process is real. this process is designed to mitigate decision fatigue. there are only ever so many decisions to make at once when you expand out your process like this one.

and sometimes, sadly, the solution to a problem never happen. that’s okay. what you write might be flawed. in fact it should be flawed. flaws are what make things beautiful. all you can do is the best you can do, and if it’s not good enough for your tastes, you can learn from your mistakes and try again.

beta

sometimes i have a beta and sometimes i don’t, depending on how confident i am about the work. when i have a beta, this is the stage i send them my stuff. sometimes i tell them specific things i’m looking for, like just line edits, or cheerleading, or whatever else. sometimes i have questions about whether or not something is working. i tell them what date i intend to post and when i would like edits to be done by, and if they don’t get around to it, that’s okay. i can just hustle a little harder in the next revision.

dental draft

here’s where, per anne lamott, you check every tooth. i implement my remaining punch list items and beta feedback, fix pacing issues, typos, unclear sentences, etc. sometimes i do the side-by-side window thing for chapters that are particularly messy, and sometimes i just fix the existing doc. by now your story should be looking pretty good, or the best you can get it.

final read-through :) or additional revisions :(

for fic, this is the point where i hit it and hope. i copy and paste the chapter/fic into an ao3 shell with the tags and summary i’ve kept in my airtable, and do a final readthrough. i don’t do it in the original doc because seeing it in a new font and format usually makes me notice things i’d missed before.

for ofic, here’s where you might need more feedback and more revising if your piece isn’t working yet, or if you’ve submitted it a couple dozen places and haven’t had it accepted. while this process is thorough, sometimes pieces still aren’t working for whatever reason. don’t throw anything away, though. keep it, file it, log it in your airtable, and maybe one day while you’re driving an idea will pop into your head and you’ll be able to come back to it.

this was a really really quick run-down of an extremely long and complicated process, but it works for me! i probably wouldn’t have been able to do this even a year ago. it’s taken me a long time to cultivate this kind of discipline, and i’m still a work in progress. so if it’s too much or too structured for you, that’s fine. maybe you can take one or two things for yourself and try them out.

#writing advice #process #Anonymous

345 notes · View notes

notorious-fiction · 6 years

Text

The Christmas Prince (A Whoever You Want to Read With One-Shot)

You two had made a deal.

Shook hands and all, very solemn looks on your faces, promising one another a very simple thing.

No gift exchanging on Christmas day.

(You'd just been laid off your job and it sucked balls, and he knew money was a bit short on your end and also knew you would never, in a gazillion years accept any money from him, so he started to come up with a bunch of lame ass excuses to make you feel a bit better.)

("It's cliché", he had snorted when you touched the subject "Exchanging Christmas gifts. Ugh. It was meaningful before but now it's just another "especial" date that lost it's core value to boost capitalism. I mean, you can be a crappy boyfriend all year round as long as you buy your girl an extra glittery Hallmark card and a Tiffany Bracelet, right?")

("Right." You had agreed, although not really, because as much as you found sexy as fuck when he used pretty words - core value, damn - you still flipping loved Christmas and looked forward to it all year long.)

So no gift exchanging it was.

You'd spend Christmas day with you family and he would spend it with his - you knew how rare it was for him to take some time to see them - but the day before, the 24th, you had him all to your own.

Just "a casual dinner, the two of us" (his words, not yours) with some "classic Christmas movies, deal with it, loser" (your words, not his) at your place.

Going out was a real pain nowadays, with the whole paps, fangirls, Snapchatters, etc thing, so to save yourself from the stress (how come he never failed to look like a Goddamn model on those candids whilst you looked like you were about to sneeze? Ugh.), staying in it was.

In, with no gifts.

Or at least you thought so, because mid afternoon on December 24th your iPhone seemed to gain a life of its own, all your social media accounts on a frenzy of notifications as, oh well, your famous as fuck of a boyfriend was spotted loading a box the size of a small poney into his car.

("She is so lucky!!!!!!")

("What did he get herrrrrrr i'd be happy just with his dick on box and by the size of it its prob that lol")

("Ugh i hope its a bomb")

(Insert other very sweet comments here.)

You controlled the urge to text him (going against your über curious personality with all the strenghth your posessed), instead focusing on the fact that you were...

Fucked.

Because whilst your boyfriend was on the posession of a very big, flashy box (what you had no idea what was inside, Christ, what the hell was inside of it?!), you were in the posession of...

"How The Grinch Stole Christmas", "Elf" and "The Polar Express".

(All masterpieces, in your humble opinion.)

And the phone of the thai take out two blocks from your place.

(Best pad thai and sticky rice ever.)

(Plus it gave tons of free sriracha packets! Yay for free stuff!)

But seriously, what the fuck were you supposed to give to a human being who seemed to have absolutely everything?!

It'd be stupid to give him clothes - he got those for free -, you had no idea what his shoesize was (did that make you a horrible girlfriend? oops) and anything else you could think of was undoubtely lame.

What if you made him something?

Okay so you didn't know how to draw or paint or knit or rhyme or write a song or do anything that required a minimum artistic vein slash handicraft talent but you could...

Try?

Throwing your body on the couch, your laptop literally on your lap, you sat on your ultimate comfy position - which he had lovingly nicknamed "Cirque Du Soleil's contortionist catching up on reality TV on it's free time" or "how you don't have a back problem is beyond me" (when he said that last one he totally reminded you of your mom) -, typing on the words that were responsible for many delayed papers at Uni and scurries off the house whilst almost tripping on your shoes as you were late as fuck.

Pinterest dot com.

(A blessing and a curse to womankind, honestly.)

D. I. Y.

(Do it yourself.)

(Although you actually never did.)

Scrolling down the screen - DIY baking soda shampoo! DIY mosaic tile birdbath using recycled DVD's! DIY Glittery Bath Bombs! - you noticed that all of them seemed to involve stuff everyone apparently had at home except you like glue guns or spray paint or Scrabble tile holders (...seriously) so after five minutes of Pinterest searching, you sighed in defeat.

(Hard effort wasn't your forte, you had to admit.)

Even friendship bracelets are a hard task to accomplish when you have the skills of a three year old toddler and if you actually purchased a glue gun you could already picture yourself glueing nothing but your own fingers and spending Christmas Day at the ER.

But you did have glitter glue, and that wasn't so dangerous was it?

You also had an old, slightly crumpled piece of cardboard and a "DIY Easy Glittery Hallmark card tutorial!" (snort) at your screen, so you decided to give it a go.

If it came out okay you'd be able to give him as an ironic gift?

("Oh hey, I know you gave me a super awesome/expensive/fancy/cool/thoughtful - insert whatever the hell could be inside that massive box here Christ the curiosity was killing you - but ha-ha-ha remember that snark you made about glittery Hallmark cards?! Instead of giving money to the greedy capitalist men I made one myself, how about that?! Aren't I the Best Girlfriend Ever?!?!?!")

And if it came out like crap you could, y'know, throw it in the bin...

...So of course it came out like crap.

Because you somehow managed to put more glitter glue on the tip of your fingers than on the goddamn cardboard, more glitter glue on your clothes as you absentmindedly rubbed your hands on it as you tried to think of what the hell you could do to save your "Merry Christmas" masterpiece.

(Trash.) (That was how you could save it, your dignity, your boyfriend's poor eyes and your dignity.)

(By throwing your masterpiece on the garbish.)

(Fuck ironic gifts.)

Of course that instead of coming up with another idea after the Glittery-DIY-Hallmark-Card fiasco, your procrastinator side spoke louder, and click after click after click you found yourself going deeper and deeper of that pit called Pinterest, until you blazed on a section you'd never dared to venture on before.

The recipe session.

There were gooey chocolate chip bars, chocolate fudge brownies, kale and artichokes dip, quinoa fried "rice" (...why would someone all it fried "rice" if it had no rice in it only quinoa, you wondered...) and everything made your mouth water and stomach growl and you deeply wished there was someone who could make it for you.

Everything sounded too tempting (and too hard and with too many fancy ingredients and kitchen appliances you'd never even heard of) until you found...

"Easy adaptable chocolate chip cookies with ingredients everyone has at home!!!!! Can be made vegan gluten/lactose/nut/anythying free paleo atkins insert random diet you'd never heard of before here"

Well...

Following a recipe wouldn't be that hard... Would it?

Especially when you could sub eggs for oil if you didn't have any or oil for mashed banana or mashed banana for applesauce or applesauce for honey or honey for agave which were all obviously so much alike, right?

Throwing everything you had into a single bowl - did you mention it was a single bowl recipe? Seriously, it could not get any better, your dishes-washing-hater-side thought - you frowned as you compared your final result to the one on the screen.

Pinterest's batter: gooey but firm, looked so good you wouldn't mind spooning it raw directly into your mouth.

Your batter: two year old's diarrhea, you wouldn't want to spoon it raw directly into your mouth not even if they paid you.

You somehow managed to put little (balls, on Pinterest, blobs, sounded more accurate to your situation) blobs of the batter onto the baking sheet and onto the oven, too busy freaking out slash trying to understand what the hell you did wrong (ooh two american cups of flour? what were american cups? weren't your cups american? why america has to control everything for god's sake?!) to notice the door being unlocked, only realising you had company when you heard an amused chuckle behind you.

Turning around so quick you almost broke your neck - fouet filled with sticky disgusting batter held in hand in a threatingly way - you found him staring, all long legs and perfect hair and mocking grin and...

Empty hands?

Where the hell was the box the size of a toddler he was seen loading into his car?!

Goddamit, internet!

(And why did you feel a lil' bit disappointed I mean...)

(...you had him, hadn't you?)

(Best Christmas Gift Ever, am I right.)

"Hi."

"Hi. Were you..." A cute little frown appeared between his brows, pearly white teeth still on show as he asked "Baking?"

Getting a bit defensive - why did he have to sound so confused/terrified? - you dropped the fouet on the sink, replying "Yes, why?"

"Oh, for nothing! I mean, it smells..."

(Awful.)

"Pretty good."

(Damn, he was a liar.)

Leaning to check the oven temperature just one more time - I mean, better safe than sorry, you couldn't push your luck (any further) - you ignored your boyfriend's stare (a cute little smirk on his lips because well, he thought it was cute how you hadn't noticed the chocolate batter on your chin or how you wore an apron thrice your size), asking maybe a little too cheery "So, how's your Christmas eve going so far?"

( "...Loading too many big ass boxes onto your car?", you rhymed mentally.)

"Well, not too good I mean, I only got to see my lovely lady today." He replied with a charming smile, expecting for you to giggle - alright, fine, he knew you weren't one to giggle, or at least give him love eyes.

You squinted skeptically.

...Okay.

"Empty handed, I see."

"Yeah, kinda glad we decided to skip on that Christmas madness. Had to help a mate out with picking up a complete set of one of those fancy Le Creuset cooking things. Said his girlfriend would love it." He added with a scoff, rolling his eyes "I told him that if I gave you anything kitchen related you'd throw it in my head, but seeing you're apparently into cooking now..." He paused, pursing his lips "Should I write it down as a suggestion for your birthday?"

Her mind went black.

Kitchen appliances.

His mate was giving his girlfriend freakin' casseroles and frying pans.

(Oh poor girl.)

(Poor, poor girl.)

(The disappointment when she opened that huge heavy box.)

(Damn.)

And you had been freaking out the entire day thinking he'd gotten you something big and awesome and you'd look like the awful ungrateful girlfriend.

Man, that ugly glittery card would look like heaven next yo, y'know... Nothing.

"If you ever give me a damn casserole pan I shall rip off your little buddy of you, cut it into tiny little pieces, cook them in the freakin' thing and serve you for dinner." You stated, and he replying, giving you a kiss on the forehead "Aw, see? I know you so well."

God, you were glad he didn't get you anything.

Because being with him was the best gift you could've ever asked for.

(Insert vomiting and cringing here.)

(Fuck you never thought you would be THIS gross and disgusting and loving about any human being in your life after your miserable string of awful break-ups.)

(Yet there you were, with your very own prince charming.)

(Yup, that was it, you guys would be watching The Christmas Prince on Netflix.)

You showed your appreciation by getting on the tips of your toes and pecking him on the lips, the little wrinkle of confusion between his forehead making you want to kiss him even more.

(How was possible for someone to be so cute slash sexy at the same damn time?)

(Seriously.)

(Ugh.)

But then, maybe you'd been too distracted by his pouty pink lips - no chapstick or anything, you wondered how the hell he managed to get them always so soft and puffy and kissable - to check the oven...

And the whole room started to smell a bit smokey.

And look a bit smokey.

"Fuck, my Pinterest cookies!" You squealed, startling him.

You were sort of thankful your fire alarm wasn't working so well, because if the firemen showed up because you almost burned your kitchen down, your landlord would have (even more) reasons to hate you.

"It looks... Edible." Your boyfiend said matter of fact, poking one of your cookies at the tray with the tip of his fingers with brows furrowed.

They looked like baby alien fetus.

(Edible, in some outer galaxy cultures, probably.)

"Want to try them?" You knew by the raise of his eyebrow that it was a challenge, a thing you rarely passed.

Daringly, you got one - dropping it back to the tray because damn they were hot -, trying it again after a few seconds of you two staring at each other with "Who Shall Quit First" eyes.

Was he going to make you eat them first?

By the fake tight ass smile he was giving you, he was...

So with the biggest grin you could muster, you squeaked "Merry Christmas baby! I made these for you! Hope you like them!"

(Or at least don't get food poisoning and die! Please don't get food poisoning and die! I kinda really really really really really like you!)

(And if you die because of me slash my cookies your fans will murder me!)

With a small gulp, he picked one of the alien fetus cookies, shaking it off so they wouldn't be "too hot and burn his tongue" for about three minutes.

You kinda knew he was trying to make as many tiny pieces of it fall out so he'd eat as less of a cookie as possible, but you didn't call him out on it because oh well, he was at least going to eat a teeny bit of them.

And in the end, after a bit of fake awing "Oh, tastes so good babe" and maybe spitting on a napkin when you turned around to throw the dirty dishes on the sink, he did eat your alien fetus cookies.

What made him the best boyfriend slash Christmas present ever.

And after drinking maybe a bit too much wine and watching The Christmas Prince, he drunkenly vowed to never ever give you anything cooking related - as the cookies now rested in peace in your trashcan, on top of your ugly ass glittery card -, and that vow would be proved to be a gift that kept on giving.

(I mean, it would give stomach aches and calls to the fire fighters and be a total waste of ingredients, so you were cool with that.)

(And even if he never gave you anything at all, he dealt with your craziness, your PMSing, you overreacting whenever you let your - very expensive - makeup fall onto the floor, never watched Game of Thrones episodes without you and always let you eat the biggest last slice of cheesecake.)

And if that wasn't much of a proof of real, true love, you had no idea of what the hell it could be.

And that was the greatest gift of all.

(Cue to cringing due to cheesyness again.)

-------

MERRY CHRISTMAS U GUYSSSSSSSSS!

Hope y’all have a fantastic one and find all you wanted under the tree! ooh and if you liked it pls don’t forget to click on that like button (i’ve been watching too many youtube vids send help)

lots lots of love

Gabe

ps: i’d like to dedicate this to my favorite humans on earth victoria, nina and lari, who are still my friends even after i’ve been through probably 30 different mental breakdowns this year, love you guise so muchhhhhhhh thanks for always encouraging me to write!!! oh and if you haven’t read my stories based on them you can find them all here

90 notes · View notes

ainatravelsto · 7 years

Text

South Korea Trip 2k16; Day 2 (Seoul)

Hey!

Congrats, you made it to day 2! (LONG OVERDUE SORZ ITS THE 4TH WEEK OF MY SUMMER SEM IM DYING) (update: nah didnt finish it on my 4th week.... i finished this during my sem break... heh)

Instead of visiting historical places there’s one thing I’ve been wanting way before we arrived in Seoul..... Visit K-pop entertainment companies/buildings.

Yes. I’m actually a K-pop fan, probably one of the main reasons why we went there for a holiday djskhdjkhkdhsajkdkhsda. I told my parents that I at least need a day where I can visit as many companies as I can since one day is not enough tbh. My parents agreed that my bro can follow me to while hunting down these buildings while both my mom and dad went to visit other places around Seoul.

I initially wanted to wake up a lil early but as usual, we suck at waking up early so we were kind of behind schedule. We got ready asap and then had breakfast at the Italian restaurant in our hotel called 3 Birds. I would recommend this restaurant but I won’t because of their RUDE staff. They looked like they were forced to be there y’know? They also take away food tooooo quick right on the dot when the buffet is over.... When there are still people picking out food. I get that it’s over but it would be rude to take away all the food while someone’s still picking out their food? No?

Ok after we’re done with breakfast both of us separate. We bought our T-Money card to use for the subway stations a day before so we just went to one of the nearest stations and went to the first place on our list. Before we arrived at our first destination, we stopped by stations halfway to find advertisements of one of my favorite idols. I’m a huge fan of a group called BTS especially one of the vocalists, named Taehyung, stage name V (let’s just call him Taehyung plox). It was his birthday month so many of his fans (or just fansites) put up advertisements for his birthday at selected subway stations around Seoul. We found like 2 that day and wow I didn’t imagine myself seeing it with my own eyes instead of being behind the screen. I’ve always seen pics of Korean fans posting pics of them posing for the ads. It’s just surreal I’m there y’know,,,,, as a fan. As you can see in the photos, I was REALLY happy.

So after the mini photo shoot, we continued on to our first destination. The first destination is actually, Big Hit Entertainment, aka BTS’ company. I felt that I should visit the office at least once in my life since I’m a huge fan. I have realized that many fans are confused on where the hell is the building because it’s very low-key not like YG or SM so to those who need help, I can help y’all with this. However, it’s not very detailed and apparently, Big Hit already moved to a bigger office at Apgugeong??? If I’m not mistaken? But if you’re curious then:

The nearest metro station to the building was Line 3 Sinsa Station so that’s where we stopped.

1. You walk out of Exit 1 of Sinsa station and just walk straight and take a right after 5 blocks. There should be blocks of buildings on your right anyway with small roads going on a small hill.

2. Take the 2nd street on your left and on the 3rd block, you should be able to see Big Hit on your right.

3. If you’re lost with all these instructions (LIKE I WAS PREVIOUSLY) Google Maps does wonders. I also used Waze but it is based on you using a car. So stick with Google Maps since you’re walking and search ‘Big Hit Entertainment’. Some of the locations they give MIGHT be false so prepare yourself for that.

*It might look lowkey scary going on your own so pls bring someone with you.

Tbh, we almost got lost a few times but eventually, we found our way. We walked a few places and later we found it. Shout out to Google Maps for saving our asses. I’m amazed how we didn’t need to ask anyone to find our way. Bles technology!

OH STORY TIME: I coincidentally bumped into BTS’ manager right in front of us when we were finding Big Hit.

Yep, that’s right. He’s probably the reason why I could find Big Hit because he was heading that way dsjgdkhjsagydsgkdskks. When we were almost got to Big Hit there was a man with takeaway coffee on his hand. It was still the morning btw so I thought oh some random man going to work. But, I had a good look on his face and I freaked out. Once I saw his face my face just went blank because I recognize his face from somewhere and I straight away knew he was the manager. As an avid fan, I’ve seen HQs & press photos of BTS with their manager so I’m used to seeing his face time to time. So once I saw his face, I almost froze and stopped my bro. My bro was confused and later I explained to him quietly who he was. I kinda took a pic lmao:

So the smartest thing I’ve done after that is to go the other way, completely going to the opposite direction of Big Hit. I didn’t want to make him think of us as some international stalkers or sasaengs. Later when I thought it felt safe, we went to the direction where he went which leads to Big Hit. Surprise surprise, he was gone. He probably went in already so...

ANYWAYS, as typical tourists we took photos.

What makes it more interesting, some Big Hit staff told us to go away when we didn’t even go in the building or anything.... We just taking photos.... But at the same time... I highkey feel like someone was inside... Possibly BTS? Whatever it is, wow.... I got shooed away by Big Hit staff LMAO.

Moving on, we went back to the train station and arrived at Samseong Station to visit SMTOWN! I feel that almost every kpop fan goes there when they visit Seoul lmao. Wow, I was shocked at how I was actually there and not from photos. Saw cool standees from Baekhyun (exo bias HI), Krystal, and lots more! I too took one of the photo booth photos!!!! leeet

One thing most stans go for is basically.... THE MERCH. I mean other than going for the live concert thingies (which I didn’t bother to go), official merchandise is the best next thing... So obviously if anyone wants to get their fave SM artists’ merch, going to SMTOWN itself is fine, more specifically, their albums. Their albums are reasonably priced so you don’t have to buy it outside in my opinion. Their official merchandise from posters, photobooks, phone cases, even the food are one of a kind. I feel if going to SMTOWN, and you’re an avid fan of EXO, Red Velvet or any other SM artist, just buy them.

After looking around, we found a halal Indian restaurant called Luna Asia. Ngl, the food was alright. For Muslims, y’all could go for this!

We then took Samseong station again and arrived at Apgujeongrodeo station to go to The Mins! Some might not know, but this cafe is famous for treating some kpop idols, including BTS! (don’t @ me let me live i am an avid fan) So we took exit () and walked all the way down. The Mins was inside so you have to get into the neighborhood to find it. (Better descriptions are in the link I added @ The Mins)

The place was really cute from the outside and inside. OH, I forgot to mention, 2AM’s Changmin owns this cafe! Pretty legit. I also think I might’ve met his parents there too, because I heard that his parents do work there. I only noticed that once I got out of the cafe.... rip.

ANYWAYS, I ordered the Four Berry drink..... aka what BTS usually orders (yes shut up). It was really good anyway.

In the plus side, cool stuff on their walls! BTS posters, and signed albums from many other celebs like SISTAR, Gfriend and lots more! (you can also get to sit where BTS have sat before hehehehhehehe)

Later, we went to K-Star Road to visit all the big figures??? dolls??? idk what to call them. But yeah, we went and obviously had to find BTS’ one.

We were tired af and basically done all we wanted to do (except visiting JYP or YG Entertainment :(((() so we went back to our hotel.

After a few hours of rest in the hotel, we still had energy so we thought of not wasting time by going N Seoul Tower by using the Namsan Cable Car. It was a nice view from the hill but I feel it would be better during daylight?? Since it was winter I think it’ll look prettier during daylight. SORZ FOR NO PHOTO I WAS HALF DEAD THAT NIGHT KSKFKSHFJKSF

Anyways, we found this halal restaurant at this close knit neighborhood in Seoul called Yang Good (Yangguk) and boy...... they had GR8 meat. 11/10 recommended.

OKKKK IM SORRY FOR THIS VERY LONG OVERDUE POST but yes here’s day 2. I’ll try my best to do the other days asap (at least before my new sem starts sigh) BYE GIRLIES ANF GUYLIES!!!!

#seoul #seoul travel #bts #bangtan boys #big hit entertainment #bangtan sonyeondan #smtown #sm coex artium #namsan #seoul tower #halal #halalfood #halaltourism #halaldestination #blogging #travelling

1 note · View note

radical-6 · 7 years

Photo

Hey everyone, I received a bunch of messages asking me how I made my skirt for Kaede Akamatsu from the new Danganronpa game, Danganronpa V3. I wrote a quick guide, so if you're interested, read on...

To make my skirt, I custom-designed a musical note pattern on a purple background and uploaded it to Spoonflower, a fabric printing website. I've recently made the pattern public, so if you'd like to use it for your own cosplay, you can access it here:

http://www.spoonflower.com/designs/5978234-kaede-akamatsu-skirt-by-sinkuu

However, this was my first time working with designing/custom printing fabric, and using Spoonflower in general, so it ended up a little finicky. Spoonflower also has a lot of crazy options, so it's easy to get lost in the mess of DPIs and repeats and types of fabric you can print on. Hopefully this guide makes it...less convoluted.

So, on Spoonflower, you can print three sizes of fabric: yards, "fat quarters" (1/2 yard x 1/2 yard), and samples. What you're going to want here is yards, unless you only need a little bit more fabric and don't want to waste money on an entire extra yard.

This is what a yard looks like. To print my pattern, set the repeat setting to "basic".

Kaede's skirt has four musical bars on it, so you want to cut a yard of my pattern into three pieces. You get two four-bar pieces you can use for the body of the skirt, and then a leftover two-bar piece that you can't really use for the skirt itself, but that makes a really good waistband. When cutting between the sets of staffs, there's about 4.25" vertically between each staff, so you want to measure up (or down!) 2 1/8" vertically, and cut there to make sure to get even length pieces. Without a waistband or a hem, each skirt piece is about 14" long. THIS COULD BE A PROBLEM IF YOU ARE TALLER THAN 5'8". More on this later.

Spoonflower gives you about 41.5" of horizontal pattern per yard, so if you get two four-bar panels out of that it's 83" of skirt, plus a 41.5" waistband per yard.

This is what a fat quarter looks like. Again, set repeat to "basic". 0

It gives you one four-bar horizontal panel that's about 20.75" long. So it's useful (and cheaper!) if you just need a /little/ bit more to finish the skirt, but overall the yard is going to give you waaaaay more bang for your buck with this pattern. (83" of skirt vs 20.75" of skirt.) How much fabric you need is completely up to you, and your measurements, and the style of skirt you choose to make. Danganronpa is unfortunately incredibly inconsistent with its art, and Kaede's skirt has been drawn as knife pleats, box pleats, no pleats at all, just gathered, and some weird sewn-down bell abomination pleat. Pick your favorite!

...Seriously, pick your favorite.

I went with knife pleats, since in the game itself they seemed to be the most common thing that came up on the skirt roulette during cutscenes. Plus, I like knife pleats. Using myself as a fabric example calculation...I have a 29" waist, and a knife-pleated or box-pleated skirt needs a rectangular block of (skirt length, here it's 14 inches) by (waist measurement x 3). So, I needed 87" inches of skirt, plus a little seam allowance. A yard gets you 83" inches of skirt, and 87" is...over that. So I ended up getting one yard, and a fat quarter. Yaaaay, math. If you do a gathered skirt, you can probably get away with only using one yard depending on how much you gather it.

Here's another reference image (waistband from the yard not pictured) of what cutting two panels out of a yard looks like, and what cutting up a fat quarter looks like.

This isn't a tutorial on how to pleat/gather a skirt. If you're looking for one, I recommend this one here: http://fattogami.tumblr.com/post/55535810050/how-to-make-a-sailor-uniform-part-2-sewing-the Google is also your friend!

Pleats tacked down, (but no waistband) the skirt looked like:

And finished, it looked like:

--- So, why is the skirt length a potential problem for people taller than 5'8"? I'm 5'8", and I designed the pattern for myself. Danganronpa has REALLY short skirts, so I made the skirt...really short. If you're significantly taller than 5'8", there's a high chance that your ass is going to be out. You can compensate for this by making the skirts waistband sit lower on your hips, and use a mid-hip measurement for the waistband rather than a waist measurement, but it might be easier for you to just use a different pattern, or make your own. I'm sorry, really tall people. I think you're cool, and I WISH I was that tall.

Here's a picture of what I mean about my ass almost being out at 5'8", in case you are taller than that and need convincing to abandon hope, all ye enter here.

Another big question is, "what fabric should I pick"? Again, it's up to you. I used kona cotton because it's slightly nicer than regular cotton. Since I did a pleated skirt, I also interfaced the entire thing with featherweight interfacing because I like my pleats extra crispy. Any cotton should be fine for either pleated OR gathered skirts, or I guess twill for pleats if you're really fancy and have money falling out of your pockets. Maybe a heavyweight knit like jersey for gathered if you're again, fancy, and have money falling out of your pockets.

A few final notes:

1) Spoonflower fabrics tend to fade a little bit in the wash, since they're printed on. The fade is more pronounced with dark inks. Since this is a black pattern printed on dark purple, DO NOT put it in the washing machine, or pre-wash it, or post wash it. If you need to clean it, either spot clean it very carefully by hand or dry clean it.

2) This isn't a very high-contrast pattern, so while it shows up great in real life to real human eyes, it doesn't photograph well. If you're very particular about photoshoots, you're going to have to be careful about the lighting you're in, or be prepared to do some photo editing after the fact. Unless you've got a really nice all-over light source, or can point a light directly at the skirt, it tends to wash out to just a plain purple skirt in pictures.

3) The song that appears on the skirt isn't canonically accurate (I made it before the game came out in JP and Kaede's full design sheet was released), but it IS a real song! It's actually "The First Noel", but slightly bastardized. I erased some slurs between notes, removed some crescendos/decrescendos, and took out some staff markers and clefs to make it repeat seamlessly. In retrospect, I should have made it "I Stepped on the Cat".

4) If you use this pattern to make a skirt, I don't need credit, but hey, feel free to send me a picture of what you make! I'd love to see it.

5) I'm finished with NDRV3, so I know the entire game plot/spoilers. If you want to crawl into somewhere private (like my inbox) with spoilers, feel free, but keep spoilers off this post and anywhere public. Be considerate to fans who are waiting for the official English release in September.

6) With that said, absolutely crawl into my inbox if you don't like Shuuichi Saihara. I love talking shit about him.

I'm not super active on tumblr these days, but you can either contact me here, or @skelefiend on Instagram!

#ndrv3 #drv3 #danganronpa #kaede akamatsu #akamatsu kaede

42 notes · View notes

johnbizzell · 4 years

Text

Goodbye, Dolly

Ocado sent me a 20% discount voucher in the same month that David died. It felt like fate was telling me never to go out again, so I didn’t. It’s not the grief, I joked, it’s the means. He left me the flat and some very successful investments – and honestly when you can have a boneless organic chicken thigh delivered straight to your door, why risk getting your hair wet?

He loved this flat. He used to say he loved me, Barbra Streisand and the flat, mostly in that order, but Barbra and I were interchangeable if I’d forgotten to put the rubbish out or if she really hit that high D5 at the end of A Piece of Sky. It’s a recording, I’d say, she hits the same note every time. Yes, he’d say, but sometimes I just feel it more.

The flat is on the top floor of Ben Jonson House on the northern edge of the Barbican estate in London. It has two rooms, side by side, each with a barrel ceiling. From the inside the rounded white roofs make you think you have more space than you really do. From the outside I like to imagine it looks like two sleeping giants cuddled up under a duvet.

David started renting the flat when he was studying at the Guildhall School of Music, or Downstairs as he always called it. When the owner sold up in the early nineties David had to buy the place because he’d filled it with too many records to move. 1423 records line an entire wall of the living room in orange crate shelves. They are mostly original cast recordings of musicals in all the languages of the countries he visited. Only sixty-seven of them are by Barbra, but she does have her own crate. I got my own crate in 2006. Well, it was a drawer. David was twenty years older than me and everyone assumed I was more in love with his south-facing balcony in Zone 1 than with him, but I would have moved into one of his orange crates under the Hammersmith flyover if he’d asked. Me, David and 1423 records living happily ever after. Or, in the end, about twelve years.

The Barbican estate was built over the wreckage World War II left of this part of London. David loved that it was someone’s vision of optimal living realised on such a large scale, that from a bombsite they thought they could rescue the future. His balcony overlooks the entire complex, the terraces and tower blocks, the mewses and the museum, the Arts Centre and its plazas. From that angle all the odd shaped buildings and covered walkways form an insane Escher print. When I’d go out there to water the plants he would wrap his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder, and let his hand trace a path for some new adventure across the cityscape. With all there is, he’d sing in my ear, why settle for just a piece of sky?

Even then I used to think it all depended on the piece of sky you were looking at.

I haven’t been out on the balcony since he died. I’ve barely opened the curtains. Half of the plants dropped their leaves over the side like desperate passengers jumping from a sinking ship. The half that couldn’t reach the edge just curled up on the floor. David left me the flat and the money and the records and the plants, but do you need me to tell you he took away more than he left? Because I can’t be bothered to go into it – actually, that sums it up: David died and I couldn’t be bothered anymore.

***

When anyone remarked on the twenty years between us, and anyone often did, David would rush his hand to his cheek as though he’d been slapped. I was born on the 26th June, he was born on the 27th. There were nineteen years and 364 days between us. It never mattered to me, but since other people seemed so keen on numbers he liked to make sure they got it right.

On my birthday, the first thing he’d do was fling the covers off and crow about how young he felt. On his, the morning after, he’d play the ancient crone. Of all the time we had together, those twenty-four hours in between were often our happiest.

Sometimes we never left the flat. Sometimes we never left the bed. Once, on the day I turned thirty and he’d failed to cook the chicken for long enough, we spent most of it in the bathroom. He claimed it was because he’d heated it on the dying embers of his forties. If you can find a man who makes you laugh after giving you food poisoning, he’s the one.

David’s warmth evaporated time. Today, those same twenty-four hours yawn with their lack of promise. I am now thirty-eight and I’ve woken up alone in our bed for nearly a year. The same bed that it felt so decadent to stay in as the turning of the world notched up another number for me then him. There’s nothing decadent about staying in bed all day when you have nowhere else to be. Or nobody to share it with.

I get up at 7am and shower. I realised quite early on that it was easier to get rid of time at the start of the day. Also, for all of the talk about optimal living, the walls between the Barbican’s flats are thin enough that I know when my bedroom-side neighbour Bianca has had an overnight guest – because I hear her shower going twice, not because she’s a screamer (though the guests sometimes are). With the noise of her, possibly plus one, and Pete and Soph on the living-room side all getting ready for work in the morning there’s really no point in trying to lay in.

I eat breakfast and get on with my Big Job of the day. There’s only ever one. If you don’t work or even leave the two rooms you live in, your To Do list is minimal. The art is to spread it out over the course of the week: one day for cleaning, one day for washing, changing the bed gets a whole day of its own because it usually takes everything I have. One day I throw things in a casserole dish. Everything tastes the same anyway and one bucket of stew will last me all week. That’s unless Soph is away and Pete comes over. But if it runs out I usually eat cereal for dinner. Or nothing.

By 9am everyone in bothering radius will have left the building. If I put on one of David’s records I’m either feeling brave or the exact opposite. Usually I stick to some quiet, measurable task: today I will knit fifty rows of this scarf or today I will read two-hundred pages of Persuasion or today I will open at least three of the letters that continue to get forwarded for David and try to forgive the writer for existing in a world where he is still alive.

At 6pm I heat up my dinner. If any of my neighbours are going to knock to check that I haven’t made their lives awkward by killing myself, it’s usually now. If they don’t, I put on David’s ancient headphones that are attached by a spiralling wire to a radiogram thing on a shelf above the bed. I lay down and listen to a crackling Asian radio station that could be broadcasting cricket scores or prayers, but that completely drowns out the sounds of Pete and Soph making their evening meal together or Bianca laughing into her phone on the balcony as she lights another cigarette. I’d take the sounds of endless morning ablutions over their easy early evening chatter and hopefulness.

It’s meditative, listening to a language you don’t understand. After long enough you can hear the music in it. Music that doesn’t remind you of anyone.

He would’ve been fifty-eight tomorrow.

***

My dad and I get on fine, thanks for asking, though we joke that he threw me out at eighteen. He just wanted me to want more than the generic comfort of middle class Bristol. He stays because it makes mum happy and he loves her. He’s a doctor who wishes he’d been a sculptor or a fashion designer or a maker of anthropomorphic miniature ceramics – it all depends on what documentary he’s watching at the time. I was quite happy pulling up weeds and laying turf for the housewives of Clifton Village, though I was well aware that I didn’t want to lay anything else for them. I applied to art college for him really. And, fair enough, to sleep with someone other than the barman at the Queenshilling.

My mum was more comfortable with my lack of ambition. She called it being an old soul. When they dropped me off at Ravensbourne she gave me a backgammon set and enough tinned soft fruit for a lifetime of untroubled dentures. Following a succession of diabolical paintings and haircuts, a Duke of Edinburgh Award in navigating my way home from a different part of London every other morning - before the advent of Google Maps - and absolutely no backgammon, I graduated and got a job as an estate agent.

The most creative thing I was doing was arranging the pictures of other people’s homes in the window. I told my parents I was having a fabulous time and they believed me. I told myself that too, but it was less convincing.

***

Pete is on my balcony sweeping up rotting leaves and quite a few of Bianca’s discarded cigarette butts. He does this whenever he comes over for dinner since I never go out there now. He has a broom in one hand and his phone in the other, into which I hear him shouting to his wife Soph that he’s about to eat one of Dolly’s famous one-pot wonders. I am Dolly. I am microwaving a five bean chilli I made using only two kinds of beans and the entire last jar of fucks I had to give. I’ve barely moved from the sofa in five hours, but have only been trying to ignore Pete’s questions for the last fifteen minutes.

Pete was already David’s neighbour when I moved into the flat. At the time I had a quiff that my friends used to say was maintained by all the comments that flew over my head. I was twenty-five, I’d been passed around London’s vibrant gay Soho like a tray of unwanted cakes and I was finally getting bored of butching it up and dumbing it down. Maybe it’s different now that kids have to build a personal brand online before they’re old enough to drink, but back when I was fresh meat it wasn’t what came out of your mouth that guys were interested in. I met David in the toilets at the Green Carnation – don’t worry, it wasn’t as seedy as it sounds. We were standing side by side looking in the mirror wearing matching Joe 90 glasses; me tall and dark, him short and bald. He said we looked like Dolce and Gabbana. I looked down at my designer-imposter daps and his wide-fit loafers and said we were more like Dolcis and Garden Centre. When he laughed it felt like someone had heard my real voice for the first time. I came back to the flat with him that night and four months later I lived here.

Dolce having instantly become Dolcis then became Dolly. That’s how he introduced me to Pete. Say hello to Dolly. Pete had been a DJ on the rave scene in the early nineties and still shouted everything inches from your ear like he was trying to be heard over Josh Wink’s Higher State of Consciousness. He smelled so straight and alien, like weed and the hot plastic of a Gameboy. It was the forbidden smell of someone’s older brother’s bedroom and on reflex I stayed silent in case I got kicked out. He looked into the tops of my boxes and asked me if I played backgammon then, with no response from me, reached in and pulled out a Prodigy CD. He waved it triumphantly in David’s face, delighted to finally have a neighbour who might play something other than Color Me Barbra through the wall. David was unfazed. Neither then nor at any time since has there been a CD player in the flat.

Now of course we can instantly play whatever we want to hear on our phones, but Pete and I are both at an age where eating two bean chilli at Prodigy speed could cause intestinal woe for days. He comes in from the balcony and selects a record to put on. It’s Je m’appelle Barbra, the original 1966 Colombia LP. Side two, track six: I’ve Been Here.

We were going to knock on your birthday but the lights were out, says Pete. And on his too. Then, after a deep breath, he tells me that Bianca has told Soph who has told him that she’s been doing some PR for the promoters who put on summer concerts in Hyde Park and that she’s heard that this year Barbra Streisand will be doing one of them and she could get us all tickets and we should go. VIP entry, away from the crowds. It will be the first time she’s performed in the UK for years and might be the last. David wouldn’t have missed it. David would’ve been there in a Fanny Brice sailor suit.

Over on the record player Barbra is assuring us that she is not a frightened dove.

I say I’m not ready.

The record finishes and there’s only static to fill the silence. Pete takes our half-empty bowls and puts them in the sink, where he stands as the whispering record turns and turns and turns and turns.

I need to go Dolly, he says. And I don’t know if I can go without you.

David and Pete had both done a lot of drugs, though it was never part of David’s work like it was for Pete. David travelled – he’d been a singer and then an internationally renowned vocal coach – but when he was home, he was home. Ask Pete if he ended up with a drug problem because it’s hard for a DJ to draw a line between his professional and private life, he’ll tell you that he doesn’t know because he never even tried. He was having a brilliant time and getting paid a lot of money. He got a mortgage for the flat next to David’s in 1999 with the advances from a series of Millennium gigs that he wouldn’t end up playing. Instead he went on what he now calls the Bender Of Destiny. His bookings disappeared. He went from sucking MDMA off a model’s nipple to sucking fag ash from the footwells of Mondeos at a car valeting service. He could barely afford enough speed to get him through the weekend. When he finally got so desperate that he sold his speakers, David knocked on his door. This was years before I'd met David, years before Pete met Soph. At the time they may not have had much in common except a very thin wall, but David was probably the only neighbour in the world who had a problem if you weren’t playing music. Pete’s existence had descended to skirting board level and the flat was basically empty. The highest vantage point was a stack of unopened post. Recently Pete must have fallen off or into or in front of something or someone and there was a dried trail of blood weaving back and forth between the two filthy airless rooms. David sat down on the floor next to Pete anyway and put his arms around him whilst he cried.

David took Pete next door and ran him a bath. He washed his clothes and his bedding. He cleaned Pete’s flat, he cooked for him. He sat with him every night, made him tea whilst he opened all the terrifying post, sorted out his payment plans. He helped him find some furniture, a job at a friend’s recording studio, a reason to go on. He played him the 1964 Original Cast Recording of Funny Girl and the 1970 soundtrack to On A Clear Day You Can See Forever and every single studio album Barbra had ever released. When you can afford your own speakers again we can listen to what you want, David would say, until then let’s have something ageless and evergreen.

Pete gave the eulogy at David’s funeral. I couldn’t speak. He said that David had saved his life. He chose all the music too. People kept thanking me afterwards and telling me how perfect the songs were. I tried to say that Pete had chosen everything but he said it didn’t matter. He took me home and said I didn’t need to explain anything to anyone. I didn’t need to see anyone or speak to anyone if I didn’t want to.

Pete takes Je m’appelle Barbra off of the record player, returns it to its sleeve and its place on the orange crate shelves.

There’s seven months until the gig, he tells me, we’ll start small. He opens the balcony door and steps outside, then he turns back and holds out his hand for me to join him.

#barbra streisand #barbican #short story #fiction #lgtb

0 notes

irfan12320-blog · 4 years

Text

Protecting your hands from the cold with good gloves is easy

Protecting your hands from the cold with good gloves is easy, the hard part is knowing which ones are best for us and solving our main doubts. Here you have the most reliable and independent answers!

1) Are the khaadi pret sufficient for winter?

For moderate cold (from 0 to + 5 ° C), gloves of Polarity 100, Polarity Powerstrech or similar may suffice. If you are cold or under zero you will need something thicker.

I have heard that wool gloves, still wet, always wear, unlike synthetic ones.

True, but if you need to pull or support with tools (piolets) or walking with sticks they are too slippery and not very strong to abrasion. They are good for non-technical uses, such as walking without canes through the mountains or city and rural tourism.

If I just want to have a glove for the whole year, which one would be the best?

For versatility, the best gloves would be the Win stopper type. They are very light, windproof, sufficiently waterproof (although the seams are not sealed) and effective up to about -3ºC. They are also usually quite accurate and light and functional for walking with sticks on rainy days.

What is the best snow glove or very cold?

Admirably, use a waterproof glove with a high-quality membrane (Gore-Tex type or similar) and thermal padding (Prim aloft / Thermocline / Thiosulfate fiber or a combination of polar liners). Depending on the model, they are very useful knitted fingerless gloves from -5 to -20ºC.

khaadi summer sale has its own standard go and check out the latest collection.

5) Are knitted fingerless gloves hotter than gloves?

Yes, keeping fingers together always shows warmer with equal thickness, but they lack precision. You are interested in maintaining precision in the fingers in case some unforeseen occurrence or you drop an object (for example a mobile slider). The three-finger eid dresses or those that allow four fingers to be removed by horizontal opening partially solve the problem.

6) If I am especially cold and my normal gloves don't work, what is the best solution?

The hottest is heatable with a light mobile type battery. They can be regulated at more than 40 degrees for almost 8 hours, but keep in mind that they are expensive (more than 200 euros), difficult to find and that if they are not of high quality, the electrical resistance by use and flexion will break quickly.

7) Why are there no gloves with a pen?

The pen is designed more for expedition knitted fingerless gloves. In a glove, the fingers are too narrow to accommodate enough and uncompressed feathers. Nor would it work well with moisture or compression (for example holding the handle of an ice ax). Fiber is a more stable and water repellent filler.

8) What requirements are most important in a good glove?

That it offers you the protection you need (thermal or thermal + waterproof), that the fingers are precise and that it does not fatigue the hand when flexing the fingers (because in cold situations and if you are tired you will tend to take the hand too open or “still ”, A problem with canes or ice ax).

9) Are there gloves that never fit?

The waterproof-breathable mountaineering and off-piste skiing (which are the hottest) are very resistant to water penetration, but not waterproof. Water can enter both snow and capillary as the outer tissue becomes saturated and moisture migrates to the inner fill. They endure hours but not whole days. Between day and day, you have to dry them or take a second pair.

10) How much does a good glove cost?

It depends on the materials and the operator. The gloves range from 20 euros to 250 euros. Logically those that include waterproof-breathable membrane and preformed cut are always more expensive. For most non-extreme uses for 80 euros, you can find good winter gloves of recognized brands.

The wait is over now you can buy from khaddi sale

Choose the ideal puncture resistance standard

There are numerous options of puncture-resistant gloves on the market, to choose the one that is best for you, we advise you to consider at what level the glove is tested.

There are two standards for testing the puncture resistance of a glove:

1. Thick prick with large objects - Standard EN 388: 1994

For threats of thicker punctures, such as wood, nails or glass.

Wood industry, metal manufacturing, waste collection, needle-free recycling.

2. The threat of fine object drilling - ASTM F2878

Dangers of punctures with thin objects such as needles.

Industries such as waste management, paper, recycling, etc.

In Dynamic we have a wide variety of Superior Glove industrial gloves models, adaptable to all types of needs and industry, approach our certified staff to analyze which model is the most suitable for your industry.

Choose the best gloves for winter

Here are some tips to find the right model for your environment and application:

# 1 Choose a multi-layer glove for temperatures below 20 ° F or -5 ° C

● For colder temperatures, the best thing to do is to use a glove that has at least two layers or more, some of the ways it can be composed are:

● 2 layers: Nylon and Napped Nape

● 3 layers: Leather or nylon and Thiosulfate ™ Nylon

● 4 layers: Synthetic leather, waterproof membrane, fleece, and nylon insulation

# 2 Moisture Management

Most of the sweat of the body comes from the hands and soles of the feet and this moves the heat away from the body 25 times faster than the air due to its higher density. So moisture management is key to designing winter gloves that keep the user warm.

When choosing your pair of winter gloves, make sure that the layer that comes in contact with the skin is not cotton-based, as this material absorbs sweat and moisture to cool the user.

We advise you to choose a layer of materials such as polypropylene or a natural fiber such as wool since they remove moisture and keep the skin dry.

# 3 Selection of windproof outer layer

As for the outer layer, the most suitable is one with a higher density that helps you block the wind. Avoid materials such as rag wool since this type of fabric is too open and allows the wind to penetrate.

A dense outer layer can provide 25 ° F (14 ° C) of heat to the glove in quiet conditions, and 50 ° F (28 ° C) of heat in windy conditions.

# 4 it has the correct insulation

The most suitable insulation for extreme temperatures that are below 0 ° F / -20 ° C is Thiosulfate ™, which provides maximum warmth thanks to its thickness and a large number of synthetic fibers that trap the air for Don't let it go

This insulation keeps the warmth well, even when it is wet and you can find it in different weights and types.

When working in cold conditions or environments where dexterity is critical, gloves with Thiosulfate ™ 40 gems are the best option.

For light activity levels or work in cold conditions, we recommend a 100 gem Thiosulfate ™ glove.

# 5 Pay attention to the fingertips

Many winter gloves have great design opportunities in the area of the fingers: they have less insulation than required in the fingertips or bad seams, allowing heat to escape from the user's hand.

khaadi lawn collection 2020 have a great impact since the fingers are more susceptible to cold because they do not have important muscles that allow heat to be produced. Besides, the body gives preference to heat the internal organs so it reduces blood flow to the extremities in cold conditions. The solution for this is to use fully lined gloves and said lining fits completely to the sides of the fingers.

Now that you squeeze the cold hard, it's hard to get your hands out of your pockets, right? Maybe gloves are a great idea but ... How do we answer a phone call or a WhatsApp we receive? As you well know, capacitive touch screens do not respond to the touch of fabrics that do not have any conductive material, and in this sense, conventional gloves will be of little use in our relationship with the smartphone. So, I decided to try some tactile gloves (come on, ready to support mobile touch screens).

Stands to enter this world, I chose to ensure a quality product even if it cost me a little more expensive, and I made myself with a double layer Mujjo, neither the most expensive, nor the cheapest in the catalog, but prepared for "cold climates "And yes, in the north, winter can be quite hard. To make this adventure even more fun, I started using them with an iPhone 8 Plus and then I'm done with an iPhone X (later we will see why this change is decisive).

Although it was not Mujjo's first product, these gloves stand out for their high quality; just what I was looking for, and a very comfortable magnetic closure that makes them perfectly fixed. On the web, they have a real simulator in which you can place your hand on the screen to know exactly the size and that it fits perfectly (something fundamental for the use we will want to give it). Now, how realistic is the feeling of wearing tactile gloves on the mobile?

My first use was curious:

I went for a walk with my dog at night and with a temperature close to zero degrees; after a few steps, I took the iPhone 8 plus out of my pocket to listen to a podcast and here the clearer things begin to be seen. The first and obvious: unlocking using Touch ID is impossible for logical reasons, so you had to go back to the awkward code (or take off your gloves); but as I pointed out, this stopped being a problem when I finally got the iPhone X and the unlock by Faced.

#khaadi pret

0 notes