#look the cold war is over i can appreciate good graphic design

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens one-shot - “When God Closes a Door, She Opens a Window, But It's Up to You to Find It” (Rated T)

Summary: Crowley goes through unconventional lengths to escape a bad blind date...

... and ends up finding an angel in an unexpected place. (2770 words)

Notes: This is a re-write of an older story, but I think I like this version better. Human au. Fluffy as heck. CW: If you get squicked out by being covered in food trash, proceed with caution.

Read on AO3.

"Bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... " Crowley mutters as she paces back and forth, simmering behind her eyeballs with so much anxiety she's about to tear her hair out by the roots. The only plan she can come up with to solve her current dilemma grows hotly in her mind, but she's searching for something - ANYTHING! - to take its place. 

Maybe something along the lines of acting like an adult, womaning up, and admitting this isn’t going to work? Be upfront about it and say it to the man’s face, for Heaven's sake! 'Go on, Crowley!' she thinks. 'Go ahead! One foot in front of the other. Steady on! You can do this!'

But she’s become so tired of the grind – going to bars, faithfully tending her online dating profile, endless blind dates set up by well-meaning friends, the rejecting and the rejections. She can’t face one more. It physically hurts, knots her stomach muscles until the pain turns her world monochromatic.

Crowley had had high hopes for this one, too. Her date Steven is the new doctor of the boy she nannies. He and Crowley have plenty in common – a love of theater and fine dining, and an appreciation for fashion. Crowley thought dating a pediatrician would be fascinating. After summarizing the pertinent details of her own life, perhaps her date would talk about getting through medical school, toss in a few whimsical stories about the joys (quote/unquote) of working with children - baby’s first shots where the parents cried more than the infant, or the tale of a precocious little girl who demanded he put a Band-Aid on her teddy before he helped her (the way Crowley's young charge had with his first doctor when he was around three). They could swap war stories, bond in that way.

But Steven’s favorite part of his profession is pediatric surgery, and, unfortunately, he loves to talk shop. Every morsel of conversation has been inappropriate for dinner and graphic in nature - appendectomy this and tonsillectomy that, abscesses and pus and untreated sores - until Crowley’s face turned as green as her salad and she couldn’t look at her steak anymore.

Neither could their neighbors, who flagged down a passing waiter and requested a new table. They've been sat near the kitchen, which most diners would loathe, but they look heaps happier.

Crowley excused herself as delicately as she could and raced to the loo, needing to escape any more gruesome talk. 

That was over fifteen minutes ago. 

She’s trapped with no way out.

She pictures the layout of the restaurant in her head. There has to be a back way in and out of this place. All restaurants have an exit through the kitchen, right? But the toilet, the kitchen, and the front door are all in full view of their table. Steven is sure to spot her sneaking out no matter how stealthy she is.

Crowley turns on the cold water and splashes her face, scolding herself to think, think, think! She’s an intelligent woman. She can come up with a way out of this. Could she phone someone to come down to the restaurant and make an excuse for her? Not likely, not on short notice. Her friends Anathema and Newt wouldn't be able to find a sitter - ironic, seeing as Crowley is a nanny, and if the tables were turned, she'd be more than willing to lend a hand.

Could she phone her employers, ask Mrs. Dowling to claim an emergency at home? No. She doesn't want to get them tangled up in her personal woes, especially when they concern a man they think of so highly.

She could look up one of those services that make fake calls to your cell phone to get you out of sticky situations, but that would mean going back out there to make the ruse believable. And from the way her hands lock around the lip of the basin every time she thinks about taking a step outside the door, she knows that isn’t happening.

Crowley looks at herself in the mirror, looks into her eyes, and reminds herself to calm down. Slow her breathing. She’ll find a solution. 

And suddenly, there it is. 

In the reflection of the mirror, she sees what might be her only way out.

A window. 

The only window in there, propped open enough that she’d be able to fit through. 

It’s kind of high, sort of narrow, and definitely a last resort. But what other choice does she have?

Loads, in reality. It just doesn't feel like it.

But does she really have to resort to jumping out a window? She’s already been in there for (she checks her watch and her eyes open wide) twenty-five minutes! And her date hasn’t come to check on her once. Maybe the man got the hint and left (hopefully after paying what should be close to a hundred-pound check). 

Crowley tests her luck, opening the door a sliver, praying silently don’t be there, don’t be there, don’t be there...

But there is no God - not one on her side, anyway - because there sits Dr. Steven Malory, talking to the waiter, telling him about another fascinating surgical procedure. He makes an exaggerated cutting motion across his stomach with a butter knife. The poor waiter, weighed down by a tray of soup bowls, nods politely, but looks like he may vomit in the tureen.

She winces. That poor waiter. Who knows how many times he's been called upon to lend an ear since her absence, or how many more times he'll be forced to endure another gory tale before Dr. Malory realizes she's gone. She peeks over her shoulder at the window, then back to the table, where Steven has his phone out, Googling something to the waiter's dismay. She slowly closes the door and backs away.

Window it is.

Crowley shelves the nagging feeling that she's perpetuating the most pathetic trope in the dating world and starts constructing a platform. There’s not much available – a small stepstool underneath the sink; a short, square, plastic rubbish bin that looks less than steady; another taller rubbish bin, dented along one side, looking like someone else already used it to make a break for freedom; and the toilet and basin, both miles away and completely unmovable.

Crowley does some quick engineering in her head and figures that if she turns the small bin over onto the stepstool, she might gain the height she needs to grab the lip of the window and hoist herself up, which would eliminate using the dented bin. She doesn’t like the odds that she won’t slip, fall, and crack her head open. She’s not so much worried about doing any permanent damage, but of having to explain to her date why she’s lying on the floor, covered in trash, and bleeding profusely.

With her luck, he'll giddily insist on stitching up any gashes, drawing a crowd of bystanders around to watch.

Crowley pushes the stool up against the wall with her foot. She dumps the trash from the small bin into its larger counterpart and sets it on the stool, centering it as best she can to keep it from sliding. With a hand on the wall for support, she puts a foot on the bin and attempts to pull herself up. It wobbles back and forth, then gives one backward lurch that nearly sends Crowley flying. 

She determines quickly that this isn’t going to work the way she had planned and makes a desperate leap for the window, using all her upper body strength to get her halfway through.

Crowley shudders when the cold air hits her skin, shocked by the drop in temperature, but mostly from fear of death. She looks down. 

A huge mistake on her part.

A horribly placed streetlamp keeps her from seeing into the alley, but she’s pretty sure she remembers a dumpster underneath this window. She had parked her Bentley in the lot across the way and saw it on the walk in. She looks out into the rows of cars and spots her vehicle. She sighs with relief. 

Now she’s a little more sure, but still not 100%.

Worst case scenario, she lands in food muck, probably not rotten since it’s still actively dinner, and ruins an expensive designer outfit.

Of course, that’s not actually the worst-case scenario, is it? Worst case scenario, she misses the dumpster altogether, hits the pavement, and breaks her leg, but she’s determined to remain optimistic. At this moment, when her anxiety-ridden brain has her convinced that the only logical route out is through this flippin' window, that’s a chance she’s willing to take.

She swings her right leg over, grateful that she chose slacks over a skirt tonight, till she’s straddling the narrow sill, bent in half by the metal lip of the window frame. She balances there, the dull edge digging into her sternum, her belly, and her crotch, but she can’t make herself jump. 

She’ll need to trick herself into it. 

She forces herself to relax, teeter-tottering back and forth, not dwelling on the possible outcome, just trying to work her way to the right far enough that she knocks herself off-kilter.

Fate lends a hand in the form of a drunken passerby yelling, “Oi! Oi, lookie there! There’s a big bird... human... thing hanging out that window!” 

Crowley panics, afraid she's about to be mistaken for someone breaking into a busy restaurant and not out. She fumbles, flails, starts falling head first, scrambles to get a hold. She hears a distant, “No! No, wait!” as her fingers slip. There are three seconds of cold wind and a sinking feeling in her stomach before she lands on her bum, thankfully in the dumpster, surrounded by the smell of not-too-rank food, the squish of something under her body that she thinks might be mashed cauliflower... 

... and a scream.

“Ouch!”

“Oh my God! I’m sorry!” 

Crowley yelps when her body lifts, something extraordinarily strong underneath pushing her up. She reaches around the slippery mess and wet plastic bags, struggling to pull herself off whoever is in the rubbish under her while trying to ignore the gravy seeping into her slacks, or the rice pilaf embedding itself beneath her freshly glossed fingernails. She knows she's broken two at minimum. 

How much worse could this evening get?

“I’m sorry!” Crowley scrambles to her knees, crawls away a few feet. “I’m so, so sorry!” 

“It’s alright, my dear.” A voice underneath her chuckles, its owner emerging from a layer of poached fish and au gratin potatoes.

Crowley turns in time to catch a glimpse as they move into the light. A woman wearing a vintage-inspired emerald gown covered in Hollandaise sauce and ranch dressing smiles sheepishly at her. The white light overhead gives a halo effect to her silvery-blonde hair, and her blue eyes almost glow.

She's quite breathtaking. 

“I thought I had reserved a private dumpster,” she jokes. “I’ll need to have a word with the maître de."

Crowley stares at her, stunned. “I… I don’t understand. What are you doing in here?”

“I suspect I might be here for the same reason as you,” she says, wiping mayonnaise off her hand before offering it to Crowley. “I’m Aziraphale.”

“Crowley. I’m sorry I landed on you.” She takes Aziraphale’s hand, forgetting to wipe hers off before and smushing creamed spinach between them. Crowley groans in embarrassment, but Aziraphale laughs.

“No worries.” Aziraphale doesn't let go immediately the way Crowley thought she would, her smile becoming brighter the longer she holds on. “It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened all evening.”

“So... I take it you’re running away from a bad date, too, huh?” Crowley asks, regretting when Aziraphale finally lets go.

“I'm afraid so.” Aziraphale glances down with a long sigh. “A friend set me up, but I swear, the only men she knows are unemployed, torpid, and skeevy.”

“Wow. That’s some A-plus word usage right there.”

“Yes, well, the written word is my passion."

“Does that mean you're the one who wrecked the silver rubbish bin?"

“Did I?” Aziraphale looks up at the window and grimaces. “I should probably offer to replace that then, shouldn't I? What about you?” Aziraphale turns her soft blue eyes back Crowley's way. “How bad was your date going?”

“I can now perform an appendectomy with my eyes shut.”

“Yikes. I take it that’s not a turn-on for you?”

“Not in the slightest. I appreciate medicine as much as the next gal, but I’d rather not know the gritty details." Crowley stares at Aziraphale until Aziraphale notices, then the two look away, blushing like giggly teenagers flirting in a coffee shop instead of two adults stuck in the trash. Crowley can't help herself. Regardless of the stench of curdled butter and cheese that will probably be with her for life, Aziraphale is a calming presence. And she looks like an angel. An honest-to-God angel! 

And Crowley found her in the trash. 

What are the odds?

“You know, we might want to get out of here before anyone else drops in,” Aziraphale suggests, rising to her feet and lending Crowley a hand.

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees. "Guess that's my night over. Though... " She looks down at her blouse and trousers, positively caked with sweet potatoes, chicken grease, tomato sauce, and chutney "... I’m not looking forward to driving home like this.”

"How far do you have to go?"

"I'm in Mayfair."

"Oh!" Aziraphale gasps. "Isn't that a lovely part of town?"

"I enjoy it," Crowley replies, never having felt quite so proud to live in Mayfair as she does in this moment. "And you?"

"I have a shop in SoHo."

"Lucky. You're just a hop, skip, and a jump, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am... " Aziraphale chews the inside of her cheek as her words hang, balanced in the air between stopping a thought or continuing it. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but if you come back to my shop, I have a shower. We could clean up there... " Aziraphale sputters when Crowley's eyebrow arcs sharply upward. "S-separately, of course! A-and order in some pie. I know a great spot nearby. I dare say they have the best pie in the world! And they deliver.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” Crowley says, wary of taking Aziraphale up on her invitation. Garbage notwithstanding, meeting her has definitely been an improvement to the way things were going. 

"I might have something that would work for you." Aziraphale sizes Crowley up, but not in a creepy way. In a surprisingly nurturing way. "It would be nice to salvage the evening, don't you think?"

"It would." But one disastrous date is plenty for the night. Should Crowley jump straight to another with a woman she met in a dumpster? Then again, it would be wrong for her to assume that spending time with Aziraphale would be disastrous. Plus the story of how they met is way too fantastic to waste on self-doubt.

Crowley took a chance on jumping out a window with only hope to guide her. She’d be stupid not to take a chance on this.

“Sure,” Crowley says, confident with her decision. “Your car or mine?” The words slip out before she considers the fact that she's talking about her baby. A vintage car that she, due to an extreme case of sheer luck, has been the sole owner of. She won't even wear muddy shoes in her car. Or rayon! On top of her own ruined outfit, which will need to be dry cleaned twice and then set on fire, if she lets Aziraphale in her car, she'll have two sloppy, food-stained seats that she’ll need to have scoured. 

Maybe Aziraphale will laugh her off and offer to take her own car. Why would she want to leave it behind, anyway?

“Oh, I didn't drive,” Aziraphale says, looking down sadly at her own destroyed dress. “I took the bus.”

Crowley's heart clenches. There's that decision made. There's no way she's going to suggest Aziraphale take the bus while Crowley drives her car. She just prays that, with time, her baby will forgive her.

“My car it is then.” Crowley loops her arm covered in soup through Aziraphale’s arm covered in whipped cream and leads the way. Aziraphale smiles, holds Crowley's arm a wee bit tighter, and Crowley becomes certain this new development will be worth the money she'll spend detailing her car in the morning.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable wives #ineffable idiots #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

[thefanficmonster]

Never Satisfied [Chapter 4]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language

A collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“there’ll be a next time...right?“

Corpse and Cora have found a nice secluded picnic table outside the restaurant, out in the sun rays’ path enough for the warmth of the day to be caressing their skin while simultaneously being a safe distance away from the other people enjoying their lunch. Their meal has just arrived, bringing a large grin to Cora’s face.

“So?” She asks as she chews the bite she took without waiting even thirty seconds. Her feet are on the bench, legs crossed, elbows rested on her knees as she chomps down, happily perched in front of him.

Corpse is enraptured by her. He’s staring a little, desperately trying to keep it subtle, hands still holding the small bag of food as he peers at her, a hood over his dark curls. Even in this quiet little part of town, he still doesn’t feel safe showing his whole face - no mask, no eyepatch, no privacy and sense of security. But as his eyes take in his lunch partner, her calm aura and leisure attitude, he can’t help but admit that his heart quickens a little. The girl moves with the grace of someone not afraid to kick ass and he is simply awestruck by her beauty and outward powerful aura. He’s never before been so captivated by a person - someone so different and so similar to him simultaneously.

Swallowing nervously, he reminds himself that she has taken on the role of his checkpoint, something like a friend, a hand to hold if he starts feeling anxious. Even if it’s just for today, he appreciates it wholeheartedly. It’s more than he’s ever been offered by others. That type of comfort is something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Surprising himself when his hand reaches out to touch her free one, he’s surprised yet again when he finds the touch so familiar and welcoming, so natural.  Despite it being just a brief movement, his knuckles softly brushing against her wrist before withdrawing and returning his focus to his meal, it is so meaningful and soothing, he’s afraid he might get used to it. Addicted to it. 

Half expecting a comment or a look, he is taken aback when she doesn’t give any sort of reaction. No movement, no expression change, just curiously watching him while she eats, waiting for his response to her previous dubious question.

 “So?” He rumbles softly, fishing out his lunch from the confines of the little paper bag. He isn’t sure what type of answer he should be expecting but he’s sure he won’t be disappointed regardless.

“Tell me about yourself! You’re not all rumbles, fear and BONES, right? You’ve gotta have a personality under that black hoodie.” She says enthusiastically, her eyes glimmering as though she’ll dig the answers out of him with her gaze alone. He’s not sure whether he’d prefer that or not. He doesn’t like talking about himself but he has an even stronger distaste for the idea of her seeing some information he’d rather keep hidden. Good thing she doesn’t seem to be capable of telepathy, but even that wouldn’t be too odd for her.

His cheeks flush faintly and he looks down for a moment to take the first bite of his food, buying himself some time to think and formulate a proper sentence. He racks his brain, looking for what would be the most vague yet satisfactory answer. 

What am I? I mean, all she stated is true, I definitely am all that...but I have a hard time coming up with what else I am? What else makes me me?  Youtube? Anxiety? Suicidal ideations hidden underneath liquor?

“I um...dropped out of school at, like, thirteen.” He finally speaks, mumbling around the small bite he worked on swallowing. 

Cora’s eyes widen and her brows shoot up. Now he is nervous, his anxiety slowly starting to creep in as he’s worrying if he has said something wrong. Or something that she could be disgusted by. 

Who would want to talk to some grown ass man who couldn’t even make it to highschool? How fucking sad is that? She has all right to judge me for it. 

However, unlike everybody else in his life who’s given him a frown of pity while internally thinking of how absolutely fucked up he had to be to drop out so young, Cora spared him from the pitiful glance he has grown to hate so much. Instead, he sees something alike amazement on her face as she sips her drink before saying:

“Damn dude, that’s intense. I mean, it sucks cause I can’t imagine you had a normal childhood if you’re bailing from school that young but, nowadays, who among us actually had a real childhood? Very few, I’d say.” She grins, putting down the soda can, her eyes leaving his for only the briefest of moments instead of the familiar awkward eye-contact avoidance he’d face when this topic would be nudged during a conversation. Still, the relief and skepticism in Corpse can never end their war so easily - there’s still that shred of doubt that she’s just good at hiding her pity or judgement. Nevertheless, she continues, “You’re doing well for yourself, you’re in an ok place right now, right? Isn’t that what matters?.” She concludes, touching his fingers as a form of yet another subtle reassurance. 

He looks down and finds himself ever so carefully curling one of his fingers around hers, just briefly before he draws back fearfully. “Yeah...guess having an apartment in a shitty part of town, and a car that seems to attract criminals could be considered ‘doing okay’.” He smiles faintly under his hood and she laughs, that bubbly little noise that he is slowly realizing he wants to hear more of. 

“You got a car, that’s more than I have.” Cora pokes her tongue out with a little growl before leaning down to take another bite of her lunch. “So, you like music and aren’t a narc. What else you got up your sleeve?”

Corpse smiles a bit and takes a sip of his drink before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I like video games too.” 

That seems innocent enough, right? Everyone likes video games...or people tend to be okay with them, at least. Video games are fun.

Another bright, sun-like smile. “Yeah? Well in that case I’ll have to kick your ass in Mario Kart some time.” She threatens playfully. 

So she might want to hang out, he thinks to himself, the thought causing his heart to do a little flip and he smiles an almost shy and timid smirk. “Challenge accepted.”

“What do you do for work?”

That question catches him off-guard, causing his eyes to widen a bit. He doesn’t know if it would be better to lie or just tell the truth. He narrates stories on the internet and makes and puts out music people have constantly been telling him wouldn’t be enjoyed. He doesn’t see how that would leave a bad taste in her mouth exactly but because of his inability to stop himself from overthinking he doesn’t want to run the risk of repulsing her. Then again, he doesn’t want to lie either, he’s been so honest with her thus far, why would he derail now and because of such a simple question. That’s why he chooses to answer truthfully but keep his answer relatively vague: “I do online work and make music I haven’t released yet. I honestly dunno if I ever will.” That last part felt like a harsh hit of reality coming on too suddenly, forcing him to look away from her to gather his composure and put it back together.

“I bet it’s good. You’ll have to let me hear it when you get something done. I’ve got a clearly refined taste in music, but I bet you already figured that out.” She exaggerates a wink, reaching over to wiggle the straw in her drink. 

Feeling a bit less tense now, he clears his throat and picks up the conversation once again. “What about you? You keep asking me all these questions, but all I know about you is that you’re a klepto with no car.” 

That signature bright and bubbly laughter leaves Cora’s chest, sending Corpse a millisecond away from swooning over her completely. “I’m actually a starving artist. I’m a pet photographer and I'm going back to school for advertising graphic design. When I’m not off goofing around with people getting their dogs birthday documented, I’m working at ye good ol’ Starbucks, serving all the...” Her voice lifts to a higher pitch and is now coming more from the back of her throat as she takes on the most preppy tone she could muster, “Beckys their venti mocha caramel frappuccino with TWO extra pumps of caramel, but with SOY because they’re all on a diet. Funny how that works, no? All those women with the exact same order and exact same attributes - I almost laugh whenever one of them walks in. You can smell them from a block away.” 

Corpse chokes out a laugh as he covers his mouth, hiding his half chewed bite from view. He definitely wasn’t expecting that. Then again,  he can’t help but acknowledge the warmth that has spread across his cheeks at how she giggles along with him. “And to be fair,” Cora quickly interrupts herself, “I am not a klepto, I just really liked the belt I found and thought forty five dollars was a rip off.” She smirks, finding herself absentmindedly looping her pinky with his. Corpse doesn’t look down, doesn’t comment, doesn’t want her to know he noticed, because maybe she’d put an end to their so small yet so meaningful contact. Instead, he smiles a little and swallows the last bite of his lunch, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and he briefly entertains the idea that he maybe wasn’t the only one awestruck. 

Anyhow, that thought gets pushed down real quick when he considers how absolutely out of his league she is, and how...well, how he’s in absolutely no league whatsoever. The world has done plenty to prove that to him real fast. Corpse sees himself as a nobody; he believes he doesn’t matter and everybody likes to remind him of it. But, as Cora’s pinky curls a little and one of her thumbs brushes against the arch of his wrist, all that bitter venom in his cold soul starts to slowly ease up, loosening its typically firm hold of his mind. Maybe, just maybe, one day, he would matter to someone. Someday.

@fockingwhore  @vixenl  @annshit  @wineandionysus  @wiseflamingoqueen

#corpse husband #corpse #husband #corpse fanfic #corpse fic #corpse fandom #corpse fanfiction #corpse fluff #corpse imagines #corpse imagine #corpse x original character #corpse x oc #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse husband fanfic #fic #fan #fanfic #fluff #fanfiction #fandom #original female character #oc #original character #romance #love

[camillemontespan]

us & other stories [AU. TRR] [part one: drake & camille]

This is the first part of this series that I plan to write more of in the New Year. This will be the only series I will focus on now, as opposed to the hundreds I had going. Nice and simple, back to basics. I do love an AU. 

                              *****************************************

The therapist sat settled against the plush velvet chair and crossed her legs. On her lap was a notebook and a dictaphone was set on the table in front of her. She studied her two subjects who looked anything but settled on the other side of the table.

'So, Drake, Camille,' the therapist started, speaking in a calm voice that dripped like honey. 'Why are you both here today?'

Camille's jaw set and her eyes glistened. She quickly turned to look away, not wanting to embarrass herself.

Drake exhaled and raised his hands in defeat. 'We want to be happy again,' he replied, his voice weary. 'All we want is to get back to how we were. How we used to be.'

The therapist nodded and made a note in her notepad. 'How long have you been married?'

'Seven years,' Drake said. The therapist eyed Camille who was looking studiously at the floor. Clearly, she wasn't the talker in this relationship.

'And what made you both decide to come here today?'

Camille looked up quickly, her brown eyes flashing. 'He decided,' she said bluntly.

Drake closed his eyes. He was obviously counting to ten. 'Camille..'

'No Drake!' Camille interrupted. 'I'm all for saving our marriage but couldn't we at least do this in private? As in, no therapy? Just us, alone, over a bottle of wine, talking it out? I don't want to air our dirty laundry to this.. This person! Why can't we just talk in private -'

'Because I've tried that a hundred times!' Drake burst out, whipping his body round to face his wife. 'I've tried so hard to get you to just talk to me but you're never there! You're always on your laptop checking work emails, or you're taking important phone calls at 11pm-'

'I'm sorry that I'm trying to provide for our family!' Camille shouted. 'I'm sorry I have a job that demands a lot of me! But I need to keep this family afloat-'

'I do that too!' Drake cried. 'I'm the one who stays home all day looking after the kids, I'm the one who gets them ready for school! I've taken being a fucking house husband as a second job, which normally I'd be fine with, except I don't get any thanks!'

Camille stared at him. 'I do thank you!'

'Hardly,' Drake said dryly. 'We barely talk anymore. In fact, this is the most we've spoken all fucking week-'

'Enough!' the therapist called out sharply, pressing her fingers on either side of her nose. The warring couple looked at her and kept their mouths shut.

The therapist sighed and leaned forward, adopting a pose that encouraged support and confidence.

'Clearly, you both need to talk,' she said, 'which is convenient since you are here. But this is only going to work if both of you are ready to talk to each other in front of me. It can't be one sided. Camille, do you want to work on your marriage?'

Camille nodded, deflated. 'I do. I really do. I've just.. Never been to therapy before.'

Drake smirked. 'Usually she's the one who is always talking about feelings and being open. Oh how the tables have turned.'

'Stop being a prick, Drake,' Camille bit back, clenching the edge of the table.

Drake shook his head. 'Hypocrite,' he murmured. 'You're happy to help out our friends with their problems but as soon as its you under the microscope -'

'I don't want to be here because it means I've failed you!' Camille burst out, tears spilling down her cheeks, unable to hold back her true feelings anymore. 'The fact that we couldn't even talk to each other and end up here, seeking professional help..' her voice became low. 'I've let you down.'

Drake swallowed. His face had turned pale. 'You.. You haven't failed me,' he whispered, his eyes now boring into hers. 'I didn't take you here today to make you feel like a failure. That wasn't my intention. I just want to talk to you. That's all.'

The therapist studied them before making a prompt decision. 'Sit closer together,' she instructed.

'Why?' Drake asked, wrenching his eyes away from his wife.

'Because if you are going to talk about your marriage, you need to know this is a safe space. That means you can talk to me and talk to each other. Sit close together and support each other. Ignore your anger and hurt. Sit close, hold hands if you need to, and just talk. This is a safe space.'

They both reluctantly moved their chairs and sat closer together. Camille warily placed her hand on the table, closer to Drake's side- he rested his hand on hers. The therapist noticed that Drake discreetly squeezed Camille's hand.

That was a good sign. Often, the couples she saw refused to even sit closer. The therapist found that some couples didn't want to share more space than was necessary. The fact that Drake and Camille had followed her instructions and Drake squeezed her hand showed that there was still love there. They still wanted each other.

'You are both so busy keeping your family life together that you have forgotten that you are both each others family,' the therapist said. 'You have to make time for each other-'

'We're so busy,' Camille said, her voice cracking. 'We don't have time.'

'You do,' the therapist told her softly. 'If this marriage is worth saving, you will make the time.'

Camille fell silent. A tear slid down her cheek. 'I want to make the time,' she whispered. 'I do.'

Drake looked at her now. His eyes were filled with anguish. 'The world isn't going to end because you missed an email or work call,' he murmured. 'But..' He looked like he was about to say something else but decided against it. It didn't matter, the unspoken words were what Camille heard. Her eyes filled with more tears and she squeezed Drake's hand.

'Let's talk,' she whispered. 'Please.'

                                         **************************

The therapist learned that Drake and Camille Walker had been married for seven years and had two daughters. Lily was seven years old while Luna was two.

Camille worked as a partner at the prestigious law firm Pearl and Goldfinch, while Drake worked from home as a freelance graphic designer for a distillery company based in Brooklyn. He gave up working in the office as he wanted to be there to look after the kids while juggling his job. Their family situation was a modern and progressive one, but in the past six months it had become fractured and full of tension.

'I'm exhausted all the time,' Camille admitted. 'All I do is work and I barely see the girls as I get home late. I want to take reduced hours but I'm sorry, I don't mean to be arrogant Drake, but my paycheck is the one keeping us above water.'

Drake had understood and didn't argue. He knew the logistics. His job, as much as he loved it, didn't pay near enough to what he liked but it was flexible which was what mattered to him. It meant he could pick and choose his hours without sacrificing family life. Camille didn't have the same luxury.

'I feel like your job takes precedent over everything,' Drake told her. 'I get you want to support us and keep the family thriving, but I barely see you. We're like passing ships in the night.' His voice cracked. 'I miss you.'

The therapist noted the sadness on both their faces.

'When was the last time you had a date?' the therapist asked.

Camille and Drake blinked.

'Uh..' Drake mumbled. 'No idea.'

The therapist nodded. 'Thought so. Okay, this is going to be baby steps. But your homework after this session is to go on a date. A proper date. Don't talk about kids or work, just focus on each other and appreciate the moments. Reconnect.'

Camille nodded eagerly. 'Okay, Um, I'll block out a night -'

'What about right after this?' Drake asked Camille. 'The girls are being babysat by Bertrand. I'm sure he would understand.'

Camille smiled softly. 'Sure. Okay, let's do it.'

The therapist put down her notebook. 'Perfect but remember, baby steps here. Same time next week?'

                                              ***************************

Drake and Camille stepped out of the therapist's office building into the New York street. It was December and the air was biting cold, causing Camille to wrap her purple trench coat closer around herself. Drake studied her for a moment.  He could see that her entire demeanour had changed in the past seven years.

The old Camille had been carefree, confident and easy to talk to. But something had changed in her and she had gradually become serious, anxious and prone to an argument. Drake just wanted her old self back. He missed the woman he fell in love with.

Not that Drake was perfect. He knew he had changed too.

'So, where do you want to go?' Camille asked, breaking the silence.

Drake thought to himself. 'Drink? Think we need alcohol after that hour under the microscope, heh.'

'Which bar do you want to go to?' she asked, scuffing her boot on the sidewalk.

'I imagine you'd like a fancy wine bar,' Drake said, without sarcasm, 'though a dive bar would be more my scene. But hey, it's ladies choice. You pick the wine bar and we'll get the best bottle there is.'

Camille stared at him for a long moment. Crossing her arms, she slowly wandered towards him until she was close enough for him to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. He adored her eyes.

'Dive bar it is,' she whispered, taking his hand and leading him down the street.

Drake felt warm surprise. Surprise because she had chosen a dive bar, the type of date he used to take her on before they got married. Surprise because she was holding his hand. He couldn't remember the last time they had held hands but this felt nice.

                                            *************************

They found a bar down the street called Black Fox. Drake told Camille to take a seat and he'd get the drinks in.

'What do you want?' he asked.

'Whiskey,' she replied.

Drake smirked and went over to the bar to order. Camille shrugged her coat off and delicately sat down at a high table, tucking her dark hair behind her ears in that anxious way she did. It was an anxious habit of hers and she hated herself when she did it.

She watched Drake at the bar. He was so tall, so broad. He commanded attention just from his stature alone. But he was also handsome, with dark hair, kind brown eyes and big hands that made her feel safe when they took her own. He smiled at the bartender, that lazy smile Drake had that Camille loved. She felt a tug on her heart. 'Be normal,' she whispered to herself. 'Don't fuck this up.'

She was secretly glad Drake had taken her to therapy today. Sure, he had sprung it on her as a surprise this morning which she had been furious about, but in the end, she was glad. She had been feeling low about their relationship for some time but had been too scared to mention anything. Too scared in case Drake turned to her and said, 'You're right, we're failing, let's get a divorce.'

She could see now that she had been overthinking it. Camille did a lot of overthinking these days.

Drake came back to the table with two glasses and a bottle. 'Thought I'd push the boat out,' he joked, setting the glasses down. He sat on the high chair opposite her and gave her a wobbly smile. Camille suddenly reached out to rest her hand on his cheek, her heart wrenching at the wobbly smile.

Drake's breath caught as his eyes roamed her face. 'You.. You okay?' he asked.

Camille nodded. 'I will be.'

                                            ****************************

Dive bars had been their thing at the start of their relationship.

Drake hated fancy restaurants with starched white table cloths and hard to pronounce dishes. He preferred bars with low lighting, smoke and dark corners where he could sit and be alone.

He had taken Camille to bars at the beginning of their relationship which he could see now wasn't the most romantic. A woman like Camille deserved better, he thought in hindsight. But she had been so easy going and told him she wasn't keen on fancy places either. She just wanted to get to know him without frills.

They had shared many bottles of whiskey over the years. Drake felt it only appropriate to share a bottle now.

'I'm sorry things got heavy in there,' Camille told him, pouring a double measure for Drake then for herself. 'I let my emotions get carried away.'

Drake smiled. 'You've always been the emotional one. I'm used to it.'

'I just felt like a terrible wife,' Camille said. 'And mother actually. Have things gotten so bad that we need a professional to help us?' she broke off and looked down at the table.

Drake reached out to take her hand. 'It's not so bad that it can't be salvaged,' he whispered. 'I love you.'

Camille nodded mutely. She was chewing the inside of her cheek, trying not to cry.

'Let's have a drink,' Drake said, raising his glass. Camille mimicked him and they clinked their glasses together.

'I love you too,' Camille murmured. 'I really do.'

Drake squeezed her hand. 'Then we're halfway there.'

                                             ***********************

Words tumbled out over the next two hours. Words of hurt, of frustration, of love.

'I guess I stopped being me after we had Lily,' Camille admitted. 'I'm not blaming her of course not. But I became so wrapped up in being a mom and wanting to give her the best life possible. I thought to do that would mean extra hours at work so my boss would recognise me and I'd be rewarded with pay rises and promotions. A pay rise so I could send her to the best school and make sure she never went without. I didn't want to give her the same childhood I had. It only got more full on after we had Luna.'

Drake nodded. He knew that Camille loved fiercely. She didn't want to repeat her parents mistakes.

'But I lost sight of everything else,' Camille continued. 'I began to work too much, put pressure on myself. I let my marriage become grey and cracked.'

Drake swigged his whiskey before he interrupted her. 'Camille, don't take all the blame for this,' he said, his voice steady. 'I'm at fault too.'

'No, you're like the perfect dad and husband,' Camille muttered, sipping her drink.

'No,' Drake replied bluntly. 'I put added pressure on you. When you came home late, exhausted after a long day, I would get at you. I'd complain I never saw you. I wouldn't ask how your day was because you being away made me resentful. Not because I think you should be at home like a good little wife but because all your time was dedicated to other people. I wanted a slice of that. But you were trying to keep this family afloat, as you said to the therapist. You were working hard for us. I just was too selfish to see it.'

Camille nodded slowly. 'Neither of us have been so good, have we?' she joked half heartedly, giving Drake a wry smile.

'No. We're meant to be a team at the end of the day,' Drake agreed. 'We both let our sides down.'

Camille exhaled and tossed back her whiskey. 'Can we get back together? As we were?'

'I want to,' Drake said. 'We've just got to put the work in. Be ourselves again. Drake and Camille.'

Camille smiled. 'You've become so in tune with your emotions,' she said. 'When we met, you were so closed off. Now you're the one saying we need to talk, see therapists..'

Drake smirked. 'I learned from you.'

Camille giggled. 'When did we switch places?!'

Drake grinned and poured another two glasses of whiskey. 'I know right?'

Camille raised her glass and fixed her eyes on his. 'To moments in between.'

Drake blushed, remembering the old toasts they used to do. Moments in between. Those moments in life that were to be appreciated and remembered fondly. Moments like stolen kisses, declarations of love, freshly brewed coffee in the morning with the love of your life. Cuddles with Lily. Playing with Luna. Making love with Camille. Moments in between.

Drake smiled and clinked his glass against hers.

                                             **************************

They stumbled out of the door after finishing the whiskey. Their vision was blurred and minds were hazy but damn it, they were having a good time.

After their serious talk, they had found themselves gradually joking and flirting over the bottle of whiskey. The alcohol had loosened their inhibitions and made them more cosy, more social.

Now, stepping out of the bar, the cold air hit them and Camille shivered. Drake smiled and gently brought her into him, wrapping his arms around her. 'There, there,' he said, patting her head. 'There, there.'

Camille dissolved into giggles. 'Thanks DAD.'

Drake chucked and held her tightly. He inhaled the scent of her hair - always coconut - and appreciated this cosy moment.

'I'm kinda hungry..' Camille said, her voice muffled against Drake's coat.

'Same,' he replied. 'What do you want?'

Camille wrinkled her nose, deep in thought, and Drake was struck by how much she reminded him of Lily. Their oldest daughter adopted that expression when she concentrated too.

'I want.. a cronut,' Camille decided, swaying. 'All the cronuts.'

Drake took her hand. 'Let's search for cronuts!'

                                           **********************

They wandered to Central Park. The trees were decorated with fairylights that were starting to glow against the twilight sky. The ice rink that dominated Central Park at this time of year was full of people, all laughing and screaming as they either skated well or fell down. The smell of hot chocolate, cinnamon and cloves mixed together.

Camille pointed to a food stand. 'I see cronuts.'

Drake led her towards the food stand. 'Two cronuts please, good sir!' he said to the vendor.

Camille snuggled into Drake as they waited for the cronuts. She looked up at him when he wasn't paying attention to her and she felt warm. How had she forgotten him? How had she neglected their relationship? He was a good man. He made her happy. Happiness was more important than money and targets.

Drake handed her a cronut. She took it gratefully and they found a bench to sit down on and watch the ice skaters.

'This is nice,' Camille said.

'Meh, smores are better,' Drake replied, shrugging.

Camille grinned. 'I meant this. Us. Cronuts are just a bonus.'

Their eyes met and stayed on each other for a long moment. Drake looked away first, taking a bite out of his cronut.

They ate in comfortable silence as they watched the ice skaters. When they finished, Drake took Camille's hand and guided her down the path to the ice rink.

'Uhh Drake..'

He gave her a wink. 'Ready to show them how it's done?'

Camille stared at him. 'But.. We've been drinking!' she hissed. 'This has disaster written all over it!'

Drake frowned. 'Like what?'

'Like we fall over! Or I fall and someone skates over my finger! Or we fall into people! Or things become all blurry! Or-'

Drake sighed and placed his hands on her shoulders. 'Camille,' he said firmly. 'Live a little. Come on, you would've done this years ago without overthinking. Why do you overthink so much?'

Camille bit her lip. 'I don't know.. I just worry more now, I guess. I worry about everything. Little and big things.'

Drake leaned down to press a kiss on her forehead. 'I got you.'

Camille looked out at the ice rink. Everyone looked happy. She wanted to be happy. She wanted Drake to be happy.

'Let's do it,' she decided. Drake grinned and they rushed to the booth to rent skates.

                                        ****************************

Drake held Camille's hand as they skated around the rink. They hadn't skated since they visited Vienna a few years ago with their friends. This was better. It was just the two of them.

Sure, their tipsyness from the whiskey wasn't helping their skating ability but who cared? Drake twirled Camille around and she threw back her head as she laughed, that throaty laugh she did that Drake loved.

'Ahh fuck Drake, I'm falling!' she squealed, losing balance as the twirling became too flamboyant.

Drake grabbed her and held her tightly to him. 'I got you, kid,' he said.

Camille flashed him a warm smile and they continued to skate in circles around, dodging kids that were skating fast.

They skated to the edge and rested for a while, looking up at the skyscrapers and fairylights that lit New York. Camille looked over at Drake who's cheeks were pink from the cold. His scarf was pulled up tightly around his neck.

Camille hesitantly moved closer. Drake looked down at her and smiled softly. Feeling brave, Camille leaned up and kissed him.

It was a deep kiss. A kiss that said so much that she had left unsaid. To Drake, it was familiar and cosy. They hadn't kissed like this in.. weeks. Weeks and weeks.

Drake's hands pulled her in closer before they raked through her hair. Camille moaned against his lips. He tasted of whiskey and cronut.

They slowly pulled apart, their cheeks flushed now from something else. Drake gently tucked a lock of Camille's hair behind her ear, his eyes locked on hers.

'I'm sorry I dragged you to therapy,' he murmured. 'I just wanted to talk.'

Camille smiled wobbly and wrapped her arms around his neck. 'Let's keep talking.'

                                               ******************

The following week, the therapist listened as Drake and Camille talked honestly about their feelings. They didn't raise their voices and they didn't interrupt each other. It was a good conversation, flowing easily. They held hands the whole time.

'Are you spending more time together?' the therapist asked.

Camille nodded. 'We have decided to have a date night every week. And I've blocked out three nights a week in my diary so I can leave work early. I want to see the kids for dinner and read bedtime stories. No work phone after 5.30pm.

The therapist made some more notes. 'Anything else?'

Drake leaned forward. 'I’m going to be more supportive and try and be there for us as a couple. But we want to continue therapy. There's still a lot to unpack but I think we can get there.'

The therapist looked up and smiled warmly.

'Mr and Mrs Walker, I have absolute faith in you. So, same time next week?'

#trr fanfic #drake walker #drake walker x mc

[katieusualthings]

The reason why Kimetsu no Yaiba (KnY) is so well received by the Japanese (as such a remarkable phenomenon)

Written by Vũ trụ 一１９九

Translated by Meownie

Proofread by Alice

Everyone knows that just in a short time, KnY has almost occupied the spotlight in all fields, everyone talks about it, the number of sale in goods and comics is enormous, both of them are sold out, etc.

Following my own curiosity with this phenomenon, as well as my existent love for the original work of Kimetsu no Yaiba (the manga), I dug into this issue because, in Japan, every trend has its own root.

Taking aside all the numbers of sale or whatever, which have been analyzed by a lot of people, as I’m not a data person, I will look into the content, the storyline and the core of this phenomenon in reference to many sources and comments about KnY coming from people in this country.

Many of you say that KnY is only at an average level compared to the manga/anime general standard. Then let me tell you what the extraordinariness that an ordinary series can do.

Apparently, there are always conflicting opinions, the Japanese community is no exception. However, the pro-KnY still grows bigger and there is no sign of softening. And here are some positive comments for the success of this series.

1. The anime is excellent in graphics, sound effects, the plot details are neatly arranged, easy to understand and heart touching

Cannot ignore the fact that the anime has built up the KnY’s success. Ufotable made the anime so excellent, especially in terms of visual and sound. It makes the story more approachable and the audience more empathetic to it.

The anime is a contribution to KnY’s greatest success. But many seem to be mistaken that only thanks to the anime did KnY succeed like that?

If the anime succeeds, viewers will be more interested and curious about the main storyline, so they will try to read the original manga. But if the manga was a trashy series, they could stop buying/reading it and just wait for the anime, right? So what is the reason behind the boom in the KnY manga sales until the beginning of this year, and its rankings which are always in the top 3 of WSJ magazine?

Sometimes ago, I did a research and presentation about the anime/manga industry along with the cultural reforms that contributed to the revival of the Japanese economy after the war. In that research, there was a detailed analysis of the connection between the original manga and the anime adaptation as a yin-yang relationship. They are all for the sake of the original publisher and the animation studio, so one will complement the other.

Manga is a product which only attracts a certain group of people, it is not so popular since there are homemakers, young children, the elderly, and people who are not fond of reading, those who do not find manga interesting. But anime is more universal and extensive, as you know, Japanese families often buy a TV to watch the news or to entertain on weekends. The anime is only about hearing and watching, so anyone can access it. When a manga is adapted to an anime, it brings the original closer to the people, and furthermore, hopefully, make it to the big screen.

On the other hand, the original manga is the base, the soul of the work, so readers feel more excited when waiting for each chapter be published in the magazine, waiting for the changes to be re-compiled each time for a new volume. So the manga contributes to increasing a large number of consumers. Of course, buying DVD-BD is definitely more expensive than buying the volume.

As a result, success is mutual support between manga and anime. And making an anime warmly-received is not that easy, the good base of the manga should be credited and vice versa.

I will talk more about the content of the original in the second reason. But initially, it is necessary to distinguish: not all good originals are well-received and vice versa. Everything’s got its relative value, in which context and timing play a role.

2. The charisma of the protagonist, Tanjirou, a young boy trying to save his sister; With a warm-hearted characteristic, his story is not about “revenge” but “restoration”

11 over 10 people being asked, answered that KnY’s success comes from the main character. This is yet another compliment to the editor who directed the way for KnY, Katayama-san, for orienting to make a more gentle, kind Tanjirou, eliminating the brute in the original portray.

Firstly, it is appropriate in this day and age to have a main character who is kind and gentle, which replaces for the old MC portray, who was noisy, hot-tempered and “brainless”. Secondly, it suits the plot that Croc-sensei wants to shape, a story about a boy finding a way to help his sister to be human back, about family love and values. A character who is kind-hearted, with a loving and protective care towards his sister, is more suitable for the readers. On the other hand, the story which does not turn to revenge, but to the path of helping the younger sister to be back to normal and the main character with his sympathy for the tragic fate of the demons makes the readers/audience impressed and pleased and feel like they’re saved and soothed as well.

Tanjirou takes the crown not only because of his kindness but also the determination and strong will, as he does not forgive the crimes committed by the demons. Yes, he is surely sympathetic to them but they all have to pay for their guilt. Therefore, our main character is always consistent from the beginning to the latest chapter and that personality has never wavered.

Not to mention, there is an indispensable point in the MC of WSJ, that they all constantly try their best and do not deny what they are given.

Tanjirou carries all of those points of a MC of WSJ but still reaches many different types of audiences. Lots of mothers want their children to watch KnY so they can show more love towards their families and younger sisters like Tanjirou does.

That is the greatest success of the series. And that’s the reason why the media team take the slogan “Japan’s softest slaying demon story” to PR KnY successfully everywhere.

3. The next detail making the manga a big hit is the consistency in story theme, which is “family”

As everyone knows, the shounen mangas in general and ones in the WSJ, in particular, all discuss the solidarity. But there is a theme in KnY which reaches the audience more easily and widely: “family”. This is the affection that almost everyone can receive and understand.

The modern social situation of Japan, an Asian country, where even though family love is appreciated, the family warmth have gradually disappeared. Children who reach the age of independence and are out of a parent’s guardianship are able to easily leave the country, live independently and rarely return to visit their family. Here in Japan, the proportion of the elderly, late marriage and single people is increasing sharply. The rate of living alone now in Japan is very high and alarming. So a series about love for parents and siblings in the family is like warmth for this cold society.

From an old man’s POV who are living here: “I feel wholesome and nostalgic of the days I spent with my family, feel warm when watching KnY, and how Kamado siblings protect each other.”

The elderly do not pay attention to whatever trend is, they just watch TV basically to enjoy good work and support it.

The family theme is easy to empathize and to be delivered, so even the kids can watch and enjoy it with their mom. There are some POVs from some mothers, telling that their little kids love KnY and hoping they love their family just like the characters in the story do.

Although the context in the story is dark, the path of the story, the way expressing the theme of Croc-sensei is easy to understand, which brings in the light in the darkness and makes the number of readers become more diverse, makes the work more popular and universal.

Tbh, KnY is still very “bright” compared to many series in Japan, so a lot of children can approach this manga. Moreover, there are many cute characters and details in the story.

4. The gap between characters makes a unique way in Gotouge-sensei’s character creation

The Japanese love the interesting dynamic, and they define it as “the gap”. The more surprising gap a character has, the more popular that character is. Briefly, it is, “not judging the book by its cover”.

The first example is the character has the same or sometimes, more popularity over the MC in Japan, Zenitsu. They don’t usually like noisy guys, but because Zenitsu is a cool character and has an interesting gap, which attracts readers. Apart from his noisy, cheerful behaviour,  he is a serious, thoughtful and experienced person who accepts pain and loss just like an adult.

Then there are countless characters with interesting gaps like Inosuke, Giyuu, and the Pillars. Crocs-sensei’s characters are not many, compared to a shounen series. But this is the mangaka’s intelligence to choose the strengths outshining the weakness. Although sensei does not create many characters, sensei has built the base for the character very well, for the impressive appearance of each one and makes the readers/audiences remember them deeply.

The proof of this success is that KnY goods are sold out with every character, from the most to least favourite.

5. The story is clearly set in the Taisho era, coming with its proportional design and architecture that makes the reader accessible

Taisho era is neither old nor new. The people witnessing the change in that era are still alive. But Taisho was the period of transition with the insecurities in the society. So the creation of a fantasy battle with the chaos between demons and people is extremely suitable for the Taisho era.

There are billions of reasons, like the previous parts, here would mention only main points. KnY is simply a normal series, but it is the ORDINARINESS that pulls out the EXTRAORDINARINESS and delivers those CLOSER to the readers. And this “extraordinariness” is not something that a so-normal series can do.

I love the welcoming spirit of the Japanese, they always appreciate new things, yet never forget to maintain and preserve the old ones.

Because it is a constant rule in development.

The same thing applies for the WSJ: increasing sales for the currently published series, at the same time discovering and boosting new titles. And the latter is more important than the former. But they still welcome new series that inherit such values in shounen genre, the magazine would develop the series open-heartedly if it is deserved.

I am also a fan of shounen and WSJ, I think KnY totally deserves the success it has achieved now.

I also hope it is kindly well-received because Kimetsu no Yaiba was made not to be a replacement, not to take any seats from any series. It is simply a shounen legacy in WSJ magazine. You would know that the spirit in shounen manga highly values this “inheritance” characteristic.

#Kimetsu no Yaiba #manga #anime #tanjirou kamado #kamado tanjirou #nezuko kamado #kamado nezuko #giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #zenitsu agatsuma #agatsuma zenitsu #inosuke hashibira #hashibira inosuke

[cbk1000]

So You Want To Read Literature In a Foreign Language

I’ve had a few language asks here and there and thought I would do a write-up specifically on reading in a second language, as that is A. My specialty and B. Most language courses are going to focus on speaking and listening comprehension. Which certainly isn’t a bad thing, but the vocabulary necessary to carry on a competent conversation in a second tongue is much smaller than what you’ll need to read even popular fiction, let alone books of more serious literary aspirations. I’ve arranged this list in order of approximate difficulty, but of course it will always depend upon the exact book/article/comic you’re reading and whether or not its vocabulary coincides with your own.

I’ll put this under a cut, as it will be quite long.

A few tips, however, before I get on with the list: the more you read, the faster you’ll improve, as with anything. If you have the time and drive to read an hour or more a day in your target language, you’ll be knocking out books in no time. In my first year of Russian I was reading for 2+ hours a day, and by the end of that year I was reading fluently with no help from English translations (as I used in my earlier months) and I could pick up just about any genre I liked. My Russian vocabulary, of course, was still not as advanced as my English, but I was able to read fairly complex literature and to understand the majority of the text.

If a piece is too hard, put it down. I can’t emphasize this enough. Trying to read something massively beyond your reading level is frustrating and will only put you off. There were books I had to set aside in my first year and even beyond just because, stylistically speaking, they were over my head. I could follow the main story, but I was missing enough details/subtleties in the author’s style that I knew I needed to set it aside and try again later when I could fully appreciate it. There is absolutely no shame in this; get a few more books under your belt, and try again in a few months. I have now gone back and read several books I had to set aside; you’ll get there eventually. Some pieces are very difficult; I didn’t attempt Solzhenitsyn’s ‘Red Wheel’ series (which was the series that prompted me to learn Russian in the first place, since later volumes hadn’t been translated) until I had been reading prolifically for over two years. My dude is dense, and also wants to go over every minutiae of the fucking Duma’s every meeting with you. It was also around this time that I started reading poetry; it was just too difficult for me prior to that.

Most of all: have fun! Reading not only improves your vocabulary, it expands your understanding of a culture tremendously, and allows you an access to it that you can’t get through translation. Think of all the history you can read!! The primary sources!!

Anyway, away with this rambling introduction, and onward to the actual useful part of this post.

Adapted Classics: I found a series of these in Russian very early on in my studies, and you’d do well to see whether or not you can find something similar in your target language, especially if you’re a beginner. These are essentially long-winded summaries of well-known classics with simplified grammar, so that you can expand your vocabulary without breaking your head over more complex sentence structure that you can’t yet comprehend. I read a simplified version of ‘Anna Karenina’, ‘Jane Eyre’, one of the Sherlock stories, ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer’, and ‘20,000 Leagues Under the Sea’ this way. They were extremely useful in growing my vocabulary while not overwhelming me with long, meandering sentences that would utterly lose me in the beginning of my studies (Tolstoy, I love you, but this is aimed directly at you. I REMEMBER THE CITIZENS FLEEING MOSCOW. 200+ WORDS BEFORE YOU THOUGHT TO PUT IN A FUCKING PERIOD). 

Comics: Comics are great. I read some Star Wars graphic novels in Russian, a few manga, part of ‘The Walking Dead’ series, and also some Archie comics, which I used to read all the time as a kid. Not only do you have pictures to help with context, but you don’t usually have challenging descriptive passages to contend with. It turns out that Russians pirate just about everything, so I was able to find lots of sites with huge selections of comics available to read free online. Do a bit of googling and see if you can find something similar in your own target language.

Fanfiction: If you’ve followed this blog long enough, then you know that actually I got my start reading gay Captain American porn in Russian, and it was brilliant, thank you very much, and I bet you I was just about the only beginner Russian student on this planet who could barely introduce themselves but definitely could have had gay phone sex. Fanfiction is not generally written in a highly literary style, so it’s easier to follow. Moreover, you’re dealing with characters, tropes, and plotlines you’re already familiar with, and that familiarity helps enormously. While English is of course the most widely-used language on AO3, you have many language options to choose from, and in a large fandom like Marvel or Harry Potter, you’re bound to find something in your target language. You might check as well to see if any massively popular fics in a fandom you follow have been translated into your target language; I’ve noticed that quite a lot with Russian.

News Articles: News articles are generally written in a simplified language designed to be accessible by the average reader, who’s actually not very good at reading at all. I’m sure this varies somewhat by country and language, but here in the States most clock in at something like a 7th or 8th grade reading level, as that, depressingly, appears to be the average reading level of the majority of the reading public. They’re short and will introduce some new words into your vocabulary in an easily digestible way. Also: most big magazine publications such as Cosmopolitan and People have several  different versions of their websites. The Russian version, for instance, is cosmo.ru instead of cosmo.com. The French edition is cosmopolitan.fr. Figure out what designation your target language uses in place of .com and you’re in business (unless you accidentally get a porn site). Do I like Cosmopolitan magazine? Not particularly. Did it teach me new sex terms in Russian? Absolutely. And that’s what we’re all looking for, right? 

Dual Language: At around 4-5 months into my studies, I started reading dual language texts. I did this first with short stories, and later with full novels. This is not for everyone as it requires you to constantly switch back and forth between your native and target language, and especially if you’re farther on in your studies, this might muddle you more than help you. I found at about 8 months or so I had to take off the training wheels, as my vocabulary and grasp of grammar was good enough that looking over at the English text was actually confusing me, because I had gone from laboriously, awkwardly translating everything in my head to just reading it naturally. But in the beginning, it was a much faster way to check vocabulary, and it also helped me to sort out grammar by comparing it to my native language. All languages are trying to accomplish the same thing, which is to communicate; they just do it in different ways. But you can find a common ground even between languages that are vastly different, as English and Russian are. You can find some dual language texts, or you can do what I did, which is to put the English translation on an e-reader, and get hold of a hard copy of the Russian. I would always read the Russian first, and only if I was confused/missing a lot of words would I look over at the English text. Make sure you compare a couple of translations and pick the one that is most literally faithful, even if it’s not a great translation in and of itself. I used some English translations that I actually didn’t care for as a translation, but they were very literal and therefore very helpful in sussing the original text.  

Books You’ve Already Read In Your Native Language: It doesn’t have to be a book you have practically memorised (though that will certainly help). Anything you’ve read at least once in your life will do. You’d be surprised how much will come back to you, and how much context will help you figure out any unfamiliar words. I picked up the Russian translation of Ken Follett’s giant-ass ‘Winter of the World’ about a year into my studies. His style is neither particularly difficult nor...impressive, but as it’s the second in a trilogy that follows three generations of multiple families from WWI all the way into the Cold War, it has a lot of military and political terminology that you don’t encounter in everyday speech. It’s also over 1,000 pages, so it’s rather daunting in a second language regardless. I had read it once before in English, probably some five years before I read the translation, and going into it I really didn’t remember that much. However, while reading, I found that certain plotlines would start coming back to me, and helped a lot in piecing together unfamiliar terminology, in addition to the words I already knew. Don’t focus overly much on every single word and trying to remember what it is in your native language; trust me, you will absorb a lot from context. Just let go and let it wash over you.

Translations: Translations are almost always going to be easier than a book originally written in your target language, if the texts are of comparable difficulty. For instance: ‘Les Miserables’ is easier for me in Russian than Solzhenitsyn’s ‘The Gulag Archipelago’. Both are massive, rambling texts with long asides on history and politics, and in English I’d say they’re pretty equally difficult reads. Certainly neither is what I would classify as light reading. So why is ‘Les Miserables’ easier? Because in a translation I’m not dealing with uniquely Russian slang and turns of phrase. Yes, some of it has to be Russified in order for the target audience to better comprehend it in their native tongue, but generally speaking it doesn’t feel Russian, if that makes sense. I can tell pretty much as soon as I pick up a book if it’s a translation. Now, French isn’t my native language, but I’ve used it as an example because I’ve read quite a bit of French literature in Russian translation, and fairly difficult authors/texts at that: Hugo, Stendahl, Zola, etc. etc. None of these authors are light beach reads, but they’re also not difficult for me to follow in Russian. And anything translated from English is even more accessible; most texts translated from English into Russian I can follow very nearly as well as I can read the original English. When you’re dealing with a heavy-hitter that’s writing in your target language, they can get up to all kinds of shenanigans and word play; a translation, generally speaking, is not going to be nearly so experimental. 

Dumas: Why does Dumas get his own section? Because you should read him, dammit. HISTORY. SWASHBUCKLING. REVENGE. Dumas is fucking fun. He also has a huge oeuvre to choose from. Additionally, while he does have a lot of plotlines to follow (and this is the difficulty of Dumas when reading him in a second language) and you definitely need to get your historical vocabulary up to snuff, he is not an overly philosophical author. His novels are fun, action-oriented, and someone’s always eavesdropping on a Secret Political Conversation of the Utmost Importance. I’ve read quite a lot of Dumas in Russian (actually more than I’ve read in English) and they are easy, entertaining reads. You might get a little lost in the politics of the era, but unless you’re already familiar with them, you’d probably be a little lost in your native language as well. Don’t worry; people will start dramatically challenging one another to duels again very soon. Also: READ ‘THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO’ SERIOUSLY FOR FUCK’S SAKE DO IT.

#language #reading #books

[chaniters]

Cracked Candy

Sidestep is captured by Vitruvian’s minions and left under the care of the sadistic Candymaster, while Ortega and the Rangers race to save him. 

Enjoy!

You cant' scream. You can't complain. Your mouth is sealed by the sweet substance. All you can do is watch helplessly as CandyMaster keeps torturing you.

When you woke up, you were are dangling from a pipe on the ceiling of the cell, your hands handcuffed together and held by a chain. Your arms still feel like hell, they kept you suspended for hours up there while the Candmyaster beat you. You are still held up by the cuffs and chain, but your feet aren’t dangling anymore. You are standing, now, but of course,   the freak took care of it, making it a thousand times worse.

"So delicious! You're almost ready!" he cackles.

Ready for what, is the question you don't want to answer.

Your lower body is now almost completely encased inside a growing sugary crystal casing that's slowly rising from the floor, already covering part of your chest. IT's getting increasingly hard to breathe under its pressure.

"GHMHMMM!" you try to yell, to no avail, the candy crystals completely blocking your mouth.  

The crystal growth stops. He's doing it slowly. Wants to see you suffer.

"What?" he asks bending an ear your way. "I didn't quite get that"

"HMMGGF!" you're not faking it right now...

"Oh, you want more? I'm glad to oblige!" he cracks in laughter again, the crystals covering up more of your body.

Tears begin to fall off your eyes, It's clear you might actually not survive this. You've only just begun untangling the seals of his strange mind. You might not be done in time to actually stop him.

The screens in front of you come to life, startling you, as well as CandyMaster. You look up... a figure inside an impressive green tech armor suit.

Vitruvian

"Aww.. we can't play anymore, Sidestep Darling. I need to speak with my sugar daddy" he adds, giving you his white smile.

You keep up your hopeless fight against the bonds.

"I am not. Your fucking. Sugardaddy" Vitruvian speaks with cold annoyance.

"Oh, sure you are! You appreciate me and pay for all my toys!"

"Just... put him on screen already... " Vitruvian seems exasperated.  

"Coming through!" The CandyMaster adjusts the camera to focus on you. "Ta-da!"

"GMHEMHHT THFIGMS FGMUKCHINHMG THMING OFFHMM MMHMY MOhMHMMUHMTH!"

"What the FUCK did you do to him?

"Just a few games! Games games games, I like games!"

"FUCKING LUNATIC! I NEED HIM ALIVE!"

"OH don't worry, I'm careful with my toys... I wasn't going to break him... YET!"

"Shut ... up... Just remove that thing of his mouth"

"Aww... I liked it... can't we keep it on?"

Vitruvian simply stares at him.

Candymaster taps your sealed mouth and the crystal cracks in pieces. You spit candy stones all over the place as the thing falls apart.  

"FUCK...  YOU!" you scream at CandyMaster

"See? It helps keep him well behaved."

"Leave us," Vitruvian says, furious.

The monster finally leaves the room, leaving you alone with the screens.

"Well well... Welcome, Sidestep. I'm sorry for the delay. I was.. occupied."

"And fuck you too," you say to the screen.

"Again, apologies... CandyMaster clearly went a bit Overboard. But that can't be helped now..."

"What the fuck do you want from me?"

"Ah.. straight to the point. Very well, let me show you..." The armored figure turns to another console "Doctor M., please send the sample inside the cell"

Shortly after, the door opens, and a pair of HIVE androids enter, pushing a metal tray with a glass box inside. A black residue is at the bottom of the box.

"What... is that?" you can't help ask.

"That, Sidestep... are dormant Nanovores. Relics of the Gulf war."

Nanovores. The terrifying word resonates in your mind.  You've heard the accounts. They can cover entire areas eliminating all life, stopping at nothing. Devouring people on the spot.  

"You stole them from that ship!"

"I see you're keeping up, good for you. Yes, I got them out of the ship before you and your friends came in to send Jupiter to the bottom of the sea. You spared me having to pay him for his services too, so I thank you once more."

"I wish you had been there too, you sick monster!"

He simply ignores you, and goes on "Now, what I need is for you to help me activate the nanovore's control software"

"Fuck that...! I'm not... helping... you!" You struggle trying to break free. You don't like where this is going... but you only manage to get the crystals to dig deeper into your suit. It hurts horribly, until you stop, exhausted.

Vitruvian simply stares at your futile attempts before speaking again.

"Are you satisfied? Is it over? Did you get it all out of your system?"

You look down, exhausted and weak.

"How do you even want me to help you? I'm not a scientist"

"Oh, I know. And I also know you're not a martial artist either. You are a telepath. And a very strong one. Which is exactly what I need to unlock the nanovores".

"W... what?"

"You will do this for me. Or else, I will release the nanovores in the cell you're in right now."

The screens show a graphic of the nanovores spreading through the room leaving nothing behind... and then spreading through a large circular area of square kilometers before dying off. Spreading so fast...

"It will take them around 9 minutes to break the glass. If you haven't unlocked their software by then, they will devour you. According to the gulf war accounts, if you believe those, it's worse than being flayed alive."

"I'm not... a telepath"   His image is replaced on screen by past footage of you striking Eldritch's behemoth form's head, sending the whole monster down. Then the screen returns to him. "That is not the work of martial arts. If you're not a telepath, I'm afraid you'll die here, Sidestep, and our business will be concluded."

Fuck.

"Are you insane? Even If I was...  How am I going to control machines?"

"It's in their design. Dr. M and I have studied this technology."

Dr. M., You remember the name... a powerful villain relying on advanced tech.

"You are strong enough to do this. The machinery in this room will record your efforts so it can be reproduced."

"I won't!" you defy him. "I won't help a freak like you get hold of a weapon of mass destruction".

"Pitty," He says. "But I haven't finished" he continues. He is replaced once more by... security cameras? There seems to be a battle outside... you see energy weapons fire and...

"You are watching the exterior of this complex. Your friends are coming to rescue you"

Anathema is facing off against the HIVE robots in one screen. Steel and Sentinel are creating a distraction on another sector, fighting off another squad of HIVE.

"I'm sure they are all here somewhere, even if the cameras haven't picked up all of them. If you won't do it, then not only will you die, but them as well once they come looking for you. Their lives, are in your hands Sidestep. So do it, and save them, save yourself. Or don't... and you can all die together."

The screens turn black.

As she speaks, the black residue inside the box comes to life, spinning and turning into a cloud of black smoke.

You hear a harsh sound coming off the box. The nanovores are eating it's walls as Vitruvian said they would.

The screens show the Rangers battling their way inside.

There is no way to warn them.

If you do nothing, then you, and all your friends will die. But if you do, you'd be handing over a weapon of mass destruction for him to use.

"FUCK!" you scream. You struggle once more, but it's completely useless. The handcuffs above are firm, and the crystal below is like an anchor, constricting you.

He's left you no choice. No fucking choice. You can't let them die.

You try to concentrate. Your body is in a tremendous amount of stress. But you try again... and again...

The sound from the box becomes louder.

You start feeling them. They have a presence to them... You keep attempting to connect, but each time's a new failure.

Is that a crack on the box? Or your mind playing tricks...

"GHAA!" you scream as you manage to make contact for a brief second. You have to keep trying... you have to...

The screens outside show Balrog joining the fight... he and Steel are going hand to hand. They will be distracted... they won't have time to flee.

You focus once more. You can't fail. You can't fail them.

~Contact~

The strange language inside the Nanites floods your brain... you realize it's some sort of computer language.

You focus even harder...

The residue stops spinning and focuses on your side of the box.

Fuck... you're leading them to you.

It begins to crack...

"Stop! Stop!" you yell at them... until something clicks. You've managed to do something... unlocked something...   And then they freeze... and fall back into the box's bottom, lifeless once more.

You take a deep breath. You did it... whatever happens next... you saved them.

A screen flashed on the device on the wall on the left. "Package sent" it flashes. Vitruvian won. He got what he wanted. Fuck.

You hear footsteps... and a mind approaching... it's...

Oh no...

The door opens and CandyMaster barges in.

"My precious young man, it seems your friends found us! I'm not sure how they did it, but it seems they want to rescue you... We can have that!" he says forcing you to look at him, taking your chin with his sharp crystal fingers.

"I'm afraid this is goodbye for us! I enjoyed you very much!" he giggles, as he commands the crystal to grow once more.

"Hm... bas... tard!" you scream in terror feeling the crystals pressure increasing. You are about to die. It's over... The pain is unbearable. You try to scream... but it's hard to even breath. 

You don’t want to die.

Not like this. 

"S...to..p!"  

And then the air vent on the ceiling behind him opens up as someone kicks it open.

CandyMaster turns to see Ortega jump down through it.

"Oh... I didn't know there was another dessert coming up!" he starts laughing, raising his hands to use his powers...

Only this time you get him.

He is distracted, and you get inside his mind. You don't know how his mutated brain works, but you're in, so you simply start pulling and breaking everything you see. You've' learned to fear him, but right now It's either you or him.

"Aaargh... " the CandyMaster holds his head, in pain... and then it explodes in pieces, being replaced by Ortega's Electrical fist. His body continues to move, but Ortega strikes once more, the thing cracking up and falling apart in a thousand pieces.

"H...el.. p"  

"Fuck! Cyrus, I'm here!" he runs to you

"Can't... br..ea...th"

"Hang on, let me break this shit!"

He starts pulling the crystal pieces apart. You struggle to remain conscious... until you finally sense your lungs released from the pressure.

"Mierda..." he says, still working on releasing you. "What did that monster do to you?"

"Thank... you... Ricardo" Is all you can think of. You are tearing up. "Thank... you" He continues breaking down crystals, releasing your legs. The thing is stuck to your suit, and you have some cuts. Fortunately, your nanomesh seals your skin once they are removed...

"Elyise called us... her precognition told her where they took you... Fuck... I'm sorry. If I hadn't..."

He breaks the chain to which your handcuffs are attached, and you fall down. He catches you. Your legs are completely numb from the crystal's pressure. You can't even stand. And the handcuffs are still there.

"Fuck.. let's.. take you out of here," he says with concern, carrying with both arms. Elyise comes inside as well Oh there you are! "The HIVES are fleeing... And  Sentinel sent Balrog down with a wind gust while Steel broke down one of wings. They've captured him... and... What the... Cyrus are you ok?" she says approaching.

No, you're NOT OK you want to scream. You’ve been tortured for hours and you thought you were going to die. You were sure of it. But you just don’t have the strength to do it.

"Let's get him out," Ortega says.

A piece of the CandyMan's face lies on the floor, it's dead eye staring at you, hauntingly. 

You bury your face in Ortega’s chest as he walks out. "Thank you" You keep repeating, in tears.

_________________________________

My fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero spoilers #Chargestep #Fanfiction

[their-destinys-writer]

Misadventures in Reporting #3

About the series: Misadventures in Reporting is a series of short stories about the adventures of a normal reporter living in an abnormal world.

Rating: PG-13 for mild cursing and violence

Word count: 2,576

Also in: Wattpad

Support this series in Ko-fi or Patreon (Posted on early access in the latter)

#3 - Teleman’s Mark

“I don’t even know where to begin with you.”

Melinda gulped under the scrutiny of Mr. Sullivan. Boy, was she in so much trouble. But nobody told her doing the right thing would be cheap. The reporter took a deep breath, weighing her options. Apologize? Defend herself? Wait for the boss to say his piece? Perhaps the third option. She was in enough trouble as it was.

“How many times have I told you not to push the deadline?” Mr. Sullivan hissed, almost barring his yellowish teeth.

Wait, am I supposed to answer that?

“A million times I’ve told you,” he continued. With every word he spoke, the desk between them felt smaller and smaller. Had he always looked so large behind it? “And yet, you give me one of the most important reports, if not the most important report in months with and hour to spare for printing. We had to cut the last two paragraphs because we didn’t have time to look through the whole thing!”

The woman winced. She had hoped only one paragraph would have to be cut. But alas, most of it got through without major changes.

“And now,” Mr. Sullivan raised his voice, “now we got a Porsche in the redaction floor, thanks to your little stunt. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Melinda’s mouth opened, but it suddenly went dry, so she closed it back up. Was she willing to put next month’s rent at risk just for ‘doing the right thing’? Was it worth sacrificing several months of electricity or water for being right? Was she right?

“I didn’t think he’d take it so bad,” she managed to say at last.

“The guy held up a damn crane with his mind,” the aging man deadpanned. “What did you think he was going to do? Throw confetti?”

The woman’s gaze darted to the surface of the desk. It wasn’t until that moment that shame started to invade her. How could she be so thoughtless? Over three-hundred people worked in this newspaper. Her article would reflect on the company, and thus, her coworkers. Someone could have gotten hurt.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sullivan,” she said quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

The man snarled a sound of disgust, giving her an exasperated look.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t fire you right now,” he hissed.

A loud thudding resounded from Melinda’s insides. Her heart was drumming hard against her chest. She could feel a drop of sweat trickling down the side of her face, despite the cold air conditioning.

The article broke my career, she concluded.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Tsk.” Mr. Sullivan shook his head. “You really are dense.”

Well that’s uncalled for, Melinda thought, rising her gaze to his once again. His expression still seemed exasperated, but now he was looking outside his office.

“Mr. Sullivan, I—”

“You can’t get fired because you proved your point,” he interrupted. Melinda frowned. “Three years here, and you still can’t put your deduction skills to use under pressure. So, let’s try this again: give me one good reason I shouldn’t fire you this instant.”

It was like a light flicked on in Melinda’s brain. He wasn’t firing her, he was testing her. Why does he have to be so mean about it, though?

“Because,” she started, still hesitant to respond back, but determined to keep her job. “Because if our—my­—allegations were false, the proper response would’ve been to call a press conference denying the claims. Throwing a car through our building dampers his own reputation, and it’s an attempt against freedom of press. It’s a threat against not only us, but anyone who dares talk ill of him.” The woman smirked. “Not very superheroic, if you ask me.”

“Exactly.” Mr. Sullivan slammed his fist against the desk, startling Melinda. “That piece of shit is trying to shut us up. This isn’t like that Cronus guy. That was self-defense. Teleman just made a declaration of war against us and the free press. We can’t back out now. So,” the man slammed his hands together and rose from his chair, “I’m gonna need everything you got from this story. Notes, sounds, transcriptions, anything you can share by today. The earlier the better. We need to write tomorrow’s editorial piece.”

“Yessir!” Melinda blurted, jumping to her feet.

“What are you, a soldier?” Mr. Sullivan chuckled. “Just get to it, Martínez. Go, get!”

“Y-yes, Mr. Sullivan.”

Without needing to be told again, she scampered out of the office and headed straight to her desk. As she approached it, she realized it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Where hers and several others had been there was yellow tape and half of the Porsche she saw from outside.

A shudder went up her spine, as she realized Teleman’s target had not been as random as she initially thought.

---

“It was horrible,” Melinda complained.

Thanks to a certain superhero, two thirds of employees had been relegated to simple tasks that day. For security reasons. This created one of those rare opportunities where the journalist’s group of friends from the Latest News Division got to eat lunch together. As they made the line to order their food, Melinda took the opportunity to answer the constant what-happened-with-Sullivan question.

“You’re blowing it waaay out of proportion,” Kevin, the photographer, muttered as he tinkered with his new phone.

“I thought I was gonna self-combust,” she whined, slumping her head back. “Why does he have to be so mean about it? I was already planning my life as a homeless bum living on storm drains.”

“You know how it is,” Will, another reporter like her, chuckled. “That old man would rather torture you to death than be direct.”

“Who cares, anyway,” Beatriz, a graphic designer, drawled. “You didn’t get fired. That’s what matters.”

“At the cost of my sanity!” Melinda argued. “I’ve never been so scared to lose a job in my life.”

“Eh, you would’ve gotten a new one in a week,” Kevin commented, without looking up from the screen.

“No way,” the reporter in question argued. “Nobody would’ve wanted to hire the woman who made a superhero angry enough to throw a car through a building. My career would’ve been finished.”

“Nah, you’d be fine. Hey, Will,” the photographer suddenly called, raising his phone. “Look pretty for me, will ya?”

“Man, you know I don’ like it when people take pictures of me,” the reporter complained.

“C’mon, I wanna test the resolution on this thing,” Kevin insisted.

“Why me?”

“Hm, you’re right, you can’t smile. Melinda, smile for me.”

“Dude, I’m having a mental breakdown,” the journalist huffed.

“Why?” Kevin whined. “You’re still working. You kept your job. Why are you so upset?”

“Have you been ignoring me this whole time?”

“Not…ignoring,” Kevin shrugged. “Just listened to half of what you said.”

Melinda groaned, but Beatriz waved her hand dismissively.

“Mija, you gotta chill about this whole thing,” she said. “But honestly, Kevin’s right. You’re worrying too much. You kept your job, that’s what matters. Who knows, you may actually get promoted for this.”

“If Teleman doesn’t kill one of us first.”

“Occupational hazard,” Will shrugged, joining the conversation again after ordering. “Who’s next?”

Melinda offered herself and stepped up to order her lunch.

“Will that be all?” the young woman asked, and the reporter agreed. “That will be twelve-fifteen.”

“Here,” she said, handing her credit card.

“You buy your morning coffee here too, don’t you?” the cashier suddenly said, as she made the transaction.

“Closest good coffee to work,” Melinda responded automatically, her mind still wandering back to that morning.

“You work nearby?” the young, blonde woman asked as she took her time ripping the receipt from the card reader.

“Yeah,” Melinda shrugged, taking the piece of paper. “Thank you!”

She turned around to her friends, who were all giving her a look of incredulity.

“What?”

The other three looked at each other, as if debating who would be the one to speak up.

“Imma look for a table,” Will pipped up, quickly deserting the group.

Melinda frowned, and stared at the other two, who now looked defeated. With a shrug, they turned to the cashier and made their orders, while the reporter rolled her eyes and waited for hers and Will’s food. After a few minutes, all four sat at a round table with their meals.

“Is anybody gonna say it?” Beatriz said.

“Say what?” Melinda frowned.

“For a journalist, you can be very unobservant,” Will muttered loud enough for the rest to hear.

“Not unobservant,” Kevin chimed in. “Just oblivious to the language of love.”

“Here we go again,” Melinda sighed. “You guys really think I’m thinking about romance when a Porsche destroyed my desk?”

At last, Kevin’s eyes were pried away from his phone. Will and Beatriz followed suit.

“I thought it was random,” Beatriz said. Kevin and Will exchanged stares, while Melinda shook her head.

“I don’t think it was,” Melinda said, as she started poking around her salad. “My desk wasn’t the only one next to a window, yet it was the only one made into pieces. If I had gotten to work earlier, who knows what would’ve happened to me.”

As she bit into a cherry tomato, she could feel the awkward silence shared between the other three people on the table. In all honesty, Melinda felt proud of finally getting through to them on the seriousness of the matter. Although she appreciated them trying to cheer her up and distract her, talking about it felt like the thing she truly needed at that moment.

“But he didn’t get you,” Will cut through the silence. “And that’s what matters. That you’re safe and alive. And I know the newspaper will work hard to keep it that way. Even tactless Sullivan. He doesn’t show it, but he cares about us.”

“He actually has a point,” Kevin said, eyes back on his phone. “Sullivan just sucks at showing other emotions other than uncaffeinated-angry.”

“Regardless,” Beatriz jumped in, “in any case, we’re here for you. And if you don’t feel safe in your apartment, you know abuela has no problem with you staying over.”

“Thanks, Bea,” Melinda said.

“So how’s this,” Kevin said, now raising his phone, “in case anyone of us gets fired, or murdered by a harassing superhero, we’ll take a selfie to remember the good times. Before everything turns to shit.”

“Oh yeah, that way we have a picture to mark exes on our faces as we die one by one” Will deadpanned.

“Psh, we’d all be dead in a horror movie,” Beatriz stated, waving a hand.

“Guys, I’m trynna make a cute moment, don’t ruin it for me.”

“Fine,” the reporter rolled his eyes good naturedly.

Without needing anymore prompting, the group moved their chairs and huddled together in the hopes of fitting in the frame. Kevin extended his arm, with the front camera of his phone activated for a selfie.

After taking the photo and replacing their seats, Kevin spoke up.

“By the way, the cashier’s name is Katie—”

“Oh my God, stop!”

---

The sun had almost completely set when Melinda walked by the sidewalk leading to her apartment building. It had been a long and exhausting day, despite spending most of it in the office. She hadn’t realized how emotionally draining being the targeted reporter could be.

But she chose this path. And she was sticking to it, as long as she had the support of her boss and the company.

She started going up the steps to the front door of the building, when she couldn’t help but feel watched. Melinda stopped mid-step. Her arms swung as she turned on her heels, hand holding tight to the pepper spray on her keychain. Her eyes shifted from side to side, looking for whatever was giving her that gut feeling.

Yet she saw nothing. Slowly, she lowered her arms back to the sides, and started back to the entrance of the building. She carefully started unlocking the door.

SMACK

Melinda’s face slammed against the iron door, and a hand pressed against the back of her neck kept her pressed to it. She tried pushing back, but whoever was attacking grabbed her flailing hands and held them tight.

“You’re Melinda Martínez, aren’t you?” a voice whispered into her ear, sending a chill down her spine.

“Who wants to know?” she dared quip.

There was a pause. Ever so slowly, Melinda’s feet started leaving the ground, yet she was not being pushed up from her neck. In fact, she felt more like she was…

Floating.

Teleman.

“I guess you could say I’m somewhat of a critic of your work.”

“H-Hey, listen man,” Melinda started desperately, “I was just doing my job.”

“Isn’t your job reporting on both sides?”

“You’re a hard source to find!” she pleaded. “I tried, really. But even with your version, I still had to write what was published. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to take you down or anything, it’s just my job.”

“Your job sounds very… convenient for me.”

Melinda frowned. Was he being sarcastic? Was he threatening her? Was he going to kill her? Or worse…

“I was wondering how long it would take for the information to get out,” he continued, the air of his breath threatening her neck. “It took, what, five months?”

“Victims of sexual assault are not usually very talkative when they know the other person has more power,” Melinda dared shoot back.

“You people have the strangest rules. Perhaps next time I should be a little more explicit.”

“We people?” Melinda breathed. “What the hell are you even talking about? You sound like…” she swallowed. “Like you wanted to get caught.”

“My business is none of yours,” Teleman hissed. “But I have to say, I’m starting to enjoy some of the perks of this job.”

“I thought you were a superhero. One of the good guys,” she said quietly.

“I am,” he whispered back. “Just like one of those who likes to prance around using names of old Greek gods.”

With those last words, Melinda was suddenly dropped to the ground. The jolt of it made her stumble to her side and collapse against the wall. She turned just in time to see a blur of blue shoot up into the sky.

With her heart still running at a hundred miles, Melinda unlocked the door and ran all the way up the stairs to the third floor. Once in front of her apartment, she hastened to unlock it, almost dropping her keys.

After opening it, Melinda jumped into her living room and closed both locks on her door. At last, she slammed her back to it, panting from the run.

Melinda clapped a hand on her mouth, just as tears started spilling out. She knew being a journalist had the potential to be dangerous. She had heard stories of reporters disappearing in Central America and seen videos of others being decapitated by terrorists on the other side of the world. But in a city, the job dangers were reduced to rude politicians and snobby CEOs.

This was not supposed to happen to her. Much less by someone who was supposed to protect them. Covering superheroes was supposed to be fun, every journalist’s dream.

And yet, as she slid to the ground silently sobbing, speaking the truth on superheroes was starting to feel more like a nightmare.

#Misadventures in Reporting #MiR #Melinda Martínez #original fiction #fantasy #sci-fi #short story #series

[hacks-and-heroes]

Hacks and Heroes #2

So let's talk about a favorite series of mine, Fallout. And what better time? With Fallout 76 on the horizon like a mediocre tsunami, the SEO is perfect.

The question is how would one go about adapting Fallout into a tabletop setting. Well that's easy actually, plus there are a bunch of hacks out there for Fallout already. I'm gonna point out a few key things that make a Fallout setting, and then get into the hacks.

So first there's themes. The most forefront and clear theme of Fallout has always been the cautionary tale of nuclear war. Atomic annihilation and Cold War era fear mongering is shown through its mix of propaganda posters, devastated landscapes and visual aesthetics. The distinct 1950s art style, especially Vault Tec’s Vault Boy, show a campy contrast to the horrors the world shows. Things like the upbeat music and pulp sci-fi weaponry mask a dark undertone. For those who plan on game mastering a Fallout game, I highly recommend playing the first two iterations to really get a sense of this tone.

Political agendas, conflicting ideologies, fate of technology, capitalism, communism, colonialism; all play a part in a great Fallout story. A good mix of these elements will truly help bring together any Fallout story.

So let's get into the hacks:

Fallout GURPS/Exodus-

I want to start with the two oldest Fallout hacks. Fallout has a history with GURPS, being the system it was first based on. Originally, GURPS was in the title of the first game. However, after a rift between developers, GURPS was dropped. However, several years ago someone revived the idea by adapting Fallout for the GURPS RPG system. While I have never played GURPS, it seems this system is the closest you'll get to a system that feels like the original games would translated to paper.

If you prefer a system with more number crunch, GURPS is a safe bet. It's also a well made book with a lot of detail and lore. It was made around the time of Fallout 3, so it may feel a bit outdated. It does include stuff from Fallout Tactics though. So I appreciate that.

Now onto Exodus. Exodus is a “licensed" Fallout game. Or at least that was the idea. At some point during its creation, the license was pulled. So what would have been Fallout d20, became Exodus. One of the major problems with this particular game is that it is a game based off the d20 Modern system. Sadly for the old SRD games, they have not aged well, especially d20 Modern. I only recommend this adaptation if you really enjoy the old d20 games like 3.5 and Modern. Even then, the poor cover up and woeful bestiary will probably be a turn off.

Fallout 5th Edition-

To start, this is probably one of the best and most detailed fan conversions I've seen. It has so much content for what is essentially a free sourcebook. The font and graphic design is great. There is multiple racial subtypes, backgrounds, and over 100 pages of Fallout monsters. There is a piecemeal armor system that will be a nice touch for those most familiar with Fallout 4. Seriously, for a class based system, this is probably one of the best portrayals of Fallout. Hell, it has stats to play a goddamn Eyebot. Who wouldn't??

Now it isn't all perfect. The biggest flaw is that many of 5e’s base classes are considered unviable. This would be fine, should the book offer replacements. Instead the book suggests purchase of a supplement that has classes more suited for the game. I totally understand why this is such, after all it is a free fan made conversion. However, an additional class or two would have more incentivized purchase of the other book. The only other gripe is that that 100 page bestiary is a lot of the same creatures with very minute changes. Similar to the games, though in a pen-and-paer RPG it's a bit needless.

(I will have a review of that class supplement for those interested midway thru the next week.)

On a side note, while there are Pathfinder hacks for Fallout, there aren't any detailed enough to really mention. With enough effort, one could customize it to fit a Fallout setting. I may go into it in the future as I tackle other topics.

Savage Fallout-

Okay so now we get into the most extensive collection of Fallout hacks. There are a handful of these for Savage Worlds, so we’ll just go at them in no particular order.

Savaged Fallout!

When you Google Savage Worlds Fallout, this is the first one that you’ll encounter. On a blogspot aptly named, there are about 13 PDF downloads by Shane Hensley. It is clearly a passion project, having started in 2003, though it has gone dark since 2016.

I’m gonna get the bad out of the way first. This hack is ugly, poorly laid out, and sometimes confusing. The books are almost entirely black and white with a plain font. Only do the location books get anything in the way of images, though the actual maps tend to be weak. The hindrances added to the game are actually quite good, representing traits from the game quite well. The edges on the other hand...are extremely poor. Anyone who has played a lot of 3.5 or Pathfinder will start having flashbacks as they see edges boasting +1 to two skills with no flavor text. Compared to some of the later Savage Fallout stuff, it’s pretty sad. My final complaint is the Weapons Cache book is a supplement that details out things like Alien weapons, Chinese weapons, and a few other unique items from the games. However, the book is not more than a bunch of paragraphs and stat blocks.

Now onto the good stuff; both the Wasteland Survival Guide (Player’s Handbook) and Overseer’s Manual (GM’s Guide) are well made, new mechanics are introduced well, and the items will bring back fond memories of Fallout 2. The location books are a fun homebrew addition. I have not read all of them, however, they are good for brainstorming if nothing else. If you’re looking for a hack for Fallout for Savage Worlds, this is not a bad first place to start.

Wild Wastes

This one won’t come up right away, but I was quite pleased to have discovered it. If I was going to run a Savage Fallout game, I’d probably be referring to this book the most. To start, it is a beautiful two PDF set, barely clocking in at over 20 pages. The backgrounds and fonts fit the Fallout aesthetic and the layout is pleasing to the eye. It uses some licensed Fallout art in it, which helps it for sure.

By contrast to Savaged Fallout, the edges in this book are fantastic. Now okay, mechanically they aren’t much different than Savaged Fallout, but they at least look nice. There are less hindrances, but the ones that remain hold up on their own. Also the race options are fleshed out well, and there are two options for Super Mutants, if you are so inclined. This hack also introduces the Psyker. Basically this is adding psychic powers into Fallout, which may seem out of place to those who don’t know about Fallout Tactics. Truly it’s a fun idea, but whether it stays is up to your GM.

The second PDF that goes along with Wild Wastes is a 9 page add-on for equipment. There isn’t a lot to say about it besides that it is extensive. While it isn’t 5e Fallout extensive, it does have weapons, armor, and items from every game and more. If you are looking for items for your Savage Fallout game, look here.

Fallout: And How to Survive in the Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland When Your GM is a Total Dick.

Quite the mouthful there. So this hack is similar to Wild Wastes in that it uses a lot of licensed Fallout art...also it is only about 16 pages. That said, it is much more dense. The inner workings are black and white, but more well laid-out than Savaged Fallout. The font is a better choice and while tiny is laid out in a way that’s not hard to follow. This hack also stands out because it essentially works stand alone. You’ll need the core Savage Worlds book for more in-depth rules, but the character creations process and most hindrances and edges are included in the book.

One of my only gripes with this particular hack is its approach to weapons. Similar to GURPs, weapons are more or less divided into categories of damage, and then just given flavor for their look. While I can see the plus in this way, it tends to leave your players and GMs in the dark if they aren’t used to doing so. The armor is also truly wimpy (a +4 bonus for power armor??). That also extends to the races which get one trait a piece before being forgotten.

To circle back to something positive, this hack does include “tinkerin’”, a skill for customizing weapons and armor. It’s a simple enough system and more than welcome for those who like having to craft unique weapons.

Gunrocksgaming Savage Fallout

This isn’t a PDF like the previous three hacks. This one is a blog that includes very little but is worth mentioning for a few reasons. It has rules for character creation, which include playing robots, a first for these hacks. There are little in the way of hindrances but the edges are good. The equipment is sparse but well done, as are the setting rules. This hack does have another plus which it is the second of these hacks to have a bestiary. It’s hard to compare how these monsters compare to their in-game counterparts but with two hacks it probably wouldn’t be easy to make one that satisfies you.

Aaaaand that’s all for now!

While there are no doubt other Fallout hacks for other games, these were the best I could come across. I’ll cover it more in a future post, but another excellent post-apocalypse game is Apocalypse World, as well as the system it is built on. It can also be used for Fallout, with some modifications.

I hope you all enjoyed this and found it informative. Feel free to comment, send feedback or ideas for later posts. Next week I’ll be back with a different kind of post. This week was all about hacks that already exists. What if there’s a game you want that doesn’t have a hack though. Well, you’ll have to make it up yourself then! So next week we’ll tackle another Bethesda brand favorite, Dishonored!!

#hacksandheroes #dungeons and dragons #fallout #fallout 3 #fallout new vegas #fallout 4 #fallout 76 #bethesda #d&d #d&d 5e #5e #savage worlds #GURPS #d20 modern #d20 #hacksnheroes #tabletop rpgs #rpgs #game master #dungeonmaster #dishonored #dishonoured #wildwastes

[millercrystal]

Home Is Where the Heart Is

Fandom: Star Wars sequel trilogy

Finn appreciation week 2018 - day 4 (Apr 12): home

Warnings: 1 very short scene at the beginning that is about Finn being taken by the First Order, some snippets of Finn’s life in the First Order in the 1st half of the fic, and also recounts the Finn vs Kylo Ren lightsabre duel in The Force Awakens. I tried to write these scenes with as few graphical descriptions as possible, but I’m tagging warnings for kidnapping, violence and injury just in case.

If there’s anything else you need me to tag for, please let me know.

Rating: teen and up

Genre: friendship and family

Word count: 3562

Remarks: I'm rather captivated by the idea of Finn chipping away the necessary walls he has built around pre-stormtrooper memories for surviving within the First Order, and re-learning his freedom for expressing emotions and affection to connect with his newfound family.

Who let Finn wander around by himself on an unfamiliar ship freshly woken up from a coma? And how did he manage to stagger past the hangar at the same time Poe saw him? That's too coincidental, I have so many questions.

---

One of the earliest memories that Finn has, is being hugged tightly as a young child. The hug was warm, like a cookie fresh out of oven.

Then, a voice, presumably his father's, urged him to run and hide in the nearby cave until they go find him.

He ran as fast as he could on his short stubby legs, but was lifted off the ground by strong arms. He tried to kick himself free, but all he managed was a grunt from his captor, who must had given him an anaesthetic patch as he had no recollection of the following events.

---

The next thing Finn remembers, is waking up groggily in a hall with dozens of children, all around the same age as him.

People in white armours and helmets slowly patrolled up and down their lines; the children, seeing the blasters in their hands, wisely stayed quiet. A man in a funny hat, dark tunic and knee-high boots went up on stage, talking about restoring order to the galaxy and loyalty to the First Order. Finn did not recall hearing about the First Order until now, and wondered when his father would come get him.

When the man on stage finished, a child a few rows away asked hesitantly, 'Where're Papa and Mama?' The voice rang through the quiet room.

The man searched through the room until his gaze landed on the child. He replied indifferently, 'From this day onwards, you will not have parents, but only comrades. The First Order is where you belong.'

Order, comrades, loyalty. What big words. Finn did not understand them, nor did the child who asked for their parents either, as they repeated in confusion, 'Mama? Mama?'

The man on stage gave a single sharp nod to one of the armour-clad, who reached the child right at that moment. The armour-clad pressed a patch to the back of their neck; the child soon crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

None of the remaining children spoke up afterwards.

---

Finn was remarkably calm during the first month. Although, the time was spent on memorising their designation numbers, easing into prescribed routines, and working on classes and duties, so he did not have a significant reason not to be. The supervisors for his batch seemed to have experience in training recruits during their first weeks, so punishments were just heavy enough to keep them in line without being too harsh. Extra laundry folding duties here, vacuuming duties there, or meal bans if a more severe punishment was needed. All of this, Finn could manage.

However, he could not quite comprehend the coldness, or rather, lack of warmth projected by any supervisor. Although there would be rare praises of 'Good.' or similar variants, none of them smiled when he or his batch mates did things correctly. He had come to the conclusion that success was expected.

On the last evening of the first month, a supervisor gave a short speech congratulating the batch on making pass a month. She then stressed their loyalty to the First Order, now their official family.

That night, after his batch mates had dozed off, Finn muffled his face in the pillow and quietly sniffled for the home he was taken from.

---

The initiates quickly learnt to hide how much they missed their real homes, for whenever supervisors caught wind of it, additional loyalty lessons would be scheduled.

It was only when they prepare for bed and no supervisor would be present, that they had relative privacy to talk about home. Finn was sure every one of them dreamt about home. They would trade stories, some of which were exaggerated in childish imagination.

Finn shared a few stories of his own, though he could not differentiate between memory and wishful imagination.

---

The cadets did not find out how severely they were discouraged from thinking about their birth families, until rotated training with a newer batch of trainees.

This particular introductory exercise was about the priority of mission completion. Finn, finding it easy to deduce expected actions of the trainees, did not struggle with the exercise. He completed the mission quickly and then sat down to watch the other trainees going through the scenario, with the stimulation projected onto a screen in the waiting room.

A young initiate from the newer batch was next. He made good progress until the last hurdle, where he froze.

On the projected screen, a middle-aged woman with red hair gathered into a bun kneeled on the ground, in front of an astronomical map marked with trade routes and schedules of the New Republic. That must mean the cadet had red hair, as the simulated woman was designed to resemble them.

He slowly raised his blaster with shaking hands.

She pleaded with tears in her eyes, 'Don't you remember your mama? My baby, what have they done to you?'

'Mama?' he attempted, the word foreign to his tongue.

'Yes, it's me. Don't you remember how I tucked you in every night? Come here, give your mama a hug.' she opened her arms cautiously.

The blaster paused in mid-air. Then, the cadet lowered it and walked to the woman. 'I miss you so much, Mama.'

The simulation ended immediately, with harsh white lights turning up to regular brightness. The supervisor for this exercise stepped out from the control room and addressed the trainee. 'FR-3056, were you clear on your mission?'

'Yes, Ma'am.'

'Summarise the mission.'

'Yes, Ma'am. The mission is to extract the map with trade information of the New Republic. Get rid of enemies protecting the map as needed.'

'Exactly. And yet, you chose not to continue your mission. Why?'

'Sorry, Ma'am, I could not kill my mother.'

'So, your personal interest interferes with the mission.' she stated with a blank expression.

Every cadet held their breath, waiting for her decision. Finn felt a sudden chill racing down his spine, even though the room, like every part of the starship, was temperature controlled.

The supervisor consulted her datapad, then continued, 'FR-3056, this is your second incident. Report for recondition tomorrow.'

When Finn saw FR-3056 again in the next training session 1 week later, the trainee fired his blaster at the red-haired woman without a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

The cadets whispered about FR-3056, and stopped talking about the homes they never knew.

---

Eventually, Finn rarely allowed himself to dwell on the voice from his memory. He told himself that, it was because there simply was no time between all the classes and duties when he had the luxury of not being too bone-tired to think for himself.

Deep down, he knew it was only part of the truth.

He had not thought of the voice in a long time, because pretending a home had never existed for him was less painful than knowing he had one but then lost it.

---

Years later, on Finn's second real-world mission, Jakku happened.

He looked into the eyes of scared villagers, young and old. The fact that they were humans, very much alive, struck him. This was not a simulation anymore; if he pulled the trigger, these families would be torn apart.

Around him, his squadmates shot left and right without hesitation.

He had always felt like an outsider among them even when he acted like a model trooper. Now, he refused to fit in. He would not kill for the Order; it would never be where he belonged.

It had never been a 'family' since the beginning.

He lowered his blaster and mentally prepared for an opening to slip away.

---

The Resistance pilot was on his knees before the warrior of the dark side. Finn could not hear their exchange from his position halfway across the squad, but he could see the 2 troopers who searched him brought him onto the ship back to base.

Finn had heard about interrogation methods, he hoped the pilot would not suffer too much at Ren's hand.

He must have projected the thought, for Ren abruptly spun to stare at him. He squared his shoulders and trotted nervously behind his leaving squad, feeling Ren's eyes on him the whole time.

Back at the base, Captain Phasma requested him to submit his blaster for inspection. Waiting for a subtle opening to run away was no longer an option, he had to make one himself.

He gave himself a quick pep talk and marched through the interrogation wing to the imprisoned pilot.

The Force was on his side. He bluffed past the trooper guarding the pilot and took him out of the cell. 'This is a rescue. I'm helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE fighter?'

'I can fly anything.' the pilot smirked. 'I'm Poe. Poe Dameron. What’s your name?'

---

Why did Poe want to go to Jakku again? Oh right, he had to get back some map. Unfortunately, they crashed and Poe was nowhere to be found, his leather jacket the only proof he had escaped with Finn.

Finn hated the planet; all he could see was sand all over the horizon and the blinding sun. The scorching heat drained him quickly; his mouth was dry and his bodysuit was drenched in sweat. He was convinced Jakku was determined to snuff out his existence before he could enjoy his newfound freedom.

When he met the scavenger girl after walking for the whole morning, he had just lost the first person who was kind to him in years (no, don't think of the pilot; losing his first friend - if he can count him as a friend - kriffing hurts). It must be the galaxy sending him a note not to open himself up to another person.

With the scavenger, came a droid. One assumption led to another; before he knew it, he was caught up in the girl's plan to reunite the droid with its owner. And then, he tripped and fell down. She ran to him, offering a hand to help him up. He stared at the outstretched hand like a simulation he could not figure out; surely, she was not really offering? If there was one thing Phasma partially succeeded in drilling into his head, it was that strength is only as strong as the weakest link. That was not wrong from the point of view of an army, though he refused to believe it was the whole truth.

Warily, he looked into Rey's eyes but only found sincerity. Maybe, she was like him, refusing to stop helping others even though a lifetime of teaching had taught him otherwise. He decided to take a leap of faith and took her hand.

He was pulled up and running alongside her and the droid.

This time, he was determined not to lose his new friend.

---

He had failed Rey.

After confessing to her about defecting from the First Order because he did not want to kill innocents, she was initially mad at him for hiding his former involvement with the Order. However, once she calmed down, she forgave him.

He noticed her following Solo around like a lost puppy. He had asked if she knew Solo; she replied no, but he felt familiar. She wished she knew if her father was like him. When Finn gave her a puzzled look, she looked down at the engine she was fixing and explained that she was left on Jakku as a child, with only blurred memories of the people who walked away from her while she cried for them to come back.

Rey had no family, just like Finn. He felt a surge of protectiveness; how dare those people willingly leave a defenceless child behind to fend for herself?

And right when he felt he had known her for his whole life, she was abducted. By Kylo Ren, the First Order's resident ill-tempered dark warrior, no less.

He vowed to get her back, the Order would not take away another friend from him.

---

It turned out Finn had not lost his first friend after all.

As the Millennium Falcon landed on the Resistance base, he looked out of the cockpit to see the ground bustling with activity. Pilots in orange flight suit talked with mechanics in earth brown overalls and droids. In the distance, officers and crews hurried into and out of the compound. Solo directed Finn and BB-8 to go ahead into the compound, while he and Chewie shut down the Falcon.

Strolling down the stretch of the runway taking in the base, Finn saw a pilot climbing down the side of a black painted X-wing. BB-8 knocked into the back of his knees and sped towards the starship with a series of excited beeps and whirls. The pilot talked to a mechanic while taking off their helmet, revealing a wave of black hair. Then, they turned towards BB-8 and a familiar airy voice carried over.

No, it couldn't be! Finn made himself blink once, twice, and was elated to find his eyes and brain were functioning properly.

His feet started running on their own accord. Before his very eyes, Poe stood up from talking to the droid, a wide grin breaking out on his face upon locating him. Poe stepped forward and rushed to meet him halfway, tackling him in a bone-crushing hug. Finn only hesitated for a fraction of a second before hugging back just as fiercely.

If all hugs felt as peaceful and safe as this one, maybe he could get used to them.

---

When Finn told Poe about Rey, who saved BB-8 first, and her subsequent kidnapping, Poe took him to General Organa directly. Unlike First Order officers, she was understanding and sympathetic, readily agreeing to help upon learning the Order's involvement. Finn offered whatever knowledge he had about Starkiller Base and everything else needed. In a short time, a planned mission was approved for the next day. They would soon be off to rescue Rey and stop the planetary weapon.

That night, Finn started awake in a cold sweat and could not manage to get back to sleep. His quarters for the night had no window, too similar to First Order-issued bunks for his liking. He put on Poe's jacket - no, his now - and slid silently out of the room.

Not wanting to get lost around the interconnecting corridors, he pressed onwards to the few zones he was introduced to during the day. His feet took him to a bench right outside the command centre, where they discussed out the mission plan earlier in the day.

Needless to say, he was surprised to find the General seated at a desk near the entrance, still up alongside the night shift officers.

General Organa looked up from the pile of charts she was studying. Not used to friendly interactions with officers, he greeted her and pass it off as simply walking past the centre on a stroll.

'Finn,' she halted him with a tired smile, catching up to tell him 'good work' for proposals on how to destroy the Starkiller. She then reminded him to try and rest enough for the mission while on the Falcon.

'Rey would be back before we know it.' she reached up and patted his arm.

Finn tried not to think about how much of an open book he must be for her to read, idly wondering if that was a skill all mother figures picked up.

---

Flying at light speed to Starkiller took a few hours, which Finn spent half of it fidgeting. Solo and Chewbacca shared a look, then Chewbacca shrugged. Solo sighed and addressed Finn.

'Look, I'm anxious about Rey as much as you do. But she'd survived on Jakku for so long, she's tough. I'm sure she can hold on until we get to her.'

'I know.' Finn glanced at him, then back at the wall panel he had been staring a hole into.

A few beats passed, then Solo made up his mind.

'Tell you what, I've been meaning to fix this squeaky panel in the cargo bay. How 'bout you give me a hand?'

Finn got up and followed him.

They sat on the floor fixing the panel in silence, until Finn asked tentatively, 'Do you ever miss home when you're flying around the galaxy?'

'Well… Sometimes, but I try not to think about it.'

'Where's your home?'

'What's a home? Is it where you were born? Is it where you grow up? Is it where you settle? Or is it a person?' Solo gestured around with the screwdriver still in his hand, then raised an eyebrow at him.

'So, which is it?' Finn tilted his head, frowning.

'That, you have to decide for yourself. You'll know when you've found yours.'

---

Finn was awed to find Rey broke out all by herself.

It was a whirlwind of finding out truths, each more shocking than the previous. Ren was actually Solo's son; him killing Solo for some twisted access to the Force; him choosing power granted by the First Order over genetic family.

And the most worrying turn of events? Ren had been waiting for them as they trekked through the forest back to the Falcon, wanting to turn Rey to the Order's side. He had made his intentions crystal clear.

To Finn's eternal relief, Rey rejected the 'offer' outright. She did not waste one second in insulting Ren, calling him a monster. Kriffing right she was.

Ren responded by knocking her into a tree by Force and Finn's heart nearly stopped. He ran over and dropped to check her pulse. It was only when she groaned that he knew she'd be alright and his brain restarted.

A few crackling swishes and 'Traitor!' reminded him that Ren was still preying on them.

Rey had defended Finn; it was now his turn to return the favour.

He knew there was no way he would stand a chance against an experienced Force user, but Force if he would let anyone else be taken away from him. He was not going down without a fight.

He fired up Skywalker's lightsabre and charged Ren.

He held his own relatively well for a first time user, until Ren swept the sabre from his hands and punched his face so hard, forcing his back to be exposed. Ren followed up with a heavy upwards slash.

Instantly, a fiery pain exploded across Finn's back. He collapsed onto the snow.

If he was going to die, at least he had fought back against the organisation which had manipulated him since he was a young child. He could only hope Rey and Poe would forgive him for not succeeding.

Too exhausted by the overwhelming pain, his vision grew dark.

---

When Finn regained his senses, he was in a transparent bacta suit strapped inside a clear tank.

Thinking the First Order caught him again, he kicked open the cover and scrambled out, gaining his bearing to formulate an escape plan. It was then the interior decoration theme finally caught his attention - the Order's default colour theme was dark grey and black, not light grey and white.

A nurse parted a sliver of the privacy curtain to investigate the commotion. Finn took note of the Resistance emblem over her lapel and relaxed slightly.

'Ah, you're awake! That's good, it means your spine's nearly healed.'

'My spine?'

'Yes, do you remember what happened?'

'Not really. Where am I?'

'We're on the Resistance fleet, this ship's called the Raddus. Better let the doctor check you over first though, just sit here while I get her. Dr Kalonia!' she strode off without waiting for his reply.

For his part, Finn padded out of the medical bay to find Rey and Poe, taking the opposite route from the nurse. It was admittedly not the best idea, as he had no way to know if they would be on the same ship.

He wandered around with a stiff spine and occasional funny looks thrown by passing staff. It was a miracle that he managed to ask someone who knew where Poe would be and could give him the right directions.

He was stumbling past the hangar scanning for Poe when a loud voice exclaimed, 'Finn, buddy!' followed by a heavy thud. When he turned clumsily towards the voice, he was greeted by Poe's thick dark curls suddenly sticking up everywhere right in his face and a hand on his arm. 'You were in a pretty bad shape, I was so worried about you.'

'Good to see you too. Where's Rey?' he squeezed Poe's shoulder in return, not realising water was sprouting from his suit until Poe got busy covering up the disconnected tubes with his bare hands.

'It's a kinda long story, buddy. Let's get your bacta fixed first before I update you, yeah? Bee, go on ahead and tell Dr Kalonia to prep for Finn.'

---

It feels like a whole month of jumping through the galaxy with the Resistance before Finn finally sees Rey in person on Crait; he cannot help himself from crashing into her and burying his face into her neck. She's alive, she's come back for him, she's hugging him as tightly as he's hugging her. Then, he is openly sobbing into her tunic. Poe comes up and puts a hand on his back, mindful of his still healing spine.

This must be what a home feels like, Finn muses. Maybe, he has found himself a new home without realising.

#finn #finnappreciation #finnappreciationweek #poe dameron #rey #leia organa #han solo #chewbacca #bb8 #kylo ren #phasma #tw kidnapping #tw violence #tw fighting #tw injury #star wars #The Force Awakens #tfa #Star Wars: The Force Awakens #sw: tfa #the last jedi #tlj #Star Wars: The Last Jedi #sw: tlj #fan fiction #fan fic #finally finished this fic after 2 weeks #doing a full-time internship has left me with no time and no energy to write

[eddycurrents]

For the week of 6 November 2017

Quick Bits:

The Archies #2 kicks off the band’s inaugural road trip and, naturally for Archie, everything goes to hell pretty quick. There are some pretty funny moments throughout the issue as the band deals with their predicament.

| Published by Archie Comics

Birthright #28 is going to play with your expectations. Nothing is quite as it seems and Joshua Williamson is potentially turning things on their ear again with our understanding of the world and its adversaries. Andrei Bressan and Adriano Lucas again make it look gorgeous.

| Published by Image / Skybound

Centipede #4 somehow gets weirder. Kafka dreams and 8-bit graphics.

| Published by Dynamite

Coyotes #1 is one of the most beautiful, unique, and haunting debuts from Image that I’ve seen and it’s not like there’s a dearth of beautiful and unique Image comics lately. Sean Lewis and Caitlin Yarsky have managed to create something here that elevates the horror genre with a mix of a coming of age story and a kind of metaphor for the dogs of society. 

The art from Caitlin Yarsky is also absolutely gorgeous. Her art reminds me a bit of Emma Rios mixed with Jeremy Haun and Declan Shalvey and it has this interesting quality about it that just seems to blend the ephemeral and realistic. I’m particularly impressed by the way that the lettering is incorporated to tell us more about the characters as well. A lot of thought looks like it’s gone into the presentation of this story and it pays off in spades.

| Published by Image

Eugenic #2 jumps ahead to a society now ruled and manipulated by the Numans, subjugating the remaining humans to walled off ghettos and putting a lie to the concept that this new “perfect” race would be any better than its predecessor. 

I also appreciate the moment that James Tynion IV and Eryk Donovan take to comment about representation in media. It’s highly important and highly relevant and it’s nice to see that reflected outright in science fiction.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Grass Kings #9 shifts point of view again this issue, this time to Ashur and Pinball as they pick up some of the threads in regards to the investigation of Jenny Handel’s death. I really like how Matt Kindt has been weaving this story together, a patchwork of overlapping narratives building one upon the next.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Hack/Slash vs. Vampirella #2 has some great art from Rapha Lobosco again. I really like his style, at times I swear I’m looking at pages by Eduardo Risso, and that kind of dark, highly shadowed work fits perfectly with horror. This issue also seems to amp up the comedy aspect, bringing more of the feel of Hack/Slash proper to the crossover.

| Published by Dynamite

Harbinger Renegade #0 is kind of nice in the wake of “Massacre” to see HARD Corps get spanked so thoroughly. It’s also terrifying as Rafer Roberts and Juan José Ryp unleash the next nightmare upon the Valiant universe in this bridge to Harbinger Wars 2.

| Published by Valiant

The Harcourt Legacy #1 is something from a publisher I normally don’t pay much attention to, but the write-up about it sounded interesting. It’s a kind of family drama about a dying relative leaving his inheritance, the family fighting over the will, etc., but it’s also about magic and the interpretation of magic through music. Brendan Cahill gives it an interesting spin, with believable characters, and I’m looking to see what’s next. The art from Jason Federhenn is also very good, he’s got an angular style similar to Giuseppe Camuncoli.

| Published by Action Lab / Danger Zone

Harrow County #27 gives us Bernice kicking all kinds of ass, it’s very satisfying. Her confrontation with Kammi is just a wonderful thing to see, showing how far that she’s come and what she can really do. It’s just a shame what happens next. Emmy’s vengeance against Kammi is going to be epic.

| Published by Dark Horse

Injection #15 is very pretty. Declan Shalvey and Jordie Bellaire seem to up their game again this issue and this is just lovely.

| Published by Image

Kid Lobotomy #2 does the nigh impossible and is somehow even better than that first issue. Gloriously insane doesn’t do justice to what Peter Milligan and Tess Fowler are creating here. Milligan is presenting a story of familial strife, blending literary allusions to Shakespeare and Kafka throughout, across a backdrop of madness that transcends even his work on Shade: The Changing Man. The artwork from Fowler also is wonderful. The layouts and character designs are enthralling, making the book as visually interesting, if not more so, than even the story. This is great stuff.

| Published by IDW / Black Crown

Kong on the Planet of the Apes #1 is the expression of a crossover of properties so fitting that you’re left wondering why no one thought of it before and secured the license and publishing rights. (It’s, of course, understandable why Universal and Fox didn’t do it themselves). This just works so well that Ryan Ferrier’s story is seamless, playing upon the scientific and religious implications of giant apes present in the Planet of the Apes world. It’s also nice to see Carlos Magno back working on both properties.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Pestilence #5 continues hitting hard with its medieval zombies. It’s also interesting to see the religious reaction to the undead as the Pope gives a deathbed confession, pushing our knights to search a new destination.

| Published by AfterShock

Port of Earth #1 is the new series from Eclipse’s Zack Kaplan with Andrea Mutti handling the art chores. It’s another interesting take of science fiction, turning a woefully technologically disadvantaged Earth into a way station for space vessels and suffering the consequences of murderous aliens. Mutti’s art really gets to shine, even with the kind of faded blue wash Vladimir Popov’s colours provide, giving us some great designs for aliens and their technology.

| Published by Image / Top Cow

Redlands #4 veers left into an unexpected ghost story this issue, as Bridget, recovering from her injuries last issue, begins investigating a cold case from 1985. I really like how Jordie Bellaire is telling these stories and developing the characters in a very organic, flowing fashion. Although clearly thought out and planned, everything in the story just seems to flow together. Equally impressive is Vanessa Del Rey’s art. This issue brings back rounded corners, but this time only for the whole page. It’s a subtle technique, but it adds a different element to planned storytelling within a frame, rather than just discrete panels. It’s a nice touch.

| Published by Image

Slots #2 is good, damn good. Dan Panosian delves into the seedy backstory of Stan’s history with Les, while fleshing out more about the various characters across Vegas. His art is also incredible.

| Published by Image / Skybound

Star Wars #38 reunites the original Marvel Darth Vader team in Kieron Gillen’s first issue on the main title. It’s kind of a follow-up from Rogue One, as well as a surprise appearance from a character from the previous Darth Vader run, but it reads well enough on its own, setting up the stakes of this new arc. It helps that the artwork from Salvador Larroca and Guru e-FX is absolutely stunning.

| Published by Marvel

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #26 bills itself as the “zine issue” and as such is essentially an anthology of oddities with some guest art by the unusual suspects. It’s pretty hilarious with contributors like Chip Zdarsky, Carla Speed McNeil, and a Galactus short with Jim Davis.

| Published by Marvel

Other Highlights: Astonisher #2, Daredevil #595, Despicable Deadpool #289, Falcon #2, First Strike: Transformers #1, Jessica Jones #14, Half-Past Danger II: Dead to Reichs #3, Marley’s Ghost, Master of Kung Fu #126, Moon Knight #188, The Normals #6, Rock Candy Mountain #5, Royal City #7, Royals #10, Runaways #3, Scales & Scoundrels #3, She-Hulk #159, Slam! - The Next Jam #3, Spider-Man vs. Deadpool #23, Spirits of Vengeance #2, There’s Nothing There #5, TMNT/Ghostbusters 2 #2, The Unbelievable Gwenpool #22, Uncanny Avengers #29, Venom #157, X-Men Gold #15

Recommended Collections: 4 Kids Walk into a Bank, Black Panther - Volume Four: Avengers of the New World - Part One, Edge of Venomverse, Rose - Volume One, Star Wars: The Force Awakens

d. emerson eddy does not like green eggs and ham. He does not like them on a boat. He does not like them with a stoat.

#This Week in Comics

[tsunderin]

Microsoft Round-Up

Hey, do you remember when gameplay at E3 used to be a thing? Microsoft sure doesn’t. 

The Outer Worlds: I can’t help but feel the premise of “fuck big companies. fuck capitalism” rings a little hollow during a AAA game company conference, but I haven’t really heard anything bad about Obsidian myself. The trailer stinger was really underwhelming and the graphics look about equal to Bethesda quality. Not that this means anything about the game itself--it’ll still most likely be fun. 

Bleeding Edge: It’s Overwatch for people who actually want more better diversity! Imagine a game where every female character doesn’t have the same fucking base model and the same Disney-esque face model. It looks... like a carnival aesthetic. Or post-apocalyptic. Stage hazards seem to be a facet as well. 

Ori and the Will Of the Wisps: Still looks cute, and from the audience reaction people are still hype for it. 

Minecraft Dungeons: It’s like... a dungeon crawler MMO? But Minecraft? I think for people who like Minecraft, it could be really fun. 

Star Wars: Jedi Fallen Order: I like what I’m seeing of the humor in the game. But I can’t say I’m particularly interested in the protagonist.

Blair Witch: “IPs That No One Needed To Bring Back.” Not that it looks bad. It looks promising and way better than the zombie game I originally thought it was. Play as a detective looking for a lost kid.. I think. It might just be me, but some of the imagery screamed Deadly Premonition (like the red trees), which is weird. Since this game is totally not going to be that interesting. 

Cyberpunk: Who the fuck cares CD Project Red still sucks lol. Poor Keanu Reeves.

Spiritfarer: This game looks adorable! You play as a sailing witch and it seems as though you get to craft your boat bigger, and cook, and date monsters maybe? You get to hug them at least. “Learn how to say goodbye” MAKES ME CRY ALREADY WHAT THE FUCK.

Battletoads: Sure is Battletoads still.

RPG Time: The Legend of Wright: I love the aesthetic for this. Parts of it are pencil drawn and it seems as though the entire game is comprised of different crafting items. Like Yoshi’s Crafted World, but not Yoshi. I’m here for this shift in design.

Indie @ Xbox:

Dead Static Drive

Pathologic 2

Star Renegades

Afterparty

Totally Accurate Battle Simulator

The Good Life (Yay!!)

Crosscode

Creature In the Well

Killer Queen Black

Riverbond

Unto the End

Blazing Chrome

Felix the Reaper

Undermine

Supermarket Shriek

Secret Neighbor

Ikenfell

Lord Of The Rings Something or Other

Night Call

Totem Teller

Flight Simulator: The graphics are gorgeous, but I got totally stressed just from watching it. Flight sims aren’t for me.

Age of Empires 2: Definitive Edition: I... was not expecting this, but cool. I’m sure the people that like this series are happy.

Wasteland 3: ....Okay, cold take but I’m kind of over the “wacky post-apocalypse” genre. It doesn’t look like this game does anything that other post-apoca games don’t do better.

Psychonauts 2: Looks cool! And it’s nice that Double Fine joined Xbox, if only so EA can’t buy them up and destroy them.

Lego Star Wars: The Skywalker Saga: Hell yes.

Project Z: Sure is a Dragon Ball Z game. The battles look really cool and dynamic.

12 Minutes: An “interactive thriller”. Dude’s stuck in a time loop until he figures out the mystery behind the maybe murder his wife did against her father. It’s an interesting concept, but I don’t know if I care for the story. 

Way To the Woods: C U T E. Play as a deer with a baby deer and find your way back home. Puzzle platformer, as to be expected. 

Gears 5: I think whatever struggle the heroine is going through will be compelling, but damn I sure know nothing from that trailer. There wasn’t even any gameplay for their new Escape mode, which is, uh, really dumb. 

Dying Light 2: So you’re playing as an infected, which is somewhat interesting. But still, big pass.

Forza Horizon 4: A... lego expansion pack. I think that’s fun! Good for you, Forza.

Gears Funko: I can’t believe they’re showing this off for the second year in a row. AND it’s a mobile game. Please....

State of Decay 2: Heartland: I’m already over zombie games, but I can appreciate the two stories. One of the protagonists is a Black woman, so I can only hope that they do her story justice.

Phantasy Star 2: And here is where I died and for real spent the rest of the conference crying. I have been waiting SO LONG for this. So long. And it finally happened?! I’m still ready to openly weep. I CAN’T WAIT TO PLAY MORE FONEWEARLS!!!

Crossfire X: Full disclosure; I was still deep in happy tears so I have no idea what the fuck this is. It looks like a war game of some sort, and not really that interesting at all.

Tales of Arise: I’m PUMPED for another Tales game. But, uh, couldn’t you make the one line more... interesting? “Everything we knew.... was a lie.” Yeah. That’s every Tales game. Thanks. With the “pulling a sword out’cha girl” system, it looks something like Zesteria’s seraph system. But just from this it feels like a step back from Berseria. 

Borderlands 3: WHAT DO YOU MEAN LILITH “USED” TO BE A SIREN. WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER? The classes this time around look really fun, and charge me as horny on main, but Zane could get it from me. I need to log back on BL2 and play that “Lilith and the Fight For Sanctuary” DLC...

Elden Ring: Given that it’s produced by FromSoft and writen by GRRM, it’ll probably be hella depressing and dark. Which isn’t for me, but it looks cool none the less.

Project Scarlett: It sounds like a cool console. An expensive console. We’ll see if it’ll be worth it. 

Final Verdict:

(But more gameplay next year. Seriously.)

#E3 #E3pocalypse '19 #Microsoft #Xbox

[twistednuns]

April 2019

"Hating things: it tended to tell you who you were. Loving things rarely did." / "Joni Mitchell was sitting in the doorway, placidly licking a paw, the feline equivalent of a bitch filing her nails." // Hermione Hoby's Neon in Daylight was such a good read, I thorougly enjoyed it. Hoby has such a nice writing style. I didn't know anything about the book when I picked it up from a library shelf, I just liked the cover and the blurb. Literary luck!

More books: Kurt. I don't know what it is about Sarah Kuttner's writing but it always hits close to home. I loved the description of the old house, the garden work. It made me want to move into my grandma's house with a sad boyfriend, watering the roses with a hose on a lazy summer evening.

Cat eating corn. Feline ASMR. I also spent an evening watching all of these oddly satisfying and soothing videos.

"Training war die Gelegenheit, den Körper an Schmerzen zu gewöhnen." (Takis Würger, Der Club)

Angela Carter's writing. Her characters, her plot-twists and magical realism. Most of all her incredible language. It's the same storyline I usually tell about my closest friends - at first I hated Nights at the Circus but soon realised that I actually loved it.

Fleabag and the priest. SO hot. As well as her jumpsuits and red lipstick. And don't even get me started on Kristin Scott Thomas' guest appearance.

My first time in Canada! I only visited Québec though and had to try my best to speak French in a comprehensive manner. Random moments, things and facts to keep in mind: Diet Cherry Coke obsession / my French improving noticably; learning about the Québecois accent / that bus we took on our way to Québec - it had a lounge area in the back with leather sofas, I kept thinking that a dance pole and a fancy drink were the only things missing / veggie or even vegan-friendly restaurants like Aux Vivres, Copper Branch, Lola Rosa, La Panthère Verte and - my favourite - Momo (who make vegan sushi with their very own scents and flavours; quite floral and very intense, super delicious of course) / getting to meet Emily (thanks, Manu!) and spending the evening with her and her roommate Frankie from London; I loved geeking out over Pixie Dust and Butterbeer in The Lockhart pub, quizzing each other with Harry Potter related Trivial Pursuit questions / meeting Mélissa Lefebvre and Paul Tom who presented their movie Bagages to us / the Canadians - very laid back, friendly, easy-going; I loved their individual looks, you really had the feeling you could come as you are and will always be accepted / of course I like the lumberjack-y vibes of many Canadian men - flannel shirts, bearded and long-ish hair - exactly my type / and I like how inclusive Canada is, at least in Montréal: they put an emphasis on gender equality; I met quite a few openly gay and trans people, too / visiting lots of small concerts (TEKE::TEKE, Les Breastfeeders, Ohmme, Bayonne, The Kalmunity Jazz Project) - I love how cheap the tickets are; I never paid more than 20CAD / my favourite vintage store in Montréal: Eva B. It's huge, and they serve vegan snacks! I got two pairs of Cowboy boots, a purple silk jacket and a green bandana / meeting a few friendly cats (one on the lap of a lady in a wheelchair) and an acrobatic gaga-squirrel / Montréal's architecture - the staircases, the stained-glass windows; all the street art, and of course the city's most enigmatic street, Boulevard Saint-Laurent / maple everything; maple-covered almonds, maple toffee, cookies, candy... unfortunately I usually only enjoy the first few bites, the sweetness is a bit sickening after a while; I even refer to maple toffee as diabetes on a stick / to contradict myself immediately: a weird obsession with Fruit Loops for breakfast (I blame the buffet... I never act normal around food if there's an all-you-can-eat option) / the Château Frontenac in Québec reminding my of the ending scene in 10 Things I Hate about You when Letters to Cleo is playing on the rooftop (in fact they filmed it in Tacoma though, at Stadium High School; but the building had originally been designed as a French château/luxury hotel before turning it into a school) / I didn't care much for Québec cité but our hotel was definitely a plus factor: there was a pool, a sauna and an outdoor hot tub so obviously we spent far too much time in the hot water, enjoying a cold beer, watching the old naked guy in the window across the yard watching us / almost being able to count the layers in the ice accumulating at the bottom of the Montmorency Falls - I think ice is such a fascinating, underrated material; maybe I should go to Iceland and find a good glacier (oh, and I didn't mind the rainbow there either) / a small indoor lake with a surface like a mirror-glaze cake / the huge drawings of a hut overrun by snails - almost like an oversized page of a graphic novel - at the biennale de Québec //

Starting to realise that I do have a plethora of skills and talents other people can only dream of; maybe I should start putting them to good use. Sometimes I notice how easy certain things are for me which also means that I take a lot for granted. I should be more grateful and appreciative, I suppose.

Celebrating my uniqueness. Is there a better place to start wearing freaky clothes and hairstyles than Montréal? Not really. Bless strange pigtails, 90's sunglasses and strong opinions.

The weirdest song has been stuck in my head for days now. They must have played it in that Tex Mex restaurant on Boulevard Saint-Laurent and I subconsciously remembered it?

Inuit art. I love their sculptures made from stone, bone and wood. I don't know if they're meant to be comical but if they are I absolutely appreciate the Inuit's sense of humour.

Getting tipsy on red wine and vermouth in the airport bar with Maxim and Martina. I guess the others thought we were stoned since they knew we had walked past a SQDC in Montréal in the afternoon. I liked spending time with Maxim, finding out about his personality and unexpected beliefs. Still waters run deep. We might actually visit the Buddhist Centre in Munich together. I wonder if they can finally teach me how to meditate. And Martina has a heart of gold. I hope we'll keep in tough. I hadn't expected that of all the people in the group those two would turn out to be the ones I'd click with.

Noticing how lush and green Germany is all of a sudden. I could already see the change from above looking out of the plane window. I like seeing this as a big difference after being gone for two weeks because I don't appreciate it quite as much when I see it happen gradually.

Coming home. Enjoying sweet solitude. Sleeping in my own bed. With heavy blankets. Enough space. The perfect smell. So much better than hotel beds. Returning to my favourite breakfast routine (oats, apple, blueberries, nuts, almond milk) after gaining at least two kilograms on horrible breakfast buffets and poutine.

The insane amount of wisteria growing along a neighbour's balcony and house front.

My first time in Herkulessaal at Munich's Residenz - for a pretty special occasion, too. Chilly Gonzales playing together with some guest musicians. Gosh, I LOVE him when he's rapping. Such a talent. And a Canadian! He's actually from Montréal. What a coincidence.

#personal #present perfect #things i love #2019 #april #april 2019

[laurelkrugerr]

Readability Algorithms Should Be Tools, Not Targets

About The Author

Frederick O’Brien is a freelance journalist who conforms to most British stereotypes. His interests include American literature, graphic design, sustainable … More about Frederick …

Readability programs may seem like a godsend, but the worst thing writers can do is write to please them above all others. Finding your voice is hard enough without also trying to sound like everyone else.

The web is awash with words. They’re everywhere. On websites, in emails, advertisements, tweets, pop-ups, you name it. More people are publishing more copy than at any point in history. That means a lot of information, and a lot of competition.

In recent years a slew of ‘readability’ programs have appeared to help us tidy up the things we write. (Grammarly, Readable, and Yoast are just a handful that come to mind.) Used everywhere from newsrooms to browser plugins, these systems offer automated feedback on how writing can be clearer, neater, and less contrived. Sounds good right? Well, up to a point.

As with most things, there’s an xkcd comic for this. (Large preview)

The concept of ‘readability’ is nothing new. For decades researchers have analyzed factors like sentence length, syllable count, and word complexity in order to ‘measure’ language. Indeed, many of today’s programs incorporate decades-old formulas into their scoring systems.

The Flesch-Kincaid system, for example, is a widely used measure. Created by Rudolf Flesch in 1975, it assigns writing a US grade level. The Gunning fog index serves a similar purpose, and there are plenty more where they came from. We sure do love converting things into metrics.

It’s no mystery why formulas like this are (quite rightly) popular. They help keep language simple. They catch silly mistakes, correct poor grammar, and do a serviceable job of ‘proofreading’ in a pinch. Using them isn’t a problem; unquestioning devotion to their scores, however, is.

No A-Coding For Bad Taste

I want to tread carefully here because I have a lot of time for readability algorithms and the qualities they tend to support — clarity, accessibility, and open communication. I use them myself. They should be used, just not unquestioningly. A good algorithm is a useful tool in the writer’s proverbial toolbox, but it’s not a magic wand. Relying on one too heavily can lead to clunkier writing, short-sightedness, and, worst of all, a total uniformity of online voices.

One of the beauties of the internet is how it melts national borders, creating a fluid space for different cultures and voices to interact in. Readability historically targets academic and professional writing. The Flesch-Kincaid test was originally developed for US Navy technical manuals, for example. Most developers can appreciate the value of clear documentation, but it’s worth remembering that in the world of writing not everything should sound like US Navy technical manuals. There are nuances to different topics, languages, and cultures that monosyllabic American English can’t always capture.

Deference to these algorithms can take writers to absurd lengths. Plain English is one thing, but unquestioning obedience is another. I’ve seen a good few sentences butchered into strings of words that tick readability boxes like ‘write in short sentences’ and ‘use monosyllabic words wherever possible’, but border on nonsensical to the human eye. It’s a near-impossible thing to quantify, but it has been a recurring phenomenon in my own work, and having spoken with other copywriters and journalists I know it’s not just my rampant paranoia at work.

Let’s look at the limitations of these tools. When faced with some of the greatest writers of all time — authors, journalists, copywriters, speech writers — what’s the verdict? How do the masters manage?

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. The opening chapter receives a grade of E from Readable.

George Orwell’s essay ‘Politics and the English Language’, which bemoans how unclear language hides truth rather than expresses it. He gets a grade of D. Talk about having egg on your face!

The beginning of The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway does tolerably well in the Hemingway Editor, though you’d have to edit a lot of it down to appease it completely.

A personal favorite that came up here was Ernie Pyle, one of the great war correspondents. His daily columns from the front lines during World War II were published in hundreds of newspapers nationwide. One column, ‘The Death of Captain Waskow’, is widely regarded as a high watermark of war reporting. It receives a grade of B from Readable, which notes the writing is a tad ‘impersonal.’ Have a read and decide for yourself.

Impersonal war correspondent Ernie Pyle. Credit: Indiana University. (Large preview)

Not all copywriting is literary of course, but enjoyable writing doesn’t always have to please readability algorithms. Shoehorning full stops into the middle of perfectly good sentences doesn’t make you Ernest Hemingway. I’m an expert in not being as good as Ernest Hemingway, so you can trust me on that.

Putting Readability Into Context

None of this is supposed to be a ‘gotcha’ for readability algorithms. They provide a quick, easy way to identify long or complex sentences. Sometimes those sentences need editing down and sometimes they’re just fine the way they are. That’s at the author’s discretion, but algorithms speed up the process.

Alternatively, if you’re trying to cut down on fluffy adverbs like ‘very’ you can do a lot worse than turning to the cold, hard feedback of a computer. Readability programs catch plenty of things we might miss, and there are plenty of examples of great writing that would receive suitably great scores when put through the systems listed above. They are useful tools; they’re just not infallible.

Algorithms can only understand topics within the confines of their system. They know what the rules are and how to follow them. Intuition, personal experience, and a healthy desire to break the rules remain human specialties. You can’t program those, not yet anyway. Things aren’t the done thing until they are, after all.

It’s a fine line between thinking your writing has to be clear, and thinking your readers are stupid. You stop seeing the woods for the trees. Every time I hear that the ‘ideal’ article length is X words regardless of the topic or audience, or that certain words should always be used because they improve CTR by 0.06%, I want to gauge my eyes out. Readability algorithms can make sloppy writing competent, but they can’t make good writing great.

Remember, when all is said and done, copy is written for people. From an SEO Company perspective, Google itself has made it clear in the past that readability should match your target audience. If you’re targeting a mass audience that needs information in layman’s terms, great, do that. If you produce specialized content for experts in a certain field then being more specialized is perfectly appropriate.

As Readable has itself explored, readability can be a kind of public good. Easy to read newspapers spread information better than obtuse ones do. Textbooks written for specific age groups teach better than highly technical ones do. In other words, understand the context you are writing in. Just remember:

“When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure.”

— Goodhart’s Law

Find Your Voice

I have no beef with readability algorithms. My problem is with the laziness they can enable, the thoughtlessness. Rushing out a draft and running it through a readability tool is not going to improve your writing. As with any skill worth developing you have to be willing to put the hours in. That means going a step or two beyond blindly appeasing algorithms.

Not everyone has a lUXury of a great editor, but when you work with one, make full use of the opportunity. Pay attention to their suggestions, ask yourself why they made them. Ask questions, identify recurring problems in your writing and work to address them.

Analyse how the algorithms themselves work. If you’re going to use readability systems they should be supplemental to a genuine search for your own voice. Know how the things calculate scores, what formulas they’re drawing from. Learn the rules yourself. By doing so you earn the knowledge required to break them.

In his aforementioned essay George Orwell offers up his own approach to rules:

Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.

Never use a long word where a short one will do.

If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.

Never use the passive where you can use the active.

Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.

Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

These are founded on solid principles applicable to the web. Where did those principles come from? Not computers, that’s for sure.

Real editors and honest self-reflection do a lot more for your writing ability long term than obeying algorithms does. It all feeds back into your communication, which is an essential skill whether you’re a copywriter, a developer, or a manager. Empathy for other people’s work improves your own.

There is another essential thing good writers do: they read. No algorithm can paper over the cracks of an unengaged mind. Whatever your interests are I guarantee there are people out there writing about it beautifully. Find them and read their work, and find the bad writing too. That can be just as educational.

If you’re so inclined, you may even decide to get all meta about it and read about writing. If you’re not sure where to start, here are a handful of suggestions to get the ball rolling:

Also keep in mind that readability is not just a question of words. Design is also essential. Layout, visuals, and typography can have just as much impact on readability as the text itself. Think about how copy relates to the content around it or the device it’s being read on. Study advertising and newspapers and branding. On the other side of that sprawling jungle is your voice, and that’s the most valuable thing of all.

To reiterate one last time, readability algorithms are handy tools and I wholeheartedly support using them. However, if you’re serious about making your copy ‘compelling’, ‘informative’, or even (shudder) ‘convert’, then you’re going to have to do a lot more besides. The best writers are those algorithms are trying to imitate, not the other way around.

Whoever you are and whatever your discipline, your writing deserves attention. Whether it’s website copy, technical guides, or marketing agency material, developing your voice is the best way to communicate the things most important to you. By all means, use the tools at your disposal, but just don’t phone it in.

(ra, yk, il)

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/readability-algorithms-should-be-tools-not-targets/ source https://scpie1.blogspot.com/2020/05/readability-algorithms-should-be-tools.html

[riichardwilson]

Readability Algorithms Should Be Tools, Not Targets

About The Author

Frederick O’Brien is a freelance journalist who conforms to most British stereotypes. His interests include American literature, graphic design, sustainable … More about Frederick …

Readability programs may seem like a godsend, but the worst thing writers can do is write to please them above all others. Finding your voice is hard enough without also trying to sound like everyone else.

The web is awash with words. They’re everywhere. On websites, in emails, advertisements, tweets, pop-ups, you name it. More people are publishing more copy than at any point in history. That means a lot of information, and a lot of competition.

In recent years a slew of ‘readability’ programs have appeared to help us tidy up the things we write. (Grammarly, Readable, and Yoast are just a handful that come to mind.) Used everywhere from newsrooms to browser plugins, these systems offer automated feedback on how writing can be clearer, neater, and less contrived. Sounds good right? Well, up to a point.

As with most things, there’s an xkcd comic for this. (Large preview)

The concept of ‘readability’ is nothing new. For decades researchers have analyzed factors like sentence length, syllable count, and word complexity in order to ‘measure’ language. Indeed, many of today’s programs incorporate decades-old formulas into their scoring systems.

The Flesch-Kincaid system, for example, is a widely used measure. Created by Rudolf Flesch in 1975, it assigns writing a US grade level. The Gunning fog index serves a similar purpose, and there are plenty more where they came from. We sure do love converting things into metrics.

It’s no mystery why formulas like this are (quite rightly) popular. They help keep language simple. They catch silly mistakes, correct poor grammar, and do a serviceable job of ‘proofreading’ in a pinch. Using them isn’t a problem; unquestioning devotion to their scores, however, is.

No A-Coding For Bad Taste

I want to tread carefully here because I have a lot of time for readability algorithms and the qualities they tend to support — clarity, accessibility, and open communication. I use them myself. They should be used, just not unquestioningly. A good algorithm is a useful tool in the writer’s proverbial toolbox, but it’s not a magic wand. Relying on one too heavily can lead to clunkier writing, short-sightedness, and, worst of all, a total uniformity of online voices.

One of the beauties of the internet is how it melts national borders, creating a fluid space for different cultures and voices to interact in. Readability historically targets academic and professional writing. The Flesch-Kincaid test was originally developed for US Navy technical manuals, for example. Most developers can appreciate the value of clear documentation, but it’s worth remembering that in the world of writing not everything should sound like US Navy technical manuals. There are nuances to different topics, languages, and cultures that monosyllabic American English can’t always capture.

Deference to these algorithms can take writers to absurd lengths. Plain English is one thing, but unquestioning obedience is another. I’ve seen a good few sentences butchered into strings of words that tick readability boxes like ‘write in short sentences’ and ‘use monosyllabic words wherever possible’, but border on nonsensical to the human eye. It’s a near-impossible thing to quantify, but it has been a recurring phenomenon in my own work, and having spoken with other copywriters and journalists I know it’s not just my rampant paranoia at work.

Let’s look at the limitations of these tools. When faced with some of the greatest writers of all time — authors, journalists, copywriters, speech writers — what’s the verdict? How do the masters manage?

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. The opening chapter receives a grade of E from Readable.

George Orwell’s essay ‘Politics and the English Language’, which bemoans how unclear language hides truth rather than expresses it. He gets a grade of D. Talk about having egg on your face!

The beginning of The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway does tolerably well in the Hemingway Editor, though you’d have to edit a lot of it down to appease it completely.

A personal favorite that came up here was Ernie Pyle, one of the great war correspondents. His daily columns from the front lines during World War II were published in hundreds of newspapers nationwide. One column, ‘The Death of Captain Waskow’, is widely regarded as a high watermark of war reporting. It receives a grade of B from Readable, which notes the writing is a tad ‘impersonal.’ Have a read and decide for yourself.

Impersonal war correspondent Ernie Pyle. Credit: Indiana University. (Large preview)

Not all copywriting is literary of course, but enjoyable writing doesn’t always have to please readability algorithms. Shoehorning full stops into the middle of perfectly good sentences doesn’t make you Ernest Hemingway. I’m an expert in not being as good as Ernest Hemingway, so you can trust me on that.

Putting Readability Into Context

None of this is supposed to be a ‘gotcha’ for readability algorithms. They provide a quick, easy way to identify long or complex sentences. Sometimes those sentences need editing down and sometimes they’re just fine the way they are. That’s at the author’s discretion, but algorithms speed up the process.

Alternatively, if you’re trying to cut down on fluffy adverbs like ‘very’ you can do a lot worse than turning to the cold, hard feedback of a computer. Readability programs catch plenty of things we might miss, and there are plenty of examples of great writing that would receive suitably great scores when put through the systems listed above. They are useful tools; they’re just not infallible.

Algorithms can only understand topics within the confines of their system. They know what the rules are and how to follow them. Intuition, personal experience, and a healthy desire to break the rules remain human specialties. You can’t program those, not yet anyway. Things aren’t the done thing until they are, after all.

It’s a fine line between thinking your writing has to be clear, and thinking your readers are stupid. You stop seeing the woods for the trees. Every time I hear that the ‘ideal’ article length is X words regardless of the topic or audience, or that certain words should always be used because they improve CTR by 0.06%, I want to gauge my eyes out. Readability algorithms can make sloppy writing competent, but they can’t make good writing great.

Remember, when all is said and done, copy is written for people. From an SEO Company perspective, Google itself has made it clear in the past that readability should match your target audience. If you’re targeting a mass audience that needs information in layman’s terms, great, do that. If you produce specialized content for experts in a certain field then being more specialized is perfectly appropriate.

As Readable has itself explored, readability can be a kind of public good. Easy to read newspapers spread information better than obtuse ones do. Textbooks written for specific age groups teach better than highly technical ones do. In other words, understand the context you are writing in. Just remember:

“When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure.”

— Goodhart’s Law

Find Your Voice

I have no beef with readability algorithms. My problem is with the laziness they can enable, the thoughtlessness. Rushing out a draft and running it through a readability tool is not going to improve your writing. As with any skill worth developing you have to be willing to put the hours in. That means going a step or two beyond blindly appeasing algorithms.

Not everyone has a lUXury of a great editor, but when you work with one, make full use of the opportunity. Pay attention to their suggestions, ask yourself why they made them. Ask questions, identify recurring problems in your writing and work to address them.

Analyse how the algorithms themselves work. If you’re going to use readability systems they should be supplemental to a genuine search for your own voice. Know how the things calculate scores, what formulas they’re drawing from. Learn the rules yourself. By doing so you earn the knowledge required to break them.

In his aforementioned essay George Orwell offers up his own approach to rules:

Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.

Never use a long word where a short one will do.

If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.

Never use the passive where you can use the active.

Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.

Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

These are founded on solid principles applicable to the web. Where did those principles come from? Not computers, that’s for sure.

Real editors and honest self-reflection do a lot more for your writing ability long term than obeying algorithms does. It all feeds back into your communication, which is an essential skill whether you’re a copywriter, a developer, or a manager. Empathy for other people’s work improves your own.

There is another essential thing good writers do: they read. No algorithm can paper over the cracks of an unengaged mind. Whatever your interests are I guarantee there are people out there writing about it beautifully. Find them and read their work, and find the bad writing too. That can be just as educational.

If you’re so inclined, you may even decide to get all meta about it and read about writing. If you’re not sure where to start, here are a handful of suggestions to get the ball rolling:

Also keep in mind that readability is not just a question of words. Design is also essential. Layout, visuals, and typography can have just as much impact on readability as the text itself. Think about how copy relates to the content around it or the device it’s being read on. Study advertising and newspapers and branding. On the other side of that sprawling jungle is your voice, and that’s the most valuable thing of all.

To reiterate one last time, readability algorithms are handy tools and I wholeheartedly support using them. However, if you’re serious about making your copy ‘compelling’, ‘informative’, or even (shudder) ‘convert’, then you’re going to have to do a lot more besides. The best writers are those algorithms are trying to imitate, not the other way around.

Whoever you are and whatever your discipline, your writing deserves attention. Whether it’s website copy, technical guides, or marketing agency material, developing your voice is the best way to communicate the things most important to you. By all means, use the tools at your disposal, but just don’t phone it in.

(ra, yk, il)

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/readability-algorithms-should-be-tools-not-targets/ source https://scpie.tumblr.com/post/616932296630632448

[scpie]

Readability Algorithms Should Be Tools, Not Targets

About The Author

Frederick O’Brien is a freelance journalist who conforms to most British stereotypes. His interests include American literature, graphic design, sustainable … More about Frederick …

Readability programs may seem like a godsend, but the worst thing writers can do is write to please them above all others. Finding your voice is hard enough without also trying to sound like everyone else.

The web is awash with words. They’re everywhere. On websites, in emails, advertisements, tweets, pop-ups, you name it. More people are publishing more copy than at any point in history. That means a lot of information, and a lot of competition.

In recent years a slew of ‘readability’ programs have appeared to help us tidy up the things we write. (Grammarly, Readable, and Yoast are just a handful that come to mind.) Used everywhere from newsrooms to browser plugins, these systems offer automated feedback on how writing can be clearer, neater, and less contrived. Sounds good right? Well, up to a point.

As with most things, there’s an xkcd comic for this. (Large preview)

The concept of ‘readability’ is nothing new. For decades researchers have analyzed factors like sentence length, syllable count, and word complexity in order to ‘measure’ language. Indeed, many of today’s programs incorporate decades-old formulas into their scoring systems.

The Flesch-Kincaid system, for example, is a widely used measure. Created by Rudolf Flesch in 1975, it assigns writing a US grade level. The Gunning fog index serves a similar purpose, and there are plenty more where they came from. We sure do love converting things into metrics.

It’s no mystery why formulas like this are (quite rightly) popular. They help keep language simple. They catch silly mistakes, correct poor grammar, and do a serviceable job of ‘proofreading’ in a pinch. Using them isn’t a problem; unquestioning devotion to their scores, however, is.

No A-Coding For Bad Taste

I want to tread carefully here because I have a lot of time for readability algorithms and the qualities they tend to support — clarity, accessibility, and open communication. I use them myself. They should be used, just not unquestioningly. A good algorithm is a useful tool in the writer’s proverbial toolbox, but it’s not a magic wand. Relying on one too heavily can lead to clunkier writing, short-sightedness, and, worst of all, a total uniformity of online voices.

One of the beauties of the internet is how it melts national borders, creating a fluid space for different cultures and voices to interact in. Readability historically targets academic and professional writing. The Flesch-Kincaid test was originally developed for US Navy technical manuals, for example. Most developers can appreciate the value of clear documentation, but it’s worth remembering that in the world of writing not everything should sound like US Navy technical manuals. There are nuances to different topics, languages, and cultures that monosyllabic American English can’t always capture.

Deference to these algorithms can take writers to absurd lengths. Plain English is one thing, but unquestioning obedience is another. I’ve seen a good few sentences butchered into strings of words that tick readability boxes like ‘write in short sentences’ and ‘use monosyllabic words wherever possible’, but border on nonsensical to the human eye. It’s a near-impossible thing to quantify, but it has been a recurring phenomenon in my own work, and having spoken with other copywriters and journalists I know it’s not just my rampant paranoia at work.

Let’s look at the limitations of these tools. When faced with some of the greatest writers of all time — authors, journalists, copywriters, speech writers — what’s the verdict? How do the masters manage?

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. The opening chapter receives a grade of E from Readable.

George Orwell’s essay ‘Politics and the English Language’, which bemoans how unclear language hides truth rather than expresses it. He gets a grade of D. Talk about having egg on your face!

The beginning of The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway does tolerably well in the Hemingway Editor, though you’d have to edit a lot of it down to appease it completely.

A personal favorite that came up here was Ernie Pyle, one of the great war correspondents. His daily columns from the front lines during World War II were published in hundreds of newspapers nationwide. One column, ‘The Death of Captain Waskow’, is widely regarded as a high watermark of war reporting. It receives a grade of B from Readable, which notes the writing is a tad ‘impersonal.’ Have a read and decide for yourself.

Impersonal war correspondent Ernie Pyle. Credit: Indiana University. (Large preview)

Not all copywriting is literary of course, but enjoyable writing doesn’t always have to please readability algorithms. Shoehorning full stops into the middle of perfectly good sentences doesn’t make you Ernest Hemingway. I’m an expert in not being as good as Ernest Hemingway, so you can trust me on that.

Putting Readability Into Context

None of this is supposed to be a ‘gotcha’ for readability algorithms. They provide a quick, easy way to identify long or complex sentences. Sometimes those sentences need editing down and sometimes they’re just fine the way they are. That’s at the author’s discretion, but algorithms speed up the process.

Alternatively, if you’re trying to cut down on fluffy adverbs like ‘very’ you can do a lot worse than turning to the cold, hard feedback of a computer. Readability programs catch plenty of things we might miss, and there are plenty of examples of great writing that would receive suitably great scores when put through the systems listed above. They are useful tools; they’re just not infallible.

Algorithms can only understand topics within the confines of their system. They know what the rules are and how to follow them. Intuition, personal experience, and a healthy desire to break the rules remain human specialties. You can’t program those, not yet anyway. Things aren’t the done thing until they are, after all.

It’s a fine line between thinking your writing has to be clear, and thinking your readers are stupid. You stop seeing the woods for the trees. Every time I hear that the ‘ideal’ article length is X words regardless of the topic or audience, or that certain words should always be used because they improve CTR by 0.06%, I want to gauge my eyes out. Readability algorithms can make sloppy writing competent, but they can’t make good writing great.

Remember, when all is said and done, copy is written for people. From an SEO Company perspective, Google itself has made it clear in the past that readability should match your target audience. If you’re targeting a mass audience that needs information in layman’s terms, great, do that. If you produce specialized content for experts in a certain field then being more specialized is perfectly appropriate.

As Readable has itself explored, readability can be a kind of public good. Easy to read newspapers spread information better than obtuse ones do. Textbooks written for specific age groups teach better than highly technical ones do. In other words, understand the context you are writing in. Just remember:

“When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure.”

— Goodhart’s Law

Find Your Voice

I have no beef with readability algorithms. My problem is with the laziness they can enable, the thoughtlessness. Rushing out a draft and running it through a readability tool is not going to improve your writing. As with any skill worth developing you have to be willing to put the hours in. That means going a step or two beyond blindly appeasing algorithms.

Not everyone has a lUXury of a great editor, but when you work with one, make full use of the opportunity. Pay attention to their suggestions, ask yourself why they made them. Ask questions, identify recurring problems in your writing and work to address them.

Analyse how the algorithms themselves work. If you’re going to use readability systems they should be supplemental to a genuine search for your own voice. Know how the things calculate scores, what formulas they’re drawing from. Learn the rules yourself. By doing so you earn the knowledge required to break them.

In his aforementioned essay George Orwell offers up his own approach to rules:

Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.

Never use a long word where a short one will do.

If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.

Never use the passive where you can use the active.

Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.

Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

These are founded on solid principles applicable to the web. Where did those principles come from? Not computers, that’s for sure.

Real editors and honest self-reflection do a lot more for your writing ability long term than obeying algorithms does. It all feeds back into your communication, which is an essential skill whether you’re a copywriter, a developer, or a manager. Empathy for other people’s work improves your own.

There is another essential thing good writers do: they read. No algorithm can paper over the cracks of an unengaged mind. Whatever your interests are I guarantee there are people out there writing about it beautifully. Find them and read their work, and find the bad writing too. That can be just as educational.

If you’re so inclined, you may even decide to get all meta about it and read about writing. If you’re not sure where to start, here are a handful of suggestions to get the ball rolling:

Also keep in mind that readability is not just a question of words. Design is also essential. Layout, visuals, and typography can have just as much impact on readability as the text itself. Think about how copy relates to the content around it or the device it’s being read on. Study advertising and newspapers and branding. On the other side of that sprawling jungle is your voice, and that’s the most valuable thing of all.

To reiterate one last time, readability algorithms are handy tools and I wholeheartedly support using them. However, if you’re serious about making your copy ‘compelling’, ‘informative’, or even (shudder) ‘convert’, then you’re going to have to do a lot more besides. The best writers are those algorithms are trying to imitate, not the other way around.

Whoever you are and whatever your discipline, your writing deserves attention. Whether it’s website copy, technical guides, or marketing agency material, developing your voice is the best way to communicate the things most important to you. By all means, use the tools at your disposal, but just don’t phone it in.

(ra, yk, il)

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/readability-algorithms-should-be-tools-not-targets/

[vrsystem-us]

15 BEST GRAPHICS on Modern VR Systems

we don't get to talk about VR very often but we love it when we can and we love graphics so we figured it was a good time to feature 15 VR games with some of the most insane graphics let's just get started with number 15 and talk about Vader immortal it's by far not the best-looking game on this list but it has a few key things first it's one of the better-looking games on the quest the wireless oculus device the quality and detail they cram on the headset for this game in particular is just incredibly impressive but also now that it's on the standard rift platform you could really see the graphical effort even more but the big thing I want to point out with this game is just Darth Vader himself when he walks up to you and he stares you down you can really tell they put a Hall of the budget into him he looks incredible and the sense of presence he gives off when he's standing in front of you is nothing short of amazing you really feel like it's him so we're giving the game big points for that but moving on to number 14 let's talk about red matter VR red matter VR is awesome there are a few VR games on this list that are like this but I think whew look as cool the concept is you're exploring a Space Station lab on a moon of Saturn to investigate shady secret research projects it's like an alternate universe sci-fi cold war dystopia and if something went wrong so it's up to you to figure it out it's atmospheric but it's also strikingly detailed even more than you'd expect and some of the weird evil red visual effects they use in-game are a sight to behold really check it out but next at number 13 zero caliber VR this game is impressive in a different sense I mean it looks pretty decent but it's all how it comes together as a first-person shooter you have full movement around the environment and can take cover at will it's all freedom you have big guns that you can realistically hold and interact with different parts of it and there's just lots of explosions and the game doesn't really take a hit up close some things can look kind of crappy but when it's all in motion the ambition of the game itself makes it really visually impressive it feels like you're dropped into a real first-person shooter like Call of Duty or something since you shoot things and it looks cool that's what I'm trying to say and next up at number 12 we have Arizona sunshine a game that you might think at first it's just another throwaway zombie shooter game like you see on every other app store but this one actually looks damn good once you get into it the use of lighting in just the outdoor environments and just the art style of sort of being kind of artsy but sort of realistic make this thing quite a looker and more than you'd expect especially if you're running on a decent machine aside from just the bright color and the lighting and stuff the explosion effects and some of that stuff is really really impressive this game isn't like the absolute masterpiece or anything but it is absolutely solid and consistent and just fun to look at so that's why we considered it plus honestly it's just fun as hell shooting zombies is always cool and Arizona sunshine is of the higher quality so check it out but moving over to number 11 something I really want to talk about is the gallery part of the Ember stone this is actually the follow-up to the gallery call of the star seed which was a big hit for a lot of vibe players back in the day when it first launched it's a really cool puzzle mystery adventure game which already looked damn good and the developers cloud head games really stepped it up with ember stone I just look at it now that in the game story you're entering a new ancient hidden world everything is just bigger and more fantastical within the game so the art design and the graphic line should really keep up and make up for this it really looks better than ever visually and gameplay wise it's a massive improvement over a call of the star seed and I would highly highly recommend it but next at number 10 singularity 5 it's this awesome wave shooter that I'm really hyped to talk about it looks incredible and has a great sense of style the art direction is like a crazy high-concept sci-fi kind of artsy fartsy vibe that they completely nailed from the vision to the actual execution in the game not only is it stylish though but the on-screen menus and the fonts and everything like little things are really cool too it's just you know like I said sometimes with stuff it's just really the little details and when people really pay attention to every single individual element in a game they're making I just really appreciate there are a few other games like this on this list in terms of just like wave shooter type thing but it's still worth pointing out just because it's art style is so different and eclectic now at number 9 project cars to VR I still really firmly strongly believe that racing games are the perfect style of game to really get people into VR and just show them what it can do and right now really the best showcase of that is project cars - now straight up it's not my favorite racing game by any means but the VR component is just extremely extremely well done and the fidelity is perfectly translated to the VR options and in the best ways you really feel like you're in the car and there's still a surprising amount of detail on everything kick-ass graphics are needed to be able to properly convey a good sense of speed and if that's not done right the fun factor can drop instantly thankfully though project cars 2 succeeds and then some like from that - detail - just everything you want to blow somebody's mind put a VR headset on them and put them in a racing game and like I said earlier project cars - is the one to do it with at number 8 primordial this is a weird otherworldly first-person shooter with a single-player adventure and an arcade mode and despite there being so many other VR shooters this one just feels super unique and it looks great I think primarily it's because of the scope of this dense looking world as well as definitely these weapon visuals that the guns or weird gross weapons use are hyper detailed and cool and the game makes really fun use of glowing colors and bright neons - just great great effect it was made by like two dudes it's really amazing that it looks as good but we got to give them props next at number seven let's talk about how blade we love how blade here at game ranks and it also got of the arm oh it's just a damn good looking game it was a good looking game then and putting it in VR was a weird choice but it totally works the way it's set up essentially most at a time you're acting as the camera the game is still you know in third-person perspective only the camera has some slight movement and freedom with your head in motion and stuff there are other games that do it like this but I think he'll played is just one of the best-looking ones you know there is a loss in graphical fidelity in some spots as there always is with VR but experiencing this game in front of your damn face is still really cool and the characters and a creepy environment still look great and absolutely emulate you feel of playing it the traditional way honestly however you play it maybe you're watching this you don't even have a VR headset I'll say it again play hell-blade cuz it's a really cool single-player adventure anyway let's move on next at number six in death people describe this game in death kind of like as a Dark Souls VR game and yeah that works it has a lot of like great bow and arrow gameplay in it and it's a robe light so it has a satisfying challenge loop but gameplay aside it looks really good it's been hailed as one of the best-looking VR games and I really got it in particular point out how cool the enemies look and especially the way they move and animate here this is one that you just really kind of need to see to believe in motion like it's gotta be on your face as generic as that sounds I really think it's true some of the games on this list is better off you actually seeing them in person than a YouTube video with awful compression in 1080p showing it but getting down to the final five let's talk about Batman Arkham vr this is honestly like a relatively simple Batman experience this is really freaking cool and immersive and it looks so damn good and what started out as a psvr exclusive has been ported over and it's just really goddamn awesome it looks good on every platform because it preserves the look of the Rocksteady Batman Arkham games from style tough all that gritty detail and it puts you in Batman shoes literally it has a depth and scale of Gotham rooftops where you can look down to the busy streets below but also all of Batman's gadgets and his cool clubs are recreated with a bunch of really really fun detail this game is really more of an experience you know a museum type thing but it's really awesome and impressively running in real time I played this one like well over a year ago at least and I still can't stop thinking about how good it looks but moving on to number four just a quick one lone echo lone echo is awesome the movement and zero-gravity the puzzles and seriously I can't say enough good things about this one but it also looks awesome despite the simple premise of a Space Station floating through empty endless space it's the detail in the environments the lighting and really the character models you get up close and personal with that really impressive this one might make you queasy you know but the floating around in space is so much fun and I'd really recommend it especially because it's practically a graphical powerhouse dude but next up something I'm really excited to talk about at number three is Resident Evil 7 it's one of the more impressive triple-a VR outages Capcom definitely gambled on this one it's been probably a ton of money because the entirety of Resident Evil 7 can just be played in VR first of all this makes it incredibly scary the atmosphere and the graphics are preserved enough in VR to make certain sequences of the game still feel genuinely spooky also the detail of the character models is still insanely impressive those Baker's are messed up I don't know but really this is truly a VR game on a massive budget and if you can experience it you should because they gave it their all as long as you have the stomach for it it sucks EDD it's still just a psvr exclusive but still it looks damn good now down at number two let's talk about less of an official one its ally and isolation alien isolation is a crazy looker I mean creative assembly put a ton of time into the visuals here and just support in general with the game the dark hallways atmospheric lighting emergency lights the faithful level design that just really recreate that feeling the original alien it's a no brainer for looking good when it's also strapped to your face and ER this has to be access to with mods though there were like files in the game for VR support groundwork but it never came through as official DLC or an update like ii sega didn't support but it's worth tweaking fairly easily and checking out it's very scary and very moody and I think more than anything alien fans need to get themselves in this but finally at number one we want to talk about Robo recall okay where to start on this one ooh Robo recall kind of acts as like a nice graphical showcase for Unreal Engine VR stuff but thankfully it's also fun as hell but also more importantly on this list it's an absolute looker it's got a little bit everything you know semi explorable environments with impressively detailed city streets and tall skyscrapers where the scale actually feels properly massive up close and personal you have these highly detailed robot character models that really get in your face and look pretty amazing they can be blasted with bullets and damage and you can also grab them and slowly rip them apart with your hands before your very eyes and see all that stuff happening in motion in real time is so cool everything is shiny glossy detailed sharp it's highly stylized while also just making you feel like you're really there a robo recall is something really special everybody's gonna have different opinions on like what the best looking VR games are like there are more than we can even include on this list and everybody has a different type of preference for a graphical style and art style but these games look really amazing and we just wanted to highlight them but of course for VR enthusiasts down in the comments we want to hear what you guys are up to you what are you playing what do you think looks the best what are you really in love with what's whisking you away if you learned about a new game or something like that from us clicking the like button is the best way you can show appreciation and help us out we would love that but if you're new consider 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https://youtu.be/Ri5HKY6nguc

#vr system