#I want to make a little poem book and it feels too daunting to actually make it rn but

[confetti-critter]

doing projects isn't working, I'm kinda doing one thing, then putting it down and trying smth else, it's not feeling good, I don't feel like doing anything, blah blah blah

[cowardnthief]

10 actual ADHD study tips

from a student with ADHD

(or if you just have trouble concentrating)

1. put your phone in different room.

no, really. there can be any number of excuses not to (i use it as an alarm/timer, what if there's an emergency, but i use it during breaks) but i guarantee that you will focus better without the ability to check your social media. if you're genuinely worried about missing a phone call, don't put it on silent, and leave it across the room so you can hear it, but make sure it's out of reach.

2. invest in some noise-cancelling or muffling headphones.

they're a life-saver. i use them to help with sensory overloads, but now i wear them pretty much every time i study. regular headphones with some kind of neutral backing noise also work pretty well.

3. don't listen to music.

maybe somewhere, somehow, there exists a person who can actually listen to music and focus, but i've never met one. my adhd means i get distracted by anything. i'm a good multitasker, but not when the task requires lots of thought, like my science or math homework, or that english essay i've been putting off. if science is distracting for you as well, put on a neutral background noise (no, not lo-fi hiphop beats - unless that works for you). i usually put rain sounds or white or brown noise (the latter is my favourite).

4. break big tasks into small chunks.

you've probably heard this one before, but adhd makes tackling big tasks seem really daunting. like, where do you even start? before beginning a massive project, make a list of every little thing you need to do. it might seem stupid or excessive, but i can't stress how much it helps. it also gives you a sense of accomplishment whenever you knock a task off the list.

5. if you know you're gonna procrastinate, try and do it productively.

this one is one i'm still getting used to. i realised, after hours of sitting at my desk, not wanting to start on my essay but not wanting to actively NOT write my essay, and just generally feeling like shit, that it would have been better to spend those hours doing that thing i wanted to do (learn that song on my guitar, finally finish the painting sitting on my desk, write the poem that i had scribbled in my notebook a week ago). if you know you're not going to get started on your work, you might as well do something else that isn't as pressing but you still need to get done. it's okay not to be 100% productive al the time.

6. have a clear workspace.

this is a big one. i found that having a lot of stuff on or around my desk just makes me feel fenced in. i like to have 1 lamp, 1 cup of pens/pencils/highlighters, a cup of tea, tissues, and whatever i'm working on. when you're done with a task, PUT IT AWAY ASAP. that way, it doesn't build up, and you can feel ready to start on the next thing.

6.5. eliminate distractions.

i feel like this relates to the point above, but don't have lots of visible posters/lights/tempting tasks. maybe close your blinds or your door, or study in a library instead of your room if it is too bright and colourful.

7. the pomodoro method (organising your breaks).

LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS. the pomodoro method involves working for a consistent slot of time (usually 25 minutes, but whatever works for you) and then having a short break (5-10 minutes), and then a long break every 2-5 "slots" (15-20 minutes). if you don't trust yourself to stick to a timer, get a cute app on your laptop - there are heaps of different themes, and it will help you organise your time and tasks. instead of thinking about a task like "it will take me 2 hours", think about it like "it will take me 4 slots of time", and it will be much less daunting.

(note: for your breaks, try not to reach for your phone/social media. this is a rabbit hole. maybe draw for a minute, or read a few pages of a book. do something you can easily and quickly put away.)

8. organise yourself, but try not to hyperfixate on it.

apps like notion can be really helpful when organising tasks/your workspace, but they can also suck hours of your time away if you're not careful. not everything has to be perfect/meticulously planned, and you're not working on your homework by planning your weekly schedule. speaking from experience, it's really easy to get caught up in something that may feel productive, but really isn't.

9. this is really niche, but... for my reading-glasses wearers:

WEAR THEM WHEN YOU STUDY. i'm very mildly farsighted, which means wearing glasses when i read for long periods of time helps me prevent headaches. technically, i can go without them, and for a few years i usually did, but i've noticed that wearing them when i study has the benefit of getting me in the right headspace, and also stops me from looking up or around my room too often, as the prescription makes me dizzy when looking at things far away.

10. just get started.

i know you hate hearing this, but usually, knocking one or two things off your list can help you get motivated. often, things that seem really difficult or time consuming aren't as bad once you've gotten started.

good luck!

[sonybees]

me rewatching dead poets society instead of doing my assignments

i’m not sure if anyone would even care about this but i am really bored soo here we go

neil looks so down when he’s with his father stopdjejdkfjnr

poor todd got forced to stand up i would get pissed eujehd

the best preparatory school? lmfao ok.

KEATING YAY

THE PRESSURE THAT TODD HAS TO GO THROUGH I CAN SEE IT IN HIS EYES HE DOES NOT WANT THIS WTF

poor kids being forced to go there

LMFAO SPAZ

i still don’t know what a stiff means is that even what he said?

OOPS LMFAO

attractive pieces of sht leaning on a door frame help

“keen.” HA

YESSIR USJSJSJ

why does meeks kind of sound like me when i meet someone new

“he flatters me.” LOLSJNDKSHSJJSKSJDC

“i thought you’d gOne.”

freaking hell stfu tom

i’ve always thought this who calls their father “sir” ???

THE LOOK CHARLIE AND KNOX SHARE HDNEJDJF

“BRAIN DAMAGE” HSMEJD

they all look so confused like same

BRO SPAZ LMFAO

their smiles are so cute awwjdnejsnjd

POOR PITTS SHJWJS

MEEKS SMILE WHEN HE SAID AN UNFORTUNATE NAME

DING

“turn cold and die.” damn that took a turn fast

caaaaaarpeeeee dieeeeeem @siezethedaypoets (sorry! sjjejs)

“that means you daLtoN” the way he says it lfmaosjjd

i thought he was gonna do history he pulled out his chem book dhjshdbd

take a breath knox damn

them just not at all understanding math is a mood

too bad :/

AWW THE WXCITEMENT IN PITTS AND MEEKS EYES

“very funny, dalton.” hehehhehehejjdjdjfjrkdn ccmv mf

AWW MEEKS

CHARLIE WTF YOU DRAWING

RIP SHRED TEAR

RIP RIP RIP

oh shit

ahh one of my fav scenes, charlie basically eating that ball of paper

i hate looking at this it’s so awkward like hello mr. mccallister

what will your verse be?

THE MASHED POTATOS

“no, keating.” LMFAO YES GO KEATING

is that stick? on the end of the table?

“don’t come please.”

“no shIt, sherlock.” HA I LOVE THIS GUY

“pittsie, cmon!” “his grades are hurting, charlie.” i literally just love this conversation

“i’ll try anything once.” “except sex!” “ha ha ha.” HSJWJJSND ANOTHER ONE OF MY FAV CONVOS

“WOMEN SWOON HA HA HA” THE EVIL LAUGH WTF SHEJJS

“CHARLIE @tellmewhytheyswoon” SORRY I HAD TO LMFAO

LMFAO SHUT UP WILL YOU

this is so chaotic and messy damn

the treatshsjdj

they’re loud asf

i wonder who’s who while they were running with the hoods

OH CRAP THE SUN IS OUT WHAT that isn’t in the movie sorry

I LOVE MEEKS AND CHARLIE’S RELATIONSHIP SM

i could never take note of the minutes when something happens how will he do that

YESSIR PART TWO

HOW DID PITTS TAKE THE OTHER HALF SO FAST

EVEN TODD KNOWS CAMERONS STORY LMFAO

LMFOA KNOX IS STARING AT THE PICTURE

MEEKS HOOO THEN I SAW THE CONGO CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK

THE LITTLE BOING NOISE LMFAO WHAT IS THAT

“are you a man or an amoeba?” i’m sorry lol what the hell do you mean sjdjiend

TO WOO WOMEN

“why do i stand up here? anybody?” “@tofeeltaller” HA I LOVE DOING THIS IM SORRY

i would cry if i found out that i had to make a poem AND read it aloud in front of everyone

poor todd thougsjwhidfj

i wanna marry todd. lmfao where did that come from

RADIO FREE AMERICA

AWW THEM DANCING STFU THIS IS SO CUTE

i can’t hear the audio hellloooooojdjwksbdken

AWW we got some anderperry content here

lol i wanna wear their sweaters

:/// TODD

“no.” “no? what do you mean no?” “no.” *smirks* HAJDJDJWKNS

DONT BE IMMATURE

IDK WHERE TF THE INSTRUMENTS CAME FROM BUT I LOVE IT

the birds are so pretty

nice outfit knox

STOP STARING DUDE YOU’RE MAKING IT TOO OBVIOUS CMON

“sounds to me like you’re daunted.” JSJS

TO INDEED BE A GOD

MEEKS AND PITTS WOTH THEIR HEADPHONES ON AWW

“PUCK YOU” LMFAOAJSJJDJ

i bet todd’s poem is actually great

“the cat sat on the mat.” DNDIDHJDJDJDHS i love how keating still said it wasn’t all bad though

BRO DAMN DONT CALL TODD AND I OUT LIKE THAT

lmfao todd’s just hating every second of this

“sweaty toothed madman” i can see that too whatsbjdjdjsn

THIS IS BETTER THAN ANY POEM I EVER TRIED TO WRITE GREAT JOB TODD

NEIL IS AMAZED

when keating pushed their foreheads together wtf aww father son love typa thing that’s so cutejjedujsidj

LMFOA NO KNOX TRIPPED

YAYY GOAL

wtf this seems so fun

“your parents collect pipes? oh that’s really interesting.” LFMAOOAJSJD I LOVE PITTS

poetrusic by charlie dalton

laughing crying mumbling tumbling

DAMN HES GOOD

the little kind of aggressive hair ruffle awwjendn

OOO VOCABULARY

LMFAO THE LITTLE CHUCKLE KNOX DOES

AWW THEYRE ALL SO HAPPY FOR KNOX

THE SCARFSJJD

“exercising my right not to walk.” smartass

it’s todd’s birthday and no one greeted him excpet neil stfukqbxqbcdbkrw

the first unmanned flying desk set yes yes

THEY ALL JUST STOOD UP LMFAO

merlin knox you are DRUNK

PLEASE DONT ISTG KNOX

THATS NOT WHAT HE MEANT BY CARPE DIEM

well you’re in deep trouble now

“it’s God. he says we should have girls at welton.” as much as i love this scene what the hell were you thinking my man

i don’t get how this was legal back then. wtf is it gonna do? you’re just hurting the kids bro

the pain in his eyes stop

“@dangitneil the name’s nuwanda.” pain brokqdb jdjf

CRAP CRAP CRAP MR PERRY GET OUT

the pic of keating’s wife/gf aww

neil you’re gonna make me cry stop

that is so odd why are their lockers like connected from the left side isn’t it usually from the right?

JSKSIJDEIUWKDRUEJSJX CHRIS IS SO DONE NODKDMD

that piece of bread

THIS GUY JUST SHOVED A KID CMON KNOX

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOTHING?”

AWW WHEN TODD MESSED UO CAMERONS HAIR

CHARLIE LMFAO I MENA NUWANDA

KNOX IS DONE W THEM TOO

chris is gorgeous omg

the snow in her hair stop marry me

“you are SO infuriating”

i hate how i’m just completely forgetting what’s gonna happen in like 10 minutes

PUCK

LMFAOTHEM HOLDING DOWN CHARLIE

“he’s really good.” AW YES HE IS FUCSHWMDMD

wait the holding hands is kinda cute thoughsjdnd

bro mr perry is making me want to kill someone maybe him

NEIL’S SMILE IMMEDIATELY WENT AWAY IHATE YOU TOM

damnit you idiot i hate you sm let your son live you bastard

sigh sigh sigh sigh sigh sobs sobs sobs

merlin neil

IM JUST NOT GONNA THINK ABOUT THIS YK

HA HA HA NOT CRYING

SIGHS AGAIN

DEAR LORD

NO TODD IS GONNA MAKE ME CRY TOO STOP

THEY ALL SEEM LIKE THEYRE IN SHOCK NO

damn everything

SIGH WHY DIDNT I STOP WATCHING? IDFK

“it’s beautiful.” NOFNEJWGHSGEMWGE NEED WH

KEATING NO

lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol

charlie just sitting down not singing i hate this

i probably should’ve just stopped watching yk but i didn’t but that’s okay i think

i got so pissed the first time they said that they were gonna ask questions like??? did mr perry did no at all realize that it was his fault?

sigh cameron you aren’t always that bad but in this scene i loathe you

NO RICHARD

DAMNIT YOU MADE TODD SNAP

AND CHARLIE SNAPPED TOO YOU JUST MESSED UP TOO MUCH MAN

i hate how it went from a happy dark academia movie to this cmon

todd’s dad is so mean shut up he was just asking a question

it feels so sad in the room i hate it

the empty chairs pls no

keating’s little chuckle man i miss their smiles

BRO SROP THEY LOOK SO SAD TODD ISTG

*GASP OF HAPPINESS IN THE MIDDLE OF CRYING* HUHUHUH

TODD MEEKS STICK SPAZ PITTS KNOX GEORGE? HA I LOVE YALL

and we’re done. damn okay

thanks for reading ig fjdbshsbjwhdjsj

anyways i’m tired goodnight or morning or wtvr thanks! and sorry <3

[quarantined-with-bucky]

Poetry

Thanks for reading!! It means so much to me! Feel free to reach out for anything! The poem is not mine!

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 2,200

Summary: You find ancient poetry interesting. Bucky finds you interesting.

Warnings: Maybe angst but not really?

A/N: I found this poem on tumblr years ago so I don’t know the source but if you do please reach out!

...

Studying Ancient Greece and Rome had obviously been around since – well, since they were around, you supposed. The philosophy itself had always been intriguing to you: from Plato and Aristotle to Cicero and Marcus Aurelius. Its fascinating to know that these philosophers had originated some of the most widely accepted yet widely debated topic of mankind – or, at least they wrote them down first. And while Homer, Ovid, and Virgil may not be the easiest publications to read, you couldn’t help but immerse yourself in these works as if only to understand why they’re so popular and important.

You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a nerd, despite what Sam Wilson might playfully argue, but you did enjoy the occasional novel or documentary; that’s what drew James Barnes to you in the first place. Maybe it was the fact you were an absolute sponge for information. It didn’t even have to be related to the aforementioned history or philosophy; if someone was teaching it, you were definitely going to be there learning it. However, your fascination for ancient culture is what piqued his interest in you.

As previously established, the study of ancient civilization had, in fact, been around since forever. But it was something generally reserved for those who could – for lack of a better word – afford to study it: it was a rich man’s subject; for those who could afford to spend their time studying such subjects that would not earn them much income. But while school wasn’t necessarily a challenge for Bucky, it surely wasn’t that heavily emphasized. Hell, back in the day, only about 50% of kids even graduated high school, let alone attend college. And with the war going on? Forget about it. It was already expected that he’d graduate school and go on to work to earn a living. He couldn’t afford college, nor did he have the time for it. Once he was of age, Bucky was expected to work. Things changed with the war; expectations pointed to the Army.

Leaving all that in the past, Bucky turned to you to help him acclimate to his new life. Upon his return to civilization, he was met with Sam: “witty” (his word, not Bucky’s) and nonstop chatterbox, Steve: more serious than Bucky had remembered from one-hundred years ago, and Tony: don’t get him started. He learned to find that each of the Avengers had their own charming personalities, but they also had their own cliques. Of course, everyone had welcomed Bucky with open arms, but everyone was already a little too friendly with each other to make him feel at home.

Having lost all his charm and charisma long ago, he took solace in your quiet studies. You were new to the Avengers, as well. And while you got on with everyone and considered yourself friends with everyone (even family with some of them), you were a bit too green to be in on all their inside jokes and old-timer stories. As much as Bucky hated seeing you feel out of place, he secretly loved the fact he had someone to bond with about it.

Bucky belly-flopped onto your bed, making your whole body bounce up and down where you were laying on your back on your bed. You set your laptop down beside you and stared at the young man before you. “Whatcha doin,’” he smiles up at you, holding his chin up on his folded knuckles, propped up on his elbows.

“Reading,” you respond, flopping onto your stomach, mimicking his smile and hands. Bucky stared into your eyes for a moment, his smile never faltering. He was barely ever this close to you – close enough that you’re breathing the same air. Your eyes sparkled with the reflection of the candle burning beside you, your cheeks rosy from the warmth in your room and the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “And what are you up to, Buck?”

He shrugs, pulling his mouth into a tight line. “I’m bored.”

You roll your eyes playfully, wasn’t he bored everyday? “Nobody to hang out with?” You gently prod.

“I want to hang out with you,” he responds firmly. Was he bothering you? Would you rather have him bother someone else instead of you? You wanted him to leave, right? Panic flooded his system as he began to sit up, preparing himself to leave. He knows how much you loved reading and your alone time. The last thing he wanted was to bother you.

Your heart blossomed momentarily. He wanted to hang out with you? All you did was sit in your room and read. He watched a few shows with you, but he always fell asleep. “What do you want to do?” you mumble.

Another shrug. “What are you reading?”

“Poetry.” His eyes squinted at your one-word answer, so you continue. “You know, rhyming words, short sentences – ”

His chuckles cut you off, his eyes shutting in laughter, bright white teeth grinning as he drops his head forward on the mattress. “I know what poetry is, thanks (Y/N).” He picks his head up. “Why are you reading it on there?” His eyes move to the discarded laptop beside you. “You’ve got all these books.”

And he’s right, your room was lined with bookshelves, most works read, although you couldn’t bring yourself to start up on some of the more daunting longer novels. This time, it was your turn to shrug. “Sometimes its nice to read something short and sweet. Y’know, so it’s not dragging on forever.”

He nods, still eyeing your bookshelves. “Any of these any good?” He almost grimaces, noticing the long novels with matching sequels.

You fake gasp. “Bucky, they’re only the most important works in literary history.” You hop up off your spot on the bed, leaving behind your blankets and Bucky. “Here, since your so bored.” You plucked Homer’s The Iliad off your shelf, tossing it on the bed beside him. His eyebrows were drawn together at the book sitting beside him. “They make kids read it in high school nowadays – I’m sure you can handle it.”

With that, you plop yourself back onto your bed, picking up your laptop, and continuing your reading on your laptop. Buck grabs the book from beside him and opens it to the first page, trying not to crease the perfect spine. He almost wonders how you don’t notice him staring at you instead of the book. He admired your intelligence but also your looks. He doesn’t think he could ever  grow tired of looking at you: the way that your eyebrows furrowed in concentration when you read, the soft tug of your bottom lip between your teeth as you anticipated the ending.

Every time you glanced towards Bucky; he brought his eyes back down to the page. He must be having a hard time with that – he’s been on the first page for ages.

It was hard to focus on reading with him next to you – hell, not that you were complaining. His breathing was so calm and perfectly timed. His head was turned down towards the book, but while the rest of his body only moved in synch with his breathing, his hair kept falling from where it was tucked haphazardly behind his ear. He wasn’t frustrated about it (you, on the other hand, would’ve thrown your hair into a bun while threatening yourself to shave all your hair off). His lips were almost always red, and it constantly consumed your thoughts. Did he bite his lips a lot, were they constantly chapped? They don’t look chapped; maybe he just drank a fruit punch, so they were always stained red. You were dying to find out the reason, if only by the feel of your own lips on his.

He could feel your eyes on him; your body ever so slightly shifts and your breathing changes. He bit his lip, still struggling on this first page. His mid was racing elsewhere. He was a trained assassin: he could combine factors of wind, speed, humidity, distance, altitude, and spindrift in goddamn ballistics physics all in his head just to shoot one person. He could speak a million different languages – he actually couldn’t count how many he knows. (He could definitely read the original Divine Comedy in old-school Italian, unlike the translated version that sat across the room on your shelf). Sure, he was highly intelligent, but damn this book was boring.

“I can’t do this one,” he huffed suddenly, shutting the book in front of him. He (over)dramatically rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He then peers up at you with puppy-dog eyes. “It’s hard.”

“It is a tough one, but I thought you could take it,” you respond casually, a smirk forming on your lips. And what Bucky wouldn’t do to have his lips on top of yours at that moment…

With a roll of his eyes, he nudges his way next to you and under the blankets you’ve re-snuggled up in. His cheek was burning into your arm, his metal arm laid loosely over your lap in a half-hug. “How’s the poetry going? Why are you reading it online?”

“It’s good,” you breath shakily. Who knew having him this close to you would actually make your heart leap out of your chest? God and you just knew that he could feel it, too. “It’s just poems people wrote online. Not really published officially, but it’s still really good. ‘S about mythology; the gods and myths and stuff.”

“Can you read me some?” He closed his eyes, nuzzling his nose into your shirt, pulling the blanket farther around him.

You peer down at him, using all your willpower to not stroke that one strand of hair out of his face. You scroll back up to what you were reading, and your mouth suddenly goes dry. You start softly, so softly that you’re not even sure he can hear you.

“Hero,” they’d whisper as the young boy walks by.

“Hero,” they’d cheer and the young boy wonders why.

Why was I picked for this life full of glory?

Why must tragedy be the end of my story?

I want to be a hero but I want happiness too.

And heroes may win the war but they rarely live through.

You know what – fuck it – you bring your hand up to his forehead and ever so slightly brush your fingertips against his skin, pulling the soft brown hair along to the side with you. He’s breathing slowly, but once you touch him his eyes open. Not a single other muscle has moved, he remained completely still.

And it resonates with Bucky – obviously it resonates with Bucky. He didn’t know much about Greek mythology but knew enough to recall the bloody battles and ruthless victories of the myths. “Who is that about?” He asked.

You. “Achilles,” you whispered, hand not moving from cradling the side of his face. His eyebrows were drawn together, crinkles forming around his eyes and bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

He just lays there, replaying the words in his head. Was his life a Greek tragedy? Was he Achilles? His life was already a tragedy. His life was now full of glory – at least that’s what Steve made it sound like. He had a terrible past, sure, but now he was destined to be this great new Avenger. Bucky would scoff if he wasn’t so focused on laying in your arms.

Does anyone think of him as a hero? Can they really forgive him for all his past atrocities? Like Achilles, Bucky finds himself questioning others calling him that. They can call him a hero but at what cost? What did it cost Bucky? His life, his family, friends; his body, his mind; his thoughts, his freedom?

He won the war – he’s free now. Is all of him really dead inside? Is there any human part of him left to be a hero?

The dragging of your knuckles against his cheek pulled him out of his thoughts. But that’s when he realized he is not the tragedy. You were.

The thought of losing you would be his tragedy. Just like Achilles losing Patroclus: the love of his life.

That’s when Bucky grabbed your hand in his – metal that was cool to the touch, in contrast with your warm skin. He whispered your name into your open palm that he pressed against his lips. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, quickly, without thinking – without stopping to think about what a bad idea this probably was – he slid a hand behind your neck and pulled your lips to his. You gasped against his lips and right when he was about to pull away and leave with his tail tucked between his legs, you pressed your lips into his. He simply held you there, one long continuous kiss, time frozen between the two of you.

He parted from you to suck in a deep breath, slowly releasing a sigh from between his lips as he pressed his forehead against yours. “Bucky,” you sighed, eyes still shut, blindly tilting your head forward searching for his lips, searching for another kiss (to which he obviously obliged). With a few more chaste kisses, you laughed against his lips. “Took you long enough.” And to this, he grinned against you, pulling away just far enough for you to see his blue eyes glazed over with joy. And for the record, Bucky Barnes definitely did not have chapped lips.

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

40, 17, and 53 with Jason Todd. Love you!!! You deserve way more than 200 followers.

love YOU!!! sorry this is so late! 1.6k words of Jason x reader fluff in which you’re stuck in an elevator. 

17.“Did you just… agree with me?” “Oh, I wish I could take-““Nope! You said it! No take-backs!”

40.“You’re a psychopath.” “I prefer creative.”

53.“I hate you.” “Why? I’m lovely.”

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t such a wise idea to take the elevator during a raging storm, but you could only be so functional after a three-hour British literature final exam. 

Massaging the palm of your hand and gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip, agonizing over your concluding paragraph, you hit the down button with your elbow and had barely half a mind to acknowledge the torrential downpour outside the walls of Gotham Academy. 

The elevator dinged dismally and you trudged inside. 

Wordsworth said to fill your paper with the breathings of your heart but you couldn’t stop worrying that you dumped the jumbled thoughts of your mind onto the lined pages. You were fretting so intensely that you barely heard the pleas to keep the elevator door open. 

“Wait! I need to catch the elevator! Pretty please!” 

You startled and moved to press the open button, but a body barreled in through the doors and hit the wall with a slightly concerning bang before you could do so. 

The figure was broad and sinewy from behind, a backpack hanging off toned shoulders and veiny arms showcased thanks to a snug black t-shirt. Something about that admittedly nice butt was awfully familiar, and then the human canon turned around. 

“Oh. Hey, Y/N.” 

You stiffened and braced yourself, though you were unsure what you were bracing yourself for. “Hi, Jason.” 

He cracked a smile, slow and warm, and your heart skipped several beats before settling into a panicky rhythm. 

Oh. That was why you braced yourself. 

He quirked an eyebrow and nodded to your hands. The fingers of your left dug into the palm of your right so hard, your knuckles turned white. “Still recovering?” 

You dropped your hands. “In more ways than one.” 

Something about Jason always had you on edge. You two were notorious for getting into heated debates regarding humanist theory and the best Romantic era poets, and you’d nearly lost your mind when you worked together because the professor assigned partners for a literature analysis presentation – he pushed your buttons excessively. 

Maybe it was because he was so hard to read, but he was able to read you with startling clarity. You didn’t know much about him, only that he was a few years older, enjoyed blasting Bobby Brown, had strong opinions on bread, and knew Keats better than his own name. You had known him for four months, but he already knew that you despised untied shoelaces, snapped a rubber band against your wrist when you were nervous, and owned two cats. Your guard was highly fortified because people who’d known you for years barely knew one of those tidbits; who did Jason think he was, waltzing into your life and making you self-conscious every time you exhibited a nervous tick?

Your unease around Jason Todd might also have to do with the fact that he was so beautiful, he left you flustered and babbling angrily much more often than you’d like. 

“How’d you feel about it?” 

“About…what?” 

Jason laughed and you blinked in surprise at the sound of sunshine on this rainy day. “About the exam, Y/N.”

“Oh. Uh. I wish I felt better about it. You?” 

His shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. “I’ve been through worse.” 

“Who’d you focus on for the last question?” You asked as the doors glided shut with a groan. 

He snorted. “Coleridge, of course. Who else?”

You frowned. “Barrett Browning.” 

He shot you a dubious look. “Is it because of Sonnet Forty-Three?” 

Flummoxed, your frown deepened. “No…” 

“Mmhhmmm,” He nodded, mouth sliding up into a playful smile. 

“Well. Maybe a little.” 

“Quite the hopeless romantic, aren’t we?”

You opened your mouth to retort defensively but betrayed yourself; you locked eyes with him and suddenly found yourself lost in a sapphire ocean. “Yeah,” You sighed in resignation. 

His eyes widened, eyebrows raised in bewilderment. “Did you just…agree with me?” 

You blushed deeper. “Oh, I wish I could take –”

Jason waggled a finger accusatorially. “Nope! You said it! No take-backs!” 

You jutted your chin out and crossed your arms over your chest. Maybe you should have been concerned when the elevator groaned a little in dissent, but you couldn’t hear much above the little voice at the back of your head scolding you for not being more vigilant around him. 

“Fine.” 

His smile softened, gentle like the Caribbean, and much to your dismay, so did you. “It’s not a bad thing.” 

“I-I guess. I don’t know.” 

You did know when the lights flickered and died with a buzz and a few concerning sparks. 

You also knew when the elevator jolted and dropped a few feet, bouncing unevenly because it pulled a shriek from your throat, and you flung yourself at Jason Todd. 

He stumbled back a little with an “oof” but didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you. 

He smelled of jasmine and old books and some kind of spice. You were in the middle of a third deep inhale, safe in his arms, when the elevator groaned again, reminding you where you were. You wrenched yourself out of his embrace and slammed against the wall opposite of him with a jolt, pressing the help button frantically – but to no avail, it looked like the whole array was shot.

The elevator made another agonized noise and panic seized your lungs. 

“Well. I think the elevator’s stuck.” 

“It still m-moves. What if – what if it falls all the way d-down? We’re gonna – oh, fuck, we’re gonna die in here, aren’t we?” You warbled, slowly sliding to the ground. 

Jason’s brow furrowed, shadows dancing against his skin beneath the dim emergency light. “We’re not going to die in here, Y/N.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut when thunder rumbled irately, practically shaking the walls. “You can’t guarantee that.” 

“We’re probably not going to die in here.” He simpered, taking steady strides over to you and the buttons. 

You had to choke back whimper when the elevator tilted slightly. 

You heard him shifting slightly, setting his backpack on the ground and kneeling next to it. 

His knee bumped your knee and your eyes snapped open, but he continued shuffling around in his bag, unbothered by the physical contact. 

You didn’t want to die before you could find out who scored higher on that exam, but you refrained from voicing this aloud. For the moment. 

“So, you’re scared of centipedes and dying in an elevator. What else?” He asked in a low voice. 

In spite of the slightly dire situation, you flushed, reminded of the unfortunate insect incident in the library a few weeks ago. 

The answer left your mouth before you could swallow it. “You.” 

You were unsure of how serious that response was and maybe he was too, because the corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk. “Me? I’m harmless.”

As these words left his mouth, he unearthed a daunting piece of technical equipment from his backpack. 

You wanted to tell him that he was actually quite harmful to your emotional stability, but instead you asked, “What the hell is that?” 

His smirk grew into something even more dangerous, setting your heartbeat awry again. “Our way out.” He pressed a button and what might be a laser flashed and buzzed menacingly. 

“You’re a psychopath.” 

“I prefer creative.” Jason told you cheerily, turning away from you to wiggle the suspicious tool beneath a panel near the bottom row of buttons. 

There were some more unsettling buzzing noises, but he must have known what he was doing because several moments later, all of the lights blink on. 

He pressed the help button with his knuckle, and it rang shrilly in acknowledgement. 

“Now, we wait.” He scooted back a little so he could sit in front of you, cross-legged and almost boyish in the way he looked at you expectantly, more like a patient puppy than a muscly twenty-something with threatening equipment and novels in his backpack. 

You felt your face heat up again. “Oh. Great.” 

He leaned forward a little, one dark brown arched in inquisition. “Are you really scared of me?” 

Your stomach flipped a little because he was striking up close, pink mouth and strong nose framed by handsome angles, earthy olive skin littered with storybook scars, and eyes that whispered the most tragic of poems in a language you couldn’t quite understand. 

“I’m trying to figure it out.” 

“You must not be completely petrified because you seem quite calm, considering we’re in a confined space together. Also, you threw yourself at me.” 

You gaped at him indignantly. “I hate you.” 

“Why? I’m lovely. At least three different people tell me on a daily basis.” 

It was your turn to arch an eyebrow. “By people do you mean drooling college girls?” 

That smirk returned. “Old ladies crossing the street and soccer moms occasionally, too.” 

You crinkled your nose in distaste. “Bleh.” 

“Beauty is meant to be appreciated.” Jason stated, fixing you with a look of saccharine reverence that made you think, perhaps, he wasn’t referring to himself through the eyes of appreciative grown women. 

Bashful, you broke away from his gaze, finding sudden interest in your sweaty hands and playing with your fingers. 

“That’s why poets exist.” You muttered. 

“Shakespeare, sonnet eighteen.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Now, his smile was all sunflowers and chirping birds on a summer morning. “It means you’re beautiful and I want to compare you to a summer’s day. And take you on a date when we get out of this elevator. If you’ll let me.” 

It took a few moments to shake you out of your daze. “If we can get out of this elevator and avoid a Shakespearean tragedy, sure.”

[coeurdastronaute]

Either/Or: Krypton 6

Previously on Krypton 

“We can’t keep meeting like this.”

“Yes we can.”

Despite her words, Kara melted with Lena’s smile. She melted with a touch of a hand on her waist and Lena’s body slipping between her and the shelf she was curating. There was an indescribable lightness that came with Lena. Something about her smile or her lips or her eyes or her nose or her shoulders or her knees-- something that Kara just couldn’t really fathom, but that made her feel better, even if she was never feeling bad.

“I’ll never get any work done if we do.”

Hovering close, Lena pressed against the shelf, Kara’s eyes darted from her lips to her eyes and back again, a mischievous grin growing on her own lips. The proximity was torture, but she stood strong, debating what her next move was going to be.

For the past week they’d been hovering. Like atmos rubbing against each other, sharing an electron here and there, they toyed with each other, enjoying this new level of intimacy. Kara knew what the curve of Lena’s hips felt like. She knew what her neck tasted like. She knew how soft the skin of her ribs was, and the scar on her knee, and how sh liked to pull hair when Kara kissed her a certain way between her legs.

Kara blushed slightly when she thought of that part. All was quiet in the Archives, but her heart was thundering in her ears.

“I just thought I’d stop by for more culture lessons about my hosts. You said you wanted to talk about the research you’d been working on,” Lena explained, her eyes doing a similar trail.

Hands toyed with Kara’s clothes and she felt her lungs start to stutter. There was this thing with proximity that just made it hard to be near Lena and not feel like her entire body was being burned alive in the most delicious way.

“I was actually hoping to talk to you later about things.”

“It’s always later,” Lena huffed. “And then we end up talking about nothing and making out.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

Kara smiled, amused at the mild annoyance she earned by putting off the conversation she knew she had to have because the girl that she liked taking to for hours and hours was soon supposed to be across the universe. That thought was honestly too much to really think about.

“Not, I suppose not.”

“How are the results of your most recent attempt?”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“You really did come here for a distraction then, didn’t you?” Kara grinned.

“I really did,” Lena sighed, finally tugging Kara close enough to get what she wanted.

Never before had Kara spent much time imagining the feeling of kissing someone in the Archives. She was someone who followed the rules and who never had those urges. Kara behaved herself and never let thoughts of a pretty girl distract her from her tasks and duties in the shelves.

But now she was kissing Lena in the aisle and she didn’t want to do anything else ever again in those shelves. She pushed forward, leaning her whole body against Lena’s. She pressed their hips together, and she moved only to hold Lena’s hand against a book, earning a sigh of approval and a languid shift in the formerly rigid body she helped keep up.

Before she could get carried away, the nagging thought of where they were reared its head in the back of her mind, and Kara pulled away, oddly breathless and distracted by the puffiness of Lena’s lips.

“This was insanely hot, and we should pick it up later,” Lena swallowed and took a deep breath. They didn’t move, still pressed close. “But is it wrong that I can’t stop thinking about the lack of progress of our tech we’ve sent back. Things are getting worse.”

“You’ll fix it.”

“We’re running out of time.”

“You can just stay.”

“And let my entire world kill themselves?”

The grip that Kara held loosened, but she kept close to the girl who looked both worried and flushed. She very much wanted to say yes, despite the fact that allowing an entire planet to ruin itself went against the fabric of her being, she wanted Lena to stay.

“That seems a bit drastic.”

“It’s not.”

“Hm.”

There was never the right time to talk to Lena about leaving. It often reared its head, interjecting itself into thoughts and conversations, both not acknowledging that there time together was rapidly coming to a close. But Karan had so many things to say and explain and ask. She just couldn’t ever start because they were big words and big explanations and big questions.

Hands moved to her cheeks, to her neck, and Kara felt the world come back into focus and she was met with a cocked head and a small smile.

“You disappeared again,” Lena whispered. She tugged on Kara’s ear lobe and earned a smile despite the serious thoughts. “Come back.”

Sweet. Tender and sweet were the parts of Lena that Kara was infinitely infatuated with. Tiny, quiet moments like that, the ones she was sure Lena wouldn’t remember, the ones that she was sure were lost to the world and anyone else except herself.

“I’m here,” Kara grinned.

“Would you like to go grab lunch before you’re back to work?”

“Only if you promise to come by my wing after dinner.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Good.”

“Want to make out a little more first?” Lena offered, wiggling her eyebrows and pulling Kara’s neck.

“That can be arranged.”

The windows were tall, measuring at least fifteen feet and facing the wide expanse of land and trees to the south. In the morning, it was like the sky was on fire, all orange and gold before burning red and softening to a lilac that stayed throughout the day. But at night-- at night, the windows were dark, showing all of the stars and three moons. It was a sight that never ceased to make Lena feel simultaneously a peace with and overwhelmed by the entirety of the universe.

But the view from Kara’s room, as huge and swallowing as it was, came with strong arms and a naked, warm body in a comfortable bed, so the stars and the moons were just romantic.

“You smell so good,” Kara mumbled against Lena’s hair.

Hands slid around ribs, warm and smooth, they moved and held onto her, feeling the lungs as they caught their breath.

“Mmmm, you are entirely too good at sex,” Lena mewed and stretched, rolling over to slip a leg between Kara’s. “I can barely move.”

“Don’t move. Stay here forever.”

“You make that offer quite often. I’m beginning to think you might mean it.”

Adjusting slightly, Kara smiled softly as Lena’s fingers danced along her cheeks and jaw and neck. Lazily, she played with the soft skin of her hip, trailing up and down and shifting her hips closer to the warmth.

Though it was dark, Kara could make out the shapes of Lena’s curves against the backdrop of the universe. She hummed happily.

“I do mean it.”

Lena faltered, her hand stilling, though she tucked cold toes under a warm calf.

“You only know the best parts of me. Not the bad stuff.”

“What bad stuff is there? Have you not been yourself for the past year?”

“I have… I just… I’m not good. I’m not someone people want around for a long time. My appeal wears off very quickly,” Lexa explained.

Kara felt the body in her bed grow slightly rigid at the outpouring of information. There was a kind of nervousness mixed into the confession, though she did her best to soothe it away by hold on even tighter.

“I haven’t wanted to not be near you once.”

“That’s because we have sex all the time.”

“No,” Kara disagreed with a smile. A palm rested against her neck. “That is nice though.”

“Shut up.”

Lena tried to twist away but let herself remain caught, pressed closer to the naked body she shared some sheets with, closer to the body she’d just spent a long time completely covering in kisses, closer to the body that made her own completely melt.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, actually,” she explained, clearing her throat as it grew quite dry and so very suddenly, too. “About… us.”

“Us?” Lena whispered, tasting that word.

Pressed so close together in the dark, Kara felt as if they were one being. They took up a sliver of the entire bed, and they were woven together, pressed skin to skin and beyond.

“I, uh. See. So… On Earth,” Kara began. “One might argue we are dating.”

It felt like forever, but it was in fact about three seconds before Lena nodded and hummed her agreement.

“I would agree with that,” she offered.

“We do dating slightly different here. There’s a process called Choosing, and it involves the Matrix as a calculator for the pairing.”

“Wow. That’d actually be fantastic. I can’t imagine empirical data supporting a match and feelings. That’s--”

“It decides if you continue on a path toward commitment,” Kara interrupted how oddly excited Lena was for that.

“Early on, you approach the Matrix, and work toward a lasting life with someone. There are steps to the entire process.”

“Sounds daunting.”

“It is. It can be,” Kara nodded. “I don’t even know if the Matrix would work for you, as you’re not xactly fr--”

“You want me to go to the Matrix?” Lena parked, sitting up slightly, the surprise acting as a jolt that woke her from the lulled peace of storytime and Kara’s body.

“I don’t want you to go away.”

It was simple and honest, and though she was still surprised, Lena softened ever so slightly at the honesty and how quiet Kara’s voice grew with the confession.

“Oh, darling,” Lena whispered, hugging Kara, holding her tightly and allowing herself to be embraced so wholly. “You precious, perfect thing.”

“It is a lot quicker than your culture,” Kara attempted to retreat toward the science of it, her eyes allowing a traitor tear that she wiped away quickly. “But this is… You are…. I think that this is it.”

“I broke the rules of the Host when I came to your room that night. It ate me up and I told my mother. I told her months ago that I was Choosing.”

“But how did you-- how could you know?”

“Because every single ounce of research I did into these feelings, every poem felt like I wrote it about you.”

“Kara, you’re--”

She felt claustrophobic but Kara didn’t want to move at all. Not when she had Lena holding to her, clinging there around her shoulders and kissing where she could reach.

“I know. It’s a lot.”

“You want me to stay on Krypton forever?”

“Very much.”

“Kara…” Lena began, her voice full of sadness and regret.

Before she could hear an answer, Kara shook her head and ducked it, hiding it in Lena’s neck, shaking it gently the entire time as she growled against practicality of the very rational answer she was bound to receive.

There were curls that smelled like lilacs and sunflowers and something sweet, like oranges and sugar, but Lena couldn’t quite find it. Instead, she smiled into Kara’s hair and let her hide against her neck and clavicle.

“You have to go, I know,” Kara mumbled after a moment of stillness.

“I was actually going to ask if you could really want me for forever.”

“I want to Choose.”

“With me?”

“Lena, I-- I really-- you are my favorite person ever.”

“Ever?”

Kara pulled away to find some air, suffocated from the warmth and fleeting feeling of the woman she was absolutely infatuated with. She heard the way Lena’s voice faltered when she asked for clarification.

“I don’t want you to go away,” Kara whispered. She placed her hand on Lena’s chest, then her neck. She felt Lena tug her ear again, saving her from melancholy. “I always thought I was happy, and then I met you, and I feel like I was miserable by comparison. I never knew I could feel so light. And it’s because you are absolutely spectacular in every form. You’re kind, you’re fair, you’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re funny, you’re devoted. You are absolutely everything I’ve never knew I needed.”

When she moved her thumb, Kara felt the tears on Lena’s cheek, and she kissed them gently as she swallowed a noise and whimper.

“I can’t ask you to give away your life and your family. I admire your dedication to them and to your world. I just… I hope you know that you are mine. And as devoted to it, is how devoted I am to you.”

Lena swallowed and shook her head, pushing away slightly, though Kara held firmly, knowing that she was running too much of a risk by confessing these things.

“You can’t say those things to me,” Lena disagreed. “I am not someone who gets those things. I don’t get someone like you.”

“But you’ve got me.”

“I can’t fall in love with you,” she tried to talk herself out of it. “Just because you say pretty things, and you are here. I have things to do. I have a planet to save.”

“I know.”

Neither moved at all. Kara closed her eyes and felt the softness of Lena’s hair between her fingers. She closed her eyes and she savored what she wanted and had and would soon lose.

“If I go to the Matrix and it tells us that I’m a match, what would that do? What if it says I’m not, and your affection is misplaced?”

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because there’s no way this isn’t it. I did the research.”

“Poems aren’t research,” Lena scoffed. “I just met you.”

“I should have kept quiet.”

“We should have never done this.”

“Do you mean it?” Kara furrowed.

“No. I wish I did.”

A warm palm rested on Kara’s neck. Fingers toyed with the soft skin and baby hairs there at the nape, soft and distracted and so very much in love they didn’t know what else to do to say such things.

“I have to go home,” Lena sighed.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to go away from you.”

“Maybe you can come back?”

“Maybe I can.”

Lena smiled as she clutched Kara to her chest, content to think of that to herself. Maybe it was true. Maybe she could come back. More importantly, she thought about the idea of a calculator for affection.

“Kara, do you really feel all of that for me?”

“Yes.”

Kara moved her leg, bumping the soft, tender spot that made Lena gasp slightly. She earned a hum and a moan and she kept moving, slowly at first until she had her.

For a day and a half, Lena found herself thinking. She didn’t mean to, and her brain was supposed to be devoted to such things as alternative fuel sources and replenishing the water supply of her planet.

But she couldn’t think about it.

That was a problem considering she was bound to leave in just a few weeks time. The numbers were terrible, and she hadn’t really heard from her family, which should have occupied her time even more, and yet, all Lena could do was lean back in her chair, bite her pen, and think about naked Kara and how she could possibly be in love with her.

There was part of her that didn’t want her to believe it. But she had to know. She had to know what would happen.

“Zor-el, do you know what the Matrix is?”

The words made the patriarch look up from  his work for a moment, furrowing his own brow as the surprise left him and he realized what he was being asked.

There was no more nonchalance. Lena sat there and looked at him, waiting for the answer, as if they were discussing one of the great debates of their research.

“Of course.”

“Would it work for me?”

He smiled to himself, a half smile, full of amusement and almost disbelief.

“She told you, then.”

Lena clenched her jaw and nodded.

“What do I do?”

“Are you ready for the result?”

Lena took a deep breath and nodded.

NEXT

[peepingtoad]

Anonymous Fanmail // always accepting

Good evening (or day) to you anon! Let me say first off how touching it was to see this message pop up earlier on! I know my activity has been spotty as hell lately, with inspiration being flaky and my attention span even more so--so it really is encouraging to hear that the little I've managed to do in the past couple of months is still well received.

From reading your message it seems like you have a great handle on writing and vocabulary, but I also know that English really can be a bastard of a language whenever it deviates from the standard. So I can only commend your commitment to gaining even more understanding.

So to answer your question, under the cut are some of the authors/works that have influenced me most. I’ve not really had a chance to make my way through my huge reading list, or read much for a couple years now, so I’ll just mention some of the ones that really stuck in my mind:

Darren Shan 

I really must start with Darren Shan, because for a teen author his descriptions of monsters and violence still are some of the most viscerally gross and visual I've ever read. So you can imagine what it was like reading him as a 9/10 year old! I don't get to show it very often on Jiraiya, but I really do love to write a bit of nasty gore where I can. This probably shows more when I'm writing certain toad stomach themed jutsu scenes... but yeah. This author really inspired me as a kid, and fantasy-horror for young adults is still a genre I'd love to write one day (if I ever come up with a solid original idea, that is)! Which leads me on to--

Stephen King

Who, honestly, I haven't really kept up to date with. The novels I read by him were his classics: Carrie, Misery, Pet Sematary... which I think were all written before I was born, now that I think about it. I know he can be a little long-winded for some, but I really appreciate how he builds up tension and works with multiple threads at a time. His are some of the few books that actually made me scared in my teens, his psychological horror is great, and he doesn’t shy away from a sex scene, even if they’re usually horrible. I always love an author who goes into nitty-gritty, not necessarily pleasant detail.

J.R.R.R.R.R.R.R.R.R.R. Tolkien

A predictable one, I'm sure! But I've definitely drawn influence from the sheer world-building of Middle Earth, which has inspired worlds for my own OCs, but in regards to fandom has made me want to delve a little deeper into areas the canon leaves unexplained (it really is my goal to one day fill in all the blanks in Jiraiya's life, working with what little we were given and the messy timeline). And while Tolkien's characters can be a little wooden and overly functional at times, the true joy I find in his works is the sprawling descriptions of nature and the world, and how well-linked all of the characters/figures of the past are to each other. Also I feel it's an unpopular opinion, but I absolutely adore the songs/poems. Every one of them. Especially 'The Ent and the Entwife'.

Richard Adams

Most known for Watership Down, and his style again contains lots of beautiful nature imagery (with a very strong environmentalist lean). It's a pretty traumatic story, as anyone who has seen the animated film from the late 70's will recall, but what the book offers on top of that is a whole mythology that the animals believe in, world-building, animal characters that are both intelligent and believably still animals, gorgeous descriptions of the English countryside... yeah. It's one of my all time favourites! I’ve yet to bring myself to read The Plague Dogs, however, because I know it will upset me a whole lot.

Whoever the hell wrote 'The Soddit' and 'Bored of the Rings'

Yes, seriously. I'm a sucker for a good spoof, and these made me laugh out loud. I recall many terrible euphemisms. Not to be read with a critical mind whatsoever :’) they are kinda trash, but I really enjoy content that doesn’t take itself very seriously.

Terry Pratchett

Count this as a relatively new inspiration--I'm an absolute newbie when it comes to Pratchett, if I'm honest, which is ridiculous because it’s right up my alley. I’ve only fully read Good Omens (with Neil Gaiman), read halfway through a few of the standalone Discworlds, and watched several of the animated and BBC series adaptations, but I’m definitely inspired. It's just really daunting to know where to start with the main body of Discworld in particular. But I think after spending my childhood enjoying comedic fantasy in general (I also thank the Fable trilogy of games for that), it was only natural that I found his tongue-in-cheek, conversational to the point of being mundane, playing with tropes style a perfect fit for me. All of that, with some pretty immense world-building in too! It’s great to see such a loved world that is written in such a light, funny way (from what I’ve read), especially since I do my best to let humour inject itself into my writing wherever possible.

Oscar Wilde

And more specifically, The Picture of Dorian Gray. This is just peak gothic sexy decadence, I assure you. And it's one of my all time favourites... again, for gorgeous descriptions, but it's more sensory than physical. And of course, high-key gay subtext. And did I mention it's sexy? Not in the obvious way, just in a 'this level of indulgent description of luxuries and hedonism is downright slutty' kind of way. If you want obvious sexy though, definitely check out the film starring Ben Barnes too!

Anaïs Nin

Ok look, so in answer to one of your other questions, I do indeed read fanfic. Not as much now as I used to or would like to, but I certainly do. And Anaïs Nin is one of the few well known erotic writers I’ve read that I think is better than the best fanfiction stuff I’ve read. Because honestly, lots of them are dudes (sorry Jiraiya) and it’s just... nah. I’ve always thought that the erotic writing in decent fanfic tended to be high tier for somebody not paid to do it. Anyway, when it comes to Nin the writing is beautifully sensual, but I’ll warn you for questionable content at times--and I mean triggering content. I think that a lot of her erotic short stories were commissioned by others, so I don’t judge her, but there is also a lot of symbolism within the taboo so... that’s my warning about that.

John Keats

Time for a poet, and one of my favourites is this guy. Pretty much covering the Romantic/Gothic cusp, all the poems I remember reading by him were long, indulgent, sensual and low-key filthy. I can’t really say much other than read Keats! ‘Isabella, or the Pot of Basil’ is a favourite!

Seamus Heaney

My favourites are ‘Death Of a Naturalist’ and ‘Blackberry-Picking’. Get that gross, kinda visceral nature imagery. Nice.

Wilfred Owen

Mostly studied him in college, which I enjoyed a lot, but I ended up revisiting his war poetry when I started writing Jiraiya. Something about the way he questions patriotism and feels for the ‘enemy’ related a lot to him for me, and the poems themselves are so tragic they really spark up your empathy.

... As for songwriters? Hmm. Lyrically, I always enjoy pretty gloomy stuff. Nick Cave, The Cure, Placebo, Depeche Mode. A lot of it very spooky and sad-romantic. I definitely have a type :’) a definite favourite is also Björk, both for her surreal lyrics, and the crazy stuff she can do with her voice also helps!

I’m honestly struggling to think of more off the top of my head, because I know I have read and enjoyed more books/poetry than this. Sadly I’ve been too preoccupied with other things to branch out into more world literature, but it’s something I want to make an effort to do--especially Chinese and Japanese literature, some of which are on my current book pile. But these are some of the few that came straight to mind for me, and are probably my biggest influences. Hope you enjoyed my lengthy rambling nonetheless. And again, thank you so much for your kind message! It really lifted my spirits <3

[lordsicheng]

Anonymous: Pt. 1

c: Jung Jaehyun, oc, others

g: mystery, romance, slight thrill (?)

s: a freelance writer slash igconito internet sensation, Jaehyun dives into making anonymous love letters midway his career– only to make one that could turn him into someone he doesn’t think he is

w: 2k~

a/n: in the middle of writing this I think I could say this is slightly inspired by the Netflix show “You”, which I totally am obsessed with omg but I made sure the writings I made of this are not plagiarism to the original plot! I also am a little bit late because I was gonna post this on his birthday but meh :/ this serves as a bit of a comeback from me on writing (I wrote this in two hours oops) so yeah enjoy!!

It was just another day for him as like the others. He wasn’t expecting anything special in particular, but he ends up getting a different order than usual at one of his favorite breakfast places only a block from his home. He looked at the other people inside the restaurant, no reaction in particular by the fact that majority of them inside came as couples, some as quads, and a few as close-knit families. He didn’t seem be fazed by the fact that he was the only one that was alone on a table. 

In fact, he felt more comfortable that he didn’t have any company with him.

“Here you go sir; three layer pancakes with cranberry syrup and blueberry bits, less butter, and tall broad Arabica coffee.” the waitress smiles warmly as she served him his order, looking at him as his eyes feasted on the meal set in front of him

“Thank you. Compliments to your cook.” he smiled politely to the waitress as he looked up

“You come here quite often and order the same thing. I was surprised you ordered something different—a mix of sweet and slight bitterness thanks to the beverage.” she commented

“Today’s a special day.” he grinned, slowly putting on a napkin and grabbing the utensils from the side

“Oh, right. Valentine’s. Perhaps you were able to score a date today, no?” she teased, almost as if she was flirting but also slightly discouraged if it were true

“Well, everyday should be Valentine’s day. Love should be given in any form anyone could.” he paused, sighing slightly before looking up at the already confused waitress, smiling yet again before continuing

“It’s my birthday.”

-

To Jaehyun, his birthday was just like any other day—living alone in one of the most populated cities in the world whilst being a freelance writer was what he always wanted. He wasn’t particular about his future and to his luck, his parents let him choose his own path. Although he was given a chance to travel many times during his youth, he felt at home whenever he was in his hometown. In fact, he chose to stay instead of grabbing the opportunity of studying in one of the most prestigious universities in America.

Eyes fixed to his laptop screen, he scrolled through the rush of emails he had received from his boss and fans of his freelance writing. He was hesitant on opening some, who just wanted to either greet him or ask for a commission.

“Thank you, but inspiration is hard to catch nowadays.” he said to himself as he read through a letter of a man asking for a commission for a write-up

And of the many writings he had made, he chose to have a different pen name or even went on anonymous. His talent involved being igconito in many other forums whilst giving advice about romance, often using his common pen name, “Jeff Valentine.”

His phone suddenly rang and he looked at the screen before grumbling, rolling his eyes as he just decided to answer it without any hesitation.

“Yes?”

“Jaehyun, hey, I need your help.”

The frantic voice from the call didn’t particularly daunt him but rather amused him as he knew this particular person would only call him on his birthday for one reason

“Mark, I told you I didn’t want a party for my birthday.” he chuckled

“W-who says we were throwing you a party?” Mark, a close friend of his, stuttered slightly

“I don’t know, maybe your Instagram story about a Valentine-themed party with a huge photo of me at the back that you forgot to filter for other people to see except, well, me?” Jaehyun spoke sarcastically, already feeling Mark’s nervousness about the surprised being messed up thanks to him

“Shit.” Mark cursed, internally slapping himself as he let out a sigh

“Look, I appreciate that a lot. But I really am not interested in parties.”

“Dude, just once, I swear! We really tried to make the best surprise but I really blew it… If you can’t go I swear they’re gonna find out I messed up again like last year!” Mark pleaded

“Mark, you sent the texts to all of your friends about the surprise party. And that obviously included me.” Jaehyun stood up from his seat, walking around his room

“Please? Just act surprised at least since you know I slip up a lot.”

Jaehyun thought for a while and decided, that even though he really wanted to be alone on his special day, he chose to just celebrate it with friends since he knew the others were just as ‘lonely’ as him during Valentine’s day

“Fine.”

“Great! Really means a lot man. There’s gonna be great food, great ambiance, I invited some girls—“

“Whoa, wait. Girls?” Jaehyun furrowed his brows, cutting Mark off

“I mean… don’t you think it’s time, man? Last time you dated someone you completely cut them off and they ended up dating someone who looked just like you.” Mark reasoned

“I’m not interested in dating, Mark. I don’t even know where you’re getting all these girls?”

“Thanks to me and some connections, we’ve got a couple coming over. Let’s see if one of them hits the jackpot—aka, you, Mr. Valentine.” Mark laughed as he sat on his sofa, Jaehyun feeling a little bit iffy about his plan

“I’m only going for the food. Text me the address and time, I have to do some work and run errands.” Jaehyun grumbled yet again, sitting back on his computer chair

“Errands? It’s your birthday, though?”

“Errands as in shopping, my friend. Now, text me the details and I’ll catch you guys tonight.” Jaehyun dropped the call without even hearing Mark’s last words, putting his phone next to his laptop as he leaned back and let out a sigh of exasperation

He looked to the side and noticed the sun was slightly showing, though it was the middle of winter in transition to spring. He thought that maybe if he took a couple of hours for a walk he’d be more inspired to do anything on his birthday. He immediately grabbed a coat and hurried out his apartment towards the nearby park that was near the river

“Winter, winter. Looking at all these couples make me slightly bitter.” he thought to himself the moment he realized a lot of the people around the area were couples

However, to his luck, he saw someone by the benches sitting alone whilst holding a romance book. To him, this was probably typical for most singles—reading an idealistic novel as they fantasize about their fairytale romance waiting to happen even up until they reach 50. He just shrugged and continued on his way, until he saw that particular person stand up and walk rather in a fast pace towards the other side of the park. As much as he wasn’t interested in their own business, he slowly decided to follow suit as he thought it was probably just some nasty breakup about to happen

To his dismay, he realized he was brought back to his apartment building—even worse, on the same level of his own place.

“No way.” he mumbled, standing by the stairs that was far enough from where the person had stood

With a few hard and loud knocks on the door, it swung open and he saw a man, probably around his age, dragging around three luggage bags as if he were to fly off to another country of some sorts

“Great, now you’re just gonna leave?”

“I have no choice, y/n! You’re having too many idealized expectations of me and I’m getting sick of it.”

“Sure, leave! Valentine’s is all about being left alone.”

“Who gives a fuck about Valentine’s, y/n? It’s always Valentine’s in your head!”

Sheesh, talk about a nasty break up, as Jaehyun would’ve imagined in his head as the man leaving with his bags got into the elevator quickly. Jaehyun, on the other hand, decided to look down and walk towards his own place, only a couple of doors from the stairs.

He took one glance at that certain person again and noticed them sobbing, slowly walking into the apartment before heading inside his own. Feeling a little bit guilty for eavesdropping, he thought, why not give a small note for them on this particular day?

As much as he wasn’t a fan of the idealistic thoughts of romance itself, he just decided to go on with it because of impulse and head on to his laptop to think of a write up. But what was he supposed to write? A love story? A poem? Some sort of weird quote about love?

That’s right, he was likely gonna go for an anonymous love letter.

Besides, they’ll probably not notice or just think of it as a prank, eh? Valentine’s day is actually full of pranks as he remembered, as many as those done on April Fool’s day.

Cracking his knuckles before writing, he paused and realized again that he wasn’t sure on what to write.

“Roses are red… Violets are blue…. If you were a booger, I’d choose you?”

Meh.

That was already cheesy to some, but that was just plain disgusting to him.

He thought again and felt like it should be sincere and well thought out. He decided to open up his emails in case he was able to think of something, but then he realized he had opened an email from earlier and decided to read it again

“Mr. Valentine, I need your help.

I saw one of your advices from the Romance Realm forums and I wanted to email you personally, if you don’t mind.

I need to come up with a letter for my crush. She is in love with the thought of romance but doesn’t seem to think of it realistically. I want to make a letter that makes her realize that I will be able to give her that realistic romance she deserves rather than the idealistic one she can’t grasp on.

A reply would be nice. Thanks!”

It must’ve been fate that he decided to do this one good deed just to cheer up someone. So alas, he thought of something quick the moment he remembered the term, ‘idealistic romance, and grabbed a pen and some special paper he had saved

Besides, this was his hobby and talent. It wouldn’t kill anyone if he tried to do this, right?

A little over thirty minutes and with penmanship worthy enough for its own font, Jaehyun grabbed a light scented, special envelope made for letters sent during Valentine’s. It was like giving a letter to a young love yet again to him as he sealed it with a sticker rather than anything.

He got out of his apartment and walked on over to the person’s front door. As he looked down, he noticed a mat on his feet and decided to put it below, making sure there was a slight peep of the envelope on the side. He suddenly heard the knob of the door about to click open, making him immediately retreat before getting caught—and to his relief, he wasn’t.

The person behind the door then walked out and immediately saw the different contrast of colors from their mat and the envelope that was peeping on the side. They crouched down to see it and immediately got a whiff of a mix of vanilla and rose that seemed to entice their sense of scent

Without hesitation, they walked back inside and closed the door behind them.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, was spying from his own place as he made sure the door was unnoticeably opened at its slightest inch, grinning and closing the door as he sat on the floor in respite.

To him, it was just some fake letter to make up someone’s day.

To the other, it was one that could liven up their dreams of a fantasized romance.

“It’s just like any other day, but today’s just a lil bit special, no?”

[poisonappletales]

What are your favorite traits in each of your characters?~

Hello, fearofprayer! Ooh, let’s see…this should be fun. Of course, I’m going to keep my answers spoiler-free. But whenever Beauty and the War (X Playing Pieces) is released, please feel free to ask again if you’d like to know about those.

Now then, this will include my thoughts on all my characters - the cast of Don’t Take This Risk being among them. I’m going to give you the short summarized answer first, followed by a wordier explanation telling you what I think in detail.Shall we begin?

Arsenik of the Hulder

Favorite Traits: Intelligence, style of speech, his hobby of writing

One of my favorite traits is that he speaks in that intellectual, old-fashioned style. It lets me use that older style of writing that you see in classical literature, whether it’s Jane Austen or Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Plus, he has a hobby of writing, so it gives me a chance to write things like poems.

You might say I like the opportunities he gives me for writing myself! On a related note, he enjoys reading just as I do, but I wouldn’t call that a trait I prefer/like in a character. It honestly doesn’t matter to me if a character has similar hobbies to me or not.

Why am I mentioning this? I just thought it’d be something you’d like to know, particularly since it’s common for “writers” and “reading” to go together. If he were to discuss books with someone, that would be easy to write since I enjoy doing so as well! However, his opinions are not necessarily the same as mine.

Anyway, what I like most about him is his style of talking, his intelligence and his writing inclinations.

For those who aren’t a fan of him, a common reason would be that they find his sort of character to be “boring.” I just want to note that I’m not offended by any of those kinds of opinions. Like and dislike whichever character you want! It’s your prerogative. I’m glad if my cast feels like actual people you can form opinions about when you meet them.

But yeah, I do know a lot of people who find things like the classic books boring, so if you personally aren’t fond of his speech, that’s totally understandable. Or just, you know, the do-gooder character you see in shows.  Though, something you may not realize is that he sounds a little more stilted/formal when he’s around his beloved…

(Again, that’s not a trait of his that I would call a “favorite” of mine. It’s just there and a part of his character that feels fitting for him. His shyness/awkwardness is just something I thought I’d bring to your attention in case you missed it in the demo!)

Oh, and a bonus trait I like about him (or the Hulder in general) relates to what’s been said about his clan: “They’re only gentlemen during the day.”

Chase of the Trold

Favorite Traits: How he rounds out the cast and what he represents

Ah, Chase. Two things I like about him: 1) He rounds out the cast well. 2) His relationship with Ambrosia (should you choose to put these two together) has a nice meaning behind it.

What do I mean by “nice meaning”? Well, does anyone remember this Chase/Ambrosia piece I wrote a while back? Chase is not considered conventionally attractive, but Ambrosia doesn’t subscribe to the masses, to say the least. She’s not superficial and considers beauty to be in the eye of the beholder.

He’s a character that represents those principles.

Going back to my first point, it’s not too difficult to see how he rounds out the cast. He’s the most “average guy” of the group.  I have heard a lot of players like him for that reason (heart of gold and a nice guy who’s easy to get along with). He also has a few people who dislike him for…a certain “temper” scene in the demo. Those of you who came across it probably know what I’m talking about here!

He has his strengths and weaknesses. I know I definitely wanted to make him as much a “real boy” as possible, so to speak. Hate him or love him, it’s your call!

Wind of the Imugi

Favorite Traits: Cool, tough barbarian fighter

Your resident tsundere (the hot-cold jerky type), even if he isn’t your textbook classic example. I don’t like to do stereotypes straight-out, so you can’t expect my characters to follow any of those archetypes to a T.

I’m not generally a fan of tsunderes. I don’t mind them in shows, and I think that the cast needs their spice at times. They can create fun situations. It’s just not going to be a favorite of mine (not typically at least - there are always exceptions).

So, what do I like about Wind? He’s cool and tough and isn’t scared of slicing through flesh with those claws of his. I feel like I just picked him to play in a video game selection screen. You could say that’s what I like about him. I would enjoy playing him in a video game for a time.

“What kind of description is that?”

Oh, and if a fan dislikes him, it’s usually because he can be a jerk. That’s it.

Night of the Vi

Favorite Traits: Attitude and armor

Not that much is known about this guy yet, huh?

I’ll just tell you that my favorite traits about him is his cool attitude and that wicked black armor. I called Wind cool as well, but Night’s in a different way. He’s more relaxed and adventurous. As for that armor - well, it’s pretty self-explanatory. (Imagine the cosplaying opportunities there.)

If players don’t like him, it’s often because they’re not into his free lifestyle. He’s not looking for something serious straight off the bat and wants to come into a relationship naturally - whenever he feels it. In the meantime, he doesn’t see anything wrong with living it up, inside and outside the bedroom.

Describing it that way, I feel like you can almost see him as something of a James Bond character now…

Onyx of the Vi

Favorite Traits: Talented killing machine

All right, sure. Let’s put these Vi’s in a row, and give Onyx a nice animated gif that I have to polish up some more one day.

There’s actually a whole lot I like about Onyx. While you wouldn’t want to run into him in real life, there’s something awesome about him being a killing machine on the battlefield, wouldn’t you say? A stone-cold killer, daunted by nothing. His skill with a blade is a sight to behold.

A perfect dark warrior.

I’m actually looking forward to drawing and animating more of him fighting, with his blade drawn. Though, in that case…expect blood.

Prince Alexandrite of the Vi

We don’t talk about the prince.

King Barium of the Vi

Favorite Traits: A natural-born leader + cool and collected + some king realism

His easygoing nature, combined with his natural authority, makes him a likable and charismatic king. Those are my favorite traits about him. If he only had one or the other, I may not have necessarily called that my favorite (more so for the trait of being “cool and collected,” which I may or may not find likable on its own).

Plus…his armor’s pretty neat, isn’t it?

He owns a harem, and while that alone does not automatically make me favor a character, I do like how it’s a realistic aspect for a king of certain eras.

Viktor of the Hulder

Favorite Traits: Exciting party-maker with…comedic tendencies

And we’re back to the Hulder! The reign of the Vi is over - I joke, of course.

You know, it’s really funny, but I hear a lot of players say they like this guy for - shall we say - the wrong reasons. That is, for Arsenik reasons. What do I mean? Case in point:

1) They like his shyness. This young man isn’t shy.  I remember talking about it way back here, but yes, Viktor is a far cry from that description. He’s confident, talkative and gregarious. Sure, he blushes and stammers when Ambrosia touches him in the demo, but he’s still rather loud, wouldn’t you say? He makes his emotions very clear! He shows what he’s feeling and thinking a lot.

2) They like that he’s quieter/withdrawn/someone they can take the lead with. This is similar to the other point. This man is loud, sociable and can even be a little charming in how he flirts with Ambrosia in the demo, wouldn’t you say?

If you’re looking for someone sweeter, shyer and reserved, that’s all Arsenik. You want someone with confidence, liveliness and fun? Here’s Viktor!

That said, what do I like about Viktor? Well, he has a true knack for making a situation humorous. Look at any of his conversations, and I bet you’ll see what I mean. Plus, he has that old-fashioned way of speaking that’s always fun to write out. Just keep in mind that Viktor might be raised to speak like a Hulder, but he isn’t someone who would be considered intellectual.

I almost feel like Viktor has more fans than Arsenik does, given what people tell me! Just a reminder - Viktor isn’t an official love interest in Beauty and the War (X Playing Pieces). There is a secret bachelor, but that may or may not be Viktor. However, if you so wish, I do encourage you to pursue him in-game to find out.

Bo-Peep of the Cucuy

Favorite Traits: Bubbly cuteness

Not long after talking about the king, it only makes sense to discuss one of his mistresses!

She’s peppy, bubbly and cute! She may not be the brightest around the block, but that adds to her charm. Some players assume she’s innocent possibly because her voice is, well, childish (and her mannerisms can be as well). But oh no, make no mistake.

This is the king’s woman - a sexy gal with legs for days. That kind of person. She knows more than a few tricks in the bedroom to keep a man satisfied. She’s well-versed in fashion, flirting and make-up (hopefully - she does have the tendency to wear too much herself).

Despite her capacity for sexiness, she altogether feels, as I said, cute, which is what I like about her.

She is due for a bit of a re-design in the future. Just some tweaks to bring out what I had in mind.

Jasmine of the Phoenix

Favorite Traits: Prim girl trying hard to seem older than she really is

I do like Jasmine. She might be the eldest of the Phoenix cousin trio, but she acts more like the middle child.

She seems prim and proper, but she has immature tendencies. (She’s the one who goes “Moooom, she’s picking on me again” or “Stop messing with my things or I’m going to kill you, you little brat!” Just replace “Mom” with “Ambrosia.”)

She can be almost something of a “normal teenage girl,” but I like the contrast between her “prim” side and her “teenage girl” side. She’s also due a re-design again, but she’ll still be pretty.

Ah, and another thing I like about her: that competitive streak of hers. It makes for more amusing scenarios, as you might have seen during the last exciting Valentine skit.

When it comes to “teenage girl” types of characters, they’re usually hit-or-miss with me.  But I happened to make her a kind I could like.

(You might think I made an entire cast of people I enjoy…but I actually do have characters I wouldn’t like if I wasn’t the one who made it.  And it may not be the people you think it is - aside from maybe one of them, which you’ll see later down the list. As a writer, I want a fleshed out cast and story!)

Rosemary of the Phoenix

Favorite Traits: Fun, lively, endearing

If Jasmine is like the middle child, then Rosemary is equivalent to the youngest. She’s loud, fussy and often bursting with opinions, which makes her fun. I like how she livens things up!

I also enjoy her role in the story, as she plays her part well. What that role is in full detail remains to be seen…

Since she’s sensitive about her weight and enjoys eating, I’ve had a few players assume that I’m trying to make her a walking “fat joke,” but that really couldn’t be further from the truth! What I’ve made here is a character.

I’ve got to tell you, I’ve known people with these insecurities. I’ve even had players tell me that they relate to what she’s doing (i.e. airing out complaints, cheating on their diet, etc.). And I think those are all beautiful people.

You are not meant to ridicule Rosemary. That would be Wildfire’s job. She has strengths and flaws like all the rest.

She’s another one of those “average teenage girl” kind of personalities, but as with Jasmine, I like her. She has endearing qualities, and it’s not hard for her to grow on you! At least, in my personal opinion.

Wildfire of the Valkyrie

Favorite Traits: She does her role well

Speaking of Wildfire…

Say “hello” to my least favorite character. Frankly, I wouldn’t even put her on my list of favorites, and usually, I’m naturally fond on my own creation.

I don’t know if this comes as a surprise since I made a whole game featuring her as one of the protagonists (War: 13th Day), but I did say I can write about characters I don’t even like myself. It just depends on the story I want to tell.

I think almost all of us know people who have made your life way harder than it has to be. If not yours, then someone else’s - someone you cared about. You could call them enemies, rivals, bullies, or even monsters depending on the severity.

Wildfire isn’t based off anyone in real life, but she has elements from all those types of terrible people. In the end, she reminds me of them too much to like her. If you do like her yourself, that’s perfectly fine, of course. You can feel whatever you want about my character. She does have a backstory and a personality because I want her to be three-dimensional. In fact, I was a little surprised by how many people do like her from what I’ve heard.

Now, to be fair, I do enjoy a good villain in a series. But she didn’t hit any of the right buttons for me and that’s entirely on purpose. She has a role to play, and it fits her. She’s the mean girl with the tough girl attitude.

If I had to pick something I like about her that’s more defined than “she does her role well”…can I get back to you on that?

Brooks of the Valkyrie

Favorite Traits: Entertaining, dreadlocks

Okay, this is easier. Brooks is just plain fun. Her banter with others is a pleasure to write out. Her dreadlocks are pretty cool, too. 

Did you think I was going to mention “armor” again?Hmm…I wonder if I can cite “banter with her best friend” as a favorite trait of Wildfire’s…

Ambrosia of the Phoenix

Favorite Traits: Gentle, pure, strong of heart

The innocent sweetheart and exotic Snow White beauty of the island. Here’s the heroine of the series, Ambrosia of the Phoenix!

You might have heard me mention this before but one of my favorite archetypes? The yamato nadeshiko (the proper lady). She’s delicate and feminine. A big-sister type and wife material.

She may not be strong physically, but don’t underestimate her steel will! She’s my number one favorite female character.

While she’s not a fighter, you could say she’s strong in the way that a mother or, as I mentioned before, an older sister is. Who takes care of the chores? She does. Who tries to remind the immature ones (i.e. her cousins) about what to do and looks out for them? She does. If you’ve done something wrong, she will straighten you out but with kindness. If someone’s bothering you, she will step in and be there for you.

Now, when it comes to herself? That might be a different story, but that’s her weakness.

She’s also pretty sexy during the Present Day. Not that she can’t be in the First Act.

If a player doesn’t like Ambrosia (the First Act version, I imagine), they usually tell me it’s because they think she’s too “naïve” or “weak.”

Yes, she is naïve - at least, in the first act of Beauty and the War (X Playing Pieces). She’s young, so it isn’t too surprising. Again, that’s your call to make, but personally, I like that sort of character.

As for weak? I said before that she’s not strong physically. Perhaps, being naïve can be a form of weakness or just how much her young heart can love. And she does have her shyness. But I like shy girls too, so I apologize if that isn’t your cup of tea since you’ll be seeing her a lot!

And since we’re talking about her…

Ambrosia F. (Don’t Take This Risk ver.)

Favorite Traits: Same as above? With some differences.

Let’s talk about her Don’t Take This Risk version. She’s pretty much the same person, but there are differences. For one thing, her speech has less old-fashioned wording (something I enjoy doing for her Virgo Island self).

If you haven’t read the webtoon yet, there are spoilers ahead. (So, I do recommend you stop here and check it out if you haven’t yet!)

This Ambrosia is a bully victim, suffering from low self-esteem and cutting issues. Much like her other self, she’s strong of heart and will. She gets part-time jobs after school. She takes care of Grandmother when her cousins are too scared to do so (or too busy with homework/something fun). This is someone strong and independent, even if it doesn’t come with the usual tough, no-nonsense attitude you see with these kinds of women. (But let it not be said that I don’t like those types as well. I can indeed like those, too.)

When Dev offers to help her out financially, Ambrosia refuses because she wants to take care of things herself. She speaks gently but surely - like a mother/big sister again.

As young as she is, she’s sadly optimistic and naïve…but will her encounter with Unknown change her? 

Evie O.

Favorite Traits: Naughtiness, lively

You might recognize white-haired Evie O. from Death Room and the Don’t Take This Risk webtoon!

According to what fans tell me, she’s my most hated character.

For me, I actually don’t dislike her. If I knew her in real life and she did the same shenanigans, I wouldn’t be fond of her, no. But as a fictional character? You remember what I said about liking a good villain, right? She’s one of them.

She’s not a villain of the “Let’s destroy the world!” variety, but she has just enough naughtiness to make the story juicy. In Episode 20, you see a little bit from her perspective at the end. Did anyone catch her hint of insecurity?

She does have more depth than you might think. Of course, once they’ve been explored, you may not like her any more than you already do!

Unknown of Don’t Take This Risk

Favorite Traits: Crazy fun, predatory

This guy is crazy fun. Aren’t a lot of you on the edge of your seat whenever he’s around? Whether you’re looking forward to him or dreading him, he’s a character who knows how to steal the spotlight. He’s certainly a pleasure to write and a proper foil for some!

He’s also someone who a lot of people don’t quite get. Hence, the webtoon. Is it helping any? Do you feel like you understand him better?

Probably not. After all, his name is still…Unknown.

It’s interesting to note that some fans typically don’t like Night for his liberal lifestyle, but then, we get to this guy…then again, some people still fancy Unknown’s a bit reserved in some sense. Just remember: ignore the voice(s) in the game if it’s confusing you; the webcomic captures him perfectly.

Oh, and make sure you don’t do what he does at home. Unknown’s an interesting character to write, to be sure, but I don’t endorse what he does!

X from Prison

“Oi, Crown Ruler, why are you always putting me last? I ought to come first, you know! I’m the star of Beauty and the War, I’m tellin’ you!”

Favorite Traits: Powers, masculinity, snarkiness

I like X. He has good chemistry with (Present Day) Ambrosia. He radiates strength and masculine energy like he’s some kind of Arnold Schwarzenegger. But what I like most would probably be his powers, like his switch between Aries form and Regular.

His snarky remarks are pretty fun, too. You would think I’d mention this about Wind, but I just happen to prefer X’s debatably “friendlier” style. I don’t have anything against Wind’s sarcasm, and in fact, it can charge scenes with a certain kind of momentum that makes it engaging to watch. It’s just not enough to enter “favorite” territory for me.

Hopefully, I haven’t missed anyone there! I didn’t include the Huntsman’s characters (Dev and Dominic) since you asked about favorite traits for mine.

I’m a writer before I’m an artist, so you might notice that when I make a story, I make characters that fit a role. Each actor has their part in the unfolding play, and they must arrive on stage during their scene. Perhaps, individually, they may fall flat to one viewer, but together, the resulting interaction can be phenomenal - pure entertainment.

To say the least, these characters, even the ones I’m not strictly fond of, can become more intriguing when they mix and match with the others. So, that’s something I would like to add that I enjoy for each and every one - their chemistry and interaction with the rest of the cast. (Some more so than others.)

I typically enjoy talking about my characters, so if you have any other questions or if I wasn’t clear about something, please feel free to ask. Were you surprised by anything I had to say? If you have the time, share your thoughts! I love to hear them.

[jawnkeets]

hello sorry to disturb you lovely person but i was wondering if you had some advices to have a better literary analysis, or a better culture well, i mean how can i improve my literary intelligence basically ? ( it may not be really clear but i hope you'll understand because i feel like i'm lost... )

hello anon! no need to be sorry, ur not disturbing me at all :+) feel free 2 send an ask at any time ✨✨✨

i’ll attempt to answer this by splitting ur ask into 2 parts. first i’ll try to give some tips on literary analysis, and then i’ll try to talk about the sort of wider awareness of lit (or the culture as you call it).

a little disclaimer: pls bear in mind that i am by no means qualified to speak about this in any way (i still very much consider myself a learner). i’ve generally been left alone throughout my education to do my own thing, which is a good thing in some respects and a bad thing in others; i don’t have the solid foundations that most ppl do, never following things like paragraph structures throughout lower school, and i didn’t know a thing about metre until the start of this month. however, because of my education i think i’ve managed to avoid a few conventional pitfalls. so, in short, you can take as much or as little of this advice as you like!

PART 1: literary analysis

• an excellent way to boost your analysis straight away, dull as it is, is to learn some literary devices beyond, say, alliteration and personification. being able to spot things like chiasmus and epiphora not only wows an examiner, but also enables you to talk about more things within a poem/ book/ play and thus broadens your literary scope in close reading.• remember that for each literary device you mention you should say what it REVEALS (DO NOT just list!!!). the best essays move from a literary device to an explanation of why this device is used - what does it reveal about a character, the speaker, or even the society that the poet or author was writing in?• rhythm and meter in a poem tick boxes in an exam, but can also lead to insightful analysis. how do the rhythm and meter add to the overall message of the poem? does, for example, the metre give a regularity to the poem? why might this be? is it broken at any point? how is this significant?• the above can be applied to rhyme scheme, too. look out for rhyming couplets at the end of a poem, which may give a sense of finality to the poem (or may seem to give a sense of finality when in actuality the speaker of the poem is far from decisive…).• it is important to remember that a particular rhyme scheme (or metre) doesn’t ALWAYS mean anything; it can mean different things in different poems, so instead of applying a ready-made formula, try to go into the exam knowing how to identify these aspects of a poem and then try to work out why you think the poet has used them in that particular poem. flexibility is key, which can be daunting but also somewhat liberating.• i personally find a ‘scribble method’ quite useful. this is where, when first approaching a piece of writing, you write down everything that comes into your head, regardless of how messy, or how basic. you then sort through your ideas, expanding upon what you think is worthwhile and discarding what you think is not. this method is generally more handy when not under time pressure, though, as it can get you into a muddle in the exam.• start simple and build up. it can be tempting to jump straight in but sometimes when you start simply new things can reveal themselves as you work your way up into more complex ideas! • perspective is extremely useful to consider. who is speaking and why? are they biased or objective? who are they speaking to and why?

unseen exam tips

• in an exam, i would approach a poetry or prose extract first by simply reading it, and trying to find out what it is about. then i would go through and highlight words/ phrases of interest, and label literary devices. finally, i would go through it again and build the main analysis. a brief paragraph plan can be useful before writing the essay.• acronyms can help sometimes as a go-to in an exam when you don’t have much time. for example, i use CFTTSOL - content (basic story, characters, who is speaking and why etc) form (poetry, prose, drama etc), tense (past/ present etc), tone (happy, sad, why? is the tone at odds with the subject matter? in emily dickinson’s ‘because i could not stop for death’, for example, the poem is about something dark but it is very jolly), structure/ syntax (rhyme, caesura, enjambment, any disrupted syntax, etc) other (anything not mentioned in the rest of the categories) and language (similes, metaphors, assonance, etc). i would recommend finding one that works for YOU and makes sense for YOU, because creating your own can really help to ease you into analysis.

PART 2: literary awareness

• read, read, read! i cannot stress the importance of wider reading enough, and also the importance of thinking whilst you read (making notes/ annotating books whilst you read is advisable). i am speaking from experience here - i didn’t read outside of the curriculum at all until the end of last year, and since i have started my literary analysis has increased tenfold. this is partly because practice is vital, but also because wider reading gave me an awareness that i could never have expected to gain. it enabled me to start making links between texts, genres, periods, etc – i began to see patterns and conventions in literature. for instance, a poem that breaks convention is easier to spot and talk about – to use a very basic example, a sonnet (usually a form of love poetry) about brutality/ violence toys with genre. if you had read some of shakespeare’s sonnets, you could then compare the violent poem with sonnet 18, to elucidate your point. this isn’t to say that you didn’t already know that sonnets were love poems, or that you wouldn’t have picked up on this without wider reading. but having read sonnets outside of class means that you can talk about this with greater clarity, authority and confidence.• i would also advise you to push yourself with the literary material you explore. it is difficult, but try to find nothing intimidating - read thick victorian novels, read modernist authors, read kant if you want, and even if the prospect of reading ‘harder’ texts doesn’t thrill you then try them anyway - you may be pleasantly surprised! part of the difficulty of studying this subject is that preconceived ideas can erect barriers and put you off. it is important to totally bulldoze these barriers and remind yourself that nothing is above you, and that you are capable. that’s not at all to say that you can’t read ‘simpler’ texts, and of course it is probably wise to admit to yourself when you perhaps need a greater literary background before you tackle a text (for example, i tried joyce’s ulysses, a modernist text full of allusion, when i have a barely working knowledge of greek mythology, and i admitted to myself that though it would not be impossible for me to read it, i would like to read more widely and then return to it in the future).• w i k i p e d i a. it’s often sniffed at but honestly don’t be afraid of using it! it’s an excellent way to absorb info fast. also don’t be ashamed of using websites like sparknotes if you don’t understand a poem to begin with! u shouldn’t rely on them for the crux of your analysis but they can be helpful to get started!• it’s perhaps obvious, but it helps to remind yourself that literature isn’t just fiction - try to read some critical essays if you can, and look at philosophy, history, psychology etc and how they relate to literature as studied in school. this is actually wayyyy more fun than it sounds (!) and will improve your general literary knowledge.• tumblr, whilst being a killer procrastination station, can also really help to broaden your knowledge. reblogged quotes from famous writers often stick around in your memory, and period moodboards can help you get a sense of different ages and help you to visualise what you’re studying. it’s also great to be in a community of passionate people - the passion of others on this site has definitely rubbed off on me!• make it relevant!! all of these texts and literary movements have shaped our society profoundly. as overdramatic as it sounds, look for the romanticism in a house party, or existentialism in internet memes, or hamlet in yourself. legacies are all around us, and seeing the world in this way can really bring literature to life.

literature is a subject where you get out what you put in. it’s relatively straightforward, if you work hard, to get very good grades in lit; if this is what you want, then having a solid knowledge of metre and literary terms, being able to spot them in texts, and then being able to describe what this reveals can get you top marks. but, in my opinion, to develop true literary intelligence you really have to let the subject permeate every aspect of your life. this is a subject where you really can take risks, be original and unique, and explore a huge amount of periods and ideas. if you see it reflected in the world around you, and think deeply and thoughtfully about everything you are reading, then the classwork honestly sorts itself out.

i hope this has been useful in some way and that it answers ur ask adequately!! if u have any further questions or require clarification please do not hesitate to let me know. i hope u have a wonderful day 💘

[hollohat]

Hello tumblr! AP EnglishLiiterature is among the AP classes most commonly taken by juniors ans seniors, and the skills it involves - analytical thought, communication, effective reading - are applicable in every walk of life. Given the nebulous nature of these components, however, studying for it can seem daunting.

General

 Possibly one of the most essential skills for lit classes in general is the ability to read quickly and effectively. For the most part, this is something which is built up over the course of years of interaction with the English language. Brushing it up can absolutely help, though.

Learn to skim. That is, don’t read all the words on a page, but pay special attention to first and last sentences, and pick out words from in between to see what the gist of the paragraphs is.

If you have time and don’t often read older works, read some ~classical English literature. Pride and Prejudice is a good place to start. Familiarize yourself with the style and vocabulary; it will come up.

Write down any words you don't know as you encounter them. Look them up in the dictionary later and learn them.

If you have a particularly hard time with a particular genre -e.g. eighteenth century romantic poetry - try to read some independently. Just spend fifteen minutes on it every other day until you can functionally decipher what it's about.

As a general rule, look briefly through a set questions before reading the text they’re about. This way, you’ll know what to look out for. Often, you can knock off a couple of the easy ones right there.

If a question - even an essay question - stumps you, read it thoroughly, then move on. Come back when you’ve done the easy ones and take your very best stab at it, but don’t let it drain valuable time to useless pondering.

When you need to analyze and you don’t know where to start:

How does it make you feel? That’s the mood.

How does the author sound? That’s the tone.

Any weird details in there? They’re probably important to the text’s meaning. Examine them closely. In fact, keep a careful eye on details in general.

Is something compared to something else? e.g. “the light in his eyes” to “the stars of the heavens”? Get some adjectives for the latter. The stars of the heavens, for instance, are beautiful, distant, celestial, and eternal. Chances are whoever said that thinks “his eyes” have some of those qualities too.

Don’t let go there. Why do they think that? What does that signify for them, for their relationship, for their eyesight? Is this a metaphor? What does it signify then?

Do the same thing with metaphors.

There are some larger themes which often appear in literature, and especially that you are likely to read. among them are:

Conflict and relations between the old and new.

Humanity and the environment

Technology and nature

Society and the individual

If you can find such a theme in the piece you are working with, that may often be a door to an ~overarching, larger meaning^TM. Anything said about the settings, objects, characters, and ideas involved, can then be extended to the author’s statement about these themes.

The tiniest details can be enormously meaningful. If you follow a train of thought, you can get a lot out of them. This is particularly useful for essays.

Multiple Choice

These questions come in a few different flavors. Generally, they will ask you about the meaning of words in a text, the application of literary terms and concepts thereto, and its overall meaning/message.

The questions about any particular passage will tend to follow an order corresponding to the progression of the text and of its ~deeper meaning~ as the test writers want you to understand it. It makes sense to answer them, for the most part, as you read the text.

Sit down with a list of literary terminology, and memorize them. Practice applying them to all the material you work with throughout the year.

This one is daunting, but very comprehensive. The first three pages of this one are more relevant.

If you’re not getting one quickly, draw a star next to it and come back later. If a couple answers are just plain wrong, cross them out immediately; then you won’t have to think about them second time around.

If you’re not sure about an answer, put a lil’ question mark next to it. Only change it if you come back later and are absolutely certain you were wrong the first time.

The Essays

Do. Not. Get hung up on any one of them. They should all take roughly the same amount of time to write, and drafting your master’s thesis for one will do you no good if you have no time left for the other two.

Ideally, your first sentence, should be highly specific, and should encapsulate the intended meaning of your whole essay.

It might make sense for you to leave a space at the top blank to write your intro paragraph after the rest, if you don’t know where you’re going.

Be very specific about everything you say. Vague statements will take up time and space and get you nothing.

If you’re stuck, just state an obvious fact. Then say what it means. Insert some details supporting this interpretation. Connect it to other facts. See if you can connect it to a larger theme. Bam. Paragraph.

If you’re strapped for time, don’t worry about conclusions.

Do try to stay organized, though. Don’t jump between thoughts. One paragraph per point.

Use some literary terminology if it fits. Don’t use it if you can’t quite remember what it means, though.

For poetry, the actual rhyme structure, rhythm, and shape on the paper of the poem can often tie in nicely. Read the piece out loud in your head. Often, you can relate regular or irregular meter, a recurring pattern, or a change or disruption to the actual content and theme of a poem. Learning a few specific words to describe this will make you sound sophisticated af, just saying.

That Dreaded Last Essay

Don’t worry about reading lots of the books on the list of books which might be relevant. The very clichéd “quality over quantity” is super relevant here. You really only need to have two or three books prepared.

Given that, those books should rich in themes, and very different from one another. And you should know them like the back of your hand. Be able to summarize, analyze, and discuss them comfortably. Knowing an important quote from each, while not necessary, could be a good touch.

Your class will probably read and analyze several such books. If you are not in a class, look through the list of books which have appeared on the test. I found The Great Gatsby, Their Eyes Were Watching God, and Heart of Darkness particularly useful.

Whatever books you decide to prepare, have them ready a few weeks before the exam. Go through past questions, and make sure you could answer them with one (or more!) of your chosen works. Practice writing outlines if you like.

This question is not written to trip you up. It’s there to make you think on your feet about something you know more deeply than any of the passages which will actually be on the test. If you have an appropriate selection of works which you have analyzed and understand, and if you can write an essay, you will be able to answer it.

This course, and test, is a great chance to read some good books, learn to pick them apart, and refine your use of English. Enjoy it, and crush that exam. If an MCQ answer is really dumb, let yourself laugh a little; it’s good for de-stressing. :)

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[absurdistocchiolism]

random questions meme

  Rules: Answer the questions written by the person who tagged you and write 11 of your own.

Got tagged by @theticklishpear

1. If you could learn all the careers you ever wanted to be in a single year, what would you study?

My brain is all over the place! Physics of all kinds for a start. Astrophysics, quantum physics... also, marine biology, oceanography... astronomy for sure! Linguistics as something on the side too. Paleontology, holy hell, dinosaurs, gimme!!!

Ahem...like I said, all over the place.

2. Tomorrow’s the last day of the universe. You have 24 hours to do anything you want, no limits. What will you be doing in the last seconds of our universe’s existence?

In the morning I would want to just hop in a plane and just fly all over, even above the cloudline,  getting one last long look at the world.  Then at night, get as high into orbit as possible in said plane with an oxygen tank and throw myself out so I can finally get an unobstructed view of the Milky Way in all its splendor. It would be my last chance to look at it. Might as well go out just at the moment that it all goes.

3. First ever film you remember watching in a movie theater?

I cannot actually recall this in a movie theater. My earliest movie memory is of going to an outdoor drive-in with my family (mom, dad, brother) to see Jurassic Park. Its also my happiest memory, of the hour or two before the movie started, I would wander around the giant parking and the surrounding fields, looking for lost things in the sand/dirt/grass, eating treats I would otherwise never eat, and family troubles being (seemingly) far away....AND THEN BEING BLOWN AWAY BY THE SPECIAL EFFECTS OF THE MOVIE HOLY SHIT.

4. Have you ever met a celebrity/role model/king or queen and who was it?

Nah,but I did  get within a mile of the Dalai Lama once. There once was a group of Vietnamese immigrants who ended up buying an old boarding house near my own home (in the woods, the middle of nowhere!) and renovated it into a Buddhist temple. Maybe a year afterwards, the head monk, named Bon Dhat, came to see me at my house (we had met before, he was very friendly!) all excited and so happy because they had been blessed at their place of meditation with a visit from the Dalai Lama himself! I had never seen him so happy, and he was about the most cheerful person I had ever met.

So that’s how, while I was doing math homework and being more than a little miserable, I missed a visit from the Dalai Lama on my dirt-road street in rural Canada within a mile of myself. Oh well!

5. What do you do when you’re bored?

Read something, either a book or from the internet (usually Wikipedia). Play with my dog, write (bad, and very personal) poetry, try to write one of my stories, clean the house...eat...take a walk with my dog...ask myself existential questions...y’know, normal stuff...

6. What type of food would you sell if you opened a restaurant?

Ha, probably BBQ meals, literally from the grill because I’m good at it, with a specialty ‘dessert’ of thick bacon strips on-a-stick, with a variety of flavouring options for it. I might also try to find a way to replicate the taste of toast on an open fire camping-style. That has a unique flavor I just never get anywhere else. Maybe a camping-themed place? with everything cooked on an open fire! wooo!!

7. What year has been the best of your life and why?

I can’t pinpoint a year, mostly because my sense of time is just whack. But also because I haven’t really had a ‘good year’ ever since puberty, when the depression settled in along with the wild teenage hormones. So anytime before that, when I was free in the woods and pre-pubescent, was good I suppose.

8. How do you react when you see an animal pass by while walking down the street?

I always need to resist the urge to interact with any animal. But it also depends on the animal sometimes. Skunks? MUST SHOW DEFERENCE. Racoons?, Hey buddy, you want something to eat? Ravens? Those I always feel the need to ‘talk’ to. They are smart enough to have weird interactions with, and I love weird. So I chat up corvids in general. I miss the woods, when they were everywhere. Now the sight of any single one is a treat.

9. How would you survive the Hunger Games?

Uuuuuuuhhh, would I be able to kill children? Probably not. So my chances would be slim.

10. Would you rather live up to age 20 having lived the success of all your wildest dreams or live up to age 90 having lived simply a beautiful ordinary life?

‘Success’ is not an end goal for me, but living until 90 sounds daunting. Maybe if I could find a way to live in relatively good health for the duration of it without becoming a burden, I think I could make it worthwhile. But man, watching my elder relatives wither away, some to things like Alzheimer's, has not exactly given me great expectations for my own old age.

11. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never have because of fear?

SKYDIVING. ACTUALLY DATE SOMEONE. TAKE A TRIP ON MY OWN. Touch a medusa (animal), those scare me because of ONE nightmare I had. But they’re beautiful, and I would like to face my fear of them at least once.

Okay, here’s my questions!

1. If you could invent a word in any language, what would it be and what would it mean? Noun, adjective or verb? Go wild!

2. Your ideal home, location , size, yard?, number of rooms, how many levels? Dream!

3. Your favorite quote/line from a book or movie or poem, and why? What does it make you feel?

4. You just inherited a billion dollars from an obscure and distant relative. Quick, what do you do with it?

5. What’s your motto, if you can think of one?

6.Oh shit! You can shapeshift! What’s the first thing you turn into?

7. You have an intergalactic ticket to go anywhere in the universe, where do you want to go?

8. What would you tell your younger self to get them encouraged to keep going on?

9. Wow, you are suddenly immortal and invulnerable to any harm! What’s the first thing you want to do and what would you spend eternity doing?

10. What was your strangest dream?

11. Funniest joke/story/pun you’ve ever heard?

I’ll tag @dragonhearted-clevergirl @theloveworthlivingfor @veliseraptor @rogueoftimeywimeystuff and @theticklishpear , if any of these questions appeal to you, feel free to answer them! as always , thanks for thinking of me!

[dvtsr]

 // WHT IS A REFLECTION?

if(reading == reflection){

    please listen to (Han-Tyumi and The Murder of the Universe);              else (experience great boredom, following reflection is long winded);

}

THE POST-DIGITAL PROTOTYPE

With a project (//brief) this open it was hard to decide where to begin, the post digital was such a colossal topic it was easy to get lost in SPRINT tunnels where you would start fifty micro projects only to abandon them all and be left with nought.

Having grown up with my nose in a book, specifically Sci-Fi epic’s and dystopian thrillers, this studio option was an easy pick. When given the brief, rather than a solid idea I had a feeling I wanted to encapsulate. A pseudo Orwellian future in which we are monitored constantly, not menacingly but very blatantly. 14 year old me would have been disappointed by the mediocralypse we are living through. Instead of a cold judge Dredd / Robocop patrolling the streets it is Siri watching us, reminding us to take an umbrella less we catch a cold.

When I got my new iPhone [TM(TM) TM] I turned off all the regular ad/ tracking settings only to find within a few weeks that without me having ever set anything, it knew where work was, when I was working and when I was coming back home. This was on by default, hidden in settings be-riddled with sudden jargon. 

(the setting was frequent locations) INITIAL BRAINSTORMING:

With all the aforementioned in mind I chose to focus on “looking at screens works both ways.” For the first part of this task I initially wanted to create a book out of paper that would dissolve under certain conditions, or create a publication that reflected my sentiments that I would expand upon in this final segment. However as I continued my research on the “post digital,” I began to think about my own future as both a designer and individual. The design industry is simultaneously competitive and collaborative. I thought a lot about what kinds of clients I wanted to attract, sectors I wanted to work in and what set me apart as my own designer. There are enough/too many Frankie magazine designers already, regurgitating the same grid patterns and shallow works, printing the same idea month after month.  

This is A Magazine, Compendium #3 “Chaos Happens.”  Shown work by: Flutro-Creative Services Unit 

It was from here that I realised that I personally couldn’t make another perfect bound print publication as my own interests didn’t align with this. To expand my practice I decided I needed to buckle down and do something I had little experience in. This is how I landed on coding. Whilst a daunting task I really do believe to evolve and stay ahead of the AI-designer-DoomBots who will inevitably replace us, it’s imperative we learn thy enemy. To bring something other than roast, peas and mash to the dinner table. 

In the same way we swapped traditional waterfall methods in our ideation/prototyping phase I wanted to SPRINT my own portfolio and make use of the opportunity to work on a concept driven design as opposed to a finished work. Whilst AI can mimic human semantics and create pretty websites it is yet to learn to think of it’s OWN ideas and it is this that is perhaps our best asset as flesh and bone.  On the same tangent, I wanted to explore the popularity of computer companionship. With the Mac OSX Sierra update, ‘Siri’ also lives in your desktop. Amazon released ‘Alexa’ and Google retaliated with ‘Google Home.’ All bots designed to assist your livelihood by taking over rudimentary tasks such as adding items to cart, checking the weather or playing music. The real appeal in these bots is not their ability to tell you what time it is in Denmark but their capability for relatively smooth, realistic conversation. How is it in a world more connected than ever, we feel isolated enough to require a live at home robot companion?

Like a housewife from the 50′s, only Alexa can’t stick her head in the oven!

It was from here that I began looking into the feeling of loneliness in the post digital scape. Looking through my phone I found screenshots I had taken from a twitch stream of two google home bots set up such that they could converse with each other (side note: the rise of streaming culture/ Instagram live is an interesting foray into how we consume media and how rapidly it’s changing!! Saving it for another post!!) .

V: “what date” E: “the date you’re going to take me on.” V: “I don’t know we’ll have to see” Too real google, too real  :----(

“If you don’t want to talk about Harry Potter I’m leaving”

Which reminded me of my own experiences chatting with bots. Cleverbot was super popular while I was in primary school as were portable offline versions of this with devices like 20Q. Our romanticism of talking to an algorithm is evidently nothing new. As AI ultimately reflects our own speech, is wanting to imbue human qualities in a string of data the ultimate form of narcissism?  Or is it our collective cry for help, to save us from our own loneliness.  This theory culminated when I read through/devoured The Age of Earthquakes: A Guide to the Extreme Present by Shumon Basar and co. (thx for lettin’ me borrow it Andy).  

Growing up with video games it wasn’t until recently I’d noticed how isolated games that weren’t MMO or server based made me feel. Disconnected almost.  Even open world games like the Witcher never truly asked:

Thus they never responded to my most current emotional needs. It was from there that I decided I wanted to create my own solution to this. I started with idea of collecting meta-data to fill in variables in a block of text. After strenuous research I realised with the time available and my lack of prior experience the code required to string this together was far too complex. From there I dug into machine learning some more,  finally discovering Amazon Web Services (AWS). AWS is a corporate orientated tech service which provides servers and API’s to aid in a vast range of analytic type applications. It was pay-per-use however as I was not sending it 10,000 hits at once it was a couple of cents per request.  Unfortunately the AWS Rekognition software (which is infinitely cool, able to recognise objects, faces, expressions, age, gender and gestures with a certain amount of certainty) was region locked to North America and very buggy through my VPN :--(

I did get it to work a few times. Ultimately this was weeks of learning python and wrangling with Terminal down the drain. Deflated I wasted a few too many nights out/at bars trying not to think about my impending failure for this assignment. It was from there that I found Microsoft Azure, a similar service to AWS it provided the same recognition and the added promise of analysing “emotion.” Again I put in my credit card details only to find that the API was locked to North American servers and also too complex to incorporate for my own uses. In my growing list of abandoned ideas, I’d hoped to incorporate the raspberry pi into my project mostly because I really wanted to play with it. I loved the appeal of it’s blank canvas nature and the anarchy within creating your own systems as opposed to simply absorbing what is fed to you. At this point I’m losing a lot of sleep over /getting it done./ I’d watched hour upon hour of Java and then Python tutorial hoping to build this damn application. I then came upon openFrameworks (OF). Similar to Processing, OF is an arts-engineering toolkit, like well fertilised soil is to plants oF makes the coding process easier. However it is still just a nursing ground and to plant and grow your project you still need a firm grasp on the basics and semantics of C++.  It was at this point I discovered  http://www.facetracker.net, an Open CV2  library for ~ tracking dat face ~  Developed by Jason Saragih, it was wrapped for openFrameworks by Kyle McDonald. Most of the resources used in this project ended up being Frankenstein-ed together as I found most online tutorials were either lacking or 7 years old. Equipped with a source code I was still inept at writing a code to utilise this library. This project was like trying to solve a puzzle where all the pieces are made of bubbles and the instructions are in Russian. Luckily for me I love puzzles. I went on self loathing wiki-hole after wiki-hole trying to find help. I had all the parts I just didn’t know how to make them work together.  

* note time stamps * Luckily openFrameworks came with a small library of tutorials which sent me in a better direction. It was 4 am and I was getting delusional when I finally stumbled upon a template Dan Wilcox had developed around FaceTracker for students at Carnegie Mellon Universities School of Art Faculty ( In Pittsburgh USA). This became the skeleton which I broke and rebuilt and furthered to build my own monster. 

I changed the colours on my compiler (Xcode) so I felt more like hackerman B--) From there I did far more math than to my liking to integrate my facial structure into the algorithms:

If I had been more apt at coding I would have liked to have actual face recognition as opposed to tracking. Baby steps, perhaps for my next project. I started with the idea of the book changing large volumes  of text depending on expressions, however it was too difficult to maintain one expression for any extraneous period of time. Coming back to my initial research ( with content driven on current emotional needs) I decided to use poetry. For each relevant emotion I assigned a poem/snippet which I both cherish and relate to a feeling. 

The emotions and poems I ended up with are as follows: Happy: ->  smiling Yes Yes, Charles Bukowski Angry: -> brows furrowed and eyes squinted Snippet of The Divine Comedy - Inferno, Dante Alighieri  Shocked: -> mouth open Alone with Everybody, Charles Bukowski Tired: -> close to the screen Rhapsody on a Windy Night, TS Eliot

Confused: -> Far from screen Jabberwocky, CS Lewis

As emotions are never singular, neither are the outputs. If you show signs of multiple emotions they will clash and play at the same time. The fluidity of the text on screen mirrors the unanchored nature of thoughts and feelings.  I also initially did not have the little face on screen, however found it more charming/uncomfortable to see a visual reminder of your constant surveillance.  Whilst un-menacing it is slightly disgruntling to know you are being watched. Some test screens (as in the opening GIF):

 Now armed with a deliverable software, my next hurdle was submission. I wanted to incorporate a physical art element that grounds the project as something tangible whilst maintaining the romanticism in the playful app, i.e I didn’t want to have it simply downloaded from a boring dropbox or CD as the prototype relies on “ inspiring a hope for a future outcome. ”  To physical represent both my Frankenstein-ed code (which has been passed down forward and tweaked by four generations of people to get to this!! In the spirit of open source I will also upload my version to GitHub) I deconstructed an old hard drive and replaced its casing with old mobile phones. Another technology rapidly evolving and leaving behind carcasses. Building new through old, forging future with the bones of the past. It also includes a charger noose to remind viewers of the potential perils of living entirely online. This is countered by cute stickers and a smiley face to also remind viewers that things moving forwards doesn’t have to be scary.

In conclusion this Studio was like an incredible buffet in which I took way too much food but enjoyed all of it none the less. The book club meetings were incredibly rewarding and a pleasant change of pace from other classes. I’ve learnt so so much from class discussions and just being surrounded by super super suppppperrrr work. These are all concepts/skills/thought processes I’ll carry forward into future works both in academia and beyond. Honestly though my favourite part has just been absorbing other peoples works. Through and through my favourite class ( and the only class I’d come to uni at 9 am for.) 💖🌸💕💗 Thank u everybody for an incredible semester!  

[didiportia]

A Journey In Writing

When life hands you body parts...make a monster

- Didi Portia

Book One - Making A Monster

.01 - Let’s begin with the foundation of all writing. The Mission Statement:

It is my expressed desire to offer an insight into the Creative Writing process as taken from my very own experiences in both life and writing, which truly are interchangeable. My only hope is that you walk away with value from every lesson I share.

.02- Introduction:  Who am I? The truth is...I’m nobody special. No more special than you. You live, you breathe, you dream. I live, I breathe and I dream. What makes me think that I can successfully teach writing? I guess its simple: I have been writing and “actively” studying the Art of Writing for many years.

.03 - Credits/Why I feel that I am capable to aid you in your own writing:

Some people may be under the impression that I landed my job because of chance or a lucky break. I resent that. What a lot of people don’t know is that I spent 15 years honing my skills as a writer. I went to University of British Columbia, completing several writing courses under John Maven as well as Samuel Petri who have works that are both a Part of the UBC as well as the University of Toronto’s Writing Curriculum. I would like to mention too that I finished at the top of every class, with the highest marks in every class. I also (while living on the streets in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside) was accepted into a well known Writing School in Connecticut “Long Ridge Writers Group” and trained under Karen Hammond, who is a star in her own right with hundreds of Publications from American Lawyer, American Profile, Family Circle, Runners’ World, Wine Enthusiast, Wine Spectator, and many others, and newspapers including the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Boston Globe, Columbus Dispatch, Miami Herald, and Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. She was also at one time the Senior Editor at Boston Globe.  

Karen Hammond received the Outstanding Service Feature Article of the Year Award from the American Society of Journalists and Authors for an article on aging, the Jerry Morris Master Writer Award for an article on myths and realities surrounding the first Thanksgiving, a Travel-Media award for an article on Quebec City, and the Outstanding Poem of the Year Award from Perceptions literary magazine.

I trained under some pretty major writers—master in their field. This is to dispel any thoughts that I “fluked” off my position at a major UK Writing Firm. No. I worked damn hard for years and years to get where I am.

My journey in writing began over thirty-four years ago, back when I wrote my first genuine short story. I was 10 years old. The story, from what I can remember—written in pencil, on eight pages of loose-leaf,“front-and-back”—was one of those swashbuckling Space Pirate adventures, with loads of action and cool characters; Mercenaries named “Wolf” “Bruiser” and “Hawk” who walked with swagger, carried huge cannons and never flinched or moved for anyone except Dingo, who was the only badass in the galaxy who could tell a bunch of calculating savages what to do. As far back as I can remember...I wanted to be a writer. I used to dream of one day working from home as a real life writer who was actually paid to sit in his Pajamas and just do what came most natural. Now that I am a real life writer...I think its time to share this journey with the world. Anyone who is interested in becoming a writer should find this interesting. That is the hope, anyways.

Now that things are going moderately well—that is to say...I’m not broke, have a roof over my head, and the bills are paid—I can take a moment to reflect on my journey. And for what it’s worth...I will do my best to keep you entertained along the way. Looking back...I have to say...first and foremost...it was not easy. You see...I came from poverty. From broken homes. Foster homes. Alcohol and drugs. It is imperative that I mention before we go any further that I am a First Nation of the Saulteaux People’s of Central Canada. I was not born to wealth or stability. The total opposite, in fact. I was born to the natural chaos, ruin, and strife afforded to me and my people. That being said...I will not use that as an excuse to point out my very own, deeply personal struggle coming up through life as an uneducated aboriginal, ex-street kid in modern day Canada. I will, however, share with you some pinnacle moments that have both changed as well as shaped my life. But before we get too deep in...I would also like to bring to your attention the core of this Blog Book: writing.

Along the way I have amassed a considerable amount of knowledge on the subject. With millions of words written along the way, over the course of many years, and of studying the craft of writing intensely for the better part of two-decades, with University Studies, (UBC) College (VCC) as well as a renowned Writing Program “Long Ridge Writer’s Group” under my belt, I say with the utmost confidence that I am proud to be in a position where I can be of assistance when it comes to the Art of Writing. And make no mistake...writing is an art. And just like art...writing gets better with practice. The greatest thing to behold, in fact, is also the simplest statement, which says: “All people are natural storytellers. But not all people are natural writers.” Storytelling is a gift from our Lord, Creator...that one almighty deity who gave us such gifts as dreams and desires. It is our lot to dream. Why not “dream and do” then? Simple answer to that one...

For most...writing is scary, frightening, and most of all...daunting. A real task. The very thought of writing freaks people out. I guess that is what separates writers from the rest. We writers look out at the world from the edge of a cliff. It is those stories and experiences that lie deep within us that bridges the gap between life and imagination, reality and a blank piece of paper. While a blank sheet of paper provides the platform, it is raw passion that allows for the means. Let me explain. Everybody has a story to tell. Some several. Others...countless stories. Sadly most of our stories will fade into obscurity by the wayside of our minds simply for the lack of desire. It is those desires that compel writers to write. Writers write for many reasons, but the one indisputable factor that drives all writers is the same no matter the individual. We writers write...simply because it is a part of ‘who’ we are. It is because we must write in order for us to feel free and understood. We are compelled by a most natural force: the desire to be heard and understood.

This Blog Book will be an introduction to the Art of Writing. How to bring that story that has been in the back of your mind to the forefront. Using my very own techniques I will share with you lessons that are both easy to digest as well as easily utilized. Together we will cover the entire range of Writing Your Story, from beginning to end. Using my own Writing from a Catalogue of over 30 Short Stories and several Novels I will guide you throughout the process: from fleshing out a story outline to simple dialogue to writing texture and settings using the six senses to final product of your choosing.

Let’s begin.

Book One – Making A Monster

Chapter 1 – Understanding “Heart.”

Understanding heart. “What is heart?” you ask. Well, in the shortest, easiest way I can answer...I would have to say that “heart” is the one thing which drives us all. That goes double for our favourite stories. In short...like every living creature that lives and breathes...our stories require one thing: a heart. Without a heart our stories are empty, lacklustre and quite simply, meaningless. In fact...it is the heart which drives all other functions of every story you’ve ever heard, whether you are aware of it or not. It is the one thing that gives us insight to the storyteller. Think back on some of the best stories you have ever heard. Now think back on the ‘way’ the person told that story. It is in this moment you can see his/her true self shining through. It is in this moment we gain insight to the person telling us the story. Notice the way she smiles when telling one of her favourite stories. Notice the way his voice dips and rises with certain aspects of his tale. Notice the eyes, the mouth and the posture. That is heart. Heart is the one aspect of any tale that drives its functions, from tone, to atmosphere, to dialogue to settings. Heart allows the audience to ‘feel’ the different aspects of the story, which translates further into meaning and purpose.

Now that we have an understanding of “Heart” it is time to really begin our journey in writing. At the core of “Heart” lies several forces that shape both our stories as a means of being understood, as well as our desires which forces us to sit in front of an empty sheet of paper and instill our will into a focused series of words and paragraphs. It is through this series of words and paragraphs that we begin our journey. Talking about forces that compel us...let’s begin with the inevitable question: ‘why?’ Why do I feel it is necessary to write a story? There are an infinite number of reasons as to why. But the same reason befalls every writer and every aspiring writer: passion. Like any art, the prerequisite for writing successfully, is passion. The prerequisite to finishing that story, whether it is a 20,000 word Short Story or 200,000 word Novel is passion. The truth about passion is also the most basic, fundamentally; and that is the fact that passion is directly associated with heart. With emotions. Desires.

I’m not going to tell you ‘how’ to write. That is not my job. I’m simply going to share with you some valuable lessons I have picked up along the way. Lessons which have aided me in becoming the writer I am today. Lessons that translate into fun little exercises to help you hone your craft. Think about writing like...a monster. A monster with sharp eyes that see far beyond the scope of ordinary. A monster with such senses that a buzzing fly could not go undetected for miles off. A creature so powerful that entire worlds become crushed beneath its fiery steps. A creature so wild that the even the Gods gather in conspiracy to keep it from spreading its great wings. The simplest terms by which to envision your story is to understand that indeed it is a monster. Like every monster a motive lies beneath its rock-hard skin. The motive comes from one place: the heart.

Allow me to share an example of what I mean when I say “heart.” Below is an excerpt from my Short Story A Slaves Tale: The Devil &Dominus Titus, a Gladiator Tale of Ancient Rome, which gives a clear indication of motive and compelling desires. Essentially we see a clear purpose involved.

“ - A Slaves Tale: The Devil & Dominus Titus

111 A.D. The West Farmer’s Road, Outside Rome

The boy was captivated. So much, in-fact, that he could not help running full out to the top of the hill to get a better view! He lost his breath to wonder. Not just by the busy south roads heading into the city, their long lines of desert caravans, merchants and slave-carriages, but by the endless traffic, the grandeur of such a place—its ability to host such numbers, such spectacle!

The sight of wild animals in cages—a long line of them—made his heart sing! He could hear their savage growls from here: tigers, lions, bears, jaguars and some too that he’d heard of in late tales by the fire. Those strange, tall beasts whose spots resembled dry, cracked mud-beds, lanky beasts with long legs and high reaching necks—those ones that stood taller than three men. So that’s what a “giraffe” looks like!

Following single-file, sitting rather comfortably atop a dozen elephants, beautiful veiled women looked out from a world pampered by elegance and wealth. And as sweet as they were, nothing could be sweeter than the coins they tossed out to the waiting children, if only to see them smile. And the colourful feathers, rose-petals and jewels they tossed to the crowds were but a sprinkle compared to the rest of their great wealth.

Nor was he taken by the natural beauty of the land: the gentle hue of a perfect sunset spilling over lush groves, with gentle forests stretching away on the far southern slope, opening up to easy flowing valleys to the east, far beyond the city’s reach. To the north lazy marshes bridged a wide western field, trailing little forests south along the river Tiberus adding more shine to an already splendorous city. He did not blink. Not once. The perpetual movement of mighty Rome embraced him in loving arms, to his utter disbelief.

He could see now how it was the most spectacular place in all the world, truly a city of the gods! A city of dreams and might. Its tall white columns, magnificent temples, wide halls, teeming markets, lavish hillside homes, brilliant villas, wonderful bathhouses and glorious theatres brought the masses from far and wide across the known world, hosting tens of thousands of milling prospects at any of the great forums, named after mighty rulers: Traiani, Vespasian, Boarium and so forth. The city was home to breathtaking arches, basilicas and of course the most magnificent and prominent creation to date—rising straight up from the earth; an intricately designed marvel of modern architecture, the very pulse of Rome: the great Colosseum.

One-hundred-and-sixty-foot walls the colour of dry sand rounded a long line of wonderful stone arches, boasting the gods in all their glory: Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, Ceres and even great men as well: Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, Nero Claudius Drusus and Gaius Julius Caesar—names that transcend time itself. Among them the founders of Rome themselves, the twins Romulus and Remus, posing tall and proud among a legion of excellence.

   The Boy breathed deep, overwhelmed by her magnificence, her seeming grace, her light and her lull. But that was not it either.

Dominus, instead was enthralled by what lay beyond the first south road, further east to the second road. He wished he were there right this moment, lost amidst the thousands upon thousands of soldier’s heading out of the city, crowding the distant plains far into the clear evening. And still, it was not just the power of the Praetorian Guard that seduced him, nor the sheer numbers of the Roman Army, the greatest force in all the world, no. It was something even stranger that gripped him, something not seen, but ‘felt.’ It was in the way their women—a long line—trailed closely behind, seeing their men off to war.  

He sensed a great power in all of it, discovering within himself a profound connection with his fellow man, that deep-seeded desire for great responsibility; to matter, to show his worth. How he wished he were a soldier, standing side by side with bloody, strong men, hoisting the grandeur of Rome on his shoulders, screaming mad—victorious, winning and expanding her glory, displaying her infectious will to dominate. Her will to power.

Tilting his head dreamily he crossed his arms, letting his mind run away with him. Someday, I’ll have great wealth and power. And someday too, I’ll be rich and famous and have a wife and many mistresses. Someday, I’ll be ‘free.’ He smiled to himself, I’d sell my soul… By Pluto I would.

Amethus walked up beside him, “Your fate is set in stone, boy. Even Jupiter would not bother with such thoughts of heroism and riches. And scantily clad women too, hmmm...?” the skinny fellow teased, nudging him lightly, reasoning with him. “We are slaves Dominus, and don’t you forget that. Your father, his father before him and so it is, all the way down, over a hundred years now. Good-hearted people, your folks. Hard working. You should be ever so proud that we serve above our dreams.”

Not my dreams, old man. -

(From “A Slaves Tale” The Devil & Dominus Titus” By Didi Portia)

Right from the beginning we get the sense that Dominus does not like his plot in life. He is willing to sell his soul to escape the harsh binds of slavery. He wants more. He sees the world before him and dreams of a life far beyond his reckoning. If you dissect this excerpt long enough you will find many instances of yearning; one boy’s powerful drive to climb out from beneath a hundred years of slavery. This is essentially the heart of the story: Dominus’ desire for fame, for riches and freedom. This one facte of the tale can translate into every aspect of our own lives. The trick is to allow it to breathe, and grow and manifest into a real, tangible item.

The very first sentence reveals Dominus’ heart. “The boy was captivated.” He was captivated by the sight of power, freedom and glory. He sees all three facets of life in the city of Rome which rises up in the distance. If you study the excerpt closely you will see his ‘desires...that which drives his heart, clearly.

“ - He lost his breath to wonder. [Not just by the busy south roads heading into the city,] their long lines of desert caravans, merchants and slave-carriages, but by the endless traffic, the grandeur of such a place—its ability to host such numbers, such spectacle!

The sight of wild animals in cages—a long line of them—made his heart sing! He could hear their savage growls from here: tigers, lions, bears, jaguars and some too that he’d heard of in late tales by the fire. Those strange, tall beasts whose spots resembled dry, cracked mud-beds, lanky beasts with long legs and high reaching necks—those ones that stood taller than three men. So that’s what a “giraffe” looks like!

Following single-file, sitting rather comfortably atop a dozen elephants, beautiful veiled women looked out from a world pampered by elegance and wealth. And as sweet as they were, nothing could be sweeter than the coins they tossed out to the waiting children, if only to see them smile. And the colourful feathers, rose-petals and jewels they tossed to the crowds were but a sprinkle compared to the rest of their great wealth.

Nor was he taken by the natural beauty of the land: the gentle hue of a perfect sunset spilling over lush groves, with gentle forests stretching away on the far southern slope, opening up to easy flowing valleys to the east, far beyond the city’s reach. To the north lazy marshes bridged a wide western field, trailing little forests south along the river Tiberus adding more shine to an already splendorous city. He did not blink. Not once. The perpetual movement of mighty Rome embraced him in loving arms, to his utter disbelief.

He could see now how it was the most spectacular place in all the world, truly a city of the gods! A city of dreams and might. Its tall white columns, magnificent temples, wide halls, teeming markets, lavish hillside homes, brilliant villas, wonderful bathhouses and glorious theatres brought the masses from far and wide across the known world, hosting tens of thousands of milling prospects at any of the great forums, named after mighty rulers: Traiani, Vespasian, Boarium and so forth. The city was home to breathtaking arches, basilicas and of course the most magnificent and prominent creation to date—rising straight up from the earth; an intricately designed marvel of modern architecture, the very pulse of Rome: the great Colosseum.

One-hundred-and-sixty-foot walls the colour of dry sand rounded a long line of wonderful stone arches, boasting the gods in all their glory: Jupiter, Apollo, Venus, Ceres and even great men as well: Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, Nero Claudius Drusus and Gaius Julius Caesar—names that transcend time itself. Among them the founders of Rome themselves, the twins Romulus and Remus, posing tall and proud among a legion of excellence.

   The Boy breathed deep, overwhelmed by her magnificence, her seeming grace, her light and her lull. But that was not it either.

Dominus, instead was enthralled by what lay beyond the first south road, further east to the second road. He wished he were there right this moment, lost amidst the thousands upon thousands of soldier’s heading out of the city, crowding the distant plains far into the clear evening. And still, it was not just the power of the Praetorian Guard that seduced him, nor the sheer numbers of the Roman Army, the greatest force in all the world, no. It was something even stranger that gripped him, something not seen, but ‘felt.’ It was in the way their women—a long line—trailed closely behind, seeing their men off to war.  

He sensed a great power in all of it, discovering within himself a profound connection with his fellow man, [that deep-seeded desire for great responsibility; to matter, to show his worth.] - ”

In this short passage we come to learn both Dominus’ driving ambitions as well as give a small peek into his character. We see that he is both young and dreamy. We see that he is a slave early on, which makes us (the reader) root for him instantly. We see that he has his own dreams. That his ideals sit higher than those of his parents’ who were also slaves. I hope that I was able to clearly define the meaning of “Heart” by both showing and telling. By sharing my work with you, I am able to breathe a sigh of relief knowing that together we have taken the first step in discovering our own monster.

Now that we have “heart” out of the way...I think it is time that we delve into fundamentals. The basics. Let us take a moment to ask ourselves, “How do we begin, exactly?”

Now that we are done with an introduction into who I am as well as looking into the meaning of “Heart” I say we begin from the very bottom. The idea.  

In the next Chapter “The Blood of the Monster” we will look at giving a life to our Monster. We do this by examining what it is we wish to write, what message lies at the core and also...examining the most basic facet of writing: how do we begin properly so that our story is met with sincerity as well as an engaged heart. Together, in the next Chapter, we will witness firsthand the first steps our Monster will take in its lifetime. Exciting times up ahead. Stay with me. This is going to be exciting! I hope that you have taken something from this lesson. I did my best to keep it engaging as well as thorough and meaningful. Until we meet again...happy writing, friends! ( :E

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

  Rachael Ikins

Rachael Ikins has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize & CNY Book Award multiple times and won the 2018 Independent Book Award for Just Two Girls. She featured at the Tyler Gallery 2016, Rivers End Bookstore 2017, ArtRage gallery 2018, Caffe Lena, Saratoga Springs, Aaduna fundraiser 2017 Auburn, NY, Syracuse Poster Project 2015, and Palace Poetry, Syracuse. Her work is included in the 2019 anthologies Gone Dogs and We Will Not Be Silenced the latter Book Authority’s #2 pick for the top 100 Best New Poetry Books for 2019. She has 7 chapbooks, a full length poetry collection and a novel. She is a graduate of Syracuse University and Associate Editor of Clare Songbirds Publishing House. She lives in a small house with her animal family surrounded by nature and is never without a book in hand.

Associate Editor Clare Songbirds Publishing House, Auburn NY

https://www.claresongbirdspub.com/shop/featured-authors/rachael-ikins/

2018 Independent Book Award winner (poetry)

2013, 2018, 2019 CNY Book Award nominee

2016, 2018 Pushcart nominee

Www.writerraebeth.wordpress.com

https://m.facebook.com/RachaelIkinsPoetryandBooks/

@poetreeinmoshun on Instagram

@writerraebeth on Tumblr

@nestl493 on Twitter

Above all, practice kindness

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

I started writing poetry in second grade when I was 7. I still know that silly poem by heart that I’d written for Halloween. And it was about cats. Some things never change, although I write about more than cats now. As far as inspiration I suppose it was hearing it—I speak several languages— poetry is its own language. My first grade teacher had us copy poems to learn penmanship from the chalk board. My father used to have me read psalms from the Bible at bed time as I learned to read more. I think I was just born a poet. Only one period of my life was I unable to write and that was caused by serious adverse reaction to medications. It was a bleak time.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

I have already mentioned my dad and my first grade teacher. The most significant person was my 8th grade English teacher. A poet and author herself, she presented the unit on poetry ( met with groans esp. from the boys) by having us go out into the community to find poems in magazines and periodicals and cut them out. To create a notebook of poems. She had us each get a copy of two seminal poetry books, Poetry USA and Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle and we were assigned poems and practiced. We performed for a small crowd one afternoon in the school library. It made a huge difference to be taught by someone who was passionate about poetry. No English teacher for the rest of my school years ever came close. We are still friends. She is in her 80s now and still writing in multiple genres, attending workshops and publishing.

3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

I’m not sure what this question refers to. Older in history poets or older people I knew who liked or wrote  poetry. My father was given, as were all soldiers, The Pocket Book of Poetry.  Soldiers would carry it under their helmets. My dad still had his copy, and we used to read from that little book. So I was aware of the masters as a kid, but had not known an actual adult poet until I was 14.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I tend to work in the mornings. I browse markets using social media a lot, too. If I find something interesting I will match up the pieces I want to submit and then revise and polish. As far as new work, again, it tends to be written mornings. I was riding my bike yesterday morning, and a poem started up in my head. This has always been a way I write. Other days something will happen, something that has been subconsciously simmering will say “It’s time!” Whatever else I had planned that day will take back seat to the need to write, and I may write for 5 hours straight.

Walking or riding and letting my mind roam. Once the body is craving relief, all extraneous clutter- thought goes away and clears space for something new to appear. I just listen for it.

5. What motivates you to write?

A feeling of not having achieved some mysterious rubicon yet. I have won a lot of prizes and as well published quite a lot of books with three publishers in multiple genres, and yet I  am just driven. I also have to say, I think I can’t help it. Writing is like breathing to me. “Write or die.” I would also like to make a significant amount of money at my craft/passion to make a dent in my monthly budget. Would I like to support myself at it? For sure, but I don’t know if that will ever happen. I have intense focus and ability to pursue something no matter who detracts from it. That has done well for me, too. Because in spite of teacher support, my family never took my writing seriously until the past decade.

6. What is your work ethic?

My work ethic has always been work hard and  help one another. We are all in this together. Contests aside, we are not competitors though some act that way. Help someone else. Don’t trample someone with your ambition. Pay it forward. Honesty. Write honestly.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

Oh, that is an easy one. I first tried to read Tolkien to myself as an 8 year old. Was a tad daunting. Instead I read all of Milne’s Winnie the Pooh books. The classics. Read Tolkien again in my 20s and was hooked. Both these authors made a mark on me somehow, scarred my heart and brain because decades later after writing nothing but poetry since age 14, in my 40s I wrote a series of children’s stories and the initial chapters of what became the first book in the Tales from the Edge of the Woods series, Totems. My understanding of fantasy and my choice of magical characters and so on was sparked by those great authors. My children’s stories stayed in a box until about a year ago, through 7 moves. I showed them to a publisher last year and we worked on edits. A Piglet for David will be coming from Clare Songbirds Publishing House later this year, the first in a series of young reader chapter books.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire and why?

I admire J. K. Rowling though I am not a Harry Potter fan. Like her, I have known horrible poverty. You just do the work, period. And if you become successful, you do good with it. I also have always admired poet Marge Piercy. Since her book The Moon is Always Female in the ‘80s with its erotic poems connected to the natural world and also cat poetry Marge has seemed to appear along the journey just when I  needed an example to follow. I have also been at work on straight fiction, a lesbian adventure/ romance for awhile. I have never been fond of reading explicit sexual descriptions. It bores me. Do it, don’t discuss it lol.

I had to write a love scene and had no idea how to do so. One thing about love scenes is it is easy for them to be unimaginative.

I was in a bookstore and found an anthology Best Lesbian Erotica, not sure of the year. Looking through the table of contents I saw Marge Piercy had a short story in it. So I bought it, read her story and the rest of them, then faced off one night, sweating, in front of my computer and wrote the scene. A few years later my story “The Horse Rescuer” was accepted for publication, and I was paid probably the most for one piece I’ve been so far.

In 2014 I noticed Marge on FaceBook so I private-messaged her, one of those “You don’t know me but…” expressions of gratitude for her presence in my literary life. She responded and suggested I submit to her June Poetry Intensive. She chooses 12 students for a week long workshop every year. I finally got to meet my hero.

I like Mary Oliver’s poetry, too, but Marge is the one who has always been there in some sort of magical way. There are really too many authors for me to list.

9. Why do you write as opposed to doing anything else?

I can’t not write. And when a poem in particular or a scene if we’re talking prose, starts coming together in my mind, I have to stop whatever else I’m doing. It’s like going into labor I guess. You can’t tell the baby you’ve changed your mind, stay in there.

10. What would you say to someone who asks “How do you become a writer.”

You write. The best way to become a writer is to read everything you can get your hands on. Then you write. Maybe you start out emulating a style of someone you like to read. Keep writing and eventually your own voice will be heard. Writing is the most labor-intensive, long-term gamble of a profession going. You can theoretically spend, for example, 5 years writing a novel, another several seeking an agent and publisher if you want to go the path of the big 5 publishers, and yet you can spend a whole decade of your life on that one project and it may never be accepted. Or sell. Know that up front. Study. Go to workshops. Find a writing group. Read at open mics. And if/ when you reach a point where you have something to submit, read the specs the publisher lists as to how to submit to their publication. It shows respect. Many a writer has been summarily rejected for not submitting the way the publisher requested. Be tough. Opinions are completely subjective. Being rejected by a publication is meaningless. Editors are human beings. We all have different tastes. Don’t take it to heart. If you are lucky enough to get a note of feedback along with the rejection, learn from that. Read books about writing.

It’s hard. Be aware. Being a writer is not for the faint of heart. If you are serious about it you will pursue it no matter what. We only pass this way one time. So if you really want to do this, do it.

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

Right now I am in the midst of launching my mixed-genre memoir, Eating the Sun. It is the love story of my husband and me. Organized by seasons of the year, the garden is the vehicle that takes the reader on the journey. Each section starts with narrative and then has poetry related to it, and finally recipes created by us from garden ingredients we grew. I use my artwork often in my books when publishers allow it.

This book has pen and inks, photography and cover art by me. I have a second manuscript submitted to a publisher. It is all poetry titled Confessions of a Poetry Whore. Another poetry  manuscript  to be sent this fall is titled Riding in Cars with Dogs.  It will be the companion book to my previously published For Kate: a Love Story in Four Parts written after the death of my beloved cat, Katie.  Since grief is a universal experience and so is love, no matter what shape the beloveds, this book is accessible to anyone who has lost someone. The second fantasy book of the Tales of the Woodland series,  Beach Wrack has been written and edited professionally and is in the queue with a mid-level publisher. Book 3, Through the Hedgerow  is half written.

All four or five of the young reader chapter books are written as well. A Piglet for David will be Book 1. These also have my artwork as illustrations.  My work is contained in 5 upcoming anthologies, and I am eagerly awaiting copies. All releasing this summer and fall. Both writing and artwork.

Last but not least, I am at work on a thriller/horror genre novel. Haven.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Rachael Ikins Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[fortheloveofcringe]

Here’s the tim, eh, thing I mean.

I have an intense case of mouth diarrhea whenever I speak to the person I like. My mouth thinks faster than my brain does and that’s giving too much. Desperate even.

And now I’m upset.

This school year was not what I remotely expected it to be. I guess life, do know a couple of tricks to surprise the living daylight’s out of me. For instance, the fact that some people from my past keep popping off from left and right reminding me of the ugly memories I intended to be left in the recycle bin, momentarily retrieving them back to beat myself up when needed be, on my own terms, but boy does it trigger some sort of daunting demon inside of me when I see people that hark back the tinges of the fragile person that I am. But I’m not discourteous. I’ve been trained for pleasantries and my tricks usually work, like make-up on a scar.

However, there is one person that very well got under my skin in a matter of 5 miliseconds, if I’m not entirely mistaken. Usually I calculate, for real, but this time, at least on my end of the paper, everything just sparked instantly, like that moment when you have a mini heart attack because the socket you plugged your charger in gave a little shower of electric fire flakes and you’re wondering how you’re not in the  E.R. with a third degree burn.

And now, it makes me more upset.

To think of this.

This and the person.

The ride home, in this muddy, musky July air, reminded me of the brittle pang inside me whenever I try to bring someone close to me. They just wouldn’t. That makes me gloomy. Not having the person. But perhaps, in an unsolicited epiphany in the jeep, it isn’t really not having the person, but It’s me. My wide grins and over-flattering nudges of “please be part of me” conversations, makes me sad. Every year, every damn year, I come across someone I really like and I know they would just blow-up for me like fireworks that you slept on during New Years. I’m confused as to why I meet people, the ones I want to desprately confer romantic poetry, lean in and whisper a secret after an embrace in my bed, or just simply cook a hell of a lunch for, or massage their backs or even at least just be a listening ear or a shoulder to lean on as they say, it confuses me how such small happiness can cause loads of pain and re-animate some notes of trauma from my past. It’s like the universe giving me a glimpse of my little childhood again; where I just can’t have nice things, just window shopping, a glass wall, there to tell me where the line is when it gets blurry. See something, but can’t be able to bring it home with you and have good pictures for the times. It makes me feel like sometimes, I must be the worst person in the entire world. Because I envy people who easily get what they want, need. And the universe always calls me out in every little envy litany that I perpetrate and tells me that this is the reason why I do not entriely deserve to be happy, because I’m a terrible person. I just think of things… so the only gift the universe can give me, is up to having a close embrace of anything which I lack, in mind’s eye alone.

I have tried my best for years to actually appreciate the good side of being alone and with the idea of being left with nothing. That’s a good game, “Nothing left to lose, nothing to cry over for”. But it gets a little cold and fussy whenever couples rub it in my face that I am one of the candidates for “OLD CAT PERSON DIED ALONE IN HIS BASEMENT DUE TO DEPRESSION” kind of headlines. How much tears do I have to even shed. It’s almost annoying that I feel so hurt from the most trivial of things in my life. Sometimes I end up blaming the only thing I love about living, reading romantic novels.

Novels that had drawn me to him, amongst other things. I have them on audio, voice memo’s. His voice. As I warned him about how I take notes that very first morning of a Monday. I record people. I like evidences. I’m a journalist, or at least I was. But I do love mementos or anything that says, “Yes, I existed.”

I’m a college student, most specifically a "v" ingenue gay-person. I reasoned out to myself, “It’s natural for a person to get the hots for another person who share the same taste of T.V. shows, or movies, or BOOKS, even.”

Good Ghandi, the universe has some fucked up way to make puns sometimes. Because before classes started, I was just dying to have this imagined person. Just a piece.

So he’s the kind of imaginary man where he would actually ask me about how I LOVE Scream Queens or American Horror Story (cause the last attempt to nudge someone to talk about these two shows led me into being branded a psychopath, which is incorrect because I love those shows for their quick wit humor and glam, not the bloodshed, okayyy maybe a little of that), or what I think about Call Me By Your Name and other books related to. Then I, later uncover him more with how he is obsessed with warm hues in photos, and then he’s the one to ask to befriend me on Facebook (which I rarely do, accept requests, with the evidence of my 78 friends listed) or follow my secret Intagram Diary, and add the fact that he likes to qoute movies like Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird (which I’m obsessed, Fave part was Christine’s audition where she sang “Everybody Says Don’t”, it’s literal and symbolic at the same time) and that he’s a lefty and I’ve heard about the myths of lefties and their campground behavior towards the carnal. How I’m such in an itch to pump out the verses of Lil Timmy Tim’s “Statistics” to him because he’d get how funny that is, and that I can make him squirm, giggle and laugh. Because I do. I did those.

Now he’s not some imagined guy. He’s actually real. That’s a rare thing, considering where I live. Never have I thought the universe is this sick. And his name is also Tim, and he knows. I know he knows I eye him differently. And as much as I know it would creep him, it creeps me the hell out, too. The fact that this guy I just imagined could be freaking TEACHING ME.

Because that’s the worst part. That’s where I hit the brakes. Because If I keep on smiling like a fool, whenever I look into those coffee brown round pebbles he passes off as eyes, it’s fucking Christmas morning. And I think I can’t get enough tower strenght to tie myself up with my ropes and not lunge at him and give him a tight hug and kiss his face. And damned be my trichophilia. Damned be the fact that we were born a day apart, in the same year (& other illogical signs) and that his smile is a dreadful temptation. It terrifies me. Like how I watched that haunted house film as a child, where they pay a bunch of takers in just to get murdered one by one, and the sole survivor gets all psycho and continues the killling spree after the experience. What I’m saying is it’s insane. How am I this easy?

I have been constantly rubbing my face with my palm. Not this again.

Losing without having.

So red lights flash. Literally.

As I snapped out of the words and scenes replaying in my head as the jeep leaves the downtown area and I’m in the comfort of the PWD seat in front, away from everyone, where I can privately stare out, wear my fake glasses so I can’t be obvious when tears escape from my eyes. I have one rule. One that I have established ever since when I was younger but failed to comply to, “Hambert, look to the ground. That way, you’ll hurt less”

The night summed up to the words of Sufjan Stevens song playing in my headphones.

“Beloved of John, I got it all wrong, I read you like some kind of poem…” or maybe I just can’t wrap my head around the thought of how his face reminds me of home.

Somehow, I knew it just did not make sense. Some brakes don’t work, too.

and this where I might swerve to a curve or hit a damned brick wall.