#Revision attempt

[mapecl-stories]

[celestiallessons]

another week, another class, another verb group

[prolibytherium]

I've got big opinions on dream sequences in writing. Which is mostly that they really shouldn't be there like 90% of the time because they grind the narrative to a halt, but I think they CAN have value. It's just that they tend to be executed in a way that's kind of pointless.

It's mostly that a lot of writers have the sequences be literal 1:1 depictions of the character's anxieties or feelings, or otherwise the absolute most on the nose symbolism possible. And it's not like dreams are NEVER like that, but why bother stopping the narrative to include a full sequence that essentially just repeats information the reader already knows?

If it's established that Character A is scared that Character B will get murdered by Jeff the Killer, and then A has an entire dream sequence of B getting Jeff the Killed and A wakes up sweating like 'Noooooooooo I do not want that to happen noooooo' it's jsut like. Yeah I knew that already?

[batw1nggg]

i think it’s interesting that komaeda alludes to chapter 5 as a final battle between hope and despair (the specific scene im remembering is the boat scene but im p sure he says this during the chapter itself too) because to me it reads as another battle between two hopes. both destroying the remnants of despair and forcing them to confront the truth and overcome their past are outcomes of hope. so which will win in the end which is stronger will makoto or munakata emerge triumphant etc etc etc.

but it’s the fact that komaeda initially views this as a battle between hope and despair that interests me. from an objective standpoint it WOULD be a battle between two hopes (every trial before 2-5 he describes the class vs blackened dynamic as being a hope vs hope dynamic), so i think its his emotions skewing his worldview. i mean he’s distraught and enraged and horrified after finding out the remnants of despair thing, AND his worldview about talent is already falling in on itself because the whole point of being ult despair is using your talents to embody despair, which is against what he believes in… so of course he’d view the outcome of the remnants surviving as despair, because he feels despair towards the remnants. even though the point is that hope will always overcome despair — and wouldn’t it be the ultimate instance of hope for the very root of the apocalypse to overcome its despair?

i think komaeda subconsciously understands this, but again, he’s just emotional. case in point: 2.5. this is why ive never been angry that 2.5 kinda retcons his motive in the end, when he says he believed hajime would make it to the lowest stratum + generally the fact that komaeda is nonchalant about being woken up, almost as if he knew hajime would win. in his clear mind, he’s able to acknowledge his subconscious belief that hajime would win, and that the remnants are the stronger hope. he had faith in hajime to figure out the case.

[fatuismooches]

Tfw you're finally writing a full fic again!! 🥰

It is called "Puer et Monstrum" or "The Boy and the Monster."

[penelopecruzcoded]

starting to wonder if i am a writer after all based on how much i despise doing revision

is this everyone? do others dread it like me? writers will be like "i'm on my third revision" "i'm on my 4th" and i'm here like, maybe i just like writing a story and moving on

[self-indulgent-paw-patrol]

Tumblr mobile app is drunk, surprising an astounding total of zero people

I've been trying to publish a drafted post from my pups sideblog only to get error messages

I JUST DIDN'T KNOW THEY'D STACK UP WHEN I'D TAP ALL THE WAY BACK FROM DRAFTS PAGE TO BLOG/DASHBOARD PAGE LMFAOOOO???? It's been like this for several hours now (it's currently 4am and I'm giving up to go and try to sleep XD)

[tongues-and-teeth-and-reblogs]

Dark Cacao after, not even despite her best attempts, because of her best attempts, she’s locked herself in an endless cycle of pushing everyone away and ending up alone. She wants to protect everyone so desperately, but she doesn’t realize her literal walls are naught but a gilded cage, and her metaphorical walls are built too closely for them to contain anyone but herself to inhabit.

[schizowitchic]

regular ableist (boring): I think im gonna pass maths hehe im being soooooo delulu about this!!

me, schizophrenic (interesting): i have received divine revelations late at night that showed me how maths work so now i will pass my exam

(we are not the same) (i am clearly better)

[anneapocalypse]

Ah, the moment when you're approaching the end of a 50K+ draft and have been telling yourself for a while now that it's a hot disaster but it's okay it's okay just write it and you'll fix it in revisions, and now stopping to re-read a bit of it and going "...okay you know what maybe this is good actually."

[aroaceacacia]

I wonder how they made the purgatory 2 teams ... like with purgatory 1 you could tell they were tryign to break up most of the pre-established relationships for the sake of drama. but with purgatory 2 there are multiple team-ups of people who really really wanted to be teamed together - for example, etoiles, who joined purgatory 2 specifically to play with kenny, got to be teamed with him. plus iirc they did do team balancing to a certain extent (and also didnt team any purgatory 1 players with each other). so I wonder if they went the MCC/block wars/pandoras box route of "google form that asks you who youd like to be teamed with"! I feel like that would account for some of the interesting/unexpected decisions especially amongst new players (eg. Rodezel, who really wanted to be teamed with Bad)

[mapecl-stories]

The Tale of Hansel and Gretel: A Dark Chapter in Court

In a small town far away from the dark forest where Hansel and Gretel experienced their adventure, the story took a less fairy-tale-like turn upon their return.

The sweet joy they found in the gingerbread house quickly turned into a nightmare when the local police learned of the events in the forest. Hansel and Gretel were arrested for the death of the witch and brought to trial.

Prosecutor: Your Honors, the defendants acted intentionally and with premeditation. They pushed the witch into the oven not in self-defense but out of sheer selfishness and greed.

Defender: Your Honors, we do not deny that the defendants pushed the witch into the oven, but we claim it was a desperate act in a life-threatening situation. The witch posed a threat to their lives.

Judge: The evidence will determine whether the actions of the defendants were justified. Please present your first witness.

The witnesses recounted the peculiar events in the forest and the intrusion into the witch's house. The defender tried to emphasize the children's fear and their desperate situation.

Defender: Mrs. Müller, can you confirm that the witch threatened the children?

Witness: Well, she was shouting and trying to catch them, but…

Prosecutor: But they could have escaped. Instead, they pushed the witch into the oven.

Defender: Your Honors, the children had no other choice. The witch would have caught up with them. It was a matter of survival.

As the trial progressed, it became apparent that the children were in a precarious situation. Witness testimonies revealed their greed for the sweets in the witch's house, and the defense struggled to portray the siblings' actions as pure self-defense.

Judge: After careful examination of the evidence and witness testimonies, I conclude that the actions of the defendants cannot be considered pure self-defense. The defendants are found guilty and sentenced to the maximum penalty of 10 years in prison under the Youth Criminal Code.

The siblings looked at each other in shock. Their defender unsuccessfully attempted to appeal the verdict.

Defender: Your Honors, we appeal to your leniency. The defendants are victims of an extraordinary situation.

Judge: The court has made its decision. The trial is closed.

And so, Hansel and Gretel were led away in handcuffs, while their defender futilely tried to secure a revision or a milder punishment. The once-upon-a-time tale of Hansel and Gretel took a grim turn, challenging the boundaries between right and wrong.

[fortune-maiden]

I think we all know my feelings about the revised tgcf by now

but on the other hand I am suddenly very intrigued by YSH/Xuan Ji

[deesi-academia]

i know youre not a studyblr but as a senior can you please give any suggestions on managing 12th boards and competitive exams (im a jee aspirant but i still wanna know how you managed it all) hope its not a bother!

hiii sure!! feel free to reach out whenever, im happy to help <33

okay so. what i suggest you do (assuming you'll be starting 11th this year):

1. Enter 11th std. Don't get intimidated by others. Stay focused on understanding the concepts of all chapters, school exams toh derivations and formulas rattkar bhi ho jayenge. Clear concepts now rather than saving it for 'later'.

2. Practice all PYQs and whatever questions you get for maths. You can only do maths with practice × 100000. It's honestly quite tough, or it's too lengthy.

3. Fully strengthen the 'easier chapters' NOW. Own the knowledge like you made the concept.

4. Enter 12th. Let go of 11th from april-september and fully finish 12th std as soon as possible. Cover all concepts (I believe physics in 12th is relatively easier) and learn all formulas by your midterm exam time at school.

5. USE YOUR SUMMER VACATIONS WELL. COVER ALL BACKLOGS THEN AND THERE. (I regret procrastinating soo much 😭)

6. Just revise 12th entirely and focus on PYQs during October.

7. Nov-Dec go through 11th std again thoroughly, don't take too much stress for preboard cause hopefully you've prepared for 12th strong enough already. Don't take preboard marks to heart!!

8. January, do only and only JEE PYQs and cover whatever backlogs you have. Physics formulas must be learn to the heart. Understand organic chemistry basics very very well, cause it will help predict complex product formations too even if you don't remember the actual reaction!! Maths again, only practice or God can save you 💀 (I'm sorry I'm really scared of maths so maybe this is a biased reply!)

9. Now you'll have board practicals likely in Jan end or Feb only, just make sure your file is complete and you know the basic procedure of experiments. Don't stress too much about viva, usually your own teachers will help you through it!! Focus on practicals as it helps with conceptual JEE Qs too!!

10. Now simply focus on learning derivations and long answer type questions for upcoming boards. You've done enough for JEE and it's time to strength subjective answers. Focus only on cbse board PYQs and again, don't stress too much. Be confident you've worked so hard!!

11. Now the April attempt. Again start focusing on 11th at least 2 weeks before your JEE date. Revise 11th very well.

12. Lastly, solve sample papers only. During the last 3 days I recommend not studying. Only sample papers. With full syllabus. No chapter-wise or topic-wise. But yes if you still don't have concepts cleared, definitely do that asap. Still try to be fully prepared 3 days before the actual exam!!

That's all <33 I made it as detailed as possible for anyone to refer to. Set a goal and follow through guys!! I know it's super hard and yeah 11th mein vo feeling nahi aati, but trust me, if you can push yourself hard in 11th, you won't have to worry too much for the April attempt for sureeee.

All the best <33

[bungostraydnd]

Chapter One: Lycans and Orders

[START]

It had simply been a normal day. Dazai and Kunikida were on their way to investigate a job when Dazai paused by the river.

"Don't," Kunikida said with a note of warning. "We don't have time for this."

However, Dazai didn't move, "Hold on a second."

"Are you kidding me? You can't-" Kunikida turned his head to follow Dazai's gaze, now spotting the human passed out on the riverbank. "Seriously? If we stopped to care for every injured person or orphan we see, we'd never get anything done."

Dazai entirely ignored him, making his way down to investigate closer. His glowing eyes were fixated on that mark around the person's neck... not that Kunikida had really paid attention to exactly what he was focused on or knew his train of thought.

[queenlucythevaliant]

When Lucy returned to school for the spring term, Peter sent a war poem. It dropped from the crease of his letter into her lap, as unexpected as a firebomb.

“On Receiving News of War,” the title read, and Lucy’s heart lurched. She was sixteen and Peter was twenty-one. The war had ended three years ago and he had only been a British soldier for a matter of months before he was discharged. Now, this poem came: words from the Last Lot, the 1914 war. Lucy picked up the loose page and read.

ON RECEIVING NEWS OF THE WAR

Snow is a strange white word;

No ice or frost

Have asked of bud or bird

For Winter's cost.

Yet ice and frost and snow

From earth to sky

This Summer land doth know,

No man knows why.

She looked up in shock. What did Peter mean in sending this? Was it only that it made him think of their first days in Narnia, white and frozen under the White Witch’s curse? He could not have missed the title. Lucy worried her lip between her teeth, considering. Her brother did not often use words idly.

Red fangs have torn His face.

God's blood is shed.

He mourns from His lone place

His children dead.

O! ancient crimson curse!

Corrode, consume.

Give back this universe

Its pristine bloom.

Oh. Yes, alright. That made a certain kind of sense. And there, at the bottom of the page, was a single line writ in Peter’s hand. “Variations on a theme,” he had written, “only I’m not yet certain what theme it is. Do you have an idea?”

Several, in fact. Lucy’s mind lit up in an instant, all a-whirl with memory and typology. She wasn’t a child any longer, and in small bits her many battles came back to her. Peter, she was sure, remembered even more of Narnia’s wars.

Yet Lucy remembered the ice of Lantern Waste on the first day as though no time had passed at all. She remembered the crimson of Aslan’s blood. She remembered the thaw. In her mind, those things had nothing and everything to do with Britain’s last war. Nothing: the two worlds were as different as King Arthur and Winston Churchill. Everything: because maybe Arthur and Churchill were not so different after all.

That night, after a trip to the library and with a book of poetry on her desk, Lucy composed her reply. “Another variation,” she wrote, and carefully copied out the lines.  

All the dead kings came to me

At Rosnaree, where I was dreaming,

A few stars glimmered through the morn,

And down the thorn the dews were streaming.

And every dead king had a story

Of ancient glory, sweetly told.

It was too early for the lark,

But the starry dark had tints of gold.

The poem was called “The Dead Kings.” Peter was not dead, but Lune was and Cor was. Caspian was. It was easy to imagine them appearing in the trenches and whispering their stories into the ears of British soldiers.

“Caspian would have liked the notion, I think,” Lucy said thoughtfully.

Peter leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Yes. Come to think of it, I rather like it myself. If I were the dead king, I mean.”

“It’s strange—I think these were meant to be sad poems, the way they were written. The world unwillingly cursed and the ancient kings dead. Yet when you apply it to Narnia, I don’t think it’s terribly sad at all. Maybe a little melancholy, but hopeful too. Like I know something that the poet doesn’t.”

“You do know something that the poet doesn’t,” answered Peter.

“I mean about war and dying and all. It’s all so distant for me, you know? And yet I often suspect that I know secrets that some men who actually fought couldn’t guess at. The hopeless men, maybe. In Narnia it was all more beautiful. Having lived there elevates even war and death, in this world.”

“We were, both of us, soldiers once.”

Lucy nodded.

“How about this one, then?” Peter shoved his book across the table, nearly upending the cream along the way.

The drab street stares to see them row on row

On the high tram-tops, singing like the lark.

Too careless-gay for courage, singing they go

Into the dark.

“Simple,” said Lucy. “Singing on the way to war is courage. Singing in the dark is just about the bravest thing a person can do. Just because these boys go into the battle without knowing what it’s really like doesn’t make them any less brave for going, or for singing.”

“You would know,” her brother smiled fondly.

With tin whistles, mouth-organs, any noise,

They pipe the way to glory and the grave;

Foolish and young, the gay and golden boys

Love cannot save...

“It makes me think of Susan,” Peter murmured.

“I can see that. Our love cannot save her, only Aslan’s.” Lucy frowned thoughtfully.

“No, no—I mean I wonder if that’s how Susan thinks of us: foolish children still playing games where singing in the dark means anything at all. Gay and golden, but naïve and careless by the same token. Too caught up in notions of courage and glory to realize that we live in a world where good people die.”

“Oh Peter, you don’t really think?”

“She told me once she’s afraid that we’ll never grow up, did you know? I wondered if she meant that we would always be like children, or if she worried we might die young. Sometimes I still wonder.”

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” said Lucy. “To always be child-like, or even to die young. Not by half.”

Peter snorted. “You might not mind dying young, but I’d certainly mind it. You’re my little sister, Lu. If you die young, it means I’ve done something wrong.”

“Well of course I’d mind! There are so many things I mean to do once I’m grown up. But I’ve always thought—ever since Father Christmas handed me that dagger—that I might. As long as I died for something, it wouldn’t bother me. I think I could be a rather good martyr.” She winked across the table.

“Don’t you dare. If Aslan has short lives in mind for either of us, we’ll drink what we’re given. In the meantime, let’s both of us focus on growing up well.”

The next week, Lucy went with Marjorie Preston to the mail room. It was Marjorie’s birthday and she was expecting a parcel from home, but Lucy was also privately hoping for another letter from Peter.

An abundance of riches awaited Marjorie: an enormous box that the two of them had to lift together. Thus, Lucy tucked Peter’s letter under one of the box’s flaps as they carried it, and it was Marjorie who tore open the envelope when they reached the dormitories.

“What in the world is this?” Marjorie exclaimed, waving a poem under Lucy’s nose. Lucy snatched it away and hungrily read the words, considering how this variation fit Peter’s theme. Then, she noticed that Marjorie was still beside her, tapping her foot impatiently.

“My brother sends me war poems,” Lucy explained hurriedly.

“That’s strange.”

“Do you think so?” Lucy considered. “Well, no matter.”

WAR GIRLS (here Peter had added “& VALIANT QUEENS”)

Strong, sensible, and fit,

     They're out to show their grit,

   And tackle jobs with energy and knack.

     No longer caged and penned up,

     They're going to keep their end up

   Till the khaki soldier boys come marching back.

"Does he mean you?" asked Marjorie, wrinkling her nose.

Lucy laughed, but didn't dispute it. She went to fetch some paper and a pen.

On they went for the next several months, passing poems back and forth in their letters. Some of them were hopeful and some despairing, some sad, some darkly funny. It was a dialogue in a war that Peter scarcely remembered, and Lucy even less. In time, Tennyson and others from before the Last Lot worked their way in. Even Shakespeare made an appearance with several selections from the Henriad. Spring lurched into summer which tumbled into fall. Peter turned twenty-two in August and Lucy was seventeen in November.

Then, at dinner at Professor Digory’s house one night, the specter of a Narnian king appeared before them. Before they left, Peter found the poem he was thinking of in the Professor’s study and gave it to Lucy.

Horror of wounds and anger at the foe,

And loss of things desired; all these must pass.

We are the happy legion, for we know

Time's but a golden wind that shakes the grass.

“Does it feel different this time?” he asked once she had read it.

“Yes,” replied his sister, “and no. It feels obscurely like it did the night Aslan died. Like something is hanging over us.”

“I think this is the end,” Peter said bluntly. “He said we wouldn’t ever go back to Narnia, yet here we are. It feels like the end. Do you remember what it was like the night before a battle?”

“Yes. I didn’t before, but I do now. Like we had to gather up everything inside ourselves and name it. Fear and courage, love and memory.”

Peter sighed. “We ought to get going. There might be ice on the roads tonight.”

Lucy went into the closet and fetched her coat. Peter followed, moving a fraction slower than usual.

“Peter?” Peter turned and looked at Lucy, who was standing in the doorway with her fur-trimmed collar turned up around her throat. “It was a good poem, Peter. The right poem. Time’s but a golden wind that shakes the grass…”

Golden. Golden like Aslan’s mane, which they both so dearly longed to touch once more. Lucy tossed the poem round and round in her mind all that evening.

Before he and Edmund left for London, Lucy slipped an envelope into Peter’s pocket. “Read it on the train,” she told him.

Peter nodded. “I have one for you too.”

It was the last conversation they shared in the Shadowlands, though neither knew it at the time.

When Lucy unfolded her poem, she recognized the words. It was her favorite war-poem, which she’d first sent to Peter months ago when their correspondence had begun.

Sombre the night is:

And, though we have our lives, we know

What sinister threat lurks there.

But hark! Joy—joy—strange joy.

Lo! Heights of night ringing with unseen larks:

Music showering on our upturned listening faces.

It almost made her want to giggle, how well Peter knew her. Lucy thought of him and Edmund together in London; she ached for Susan, who had chosen not to join her siblings in their last battle for Narnia. She breathed in deep and thought of music on the way to war.

Death could drop from the dark

As easily as song—

But song only dropped,

Like a blind man's dreams on the sand

By dangerous tides;

Like a girl's gold hair, for she dreams no ruin lies there,

Or her songs where a lion hides.

That last couplet was wrong. Peter had changed it. The poem ended with, A girl’s dark hair and kisses where a serpent hides, but Peter had written gold and lion instead.

When Peter unfolded his own poem on the train, he found only a single stanza, annotated on nearly every line.

It didn’t pass— (His will be done) it didn’t pass-  (His will be done)

It didn’t pass from me.

I drank it when we met the gas  (His will be done)

Beyond Gethsemane! (His will be done)

The train halted and the whistle blew. Peter shook Edmund awake beside him, and together they went to unbury the rings.

 .

 Poems referenced: “On Receiving News of the War,” Isaac Rosenberg; “The Dead Kings,” Francis Ledwidge; “Joining the Colours,” Katharine Tynan; “War Girls,” Jessie Pope; “Absolution,” Siegfried Sassoon; “Returning, We Hear Larks,” Isaac Rosenberg; “Gethsemane,” Rudyard Kipling