#clearing out drafts n found this post from 2 or 3 years ago

[bloodborne-on-pc]

You ever think about how in Ib’s “Forgotten Portrait” ending, the painting of Garry replaces the painting “The Hanged Man”? One of the Major Arcana in tarot is the Hanged Man - the game even references this, mentioning that the painting was released in a limited edition tarot deck.

The Hanged Man represents, among other things, martyrdom and sacrifice. The only way to get the Forgotten Portrait ending is for Garry to die, when he trades his rose for Ib’s.

[youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms]

I Would Tell Them If I Could, But I Can't

Words: 1823

Warnings: angst, reference to reader and Spencer having previous relationship, probably poor writing and OOC characters but whatever

Criminal Minds Masterlist Main Masterlist Join My Taglist

Reader and Spencer had a relationship for about 2 years before they broke up and then they just kinda slept with one another after bad cases which lead to the reader getting pregnant. They kinda have a co-parenting lifestyle where reader is the "lead" parent and Spencer get's child (Avery) on weekends and some weekday

Only Hotch and Strauss and JJ and Emily know (Hotch because he's her boss, Strauss because she's Hotch's boss, JJ because she's Spencer best friend, and Emily because she's reader's best friend)

Takes place during JJ and Will's wedding/the end of Hit/Run (Yes, I am aware that Emily also left in this episode, it basically was a double whammy. Except the whole team knew about Emily but not about reader)

I literally forgot about this...it's been sitting in my drafts for about 1-2 weeks lol

This was originally written for my OC Abby (which will be posted on my other account @imnotobsessedwfictionalchracters later)

Anywho, enjoy

Love Z <3

Y/N stared at her friends laughing and dancing around in Rossi’s backyard. She watched as Avery chased Henry and Jack around with a stick. She watched as everyone was happy. And she could tell that they were truly happy. Happier than they had been since Emily’s “death”. She wanted to keep it that way, but she knew that soon it would change. They go into the office on Monday and see her desk cleared. She placed the papers on Hotch’s desk yesterday morning. Before they were called down to the bank. She had no idea if he had seen them. But it didn’t matter. She was changing to work with the CIA. It was a better job. Better hours. Not much of a better pay...but she would get to be home for Avery more.

So she felt like this was a good goodbye. Everyone smiling and happy for JJ and Will. No one had to know about her resignation. Not yet. She knew it was cruel, leaving that down to Hotch to tell them. But she thinks it would be easier for her. She already knew that she wouldn’t be able to handle Penny’s crying. The only person who knew was Spencer. And him trying to convince her to stay was hard enough. She knew that if she had everyone trying, she would give in and let them convince her to stay.

“Does anyone know?” She jumped slightly at her Unit Chief's voice. He let out a small chuckle, “Sorry, I should have announced myself. I know you aren’t in the space to not be startled by someone coming up beside you.”

“It’s fine Hotch.” She blew out a bit of air, “And except for you and Strauss, it’s Spencer.” She crossed her arms, “Figured I had to tell him since he’s taking Avery this weekend.”

“Oh yeah? Where is he taking her?”

She laughed, “God I wish I knew. He’s keeping it a secret.”

“So, the CIA?”

She nodded, “They’ve been trying to get me since before that talk you had with us a few months ago.” She looked at him, “About the budget cuts. I was going to talk to you about it that day, but you walked out so fast I never had the time. And then we just kept getting cases so I never had the time to breach the subject with you.”

He nodded, “So what made you decide to take it?”

She looked back at everyone, “Something JJ had said about her time at the Pentagon and something Strauss told me.”

“Which was?”

“JJ told me that while she missed us, she would never deny how happy it made her to get to see Henry more. And to not have to worry about being pulled out and away from him randomly. More stable hours. All of it.” She pushed some hair out of her face, “I talked to who would be my boss to see if that would be possible. They offered me a different position. One I could only get with Strauss’s permission. That was how she found out and I started on the papers.”

“And what did Strauss say?”

“To think of Avery. To think of what would be better for her. And I did. The job at the CIA provides more stability. It’s more of an executive role. I could be home at a more reasonable time. And it’s a closer drive than it is to Quantico. Plus, it is a promotion.” She laughed, “I actually was in disbelief of Strauss convincing me to take it.”

Hotch laughed with her, “That is a strange feat.” He sighed, “So today was your last day.” She nodded, “And you’re leaving the responsibility to tell the team to me, aren’t you?”

She sighed, “It’s not like it’s what I want to do, but it’s easier for me. I don’t think I could handle Penny’s crying.”

He nodded, “You know you’ll just have her showing up at your apartment in tears, correct?”

“Yes, but she’ll also show up with a container of cookies. So it’s more of a win than a loss.”

“I can’t deny that one.” Hotch turned to face her, “It’s been a pleasure to work with you these past 4 years. And if you ever wish to return, the BAU will be happy to have you back.”

She smiled at him, for once she wasn’t surprised to see a smile on his face. If there was one thing Y/N had to say about Hotch, it was that he could be predictable. And she knew that he was going for a handshake, the more professional option, but she wrapped her arms around him. While he could be a pain in her ass sometimes, she would never deny that he knew when she needed a break and forced her to take it. And she wouldn’t deny that sometimes she saw him more as a father than a boss, which she knew was what he wanted sometimes.

“Thank you for not getting upset and trying to convince me to stay, Hotch.”

“If I know anything, Y/N, it’s that sometimes you need to make the choice that would be better for your kid. It may not always be the easiest, but it’s the best.” He pulled away, “I’m going to head back to the party before anyone becomes too suspicious of us talking.”

She laughed, “They are profilers afterall, I think they got suspicious the second you smiled.”

He laughed as he walked away, “That much is true.”

And as he walked away, she saw Spencer was walking towards her with Avery on his hip. She gave them a soft smile as they neared.

“Someone here is getting tired.”

“Aw,” She took Avery from Spencer’s arms, “Is my little girl tired.” Avery nodded softly, “Okay, it is getting late. We’ll soon.” Avery nodded again and laid her head on Y/N's shoulder.

“So, did you tell him?” 

Y/N nodded, “Pretty sure it was reluctantly, but he approved my resignation letter. I start Monday.”

He sighed, “You know that the only reason I didn’t really fight you was because it’ll be better for Avery. Otherwise I would have argued with you. And won.”

She hummed, “Nah, I would definitely have won and not given in. Only Penny can out-argue me and I will accept defeat from.”

He laughed, “That’s understandable. Like, totally and completely understandable.”

“Well, I think that I am going to go on out, join me out front in about 10?”

He nodded, “You gonna get my keys from the bowl?”

She nodded, “Yep, I’ll get them and transfer the stuff to your car.” She sighed, “I’ll go tell everyone bye. And try to avoid promising to see them on Monday.”

He laughed, “That’s gonna be a hard one.”

“Shh,” She hushed me, “Let me dream.”

She followed Spencer down and saw as he went to talk with Emily and Rossi. So she started with Penelope and Derek. Derek saw her walking over to them and threw his signature smile at her. “Hey Pretty Girl, how can we help you?”

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. Avery here is all tired out. So I think I’ll see y’all later.”

Penelope gave her a goofy smile, “Yeaaaah. We’ll see you on Monday!”

Y/N's smile faltered slightly before she kept it up, “Yeah! Totally! See you later.” 

She blew a kiss at Penelope and brought Avery’s sleepy hand to wave at the two as she walked over to Emily and Rossi. She told them the same and soon enough she was walking over to Will and JJ. JJ shot her a happy, but tired smile.

“Hey, you heading out?”

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, Avery is all tuckered out so I’m gonna take her home.”

JJ raised an eyebrow, “You or...?”

Y/N laughed, “He is. But I’m leaving first to be able to switch everything over to his car.”

JJ laughed, “Alright. I’ll see you on Monday?”

Y/N froze for a brief moment. Thought that she should maybe tell her the truth. But she didn’t. She just smiled and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see you Monday.” She waved at them both, didn’t even try to have Avery wave as the small girl was dead asleep. “Bye JJ. Bye Will. Tell Henry bye for me.”

Henry nodded, “We will.”

Avery walked away from them and then out to the front of the house. She grabbed both hers and Spencer's keys from the bowl on the table and walked out of the house. She walked down to her car and carefully opened it without waking Avery up. She was able to move everything from her car to Spencer’s without waking the small girl on her hip. Just as she was getting Avery ready to place in Spencer’s car, he walked out. 

He gave her a soft smile as he got closer. “Is she asleep?”

Y/N glanced at him as she was buckling Avery in. “Yeah, she fell asleep as I was talking with Emily and Rossi.” She kissed Avery’s temple before carefully shutting the door. “So, when will I learn what you are taking her to do this weekend?”

He hummed, “Never if I have anything to say about it.”

She smirked, “So evil Spencer Reid, oh so evil.” She sighed and leaned against his car door, “Are you really okay with me leaving?”

He crossed his arms, “If I’m going to be perfectly honest? Absolutely not. But I know that it is what’s best. For your mental health and for Avery.” He sighed, “You know that the team is going to be upset that you’re leaving without telling them.”

She nodded, “I know, Spence, I know. But as you said, it’s what’s best for me and for Avery. And besides, Hotch said that if I wanted to rejoin, I always could. So who knows,” She shrugged, “I could end up being JJ and coming back because I miss this all too much.”

He laughed, “Maybe I’ll hope for that.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, maybe.” She said, “I’m gonna go now. I’ll see you later, alright?”

He nodded, “Yeah, I’ll see you later.”

Y/N walked away from Spencer and back to her car. And as she got into the front and started it, she smiled sadly as she listened to “This Year’s Love” by David Gray played through her speakers. As she drove home, she thought about the past nearly 5 years she lived on this team. All of the good and bad things that had happened in the past years. All of the good and bad memories that she had.

She knew she still had more to go through. More to learn. More to live. But she was happy to have lived this life the past years of her life.

“We all take different paths in life, but no matter where we go, we take a little of each other everywhere.” ― Tim McGraw

[excelsi-or]

just a little sweeter (pt. 10)

HELLLLOOOOOOOO~~ are you guys still there? LOL, it’s been like a month and a half since I last posted on here. The end of the semester just really got intense with projects, presentations, and finals. But I’m here and back for at least two weeks. I wanna see if I can bosh out the rest of this series before I move onto another one. 

I hope you’re all well. If you wanna update me on what’s new with you all, I’d love to know. I applied to grad school. I have one more semester left before graduation. Vaccinations have started in my area of the world. I started playing Hollow Knight (if anyone wants to talk about THIS GAME, please do. I love it.) Think that’s kinda it. 

BIPOC reeeeeccccc: N. K. Jemisin’s The City We Became is EXCELLENT. Diversity, racism, feminism, LGBTQ representation. I love it so much. One of my favourite books of the year, hands down. Nicole Crowder on IG does like upholstery and interior DIYs and content. I’ve been wanting to upholster these two chairs in my home and she put up a whole 2 min tutorial on how to do it. 

w.c. 3k (lol, it got really long oops! fluff and mature content, not quite smut, but it was definitely getting there. The first draft of this part was basically just smut, so I chopped and fixed it LOL. hope you guys still like it.)

pt.1; pt.2; pt.3; pt.4; pt.5; pt.6; pt.7; pt.8; pt. 9

“What do you mean you haven’t had sex with him yet?”

She rolls her eyes and sets a bowl in front of her previous roommate. Soobin had moved out months ago, shortly after she’d met Jihoon.

“It’s going really slow.” She slips into the seat across the table. “We haven’t really said I love you yet either.”

“What do you mean ‘haven’t really said’? What? Just ‘cause Woozi’s an idol he doesn’t know how to treat you right?”

She motions for Soobin to tuck into the food. “Jihoon is treating me wonderfully, thank you very much.” She pauses, her chopsticks hovering in the air. “It’s just�� slow.”

“He has a whole child!” Soobin chews her noodles as she continues. “You’ve already passed the point of going slow.”

“It’s not as if Eunha is my child.”

“The kid spends more time here than any of our friends or your family.”

“Jihoon’s been busy.” She shrugs. “It’s easier for him to leave Eunha here than take her with him. Plus, you know the Terror likes her.”

Soobin chuckles. “That little horror of a brother of yours likes everyone.”

She smirks. “Okay, fair.” Then she waves her chopsticks between them. “But Eunha’s probably the reason why he’s going slow. We need to see if we’re compatible.” She meets Soobin’s gaze. “The man has a child.”

“It’s been months!” Soobin quickly cuts in before any interruptions. “Seven months to be exact. You would think that the next step at analyzing compatibility is whether you guys vibe in bed.”

She hums. She doesn’t want to admit out loud that yeah, she’s been having fantasies about Jihoon. However, she hasn’t gotten any clear signals from Jihoon that he wants to pursue anything further than making out on her couch after a date. And before she can broach the topic, he’s off to go get Eunha. If Jihoon never wanted to have sex with her, she wonders if that would be a deal breaker. But she really has no idea.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Sex? No.”

“So, what do you guys talk about?”

She throws her head back with a laugh. “You say that as if the only thing you and Jae talk about is sex.”

“Well, it came up a lot when we first started dating.”

“That’s because you guys started off having sex.” She sighs, turning her noodles with the tips of her chopsticks. “This relationship is really different. I don’t know how to gauge it.”

“Do you love him?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“But you do.”

“Yeah.”

“And does Eunha put you off wanting to be with him?”

She rests her cheek in her palm. “I honestly thought she would, but she only makes me love him more.”

“Then talking about sex, even if you’re not having it, is the next step.” Soobin gauges her friend’s reaction. “Even if Jihoon is the type not to want it. You should at least know that. He’s obviously done it at one point.”

There’s a pause before they both say, “The child.”

She nods. “You’re right though. We should talk about it.”

Seungcheol knocks on the studio door. “Hey. You needed me?”

Jihoon turns in his chair and nods. “Yeah. I need a second set of ears on this song. Bumzu hyung and Soonyoung are busy.”

Seungcheol nods and falls into the seat next to Jihoon. He notices the book on the desk. It’s been sitting there for a while. “You finish it?”

Jihoon glances at the book. “Oh.” Then, he resumes clicking through the excessive number of files open on his screen. “Yeah.”

And you haven’t returned it?”

“She reads it when she comes over.” Jihoon hands over the headphones and finally catches Seungcheol’s expression. “What? Is there some big meaning behind that too?”

Ever since he started dating, Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and basically everyone in the building has found various meanings in his songs and life that allude to how ‘in love’ he is. He’s not about to tell everyone he’s in love—she doesn’t even know that yet—but not everything going on is about his relationship.

Seungcheol shrugs as he adjusts the headphones on his ears. “You seem to think there isn’t.”

“God.” Jihoon sighs and turns in his chair. He drops his cheek into his palm. “Enlighten me.”

“She’s a big reader and doesn’t like to leave books unfinished. If she’s letting you hold onto it for her, for when she comes over here, that says something.”

“So does leaving my daughter in her care, but we all have something we need taken care of.” He turns back to the screen. “Now, listen to this hook for me.”

Seungcheol settles back into the seat. He bops his head along to the melody until the lyrics play clear in his ears. Wide eyed, he turns to Jihoon and pushes one headphone off his ear. “We’re not putting this on the album, are we?”

Jihoon looks over at him with an eyebrow lifted. “Why not?”

“This is such a… a bedroom… sex song.” Seungcheol shakes his head. “We can’t put this on there.”

Jihoon frowns. “What?” He looks at the file name and feels his cheeks heat up. “Whoa. Not that one.” He quickly closes the file and makes sure that it’s closed. But his checking gives Seungcheol time to see a folder with her name. There’s one for Eunha that none of the boys want to ask about, but his girlfriend? She’s fair game.

“You have a folder of songs for her?” He acts horrified. “And that was one of them?”

Jihoon tries to think of any way out of this conversation and realizes that due to his carelessness, he can’t. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“How many songs are in there? Do they all sound like that?”

“I refuse to answer those questions knowing that everyone is going to know by tomorrow and it’s already embarrassing that you know about one of them.”

“Hey.” Seungcheol’s voice goes soft. He likes to tease, but he recognizes touchy subjects when he broaches them. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Jihoon side eyes him. “I don’t want to admit how I feel about her to you when she hasn’t even heard all the songs on there.”

“What’s the folder for?”

“Just… inspiration.” Jihoon leans back further in his chair. “The songs on the upcoming album have come out of there. At least the less… perverted ones did.”

“There are other songs like that.” Seungcheol tries not to sound too surprised.

Jihoon’s cheeks are so warm that he takes a sip of his iced coffee. “Lately… yeah.”

“Have you…” Seungcheol shakes his head. “No. How could you? You always come home for Eunha.”

At this, Jihoon looks at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well… just that if you guys were having sex, you wouldn’t come straight home to your daughter, would you? Not when all of us would know.” Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “Right?”

Jihoon doesn’t even know how to respond to that except with the truth. “Fine. No. We haven’t yet.”

“Because of her or because of you.”

“Things are going slow. I don’t know… how to broach the topic.”

“Why can’t showing up to her door with passionate kisses be enough?”

“And what? Leave Eunha with you guys overnight?”

“Yeah, why not?”

So, Jihoon does just that and it turns out so much better than he expected.

“Why does this shirt,” he mutters between kisses, “have so many buttons?”

She giggles against his lips and steadies his hands in hers. “You’re excited. Like a child. Calm down.”

Jihoon hums, obsessed with the taste of her lips and her hands around his. She guides him through the motion of unbuttoning her shirt. Once they’re undone, he pulls away slightly. She tips her head. Jihoon is gentle with her shirt, sliding it off her shoulders. Her eyes watch him the entire time, watch him admire her body as the fabric falls to the floor. His hands start from the sides of her thighs up her body, skimming over her underwear, and holding her under the arms, hands right by her breasts.

“You’re really gonna tease,” she chuckles. She closes the distance between them, kissing him and fumbling with his shirt. His shirt is easy, his sweatpants he practically steps out of. It’s once they’re both just standing in their underwear that she stops him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Jihoon kisses her shoulder and up her neck to the base of her jaw. “Why would I want to stop?”

“Eunha?” she hums. The child’s face is prominent in her mind, but becomes hazy every time Jihoon sucks a spot on her neck.

“She adores you. Which gives me permission to also adore you.”

She smirks, arms wrapping around Jihoon’s neck to force him back to her lips. “I’m glad I pass the test.”

Jihoon scoops her up and carries her to the couch. She gasps in surprise, which forces him away again. Spread along the couch are a lot of her art supplies. When she turns back to him, there’s a grin on her face.

“I wasn’t expecting you to jump me tonight. I was planning to paint, so…”

“Do you want to clean first?” he chuckles.

She shrugs.

Jihoon snorts and picks her shirt up off the floor and hands it to her. As much as he wants to sleep with her, it seems tonight may not be the night. He finds his sweatpants and pulls them on then helps her move her art stuff. He sits on the coffee table while she manoeuvres her piece from the floor to the desk.

“Do you want to paint?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “I want to spend time with you.” She moves some stuff to make space for her piece.

“Do you want to teach me to paint?”

She peers over her shoulder at him. “Really?”

“Well, I’m impossible to teach, but I don’t want to leave yet.” Jihoon glances at her bare torso, as she hasn’t bothered to button the top. “And I like the view.”

She rolls her eyes, an amused smile on her face. “Are idols allowed to say stuff like that?”

Jihoon looks around her home. “Unless you have a listening device and turn me in, I’m confident to say how I feel about you.”

A smile blooms on her face at hearing that. She pulls one of her watercolour pads off the desk and motions for him to join her on the floor. She flips past the first two pages, but Jihoon still catches glimpses of them.

He grabs her wrist to stop her. “Were those of Eunha and me?”

“Oh.” She tilts her head and flips back. “Yeah.” The first page is from the night he had come over to learn to cook. The second was their first date.

Jihoon looks to her expectantly and she can only shrug.

“I draw what I like.”

Jihoon doesn’t know why he finds that embarrassing, but his ears feel warm.

She tips her head back in a laugh. “Of everything that’s happened tonight, Jihoonie, I don’t think you need to be embarrassed to hear that I like you.” She returns to the one with Eunha on it and pulls the sheet. “I wanted to give it to you, but I thought maybe it would be creepy if you knew I was painting you and your daughter from memory.”

Jihoon stares at the paintings. He can see Eunha’s expression in them; how happy she had been with the meal and the dessert. If this is what he’d look like that night, he had been extremely relaxed. His finger traces over the skin, amazed at how seamless it appears.

When his eyes lift to meet hers, she seems surprised to see tears.

“What’s wrong?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Nothing.”

She slides closer to him and her thumb brushes his tears away. “You’re crying.”

Jihoon sighs and his head tips back, as he tries to keep the tears in. “I… it’s just that…” Jihoon’s gaze rests on her again. “No one else has seen Eunha like this. The members do, but they helped me raise her. Which is why sometimes she’s an absolute menace.”

She smiles.

“But…” Jihoon studies the painting, at his baby so beautifully depicted. “I don’t know. This kind of reminds me that maybe I’m doing okay if she looks like this.”

“Jihoon, you’re doing great. She’s happy and she loves you.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m failing her all the time, and…” The tears appear again. “And I feel like I lost some of who I am, because I had her.”

She eases the sheet of paper out of his hands. Jihoon uncrosses his legs so she can move between them, draping her legs over his thighs. Her hands plant on the floor between them as she leans forward to press kisses to his face. His eyes close at the sensation. “Jihoon, she is all you. Your music is who you are. You live and breathe Seventeen. Just because you became a father doesn’t mean you lost any piece of the Jihoon that was there before she existed.”

Jihoon lifts a hand to the back of her neck to pull her closer. Painting is put on the back burner, as they get lost in the feeling of kissing each other. Jihoon’s legs curl behind her to prevent her from moving away. His free hand slips inside her shirt and finds home on her hip. His thumb moves back and forth across the skin there.

Meanwhile, her hands have pulled him as close she can get him, her fingers tangling in his hair. When she gives the hair at the base of his neck a small tug, he groans. This lets her slip her tongue into his mouth. He tastes like her coffee, unsurprisingly enough. And she has to admit, it tastes better on his tongue than in the cup.

She can feel his growing hard on through his sweatpants. When she pulls away to breathe, she asks, “So we’re not painting then?”

Jihoon hums something incoherent, because she latches her lips against his neck.

“Wait,” he breathes.

She slows her assault on his neck, but doesn’t stop.

“No hickies.”

“Simple enough,” she breathes against his skin.

Jihoon finds himself falling back onto the floor as her kisses trail all over his body. Her hands explore every muscle and memorize them. Jihoon enjoys the treatment, his eyes closing while he lets his other sense take over. She wiggles him out of his sweatpants again and then returns to his lips.

“Bed?” She adjusts her body over his, putting pressure against him, which makes it impossible for him to reply.

Jihoon looks up at her and his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. She sucks a spot on the soft skin near his jaw, but stops before it can leave a mark. He manages to roll them over.

“You’re making it really hard to think.”

She slides a leg between his, which seems just enough friction for him to grimace. “You’re thinking with something else.”

“Where’s your bed?”

Her eyes dart to her left. He helps her to standing and then lifts her. Her legs wrap around his waist. If there had been other objects in the way, he would have knocked into all of them, because she starts kissing him again. And it seems like his brain shuts off as soon as she does that. He presses her against her bedroom wall and when he ruts against her, her breath catches.

“So, you are needy.”

“Lee Jihoon, you are literally between my legs,” she manages between kisses. “Yes, I’m needy.”

Jihoon pulls away for a moment. “But you’ve seemed so calm and collected tonight.”

She rolls her eyes and gently kisses his cheeks before saying, “If I was ready to pounce on you when you walked in here, would you have wanted to fuck me?”

Jihoon jumps at the blatant term, but he pivots so that he can lay her on the bed. One of his hand sneaks between her legs, his other arm propping his body over hers, and drags his fingers over the fabric. When she squirms beneath his touch, he says, “Maybe not. But… I’ve wanted this a while.” He meets her gaze. “So I don’t think too much have scared me away tonight.”

Her head tilts back as he begins to rub his fingers in circles. He watches her carefully.

“Stop staring,” her breath hitches, “and kiss me.”

Jihoon smirks. “Make me.”

She snakes a hand behind his head to pull him down towards her. Her kisses stutter depending on the speed of his fingers. His kisses trail down to her neck and nibbles the soft skin on her collar bone. She presses her hands into his shoulders to try to keep her bearings. When he kisses back up her neck and sucks the soft spot of her jaw and she moans something beautiful, he knows that’s a sound he’s going to have in his mind long after this is over.

He slows his fingers down. “How close are you?”

Her breath is heavy; she can’t even answer him. Her rut up into his hand is good indication though.

Two of her orgasms and one of his later, he returns from the bathroom with a washcloth and gently cleans her off. Then he lies on top of her again, her hands go to massage his temples.

“So, you’re going to tell your daughter we… coloured when you came over today?” she teases.

Jihoon rests his cheek against her chest, listening to her heartbeat slowing down after the exertion. “I told her she was staying with the members because I was coming over here for a play date.”

She laughs. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Jihoon can’t help but smile as he falls asleep.

[disneydreamlights]

Across the Stars: Chapter 1

AO3 | FFN

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

Summary: Tensions between the Separatists and the Republic are climbing as the Senate debates whether there is need for an army. Anakin Skywalker, Senator of Tatooine, has recently returned to Coruscant to speak against its formation, resulting in an assassination attempt that forces him to reunite with long time friends Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and the newly knighted Padme Naberrie for his own protection. [Anidala]

(Or, an Attack of the Clones Roleswap AU)

A/N: What’s this? I’m publishing a multi chapter that’s actually a part of a series? Yes, yes I am. Updates should come every Wednesday since I actually completed this one before getting the genius idea to post it. After that it’ll just be whenever I finish another fic for it will be when the next one is posted. 

The air around Anakin felt charged as he worked on piloting it down for a landing. Normally, he was eager to return to Coruscant after a few days away from the capital planet, Tatooine still far from his favorite planet (though it got better every day. He was proud of Beru for all the help she provided, and he was doing a lot of effort on his own since he’d been voted into the Senate) but tonight was different. The air around the city had felt tense, prompting Anakin to be glad of his decision to fly a small, inconspicuous ship down to the planet. Somebody was after him, he just wasn’t really sure why.

He felt a flash of something, a warning in the air to be careful and wary. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what Obi-Wan and Padmé had taught him years ago, and immediately turned the steering wheel, rolling out of the way of a projectile that had nearly caught his ship. That would’ve grounded it instantly. “Kriff.”

He heard the beeping of his Astromech companion and security detail, yelling at him for his risky flying. “Come on Artoo, we’re fine.” More angry beeps. “I didn’t get hit.”

More beeps, this time sarcastic and irritated from Artoo. “If you’re just going to try to yell at me, be useful and call Mom.”

A holographic projection of his mother appeared moments later. “What is it Ani?”

“You’re already landed, right?”

“Ani?”

“Mom please.” He felt it again, the same disturbance, and this time swerved out of the way of the second attack.

Shmi Skywalker shook her head. “Of course we have, the last person on the cruiser just disembarked. Is something wrong?”

Well, if he was honest, he wanted to say everything was wrong. But he wasn’t about to worry her, plus it wasn’t like he didn’t have things under control in regards to whoever was firing at him. “I think somebody let slip that I wasn’t flying in with the rest of the delegation from Tatooine. I’ve got the situation under control and I have Artoo with me, so I’m fine. We’ll still be landing soon.”

“You ask me not to be worried, but it’s never easy.”

Anakin chuckled. “I promise I’m fine mom. Leave the worrying to Threepio. He’s always been better at it. Just make sure to clear the landing platform. If this goes wrong I don’t want our friend hurting anybody else.” Before she could respond, he hung up, not wanting to worry his mom more in case another attack came. “Ready Artoo? Time to make a landing.”

He was pretty sure R2 was ready to kill him by the time they finally touched down on the platform as he approached rapidly, wanting to avoid a third fire from their mysterious and very murderous new friend. In fact, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t in the ship at all as the bad energy continued to flow around him. “Artoo, let’s go.”

The droid and Anakin emerged from the ship, Anakin pulling up a hood on his cloak to hopefully avoid detection from whatever assassin has his trail. Barely a minute after he was off the ship and approaching the entrance to the building, he was pushed forward, scarcely out of the blast radius with his faithful droid. And he looked behind himself to see the small ship that he had arrived on was absolutely destroyed. “Message received.”

Somebody didn’t want him on Coruscant.

They’d regret trying to get him to leave.

-x-

“Peace is our objective here, not war.” Palpatine’s voice pulled Anakin out of the stupor he’d fallen into as the senator from Malastare concluded his request for aid from the Republic to deal with the Separatist threat coming onto the planet. If he was honest, had the senator not been pushing for the Military Creation Act, Anakin might have felt sympathy, but the creation of an army was not an action Anakin would ever defend. Not one founded on individuals forced to join an army.

He felt his mom squeeze his hand, though she stepped back before he moved the pod out, not wanting the attention on her, but rather on everything Anakin would say. “My fellow senators, when I arrived on Coruscant today to come to this very meeting, an assassin made an attempt on my life. I was fired at three times, and while my skills behind the wheel of a ship saved my life today, had the assassin only been slightly quicker on the uptake when I landed, it’s likely I wouldn’t have made it off the ship alive at all.”

The crowds started to talk amongst themselves, a sign to Anakin that he needed to push. “The reason I was targeted today was because of the bill we’re supposed to be voting on today. Of all the senators against the creation of the creation of an army, I’ve been the loudest, most open about my displeasure, and the one who everybody knows is willing to do anything to get the results I want. Somebody here wants to take that a step further, just to make sure that the bill gets through.” He looked over the other pods, and felt Bail’s approval much to his relief. The speech hadn’t been gone over or discussed with his former mentor, and Anakin had been slightly worried that bringing it up in the Senate would be unwelcome, but it seemed to have been a good idea, even if no prior words had been drafted.

Despite the approval from Bail, the Senate was getting tense, and shouting was beginning. “Ani–” His mom put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. He had to make his statement clear to the others.

“You’re all booing me, and for what? This whole idea is a joke. You don’t raise an army for protection. You raise an army if you want to start a war. It won’t deter the Separatists. It will embolden them, and then the fighting will be brought right to our planets. Our systems. Our people. You have to stop living in your delusions.” He slammed his fist on the pod in front of him. Not his best move, but far from his worst in the Senate. “People will die. Civilians drafted for combat will die. The people you force to fight this battle will be nothing but slaves.”

He had people’s attention, and their ire judging by the ever increasing yelling from the other pods. Which was good, it was what he wanted from the other senators. He wanted them to remember his words. “This ‘security measure,’” he said the words full of disdain, “that we’re all voting for is nothing short of a declaration of war on the Separatists, and unless you want to claim that you were the one who brought war to the Republic, you’ll vote with me against this bill.”

The outrage in the Senate was tremendous, but Anakin smirked, having done his job at riling up the chambers. Voices rang against each other as Mas Amedda called for order within the Senate to try to regain a semblance of control amongst the Senators.

After a few minutes, the Senate calmed down, and Palpatine spoke. “Due to the lateness of the hour and the seriousness of this motion, we will take up these matters tomorrow. Until then, the Senate is adjourned.”

-x-

Unsurprisingly, within an hour the Loyalist Committee was summoned to the Chancellor's office. Not a surprise, if Anakin was honest. He’d stirred up a storm in the Senate and even if Palpatine wasn’t mad at him (unlikely) the announcement that he’d nearly been a victim to an assassination attempt less than an hour ago was likely not welcome for him to hear, especially since Palpatine had been trying to get Anakin’s favor since he’d arrived on Coruscant five years prior.

Much more surprising to Anakin, was the presence of several Jedi in his office. Council members, if he recalled the faces correctly. He looked them over for Obi-Wan or Padmé in their midst, and quickly squashed down his disappointment at neither of his friends being present. “Senator Skywalker.” He looked down to see Yoda walking over. “Your tragedy on the landing platform, terrible. Seeing you alive brings warm feelings to my heart.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda. I’m just thankful I’d chosen to fly myself into Coruscant. The loss of life had I been on a transport with the rest of the members of my delegation would have been much greater.” Admittedly, a small part of Anakin still stung with resentment over the fact that Yoda refused to accept him into the Jedi Order, but he had mostly put it behind him. “Do you have any idea who may have sent the assassin?”

Windu approached as well, joining the conversation. “Our intelligence network thinks it may have been remnants from Jabba’s gang seeking revenge against you from when you overthrew them and brought Tatooine into the Republic.”

Anakin shook his head. “I think you’re wrong, Master Jedi.” He watched Windu raise an eyebrow and took it as a sign to continue. “I think the Separatists are behind these attacks.”

The room was silent, as though they were processing what Anakin had said. He didn’t blame them. Accusing the Separatists of wanting to kill the single person who was actively against the formation of a military against them wasn’t logical. But every part of Anakin just knew it was right.

“You mean to imply Count Dooku?” Windu asked, clearly skeptical of Anakin’s accusation.

“Not one hundred percent, but nobody else in his Confederacy would have the means or motive.” Or motive. He thought of Senator Bonterri for a moment. Onderon was a member of the Separatist movement, but she was certainly unlikely to try to level an attack on him given how closely they had worked when he’d been a teenager running around the Senate floor. He had little doubt the other senators who had left would be similar. Almost no other member of their group would have an interest in killing him if his hunch was correct.

“Count Dooku is a political idealist, not a murderer.” Master Mundi corrected Anakin, but he said nothing, letting the Jedi have their say.

“He was also once a Jedi, Senator. He couldn’t assassinate anyone. It’s not in his character.”

“Once.” Anakin frowned at Windu’s defense. “As in he’s not a Jedi any longer. There’s no reason to believe he would still hold to Jedi beliefs, and even then, I’m not arguing that he’s the killer, only that he hired one out.”

Before Windu could respond, Yoda spoke up. “Matters not, the killer’s identity does. For certain Senator in grave danger you are.”

“Master Jedi.” Palpatine looked away from the window he had been near to give a kind smile to Anakin, as though he truly wanted to protect him. “May I suggest the Senator be placed under the protection of your graces.”

“You really think that’s a wise decision under these stressful times.” Bail spoke up, and he was right, the Jedi council didn’t need to spare anymore Jedi from whatever peace keeping mission they were on.

“Chancellor, with all do respect, I don’t need protecting, I can handle myself–”

“I’m sure you can, Senator.” The Chancellor cut him off. “I know you are a great pilot, and have a lucky streak, but the situation right now is dire. I understand that you do not want the help of the Jedi, but perhaps you might be willing to accept the extra security if it were Jedi you were familiar with. Perhaps an old friend like Master Kenobi, or Knight Naberrie.”

Anakin clenched his hands into fists, feeling his nails dig into the palms of his hand. He desperately wanted to see Obi-Wan and Padmé again, that much was true, but he having his friendship with them used as a weapon against him soured his mood for a possible reunion, which further sank as Windu revealed that the two had just returned from a border dispute.

“Please, Anakin. You know how much I’ve desired to look out for you since you asked for our help. Allow me to arrange this one thing for you, my boy.” There was nothing more he could do with Palpatine’s plea like that, and while Anakin was sure there was some ulterior motive to what was going on, he had his hands tied.

With nothing else he could do, Anakin turned to face Windu. “Tell Obi-Wan and Padmé I’ll be in my apartment, and that I look forward to seeing them again.”

It wasn’t until he left the office that he smiled as he realized just exactly who he was seeing again.

[Next Part]

[throwitawayokay]

Predators around every corner

This is confusing. A lot of your favorite fandom creators, out of nowhere, are being accused of endangering minors and others for making nsfw content or following/being-friends-with people who do; that is a serious claim, and a frightening one, and no one would say such a thing if they weren’t 100% sure they were correct about it, right? After all, to say something about someone is an awful thing to say, and needs proof and reason, or else it is libel and grounds for a defamation lawsuit and would, morally, be an absolutely terrible thing to accuse a person of if it was not true.

Obviously, they must have reason. Obviously, these accusations are founded and must eventually prove to be true, even if they cannot now, or maybe they can, maybe the accusations would hold up in a court of law, but for some reason the same people making these accusations... won’t come out directly and accuse these people and don’t have any evidence besides what they ‘think’ this other person is thinking.

Someone has made an argument, somewhere, that writing nsfw of aged up minor characters in atla is predatory behavior and endangering to minors. Is it?

1. Is it legal?

   Easy answer, yes. It’s legal. By definition it is smut of adult characters, regardless of where it originates. None of it is on tumblr, where it would not be allowed, but instead on a web site where it is clearly tagged and behind an age limit. In fact, this argument would be laughed out of court. Because no law is protecting the nsfw depictions of fictional characters, who are not real, regardless of age, besides potentially copyright.

If the stories are about underage fictional characters? It still, at least by USofA law, still not illegal. Yes. That’s correct. Stories depicting underage fictional characters in sexual situations does not follow under the definition of child porn and is allowed in publication and law. To see proof of that, besides reading the actual law which you are free to do, simply note the fact that Stephen King’s It is not only still in print but recently had two film adaptations.

So that, would in fact, be allowed; however what is being called into question is depicting adult fictional characters in nsfw situations. A completely different thing that is, actually, very different from the other. But, to simply answer the question of legality, it’s all legal.

2. When is it endangering to minors?

   This content can, in fact, be endangering to minors when they are exposed to it either without warning, in a search, or if they are sent this content by another person. Ways that this could happen are if nsfw images appear google searches (where such content can be reported and taken down) or if nsfw writing is not properly tagged or accompanied by archive warnings (posted on ffnet for example or not properly rated on ao3). If this is happening, it is a good idea to go to the website to report it properly, or have someone contact the artist/author about the lack of tagging - the content itself is irregardless, the problem that exists here is the lack of warning.

Nsfw art is also not allowed by the tumblr guidelines; feel free to report it if seen. Please, however, take a step back to remember than an image of a person in their underwear is not, in fact, pornography. If you’ve ever walked past a billboard for a clothing company or seen a Victoria’s Secret catalogue you should know this. There is, in fact, an actual parameter for what sets apart sfw and nsfw.

If this content, however, has been properly tagged and is behind a proper age limit, with warnings and the like, it is not endangering toward minors. Clicking on a nsfw art or writing with clear warnings for what it is does not make the creator of that content responsible; a porn star is not responsible for endangering minors if a minor answers falsely to a website agreement stating they are 18 and views their content. The responsibility lies with the minor as well as the guardians of that minor for not teaching them how to responsibly search the internet and recognize what they should or should not be viewing.

If you are not mature enough to recognize this, you should not be online.

3. But I disagree?

   You are within your rights to have a difference of opinion or feel uncomfortable if a person posts links to their nsfw content, or mentions that they make nsfw content. In fact, nsfw content makes many people uncomfortable. There are many ways to avoid seeing this.

First, go to the filter on your blog and filter all nsfw related tags you can think of, some starting points I would suggest are: nsfw, nsfw tw, nsfw mention, adult content, adult content tw, adult content mention (feel free to keep going, be as thorough as makes you comfortable). Next, block the blogs you do not personally like; feel free to block as many blogs, for any reason, that you like. This is absolutely fine and no explanation is needed. If you feel uncomfortable having your blog followed by any adults at all, you can also take steps to make the blog unsearchable and only follow as few people as you like.

What you should not do is harass people for making content that you personally do not like. This includes nsfw content. Making such incredibly serious claims as to state someone is a predator who endangers minors for making nsfw content in your fandom is unfounded, dangerous, and entirely irresponsible. Adults participating in this rhetoric need to take a very good look at themselves, and minors who have been experiencing anxiety as a result of this claim, I am very sorry.

4. What was the aunt-suki thing?

   Where did this whole thing start? No one was making this point only a few months ago, did it just pop up out of nowhere?

^ this blog, since deleted [also goes formerly by tumble-dump (nowlil-baby-man) as well as jetru(deleted) safe-for-atla, and dennis-quaid] spearheaded this opinion after accusing one of the largest creators in the fandom, an adult poc, of endangering minors for an image posted to tumblr with possible suggestive themes (Tumblr does not allow nsfw art, it was not nsfw). Aunt-Suki is a 23 year old, self-described “titanium white” woman. She stated directly that anyone who posted nsfw content behind age limit barriers was predatory and that nsfw artwork of atla characters was rampant on this website without evidence.

After curating a blocklist, and admittedly receiving hate for doing so (despite oddly enough asking for anon hate on several occasions) aunt-suki did in fact create a first draft blocklist including fandom creators who make nsfw content, who are follow or are friends with those who make nsfw content despite not doing it themselves, and people who specifically asked her to be on the blocklist. This, in itself, was fine. A list of creators making nsfw content could, in fact, be helpful and good for those who do not want to see such content to have a handy resource of who to block and avoid. Unfortunately, the rhetoric of “they are all predators” was something aunt-suki fostered and continued to repeat, getting a lot of people to also feel the same way. This invited harassment, much of which directly done and targeted at others by aunt-suki. She repeatedly stated on her blog ‘I am safe, no one else is unless I say so, in order to keep yourself safe you must ask me who is bad [paraphrase, not direct quote]’ insisting that anyone who wished to know who was a predator on the website had to privately DM her for the information. Aunt-Suki used this to gain followers of minors and to specifically foster friendships with them.

We know this because aunt-suki made a post exposing herself. An anon asked her to defend the way she interacted with minors and she defended herself with phrases such as “I love kids so much more than grown ups”[quote], stating she runs a server of 13+ wlw and they all “care a lot about each other”; she also admitted she takes it upon herself to “expose kids to [heavy topics]” including race, sexism, queer issues, mental health, politics, etc. Aunt-Suki is not a trained professional for these issues and admits in the same post that she does not understand there could be any difference in power dynamics between her and these teenagers.

In addition, while defending these close relationships with minors that she specifically admits to reaching out for, Aunt-Suki also divulged her past at 18 years old of saying the n-word (excused by explaining she has a black friend); saying that this is the reason why she should, as a 23 year old white adult, be allowed to discuss “heavy topics” with minors.

This most certainly calls into question the fact that it was, with one exception, non-white creators that aunt-suki chose to publicly call out by name.

After being asked to defend herself for these actions she admitted to, Aunt-Suki deleted her blog but has continued to go online on her others blogs and discords, dm’ing others and making posts accusing people who called her out of being predators, asking for sympathy, blaming her actions on her adhd, and refusing to answer any of the messages sent to her. Other large creators have made posts about this, very rarely using her name to allow her some anonymity or time to explain her actions which she has not done. She choose instead to send anonymous messages further accusing these creators.

5. Why did you tell me that?

   This directly illustrates the problem with presenting an issue such as nsfw art/writing in the fandom without pointing out why others might disagree with it; and jumping past logic to decry those who don’t agree with extremely serious accusations. Someone with actual ill (or misguided) attentions may take advantage, deliberately isolating minors and portraying themselves as ‘good and safe’ while slowly whittling down who the minors can and cannot follow until no one able to call them out when they are the one participating in actual behavior that is inappropriate to minors.

6. I still don’t agree with the first points.

   That’s fine. Please call out actual predators if you see them. Do not, however, do so without any evidence or for reasons that simply are not, and never would be, considered basis for doing so in any legal or reasonable capacity.

[cherryfi]

Don’t Run From Me Ch.3: Hotel California

Plot: After being on the run for over a year, you finally feel like now is a good time to get your life together. Hongjoong has other ideas. 

A/N: I meant to post this a few days ago but, the first draft was so bad haha. I’m sorry that it’s late.

Word count: 3106

Yeosang gestures for you to follow him and you do. He leads you from the judgemental eyes and takes you outside. Your feet, feeling far  too heavy for your body makes your movements sluggish and unsteady but, he doesn’t seem to mind; slowing his gait to match you.

Thankfully, you don’t have to walk for too long.  As he turns a corner and  gets into on of several golf cart; parked by the side of the villa and asks you to sit beside him. For the first time that day, you were being treated with some semblance of kindness.

“We use the carts because the houses are so far from each other, it makes it easier to get around, you know?” He laughs awkwardly, trying his hardest to ease the tension. Yeosang wants you to trust him

You just nod in response.

Your eyelids sag and the weight of the day’s stress is beginning to take its toll on you, you just want sleep. Your throat still burns despite how long ago Hongjoong knocked you out – you still hadn’t gotten anything to drink.  

How much time has even passed anyway?

He leads you past the villa and down the path, heading further into the 'neighbourhood’; your eyes take a little to time to adjust to the bright sunlight and you take the time to look at your surroundings; there’s just so much to take in and you’re going too fast to really appreciate it.

It couldn’t be stressed how beautiful the area was, the cool island breeze carried itself lazily across the island combing the tall trees that surrounded the villas. The array of colours on the flowers all blending together in a kaleidoscope. It was an artist’s dream. What a bitter thought, here you were trapped on a dream island.

It was a paradise; and if you’d had a choice you would have loved it there.

You had to laugh. How Ironic.

Yeosang quickly glances from the road to shoot you a quizzical glance and you just shrug in response.

Would he even understand?

After a short drive you arrive in front of another villa.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang stops the cart in front of Hongjoong’s home and he’s looking intensely at you now, trying to assess the damage.

What did Hongjoong do to this girl?

Still waiting for your response but, not really expecting one, Yeosang gets out of the cart and quickly  joins you at your side, giving you his hand as an offering to help you out. You take it silently.

Your movements are shaky and unsure and as you take a firm hold of his hand your eyes become glassy. You look visibly lightheaded but, it’s clear that you’re trying hard to stay upright.

Yeosang wraps his arm around your waist, hoping to steady you as he takes you inside. Your movements only add to his concern for you and he shakes his head, trying hard to control his growing anger.

He and Seonghwa had told Hongjoong not to do this.

They’d sworn against it vehemently.

Yeosang was adamant that if you’d left Hongjoong it must have been for a good reason, your actions while you on the run, only proving to him that he was right. It was, after all, his job, along with Wooyoung to track your movements around the country and the movement of money in and out of your bank account.

“Hongjoong look, she doesn’t stay in one place for longer than a month, if that doesn’t tell you that she doesn’t want to be found, I don’t know what will.” He shrugs and Wooyoung back him up by adding:

“Her account is dead. No transactions, no nothing. Just one huge withdrawal and then it goes stagnant. She’s got to be dealing in cash only. Hongjoong, this girl really doesn’t want to be found, especially not by you. She’s obviously in hiding; maybe you should just leave it alone.”

“I don’t care, you can’t just disappear from somebody’s life and not expect them to come looking for you.” Yeosang looks at him incredulously as Seonghwa enters the room.

“Normal people don’t use hi-tech equipment to stalk their exes, Hongjoong. What will you do when you find her, and she refuses to leave with you? Kidnap her? You need to think clearly. Just leave her alone.” The glare that Hongjoong answers him with is all the answer he needs.

“Maybe she found out what we really do for a living. Hongjoong, maybe you should just let her rebuild her life elsewhere. Besides she’s obviously not a threat or else she would have gone to the police by now” Seonghwa deadpans.

It was clear that no matter what he and Seonghwa said, Honjoong would do what he wanted.

His mind was made. It didn’t help that he was spurred on by Mingi and Jongho.

 “Let me re-phrase that. How are you feeling Y/N?” He leads you to the kitchen, hoping that that he’d be able to make you feel better.  

What surprised you the most about Hongjoong’s home was how open the layout was. From floor to ceiling, everything was glass but, the interior ceilings themselves were incredibly high.  

The rooms were bright and airy, giving it a spacious and comfortable vibe, much like San’s home but less homey.

You watched as Yeosang poured 2 glasses of water from the fridge’s dispenser and handed you one.

It was welcomed as you could finally quench your thirst but, the coldness of the water hurt your already sore throat.

You coughed and Yeosang apologised, despite it not being his fault, handing you a napkin across the kitchen island.

Taking a seat in one of the chairs, you toyed with the fruit in the bowl, trying to gather your scattered thoughts again.

How am I feeling?

“I don’t know how I feel Yeosang. I came in for an interview this morning, right? I think ‘I’m finally getting my life together’ and now I’m here; on this island being held hostage by my mobster ex and his friends. I just want to go home and make sure my mum’s okay.” It surprises you when he nods sympathetically, reaching across the table to hold your hand.

You look at him through blurry eyes, completely unaware that you’d been crying. Taking in a shaky breath you wipe your eyes with the napkin as he looks at you softly.

“I always thought that was why you left. It made sense. We get the guy that tried to kill you, and you’re gone by the next morning.” He says it without malice but, the look of shock on your face makes him feel like he needs to explain further.

“Another group put out a hit on you to get to Hongjoong. It was some petty beef over turf but, it got out of hand. Wooyoung intercepted their messages and we caught the guy. We got rid of him so it would send a message to anyone else that wanted to try us.” He shrugged.

“I guess you saw it.”

“I heard him and Jongho talking about disposing of the body, he said he had it coming. The things he said Yeosang, the way he said them; I never thought he could sound so cold. At first, I just wanted some space to really think over everything but then, I couldn’t make myself go back to him. Yeosang I was terrified but, I was also angry.” Only the lord knows why you’re telling him all of this. It was like the little bit of kindness he showed you had the flood gates opening and you had to tell him everything. You needed someone to talk to.

For all you knew he would run and tell Hongjoong everything and yet – the look in his eyes and the sincerity with which he spoke told you, you could trust him.

Yeah but, just this morning you were looking forward to working with Jiwon, who turned out to be Yunho so…

“I get that and I understand why you did it. I also get that you probably won’t trust anything that I have to say, given the circumstances, but I want to help you. I’ve known Hongjoong for years and I know he’s not one to admit when he’s wrong or back down.” You look at him quizzically.

How can you help me?

“Well for one, I’m going to talk to him. I don’t know how much you know so; I’ll just tell you everything. We tracked you the moment we realised you weren’t coming back. Bank accounts, phone calls, ticket purchases; everything. If we wanted to, we could have gotten you at any point but, Seonghwa told Hongjoong to hold off y’know? Give you some time. But eventually he got impatient and not even Seonghwa could hold him off. That’s why you’re here now.” You feel your cheeks getting hotter, you didn’t even realise that you’d been speaking out loud but, you’re confused  - why does Honjoong want you back?

“Why?” Yeosang rolls up his sleeves and grabs an apple, he smiles.

“He misses you. He won’t admit it, but he does. Is that a good enough reason to kidnap somebody and trap them on your private island? Absolutely not. But I think it’s because he has the means to do it. At the end of the day maybe you managed to work through all your feelings about the situation; but he never did. He just wants answers.” Yeosang puts the apple back and sighs. That made it sound like it was your fault. Yeosang knew it wasn’t.

“Y/N I’m not going to defend him, what he did wasn’t right but, I understand the frustration he was probably going through. He just went about it in the craziest way possible. He was wrong.” You nod in agreement and finish the last of your water; it really did ease some of your throat’s soreness.

Yeah, tell me about it.

“You’re right, it was fucked up.” You just about jump out of your skin. Hongjoong stands in the doorway to the kitchen with an unreadable expression on his face. You wait with bated breath for him to continue, to tell you why it was fucked up but, he keeps quiet.

You look at Yeosang, who’s face is the total opposite of how you’re feeling. He smiles at Hongjoong.

“We need to put a bell around your neck, you’re too quiet; like a predator. You nearly gave Y/N a heart attack.” He chuckles lightly and Hongjoong cracks a smile before he looks at you again.

His smile quickly drops.

“I’ll leave you both to it then.” Yeosang eyes both of you and leaves quickly before the tension becomes too much.

“Do you want anything to drink, or eat?” He walks past you to the fridge; you watch his back. He’s tense

“No thanks, Yeosang gave me some water.” He shrugs and sits across the breakfast bar from you.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” You’re shocked but, only for a moment. You quickly regain your composure and fix your face into a scowl. You weren’t expecting him to come out with an apology so soon.

“For what: kidnapping me, threatening my mother or stalking me for over a year?” Your disappointed by how little he reacts to your harsh words, his face is set in a calm expression as he instead leans across the table.

“I deserve that and to clarify, we didn’t threaten her. But I do apologise. For all of it.”

“You shouldn’t have done it.”

“I know but I had to. Some prick had literally put a hit on you and the day after we catch the guy you disappeared. Of-course I had to track you! What if someone had taken you? What was I supposed to do?” You laugh without humour.

How dense can someone be?

“How about being honest with me? For god’s sake Hongjoong, I thought you owned a couple of swanky nightclubs. I still have no clue what you really do. All I know is that you killed a man and you and Jongho were more than equipped to get rid of his body. I only just found out that someone was planning to end my life!” Honestly, you don’t know where this was going.

What does he want from me?

“What are you even expecting to get out of this Hongjoong? Do I even know who you are? Is Hongjoong even your real name?”  With rising panic, your head is spinning. Who was Kim Hongjoong really?

Hongjoong laughs but quickly stops when he sees how serious you are, “Oh, you were being legit? Yes, that’s my real name. I do own nightclubs and some other businesses but, I do other things on the side. We’ll call it a family business. I won’t go into the specifics.” He clasps his hands and finally looks at you, his expression is pinched but calm and when he reaches across the table to hold your hand, you can’t find it in yourself to pull away.

“I don’t know what I was expecting. All I know, is that I missed you and I was so angry that you just up and left me like that. I wanted answers.”

“And you thought that setting up a fake interview and drugging me was the answer?!” You don’t know where this surge of anger comes from. Maybe it was because the fog from being knocked out had passed.

Or maybe, it’s because nothing justifies kidnapping someone.

You stand up from the table, ready for this talk to be over and ready to get away from Hongjoong. At this point you didn’t care where you went so long as it was far away from him.

“Wait.” Hongjoong’s voice is shaky, all sense of calm gone as the possibility of you walking away from him gets higher. Realistically, he knows that you can’t run but, that’s not the point. He needed you to hear him out.

“You’re right. Honestly, I wanted to pick you up straight away but, Seonghwa said to wait. So, I waited. For months Y/N. We tracked every aspect of your life that we could and eventually I got tired of waiting for you to come back. When I saw that you’d moved back home I knew you weren’t coming back. What I did wasn’t right, I know that. But I panicked and I got angry and I acted out of pocket. I love you so much and I’ve wanted nothing more than to protect you so, I couldn’t understand why you’d want to run from me.” He looks at you, pleading with his eyes for you to stay and hear him out.

A small part of you wants to believe him .

“I’m so sorry. I can’t change what I did but, I can learn from my actions. Please Y/N, give me another chance.”

His expression is earnest carrying home the sincerity of his words and as you look closely you can tell that he’s anxious. Hongjoong is breathing hard and clutching, white knuckled, onto the table. His shoulders are tensed, as if he’s expecting you to reject him.

This is all too much. I don’t know what I want.

“I need to sleep on it Hongjoong. I don’t know where we go from here.”

  Hours later, when Hongjoong has you settled into your room , he takes the short ride to Seonghwa’s home and letting himself in.

On a private island there are never any real reasons to lock your doors (apart from when you’re away from the island and housekeepers are taking care of it). He feels no need to announce his entrance as Seonghwa knows he’s coming – he’d already messaged him.

Seonghwa is sat on his suede chaise watching some film on his tv but, he pauses it when Hongjoong enters.

“You look like shit.” He smirks as Hongjoong sighs next to him. Hongjoong makes himself comfortable on the sofa next to Seonghwa as he continues to play the movie.

“I feel like it.” And it’s true, he does. Hongjoong is exhausted. It takes a lot out to plan a trap where it’s of the utmost importance that the target is left unharmed. It takes even more energy to put that plan into action.

Seonghwa can see that he’s a wreck, Hongjoong looks shaken and unsure of himself.

“How did it go?” Hongjoong laughs humourlessly.

“As well as it could have gone all things considering, she doesn’t know if she wants to be with me. She said she has to ‘think about it’.” He sighs and tries to take his mind off your ‘talk’.

“What are we watching? Is this Chinese?”

“It’s this Taiwanese series called ‘On Children’, you’d like it. This one’s called: ‘mother’s remote’.” Seonghwa knows that Hongjoong’s trying to change the subject but, he’s not going to give up easily.

“Did you tell her everything?” Hongjoong can feel Seonghwa watching him carefully. Seonghwa has always been hawkeyed and it doesn’t help that he can read Hongjoong like a book. Try as he might, no amount of bravado has ever fooled him.

Hongjoong’s ears go pink. He blushes down to his neck as Seonghwa leans in.

“Hongjoong, please tell me you told her everything.” Hongjoong goes red down to his décolletage.

No one can lie to Park Seonghwa.

“I told her what she needs to know.”

“So, she knows that the reason that you bought her here isn’t because you got tired of waiting for her to come back to you but because someone’s put another hit out on her?” Hongjoong refuses to look Seonghwa in the eye.

“I told her what she needs to know. Seonghwa, drop it.” Seonghwa sighs but, he’s never been one to back down and he doesn’t intend to start.

“She’s an adult Hongjoong! This is her life on the line – she deserves to know. It’s her right.” Seonghwa refuses to back down.

“I said drop it! Don’t forget that I’m your boss.” Hongjoong cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. Hongjoong has never pulled rank with elder; not even during their worst arguments. The look in Seonghwa’s eyes tells him to never do it again.

“I haven’t forgotten. But you seem to have forgotten that I’m also your best friend. It’s my job to be honest with you, even when you don’t want to see sense. I’ll drop it but heed my warning Hongjoong. when she finds out you hid something this big from her, she’s never going to forgive you. Are you willing to take that risk?”

“She won’t find out.”

Tag List: @r1ce-cakes, @fivesecondsofsarang, @asmallatiny, @ateezstylesearch, @honey-milk-tea02,  army-of-inspirited-onces

[lambourngb]

Behind the Scenes- Last Year’s Wishes

@zuluoscarecho - ““Oh man you have been busy! I’m glad the writing Has been going well for you. I would love to hear about your process when you get a chance if you’re keen. Like whether you plotted it out, whether the whole fic came to you (more or less) or how hard you had to work to fill in the gaps to get you where you wanted to go, whether you’re a “push through” kinda writer and just sit down and do it or whether you scribble stuff down all day and then type it up at the end or whatever. Many questions I have”

Oh boy, these are great questions- my approach to writing has changed from how I started “Last Years Wishes” and how I’m finishing it. First of all, I was out of practice. The last long story I tackled and finished on my own was in 2002-2003 on ff.net  (for a moment I thought it was 2012-2013 but I just looked it up and still can’t believe it was that long ago, hahah) Then I wrote a follow up with a co-writer that ended …poorly due to stuff outside of writing with that person. I hit a very bad depressive cycle and didn’t write again until 2019 and RNM.

The idea came after I watched some true crime story in August- I think it was “Murder Comes to Town” - which is all small town population less than 10,000 gets hit with a salacious murder. I immediately thought about Michael, and first I thought he could be blamed for Max’s disappearance, but then I remembered how visible Noah was to the town, and I was off plotting. Carina said on twitter- oh lord what a loaded sentence that is - that we don’t know when Alex was at the Airstream or what he had to say- which fine, but that made me think about juggling the time a bit, letting the police show up first, then Alex go to the wild pony, THEN MAX, and yeah boom! Conflict! Alex knows Michael wants to be with someone else, but he just gave him an alibi. They are stuck! Fuck Alex’s whole life, amirite? That part of the idea came all at once.

I wrote the first draft of the scene for Tumblr - August 8th - started it before work when I like to write- kept writing once I got to work (bad employee!) posted it and as the comments and likes rolled in, I kept writing. First day was like 6,000 words.

Then I didn’t really touch it for 2 weeks. I kept adding stuff here and there, using WIP Wednesday to motivate me to share a bit. In one month though, the story was at 10,000 words by September 12. Mainly because I just wrote as it came to me, and let my brain just fuck off on Tumblr or reading other fics. I wasn’t really serious about it. Six weeks later it was 15,000 words by the end of October. This time I thought the reason I didn’t have more progress on it was because I didn’t have the practice of finishing a story- so I attempted at the very beginning of October to do Whumptober. I managed to write 2 stories - truth (to the people we love) and If You Regret (What You Know).

So two stories finished, I went back to Last Year’s Wishes and used everyone working on NaNo for November to buckled down. I wrote out a rough outline of future scenes. I made a point to write, if I could, every day something. I do try and write in a linear fashion, but if I couldn’t move forward in the story, I would go back to previous stuff to add in descriptions, put in some introspection- sometimes a whole scene needed to be inserted, then I could push forward again.

The story grew from 15,000 words on Nov 1 to 28,000 words by Dec 1. Nearly double in size. And the more I put my ass in the chair to write, the easier it became to focus. It will never be easy to focus for me- I really like scrolling on my phone, chatting with other people, etc. But I had to build a muscle in my brain from the ground up with no real belief that I would succeed because I thought depression and anti-depressants had broken my brain. But Malex kept me interested.

By the time December rolled around, I made a goal of finishing it by New Years, but then my outline kept growing. I kept thinking about the underlying plot, I kept thinking about how big the communication divide was- I couldn’t just say “they talked, they fucked HEA!”. As December came to a close, I realized I had written 32,000 words in the month of December but I was only half done with the story. So while I was disappointed I hadn’t hit my goal of being done, I was very pleased at the progress. The story was around 60,000 words by the end of the year.

January- I increased my goal of 1,000 words a day, to 2,000 words a day.  I really believed I could finish it in one sustained push. I wrote nearly 40,000 words in the month of January- bringing it to just under 99,000 words but…it still wasn’t done. My assistant quit. I got sick. Progress stuttered. But I felt like the end was in site- so I contacted  betas, two of which came through- tasyfa and Maura - and kept writing. I thought it was just 20,000 words to go, and since I just wrote 40,000 in one month, I could easily write 20,000 2-1/2 weeks, right????

February- beta comments were great, I started releasing it publically in chapters, and then the feedback started rolling in- and instead of motivating me forward, I started obsessing over the next thing people would read- I wanted it to be perfect. I started inserting new scenes, fleshing out other areas- driving my betas crazy I think- because I kept poking at it. I wrote those 20,000 words easily as the story was getting posted, but they were all in the existing frame of the plot. New stuff … that didn’t really start happening until March.

Another thing that I realized was my outline needed to be supportive but flexible. Originally (which remind me once it’s complete) but I had some different ideas for how the last few chapters were going to go, and I had to let those narratives go because it no longer felt natural to me with the narrative I had established.

Even now I have 5 scenes outlined for chapter 22, but as I started writing it this morning, I am leaning toward blending it into 4 or 3 scenes. Oh- my scene should have a standalone point to accomplish, and if that point isn’t clear or can be accomplished in another way, then it gets moved or blended. I don’t really jot things down on paper- but I have two documents- the writing doc, and the story doc. Writing doc has the outline, I always write with my outline heading just below my cursor so I can keep looking down at my goals and construct the scene from there. The story doc is where I cut and paste it into the whole thing. Sometimes as I scroll to find where I am in the doc, I will add something or edit something, before putting in the next bit at the end.

This is what chapter 18-19-20 looked like on Feb 9th in my outline : [1.. After their pathetic attempts to decorate Alex‘s leg was starting to bother him. Michael took one look at him and advised that he remove the prosthetic. Alex protested mildly about being seen that way. Michael reassured him that Isabell not only knew but didn’t care.

1a. - Isobel and Kyle arrive- she found him in the grocery store attempting to leave with the last baked ham - Mom working a double, Rosa was going to midnight mass with Arturo and Liz- 1b. Isabell and Michael have a quiet talk that Alex overhears while he changes and removes his leg for the night-. He discusses talking to Maria and reframing some of what Alex had said. 1c- walks past them to the kitchen with Kyle]

[2.  Isobel and Kyle show up  to the cabin for Christmas Eve- Isobel sleeps over. Michael offers the spare, Kyle takes the couch, Alex objects to Michael sleeping in the airstream. ]

[ 3. Alex wakes up to an alert on the day after  Christmas Day that gets an alert about someone at the cave. Finds Michael staring at Jesse and not Max.. Why did you think you were like him- that night that Noah died. What did that mean. It means he was ruthless about his agenda and so am I. I’ll do anything to protect you. Michael is silent and closed off, but follows him back to the cabin - knowledge from the ship piece ]

ONE MONTH LATER on March 10 the notes looked like this based on how the story looked: [2.  Isobel and Kyle stay in the face of the weather- Isobel sleeps over. Michael offers the spare, Kyle takes the Airstream ,Michael volunteers himself to sleep with Alex - Michael quietly explains he isn’t going to have a conversation with anyone afterward, Christmas gift exchange- Michael gives him the handprint- remnant from the console and his mother, sharing the intensity - they have sex  ]

[ 3. Alex wakes up to intense sorrow by Michael via the handprint n the day after  Christmas Day that gets an alert about someone at the cave. Finds Michael staring at Jesse and not Max.. Why did you think you were like him- that night that Noah died. What did that mean. They discuss Alex’s family and the future- do you think you would ever forgive them? I’ve been mad at Max, but if he came back today I would take him back, What about Flint and what he did ? Do you think he’s sorry? knowledge from the ship piece- soul mates, forever tied together ]

Err— I’m long winded, so did I answer your questions? Feel free to ask more!!

[oppatxtme]

Christian Yu: What’s On Sight (1)

CHRISTIAN YU x READER x JAY PARK

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7  // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9

WARNING: Just some curse words in some part. (sorry)

A/N: (Nhaks lakas maka-A/N HAHA!) Hello there ppl ~ This will be my first time posting my written scenario. I have lots on draft but it just stays there. Hahaha! But this is just my testing on posting it. I hope you liked it. Tell me what you think. I appreciate it really. 

Also, just keep in mind that English is not my native language so there might be some spelling and grammar error. Sorry for my lack of talent and I promise to work hard on this. Thank you and please enjoy. Any feedback is well loved. <3

             Ba?

                 BaaaaaaaaaRom!

                 Yaaaah! Christian!

  - yow! hahaha!

theres no need to yell

whats up? miss me?

                 Tsssk! Wat took u so long to reply?

               Wen u just tweet some trash when i msg u?

  - first of all its not trash, its called selfie. a selfie of a very handsome man who's supposed to be ur only best friend on earth. so show some love.

                FYI ur not the ONLY best friend i have. aaargh! watever!

  - ok fine. im just the best of the best u have. hahaha

                 k.

  - HAHAHAHA!

                 O_O

- so wats new? its rare that ur the one looking for me and flooding me msgs like that..

                 well..

  - well?

                its just that..

 - just that - you really miss me right?

                seriously Ian? If I were to miss someone, u already know who it was and its not you.

 - HAHAHA! I know. I know. Its Lori. Its always been Lori.

                 yea, always..

  - well Lori misses u too. we both do.

                 Loooori! Arrrgh! dont be like that Ian, if u keep saying and sending me that I might change my mind on renewing my contract here.

  - huh? ur planning on renewing there? but thats not what u said when u took ur vacation YN

                  yea, i know. but something came up and i cant afford to quit and stay in Seoul as planned

  - WHY??

                 change of plans? hehe

 - well obviously

                  wait. r u mad or something?

 - no. its just that its not like you. i mean ur not that type of person who just back out once u decide on something w/o even trying.

                 i know Ba.. u dont have any idea how stressful it is, but i cant affort to make a mistake now..

               i just cant Ba

 - where r u now? its already 6am here in Seoul so its already 1am there in Dubai right?

                 yea.. why?

 - answer my call.

  You’re hesitant to answer his call. But you answered anyway because you know him too well. He won’t stop calling until u answered.

 You cleared your throat.

 "Oh?"

  "Took you long enough."

 You can’t help but smile on how comfortable the two of you become. I guess that’s what four years of friendship can do to you.

  "Well, I miss you too Ba."

  "Whatever. So mind telling me what’s on your empty head that you decide to renew your freaking contract on that trashy company you're in."

  "Haha! The company is not trashy, just most of the people in it though."

  "Same thing. So why? Don’t you think you've been trolling me long enough? Long distance call is not cheap you know."

  You end up laughing at imagining how irritated he looks at the moment.

  "Stingy as always. But first, why are you mad?"

  "Wait a moment here YN, I'm the one who's calling so just answer my question and I might tell you why I'm mad."

  "Fine. Well, how do I start.."

 Honestly, you have plenty on your mind that you want to say to him. Because u know that out of all the people you know, you know that Christian is the right person who you can talk about it.

 But now that you've been keeping it for too long for yourself, you’re having a problem with putting it to words.

  "How about starting on since when are you having this issues and keeping it to yourself so now you're stressing yourself about it?"

 Again, you can’t help but laugh.

  "What’s funny YN? Are you gone crazy?"

  "Well, I think I am. Because just hearing you blabber makes my mind at ease. I don’t know how and why."

  You know that you said something cheesy so you're waiting for his lame joke in return, but it’s just silence.

  "Ba? Are you there?"

  You heard him clear his throat.

  "Damn YN, just answer my question will you?"

  "Fine. It happens right after my one week stay there in Seoul. When I went back home, I talked to Mom about the plan I talked you about. She agreed and more excited about it. But when she opened what I told her to Dad, he closes the idea and ends up making my return to Dubai much early as planned. And he wants me to either renew my contract here or find another company. He also said that before making any stupid decision, I have to make sure that my future is secure. And he brought again the topic of him finding a man for me to marry. What the heck right. I mean he's saying that before but I thought is all lame jokes but now he is serious with that arrange marriage thing? Aaargh!"

 You paused to breathe and try to stop the tears that I've been holding.

  "Did your Dad know that you went here in Seoul and met me before making that plan?"

  "I think so. I show the pictures to Mom that I took there and also with the crew. Why?"

  "I think it’s my entire fault YN. Sorry."

  "Huh? Sorry for what? How can it be your fault?"

  "Well, if what I think is correct then it’s really my fault. But I'm not sure."

  I heard his sight, a deep and long one. And I can’t stop wondering why.

  "How? Christian?"

  "You need to get some sleep YN. It’s already late there."

  "Oh no! Don’t give me that bull Christian. You need to tell me how it is your fault? And what’s the sorry for?"

  Silence.

  "I'm waitin Christian Yu. Or should I call you so you can just answer my question?"

  "God, YN. You and your impatience is really something."

  "Are you going to tell me or you're just going to tell me?"

  And it’s his turn to laugh at you.

  "Aigooo. Thanks for that very considerate choice YN."

  "I'm listening Ian."

  "So Bossy! Just like your father."

  "BAROM YU!"

  "Yes! First, I'm not sure if it’s really my fault. But given the fact that your Dad knew we met since your two years abroad, then I think it has something to do with the talk we had two years ago."

  "Two years ago? You and Dad talk? About what?"

  "Before your departure to Dubai. Remember the crew and I stayed 3 days in your home town to bond and decided to extend one more day just so we can send you off on the day of your flight?"

  You nod your head as if he can see you.

  "We stayed at your house that last day remember?"

  Again you nod. As if he can see you, stupid.

  "And that night, your boyfriend told you that he can’t come along to the airport with us. You told him it’s okay, but you cried like a water falls that night."

  "EX-BOYFRIEND now, yeah I remember. And now that I think about it, you stayed in my room just to console me and to make sure that I won’t stay up late. And that’s the last time I saw you because the next morning you're gone. They say that you had to go back to Seoul immediately due to some work issue. I keep calling you but I can’t get a hold of you."

  "Because right after I left your room, I saw your Dad drinking on the terrace and I don’t know what kind of spirit came to me that made me go and talk to him."

 He paused and I'm sure I can hear his hand touching either his hair or his cheeks.

  "What did the two you talked about Christian?"

  “Well, what do you think we can talk about on that time?”

  "Huh?"

  "Back then, I kind of told your Dad what I really feel. Well now, I don’t know if this will make any sense to you or if you will take this seriously but I told him three years ago. At first, I asked him if he believed in love at first sight. He said no.

But I told him that I do believe in such. Because there this girl that I met, and what I felt was extraordinary, it’s somewhat like "SPARK AT FIRST SIGHT".

And I tried to ignore what I felt towards that girl because I know if I entertain that feeling it will just go nowhere. But the second time I saw how pure and kind she is, I admit that it’s a "crush at second sight" for her.

And the third time I saw her, we got a chance to somehow get to know little but enough from each other, and that’s the day I surrender that it’s "LOVE AT THIRD SIGHT"."

  I think I know where this is going, but I still need to be sure so I keep all that I want to say for myself, for now.

  "After that, he told me that he admires my ways and ask if that girl is already my girl. But I said no because after that day I saw her with someone else and what I felt is one-sided and for that my heart got "BROKEN AT FOURTH SIGHT".

But I told him that I'll make sure that she will be my wife someday. It’s just that it’s not yet our time back then."

  "Barom-"

  "No YN, let me finish please."

  You didn’t say or more likely you can’t say anything. You think your mind is on a chaos mode.

  "Your dad figure who the girl I was talking about, he said that we're two different people and still young and for me who hasn't figured out my life while you're already on the path towards what he planned for you. But he got mad when I said that you need to live the life you want not what he planned. And I'm certain that you and I are for each other and there will be a day that I will tell you how I felt and you and I can make our own life to live happily.

 I know that it’s stupid of me that I'm saying this now and thru the phone but. I just don't know what to do YN. I'm confused and scared."

  You kept quiet for a while. Then you found yourself looking on the screen of your phone. Dumbfounded on what Christian Yu is saying. Your best friend that you treated like your big brother, rather than your own.

 You’re confused. The things running thru your mind is kept on filling up. And you just can handle it all at once. So you just press the end button on the screen without saying anything to him.

 You tried to breathe just to calm yourself.

 But not a minute pass and your phone rings.

 And it’s Christian.

 'Aaah! So it’s not a dream.'

 While looking at the caller ID on your phone, all that he said is slowly sinking in.

 'So he likes me back then? Does he still feel the same way till now? Nah, that’s impossible. But now that I think of it, it just makes things more clear. All the favors I asked of him, he never once he refuses and all I thought it’s because he thinks of me as a little sister that he never had.

 Aaargh! My head is aching because of this overthinking.'

  Your attention return to your phone that keeps on ringing, you decided to reject his calls and send him a message.

 'Sorry Christian, talk to you later once I figure things out.'

 It’s already late and in just 3hrs you need to go for your work. You stress yourself if you will sleep of just waiting for the time. But then you fell asleep and woke up to the sound of your alarm.

 'Another day but same old problems, please no more new ones. Let me settle my entire problem first and give me a rest! Please!'

TO BE CONTINUE...

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7  // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9  

A/N: what do you think about this chapter? Talk to me, don’t be shy. I won’t bite. Have a good day/night everyone!

Y/N Portrayer in collage is @Mari_jasmmn  ~ check her out in IG (GIRL CRUSH)

[sports-and-fandoms]

Carter Hall x reader

Damn it Hall!

Hello dear readers! This is a Carter Hall from DC’s Legends of Tomorrow one shot. It was requested to me by someone on Wattpad. I thought I should post this too! I was supposed to post the 10th doctor one shot last Sunday but Tumblr ended up deleting my draft. Therefore, I decided that a bonus deal would be fun. So... you guys get TWO one shots this week!! Hope you guys like this. Requests are open, please send ‘em in. Any fandom and I can write for it. Ok, maybe not EVERY fandom... Just send the request and I’ll tell you if I can write for it or not. Anyway, happy reading!

Request: yeah

Words: no bloody idea

Warning: Carter being overprotective and angst with a touch of fluff. 

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since you had been benched. Two weeks since Carter had allowed you to go on a mission. Two weeks since you had felt like a true Legend. Now, you just felt useless.

Two weeks ago

Gideon just informed Rip that Savage was spotted in the 50's.

Apparently, he was planning on helping the Russians win the Cold War, with futuristic bombs. As if he hadn't caused enough trouble. The mission was to stop Savage from selling the futuristic bombs and, if possible, to kill Savage before he could cause more damage.

Before every mission, the same things happened. Rip gave a meaningful and serious speech: 

“Now remember everyone, we have to stop Savage from causing any damage to the Timeline while also, not causing any damage ourselves. That means, no FIRESTORM, no laser guns, no atom suit and no cold gun or fire gun, unless ABSOLUTELY necessary.”

Said speech was always followed by a sarcastic comment from dear Captain Cold. 

“Party pooper, you’re no fun. Must be a Brit thing... The 50's ain't no fun without the COLD.”

Rip would always give Snart the "Don't mess with me" or the "Oh God, what am I doing with my life" look. And Snart would always give him his infamous Captain Cold smirk and leave. Mick would follow him like a loyal puppy. 

And today was no different. Everyone was leaving to go get ready, and so were you. Normal routine. Well, it was normal until you saw Carter and Kendra talking and laughing while heading to their separate rooms. You felt a pull in your stomach, one that could be associated with...jealousy.

Just to be clear, you loved Kendra. She was so nice, beautiful, powerful, practically perfect. You knew that Ray had feelings for her and that she somewhat returned them but you always felt that her connection was stronger with Carter. You knew about their past, the long 4000 years of wait. It was romantic but disheartening. The truth was, you were heartbroken. You hated seeing them together. Seeing them laugh and talk made you want to throw up. All of this was because of your unrequited feelings towards Carter.

You knew that he loved Kendra and not you. Why would he even look at you when he had Kendra, his lost soulmate of 4000 years? But still, you couldn't help but fall in love with him. He was so handsome, inside and out. The loyalty he had for the team and, of course, Kendra was admirable. His eyes were intoxicating and every time you looked at him, you felt like you were lost.

The unfortunate fact was, he loved Kendra. And it hurt, so you tried your best to bottle up your feelings.

After the mission.

Everything had gone wrong. Savage had somehow found out that you were coming and he had an entire army waiting for you. 

The mission had been hard. Everyone had come out almost unscathed, except the occasional bumps and bruises. Well everyone except you.

Sara was fighting 5 guys at the same time and she hadn't seen the Russian coming from behind her. He was armed with a knife and ready to take out the lovely assassin. You had seen him slowly making his way towards Sara. You rushed off to defeat the 2 men you were fighting. Running as fast as you could while shooting as many bad guys as possible.

By the time you got to Sara, you realised that you were out of bullets. You couldn't kill the man before he could stab Sara. So, you did the only thing that seemed logical to you, you got between the man and Sara and got stabbed.

Before long, the team had defeated Savage's army but had failed to stop Savage himself. Ray had carried you back to the Waverider's medical bay.

And here you were, 3 hours after that fiasco of a mission. Everyone was here. Sara was thanking you but also telling you how stupid you were for getting stabbed. Rip was just giving you an exasperated look. While Leonard and Mick, who had become "friends" with you, were trying not to show how worried they were, but you knew because Len didn't have his "Captain Cold smirk" but a small concerned smile and Mick was staring at you like you would break. It was all very overwhelming. Then, you noticed something out of place. Something missing. Or rather someone missing. Carter wasn't here, and neither was Kendra, for that matter.

And here you thought that Carter would at least be here to see if you were ok. It would seem that Kendra was more important, of course she was. Who were you kidding?

Meanwhile in Carter's room.

“Come on Carter, you have to go see her.”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

“Because Kendra, she almost died. I almost lost her because she was too busy being the hero!”

“Carter... That's what she's supposed to do. She’s a part of this team, like you and me and she has to fight. She is a Legend and you know it! We have waited 4000 years to find the right person to spend our lives with. You found her and I found Ray. You need to tell her how you feel.”

“But Kendra...”

“No. You go see her now.”

But he didn't.

Now.

Carter had a talk with Rip and the others while you were still in the med bay. He convinced everyone that you weren't ready for a mission until he thought you were. He said that he wanted to test you before you were sent back on the field. He wanted to be sure that you were physically and mentally ready. 

At first, everyone had disagreed seeing that you were an ex-vigilante, you were on Team Arrow back home. But in the end, the stubborn 4000 year old had won the argument.

That was 10 days ago and Carter had been ignoring you ever since. Actually, come to think of it, he hadn't even come to visit you in the med bay. Truthfully, you were saddened by his lack of care.

Today, you had had enough. Why is he ignoring me? Did I do something wrong? Does he know about my feelings?

Hundreds of questions were running through your head. You had decided to confront him. You went to the Cargo bay, where he had decided to hang out lately. He was alone. Perfect.

“Carter, I need to talk to you.”

He didn't answer.

“Alright, since this is going to be a one-sided conversation, you can just listen while I talk. What the hell is wrong with you? Did I do something? Why are you ignoring me?”

No answer.

“Damn it Hall! ANSWER ME FOR GOD’S SAKE!!”

He barely flinched. He turned around and answered calmly.

“You almost died.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock! What gave it away? The stab wound or me being in the bloody med bay? Which reminds me, why didn't you come to visit me?”

He ignored your question and said.

“You almost died and I almost lost you. You almost died before I could tell you the truth. You almost died without knowing.”

You stayed silent. Carefully thinking how to respond. You asked with caution in your voice.

“Without knowing what? The reason why you hate me? Or the reason why you think that I'm not good enough for the Legends, or the reason wh-...”

“God, Y/N no! What are you even talking about? I don't hate you. I really don't.”

“Why have you been ignoring me then?

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU DAMN IT! And you almost died without knowing that!”

You were speechless. What were you supposed to say to that? The man that you had been madly in love with just told you that he felt the same way. So you did the only thing you thought was right, you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

“You idiot, couldn't you have told me before? But what about Kendra? Aren't you guys like soulmates? We shouldn't be do-”

He cut you off with another kiss.

“It's you, it's always been you. In this lifetime at least...”

You guys kissed again.

What the new lovers didn't see, was Kendra standing in the doorway grinning like the Cat that ate the canary. 

“Finally” she whispered.

THE END

[we-johnnygonzalez-blog]

Tips for writing your first scientific literature review article

Emily Crawford frequently withdrew to her condo housetop in San Francisco to keep in touch with her audit. Photograph politeness of Matthew Perry.

When I attempted the undertaking of composing a logical writing survey article a year ago, I had trusted that a Google pursuit would uncover a bunch of how-to pages astutely made by veterans of this specific written work process. I didn't discover anything of the sort, so I furrowed ahead without anyone else, designing procedures for myself. I'm presently offering this piece for other youthful researchers who end up in comparative circumstances. What you're perusing presently is fundamentally a case story with a N of one, however it is the kind of exposition I wish had been accessible to me when I began.

I was running a protein over a nickel segment on a Sunday evening in February 2010 when my guide moved toward me about co-composing a survey article for Annual Review of Biochemistry. My counsel is a bustling person, with a considerable measure of papers and gives to take a shot at, so I realized that by "co-writer" he implied that I would be the fundamental scientist and author, getting generally wide, controlling proposals from him. That approved of me – as a fifth-year graduate understudy, I had figured out how to adapt to, and very much want, extraordinary freedom. To be completely forthright, I was eager to have this chance to analyze the writing inside and out and to make something helpful out of it. The due date was August, so I had a half year to incorporate decades of research papers on our theme into one advantageously measured, pleasantly bundled heap of certainties and elucidations.

Beginning

Our theme was caspase substrates, an assorted gathering of proteins basic for customized cell passing and in this way critical to our comprehension of how to murder malignancy cells. A PubMed scan for "caspase substrates" yielded in excess of 2,000 research papers. I had no figment that this task could approach extensiveness, and fortunately my counsel didn't either. I would need to evaluate the breaking points forced by the diary (30 pages, a half year) and in addition my own cutoff points and the need to adjust the written work venture with lab work that was basic to completing my Ph.D.

Narrowing the extent of the article to comply with these limits was maybe the greatest test of this procedure.

Realizing that I work better when I center around one anticipate at once, I spent the following two months doing the majority of my standard lab work while just considering the survey article and skimming the writing when I had time. From that point onward, I progressed to full-time perusing and composing. I found a bistro that I loved in my neighborhood and spent about each morning there that mid year drinking tea, eating pumpkin biscuits and chipping away at my workstation. Evenings I frequently spent composition at my flat or at the library on grounds. I realized that focusing on the article in my swarmed, boisterous lab would be unthinkable, however it likewise was fundamental to invest some energy there every week counseling with my labmates on my writing research, staying aware of lab business and talk, and recovering my ergonomic pipettes from other people groups' seats around the lab (they generally appeared to get captured when I posted a "telecommuting" announcement on Facebook).

The completed item

There were numerous focuses at which I felt overpowered by the undertaking and didn't see a reasonable way to completing the article on time. I endeavored to console myself by recalling that I had been somewhat great at composing research projects in school; yet this was a bigger assignment and one with the potential for affecting somebody, some place, at some point who needed to find out about caspase substrates. At last, I wrapped up by the due date (well, in addition to one fourteen day expansion the proofreader consented to concede me) and was extremely content with the item and with all I had found out about caspase substrates, about the logical writing and about the audit composing process. However I appraise that whenever I embrace an undertaking this way, I'll have the capacity to do it in a fraction of the time. I trust the accompanying tips will help different researchers who end up in this sort of unfamiliar region.

I'll end by saying that, for me, this was a standout amongst the most compensating encounters I've had amid my opportunity as a Ph.D. understudy. Refining a wide range of information from tests done by researchers all around the globe into an intelligible story ended up being exceptionally fulfilling. I anticipate doing it again sometime in the not so distant future, maybe in a to some degree more proficient way.

1. Characterize the extent of the article. Influence a diagram, to keep arrangements of themes that are and are not inside your extension, and remind yourself to stop whenever your perusing meanders outside your degree. My consultant and I settled on committing the primary portion of our article to an expansive review of a couple of key research themes (for instance, the physical subtle elements of the caspase-substrate communication) and dedicating the second half to a couple of profoundly nitty gritty vignettes about a portion of the several known caspase substrates.

2. Your labmates and associates are priceless assets. Every ha a particular specialized topic that is most likely somewhat not the same as your own. Ask associates which papers they'd provide for a pivot understudy to peruse and what the most imperative ongoing advances are in the field. (Be mindful so as not to let this lead you too far off track. Your partners' thoughts may enable you to characterize your degree when you are beginning, yet you don't need to consolidate the majority of their proposals in the event that you don't feel they're important.)

3. Try not to harp on past survey articles that have been composed on your subject (this rapidly can turn into a dark gap that sucks up time and gives you superfluous weakness about the commitment you're attempting to make to the field), yet do acquaint yourself with their substance. Search for territories that have not yet been altogether looked into or zones for which you think you have a new interpretation of old information. A standout amongst the most difficult things that can happen is to invest days perusing and expounding on a subject just to see later that there's a segment of another audit article that investigates a similar territory, references a similar arrangement of papers and reaches similar conclusions.

4. Make yourself agreeable. This may appear glaringly evident, yet I believe it's vital. Discover spots to compose where you can think, and take breaks frequently to extend, get a tidbit or even advance outside for a couple of minutes. On days when I battled with focus, I regularly utilized a clock to structure my day. I would labor for a hour, at that point take a rational soundness break, at that point work for an additional hour, unendingly.

5. Force some structure on the wreckage that is the logical writing. I built up a methodology for each examination point that I needed to audit (counting the wide review segment in the primary half and the vignette areas in the second half). To start with, I found the latest papers on the subject and experienced them, selecting what resembled vital references. I worked my path in reverse to an arrangement of around 10 key papers. At that point I rapidly read and made a rundown for each, for the most part as a bulleted rundown of the conclusions drawn from each figure. Next, I consolidated those outlines into a solitary table. (I did this by hand on paper; an Excel spreadsheet additionally would work). Each examination article was one line (orchestrated by distribution date), and the segments were results or conclusions came to. I at that point effortlessly could see which papers concurred on which subjects, what patterns developed after some time and where the debates in the field lay. I found that once I had made a table, the account of that specific research subject nearly kept in touch with itself.

6. Invest some energy composing with all your PDFs and Web programs shut and your work area cleared of any paper. This was guidance my counselor gave me about multi month before the due date, when he could tell that my mind and my PDF library were so flooding with information that I was battling with really delivering any content. I didn't think that its simple at first. I would not like to misunderstand anything, even in a draft, so I feared writing even a solitary sentence without references to back me up. Then again, with the Internet and all my PDFs before me, I had a tendency to produce sentences that were extremely thick with data however not really firmly identified with each other – and not generally appropriate to the particular logical stories I was endeavoring to make. I began gaining genuine ground on the written work just when I spent a couple of August evenings sitting on the rooftop deck of my flat working with a pen and paper and no Internet-skilled gadgets. Truly, I in some cases composed things that weren't right (or possibly flawed) while developing a segment from memory. Nonetheless, I frequently wound up with a solid framework onto which I could later include a portion of those thick, reality loaded sentences.

7. Try not to be bashful about plainly characterizing your part with respect to that of your co-author(s) before you start, or even en route, on the off chance that you feel alterations are required. This was simple for my situation, on the grounds that my counselor and I both favored that I be the primary scientist and author and that he go about as a specialist on abnormal state issues. Be that as it may, I am acutely mindful of different cases that did not work out so suitably.

8. Read the diary's guidelines for entries painstakingly. You ought to have the email address of a manager at the diary; don't be bashful about making inquiries. Try not to overlook the diary's page points of confinement or arranging necessities. Give careful consideration to the graphical prerequisites for figures. Make a point to inspire authorization to duplicate any figures in your audit. (This for the most part is finished by following the authorizations directions on the site of the diary in which the first figure showed up. It's likewise not a terrible plan to email the creators who influenced the figures to give them to realize that you a chance to will utilize their work).

9. Get acquainted with programming like Papers (or some other PDF-m

[racingtoaredlight]

The degenerate’s guide to 2017 college football TV watch ‘em ups: week 6

This is an overall bad week for the average fan. If you aren’t a true degenerate this might be the week to go hang out with family or friends.

There is only one matchup of two ranked teams this week and it isn’t Miami-Florida State. I don’t know your feelings on TCU and West Virginia but I’ll be mildly surprised if they both end up as top 25 teams in January.

I’m not offering that picture as proof I just like it. Times are Eastern, gambling advice is infallible and everything you hate is your own fault.

Saturday, Oct. 7, 2017

Matchup                                                          Time (ET)                     TV

Eastern Michigan at Toledo                          Noon                        CBSSN

Great, here comes the MAC to sully the good name of CBS Sports Network.

(5) Georgia at Vanderbilt                               Noon                         ESPN

Vanderbilt is not as bad as they looked against Alabama. Nobody is. But they might still be pretty bad. Kirby Smart has actually looked pretty good so far this year by coaching the Dawgs in his image as a defensive genius. I actually kind of hate Georgia’s offense but they play Alabama style football now and I’m not sure I’m ready for Georgia to be as good as their recruiting rankings.

Illinois at Iowa                                                 Noon                         BTN

Illinois is pretty bad so Iowa should be able to get right here after back to back rough losses.

Iowa State at (3) Oklahoma                            Noon                         FOX

Remember a couple of weeks ago when Iowa State gave us that crazy high scoring game against Iowa? This should be sort of similar with both teams combining for 90 points but this time the Cyclones will only get about 10 of them.

University of Mississippi, Oxford at (12) Auburn    Noon             SECN

I am enjoying Mississippi’s freefall from their nominal position as one of college football’s better teams. Auburn is probably in the clear through the rest of this month and then they’ll have to figure out what a close game is all about in November.

(4) Penn State at Northwestern                    Noon                          ABC

Indiana’s linebackers sold out hard against the run last week to keep Saquon Barkley’s numbers in check but they still got clobbered and Northwestern doesn’t even have as much talent as Indiana.

Temple at East Carolina                                  Noon                      ESPNU

There have been times over the past couple of years where one or both of these teams would have been worth checking up on but there is no expected entertainment value with this matchup in 2017.

Texas Tech at Kansas                                      Noon                     FS1

Will Ryan Gosling’s movie score more millions of dollars this weekend than his football team scores points? No, it will not.

Tulsa at Tulane                                                  Noon                      ESPN3

Soused called Tulane a nerd school in his gambling post and I’ve honestly never been more confused by anything in the history of this site.

Wake Forest at (2) Clemson                            Noon                      ESPN2

Last week Wake Forest came very close to knocking off one of the ACC’s leading powers. They will not come anywhere close to knocking off Clemson.

Duke at Virginia                                                12:20 pm                 ACCN

Go Hoos! The winner of this will be a 1-loss contender for the ACC Coastal crown. I feel overwhelming melancholy after typing that.

Pittsburgh at Syracuse                                     12:30 pm                 RSN

The more you think of either of these teams as good the older you are. This is an absolute trashfire right now and I don’t know that it’s going to get better for either of them in the next couple of years.

Central Michigan at Ohio                                  2:00 pm                 ESPN3

Just a few years ago, Central Michigan had the #1 overall pick in an NFL draft. What does that say about this game? Nothing.

Bowling Green at Miami, OH                             2:30 pm                ESPN3

More MACtion. More snoozing.

FIU at Middle Tennessee                                   3:00 pm                ESPN3

Butch Davis’s return to coaching has looked much more similar to Larry Coker’s return to coaching did than I had ever anticipated.

ULM at Texas State                                              3:00 pm              ESPN3

I wonder if we’ll get more traffic for this post than ESPN does for this game?

Air Force at Navy                                                 3:30 pm              CBSSN

Here it is, the first matchup in the three team race for the Commander-in-Chief’s Trophy. I think Navy is the better team here but the talent disparity is never that great between the service academies if we’re being honest. Navy’s had the best coach of the three going back at least to 2002 so they are the safer bet to win.

Ball State at Akron                                               3:30 pm                ESPN3

I wish the MAC would just disband.

Charleston Southern at Indiana                         3:30 pm               BTN

Very happy to have the Big Ten Network in my home so I can catch key matchups such as this.

Kent State at Northern Illinois                            3:30 pm              ESPN3

Christ almighty. There are 20 MAC games every week and I hate them all.

LSU at (22) Florida                                                 3:30 pm              CBS

This is probably the saddest thing anybody could spend time on this week.

Minnesota at Purdue                                            3:30 pm            ESPN2

Yep, Florida and LSU creaking out a ‘rivalry’ game is sadder than this sad matchup of the B1G’s two splashiest coaching hires for 2017.

(13) Miami, FL at Florida State                             3:30 pm             ESPN

I choose not to believe Miami can win another game against FSU until it has actually happened. The way things have gone for FSU through three games they shouldn’t be able to move the ball against Miami but the defense might be able to goad Miami into mistakes? There’s a reason the line is what it is even if the outcomes for each team so far would have one expecting a Miami blowout win.

New Mexico State at Appalachian State             3:30 pm            ESPN3

Best conference rivalry game in the country this week? It’s definitely New Mexico State versus Appalachian State.

(21) Notre Dame at North Carolina                      3:30 pm             ABC

Pants shittingly enough all of the good games kick at the same time and that’s being very generous to this one to think there’s more than two good games this week.

(23) West Virginia at (8) TCU                                 3:30 pm             FS1

Whoever wins this is primed to play Oklahoma for the Big MAC Championship in the stupidest conference championship game yet devised.

Western Michigan at Buffalo                                3:30 pm            ESPNU

Rivalry week continues...

Arkansas at South Carolina                                   4:00 pm            SECN

What an upside down world we live in where Coach Boom is not one of the numerous SEC coaches on the hot seat.

Louisiana Tech at UAB                                            4:00 pm          CUSA.TV

This game is trash but I still love it.

Maryland at (10) Ohio State                                    4:00 pm            FOX

I’ve made a lifelong habit of not paying attention to Maryland football but I hear they’re down to their fourth string QB so all of these mid-round defensive linemen that Greg Schiano thinks so highly of on the Ohio State defense should have a field day. If that sort of thing interests you.

Oregon State at (14) USC                                        4:00 pm           Pac-12N

OK, so he’s a Mormon, a religion founded on explicitly white supremacist terms, and he’s coaching in Oregon, a state founded on explicitly white supremacist terms, but it’s still funny and inexplicable to me that he left Wisconsin to take over the shittiest program in the Pac-12 and he hasn’t even made it a little bit better. If you love Sam Darnold’s arm but don’t want to think of his play as “the shittier version of Jameis Winston” this is the game for you. Expect highlight after highlight for the Trojans.

UL Lafayette at Idaho                                               5:00 pm           ESPN3

Alright alright!

Colorado State at Utah State                                  5:30 pm          ATTSNRM

This is peak MWC football right here but the bastards are starting it in the afternoon. If the start time said 8:30pm this would be perfect.

Florida Atlantic at Old Dominion                            6:00 pm      Stadium

I am getting just a little bit impatient waiting for the spectacular scandal that ends Lane Kiffin’s tenure at FAU. He’s already made it through a full month! What could possibly be taking so long?

Marshall at Charlotte                                      6:00 pm      WCCB/ CUSA.TV

If you just say the words Marshall at Charlotte you probably think of a concert. But this is some sort of a football game.

Army at Rice                                                              6:30 pm   beIN SPORTS

I have found some pretty strange reasons to be interested in certain football games over the years but I really don’t have anything for this one.

Georgia State at Coastal Carolina                          6:30 pm         ESPN3

I might have missed it because I wasn’t looking that closely but I’m pretty sure neither of these teams is in the top 50 in FBS for any category. So that’s sort of neat, right?

Kansas State at Texas                                              7:00 pm            FS1

Texas and Kansas State is a fine uniform matchup if they’re both wearing traditional looks.

SMU at Houston                                                        7:00 pm         CBSSN

I think Ed Oliver is out which should be good news for the Ponies because Houston is not very good other than him right now.

Southern Miss at UTSA                                        7:00 pm   CW35/ Stadium

UTSA seems to have a legit shot at winning 10 games this year. That’s very low key, off the radar incredible.

(1) Alabama at Texas A&M                                        7:15 pm          ESPN 

I’m really not trying to convince anybody that aTm can win this game but if it weren’t for one incredibly bad half of football against UCLA they’d be a top 10 team right now.

(16) Virginia Tech at Boston College                      7:15 pm          ESPN2

Josh Jackson got knocked around a little bit by Clemson last week and it clearly frustrated him so I wouldn’t take it as an article of faith that VPISU beats Boston College who may not have much but does have one really good pass rusher.

Fresno State at San Jose State                               7:30 pm         ESPN3

This is bad bad stuff. The kind that makes one pine for the UFL.

Michigan State at (7) Michigan                                7:30 pm          ABC

I’m not really sure what to make of Sparty right now. I think they’re gonna get gored but maybe they really are better than last year?

Missouri at Kentucky                                                7:30 pm        SECN

The good news for Kentucky is that Missouri isn’t very good. The bad news for Kentucky is that Kentucky isn’t either.

Arizona at Colorado                                                  8:00 pm      Pac-12N

This should be pretty awful to watch so it’s a good thing most people don’t get Pac-12 Network anyway.

(25) UCF at Cincinnati                                               8:00 pm       ESPNU

UCF has been hammering people so far and I don’t think this is the game where that’ll let up.

(11) Washington State at Oregon                            8:00 pm          FOX

I have no idea what to expect here. This might be the best matchup of the week based on tactics and talent.

WKU at UTEP                                                              8:00 pm        CUSA.TV

This is probably not the kind of thing you want to be involved in on a Saturday night.

(9) Wisconsin at Nebraska                                       8:00 pm           BTN

Is there any kind of magic to night games in Nebraska or should everybody just prepare themselves for a recap that talks about the worst losses in school history for the Huskers?

Stanford at (20) Utah                                                10:15 pm           FS1

Utah generally looks a lot better in October than they did in September and they’re sitting here ranked and with one of the best rushing defenses in the country so this could be a bad night to check into the Bryce Love hype.

Hawaii at Nevada                                                      10:30 pm      CBSSN

Now this is appropriate CBSSN fodder! I don’t think Hawaii actually has a rival because who is gonna feel angry about the Rainbow Warriors? This isn’t even a good uniform matchup. I will watch the hell out of this garbage if I get the chance.

California at (6) Washington                                    10:45 pm        ESPN

The number 6 ranking for Washington looks a lot more solid to me this year than their lofty ranking did last year but they aren’t very fun to watch if you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. They have tons of NFL talent but just bludgeon teams to death and Jake Browning is basically the epitome of “good college QB.”

(19) San Diego State at UNLV                             10:45 pm              ESPN2

If you like late night football with lots of red, this is the game for you! I’m not sure why anybody other than me watches this kind of stuff but Rashaad Penny should get a whole lot of yards assuming he plays even 30 minutes into this one.

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[katarina-and-the-city]

What writers really do when they write

We often discuss art this way: the artist had something he “wanted to express”, and then he just, you know … expressed it. We buy into some version of the intentional fallacy: the notion that art is about having a clear-cut intention and then confidently executing same. 

The actual process, in my experience, is much more mysterious and more of a pain in the ass to discuss truthfully.

Совсем недавно на Гардиан появился прекрасный текст о писательстве. 

Делюсь с вами оригинальными размышлениями:

George Saunders: what writers really do when they write

A series of instincts, thousands of tiny adjustments, hundreds of drafts … What is the mysterious process writers go through to get an idea on to the page?

1

Many years ago, during a visit to Washington DC, my wife’s cousin pointed out to us a crypt on a hill and mentioned that, in 1862, while Abraham Lincoln was president, his beloved son, Willie, died, and was temporarily interred in that crypt, and that the grief-stricken Lincoln had, according to the newspapers of the day, entered the crypt “on several occasions” to hold the boy’s body. An image spontaneously leapt into my mind – a melding of the Lincoln Memorial and the Pietà. I carried that image around for the next 20-odd years, too scared to try something that seemed so profound, and then finally, in 2012, noticing that I wasn’t getting any younger, not wanting to be the guy whose own gravestone would read “Afraid to Embark on Scary Artistic Project He Desperately Longed to Attempt”, decided to take a run at it, in exploratory fashion, no commitments. My novel, Lincoln in the Bardo, is the result of that attempt, and now I find myself in the familiar writerly fix of trying to talk about that process as if I were in control of it.

We often discuss art this way: the artist had something he “wanted to express”, and then he just, you know … expressed it. We buy into some version of the intentional fallacy: the notion that art is about having a clear-cut intention and then confidently executing same.

The actual process, in my experience, is much more mysterious and more of a pain in the ass to discuss truthfully.

2

A guy (Stan) constructs a model railroad town in his basement. Stan acquires a small hobo, places him under a plastic railroad bridge, near that fake campfire, then notices he’s arranged his hobo into a certain posture – the hobo seems to be gazing back at the town. Why is he looking over there? At that little blue Victorian house? Stan notes a plastic woman in the window, then turns her a little, so she’s gazing out. Over at the railroad bridge, actually. Huh. Suddenly, Stan has made a love story. Oh, why can’t they be together? If only “Little Jack” would just go home. To his wife. To Linda.

The writer is that person who, embarking upon her task, does not know what to do

What did Stan (the artist) just do? Well, first, surveying his little domain, he noticed which way his hobo was looking. Then he chose to change that little universe, by turning the plastic woman. Now, Stan didn’t exactly decide to turn her. It might be more accurate to say that it occurred to him to do so; in a split-second, with no accompanying language, except maybe a very quiet internal “Yes.”

He just liked it better that way, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, and before he’d had the time or inclination to articulate them.

An artist works outside the realm of strict logic. Simply knowing one’s intention and then executing it does not make good art. Artists know this. According to Donald Barthelme: “The writer is that person who, embarking upon her task, does not know what to do.” Gerald Stern put it this way: “If you start out to write a poem about two dogs fucking, and you write a poem about two dogs fucking – then you wrote a poem about two dogs fucking.” Einstein, always the smarty-pants, outdid them both: “No worthy problem is ever solved in the plane of its original conception.”

How, then, to proceed? My method is: I imagine a meter mounted in my forehead, with “P” on this side (“Positive”) and “N” on this side (“Negative”). I try to read what I’ve written uninflectedly, the way a first-time reader might (“without hope and without despair”). Where’s the needle? Accept the result without whining. Then edit, so as to move the needle into the “P” zone. Enact a repetitive, obsessive, iterative application of preference: watch the needle, adjust the prose, watch the needle, adjust the prose (rinse, lather, repeat), through (sometimes) hundreds of drafts. Like a cruise ship slowly turning, the story will start to alter course via those thousands of incremental adjustments.

The artist, in this model, is like the optometrist, always asking: Is it better like this? Or like this?

What a pleasure it is to be, on the page, less of a dope than usual

The interesting thing, in my experience, is that the result of this laborious and slightly obsessive process is a story that is better than I am in “real life” – funnier, kinder, less full of crap, more empathetic, with a clearer sense of virtue, both wiser and more entertaining.

And what a pleasure that is; to be, on the page, less of a dope than usual.

3

Revising by the method described is a form of increasing the ambient intelligence of a piece of writing. This, in turn, communicates a sense of respect for your reader. As text is revised, it becomes more specific and embodied in the particular. It becomes more sane. It becomes less hyperbolic, sentimental, and misleading. It loses its ability to create a propagandistic fog. Falsehoods get squeezed out of it, lazy assertions stand up, naked and blushing, and rush out of the room.

Is any of this relevant to our current political moment?

Hoo, boy.

When I write, “Bob was an asshole,” and then, feeling this perhaps somewhat lacking in specificity, revise it to read, “Bob snapped impatiently at the barista,” then ask myself, seeking yet more specificity, why Bob might have done that, and revise to, “Bob snapped impatiently at the young barista, who reminded him of his dead wife,” and then pause and add, “who he missed so much, especially now, at Christmas,” – I didn’t make that series of changes because I wanted the story to be more compassionate. I did it because I wanted it to be less lame.

But it is more compassionate. Bob has gone from “pure asshole” to “grieving widower, so overcome with grief that he has behaved ungraciously to a young person, to whom, normally, he would have been nice”. Bob has changed. He started out a cartoon, on which we could heap scorn, but now he is closer to “me, on a different day”.

How was this done? Via pursuit of specificity. I turned my attention to Bob and, under the pressure of trying not to suck, my prose moved in the direction of specificity, and in the process my gaze became more loving toward him (ie, more gentle, nuanced, complex), and you, dear reader, witnessing my gaze become more loving, might have found your own gaze becoming slightly more loving, and together (the two of us, assisted by that imaginary grouch) reminded ourselves that it is possible for one’s gaze to become more loving.

Or we could just stick with “Bob was an asshole,” and post it, and wait for the “likes”, and for the pro-Bob forces to rally, and the anti-barista trolls to anonymously weigh in – but, meanwhile, there’s poor Bob, grieving and misunderstood, and there’s our poor abused barista, feeling crappy and not exactly knowing why, incrementally more convinced that the world is irrationally cruel.

4

What does an artist do, mostly? She tweaks that which she’s already done. There are those moments when we sit before a blank page, but mostly we’re adjusting that which is already there. The writer revises, the painter touches up, the director edits, the musician overdubs. I write, “Jane came into the room and sat down on the blue couch,” read that, wince, cross out “came into the room” and “down” and “blue” (Why does she have to come into the room? Can someone sit UP on a couch? Why do we care if it’s blue?) and the sentence becomes “Jane sat on the couch – ” and suddenly, it’s better (Hemingwayesque, even!), although … why is it meaningful for Jane to sit on a couch? Do we really need that? And soon we have arrived, simply, at “Jane”, which at least doesn’t suck, and has the virtue of brevity.

But why did I make those changes? On what basis?

On the basis that, if it’s better this new way for me, over here, now, it will be better for you, later, over there, when you read it. When I pull on this rope here, you lurch forward over there.

This is a hopeful notion, because it implies that our minds are built on common architecture – that whatever is present in me might also be present in you. “I” might be a 19th-century Russian count, “you” a part-time Walmart clerk in 2017, in Boise, Idaho, but when you start crying at the end of my (Tolstoy’s) story “Master and Man”, you have proved that we have something in common, communicable across language and miles and time, and despite the fact that one of us is dead.

Another reason you’re crying: you’ve just realised that Tolstoy thought well of you – he believed that his own notions about life here on earth would be discernible to you, and would move you.

Tolstoy imagined you generously, you rose to the occasion.

The empathetic function in fiction is accomplished via the writer’s relation both to his characters and to his readers

We often think that the empathetic function in fiction is accomplished via the writer’s relation to his characters, but it’s also accomplished via the writer’s relation to his reader. You make a rarefied place (rarefied in language, in form; perfected in many inarticulable beauties – the way two scenes abut; a certain formal device that self-escalates; the perfect place at which a chapter cuts off); and then welcome the reader in. She can’t believe that you believe in her that much; that you are so confident that the subtle nuances of the place will speak to her; she is flattered. And they do speak to her. This mode of revision, then, is ultimately about imagining that your reader is as humane, bright, witty, experienced and well intentioned as you, and that, to communicate intimately with her, you have to maintain the state, through revision, of generously imagining her. You revise your reader up, in your imagination, with every pass. You keep saying to yourself: “No, she’s smarter than that. Don’t dishonour her with that lazy prose or that easy notion.”

And in revising your reader up, you revise yourself up too.

5

I had written short stories by this method for the last 20 years, always assuming that an entirely new method (more planning, more overt intention, big messy charts, elaborate systems of numerology underlying the letters in the characters’ names, say) would be required for a novel. But, no. My novel proceeded by essentially the same principles as my stories always have: somehow get to the writing desk, read what you’ve got so far, watch that forehead needle, adjust accordingly. The whole thing was being done on a slightly larger frame, admittedly, but there was a moment when I finally realised that, if one is going to do something artistically intense at 55 years old, he is probably going to use the same skills he’s been obsessively honing all of those years; the trick might be to destabilise oneself enough that the skills come to the table fresh-eyed and a little confused. A bandleader used to working with three accordionists is granted a symphony orchestra; what he’s been developing all of those years, he may find, runs deeper than mere instrumentation – his take on melody and harmony should be transferable to this new group, and he might even find himself looking anew at himself, so to speak: reinvigorated by his own sudden strangeness in that new domain.

It was as if, over the years, I’d become adept at setting up tents and then a very large tent showed up: bigger frame, more fabric, same procedure. Or, to be more precise (yet stay within my “temporary housing” motif): it was as if I’d spent my life designing custom yurts and then got a commission to build a mansion. At first I thought “Not sure I can do that.” But then it occurred to me that a mansion of sorts might be constructed from a series of connected yurts – each small unit built by the usual rules of construction, their interconnection creating new opportunities for beauty.

6

Any work of art quickly reveals itself to be a linked system of problems. A book has personality, and personality, as anyone burdened with one will attest, is a mixed blessing. This guy has great energy – but never sits still. This girl is sensitive – maybe too much; she weeps when the wrong type of pasta is served. Almost from the first paragraph, the writer becomes aware that a work’s strengths and weaknesses are bound together, and that, sadly, his great idea has baggage.

For example: I loved the idea of Lincoln, alone at night in the graveyard. But how is a novel made from one guy in a graveyard at night? Unless we want to write a 300-page monologue in the voice of Lincoln (“Four score and seven minutes ago, I did enter this ghastly place”) or inject a really long-winded and omniscient gravedigger into the book (we don’t, trust me, I tried), we need some other presences there in the graveyard. Is this a problem? Well, it sure felt like one, back in 2012. But, as new age gurus are always assuring us, a “problem” is actually an “opportunity”. In art, this is true. The reader will sense the impending problem at about the same moment the writer does, and part of what we call artistic satisfaction is the reader’s feeling that just the right cavalry has arrived, at just the right moment. Another wave of artistic satisfaction occurs if she feels that the cavalry is not only arriving efficiently, but is a cool, interesting cavalry, ie, is an opportunity for added fun/beauty – a broadening-out of the aesthetic terms.

In this case, the solution was pretty simple – contained, joke-like, in the very statement of the problem (“Who else might be in a graveyard late at night?”).

I remembered an earlier, abandoned novel, set in a New York State graveyard that featured – wait for it – talking ghosts. I also remembered a conversation with a brilliant former student of mine, who said that if I ever wrote a novel, it should be a series of monologues, as in a story of mine called “Four Institutional Monologues”.

So: the book would be narrated by a group of monologuing ghosts stuck in that graveyard.

And suddenly what was a problem really did become an opportunity: someone who loves doing voices, and thinking about death, now had the opportunity to spend four years trying to make a group of talking ghosts be charming, spooky, substantial, moving, and, well, human.

7

A work of fiction can be understood as a three-beat movement: a juggler gathers bowling pins; throws them in the air; catches them. This intuitive approach I’ve been discussing is most essential, I think, during the first phase: the gathering of the pins. This gathering phase really is: conjuring up the pins. Somehow the best pins are the ones made inadvertently, through this system of radical, iterative preference I’ve described. Concentrating on the line-to-line sound of the prose, or some matter of internal logic, or describing a certain swath of nature in the most evocative way (that is, by doing whatever gives us delight, and about which we have a strong opinion), we suddenly find that we’ve made a pin. Which pin? Better not to name it. To name it is to reduce it. Often “pin” exists simply as some form of imperative, or a thing about which we’re curious; a threat, a promise, a pattern, a vow we feel must soon be broken. Scrooge says it would be best if Tiny Tim died and eliminated the surplus population; Romeo loves Juliet; Akaky Akakievich needs a new overcoat; Gatsby really wants Daisy. (The colour grey keeps showing up; everything that occurs in the story does so in pairs.)

Then: up go the pins. The reader knows they are up there and waits for them to come down and be caught. If they don’t come down (Romeo decides not to date Juliet after all, but to go to law school; the weather in St Petersburg suddenly gets tropical, and the overcoat will not be needed; Gatsby sours on Daisy, falls for Betty; the writer seems to have forgotten about his grey motif) the reader cries foul, and her forehead needle plummets into the “N” zone and she throws down the book and wanders away to get on to Facebook, or rob a store.

The writer, having tossed up some suitably interesting pins, knows they have to come down, and, in my experience, the greatest pleasure in writing fiction is when they come down in a surprising way that conveys more and better meaning than you’d had any idea was possible. One of the new pleasures I experienced writing this, my first novel, was simply that the pins were more numerous, stayed in the air longer, and landed in ways that were more unforeseen and complexly instructive to me than has happened in shorter works.

Without giving anything away, let me say this: I made a bunch of ghosts. They were sort of cynical; they were stuck in this realm, called the bardo (from the Tibetan notion of a sort of transitional purgatory between rebirths), stuck because they’d been unhappy or unsatisfied in life. The greatest part of their penance is that they feel utterly inessential – incapable of influencing the living. Enter Willie Lincoln, just dead, in imminent danger (children don’t fare well in that realm). In the last third of the book, the bowling pins started raining down. Certain decisions I’d made early on forced certain actions to fulfilment. The rules of the universe created certain compulsions, as did the formal and structural conventions I’d put in motion. Slowly, without any volition from me (I was, always, focused on my forehead needle), the characters started to do certain things, each on his or her own, the sum total of which resulted, in the end, in a broad, cooperative pattern that seemed to be arguing for what I’d call a viral theory of goodness. All of these imaginary beings started working together, without me having decided they should do so (each simply doing that which produced the best prose), and they were, it seemed, working together to save young Willie Lincoln, in a complex pattern seemingly being dictated from … elsewhere. (It wasn’t me, it was them.)

Something like this had happened in stories before, but never on this scale, and never so unrelated to my intention. It was a beautiful, mysterious experience and I find myself craving it while, at the same time, flinching at the thousands of hours of work it will take to set such a machine in motion again.

Why do I feel this to be a hopeful thing? The way this pattern thrillingly completed itself? It may just be – almost surely is – a feature of the brain, the byproduct of any rigorous, iterative engagement in a thought system. But there is something wonderful in watching a figure emerge from the stone unsummoned, feeling the presence of something within you, the writer, and also beyond you – something consistent, wilful, and benevolent, that seems to have a plan, which seems to be: to lead you to your own higher ground.

Оригинал статьи: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/mar/04/what-writers-really-do-when-they-write?utm_source=esp&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=Bookmarks+base&utm_term=221700&subid=15054282&CMP=EMCBKSEML3964

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George Saunders: what writers really do when they write

A series of instincts, thousands of tiny adjustments, hundreds of drafts What is the mysterious process writers go through to get an idea on to the page?

1

Many years ago, during a visit to Washington DC, my wifes cousin pointed out to us a crypt on a hill and mentioned that, in 1862, while Abraham Lincoln was president, his beloved son, Willie, died, and was temporarily interred in that crypt, and that the grief-stricken Lincoln had, according to the newspapers of the day, entered the crypt on several occasions to hold the boys body. An image spontaneously leapt into my mind a melding of the Lincoln Memorial and the Piet. I carried that image around for the next 20-odd years, too scared to try something that seemed so profound, and then finally, in 2012, noticing that I wasnt getting any younger, not wanting to be the guy whose own gravestone would read Afraid to Embark on Scary Artistic Project He Desperately Longed to Attempt, decided to take a run at it, in exploratory fashion, no commitments. My novel, Lincoln in the Bardo, is the result of that attempt, and now I find myself in the familiar writerly fix of trying to talk about that process as if I were in control of it.

We often discuss art this way: the artist had something he wanted to express, and then he just, you know expressed it. We buy into some version of the intentional fallacy: the notion that art is about having a clear-cut intention and then confidently executing same.

The actual process, in my experience, is much more mysterious and more of a pain in the ass to discuss truthfully.

2

A guy (Stan) constructs a model railroad town in his basement. Stan acquires a small hobo, places him under a plastic railroad bridge, near that fake campfire, then notices hes arranged his hobo into a certain posture the hobo seems to be gazing back at the town. Why is he looking over there? At that little blue Victorian house? Stan notes a plastic woman in the window, then turns her a little, so shes gazing out. Over at the railroad bridge, actually. Huh. Suddenly, Stan has made a love story. Oh, why cant they be together? If only Little Jack would just go home. To his wife. To Linda.

What did Stan (the artist) just do? Well, first, surveying his little domain, he noticed which way his hobo was looking. Then he chose to change that little universe, by turning the plastic woman. Now, Stan didnt exactly decide to turn her. It might be more accurate to say that it occurred to him to do so; in a split-second, with no accompanying language, except maybe a very quiet internal Yes.

He just liked it better that way, for reasons he couldnt articulate, and before hed had the time or inclination to articulate them.

An artist works outside the realm of strict logic. Simply knowing ones intention and then executing it does not make good art. Artists know this. According to Donald Barthelme: The writer is that person who, embarking upon her task, does not know what to do. Gerald Stern put it this way: If you start out to write a poem about two dogs fucking, and you write a poem about two dogs fucking then you wrote a poem about two dogs fucking. Einstein, always the smarty-pants, outdid them both: No worthy problem is ever solved in the plane of its original conception.

How, then, to proceed? My method is: I imagine a meter mounted in my forehead, with P on this side (Positive) and N on this side (Negative). I try to read what Ive written uninflectedly, the way a first-time reader might (without hope and without despair). Wheres the needle? Accept the result without whining. Then edit, so as to move the needle into the P zone. Enact a repetitive, obsessive, iterative application of preference: watch the needle, adjust the prose, watch the needle, adjust the prose (rinse, lather, repeat), through (sometimes) hundreds of drafts. Like a cruise ship slowly turning, the story will start to alter course via those thousands of incremental adjustments.

The artist, in this model, is like the optometrist, always asking: Is it better like this? Or like this?

The interesting thing, in my experience, is that the result of this laborious and slightly obsessive process is a story that is better than I am in real life funnier, kinder, less full of crap, more empathetic, with a clearer sense of virtue, both wiser and more entertaining.

And what a pleasure that is; to be, on the page, less of a dope than usual.

3

Revising by the method described is a form of increasing the ambient intelligence of a piece of writing. This, in turn, communicates a sense of respect for your reader. As text is revised, it becomes more specific and embodied in the particular. It becomes more sane. It becomes less hyperbolic, sentimental, and misleading. It loses its ability to create a propagandistic fog. Falsehoods get squeezed out of it, lazy assertions stand up, naked and blushing, and rush out of the room.

Is any of this relevant to our current political moment?

Hoo, boy.

When I write, Bob was an asshole, and then, feeling this perhaps somewhat lacking in specificity, revise it to read, Bob snapped impatiently at the barista, then ask myself, seeking yet more specificity, why Bob might have done that, and revise to, Bob snapped impatiently at the young barista, who reminded him of his dead wife, and then pause and add, who he missed so much, especially now, at Christmas, I didnt make that series of changes because I wanted the story to be more compassionate. I did it because I wanted it to be less lame.

But it is more compassionate. Bob has gone from pure asshole to grieving widower, so overcome with grief that he has behaved ungraciously to a young person, to whom, normally, he would have been nice. Bob has changed. He started out a cartoon, on which we could heap scorn, but now he is closer to me, on a different day.

How was this done? Via pursuit of specificity. I turned my attention to Bob and, under the pressure of trying not to suck, my prose moved in the direction of specificity, and in the process my gaze became more loving toward him (ie, more gentle, nuanced, complex), and you, dear reader, witnessing my gaze become more loving, might have found your own gaze becoming slightly more loving, and together (the two of us, assisted by that imaginary grouch) reminded ourselves that it is possible for ones gaze to become more loving.

Or we could just stick with Bob was an asshole, and post it, and wait for the likes, and for the pro-Bob forces to rally, and the anti-barista trolls to anonymously weigh in but, meanwhile, theres poor Bob, grieving and misunderstood, and theres our poor abused barista, feeling crappy and not exactly knowing why, incrementally more convinced that the world is irrationally cruel.

Illustration by Yann Kebbi for Review

4

What does an artist do, mostly? She tweaks that which shes already done. There are those moments when we sit before a blank page, but mostly were adjusting that which is already there. The writer revises, the painter touches up, the director edits, the musician overdubs. I write, Jane came into the room and sat down on the blue couch, read that, wince, cross out came into the room and down and blue (Why does she have to come into the room? Can someone sit UP on a couch? Why do we care if its blue?) and the sentence becomes Jane sat on the couch and suddenly, its better (Hemingwayesque, even!), although why is it meaningful for Jane to sit on a couch? Do we really need that? And soon we have arrived, simply, at Jane, which at least doesnt suck, and has the virtue of brevity.

But why did I make those changes? On what basis?

On the basis that, if its better this new way for me, over here, now, it will be better for you, later, over there, when you read it. When I pull on this rope here, you lurch forward over there.

This is a hopeful notion, because it implies that our minds are built on common architecture that whatever is present in me might also be present in you. I might be a 19th-century Russian count, you a part-time Walmart clerk in 2017, in Boise, Idaho, but when you start crying at the end of my (Tolstoys) story Master and Man, you have proved that we have something in common, communicable across language and miles and time, and despite the fact that one of us is dead.

Another reason youre crying: youve just realised that Tolstoy thought well of you he believed that his own notions about life here on earth would be discernible to you, and would move you.

Tolstoy imagined you generously, you rose to the occasion.

We often think that the empathetic function in fiction is accomplished via the writers relation to his characters, but its also accomplished via the writers relation to his reader. You make a rarefied place (rarefied in language, in form; perfected in many inarticulable beauties the way two scenes abut; a certain formal device that self-escalates; the perfect place at which a chapter cuts off); and then welcome the reader in. She cant believe that you believe in her that much; that you are so confident that the subtle nuances of the place will speak to her; she is flattered. And they do speak to her. This mode of revision, then, is ultimately about imagining that your reader is as humane, bright, witty, experienced and well intentioned as you, and that, to communicate intimately with her, you have to maintain the state, through revision, of generously imagining her. You revise your reader up, in your imagination, with every pass. You keep saying to yourself: No, shes smarter than that. Dont dishonour her with that lazy prose or that easy notion.

And in revising your reader up, you revise yourself up too.

5

I had written short stories by this method for the last 20 years, always assuming that an entirely new method (more planning, more overt intention, big messy charts, elaborate systems of numerology underlying the letters in the characters names, say) would be required for a novel. But, no. My novel proceeded by essentially the same principles as my stories always have: somehow get to the writing desk, read what youve got so far, watch that forehead needle, adjust accordingly. The whole thing was being done on a slightly larger frame, admittedly, but there was a moment when I finally realised that, if one is going to do something artistically intense at 55 years old, he is probably going to use the same skills hes been obsessively honing all of those years; the trick might be to destabilise oneself enough that the skills come to the table fresh-eyed and a little confused. A bandleader used to working with three accordionists is granted a symphony orchestra; what hes been developing all of those years, he may find, runs deeper than mere instrumentation his take on melody and harmony should be transferable to this new group, and he might even find himself looking anew at himself, so to speak: reinvigorated by his own sudden strangeness in that new domain.

It was as if, over the years, Id become adept at setting up tents and then a very large tent showed up: bigger frame, more fabric, same procedure. Or, to be more precise (yet stay within my temporary housing motif): it was as if Id spent my life designing custom yurts and then got a commission to build a mansion. At first I thought Not sure I can do that. But then it occurred to me that a mansion of sorts might be constructed from a series of connected yurts each small unit built by the usual rules of construction, their interconnection creating new opportunities for beauty.

6

Any work of art quickly reveals itself to be a linked system of problems. A book has personality, and personality, as anyone burdened with one will attest, is a mixed blessing. This guy has great energy but never sits still. This girl is sensitive maybe too much; she weeps when the wrong type of pasta is served. Almost from the first paragraph, the writer becomes aware that a works strengths and weaknesses are bound together, and that, sadly, his great idea has baggage.

For example: I loved the idea of Lincoln, alone at night in the graveyard. But how is a novel made from one guy in a graveyard at night? Unless we want to write a 300-page monologue in the voice of Lincoln (Four score and seven minutes ago, I did enter this ghastly place) or inject a really long-winded and omniscient gravedigger into the book (we dont, trust me, I tried), we need some other presences there in the graveyard. Is this a problem? Well, it sure felt like one, back in 2012. But, as new age gurus are always assuring us, a problem is actually an opportunity. In art, this is true. The reader will sense the impending problem at about the same moment the writer does, and part of what we call artistic satisfaction is the readers feeling that just the right cavalry has arrived, at just the right moment. Another wave of artistic satisfaction occurs if she feels that the cavalry is not only arriving efficiently, but is a cool, interesting cavalry, ie, is an opportunity for added fun/beauty a broadening-out of the aesthetic terms.

In this case, the solution was pretty simple contained, joke-like, in the very statement of the problem (Who else might be in a graveyard late at night?).

I remembered an earlier, abandoned novel, set in a New York State graveyard that featured wait for it talking ghosts. I also remembered a conversation with a brilliant former student of mine, who said that if I ever wrote a novel, it should be a series of monologues, as in a story of mine called Four Institutional Monologues.

So: the book would be narrated by a group of monologuing ghosts stuck in that graveyard.

And suddenly what was a problem really did become an opportunity: someone who loves doing voices, and thinking about death, now had the opportunity to spend four years trying to make a group of talking ghosts be charming, spooky, substantial, moving, and, well, human.

There is something wonderful in feeling the presence of the writer within you, of something wilful that seems to have a plan George Saunders. Photograph: Tim Knox for the Guardian

7

A work of fiction can be understood as a three-beat movement: a juggler gathers bowling pins; throws them in the air; catches them. This intuitive approach Ive been discussing is most essential, I think, during the first phase: the gathering of the pins. This gathering phase really is: conjuring up the pins. Somehow the best pins are the ones made inadvertently, through this system of radical, iterative preference Ive described. Concentrating on the line-to-line sound of the prose, or some matter of internal logic, or describing a certain swath of nature in the most evocative way (that is, by doing whatever gives us delight, and about which we have a strong opinion), we suddenly find that weve made a pin. Which pin? Better not to name it. To name it is to reduce it. Often pin exists simply as some form of imperative, or a thing about which were curious; a threat, a promise, a pattern, a vow we feel must soon be broken. Scrooge says it would be best if Tiny Tim died and eliminated the surplus population; Romeo loves Juliet; Akaky Akakievich needs a new overcoat; Gatsby really wants Daisy. (The colour grey keeps showing up; everything that occurs in the story does so in pairs.)

Then: up go the pins. The reader knows they are up there and waits for them to come down and be caught. If they dont come down (Romeo decides not to date Juliet after all, but to go to law school; the weather in St Petersburg suddenly gets tropical, and the overcoat will not be needed; Gatsby sours on Daisy, falls for Betty; the writer seems to have forgotten about his grey motif) the reader cries foul, and her forehead needle plummets into the N zone and she throws down the book and wanders away to get on to Facebook, or rob a store.

The writer, having tossed up some suitably interesting pins, knows they have to come down, and, in my experience, the greatest pleasure in writing fiction is when they come down in a surprising way that conveys more and better meaning than youd had any idea was possible. One of the new pleasures I experienced writing this, my first novel, was simply that the pins were more numerous, stayed in the air longer, and landed in ways that were more unforeseen and complexly instructive to me than has happened in shorter works.

Without giving anything away, let me say this: I made a bunch of ghosts. They were sort of cynical; they were stuck in this realm, called the bardo (from the Tibetan notion of a sort of transitional purgatory between rebirths), stuck because theyd been unhappy or unsatisfied in life. The greatest part of their penance is that they feel utterly inessential incapable of influencing the living. Enter Willie Lincoln, just dead, in imminent danger (children dont fare well in that realm). In the last third of the book, the bowling pins started raining down. Certain decisions Id made early on forced certain actions to fulfilment. The rules of the universe created certain compulsions, as did the formal and structural conventions Id put in motion. Slowly, without any volition from me (I was, always, focused on my forehead needle), the characters started to do certain things, each on his or her own, the sum total of which resulted, in the end, in a broad, cooperative pattern that seemed to be arguing for what Id call a viral theory of goodness. All of these imaginary beings started working together, without me having decided they should do so (each simply doing that which produced the best prose), and they were, it seemed, working together to save young Willie Lincoln, in a complex pattern seemingly being dictated from elsewhere. (It wasnt me, it was them.)

Something like this had happened in stories before, but never on this scale, and never so unrelated to my intention. It was a beautiful, mysterious experience and I find myself craving it while, at the same time, flinching at the thousands of hours of work it will take to set such a machine in motion again.

Why do I feel this to be a hopeful thing? The way this pattern thrillingly completed itself? It may just be almost surely is a feature of the brain, the byproduct of any rigorous, iterative engagement in a thought system. But there is something wonderful in watching a figure emerge from the stone unsummoned, feeling the presence of something within you, the writer, and also beyond you something consistent, wilful, and benevolent, that seems to have a plan, which seems to be: to lead you to your own higher ground.

Lincoln in the Bardo is published by Bloomsbury. To order a copy for 14.24 (RRP 18.99) go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over 10, online orders only. Phone orders min p&p of 1.99.

Read more: http://bit.ly/2luoG7k

from George Saunders: what writers really do when they write

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Microsoft Surface pro and Macbook Pro

New Post has been published on https://netmaddy.com/microsoft-surface-pro-and-macbook-pro/

Microsoft Surface pro and Macbook Pro

Imperfect, Heavy, Light, Powerful, and Excellent.

Just shy of one year ago, I transitioned from a Macbook Pro and iPad combo to a Microsoft Surface Pro 128GB. In light of this week’s announcement of Surface Pro 3 and my acquisition of a Surface Pro 2, I think it’s time to reflect on what that experience was like. Like most folks, I was a little skeptical about the idea of combining a laptop and tablet into a single unit. Would it be too heavy? Would the performance be too low? Would the battery life be awful? And what about the new Windows 8 OS that’s been the subject of so much teeth-gnashing? I’ll try to answer all these questions and more as succinctly as possible. Hit the jump and let’s get into the question: what’s it like to live with Microsoft’s vision for computing in the future?

1. The Operating System, starring Windows 8/8.1:

Windows 8.1 Update 1 had a good head start with Windows 8, as I started using it during the first publicly available betas about 9 months before launch, dual booting on my Macbook Pro. That experience gave me plenty of time to figure out how to navigate the OS well before launch, so I didn’t have the struggle that a lot of people did. Of course, it probably helps that I just naturally enjoy exploring and discovering new things. The early Windows 8 experience did have its struggles, though. I’d become accustomed to the iPad and even to my Windows Phone 7 device, both of which had lots of apps available in their stores. Windows 8’s store was notoriously barren by comparison, and that led to some early frustration when trying to use Surface Pro as just a tablet. Too many apps and features were missing to make for a satisfying experience.

Nevertheless, the device’s ability to handle legacy Windows desktop apps with aplomb kept me satisfied enough to continue, and the app store dilemma became less important by the day. If there’s one thing Windows really needs to fix, though, is its way of presenting the desktop. The desktop is still wrapped in the trappings of an archaic system whose time has passed, and it’s time for Microsoft to update it to a more modern presentation that has fonts big enough to read on high DPI screens and large enough to operate with a finger.

With 8.1 and the new 8.1 Spring Update (really? We couldn’t just call it 8.2?), virtually all my complaints about Windows 8 evaporated. While some dislike the new aesthetic, I’ve personally found myself loving the flat colors, active tiles and removal of extraneous effects. My sincere hope is that as Windows evolves it gets even flatter and the metro aesthetic becomes more pervasive.

Suggestion: Use a Microsoft account, and use OneDrive! I can’t stress these enough. If you’re using Windows 8–and on a Surface Pro, you will be–you shouldn’t create an old-fashioned local account. Doing so cuts you off from some of Windows 8’s best features. Among these is the ability to have almost your entire PC configuration, right down to tile sizes, locations and apps installed, backed up to your OneDrive account in the event you either need to restore your PC or you sign into a different Windows 8.1 PC. Best, though, is that with OneDrive you get 7GB storage for free, which, while not enough to cover, say, your music and photos collection, is probably plenty to ensure your critical documents are all safely backed up within moments of you making any change. It’s easy to learn to save to your OneDrive folder, and once you’ve become accustomed to having that safety net you’ll wonder how you ever lived without it.

2. The Hardware: Build Quality, Heft, and Capability.

Surface Pro Docking Station

I used to lug around a 2010 Macbook Pro 13.3″, which weighed 4.5 pounds, and an iPad 1, which weighed 1.5 pounds for a total of 6 pounds. So when I say that the 2.5 pound total of the Surface Pro and Type Cover was a big weight off my back, I’m really not kidding. The sacrifice was that I had a smaller screen, but the gain was a far more powerful processor and far superior screen resolution and pixel density. The build quality is exceptional: there is literally zero flex to this device, its magnesium shell is hard and sturdy enough to withstand probably more abuse than you should feel comfortable making your PC go through. As a tablet, it’s half a pound heavier than that original iPad was, but as a laptop it has a huge advantage over anything Apple offers. But you probably wonder what I use my Surface Pro for?

Workload

I’ve spent most of the past year as a film school student at UCLA, which means that a lot of my workload involves editing and transcoding video, compositing after effects compositions, transferring footage across different media and so on. I use Adobe Premiere for most of these tasks, and my Surface Pro has handled them all with grace. I’ve had no problems editing and rendering 1080p video in real-time. And as you’d expect from a Windows machine with a full size USB port, working with external hard drives and optical drives is a breeze. Suffice to say, I also do the basics including working in Microsoft Office, writing in Final Draft, checking email, browsing the web, yada yada. Overall, I’ve had no complaints save one: early on, my first Surface Pro had some serious problems with the Marvell Avastar wifi chip and had to be exchanged, a problem that’s not entirely uncommon with this device. More on that later.

Webcams

Let’s be honest: the webcams on this device suck. They’re flat-out terrible, and there’s no getting around that fact. They’re fine for basic Skype video calls, but that’s pretty much it. If you really need to record video, use something else. Anything else.

Stylus

I frequently take notes in OneNote MX (that’s the metro version), especially lately. Like most students, I have tended over the past few years to type my notes, but recent studies show that students who take notes by hand tend to do better on tests. Well, I’m all for evidence based research, so I took this to heart, but I’m also lazy, which means I don’t want to type things after I’ve written them down. Enter Surface Pro’s stylus and voila: I can hand write my notes and have them in a digital format all at the same time. Hell yes. I find that the stylus, despite its cheap plastic feel, works well as a digital inking device. Some complain about the lack of a dock for the stylus, but honestly, I’ve no issues with that. I’ve been using it for a year and have yet to lose the thing.

Art Related Work

Last note on usability: my fiancée, artist Kelley Frisby, got her Surface Pro on launch day precisely because of the integrated Wacom digitizer with 1,024 levels of pressure sensitivity. From the outset the usage here was contentious because Surface Pro shipped without a pressure sensitive driver that Photoshop could understand. However, once that driver materialized, she took to using the stylus all the time. And when we learned about Manga Studio Pro from artist Jonathan Case’s website, things really went off the hook as she found it to be far superior to photoshop for creating hand drawn illustrations. That she can have her Surface Pro on her lap with pressure sensitivity while she draws, and her keyboard handy for using keyboard shortcuts, is a huge benefit that other tablets simply don’t offer. Truly, if you’re an artist who draws and paints digitally, Surface Pro is the device for you. Nothing else combines so many hardware capabilities and broad software availability.

3. Battery Life

Surface Pro Kickstand

This is the one serious issue that has dogged the Surface Pro since its original launch, despite the fact that it was never as bad as people claimed or the fact that Surface Pro 2 completely mitigated the issue (and by all reports, Surface Pro 3 does even better). Early claims were that Surface Pro got about 3.5 hours of battery life. And under certain circumstances, that’s true: watching 1080p videos with the brightness up while downloading stuff in the background will, like any other device, eat battery life much more than average usage will. But that’s only part of the test, isn’t it? Under normal usage, which I’ll define as web, email and word processing, Surface Pro 1 will get 5 hours battery life right out of the box. With some mild tweaks to the power profile, which I’ve detailed in one of our most popular posts, it’s entirely possible to get 6-7 hours of battery life. My best time was just over 8 hours total, but with a caveat: I was working with the wifi turned off, writing in Word, in a low light situation where I could comfortably turn down the screen brightness to minimum. Most people I know get in the range of 5-6 hours.

Why I Switched

Let’s be as clear as possible here: the Surface Pro is not a flawless device, but then, neither is anything else. My chief complaints are that the desktop in Windows 8.x needs a Modern UI revamp, and I wish the screen were a little bigger. I hope to upgrade to a Surface Pro 3 at some point in the future for that very reason, though my suspicion is that the artist community, such as my own wonderful Kelley Frisby, will hesitate to upgrade as a result of the new device’s possibly inferior N-Trig digitizer.

So that leaves the big question: why did I switch? That’s a complicated question. First, I was never sold on Mac OSX, but when Apple’s Bootcamp 5 update removed my ability to install Windows 8 as a dual-boot OS choice, claiming it wasn’t compatible with the computer I’d been using for 2.5 years (and at that, running Windows 8 on for 9 months), the final straw broke. This was the third time Apple’d created problems for my devices, following the iOS 5 update that slowed my iPad to a crawl and the iOS 4 update that made my iPhone 3G all but unusable.

The prospect of having a tablet and laptop all in a single device was also very appealing to me. Yes, there are compromises: it’s a little heavier than a tablet and a little smaller than a typical laptop, but the overall effect is a net positive, and I’m happy to say that my year with Surface Pro has me convinced: Microsoft’s vision of a world where tablets are just slim, light, touch-friendly PC’s is the right one. That we now see even desktop all-in-ones becoming large tablets (seriously, have you seen the Dell Venue Pro 18″ tablets? Crazy!) and touch slowly but surely spreading even to budget level laptops, is a good sign the convergence Microsoft predicted when it announced the original Surface Pro is really happening.

Problems I had & Solutions Microsoft offered

Surface by Microsoft

I mentioned the problem my original Surface Pro had with its wifi chip awhile ago, but there’s more to that story. In fact, just a couple of weeks ago my Surface Pro once again began having problems with the wifi chip, and no update, driver replacement, or even a system reset helped. Eventually the device started blue screening repeatedly, so I took it in to see what Microsoft could do for me. To my complete surprise, they handed me a brand new Surface Pro 2 and even let me pay the difference to upgrade it to the 256GB/8GB model, which I eagerly did. The new device is basically all the great stuff about Surface Pro 1, distilled into a purer form. Same weight, size and shape, slightly better screen (though I honestly can’t tell the difference, for what it’s worth), and the Type Cover 2 is a fantastic little keyboard that does its job with aplomb. I’m very happy indeed, and more than glad I bought the extended warranty.

Value Proposition

I’ve seen a lot of folks argue that the Surface Pro series is too expensive, and I can understand why. $999 before you even add the keyboard seems like a pretty tough pill to swallow, especially for a tablet when you live in a world of $499 iPads and $199 Kindle Fires. But I think it’s worth remembering what you get when you buy into the Surface Pro system:

1. You get an ultrabook that can run just about any legacy Windows app you can throw at it. It has excellent RAM options (4-8GB) and storage options (64-512GB), a full-sized USB port and both wired and wireless external monitor support (the latter via Miracast). In Apple land, this costs you $900 minimum.

2. You get a tablet that can do anything an iPad or Android tablet can do, plus more, with the only drawback being sheer numbers of apps. Even that is changing as the Windows Store approaches 200,000 and will soon merge with the Windows Phone store to boot. And because it’s Windows, you also get the perk of individual user accounts right out of the box. In Apple land, this is another $400+

3. A digital drawing/inking solution. Whether you just take notes or you do fine art, the Surface Pro has you covered. You don’t get this in Apple land at all. You instead buy a USB tablet that does not have a screen for $100+, or you buy a Cintiq to connect to your Macbook for $1,000.

Long story short: at first glance, yes, it looks like Surface Pro/2 is expensive, but you get a tremendous amount of value for your money.

Last Words

Would I recommend the Surface Pro or Pro 2? Absolutely, especially if you’re an artist or someone who’s just sick and tired of lugging around multiple devices. We live in a world where our computing hardware is not just powerful, but can do its job with surprisingly little energy or heat. There’s just no reason to carry two devices in your bag in addition to the smartphone in your pocket. If I could have a wish granted, it’d be for Microsoft to add an extra USB 3.0 port, thunderbolt, and move from an mSATA to a PCIe SSD. Mind you, it doesn’t exactly need those items, but the hardware nerd in me would be really happy to have them.

As for Surface Pro 3, well, I’d love to review it, and more importantly I’d love to put it in the hands of our classically trained illustrator so she can put it through its paces and render a verdict on its usefulness as an artist’s digital tablet, but so far haven’t had any luck getting time with the new device. But hey, if Microsoft would like to let us borrow one, we could probably work something out!

Oh, almost forgot: do buy Microsoft’s extended warranty for Surface Pro, no matter what version you buy. It’ll really pay off if anything ever goes wacky with your device, and it even offers accidental damage protection, which is usually pretty expensive if it’s offered at all.

[throwitawayokay]

This is confusing. A lot of your favorite fandom creators, out of nowhere, are being accused of endangering minors and others for making n*fw content or following/being-friends-with people who do; that is a serious claim, and a frightening one, and no one would say such a thing if they weren’t 100% sure they were correct about it, right? After all, to say something about someone is an awful thing to say, and needs proof and reason, or else it is libel and grounds for a defamation lawsuit and would, morally, be an absolutely terrible thing to accuse a person of if it was not true.

Obviously, they must have reason. Obviously, these accusations are founded and must eventually prove to be true, even if they cannot now, or maybe they can, maybe the accusations would hold up in a court of law, but for some reason the same people making these accusations... won’t come out directly and accuse these people and don’t have any evidence besides what they ‘think’ this other person is thinking.

Someone has made an argument, somewhere, that writing n*fw of aged up minor characters in atla is predatory behavior and endangering to minors. Is it?

1. Is it legal?

  Easy answer, yes. It’s legal. By definition it is p*rn of adult characters, regardless of where it originates. None of it is on tumblr, where it would not be allowed, but instead on a web site where it is clearly tagged and behind an age limit. In fact, this argument would be laughed out of court. Because no law is protecting the n*fw depictions of fictional characters, who are not real, regardless of age, besides potentially copyright.

If the stories are about underage fictional characters? It still, at least by USofA law, still not illegal. Yes. That’s correct. Stories depicting underage fictional characters in s*xual situations does not follow under the definition of child p*rn and is allowed in publication and law. To see proof of that, besides reading the actual law which you are free to do, simply note the fact that Stephen King’s It is not only still in print but recently had two film adaptations.

So that, would in fact, be allowed; however what is being called into question is depicting adult fictional characters in n*fw situations. A completely different thing that is, actually, very different from the other. But, to simply answer the question of legality, it’s all legal.

2. When is it endangering to minors?

  This content can, in fact, be endangering to minors when they are exposed to it either without warning, in a search, or if they are sent this content by another person. Ways that this could happen are if n*fw images appear google searches (where such content can be reported and taken down) or if n*fw writing is not properly tagged or accompanied by archive warnings (posted on ffnet for example or not properly rated on ao3). If this is happening, it is a good idea to go to the website to report it properly, or have someone contact the artist/author about the lack of tagging - the content itself is irregardless, the problem that exists here is the lack of warning.

N*fw art is also not allowed by the tumblr guidelines; feel free to report it if seen. Please, however, take a step back to remember than an image of a person in their underwear is not, in fact, p*rnography. If you’ve ever walked past a billboard for a clothing company or seen a Victoria’s Secret catalogue you should know this. There is, in fact, an actual parameter for what sets apart sfw and n*fw.

If this content, however, has been properly tagged and is behind a proper age limit, with warnings and the like, it is not endangering toward minors. Clicking on a n*fw art or writing with clear warnings for what it is does not make the creator of that content responsible; a p*rn star is not responsible for endangering minors if a minor answers falsely to a website agreement stating they are 18 and views their content. The responsibility lies with the minor as well as the guardians of that minor for not teaching them how to responsibly search the internet and recognize what they should or should not be viewing.

If you are not mature enough to recognize this, you should not be online.

3. But I disagree?

  You are within your rights to have a difference of opinion or feel uncomfortable if a person posts links to their n*fw content, or mentions that they make n*fw content. In fact, n*fw content makes many people uncomfortable. There are many ways to avoid seeing this.

First, go to the filter on your blog and filter all n*fw related tags you can think of. Next, block the blogs you do not personally like; feel free to block as many blogs, for any reason, that you like. This is absolutely fine and no explanation is needed. If you feel uncomfortable having your blog followed by any adults at all, you can also take steps to make the blog unsearchable and only follow as few people as you like.

What you should not do is harass people for making content that you personally do not like. This includes n*fw content. Making such incredibly serious claims as to state someone is a predator who endangers minors for making n*fw content in your fandom is unfounded, dangerous, and entirely irresponsible. Adults participating in this rhetoric need to take a very good look at themselves, and minors who have been experiencing anxiety as a result of this claim, I am very sorry.

4. What was the aunt-suki thing?

  Where did this whole thing start? No one was making this point only a few months ago, did it just pop up out of nowhere?

^ this blog, since deleted [also goes formerly by tumble-dump (now lil-baby-man) as well as jetru(deleted) safe-for-atla, and dennis-quaid] spearheaded this opinion after accusing one of the largest creators in the fandom, an adult doc (relevant later), of endangering minors for an image posted to tumblr with possible suggestive themes (Tumblr does not allow n*fw art, it was not n*fw). Aunt-Suki is a 23 year old, self-described “titanium white” woman. She stated directly that anyone who posted n*fw content behind age limit barriers was predatory and that n*fw artwork of atla characters was rampant on this website without evidence.

After curating a blocklist, and admittedly receiving hate for doing so (despite oddly enough asking for anon hate on several occasions) aunt-suki did in fact create a first draft blocklist including fandom creators who make n*fw content, who are follow or are friends with those who make nsfw content despite not doing it themselves, and people who specifically asked her to be on the blocklist. This, in itself, was fine. A list of creators making n*fw content could, in fact, be helpful and good for those who do not want to see such content to have a handy resource of who to block and avoid. Unfortunately, the rhetoric of “they are all predators” was something aunt-suki fostered and continued to repeat, getting a lot of people to also feel the same way. This invited harassment, much of which directly done and targeted at others by aunt-suki. She repeatedly stated on her blog ‘I am safe, no one else is unless I say so, in order to keep yourself safe you must ask me who is bad [paraphrase, not direct quote]’ insisting that anyone who wished to know who was a predator on the website had to privately DM her for the information. Aunt-Suki used this to gain followers of minors and to specifically foster friendships with them.

We know this because aunt-suki made a post exposing herself. An anon asked her to defend the way she interacted with minors and she defended herself with phrases such as “I love kids so much more than grown ups”[quote], stating she runs a server of 13+ wlw and they all “care a lot about each other”; she also admitted she takes it upon herself to “expose kids to [heavy topics]” including race, sexism, queer issues, mental health, politics, etc. Aunt-Suki is not a trained professional for these issues and admits in the same post that she does not understand how there could be any difference in power dynamics between her and these teenagers.

In addition, while defending these close relationships with minors that she specifically admits to reaching out for, Aunt-Suki also divulged her past at 18 years old of saying the n-word (excused by explaining she has a black friend); somehow stating that this is the reason why she should, as a 23 year old white adult, be allowed to discuss “heavy topics” with minors.

This most certainly calls into question the fact that it was, with one exception, non-white creators that aunt-suki chose to publicly call out by name.

After being asked to defend herself for these actions she admitted to, Aunt-Suki deleted her blog but has continued to go online on her others blogs and discords, dm’ing others and making posts accusing people who called her out of being predators, asking for sympathy, blaming her actions on her adhd, and refusing to answer any of the messages sent to her. Other large creators have made posts about this, very rarely using her name to allow her some anonymity or time to explain her actions, which she has not done. She choose instead to send anonymous messages further accusing these creators.

5. Why did you tell me that?

  This directly illustrates the problem with presenting an issue such as n*fw art/writing in the fandom without pointing out why others might disagree with it; and jumping past logic to decry those who don’t agree with extremely serious accusations. Someone with actual ill (or misguided) attentions may take advantage, deliberately isolating minors and portraying themselves as ‘good and safe’ while slowly whittling down who the minors can and cannot follow until no one able to call them out when they are the one participating in actual behavior that is inappropriate to minors.

6. I still don’t agree with the first points.

  That’s fine. Please call out actual predators if you see them. Do not, however, do so without any evidence or for reasons that simply are not, and never would be, considered basis for doing so in any legal or reasonable capacity.