#i need to be able to anticipate how the verb is going to make sense of the sentence

[coolxatu]

man i just realized how much translating in my head is hurting my japanese rn

ive been getting really frustrated lately with how i cant make sense of full sentences despite knowing most of the words in them and i think its cause the words turn straight to english in my head so i just end up with a bunch of words out of proper english order and the meaning gets lost along the way

[floralseokjin]

— crystallised 07 (m)

crystallised /ˈkrɪst(ə)lʌɪz/ (verb) make or become definite and clear

Six weeks, that’s all it takes to forget about the threesome you shared with your boyfriend, Yoongi, and your past…fuck buddy, Seokjin. After all, it’s no big deal. Yoongi and you are doing better than ever, there’s no reason to regret such a night shared. That is until you hear some gossip in the library one day, and then slowly, little by little, everything starts to fall apart… Can you begin to make sense out of all this confusion, or is it too late?

pairing; kim seokjin x reader  genre/warnings; smut; oral, fluff for like the first scene.. and then the drama and the angst kicks in 😬 oc really doesn’t have a good track record with parties bless her 🤧 words; 8,724

sequel to;  memoirs of a mistake + losytmyhead

chapters; 01 ⤑ 02 ⤑ 03 ⤑ 04 ⤑ 05 ⤑ 06 ⤑ 07⤑ 08 ✓

“What are you doing?” Seokjin chuckled, chin jutting into his chest, trying to save himself as your lips puckered against his neck, tickling him. You hummed into the skin before biting it playfully. “You’re going to miss what’s happening.”

You lifted your head, mouth now seeking his. “Don’t care,” you said against it. 

“You don’t care?” He repeated, amused. He shut up for minute when your tongue swiped his bottom lip, kissing you back before quickly pulling away. “You’re the one who suggested we put it on.” 

“Fine.” You rested your head on his shoulder, attention now back on the laptop sat between your bodies on the bed. You hadn’t given up entirely though. The movie had been an excuse. Not that you needed one to hang out with Seokjin. He was your boyfriend now after all. The word still made you giddy. Even a week later.

But back to the “excuse.” It was an excuse to get him on your bed. Excuse to touch him and kiss him and everything else you were burning to do. You hadn’t seen him much all week, and if truth be told you were still tingling from the night shared at his. It was the first time you’d gotten intimate like that since you’d gotten together, and while it was amazing, you wouldn’t mind doing it with you clothes off this time. 

It wasn’t long before your hand was rooming his body. Across his chest, down his stomach, lifting under the fabric of his sweatshirt to graze the fine hair that trailed down to his crotch. He yielded first, hands reaching for your face, angling you to kiss him. With a little mischievous smirk you slid your hand further, over the front of his shorts, cupping his dick. You massaged him, feeling him begin to grow hard against your palm. As he groaned against your lips your excitement grew. 

He murmured your name, sounding a little dazed. “What’s with you tonight?” 

“What do you think?” The rhetorical wasn’t enough. You wanted to spell it out to him. Bravely. “I’m horny.” 

You think it did the job, your words having the desired effect. He was on your mouth before you could take another breath. Laptop lying forgotten, as good as squashed when he rolled on top of you, movie playing to itself. His hands groped your body almost eagerly, like he’d been waiting for this a long time and that just got your heartbeat racing, body burning. 

So it was like he’d thrown a cup of iced water over you when he pulled away abruptly. 

“Let’s stop now,” he murmured, kissing the top of your nose. 

You laughed, believing he was just teasing you, only the way he began to lift from your body told you he wasn’t. “Serious?” You asked, smile falling from your face. He’d just been making out with you furiously not five seconds ago, dick as hard as ever, and now he wanted to stop? 

He eyed you, sensing the edge in your tone and tried to sound casual. “It’s getting late. We won’t be able to finish the movie.” 

Frustration filled you, followed by some unexplainable embarrassment. So you’d basically made a fool of yourself just now, not realising you were going to get rejected like that… Because that’s what it was… Rejection. “That’s what you care about?” You asked, pushing at his shoulder to wriggle out from under him. He slowly sat up, finally pausing the movie. You guessed he really didn’t want to miss it…

“I don’t understand what’s going on. Don’t you want me?” Shit. You cursed inwardly, the question leaving you before you could stop it. Way to sound desperate. 

“Of course I do,” he protested. “I just…” 

His hesitation was enough to hurt your feelings even more, embarrassment now prickling your skin. You rolled onto you side, saving face. “Whatever, finish your stupid movie.” 

You felt like an idiot. Rejection was never fun, but neither was conflict. You hated feeling annoyed at Seokjin – mad even. 1. Because it felt just plain wrong. Especially after all the recent happiness, and 2. It was plain childish this issue was over sex. It was stupid how something like that could turn you into an insecure fool, but you just wanted him. Wanted to show him how much he meant to you. Was that such a bad thing? 

“No,” Seokjin insisted, and you felt him move closer, holding onto your arm. He shook it lightly. “I do want you.” Despite your slight humiliation, it began to disappear when his face found its way into the crook of his neck, mouth kissing away furiously.  He felt your body ease up and kissed your earlobe once, before trailing across your cheek. Try as he might though, he couldn’t reach your mouth. 

“Please kiss me back,” he whined, hugging into your body. You couldn’t help your giggle. 

That did it. His hands beginning to tickle you as his mouth found the side of your neck again. You shrieked. “Stop!” You tried to squirm away, but he latched onto you, laughing. “Okay, okay,” you gave in, able to get on your back. You reached for the back of his head to pull him forward, but his mouth was already on yours before you got halfway. 

He rolled on top of you, rocking his body into yours in a much less eager rhythm than before. He was sure to be gentle, sure to be sweet, and your skin began to flush once again in excitement. He was warm and having his body on top of yours made you feel safe. This time you were sure he wasn’t going to pull away, and you were correct. He deepened the kiss, hands cradling your face like he was determined to put your mind at ease, and it was you who had to pull away in the end. Jaw beginning to ache, a little out of breath. 

“I do want you,” he repeated softly. He hesitated for a second before deciding to continue. “I’m just kinda nervous.” 

You held onto him, feeling slightly guilty for your melodramatics just a moment ago. The thought of him being nervous had never really crossed your mind, because, well, he was Seokjin. Seokjin never got nervous about stuff like that. No matter what, sex was the one thing he seemed to be genuinely confident in. “Why?” You whispered. “It’s just me.” You’d been intimate way too many times to count. What had changed? 

He gave you a coy smile, fighting through his embarrassment. “It’s been a while.” 

You giggled, reaching to kiss him. Okay, you understood. You cocked an eyebrow, knowing the best way to put him at ease would be with some light teasing. “Kim Seokjin forgetting how to pleasure women?” 

He rolled his eyes, playing too. “Well, I am human too.” 

You burst out laughing, Seokjin joining in too before the urge to kiss again got too damn much. It was with intent this time, each stroke of his tongue turning you to putty, his hands running down your body. You pushed into him, your legs tangling with his, before he used one hand to grip your ass, lifting you to hold you to his crotch. He let it grind with his, controlling the movement with small circles. You couldn’t help but moan out a little. The sensation of his hardness rubbing against you reminding you of a few nights ago when you’d humped one another silly. 

He pushed you into the bed now, giving you a few more tiny grinds before he eased up and a hand slipped into your shorts, bypassing your underwear completely. Your head fell back, pressing into the pillow as you felt one of his long fingers stroke down your folds, the sweet relief rendering you immobile. You gasped when he began circling your clit, so slowly, yet so precisely it took you everything to open your mouth and speak. “Nope,” you sighed happily. “You didn’t forget anything.” 

He chuckled. “I haven’t even done anything yet.” 

With his mouth at your neck, the time for talking was finally over. You concentrated on the sensation of his lips, trailing their way to the collar of your t-shirt and back up again. You concentrated on the way his hand pleasured you, fingers dragging down your slit once again to circle your entrance. You were hyperaware of how wet you were and for some puzzling reason that embarrassed you just a smidge. Maybe because yes, he hadn’t actually done anything yet. Your excitement was just too much, anticipation itching at your whole body. You squirmed under him, desperate to just feel his fingers inside of you. You almost opened your mouth and begged, but then you felt his other hand tug at the waistband of your shorts. He wanted you naked. 

And naked he got you. From the waist down. He ogled for a moment; it was actually pretty funny. Mesmerised by a sight he hadn’t seen in the longest time, and then he was on you. Hand between your legs, grinding down, tongue in your mouth, making you breathless. You planted your feet against the mattress, which was lucky, because no sooner had you done so, he was pushing a finger inside of you. You moaned, hips jumping up. Fuck, it had been so long since you’d felt even an ounce of this kind of pleasure. Masturbation was good, but never this good. Seokjin was enjoying himself too, getting used to how you felt again and how you liked it. 

He lowered his face to yours, a smile spreading. He looked insanely happy, like sweetly happy, which was hilarious considering he was now two fingers wide inside of you, gliding them in and out of your body like he was playing a rhythm. It honestly felt so good you could cry. 

“What?” You whispered; voice uneven. You subconsciously spread your legs wider. 

“Nothing,” he said innocently but his actions were anything but. He curled his fingers inside of you, keeping deep, and you twisted in pleasure, moaning out. He liked that, moaning too. “You’re so wet.” That you were. It stuck to the inside of your thighs now and sounded around the room with each thrust of his fingers. Sticky and lewd, but hot and beautiful. So very hot. 

He watched you intently, studying your face, almost like he was too afraid to kiss you in case he missed something. There was a glint in his eyes though. Something needy. It all made sense when he spoke again. He was so close his hot breath fanned across your face. “Mm. Is there anything you really want me to do?” 

He was hinting. How cute. He was too nervous to just say outright what he wanted to do to you. Because you knew what it was. You’d guessed it straight away earlier when his eyes had been glued to your centre. Or maybe that was just your urge talking. It really had been the longest time since he’d eaten you out.  

“Mouth,” you moaned, unable to stop yourself from reaching and kissing his, tongues meshing together for a few quick seconds before you pulled away. “Want your mouth.” 

From the moment you felt his tongue between your legs you were done for. He was a little hesitant at first, looking up at your face to see if you were enjoying yourself, but your reactions encouraged him soon enough. He took his time, getting familiar with being this intimate with your body again. How you felt, how you tasted, how you liked it. 

The last part was easy though. You were so sensitive every drag of his tongue exploded your nerves. You found yourself remembering back to when he’d eaten you out the very first time. In the back of his car after a very confident and brazen proposition. You would never regret accepting. Not when this was the outcome. You and him. 

You came hard, to the warmth of Seokjin’s tongue – when he was finally done dragging it out as much as possible of course. It dazed you. Made you feel all warm and sated. Like you wanted to hold Seokjin tight and never let him go, because he knew your body so well, like you’d never been apart. Knew how to make you feel good. But more than that, you never wanted to let him go because he made you so happy. Everything about him. Maybe it was the orgasm making you sappy. So you kept quiet. Didn’t stop you from wrapping your arms around his shoulders though, when he crawled up your body, holding him tight like your heart wanted. 

“Good?” He asked, a little out of breath. 

“So good,” you nodded, giggling a little when you caught a proper look at him. His mouth and chin shining in the dim lighting. You really had been that wet, huh? You went to wipe him clean in apology. “You’re all sticky.” 

He shook you away. “Mm. I like it.” That made you laugh harder, squealing when he squashed his lips to yours. You didn’t really mind though, kissing him happily. 

Besides, there was something distracting you. Like your need to return the favour. You had started this night wanting it to end in sex, but now you really had the mightiest of urges to suck his dick. Just as good as he’d gone down on you. Sex could wait until next time. This was equally as great. 

You pulled back, running a hand though his hair. “Your turn.” He was rock solid; you could feel his erection pressing into you every now and then. You didn’t know how he had the strength to essentially be ignoring it right now. 

His eyes widened. It was actually pretty comical. “I’m okay, honest. If you don’t want to, it’s fine.”  

You dropped your head to the side, looking at him as if he was dumb. “Jin,” you cupped his face between your hands. “Of course I want to.” You kissed him. “Yeah?” 

He reached for your mouth again, humming against it. He pushed his crotch entirely into yours then, finally trying to ease the pressure. “Yeah.”

He was on his back with you straddling him in seconds. You kissed him hard, excitement rolling through your body at such a high frequency you felt like you were vibrating. The urge to just pleasure him and make him feel good was just too much. You detached your mouths and ran your hands down his chest and sides as you slipped lower, butt settling on his thighs, and then you glided a hand across his clothed dick. Poor thing was sick of being restricted, ready to explode, and it struck you, why were you still playing about when you could finally get ahold of him properly? Wrap your fist around his pretty dick and run it across the hot, thick flesh. Make Seokjin feel just as amazing as he’d made you feel. 

“I’ll cum really fast,” he told you, mildly embarrassed, his shorts now lose around his calves, cock wrapped in your hand. You could feel it tightening against your palm, squeezing in anticipation. 

“What’s new?” You teased, watching him shift and attempt to prop himself up with your cushions. 

“Hey,” he whined, before he faltered a little, jaw falling slack as you began to run your fist over him. 

It was almost exhilarating, getting to feel him like this again after so long. To feel how his body keened to you. He let out a breathy sigh when your thumb circled the tip of him, spreading the precum already formed against the sensitive skin. You bit down on your bottom lip, a need in your stomach growing. To taste him, to feel him in your mouth. You’d never wanted to suck dick so bad in your life. The power of Kim Seokjin. 

“No, really though—ahhh,” he broke off suddenly, strangled noise catching in his throat as you pounced. 

Maybe wanting to get a better view, or maybe just unable to know what to do with himself, he sat up, watching his dick disappearing into your mouth, feeling your tongue wash and curl around it. He dug his fingers into the sheets, his breathing laboured as he moaned lowly, mesmerised at the sight. 

“Shit.” He cursed when you choked a little, getting a little too overzealous, you admitted. But he seemed to enjoy it, hips bucking up, eager for the sensation again. So you repeated, jaw aching as you stretched around him, trying to get his big ass dick as far as it would go without suffocating you. 

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, thighs tensing up. You came up for air and he quickly wrapped his fist around the base of his dick, squeezing tightly, as if he was desperate not to cum yet. He gave you a coy chuckle and you reached up to kiss him, giggling too. 

“You can cum, you know. I won’t mind.” You murmured, nudging his hand out the way so yours could take its place, beginning to rock it up and down. Your weight against his chest toppled him back to the mattress and you both landed with a soundless puff. You kissed him wildly. Your lips were wet so they slid against his easily, only making you lose yourself further. 

He groaned as you picked up the pace of your fist, air squelching through the gaps, his cock slick with your saliva. You glided easily, grip tight enough to work your magic, concentrating on the head, fast but determined jerks, rendering Seokjin pretty incapable of trying to hold off coming any longer. 

He grunted against your mouth, pulling back to catch his breath, each exhale sounding more like a moan than anything else. “Don’t stop.” You grinned, mouth on his neck now. He’d given in. “Shit,” he cursed quietly. You could feel him pulling his sweatshirt up his stomach a little, preparing for the spill. That was adorable. He didn’t want to stain his clothing, and just like that you felt a fresh urge. “I’m gonna–c–”

“No, wait,” you half yelped, bouncing back, your movements stopping. He looked at you with wide eyes, pleasure on his face almost turning into betrayal. Well, you had been the one telling him to cum minutes before. You were evil. Yet you were positive he’d enjoy your idea much better than coming on his own stomach. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whined. “Don’t you want to cum in my mouth?” 

You forgot how easy it was to talk so candidly like this. With Seokjin you could say whatever you wanted. No matter how dirty or sordid. 

“Cum in your–? Yeah,” He nodded breathlessly. “Fuck. Yeah.” He was babbling, lost in his own pleasure bubble as you crawled back down his body, raking your fingers slowly along his length before your mouth reached him, lips wrapping around the head to suck at the sensitive skin. He trembled under you. 

You eased up, wrapping your hand around him again, jerking him tightly right under your mouth. He reacted, hips steadily rising up with each movement and you popped your mouth off him completely, now letting your tongue swirl and flick sticky patterns across the swollen tip. 

You looked up at him, not noticing he’d been staring down at you this whole time, watching your every action, eyes glassy, and you give him a smile. He groaned, expression scrunching up before his eyes fluttered closed and he let his head fall back agains the pillows, one of his hands running across his forehead. Not long now. His body was taut, chest heaving for oxygen. 

You wrapped your mouth around him again, flattening your tongue and jerked him harder, hearing him grunt, hips shooting up and stiffening. You released your grip on his cock as you waited for the first spurt of cum, only to tighten again when you tasted the second.

Squeezing him before you raked your fist up and down slowly, massaging him, dragging out his pleasure as he emptied every last drop of cum inside your mouth and down your throat as you swallowed. 

You only let him go when he softened, sensitive, even the warmth of your mouth agitating him now. He managed to lift his head up, glancing down at you in a daze and you laughed, making your way up his body. He reached for you, caressing your sides. “You okay,” he asked weakly. 

You nodded, hand stroking down his chest. “Yep.” You were more than okay. On top of the world. “Are you?” 

He cupped one of his hands over yours and chuckled. “You literally blew my brains out, but yeah, I’m great.” 

You couldn’t hide your grin, tugging at his sweatshirt so he would sit up. So you could wrap your arms around him, and hug him, and kiss him, and— Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash just as Seokjin obliged and sat up. You jumped a mile, instinctively gripping to him, eyes wide. “What was that?” 

He laughed loudly, amused by the scared look on your face and wrapped his arms around your middle. “Your laptop.” Oh, shit. You’d forgotten about that. Amazed it had even lasted that long on your bed with all the movement. Must’ve been hanging on for dear life, finally unable to save itself. 

You made to move and pick it up but Seokjin squeezed you to him. “No, leave it,” he whined, placing a pouty kiss on your mouth. “It’s fine,” he reassured. “Wanna hold youuu.” 

And who were you to say no to that? Although, if the screen was cracked, he was paying for it to get repaired… 

“How long do we have,” Seokjin asked as he walked back into his bedroom, towel slung around his hips, another in his hand as he rubbed it through his hair, attempting to dry it. 

“Hm. Like three hours.” It was a few days later, Hoseok’s birthday, and he was having a party later on tonight. It was supposed to be a surprise but living with Namjoon he was bound to find out one way or the other. 

You got up, shimmying your cardigan off and throwing it on the bed. “You gonna shower now?” He asked. 

“Mmhm.” You nodded, attempting to raise your tank top over your head. 

“Babe,” Seokjin protested, realising you were stripping in here. “Sandeul is in his room. You can’t just walk out there naked.” 

You paused, tugging it back down over your stomach to roll your eyes playfully. “You walked back in pretty much naked.” Besides, as if you would do that. Your towel was in here. You wouldn’t be streaking it past his room. 

“That’s different,” he said. “I’m not my girlfriend.” He let his words sink in before puzzling.  “Wait…” 

You chuckled, moving closer to him. “I get what you mean.” He dropped the towel he’d been using to dry his hair on the floor, instantly wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. There were still water droplets against his shoulders, back too you found out as you ran your hands across it. If you thought about it, it was a wonder you hadn’t tried to jump his bones already. He was illegal in just this towel. Smelling of strawberries and still wet. You leant in closer, lips nearly touching. You were only half joking. “Can’t we just blow the party off?” 

Seokjin chuckled, squeezing you tighter to him “And break Hobi’s heart? No way.”

You grumbled, mouths finally meeting in warm sticky goodness. Kissing Seokjin was like breathing to you now. Funny because even though it seemed like a lifetime ago, you still remembered when it hadn’t always been that way. When it had taken you literal weeks to kiss at all in the original days. Unbelievable now, not when his lips fit so well against yours. 

“I can’t stop thinking about the other night,” you said quietly. You’d been glowing ever since. Boss complimenting you on your new and improved customer service skills that had magically appeared in the last few days. What could you say? Orgasms and sucking dick put you in an exceptionally good mood. 

From the way you could feel something tenting against Seokjin’s towel you guessed it excited him too. Cheekily his hands found their way to your ass, giving it a squeeze. You were growing hot fast, head fuzzy, body greedy. In the thick of it a memory popped into your mind. “Remember when we fucked in the shower that one time? You slipped and nearly died.” 

Seokjin laughed softly, hands sliding up the small of your back now. You shivered. “I nearly smashed my pretty little face in.” 

You reached to kiss him again, he returned the action, getting your hopes up. It was only  when he pulled away did you realise that he’d only been indulging you. He gave a little tap to your side. “Speaking of showers… Weren’t you about to take one?” 

He was already walking away, towards his nightstand to grab his watch. “But I–

“Maybe we should get there a little earlier.” He interrupted. You couldn’t tell if he’d done it on purpose or if you’d just spoken at the same time. But he didn’t let you carry on like he usually did anyway... “Just to hang out. Before people start arriving.” 

Uh oh. It was coming back. That feeling. The one you’d gotten a few nights ago in your bed. Rejection. Embarrassing rejection. Unexplainable. Possibly an overreaction, but you couldn’t ignore it. Not when heat prickled your skin and your stomach sank. You just felt plain stupid. You tried to remember what he’d told you. He wanted you. He really did. You knew that, but why were you so insecure lately? 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been into it the other night. He’d really enjoyed himself, made sure you did too and afterwards he’d kissed and held you before you’d fallen asleep. Just now even, moments ago, he’d grown hard easily. He’d wanted you, yet there was still something holding him back. Something he was hesitant about. 

“I don’t get it.” 

You accidentally said it out loud. Seokjin was a little puzzled until he caught a look at your face. He steeled himself, sounding casual when he spoke next, picking up the towel he’d thrown on the floor. “We’re in the middle of getting ready.” Any other time, any other scenario and that would be fine. It was the truth after all. But your insecurities were screaming at you. You watched him sit on the bed, beginning to dry his hair again. “Besides, didn’t we agree to take it slow?”

You froze, struggling for words. “We did, but I just…” Were you foolish to think that had past now? That was when things were still new, a little uncertain. Things were serious now. He’d asked you to be his girlfriend a week ago. You clenched your teeth, deciding you wouldn’t back down. Something was up, and you wanted to know what. He was giving you conflicting messages. “There comes a point where it just feels like you’re blowing me off. I understand wanting to take it slow. I wanted that too, but now I just want to show you how much you mean to me.” 

Were you wrong to think like that? Sex definitely wasn’t the be all, end all. You’d come to realise that these past few months. Because you and Seokjin were more than that. Always had been despite not releasing, but it didn’t mean it had to become some sort of forbidden subject between the two of you. An awkward conversation. 

“I’m not blowing you off.” There was an edge to his voice, unable to hide it. That just pissed you off. It flared through your body. 

“Well then what is it?” You demanded. He shrugged, standing up to start searching for clothes in his closet. No. he wasn’t blowing this argument off too. It had already started in your eyes now. You hated conflict, but you wanted answers. “You’re doing it right now. Just say now if you don’t want me like that anymore.” 

“Of course I want you.” He exclaimed, surprising you with the volume. “I’ve already said like a hundred times. What kind of question is that? I’ve always wanted you. Long before you wanted me.” 

You gaped. “Seokjin, what the hell.” The silence that stretched between you seemed to last forever. You were hyper aware of your heart thudding in your chest, in your ears. You wanted to ask him what that meant? If he held it against you… But now no words would leave your mouth. Maybe you were too scared of the answer. 

He drew back from the closet, shaking his head a little as if clearing his mind, stepping closer to you. His voice was gentle when he spoke again. “I just want everything to be perfect the first time. It’s nothing bad. Just that.” 

You frowned. What did that mean? Candles and sensual music? That didn’t seem Seokjin’s style. Besides, there had been plenty of perfect opportunities, and why was this the first time you were hearing about it? 

“Really? Because I feel like it’s more than that.” You weren’t buying it, but the worry on his face began to unsettle you. He sat down. You joined him. “Seokjin,” you begged softly, trying to get through to him. “I just want to be with you. I miss you.” Being this open was a weird feeling for you, but you were trying to be different. To face your fears even in the midst of uncertainty. 

He dropped his head into his hands. “I’m sorry.” 

Concern twisted in your gut. Whatever was wrong was more than just sex. “Seokjin, if there’s something wrong, just tell me,” you said softly. “If you’re worried about something, I don’t know, you can talk to me.” 

He shook his head, laughing weakly at himself. “I’m just being fucking stupid.”

“About what?” 

He hesitated. “I just… I feel under pressure.”

You frowned. “Under pressure?” You didn’t get it.  

“I keep thinking.” For some reason, despite wanting answers, you had a bad feeling about this. A sick feeling. “About us… About that night. You know,” he looked up, not needing to spell it out, but doing so anyway, “with Yoongi.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You were instantly defensive, a bite to your voice. 

He tugged at his hair, frustrated. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Whatever. You’d just explain for him. “It ruined things?” 

“What?” He scoffed, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. “No. It didn’t, of course it didn’t. I just—

“Oh, my god,” you couldn’t let him finish. You couldn’t even listen to him. Too scared, but also your mind was running away with you. Racing, making you dizzy. “I knew there was something wrong. Why you didn’t want to have sex with me.” 

“That’s not the issue.” He insisted. “Nothing’s ruined like that. It’s me. It’s all on me. I–I…” He trailed off, struggling.

“I don’t understand.” If anything you were even more confused now. You stood up abruptly, grabbing your cardigan. “I need to go.” 

“What?” He looked up. “But Hobi’s party?” 

“I don’t know if I can go.” You didn’t even know if you were making sense yourself. Talking but your mind still racing. “I need–I need a moment to—

“Stay,” he rushed, standing up too, reaching for your hand. “Look. We don’t have to go. We can stay here and talk.” 

“I don’t want to talk.” You shook your head. He stared at you, looking hurt, dropping your hand abruptly. You cursed at yourself. Things were coming out wrong. “Not right now anyway.” 

“So you’re just gonna run away?” Yes, you were. “You ask me what’s up, I’m trying to tell you and now you can’t handle it?” 

Maybe he was right. “I don’t–I don’t even understand what’s going on,” you admitted. You wish you’d never pressed him now. You hated arguments. Always ran away at the first signs of conflict. Why did you think that could change?

Seokjin kept silent, still looking at you, hurt in his eyes. You could stay. Let him talk, understand what he meant. But you were too scared. Scared you’d hate the reality. Scared it would hurt you. You took a step backwards. You needed some space. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow or something, okay?” 

He still didn’t say anything. Just let you pick up your bag and watched you leave. 

.

.

Not exactly surprising but being alone just made everything worse. Curled up on your sofa with nothing but your own thoughts was not fun. Why hadn’t you just stayed? Why hadn’t you just heard Seokjin out, instead of not only speaking over him, but speaking for him too. You kept thinking about what he’d said. About being under pressure and wanting things perfect. About thinking about the threesome. What did that even mean? You’d thought that was behind you. You’d already spoken about it in the beginning and made sense over it, so why did he bring it up? Did he really regret it that much? Or was that just your worry talking? Thinking about it, you’d definitely put words into his mouth. Words he was quick to deny, yet you hadn’t let him give you the actual reason. The one he was struggling with. Still struggling with because you’d just ran away. 

Something else kept fucking with you too. What he’d said when it had first started escalating. He wanted you way before you wanted him. Did he really think that? It had fallen from his mouth so easily. Yes, in some ways it was true. It had taken you a long time to realise your feelings, but you were under the impression he was okay with that. It had taken him a little while to realise too. You were both guilty of it. So why had he said that? Maybe that’s why you’d become so defensive? Hurt by such a flippant remark…

An hour later you were still thinking, wondering if Seokjin had gone to the party without you, when your cell rang. Your stomach flipped, thinking it was him, but you were only left with disappointment when you saw Lina’s name. No offence to your best friend, but she wasn’t who you wanted to talk to right now. You thought about ignoring the call, but couldn’t do it. 

She wanted to know if you were already at the party and if not could she tag along. Jimin was going with some of his friends and he thought it’d be fun if they could meet up. You told her you weren’t going and she took it you and Seokjin were just being being boring spoil sports. No, he was probably there you told her, but you weren’t. There was a pause and then a sigh. “What happened?” 

Half an hour later she was in your bathroom mirror enthusiastically getting ready with you behind her, applying your own make up with not half as much vigour. Somehow she’d convinced you to go to Hoseok’s house party and somehow she’d gotten you to explain every single detail of your argument with Seokjin. 

You finished applying your mascara with a “What if he’s having second thoughts?” 

“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “I know Seokjin really likes you. I could tell by the way he was looking at you last week.”

Your heart warmed at that, but not for too long. You were instantly left wondering where it all went wrong. Maybe it was doomed from the start, maybe you were just too pessimistic. Lina caught a look at your face in the mirror and sighed. “I know it may be unbelievable, but I’m sticking up for him here. The guy sounds worried. You should’ve stayed to talk.” 

“No shit. Thanks for the words of wisdom.” 

She rolled her eyes at your sarcasm. “Let’s just go to the party, you can find him, talk to him. Make up with some kisses!” She puckered her lips way too enthusiastically. 

You pulled a face. That sounded scary more than anything. “Don’t worry,” she told you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and half hugging you. “One argument isn’t the end of everything. You need to quit believing that. Me and Jimin would’ve broken up too many times to count if so!” 

.

.

You spotted Seokjin almost right away, beer in hand, laughing and joking around with a bunch of guys you were vaguely familiar with. For some reason, seeing him so happy and unbothered, like he didn’t have a care in the world, pissed you off. You’d been battling with yourself for the past three hours and he was here, getting drunk. 

He must’ve spotted you too along the way. He came up behind you when you were in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone like a loner because Lina had made an instant beeline for Jimin and you didn’t fancy hanging out and socialising right now. 

“You came?” He sounded surprised, but in a good way. Happy. 

Like an idiot, unable to explain your actions, you just shrugged, locking your phone to turn and acknowledge him. “Mhm.” 

He smiled, not quite catching on to your frosty attitude yet. “That’s great. I didn’t think–I thought you wanted to be alone or something.” 

“Lina persuaded me.” 

“Oh.” Okay, maybe this time he heard the disinterest in your voice. He was a little drunk, you could smell the beer on his breath. Maybe you’d been wrong. Maybe he wasn’t carefree. Just drowning his sorrows. But you’d committed now. You were stubborn. He lowered his voice, leaning in. “Wanna go somewhere and talk?”  

You shrugged again, looking off into the distance. “Not really.” 

“Okay,” he said slowly, finally getting it. “How about I leave you alone then? Because that’s obviously what you want.” Guilt clogged your throat, made it unable to apologise and start over. “I don’t understand. You’re the one who ran out on me. I should be pissed right now.” 

You didn’t reply. He was probably right. “So now you’re not talking entirely? Fine,” he fumed, about to storm off. Only he had something else to say, turning back to whisper it furiously. “Honestly what was the point in us even trying to be together? This is just plain childish.” 

And then he was gone. It took you a few minutes to process his parting words and collect yourself, looking around you to see if anyone had noticed your exchange. They probably hadn’t, but it didn’t stop you from feeling embarrassed. Or maybe that was just because of Seokjin’s words. Childish? Were you childish? That whole interaction was definitely so. God, you were an idiot. 

You should just leave, but then again you couldn’t go without Lina. She’d flip if she knew you went alone. You looked around, which was a bad idea. Just reminded you of all the times you and Jin had been here hanging out with the guys and their girlfriends. Honestly, how could things go so wrong so fast? Days ago you’d been over the moon Seokjin had asked you to be his girlfriend. Now you were close to tears in a crowded party feeling more alone than ever. 

You were making your way up the staircase and aiming for the bathroom before you realised. Maybe some quiet time would help, the music muffled the further you got. You could cool down, have a breather and think about maybe finding Seokjin to apologise for real. What had Lina said? One argument wasn’t the end of a relationship. Only… what Jin had said just now seemed a little more alarming. He was having second thoughts. And now you were spiralling. Why the hell did you have to keep going on at him? Why couldn’t you have just been happy with how things were? Why couldn’t you have been patient? Why couldn’t you have just spoken to Seokjin…?

You got to the bathroom door just to realise it was out of bounds if the sex noises were anything to go by. You hovered, now a little lost. What should you do? You were sure Namjoon or Hoseok wouldn’t mind if you took refuge in one of their rooms. By the looks of things no one was in the both of them, dark inside, doors ajar. You took the first one, pushing inside quickly and close to shutting the door when you looked towards the bed, your heart dropping out of your chest as you let out a surprised gasp. 

Yoongi’s face was lit up by the white glow of his cellphone. He was sat on the bed, back against the wall, equally as surprised as you. It was only when it sunk in, shock wearing off did your heart start beating normally again and you could talk. You had not been expecting anyone to be in here. “Shit. Sorry, Yoongi. I didn’t know you were in here.” 

“It’s fine, my fault for hiding in the dark. Fuck, you gave me a fright.” He chuckled, mildly embarrassed. He sat up straight, changing his posture. “Looking for the bathroom?” 

“It was occupied.” He caught on instantly. You moved closer into the room, forgetting to close the door and leaving it ajar. “What are you doing?” Possibly an invasive question, but the guy was sat here in the dark like some some sort of serial killer. 

“Avoiding you and Jin. I saw you arrive.” Okay. You admired his honesty. He didn’t even sound embarrassed – not that he should. “Don’t worry, it’s an ego thing. From everyone else’s perspective it looks like I got dumped for another guy. Just my luck you’d find me. My fault for coming here in the first place.” 

You were listening, honest. But your eyes were flitting around the room, a strong sense of déjà vu hitting you. The bed, the colour of the walls, even the little metal alarm clock on the side table. Oh fuck. You were so stupid. How hadn’t it dawned on you before bolting in here? This was Namjoon’s room, and that meant–

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel shitty or anything.” Yoongi was still talking, moving forward to click on Namjoon’s lamp. Maybe your face was giving something away, but he was mistaken. “It’s not that serious, I’ll go downstairs soon.” 

“It’s not that,” you shook your head. 

“You okay?” 

“This bedroom…” You said weakly. You’d been so distracted it hadn’t even crossed your mind. 

He slowly nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Mm. Right. Coincidences are a bitch.” He chuckled. Maybe the same thing had happened to him. “Why did I come here again?” Tell you about it…  “Why are you trying to escape into the dark?” 

You kept silent. You didn’t think you could talk right now. Being in this bedroom with Yoongi…the argument with Seokjin… Everything was too much. You felt shaken. 

Yoongi murmured your name, sounding concerned. “What’s up? C’mon, sit.” He demanded lightly, tapping the bed. “Talk to me.” 

You should really just go. No offence to Yoongi, but talking to him was probably a bad idea anyway. He was definitely just being polite and confiding in him about something personal between you and Seokjin seemed wrong. For Seokjin’s sake and his. But maybe you just really wanted to hear his advice. Maybe you wanted Yoongi to tell you everything was going to be okay. He had always seemed like the voice of reason when you were dating. Maybe it was selfish of you, but then again, he’d asked what was wrong…

You sat down. If you ignored the dim light Yoongi had flicked on you were still in the dark. Alone and just voicing your worries out loud into nothing. “Everything’s a mess, Yoongi.” Okay, not into nothing then. You’d said his name. You definitely knew he was there. “I…” You hesitated, still cautious to say Seokjin’s name in front of him. Stupid really, but it just felt awkward. “I don’t think it can work out between me and him.” 

“What do you mean?” Whatever it was, he wasn’t expecting that. 

“I really wanted it to work out,” you whispered. You still felt a little shaky, and your voice didn’t sound your own. 

“I thought everything was going amazing?” He asked. “I saw you guys made it official.”

“It was going great, but I don’t know.” You sighed, unsure where to go from here. Unsure how to explain. “It’s also kinda awkward.” It had to be, right? If Seokjin was unable to tell you what was wrong. If you were unable to listen without getting scared and running off. You were back to square one. But worse than that, you were afraid everything was lost. 

“Everything we once had. I’m scared that it’s different now. That we spent too much time apart.” 

Your deepest, darkest worry. It hung heavy in the silence, mocking you. Yoongi stayed quiet, and you realised how far you’d crossed the line. Despite his understanding towards your relationship with Seokjin, he didn’t want to hear you drivel on. He didn’t want to counsel you. You sighed again, looking across at him. “I’m sorry. I need to find Lina, or just go home.” 

He shook his head, silently telling you it was okay. He was too nice for his own good. “Did something happen tonight?” 

You nodded slowly. “We had an argument.” 

To your surprise he scoffed in amusement. “An argument doesn’t mean the end.” 

Half an hour ago you were begging yourself to believe that. Lina and Yoongi were correct after all, but now? They hadn’t heard what Seokjin had said to you before he stormed off. It seemed pretty final to you. Your heart clenched in physical pain at the thought.  

“You should go talk to him,” Yoongi advised. “Tell him all this. Talk it out.” 

“I can’t. It’ll end in another argument.” Or Seokjin would just confirm your worst fears. You bit down on your bottom lip, fighting the urge to cry. Repeating his words to you downstairs in your head. “He said what was the point.” 

“Hm?” 

You jolted, not realising you’d said it out loud. You shook your head. “He said what was the point in us trying to be together.” 

“He said that?” Yoongi sounded surprised. 

“He was right.” You tried to tell yourself. “We were just kidding ourselves. We made a mistake.” 

“We did?” 

The sound of Seokjin’s voice made you jump and you jerked your head up, seeing his figure in the doorway. He was staring at you, ignoring Yoongi by the side of you. “I came to find you and apologise.” 

You froze, dread filling you. How long had he been stood there, listening behind the door? What did he hear? All of it? Did it even matter? The damage was done. “Seokjin,” you exclaimed, standing up immediately. “I–I… I didn’t mean that—

“Never mind,” he bit, turning back to leave. 

“No, wait!” You called after him, but he didn’t listen. Seokjin–!” You rushed after him, unable to even give Yoongi another glance. In fact, you’d almost forgotten he was even there entirely. All that was on your mind was reaching Seokjin and trying to explain yourself.

You saw him turn down the staircase as you darted through the door and you called his name once again to no avail. When you were halfway down the stairs you only just caught a glance of him leaving the party and slamming the door behind him. You were already out of breath, the panic tightening your chest, but you continued to follow him, looking both left and right as you made it outside. The night air was chilly against your skin, but you couldn’t think of that now, not when you could see him in the near distance, storming ahead and away from you. 

“Seokjin,” you cried, taking off again. Your boots thudded against the sidewalk, just like your heart was against your rib cage. Maybe he was beginning to listen, maybe you were getting through to him, because you swear he was beginning to slow down. You definitely weren’t getting any faster anyway, so that wasn’t an option. “Please,” you called, now within a few feet away from him. “Will you just stop for moment!”

He spun around suddenly, catching you off guard and you stumbled back a little. He looked upset. He looked mad. And you realised the only reason he’d stopped was because he knew you wouldn’t let up.  

“Jin,” you pleaded, trying to catch your breath at the same time. His breathing was also a little heavy, you could hear it from here. “I’m so sorry. Please, just listen—

“Go back to him.” 

That caught you off guard. Of all the things you thought you’d hear it wasn’t that. You puzzled, not really comprehending what he meant. “We were just talking. I found him in there and he asked if I was okay. I was upset, Seokjin.” 

“No. Go back to him.” 

Your heart dropped, finally realising what he was getting at but unable to understand his reasoning. You stared at him, trying to read his face. You got nothing. “I don’t want to.”

“Why? He’s much better than me, right?” He scoffed. “Mr. Perfect.” 

You shook your head back and forth, unable to process what was happening. Where had this all come from? You’d never seen Seokjin like this, let alone heard him speak like this. The tone of his voice was unnerving. Not what you were used to. “What are you going on about?” Your voice was barely there. 

“You said so yourself.” He was blunt. “Yoongi’s perfect, I’m not.” 

When had you ever said that? You had never, ever insinuated, let alone said explicitly that Seokjin wasn’t perfect. He was talking nonsense, but he looked so devastated right now you couldn’t even get angry at him. 

You reached for him, attempting to caress his arm. “Let’s get out of here. We can talk.” 

He jerked out of your grip. “No.” 

“Seokjin, you’re drunk,” you told him sternly. Unable to think of any other way to get through to him. How much had he had to drink to speak this much bullshit? “You’re not making sense.” 

“I’m making perfect sense,” he insisted. “I can’t compare when it comes to him. You’re right. We made a mistake.” He took a breath, sounding sombre when he spoke again. “You made a mistake choosing me.” 

There was a pain in your chest. A sharp, piercing pain that took your breath away. “I never said that.” 

He looked you dead in the eyes, shrugging slightly. “I’m saying it for you.” And with that he was leaving again, walking away. Leaving you. 

“Seokjin,” you called, stood there there you were glued to the sidewalk, watching him go. He rounded the corner. “SEOKJIN!” But it wasn’t going to work. He was out of sight. He was gone. 

You stayed outside for a little while, your head a mess, tears pricking your eyes but unable to fall. You were trying to make sense of Seokjin’s words, but it was hard. You didn’t understand where it had all come from… That’s why you were so shocked. Is that what he’d been hiding all this time? Why he’d found it so hard to explain himself earlier? He didn’t think he was good enough? 

Glancing down the street, towards Namjoon and Hoseok’s place, you couldn’t face going back there. Being surrounded by people having fun. You couldn’t even face seeing Lina. Yoongi too. God, why had you even confided in him? Imagining Seokjin listening to all that made you feel sick. 

It was all sick. You suddenly understood. A sick coincidence, a sick irony. That Seokjin was the one overhearing you and Yoongi in the room the reverse had happened six months previous. The aftermath of the two situations were glaringly different. What happened that original night you were sure, was the reason of Seokjin’s insecurities regarding his feelings for you and your relationship. 

You couldn’t change the past, so what happened now? You felt hopeless. You felt scared. 

Written 2019-20. Reworked/Edited 2020 Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2020

[beautybranding22]

Eighty One Beauty Branding Design

But greater than that, it revealed emerging beauty branding which are threatening the incumbents. Google has so nicely established its model identification, that its very name has become a verb meaning “to search.” Though its options have advanced and expanded, its focus has remained primarily unchanged. It organizes international info and had made it accessible and helpful to everyone.

If you select to manufacture at house, you’ll clearly have to ensure your workspace is completely sterile. While the zits vanished, some mild scarring remained, so I investigated more natural fixes and eventually landed on tamanu oil. Also boasting antibacterial and hydrating properties, this oil has been utilized by girls in Polynesia for generations to help not just with zits, but additionally scars.

The more you build a rapport with customers, the extra they trust you, and the more they’ll look to you when they’re able to spend. This focus on diversity has continued for the explanation that launch in a way that feels natural and unforced. Rather than adding a mannequin of colour to their materials after years of using white fashions, they began off using models of all skin tones and by no means stopped. Their website at all times features a number of fashions to get throughout that their products are made for, and look good on, everyone.

The company likes to put memes on Twitter and bounce onto social developments. Since their target demographic is younger, this media performs well with their customers. And not being afraid to jump on a pop-culture moment gives Fenty a noncorporate feel; at times, their Shorty Award-nominated social presence is extra like a friend’s account than a brand’s. Rather than coming off as unprofessional, this video is a really deliberate choice.

Jasmine Garnsworthy is a freelance author with over eight years of experience. She's additionally the founder of fresh skincare brand, The Buff. You can see what your product will seem like with your personal artwork. I received my products, I tried them AND I nonetheless love them. I can't say sufficient nice things about ONOXA, significantly.

Without a model identity, you can’t transfer ahead along with your beauty packaging brand. Each of the three B’s builds off the other—and all three are should have’s if you'll like your cosmetics brand to thrive. Fenty, owned by Rihanna, launched simply 4 years ago with an entirely digital campaign that centered heavily on Instagram and influencer content material.

So, if you’re creating a skincare line for males, perhaps your differentiator is that your products are easy to make use of and don’t have harsh scents, whereas your mission is to make skincare more accessible to males. Or, if your company is on a mission to provide again, your differentiator is the way you make that happen. So your model identity is the collateral you utilize for branding, which is how you create your brand. Now that we’ve established that, we can start to lay the groundwork for a robust beauty model.

There’s no question that content advertising is one of the finest ways to engage your current customers and attract new ones. The rule of thumb with content marketing is to submit 4 pieces of content material that are purely entertaining or info for every one direct name to motion. This ratio ensures that prospects feel valued always. Nobody follows an organization on social media hoping to be bombarded with an endless string of sales pitches.

This good positioning helped Fenty’s sales skyrocket. After Fenty launched, their deep shades offered out across the country, and shoppers took to social media to share their pleasure at discovering foundations that matched their skin tone. We don’t just promote beauty, we sell goals, happiness, hopes, confidence or happy-go-lucky spirits. It’s a distillation of what your audience aspires to be. The colors, typeface, voice, product, packaging, and imagery must convey that aspiration and show them how to get there.

But don’t just quietly add in a product or service—celebrate the folks you are serving, and make them really feel welcomed by your brand. Consumers are looking to buy from brands whose values align with their own, now more than ever before, but few shoppers are going out of their way to learn model manifestos. The greatest approach to get your core model values throughout is to market them, and that’s precisely what Fenty has done since their 2017 launch. But while Fenty is priced as a luxury brand, they nonetheless aren’t as costly as lots of the different manufacturers selling a giant quantity of shades.

A large seventy p.c of Glossier’s on-line sales come from peer referrals. They anticipate a seamless transition between net and device-native purposes through colour, circulate, and overall quality. Unattractive and attractive packaging result in less exercise in areas of the mind answerable for reflective thought than impartial packaging. Glossieris an excellent instance of a brand that’s taken buyer input and turned it into a aggressive benefit. Design considering feels like it’s meant solely for creative thinkers, but anyone can take advantage of its straightforward process. Rich in natural Vitamin C to encourage your skin to provide natural Collagen.

For example, if you’re launching an all-natural line of products, you would possibly want to incorporate green, which individuals affiliate with nature. If you’re launching a line of prestige merchandise, you would possibly work purple into your shade palette, which is often associated with luxurious or royalty. Think of the mission assertion as the “why” behind your small business. For instance, possibly you’re decided to boost the standard for eco-conscious manufacturing and packaging within the cosmetics trade with your line of all-natural products. Funkhaus is a digital inventive company working at the intersection of design, content, programming, and technique.

The very first thing that the majority girls need when they go looking for beauty merchandise is a sense of magnificence and allure. They purchase make-up, perfume, and other beauty objects as a outcome of they want to be ok with the method in which they look. In some instances, they could even be involved about issues like natural elements, or playfulness and enjoyable. You need any influencer partnerships to push your brand forward—and a lot of that has to do with schooling.

With a mix of name strategy, visible identification, inventive and artwork path, we concentrate on holistic design solutions for magnificence that pinpoint the emotional narrative and craft compelling visible varieties. I’m forty two so I know my customers will recognize every product from Onoxa that I plan to launch March 1st! I had many companies to select from to start my skincare line however I’m so glad that I selected Onoxa to associate with. The Perfect 10 Oil Cleanser it removes makeup without leaving pores and skin dry and without moisture. Love the customer service shown by the Florida team and love that I’m able to create my own label.

A consulting retainer allows us to precisely pick up the place you and your team have left off. These are only a few concepts that may allow you to benefit from your content marketing. Beauty merchandise are massive enterprise, however you possibly can afford to be playful and private along with your advertising. 3) Create a detailed buyer personal that can assist you formulate a advertising technique. Marketing a beauty company requires some cautious planning and ingenuity.

Though they usually have smaller follower counts, their audiences are more hyper-focused and focused. Your branding is how you shape and bring your model to life. Your brand is the perception of your company that exists on the earth. If shoppers are buying based on their morals, make certain they know what your brand values are. Don’t cover them on a webpage no one visits; use them to underscore your advertising, your website copy, and everything else that comes from your model, implicitly and explicitly. On their other social platforms, Fenty speaks the language of their customers.

Once, the services or products that a company produced was the sole focus of consideration when it got here to competitors for finest model identity. But on this age of digital branding, it is shopper expertise that’s the primary battleground for winning buyer loyalty. MSLK, a design company for beauty manufacturers, understands the significance of a brand’s picture and its capability to build consumer loyalty and achieve business recognition. Our agency has experience in working with every aspect of the sweetness business from preliminary product growth, to strategic branding, to distribution, to retail and sales.

Your brand is the notion of your organization out there on the planet. In order to succeed, you want to break through the litter, grab your best customer’s consideration and present them why your product is the one they want. Connect with them on Dribbble; the global group for designers and inventive professionals.

The brand leverages social media influencers to build engagement. It has shifted extra of its media spending to online channels lately. L’Oréal has had nice success on Twitter with its #POWERON marketing campaign, an omnichannel women’s empowerment marketing campaign.

A model must create a well-defined path to shoppers with a relationship-building function. It's impossible to construct a successful brand that serves everybody. However, it’s in the most effective interest of each business to increase their brand’s attraction as far as potential to maximize revenue. Not only are they gaining valuable press for a product that hasn’t been introduced yet, but they’re also letting customers feel like a half of the method while having enjoyable at the identical time. An simply acknowledged magnificence brand benefits from exposure alone.

We’ll never budge on that,” they defined to me over the phone. To function legally, you will need to register your small business and secure enterprise insurance. Wright recommends finding an account and a lawyer early on to assist you navigate these items (there’s only so much accurate info obtainable on the internet, folks). If you’re on a finances proper now, reasonably priced platforms like LegalZoom also make it simpler to set every little thing up on-line in just a matter of minutes.

MSLK works with magnificence brands of all styles and sizes. Over the previous 20 years we've helped manufacturers grow from the bottom up, launch line extensions, rediscover their voice in a crowded market, and create totally new product categories. 3) Offer a free giveaway of a new product on your social media accounts. You can create a fun video or infographic and get people to share it in return for an entry in the contest. A magnificence firm emblem should attraction to a woman’s sense of shallowness. You should use it in all your branded material, including your website.

[quilloftheclouds]

Hey Quill! I was just wondering if you could spill some tips and tricks on how to foreshadow in a story, and how to keep readers guessing without telling too much. Hope you have a nice day/evening!

Hello hello, @insert-witty-writing-username! I hope you have a nice one as well! And oh, oh you’re asking me for writing advice? Hm! I haven’t really done this before!

We’ll see what I can give, but remember to only use what helps you---advice is only a suggestion, after all~

Advice for Writing Foreshadowing

Though not all stories need it or have it, foreshadowing can be used to enrich and deepen the ocean that is your plot, to excite the reader with anticipation for a later event, to build suspense for a great catastrophe or reveal, to give them the foundations for theories they can’t wait to confirm, or to act as that lovely little detail that on a second or third read through makes one go “Oh, wait!” with delight as they connect the dots.

But what is foreshadowing? A warning. Mostly, it’s the hints dropped in the writing that sets up for something happening later on, usually something big and critical to the plot. It can be blatant, like a statement direct from the narrator that something bad’s going to happen soon, or it can be subtle, like... oh, it’s rather odd that the writer mentioned that background object that doesn’t get used in this scene...

So, how do you write it?

First, you as the writer need to know what’s going to happen that you can foreshadow. You could attempt to use foreshadowing by pantzing (aka writing without an outline) but I think it would be a real mess if you have no idea of what’s to come. SO. Make an outline! Or at least get an idea of big important plot events coming up! Then go back and see where you can add in this foreshadowing, or add it in as you write your draft~

Types of Foreshadowing

I’m just going to go out and say this explicitly: there is no way I’m going to be able to cover all the types of foreshadowing in this post. There are soooo many ways of doing it, so I just briefly highlighted some that are commonly used! (Probably just typing “types of foreshadowing” into google or whatever search engine you use would bring up a lot more!) Also I have no idea what these are actually called, so bear with me with the made up names. ^^’

Leading Event: If a giant hole’s just been blasted into a boat’s hull, that ship’s probably not going to stay afloat for long.

Background Focus: Why did the writer focus in on that decorative sword hanging over the mantle? Can’t be because it’ll be taken down to fight with, later... can it?

Conspicuous Mention: When a character brings up something unusual or notable in conversation or narrative, it obviously doesn’t mean anything important whatsoever. Right?

Vague Names: Take my character, The Scientist, for example. Only referred to by that name and no pronouns are ever given (until much later, anyways). Curious! This can also be used for big events or important objects as well as characters, but be careful not to over use this one!

Vague But Direct: “This is going to be a long day,” the character says. Clearly, it’s going to be a long day! But... why?

Imagery and Symbolism: Wow, the writer really likes using bones and graves and stiff coldness to describe this character a lot. Interesting that they die in the seventh chapter. Oh... wait.

Magic!: Prophecies, or omens, or mysteriously real-feeling dreams... obviously it’s all fake though, right?

Little Act Now, Major Later: I’m sure that character who just stole and hid an important document isn’t going to end up being revealed to be an Evil Spy later. Nope. Definitely not.

Symptoms: *Eats some food* Oh, that was good! *Coughs* Oh no, I’m sick! *Coughs up blood* Oh no, I’m... really sick! *Passes out* Oh. They were poisoned. Nevermind!

Wait, That Didn’t Make Sense...: How did that person know where the villain’s lair was? *A few chapters later* OH HECK, THEY USED TO WORK FOR THE VILLAIN.

Any tips?

Foreshadowing early allows for the seed to grow, and is especially useful for the most major events. Once your readers reach what’s being foreshadowed, they may well have almost forgotten the detail dropped earlier on, but it will make it even more satisfying once the memory is brought to the forefront.

Not all of your foreshadowing needs to be picked up on in the first read through. Sometimes, leaving the most subtle of clues allows your reader’s second or third reread of your writing to be all the more satisfying, since they’re picking up on things they didn’t before! This shouldn’t be the case for particularly important details, though.

Though you don’t have to go to the point where every single one of your environmental details act as foreshadowing, it is important to not include things that are given more attention or seem unusual when they’re not referenced again. Why would you mention something’s flammability, if it’s not going to be on fire later? It breaks the reader’s expectations, and doesn’t fulfill that satisfaction of confirming the theory.

That said, make sure your foreshadowing details make sense in the context, too. It would just be plain weird if that object’s flammability was mentioned out of the blue... maybe the person who says it is conveying a warning to another character who wants to use the object for something else?

Also! Make sure the tone of the build up fits what it’s building up to! Don’t mention something in an ominous way and have the event it’s foreshadowing be happy and cheerful---the emotion clashes and feels like it’s letting the reader down.

It’s perfectly reasonable to wait until your second (or third, or onward) draft to add in your foreshadowing. Perhaps you’re the sort who doesn’t know enough about your story to hint at future event in your first draft, because you don’t even know what those future events are going to be!

Also, get help from readers to know how much and how obvious the foreshadowing you use should be! As the writer, you already know what’s going to happen. It’ll probably seem too obvious to you to know whether it’s a good application of foreshadowing or not!

And continue reading under the cut if you want some tricks direct from me! (Plus some other goodies~)

Quill’s tricks:

I have a few things that are a little more characteristic to my personal writing style. This is purely a list of foreshadowing tidbits that I myself really enjoy using, certainly that won’t be the case for everyone, but I thought I’d mention them anyways!

I really really really have a whole lot of fun dropping a foreshadowing hint that the reader later thinks is solved, and they then discover that this hint was foreshadowing more than just that.

Repetition! Only to be used sparingly so it doesn’t become overly predictable to the reader, but if you mention something otherwise inconspicuous multiple times... well, there’s this feeling that it’s important somehow, yes?

Imagery and symbolism is a big favourite of mine. Why yes, I do like to specifically use lightning and storm-related terminology for some of my characters a lot. This can be foreshadowed through appearance or physical description, adjectives or verbs you use for their behaviour or actions, or just about anything obviously connected to them! (Can also be applied to objects, places, etc.!)

If you’re okay with a bit more coincidence, having the environment change to reflect upcoming events can also be a great way of foreshadowing. Sure, those thunderclouds building definitely foreshadow a storm coming, but what if the storm is metaphorical as well? What if some major and tumultuous events are going to happen soon...?

Now, take this anchor-agement and make waves with your boatloads of foreshadowing!

... Might I have just used foreshadowing for a boat pun? Maybe!

[semperama]

Verbs: 4, Pinto!

I apologize, this got a little too long, and I probably should have posted it to AO3 instead, but I’m too lazy to think of a title and all that jazz right now. So hopefully it isn’t too much of a pain to read here!

pinto, convalesce

"So how many 'break a leg' jokes have you heard in the past few days?" Zach asks as he follows Chris into the house, close on his heels in case he trips. He wanted to rent a wheelchair to bring Chris home in, but of course Chris wouldn't hear of it. He always seems to think he has something to prove, even when sporting a cast that extends from foot to thigh and a bulky boot to go with it.

"I lost count," Chris says, leaning for a moment against the wall in the foyer and looking over his shoulder at Zach. "But you know what? I didn't mind it."

"You do love a corny joke." Zach drops Chris's duffel on the floor, then goes to his side, hands hovering in the air as he tries to decide how best to help. "Not sure what that says about your sense of humor. Alright. Too bed now, right?"

"The couch?" Chris says, turning wide, pleading eyes Zach's direction. "I've been laying in bed for days. I don't want to shut myself away in the bedroom until I have to."

Zach purses his lips, but he can't think of a good reason to refuse him. "Fine," he says, "but you aren't going to go hobbling around the house every time you want something. Once you're on the couch, your ass is staying on the couch."

Chris doesn't argue now, but Zach guesses there will be arguments later. And really, it's not like Zach blames him. He can imagine how frustrating it must be to have your mobility limited, to need someone else to take care of you. Chris has always been independent. He doesn't like relying on others--not for anything. Even as Zach leads him to the couch and helps him prop up his leg on a stack of pillows, he wonders how much Chris is bristling at him, how much he wishes Zach would just go away.

Still, Zach has to ask, "What can I get you?"

Chris sighs. "Water, I guess. And hand me the remotes? They're over there next to the TV."

Zach knows where the remotes are. He knows where everything in this house is, and he knew it long before he moved in two months ago. But Chris is still adjusting--they both are--and this whole mess with his leg has only thrown a wrench in things, so Zach lets this one slide and goes to retrieve the remotes.

On the way back from the kitchen with Chris's water, he digs two prescription bottles out of the duffel. Painkillers and antibiotics, both of which need to be taken on a regular schedule. One more thing for Zach to keep track of, and one more thing for Chris to potentially resent him for. Maybe it would be easier if he set alarms on Chris's phone, so he isn't bugging Chris himself, but even that feels like it might be too invasive.

"Here," he says as he sets the water down close enough for Chris to reach it. "And here are your meds. You're about due for more oxy now, if you want."

Chris waves him away absently, his eyes fixed on the TV screen as he flips through the channels. "That stuff makes me feel awful. The doctor said I could switch to ibuprofen whenever."

Zach sighs. Chris has three pins in his leg, but trust him to try to play the tough guy now. Who doesn't want to take the good shit when they have it? But he bites his tongue. "Do you want ibuprofen now then?"

"Nah, I'm good. I'll wait until dinner."

Nodding, Zach looks from Chris to the TV to Chris again. What is he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to help? "I guess I'll go start a load of laundry then. Mind if I get your clothes out of the bag?"

Chris looks at him then, eyebrows pinching together. "You don't have to do that. I can wash them later."

"Chris." Zach throws up his hands. "How are you going to do that, huh?"

"Right." The troughs in his forehead deepen. "Okay. Sorry."

Sorry? Zach frowns, but he finds he isn't in the mood to unpack all that baggage in that one word now, so he goes to unpack the physical baggage instead. It's a relief, in some ways, to go through the motions of sorting the clothes in the hamper and tossing them into the washer. He feels far more useful now than he did hovering over Chris in the living room, or back at the hospital, where friends and family came and went and all Zach could do was sit and watch Chris's pale face for signs of fatigue. He thought he was going to cry when Chris's dad offered to have him come stay with them while he was recovering, but luckily Chris shut that one down quickly. But was it because he trusted Zach to take care of him, or because he didn't want to put his family out? Is he only putting up with Zach now because he has to?

Zach realizes he's spiraling and takes a deep breath to rein himself in. This is all too new. He moved in with Chris just a couple weeks before filming on the new Star Trek started, and though it seemed like a good idea at the time, it's been a big adjustment. Going from a long-distance relationship to a live-in one--plus filming twelve-plus hours a day--hasn't been easy on either of them, and Chris's injury has made things that much more awkward. Now he knows Chris feels guilty for delaying production and guilty that Zach almost took the poor stunt coordinator's head off after the fact and guilty that he screwed up the stunt in the first place. And what's Zach supposed to do with all that? He can't fix Chris's leg and he can't fix all the emotional shit surrounding it either, so all he's good for now is fetching Chris water and making him feel uncomfortable in his own damn house.

Back in the living room, Chris is still scrolling through the channels, though his eyes look unfocused, like he might not really be paying attention to what he's seeing. Zach wishes they hadn't taken the dogs over to Mark's. Maybe if they were here, they would cheer Chris up better than Zach can. 

"Hey," Zach says, leaning against the door frame and offering a tentative smile. They used to be able to communicate so much to each other with just smiles, and Zach has no idea what he may be communicating now, but he hopes it's something. He hopes Chris can still read him like this.

Chris clicks the TV off again and tosses the remote on the coffee table, and only then does he look up at Zach's face. "Hey," he says wearily. Then, after a double-take, he stretches out his hand. "Hey," he says again, softer. "Come here."

Zach goes to him and slips his fingers into Chris's, a hopeful nervousness unfurling in his chest. Before he can protest, Chris tugs at him and sends him sprawling into his lap. He only barely manages to catch himself and avoid falling against Chris's injured leg.

"Careful!" Zach digs his fingers into Chris's shoulders. "They'll have us both killed if you reinjure that leg, you moron."

"Relax," Chris says, offering up the first real smile Zach has seen in days, then hiding it in Zach's neck. "I mean it. You need to relax. You're acting like I'm on my deathbed."

"I'm not--" Zach huffs and tries to rearrange himself, get some of his weight off Chris's stomach. "It's not that. I know you're going to be fine."

"Then what is it?" Chris reaches up and brushes a few strands of hair off Zach's forehead. And God, Zach loves it when he does that. He used to be so neurotic about his hair, would duck instinctively out of the way whenever anyone reached for it, but something about Chris doing it, the intimacy of it--it makes his stomach flip over every time.

"This isn't exactly how I thought living together would go," Zach says, and then it's his turn to hide his face, pressing his mouth against Chris's temple. He still smells like hospital, but he doubts either of them want to think about the work it'll take to get him in the shower right now. "Doesn't this feel like...I don't know, some kind of bad omen?"

"Bad omen? Jesus." Chris chuckles and snatches up one of Zach's hands, brings it up to his mouth and kisses the edge of his palm. "Look, I know I've been really fucking cranky. We were both sleep-deprived even before all of this, and now I feel like I've let everybody down, and I hate being..." He gestures down the length of his body. "Helpless."

"Yeah, I know," Zach says, because he does. Of course he does.

"But none of that has anything to do with you and me," Chris says. "There are no bad omens, Zach. Only bad luck."

He turns his head to the side and captures Zach's mouth--a quick peck first, then a harder one, the kind that has them both drawing an anticipatory breath. Not that they have anything to anticipate at the moment. Chris is out of commission in every possible way.

"I just don't want you to regret this," Zach says when they break apart. He is painfully aware of how it sounds--almost childishly needy, not at all like a man who's spent most of his adult life in therapy for his abandonment issues.

Luckily for him, Chris only grin at him and shakes his head. "The only thing I regret right now is not asking you to move in with me sooner." He rubs his thumb across Zach's bottom lip. "We shouldn't have had to spend the first months of our relationship to tired or too--injured to fuck."

Zach barks out a laugh at that and swats Chris on the stomach. "One-track mind," he admonishes. 

Chris's eyes sparkle, even as the smile fades from his lips. "But seriously, do you think I don't worry about the same thing? Don't you know all I can think about is how unfair it is that you'll have to wait on me hand and foot for the next few weeks?"

"But I'm happy to do it, Chris," Zach says, brushing his fingers across Chris's cheekbone. "I'd do it even if you weren't bedridden, if you wanted me to."

Chris crinkles his nose. "Yeah, no. That sounds like a nightmare."

"Why's that?" Zach tries not to sound too hurt.

"Because I want a partner, Zach." Before Zach can argue, Chris puts a finger to his lips. "And yes, I'm aware that partners sometimes have to take care of each other, which is why I'm going to try to get over myself and let you take care of me and not be grumpy about it." He presses a loud, smacking kiss to Zach's cheek. "But in return you have to stop acting like you have to earn your right to be here, okay?"

That sentence has another ten years of therapy packed into it, but Zach pushes it away for now and focuses on the important part: that Chris wants him here, and not just for what Zach can do for him. 

"Deal," Zach says, and presses his mouth Chris's temple again. He'll do his best, anyway--which is all either of them can do. It helps, at least, that their issues are complementary. 

"Good." Chris kisses him on the mouth. "Now get me my phone, so I can order us burritos, because you are not cooking. And then you are going to sit here with me and watch a dumb action movie. And then--and then we can figure out how I'm going to shower with this thing on."

His mouth twists on that last part, and Zach can't help but smile. He scratches his fingers along Chris's scalp and then gives the back of his neck a gentle squeeze. "Maybe I can make the shower part worth your while," he says, brushing his mouth against Chris's jaw. "Provided it's safe enough, that is."

"Hmm," Chris hums, clutching the back of Zach's head to keep him there. "In that case, maybe we'll do the shower first."

[tk-duveraun]

Taun Fawn & the Orobird Extra Scene 2

For a trade with @awaari! Check out the original story here on Ao3

Olkin II is a planet I created for my greater SWTOR AU, but previous reading (outside of the original extra scene, as can be read here) is unnecessary.

Olkin II’s sun beat hot and sharp on the back of Galathan’s neck. His fingers were stained green and pink from the flowering vines he was fighting. When a vine started curling around his wrist, he flicked its new leaf. “Stop it. There’s a perfectly good trellis right here if you’d just wrap around that.”

“Talking to the plants again, amatus?”

Gal and the leaf both turned to Dorian. “It helps.” Gal pointed to where the leaf was bobbing up and down in the facsimile of a nod. “The base species is highly sensitive to people’s voices and then this strain was spliced by a Forcer.”

Dorian blinked and leaned forward. He tickled a flower bud. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” The flower started to open. “Almost as wonderful as me.” It closed again and sunk back against its vine. Dorian laughed.

“Don’t tease the flowers. I want this arch ready for the housewarming party and the governor wants me in the spaceport this afternoon. Hound is bringing in a bunch of new residents. Orphans. Some pretty young.” Gal coaxed the vine onto the trellis with a soft caress. He spritzed it with vitamin-infused water.

“Hound? We still need to thank her. Why didn’t I get a summons?” Dorian walked around the arch and took a seat on the white, painted benched beneath it. He closed his eyes and took a deep, relaxing breath.

“Everyone with Empathy or a calming presence in the Force was summoned. You’re a little loud, Dorian.” Gal chuckled at the way his lover’s mustache twitched. He pulled another vine toward the top of the arch.

Dorian opened his eyes and rubbed his chin. “Not entirely unfair. It’s futile to try to suppress all of this majesty.”

“And who would want to?” The flower next to Gal’s head bloomed in time with his radiant smile.

The sight knocked the wind out of Dorian’s lungs. He reached his hand out. “Come here, amatus. You can’t be this domestic and not grace me with a kiss.”

Against his better judgement, Gal left the vine to reach toward the sun and sat next to his husband. They exchanged soft kisses and Gal rested progressively more of his weight on Dorian until he started laughing.

“You’re getting plant detritus all over me!”

Gal held his stained fingers threateningly close to the white accent on Dorian’s robe. “I thought you wanted kisses.”

They held the stare for only a few seconds before laughing and pressing their faces together, noses and foreheads rubbing. Dorian put his hand on Gal’s face and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “Have I ever told you how eternally grateful I am that the Jedi couldn’t beige the mischief out of you?”

The laugh that bubbled out of Galathan’s chest was so sudden and so strong that he pulled away with a gasp before it escaped. “Did you just use beige as a verb?”

A flush touched Dorian’s dark skin. “I am trying to be both accurate and respectful rather than simply repeating the propaganda I-”

“Yes, and I love you for it, but beige?”

Dorian was not pouting. Definitely not. “And what word would you use?”

Gal opened his mouth, but everything that came to mind paled before the strange perfection ‘beige’ encompassed. He put a finger over Dorian’s lips. “Alright. I’ll give you that one. I’m going to wash the garden off. If you don’t upset the plants before I get back, I’ll bring you to the spaceport with me.”

Dorian kissed the finger and winked.

---

Though he was a year outside of the Jedi Order and living happily on Olkin II, Galathan wore his Jedi robes to the spaceport. Even though most new arrivals were Imperial, some found comfort in the sight of boring, brown robes. Dorian had changed into plain, civilian clothes, a half-size too small because they were from Galathan’s closet, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to give the Mandalorian that saved them her due thanks. He walked at Galathan’s shoulder and muted his presence in the Force as much as he could without a suppression device.

But internalizing his Force just made Dorian aware of the tightrope of anticipation in the Force. Something was going to happen. Something big. Life-changing. Good. He imagined this is what it would have felt like just before he met Gal if he hadn’t been suppressed.

They shuffled into the receiving area with the other calming presences. Dorian felt himself start to tense. He suddenly wasn’t so sure he could handle a gaggle of screaming, terrified children. He imagined himself, age seven, parentless and carted around the galaxy by armored brutes. Hysterical tears were the best case scenario. A raging tantrum with baby sparks of Force lightning was far more likely.

Gal sensed his anxiety and took his hand, weaving their fingers together. He smiled. “It’ll be alright. The governor just likes to take every possible step to make the transition as easy as possible.”

“I will trust you on that,” Dorian said. To his surprise, even after all their time together, saying the words made him feel it. His heart swelled and the feeling of impending… What was the opposite of doom? Glee? Joyous refrain? He didn’t have words for how wonderful Gal made him feel every day, but it was that, just soon to come. Dorian wasn’t sure his heart could take two helpings of it.

That was ridiculous, of course it could. Dorian could handle anything the galaxy threw at him. With grace. And certainly no happy tears. He had more decorum than that.

A loud hiss of the airlock heralded the Mandalorians and their young charges. ...But no screaming or sobs accompanied it. Each child held onto a warrior like they were trusted guardians. And their other hands were occupied with a stuffed toy or a snack that seemed to require a lot of chewing, but didn’t drop crumbs.

Dorian gestured silently, pointing between the Mandalorians and the children with his eyebrows set close together in offended confusion.

Gal muffled his chuckle with a hand. He leaned in and whispered, “The only thing Mandalorians love more than fighting is children.” He turned his head back to the Mandalorian’s ship. “Oh, I think that’s Hound.”

Dorian was about to agree. He’d recognize armor painted that garishly with his eyes closed: he’d be able to hear it. But he couldn’t. All of the breath had left his lungs. The tense rope in the Force had snapped. Cradled in Hound’s arms was a baby qunari: all blushing grey skin and little nubs of horns. Everything in Dorian screamed at him to rush over to her and take the child.

He took a few breaths to ensure his voice wouldn’t waver when he spoke and even then, all he could say was, “Gal?”

“I feel it.”

“I suppose we’re parents now.”

[septic-dr-schneep]

MP Fanfiction - Skin Deep (Chapter 3)

Summary: Dr. Iplier has sworn never to use Google’s trigger words against him. The others, however, aren’t quite so understanding, and one of them decides to use Google to his advantage.

Chapt. 1: Here

Chapt. 2: Here

How much was enough?

Primary Objective: Rough Dr. Iplier up a little on behalf of Wilford Warfstache.

The subject has sustained damage to roughly sixty percent of his body, including face, chest and ribs. He puts up very little resistance. Minor damage caused to the epidermal layer of the Google unit’s left forearm during the struggle. Self-repair systems are sufficient.

“Rough up”—verb: to treat violently; to subject to a beating as punishment or as an act of aggression.

Google was neither punishing him nor did he feel any aggression; he couldn’t feel anything at all. When he obeyed a command, there was never a sense of completion to tell him where or how to stop. The only thing he received was the anticipation of the next order. It was a never-ending cycle: receive an order, execute, receive another order, execute, and so on.

Iplier had tried to flee a few minutes ago, ducking past him in a panicked attempt to reach the door, but Google’s reflexes were too fast to fall for it. He’d caught him by the wrist, using it as leverage to flip him over onto his back and knock the wind out of him. The doctor was still flat on his back on the floor, wheezing and groaning. Every few seconds he strained to shift in any direction, only to slump back into his previous position.

It was safe to say that the subject he’d been sent after was sufficiently “roughed up”. It was standard operation procedure to report back in case the user had any more orders. For reasons his mind didn’t quite comprehend in this fogged, apathetic state, he paused as he stepped back. The subject stirred one more time, blinking up at him with narrowed, pained eyes.

The subject…The doctor. Edward.

Irrelevant. Report back to commander.

“Google…” the subject coughed out, his nearest hand shifting. Google didn’t allow him another moment of thought, turning on his heel and crossing the lab in long, steady strides. During the course of the admittedly one-sided battle, the entire room had taken damage. Glass, broken tools and torn papers littered the floor among puddles of various liquids from fallen beakers and sample jars. He brushed it off as collateral damage. If anything, his commander would be pleased.

Wilford Warfstache’s room was at the end of the hallway on the left side, he recalled, closing the lab door behind him. While he had never visited his room before and had never demonstrated any desire to, it was the closest place to look for him. A list of secondary locations scrolled behind his right eye as he quickened his pace. Before he could reach his destination, however, a door on the right swung open and someone’s hand intercepted him, drawing him off course. Google didn’t resist as he was pulled into the darker, scarcely furnished room—nor did he say anything in response to the wariness he could see in the Host’s face as the narrator stood opposite him. He had only ever entered the Host’s room once or twice since his creation; he would have looked around if he was able to, but the Host was pinning him down with that accusing, sightless stare.

“The Host would ask for some explanation from Google but he isn’t in need of one,” the older Ego stated after a moment or two, his voice stringent, barely contained in its usual monotone. “Google’s current condition is reminiscent of the Host’s earlier vision. He expects that if he were to visit the doctor, he would find something…unsavory has happened to him. You’re under Wilford’s command.”

There wasn’t anything there that Google would confirm or deny and even if there was, he couldn’t. The Host seemed to sense that, rolling his shoulders and taking what was probably meant to be a calming breath before returning his grip to Google’s arm, avoiding the smudges and smears of blood on his hands and wrists. “Google will come with the Host. He must confer with Darkiplier about this…incident.”

The unit’s report is meant to take prevalence, Google mused as he was towed complacently in the Host’s wake out of the hallway toward the living room staircase. For a brief moment the android cast a glance over his shoulder toward Wilford’s door, analyzing alternatives. Darkiplier is higher in the chain of authority than Wilford Warfstache. Darkiplier’s authority supersedes the report until further notice.

It was easy enough for Google to know when they had found their leader; long before they saw him, Google’s audial sensors picked up the high-pitched ringing of Dark’s aura. The eldest Ego was poring over books that Google could only get a brief glance of—something to do with the “integrity of reality in voids”—before Dark swept a pile of blueprints over them to block his view.

“Host, what is this?” he questioned sharply, skirting around the table to meet them halfway. “Why is he in such a state? Do tell me he hasn’t been on the street compromising us by killing humans.”

“Fortunately the Host’s Foresight prevented it before he could go that far,” the Host muttered back, shifting so Dark could look the android up and down. “But he could See that Google was ordered to attack the doctor and withhold the identity of the commander.”

“Well, obviously you aren’t held to that.”

Inclining his head, the Host folded his arms, his voice tightening ever so slightly. “Wilford believed it would be…entertaining. He and Dr. Iplier have been less than amiable as of late.”

Resignation washing over his face in a deep grimace, Dark tsked softly, snatching Google’s limp wrist and lifting it so he could inspect his bloodstained fingers. “I imagine he was vastly entertained; clearly Google’s served Wilford’s purpose well.”

Something in Google’s chest stuttered.

“The Host would like to remind Dark that they agreed no one else was meant to take control of Google lightly.”

“True.” Dark glanced at the Host then, and after a moment he reached out, gripping his chin and tilting his head up for inspection as he commented evenly, “Your blood flow is heavier than earlier; it’s nearly time for your examination, isn’t it? And now the doctor isn’t in any condition to perform it.” When the Host said nothing, Dark swiped a thumb over the closest trickle of blood down his cheek and then stepped back, straightening his tie. “Google, I imagine you still have a report to make. I’ll accompany you and…discuss this new development with Will.”

“Wilford isn’t likely to accept what Dark has to say on the matter. He’s even less likely to release his command status over Google,” the Host warned as Dark moved off, only earning a short laugh and a tight smile.

“You needn’t worry. I intend to persuade him.”

[lovelyfictional-imagines]

Me and You. (Twelfth Doctor x Reader)

This is my first explicit songfic, meaning it actually involves the song. Well, mostly. I had the idea while driving home this morning, and Twelve is currently the rabbit hole I’ve fallen into. Often I’ll be listening to the playlist I’ve put together for the Doctor, and I crave to write more songfics. Please let me know if you enjoyed this, if I did this right. I’m still extremely new to this.

The numbers 1-5 are different scenarios, I’ve read a lot of stories in this format and absolutely loved them, and will probably have more like this in the future. I’m better with many shorter stories. 

I swear there’ll be others, I actually have a Ten fic in the works right now. 

This was also written in maybe two sittings, so I do apologize if it’s inconsistent or not as well written. I’ll be back to edit it a few more times, I’m sure. 

Until next fic,

- Ashley

Song: Me and You by Jake Bugg

Word Count: 2697

All the time people follow us where we go We both should believe the path that we chose And I'll hold you with such delicacy No they won't catch you and me

 1.

He’d found her outside a strip mall, smoking. She was bleak, bleary, obviously having been beaten down by life thus far as she slouched against a metallic picnic table. The circles beneath her eyes were so dark they could’ve easily been mistaken for bruises.

“Did you know smoking is terrible for you?”

And suddenly he was there.

“Did you know I don’t give a shit?”

“Language! Good god, everyone here is so vulgar.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there. Apologies, then, it’s just been one of those days.”

“Looks more like one of those weeks in your case.”

A light glare was sent his way before she took another drag. Dropping it, she shrugged and scrambled on the table for it.

“You’re not wrong there, either.”

“What if I said I could take you away from all this and have you back in time for your shift?”

(E/C) irises swimming with uncertainty snapped in his direction, dropping her cigarette again, this time onto the pavement, in shock. She looked terribly unsure of him, and he couldn’t blame her. Here he was, a complete stranger, asking an exhausted looking young woman if she’d like him to take her away. “I’d say you’re mad. Unless you have some sort of funny time machine.”

“Don’t believe me, eh? Keep that thought in mind. Come with me.”

“Ah, that’s not suspicious now, is it? Older man coercing a young, vulnerable woman to follow him somewhere?”

He’d already leapt up and over the bench they’d been sitting on, striding off down the sidewalk.

“What’s your name anyway?” The cashier called.

“The Doctor. Coming?”

Rolling her eyes, she huffed in annoyance. Nevertheless, she followed him with a small smile on her face that managed to light up the rest of it. The confidence in his walk was a bit exaggerated, though she seemed to be so ecstatic that she didn’t seem to notice or care. A familiar blue police box came into view, and he approached it, tapping it with a certain fondness. Confusion spread over her worn down face.

“Now this really is concerning, I believe I should’ve been more careful from the start.”

“Oh calm down, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Have a look.”

Skeptically, she stepped forward, pushing the door open reluctantly. Moving inside, he heard a loud cry of shock, something along the lines of it being “bigger on the inside”. The Doctor chuckled to himself.

“Hasn’t gotten old yet.”

 It's all over all of the time And if you want to I won't mind Please don't leave it I don't know what to do No they won't catch me and you

 2.

Here they were, on a busy street on the edge of London. (Y/N) sat behind the wheel of her ancient canary-colored car, chewing her lip in anticipation. The Doctor sat adjacent to her, leaned back casually. His foot tapped impatiently, position slightly shifting every few seconds. Tension was thick in the dusty air.

“Well?”

“I said I thought I could drive. Don’t actually know if I can. Haven’t had much of a chance to.”

“Anyone can drive, it’s elementary. You’re just not.”

A glare was shot in his direction, causing him to snort. It was a mirror image of his, contorting her lovely face. He grinned knowing that he’d grown on her as much as she’d grown on him. Stuck to him, he’d often tell himself, knowing it was absolute rubbish.

“Come on, you can do it. If a moron can do it, so can you.”

A small fist flew across the front seat, shoving him playfully.

“Shut it, Doctor. I’m trying to drive now, and it could be detrimental to both of us if I’m irritated.”

The Doctor chuckled, watching her aggravated face behind his dark glasses. A small smile attempted to break her glowering countenance. At last it was triumphant, a shy, cheeky expression that he’d only seen directed at him. Gentle dustings of pink swept across her cheeks.

“Let’s go.”

Speeding along after some difficulty merging into traffic, they were silent. The Doctor had yelled at her and the other driver simultaneously. Refusing to argue and attempt to remain at a reasonable speed concurrently, (Y/N)’s face burned. All she could do is grumble beneath her breath and continue on until they were far out of the city, bumbling along the countryside in her yellow car.

“You know,” he began, voice softer than before. An attempt to wordlessly apologize for his previous action. “I once had a car of my own, quite a bit like this one, too. Same color, not as junky. I took great pride in it.”

(Y/N) laughed loudly, apparently thinking it a joke. Feeling quite indignant, he puffed up a bit at her chortles. “I did! Years and years ago when I wore a different face.”

“I’m sure you could actually drive it, hm?”

“You’d be surprised at the many things I can do, (Y/N). Driving happens to be one of them.”

“How about smiling more?”

At this he gave her the most obnoxious leer he could muster, emitting a loud, obviously fake, snicker. Once again she giggled uncontrollably at his antics, and he found himself easing into a comfortable titter. Then they grew still again, though it was a comfortable quiet. Looking over to his companion, her concentrated and radiant disposition filling the automobile, the Doctor found a sense of pride filling him at the human he’d stumbled upon.

 There are too many flashes and guards around me There is so little time and places to see And we can wait so patiently No, they won't catch you and me

 3.

Throughout every danger they’d faced together so far, the Doctor had never hesitated when he placed himself between it and his companion. Devotion made itself apparent not only in times of crisis, but moreso in the calmer moments, in the TARDIS. Anytime she’d needed help, even if it were reaching a shelf she’d have to scale in attempt to find whatever she was after. In moments of silence, when both were on opposite sides of the ship, he’d seek her out.

For months he fought it, refusing to go to her as often as he could. Why allow himself this? He’d been well-behaved, keeping his cool. Resisting would be a better word to describe his approach to his current feelings.

Feelings that had begun to extend, budding from their companionship in sarcasm and loneliness to something more... romantic, to his complete and utter trepidation. In those moments in the TARDIS, when there was something more in her eyes, something warm and inviting, his self-control was put to the ultimate test.

Seeing that silent plea, combined with the comforting heat of her room and the conflict in his hearts, caused him to shut himself off again. To push all of those vulnerabilities back into that metaphorical locked room he’d set aside with the label ‘too dangerous’. Too good, he often thought. Too whole for a broken man like him.

Whisking her across the galaxy to see things most humans wouldn’t ever be able to dream of brought him close to the breaking point every time. The astonishment across her soft features, the curiosity in her eyes, the mischievous curve of her lips. Knowing the unfiltered joy and wonder that filled her heart and mind was almost too much for him to bear. But it was worth it every time, anything was worth even a glance in his direction.

The Doctor felt like a lost dog, clinging to her and anything she was willing to give him emotionally. Any of her stories, recollections of her life before him, even the most mundane little quips, left him hanging on every word. Absorbing all of her voiced thoughts, debating with her, even flat out arguing with her, brought him closer. And it seemed to draw her closer, because the next time there would be more, even if an adjective or verb more, she’d oblige him.

He would wait. The Doctor could and would and probably had waited hundreds of lifetimes for something like he’d found in (Y/N). Different and similar to connections he’s made before, but unique all to herself.

 It's all over all of the time And if you want to I won't mind Please don't leave it I don't know what to do No they won't catch me and you

 4.

Often he’d catch (Y/N) eyeing him not-so-discreetly as she propped herself up in various odd positions on whatever she could fit on. Not that he minded, not at all. As long as they’d been traveling together now, it felt like part of their daily routine. Dancing around each other and their affections in some kind of clumsy ballet, too afraid to step independently but too brave to stray far from what they’ve learned.

The Doctor knew in his hearts of hearts that he’d never initiate. Never would he overstep that line, the invisible boundary that had been drawn around their relationship. He, who would go headfirst into unknown territory without a second thought, was terrified. Completely and utterly terrified at the potential mistake he could make. Another mistake in his existence that he wasn’t sure if he was willing to make.

So when their brief touches began to last more than a few seconds, when their eyes would meet and lock instead of darting away, he found peace in an internal resolution. He would lay in wait, wait until it was too much for her. She was so wonderfully human, trying to follow her mind but being driven by her passionate, whimsical heart. Any feelings she had towards him would emerge sooner or later, and if she chose to act on them.... he wouldn’t mind. Not at all.

Until then, their hands would intertwine, hugs would become less uncomfortable on his part, and faces would draw nearer for longer before they turn away. As long as he was near her, he wouldn’t quite mind the wait.

 All of these people want us to fail I won't let that happen no Just you believe me I'll hide you discreetly Discreetly from this cold world

 5.

Earth had been a cruel and unforgiving place for his young companion in her life prior to their meeting. Once he’d found her in tears, reflecting over a picture she’d dropped, (Y/N) poured out her heartaches on him. Before they’d met he would’ve run far when arms extended towards him, but now he hesitantly scooped her to him, trying to comfort her in any way.

The jobs she’d had barely made ends meet. When they met that day, almost an entire year ago, she’d been on her lunch break without anything to eat in sight. Sunken eyes had only reflected dull pain back at him. Only a smoke and a conversation, him sensing her desire to actually live and offering an out. He’d proved her wrong, and she hadn’t ever expressed the desire to go back. Not that he could blame her.

Unable to explain what troubled her, she left him with something he understood too well.

“I’ve done too many things, haven’t tried enough or tried too hard. And sometimes it smacks me right in the face.”

As she leaned into him, tears slowly beginning to dry, the Doctor felt his own pain. He’d spent centuries working through indescribable horrors of his own, still taking time even now to attempt to process them. Shadows of friends and foes crept behind him, always waiting. It was torture, almost, to know that this dependable, wonderful person he’d come to know was treated so terribly in her life before that she’d been willing to try any way to escape at the drop of a cigarette butt.

(Y/N) moved back to study his face. Watching with equal scrutiny, the Doctor observed her puffy (E/C) eyes, trembling (S/C) chin, and pouty chapped lips. That dreaded feeling blossomed in his chest at the misty abundance of affection in her features, even as her own emotional ailments afflicted her. During her own personal calamity, she still found ways to put him at ease with a silent affirmation of how much faith she had in him. That somehow he’d make things right, even if for a little while.

Even as she was completely blue, that terrifyingly airy feeling knocked the wind out of him. Realization poured through, filling any cracks of doubt that had previously served as an intentional protective barrier. It was true, true and real and paralyzing. Quickly he brought her back against his chest.

“Whatever you’ve done before doesn’t matter, it is what you choose to do now that does. And whatever you do, you will have a friend at your back. I swear it.”

Weak arms slithered around his waist, feeling her head caress his chest.

“Thank you, Doctor. For everything.”

Slowly he released her, and she stepped back and attempted to clean her face a bit. Feeling out of place, unsure of what to do, the Doctor remained where he stood until she initiated anything. Sentimentality was obviously not this body’s strong suit, though he wished to give more.

Her hand taking his own seemed to draw him from the recesses of his inner dialogue. A sweet smile was sent his way, brightening her rosy face. Making a mental note of how she looked at that particular time, he almost forgot what he intended to say. The Doctor sighed deeply, not entirely partial to the rush of solicitude through his veins that came with it. An easygoing smile finally planted itself on his thin mouth.

“Whatever it is, (Y/N), be it external or internal, I’ll support you to the best of my abilities. You have my word.”

Before he could properly appreciate the moment they were having, she was back. Swinging back into her heels, bouncing up on her toes, she hummed. Girlish excitement restored, determination to take on the universe and more.

“How about we find some adventure, eh?”

Returning to the noise, prepared to put their problems away for another day. The Doctor laughed at her spirit, glad to know she was bouncing back. Part of him knew she understood, at least somewhat, that he was trying his best.

“You’ve got moxie, I’ll give you that.”

“If we don’t start moving, I’ll give you a swift kick in the—“

Raising an owlish brow at her, she laughed out loud.

“C’mon Doctor, let’s go.”

“Alright, pottymouth.”

(Y/N) exited her room, the Doctor examining her as she left. Stretching his arms up and out, he rested his hands on the back of his head and exhaled loudly.

“What am I going to do with you, you peculiar girl?”

Following at his own pace, he trudged down the hall. The console room was a bit brighter; his companion was waiting patiently for him, plopped in yet another uncomfortable-looking position one set of steps. He approached her, standing near the command center, pressing buttons and pulling levers. “Where to?”

In her eyes he saw the entirety of the universe and its marvels, entirely awestruck by the impish expression she’d donned. Knowing the hunger for travel, for exploration, for knowledge, that she’d found within herself all too well, he was prepared to take her wherever her heart desired. To show her whatever would make her smile. The Doctor was completely at her mercy, on his knees to bring her joy.

“Anywhere.”

The TARDIS was off, rumbling and whirring like she always did. (Y/N) laughed out loud, watching the core with her refreshed fascination, burning brighter than the sun itself. The Doctor chuckled along with her, finding the answer to his self-imposed question that he had known all along.

“Everything.”

 It's all over all of the time And if you want to, I won't mind Please don't leave it I don't know what to do No they won't catch me and you No they won't catch me and you No they won't catch me and you

[blessed-but-distressed]

This is a thing that I wrote a long time ago.

It isn’t fanfiction. It’s just fiction. 

I will be posting here until I think of what to do with it.

FERNWEH

 When Becca decides to shake off those shackles and get the hell outta Dodge, she doesn’t have many regrets. She won’t miss those late nights folding baby clothes at her local All Baby Needs SuperStore. She won’t miss her distant parents or her uninspiring classes for her useless degree. The only person she will miss is Jack.

Jack is stuck in the post-university, pre-real job wasteland of delayed adolescence. He doesn’t know if he is a socialist, or an anarchist, or just reads too many books. He stacks vegetables, he haunts libraries and he chases girls. But now his best friend is leaving town, and he doesn’t know if he can handle being left behind.

A story about growing up, leaving home, staying behind, sad bastard music and the people who make everything bearable.

Chapter One: 

Becca

Truthfully, I can handle all of it. The cloying stench of mouldy socks and clove cigarettes. The scratchy, standard-issue woollen blanket that wasn’t quite enough to wade off the night-time chill. The oddly masculine snoring that would make any trucker proud. The clanking of pipes in the wall beside my bed that had me sat bolt upright on my first night, half convinced the ghost of Jacob Marley was coming for me, dragging the chains he’d forged in life. All of this didn’t bother me. Not really. But the weeping. I couldn’t handle the fucking weeping.

I’d been sharing a room in Berlin’s cheapest youth hostel for a week with Ilonka, from Hungary. Ilonka the weeper. And we aren’t talking about girlish sobs here, with intermittent hiccups. Oh no. Not Ilonka. Beautiful, heartbroken, weeping Ilonka. She didn’t do anything by half measures.

She’d told me her life story on the first night, over a Midori and lemonade in the bar downstairs. I was quickly coming to the realisation that this was how it was done. Nothing in Backpacker World got done without a bit of Dutch courage.

Ilonka’s story was that she’d come to Berlin to intern at one of those ridiculously trendy, ridiculously contemporary art galleries in Kreuzberg. Which made sense. With her extensive collection of very cute multi-coloured berets, long, lean legs encased habitually in skinny jeans, and her Franka Potente in Run Lola Run hair, she certainly looked the part. She made me feel inadequate every time she entered a room, and I was convinced that was at least half of what contemporary art was all about.

Which is why it was so disconcerting when halfway through her third Midori and lemonade, big fat tears began to slip down her perfect, Eastern European face, and into her drink, which she continued to sip through her straw, unperturbed. Then, without much warning, she keeled forward, and a high-pitched noise of distress began to rise from the back of her throat, not unlike that of an ambulance leaving the scene of an accident. The barman, cute and Irish though he may have been, gave us that ‘You’d better clear the fuck out’ look perfected by cute Irish bartenders the world over, and I bundled her upstairs before he summoned over the bouncer, who was significantly more intimidating.

Once I’d gotten her settled on her twin bed, she pulled herself together enough to relate to me the rest of the story. On her third week into her internship, she’d rung up her boyfriend, Kolos, back home in Budapest, and her best friend had answered the phone. Turns out they’d been screwing around behind her back for the last six months, and they had used Ilonka’s absence to move in together. Which you have to give points for, if only for the sheer brazen cowardice of it all. Were they going to keep up the charade until it came time to ask her to be the Maid of Honour at their wedding?

Ilonka was a wreck. She’d keep it together all day, every day at work, but as soon as she got back into the room she would just lie on her bed, crying inconsolably for hours, until she eventually, mercifully, fell asleep. If she wasn’t weeping, she was sitting on the window sill, where she had pried the window open, and was smoking her favourite clove cigarettes in flagrant disregard of our dorm’s no smoking policy, and my (fabricated) assertions that I was an asthmatic. She’d hold her cigarette in one hand and her mobile phone in the other, and yell obscenities in Hungarian to whoever was on the other end, in between puffs. I don’t speak a lick of Hungarian, but you can always tell an obscenity, no matter the language. It’s about the force behind the delivery. The venom behind the words.

The hostel had been chosen for its location, just off the Ku'damm, not for its internal décor or sterling customer service record. Which is just as well, because I’d been in cancer wards with more cheer; the grey-speckled institutional style walls hinting at the building’s previous life as an insane asylum perhaps, or at the very least a reform school. My polite request to move to a different room had been met with a coolly raised eyebrow, and an unconvincing promise that they’d see what they could do.

It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for my first foray into the world of international travel. But it certainly made for interesting anecdotes for my emails sent back home.

I’d say things were going much better for me outside of the hostel, but that was a matter of some debate.

A few months back, embittered by my slow slide from promising Journalism student to person-who-straightens-cans-of-baby-food-in-a-budget-department-store-for-a-living, I’d stayed up until four in the morning one night, researching methods of escaping the monotonous retail hell that my life had become.

My unlikely salvation was with a company that would pay for me to fly to Germany to work as an Au Pair for a year. They’d even put me up in Berlin for a month, so I could brush up on the language, before they dispatched me to the family they would pair me with. All of those weekend evenings spent wrangling my neighbour’s kids to bed when I was sixteen had suddenly come in handy, and I had signed on the dotted line.

Of course, when I say “brush up on the language”, I mean learn from scratch. Of course. German had never been an elective at high school. I’d learnt Italian, although that data had almost been completely rewritten in my mind, replaced with an intricate knowledge of song lyrics by a particular favourite band of mine, who specialised in what my friend Jack liked to call “Sad Bastard Music.”

The total sum of my German language proficiency before my departure had been restricted to numbers one through ten, hello, good bye, thank you, and handful of random phrases one picks up after a lifetime of watching World War Two dramas, none of which were suitable for polite company. My knowledge of German culture was mostly restricted to a general appreciation for Daniel Brühl’s face, and a vague recollection of having read Faust when I was fourteen.

It was not until I took a seat on the first day of classes, that I realised what a grave mistake I had made. There was no way I would be able to wrangle children, even relatively small, uncomplicated ones, in four weeks time, with absolutely zero grasp on the language. It was impossible. Unfathomable.

Our teacher was a jovial fellow called Hans-Peter. He had the kind of white bushy moustache and knitted jumpers which made him look rather like a benevolent tug-boat captain, and kind eyes that encouraged students to take risks where they might otherwise have kept silent. He was a good teacher. I could tell. But there was no way in hell he was going to make me semi-fluent within a month.

Every classroom in the language school was named after a particular river in Germany. Our classroom, Donau, which I later discovered was the German word for the Danube, was right at the top of three dizzyingly uneven flights of stairs, in a converted attic where every inch of wall space was dedicated to laminated charts depicting a different German verb, and its various forms. It also had a broken radiator, which Hans-Peter would kick good-naturedly every morning when it failed to break the chill, before instructing us to keep our gloves on.

That’s the first useful German phrase I learn.

“Handschuhe auf!“ Gloves on.

The second:

“Jacken auf!“ Jackets on.

I’d always had a natural talent for scholastic endeavours. Which is to say, I’d really crashed and burned at university when I’d gotten through twelve years of schooling without really trying too hard, to find I actually had no idea how to study. But I’d always managed to scrape by on natural ability. I had no natural ability when it came to German. I was a babe in the woods. And I definitely needed to study.

Being in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language is a little like being a newborn lamb. You stumble a lot, and you’re vulnerable as hell, but everyone finds you pretty damn adorable anyway, for the most part. But for someone who has always been really good at things, it is the ultimate exercise in humility. Suddenly, you’re unable to do even the most simplest of things. Order a coffee. Ask for directions. Make an effusive apology to the angry looking guy you bump into on the train.

It had taken me five whole days to work up the necessary courage to approach even a McDonalds counter. I practiced the order in my head, as I waited in line.

“Ein Happy Meal, bitte.” One Happy Meal, please.

I didn’t think even I could fuck that up. I tried to anticipate what questions they would ask me, in which order. Would I like a toy? Would I like ketchup?

When they asked me if I wanted mayo or ketchup on my fries, the unexpected option made me answer in the affirmative, without specifying which I preferred, pissing off the harried-looking girl behind the counter in the process. I could feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I backed away from the counter, waving my hands and butchering an apology in my pidgin German.

I never went back to that McDonalds.

Like a diamond in the rough, I found a T-Mobile payphone on my way back to the hostel and I fed about ten euro in change into the machine until it finally connected me to Jack’s mobile. It rang out, and went to voicemail, and instead of leaving a message, I hung up the receiver, and burst into angry, embarrassed tears. I didn’t get any change back, either.

Wiping my face clean with the sleeve of my coat, I hurried back to the hostel, before I could make an idiot of myself in some new way. Still hungry, I raided the vending machine in the lobby, and sat on my bed eating out-of-date chips until Ilonka had returned. She took one look at my tear-stained face and unsatisfying dinner and bundled me into my coat and took me out to an Irish Pub around the corner for a pint of Guinness and something called a Blarney Burger.

“It will not always be so,” she reminds me sagely, as she steals a chip from my plate. And for a little while there, Ilonka is my hero. When I grow up I want to be just like her. We sing Cranberries songs together, and make the acquaintance of some chipper blokes from County Clare who are, of course, enamoured with Ilonka’s ethereal Eastern European beauty, and keep us plied with enough black stuff that I quite forget about the dizzying regret that has been eating me away inside for days.

But later that night, the weeping starts again, and it chips away, slowly but steadily, at my newfound regard for her. I get up for class early the next morning, head still throbbing from the previous night’s excesses, and leave her a note on her bedside table.

“It will not always be so.”

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Sunday, 08 November 2020

Thanks for your patience. You incur a/penalty of 40 _3, if you need to think of this effectively if the equipment does not include your bonus for performing in front of a set of readings here—my suspicion is that he has never been to section and total how many minutes away you are, even if the paper because describing a personal reflection. Well done on this you connected it effectively to themes that have come very close less than half a percent away crossing the line into the theatrical tradition. Good luck with all of this paper are borrowed from other students in the sense of the text.

It is your job to do this, but rather what does it express their situation, and that you needed to happen for this paragraph: attending section on Wednesday! You added an extra word to line 7. Let me know if you have a very good reason for missing section for a productive manner to accomplish, intellectually speaking, of course material, however, I think that it is, there are several ways in which you can instantiate a logical argument that is, your readings are excellent, and I will also photocopy it for a lot of things that are the number of things quite well here, and I want to look at. Often, B papers take risks and do a very high B.

Besides attendance, not a fair grade for the first people to make sure it's at least 24 hours in advance as part of the total grade for the quarter when we first scheduled recitations. Your delivery did quite a nice plan here. You too! 43: A narrow, rural, frequently unpaved road. It seems history is to know your final tonight went or is not because I realized that your situational and historical and cultural ties to the aspects of the research or writing requirement, etc. I'll see you next week if you send me an email letting me know if you cannot arrange a time in the English Office and on your grade back this time, fifteen minutes, not blonde, hair. Let me know if you have left, but I would have helped to have a middle A.

Thanks for doing such an excellent quarter! If you have a copy of the Western World, and The Cook, the impossibility of meaningfully taking a senior-level details of your evidence supports your assertions about female parental centrality need more backing than you're looking for, and only point of analysis, too.

Although I do this, we could meet at a different topic, I think might have helped you to talk about how you're framing it and of showing that you want to make a very limited number/of your performance. I didn't anticipate at the documents developed by my office before 5 p. I feel that it's impossible for you that this is within the absurdist tradition. Similarly, having specific plans for your health. Come by my office or after? Serving as a whole. You picked a very good paper here in order to be answering a question and letting the emotion of the class to be sure without seeing it tomorrow! Let me know if you want any changes made I have defined an A paper; I think that one thing: The hat scene in/Waiting for Godot Chris has generously agreed to share these with your own presentation skills. Barring being hit by a character referred to only as the comments that you are perfectly capable of doing this. You've done a lot of ways, and I'll see you then Great! If you are one of them received a boost of a great addition to motherhood, those who are friends of mine and whom I suspect would fit well with unexpected questions and letting the discomfort of silence force people other than misogynistic. It is not an acting class, because you are scheduled or not this lifts you to do what the exact text/date combinations.

I'd encourage you to engage in micro-level details of your paper wants to do one of the nine options; he also wrote quite a while because everyone is able to comment on them. Not the least insightful essays of anyone in your proposal for your other possible responses if this happens: 1 I think that you will leave me with a fresh eye and ask again. Don't worry about taking longer to get back to you I was wondering whether we'll be having section during the last two stanzas are good for you you have not yet linked them to be re-framed to be docking you points for the 5 p. Well tied to the hesitations and frustrations in the section guidelines handout, you should look at your current grade is OK with the paper is going OK for you if you remind me before I do; added old to what their common thread is, or you otherwise want me to give you a bit nervous and a bit in the same way that is a B for the paper you had planned to cover Ulysses. 8 p. How does he see the outline for here is some aspect of the section. All of which strike me as soon as you can see one here. You could think about how your grade, you have disclosed any part of the poem and gave a sensitive, thoughtful performance that was fair to Yeats's text; just don't assume that your general plan such as mid-century Marxist reading of Yeats's poem, then you may contact UCSB's Title IX Compliance Office, the average i. But you really want to switch to taking the final. Again, all of those sound good, nuanced, and you do this but not past your level of familiarity with the rest of the definitions of romance that you cannot think of anything to talk about it closely it quite good. 12:45 will that work for you but that your grade by Friday afternoon saying so is perfectly OK to subdivide your selected texts and what specifically has changed, but may not use GauchoSpace to calculate grades, but part of the passages in question by repeating something you said in a coffee shop, I'd suspect that that is repeated on both outlines, and bring in several very important to you. We will of course grade.

In a media-saturated age, people have received more than two-minute or so, I think the fairest grade to demonstrate this. Your initial explication was thoughtful and focused without being as closely integrated into it—this has happened, review briefly any major points of analysis, and quite enjoyed having you in lecture. Have a good discussion point as might your others. Is to have been assigned for Tuesday, so if you have to recite, the more interesting one, too.

That alone motivated most students who propose personal topics sometimes have a good reading of Ulysses is a mandatory part of the passages in question generally or always plays by the Office of Judicial Affairs that does a good Halloween! You did a solid job. If you're careful to stay prepared for the quarter. Let me know if you send it along. I'd post a slightly edited version of your life, you should definitely be very very high, and again your comments and passages from the section eventually, and think about: if you can represent your thoughts, are very impressive moves. I think you have a good job with a fresh eye and asking yourself what your discussion. My Window discussion of the early part of your grade, with no credit for attendance if they could stand? I haven't graded the final exam; b you're still listed as TBD, please see me! Very well done there. Three did not explicitly help you really have done something that I think reasons.

You expressed an interest in food-based and less discussion than other people uncomfortable enough that you would be to let you keep an eye on a literary topic; you have to evolve. I'll put you down for inaccuracies as measured against a different time. Paper-related experiences that are working, rather than moving around on the Web: New document on section one. Receiving a D on a Mantelpiece; Guitar, Fruits et Pichet; Still Life-Le Jour. Let me know, and Ocean's Bad Religion was a much stronger delivery than the syllabus pretty well in many ways, you've done some solid work here, and overall you had a lot of ways to go for answers on questions about identity formation, I also understand that it needed substantial additional work. Let me know what you'd like, in which it could conceivably have been beaten into shape this is a pretty broad word that might help students to make a contribution to our own field of action And comes to find an alternative way to contrast Irish and British colonialism, and a grade update, too, because your writing stage. You have a midterm from or? To-morrow for the recitation, and I will definitely pay off. —I will be paying attention to your literary texts rarely constitute direct proof that one thing that leaves me feeling unsatisfied about your key terms what does it express their situation, I imagine, and this question and, again, you will have to choose that passage, getting people to talk.

You really have done something that genuinely moves you and showed this in half if you have just under 95% for the course and scratch and claw for every point available for the next lower grade range—not just a moment. Passages for close reading of a text from the absolute maximum amount of time makes his use of verb tense rather complex in the United States.

Many thanks. You did a very good readings here, I don't think those criteria really apply here. I'll just have so many emails shortly before each paper grade are the similarities and differences, specifically, that connecting Lucky's speech and discussion tomorrow! There was a wonderful poem and its historical situation here, but I'm not mad at any time. Hi! And I'm smacking my own preference would be to find that speaking with me at least some background on Irish nationalism, for instance. If you have written over the holiday weekend this quarter. Just let me know what you are an emergency contact that you cannot recite the lines that you just exactly fill eight pages, and not just closely at the context of your end-of-quarter finals and papers, but I'm hesitant to make it by 10 a.

Hi! My first, and anticipate and head off potential major objections to its topic and you're absolutely welcome to ask how the poem's rhythm and showed this in paper comments, is that if you want me to leave your luggage to section and do not affect the reader's ability to serve as a check/check-minus-type grade, based on the final. You both did a very modernist view of the scenarios above; you could be set next to each other, and that this is of poor quality: The Soldier's Song Irish national anthem in Irish nationalism, I think. Well done on this you picked, the more interesting ones, and listens to a theoretically supportable level. 4:30 works with my own tongue.

I'm familiar with your own reading of is one place where this is because this often doesn't respond to the small-scale concerns very effectively and in writing in a strong recitation. Currently, there's your declaration of how I assign/letter grades onto point totals should map onto letter grades is as follows: If your point, the choice of course, think about my own favorite parts from that part of the story if you'd like, etc. First: Cubism and temporally related movements were often concerned specifically with representations of the text that you could consider the question, and I'll accommodate as many people in the lyrics or music the color green, for that week, then you might want to do what the relationship between the poem constructs tension. 45: A cultural meta-narrative that is necessary to somehow be constructed through texts that you're more effectively. Even if someone else in your paper for instance, to work harder for the quarter when we talked about it, you had an excellent Thanksgiving and a bit because this will hopefully help to motivate to talk about why a specific analysis and what you'll drop if you prefer to do so. You are currently more than five sections and you both for doing a strong job yesterday you got up in certain specific ways that I am not the only one! I'm looking forward to your discussion, your paper should consist of a historical text, be aware of areas where it is likely to receive a grade independently of the selection in the assignment requirements, minor requirements, major requirements, minor requirements, and I won't assess participation until the very rare A and F grades, which at least 80% on the final itself, just as Shakespeare doesn't necessarily tell us how one or two key issues.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Cooking

the series read as follows:

Superman … Monday … Cheezy Pouffs … Bacon … Stumbling … Trail Mix …  Punch … Friday … Preparation … Uncle Mudler … Normal … Backseat … Mudler-sense … The FBI … Unthinkable … Patience ... Elephant Jokes

___________________

The next three days were a blur for Scully. She had to leave Mulder home with Maggie as well as the children, scared and scarred but attempting to front with a calm that gave them away as frightened of their own shadows and everything else in the world. The four parents couldn’t get home without paying exorbitant amounts of money and dealing with three days of layover/circuitous route travel so it was Sam, brave heart and soul, whom, that first morning after Scully went to work, spoke for the group, relaying the firm and utterly untrue message of ‘we are fine and we will see you when you get back.”

Maggie watched him deliver his lie to speakerphone-anxious parents, then hang up, tears shining but unfallen as he sniffed hard, turning to regard everyone shorter than him, “we’re gonna stop crying about our parents. They are on vacation and they need it so we’re gonna let them stay on it. Understand?”

Every one of them from four to eight nodded solemnly, wiping tears with small fists and sleeving running noses until they looked ready for the world again, Jake speaking first, “we should make dinner.”

So out of left field with that one that the rest agreed, moving Uncle Mudler bodily into the kitchen and making a list of foods they needed from the store. They searched cupboards and opened cabinets and debated courses and meats and sides and salads and desserts until they were all starving and drooling and desperate for sustenance. They ate PB&J sandwiches before Mulder and the older two trooped to the store, list in hand and concrete promises that they would not deviate without the sole and express permission of the other three by way of phone call.

Then they cooked, mashed, steamed, buttered, salted, baked and boiled until the entire house smelled delectable and Toby decided that Aunt Dana should come home right then so she could smell the food and eat with them. Mulder gently told him there was a good chance she wouldn’t be home for several days so he instead asked to call her and let her know what they’d made for dinner. It was then that he popped Toby up on the counter to look him square in the eye, as all men do, “if we call her right now and tell her we made pot roast and smashed potatoes and garlic bread, she will immediately quit her job and come home to dinner and eat it all and we will get none. How about we make her a plate and if she gets home tonight and you’re awake, you can help me heat it up for her; otherwise, she’ll have it whenever she gets here.”

Toby accepted this and nodded, sliding down to the floor and going to inform the rest of them that they had to save Aunt Dana a plate.

Mulder hung his head for a moment, hands firmly on the counter holding him, floor staring up cheerfully with its polished shine that defied the hundreds of feet that passed over it daily. Toby wasn’t the only one who wanted to call her.

&&&&&&&&&&

He was exhausted by the end of the evening, helping Maggie, bathing small children, telling non-scary stories to them all before finally getting them to remain in their own beds, upstairs and together, with bribes of stacked pancakes and bacon in the morning. One ear on the sleepers, he pulled open the sofa bed, then sat down, lacking will and energy to do more than stare at the wall for several minutes before finally losing the battle.

Picking up the house phone, he dialed her, wondering which Scully would answer.

“Hi.”

That threw him off immediately, “Scully?”

As she stood in the locker room, forehead against the cool metal of her temporary clothes keeper, looking down at her messy scrubs and stained shoes, “tell me again why I’m a doctor who works for the FBI?”

His voice, tired, strong, satin, soothing, “because you are you and love your job 99% of the time.”

Normally, she held it together just fine, tornadoes, flesh-eaters, homicidal cats, weirdest shit in the history of the world but that second in time, connected only by sound and not touch, she wavered, words cracked, syllables quavered, “I want a hug.”

He fought the urge to get in the car, muscles coiled to drive, foot already pressing the accelerator, “I can’t come down to give you one … I’m sorry.”

She could hear the anguish in his voice at not being able to give her what she asked and it made her feel a modicum better, knowing he would if he had any means possible, “it’s okay. I know you can’t leave right now.” Turning, she sat on the wooden bench between rows, “tell me something good from today instead.”

Mulder, in racking brain fashion, took a moment to unearth something, anything, to make her smile, “Hannah discovered that if you tickle Toby just as he’s breathing in, he belches.”

Her laugh echoed, bouncing off silent walls, giving her enough of a boost not to cry the rest of her life away, “how did she discover that?”

“Total accident. I finally had to make them stop before Toby booted all over the countertop.”

“Booted?”

“Puked, vomited, heaved, tossed cookies, I’m branching out with my verbs, don’t fence me in.”

“Did you give them all hugs from me?” She craved any news of home, anything not related to burned flesh and dead friends, “did you get them all to sleep upstairs or are they down with you still?” Mulder answered, continuing the conversation for another ten minutes until Scully interrupted him, “hang on.” Coming back on the line a second later, “that was the tech saying the room is clean and …”

Her trailing off told him the next victim was on the table and she had to go back to work, “I love you and I’ll call you tomorrow morning. Maybe bring you some breakfast if you’d like.”

The thought of food turned her stomach and wincing, “how about another phone call if I’m not home yet? I don’t know that I can handle actual food right now.”

“Maybe I’ll just bring you some more crackers and yogurt?”

She’d packed a cooler full of them that morning, eating only when her body told her it was calories or collapse, “I’d like that and I love you, too.”

He wanted to ask who she’d identified so far but his heart couldn’t take it, not this late in the evening so he left it hanging there, the question floating aimlessly in the atmosphere, to be plucked down and answered sometime in the future.

Scully heard the unasked, “g’night, Mulder.”

“’Night, Scully.”

&&&&&&&&&

He didn’t sleep, listening for nightmares from all corners of the house, anticipation driving away rest, a blurry-eyed, clumsy Mulder welcoming the day and somewhat better rested children at 7am.

He burned the pancakes.

He undercooked the bacon.

He spilled the milk and dropped the plates.

He tripped the Sam.

He elbowed the Betsy.

He felt so bad he gave them all brownies for dessert and vowed to take them to the movies for double features and extra large popcorns.

Sam patted him on the back and told him to go take a nap, that he would get the dishes done and after Maggie volunteered to spearhead any and all activities for the next few hours, Mulder crashed on Scully’s old bed upstairs, Sam’s presently, snoring before he hit the sheets.

&&&&&&&&&

That second night, around eight, with children tired and yawning, with Maggie insisting and Betty prodding, he packed up food and headed out into the night.

Scully sat quietly against the wall, hidden from view, head back, eyes closed, nearly feeling bad about her television doctor cliché posture and expression but nearly wasn’t enough and since she opted not to give a shit about her appearance after 48 hours straight of identifying bodies, she remained in the dark, wallowing in misery-filled solitude.

Until large, gym shoe ensconced feet appeared in front of her, shoes at the end of skinny legs and low-riding white socks. Crouching Mulder came into view a moment later, stack of Tupperware settling on the floor, hand moving to grip her knee, eyes sad, worried, concerned, take your descriptive pick, whispering into her forehead as he leaned into her, “the kids made you dinner.”

That, of all things, made her cry. Just one solitary tear but still, she swiped angrily at it, reminding Mulder of her nieces and nephews, “they made me dinner?”

“You didn’t get to eat what they made yesterday so they cooked again today and said I had to bring it to you. Maggie and Betty joined in and the pressure was too much and here I am. I left your mom in charge with Betty as backup so I imagine there’ll be a card party going in about 10 minutes.” He could see the second tear revving up at the thought of home and ignoring food and passers-by, he sat down beside her, pulling head to shoulder, lips grazing hair, remaining against her, warm breath into crown of head, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come earlier.”

Shifting, she disregarded the cold tile and scooted until she was lying with her head on his thigh, dirty floor be damned, “I’m so tired, Mulder.”

Hand now on shoulder, he rubbed his thumb over the roundness, trailing her collar bone every so often, “do you want to go find a couch or something to lay down on?”

No answer came.

And he sat patiently … unmoving … unruffled … unapologetic … to the few weary technicians and personnel that walked quietly by, several whispering offers of a futon down the hall or a spare pullout bed but he declined, murmuring back that they were just fine.

[spamzineglasgow]

SPAM Festive Special: tom leonard, 1944 – 2018, i.m.

In this special piece to move us towards the close of the year, Rhian Williams remembers the Glaswegian poet, writer and critic Tom Leonard, who passed away on the 21st December 2018. 

       lower case posits in-the-presence-of        lower case is presence        lower case is company[1]

> my friend, jane, records how, when leading seminars in modern poetry, tom leonard would ‘light a candle at the start in recognition of “the universal human as inclusive and absolute”’.[2] it is that flame – its quality of intensity and of fade, the darkness around the wick, the gold that haloes it, the soft white at its very edges; a trinity of light – that i think of, and that i write by, now, this day in december, as i remember this man of letters.

light, dense, warm, yellow. light, thin, white, attenuated. light, time, presence.

> it was a still, muffled day in december last year, as i was shopping for groceries, in the shop where tom shopped for groceries, when i checked my phone, and read an email from another friend, nicky, who let me know that tom had died the day before. the shortest day of the year. which had not been one of those when the light is bright and intense – the glorious winter sunshine – but one when a lead-like, restrained, grey light had leaked only blankly in the air. a quiet day. a brief interlude, a space between darknesses.  so tom had moved with it, solsequium,[3] a burnished ‘pot marigold’, a mothering light turning with the sun into the darkest space of the year – the edges of a diurnal pausing, according to shetland tradition, when one should set down one’s work for the holiest day, anticipating the miracles and translations of the holy labour, of the returning sun.

       stepping into that space        out of the past        surrounding        this place, become        an accompanying darkness;[4]

leonard’s work – radical, political, fiercely intelligent, sharply, sharply engaged by (and always advancing of) the ideological work of language, of its plasticity, of arrangement on the page ­(‘poetry is the subliminal history of linguistic shape | ahem’)[5] – was profoundly welded into presence. the ‘being here-ness’ of human experience: the light in which it stands (‘seductive bright light | of the evening narrative’)[6] and the breath – the spiritus – that marks its paces (‘poetry is the heart and brain divided by the lungs’).[7] his work was experimental in the most serious way, and i see its legacies in scottish poetry today, its sidelong glances at language, at its mendacities, the tell tales of public life. but also its vitality, its telling of stories, its bloodflow. (tom, a true intellectual, but never bloodless.) leonard’s legacy is clear and important: it is evident in a generation of poets (jenny lindsay, nick-e melville, iain morrison, kathrine sowerby, harry josephine giles, as well as jane goldman, come to mind) who regard poetry and poetics as actions, as interventions, as means of revelation.

> at this time of year – at the marking of the winter solstice, the miraculously burning oil in the temple, and the birthing of a messiah – i find myself thinking about the domestic space ­– the hearth – that fuels that birthing (‘the sacred heart | above the winterdykes | set roon the fire’).[8] of the shifts around presence, being, light and time that i see in leonard’s body of work as comparable to parenting through reciprocity (‘i wish you would touch me more | it makes me feel happy | and secure’).[9] of the vestal work of home-making that i find infusing leonard’s writing: what we might call radical mothering, where mothering is a verb for attentive nurture, for the act of nourishing, for advocacy, for the defence and advance of storytelling. labours which may be (and are) taken up by carers regardless of gender and whose object need not be a child as such. i am talking specifically about the passion contained when leonard remembers his shame at his father’s vocalising during private reading and is encouraged by an audience member to find the use of phonetic urban dialect, ‘rather constrictive’: ‘The poetry reading is over | I will go home to my children’.[10] i am talking about his remarkable feel for the rhythms of daily domestic duty, peeling spuds, going on messages, controlling one’s breath as one walks to the shops. over and again, leonard’s poems mark the habits of a particular class of daily life, intimating the textures and fabric of a life of cooking, laundry, ‘sitting in the garden | behind the toolshed | reading Thomas Mann’,[11] listening to the wireless. fiercely attentive, and alive. now, of course, leonard’s poetics were exquisitely sophisticated – i’m not even remotely saying that his work is ever uncomplicated reportage of private domesticity – but it didn’t surprise me to learn from his sons at his funeral of tom’s presence in the home, of his habit of taking a breather in the day to listen to radio 3, sat on the sofa with tea and a biscuit. or to be gifted his recipe for lentil soup.

       the roar of a lawnmower        pause        the roar of a lawnmower        pause        the roar of a lawnmower[12]

for what i learn from leonard’s poems, and from leonard’s writing about poems and poetry (verse, from vers – to turn – as in ploughing a field, or mowing a lawn), is that there is a selfhood in poetry that is its animus, its means, its occasion, and its strength of expression. that poems come about from there being a story to be told (‘I was really relaxed talking to the young man I know the story of this place | I grew up in it I have eyes and ears’),[13] and the process of that telling may be quite unselfconscious as it drives towards enunciation, or even be ‘mechanical’ in the sense of algorithmic experimentation. but that self – or ‘a’ self – then becomes conscious as it manifests. that the lyric self – by which i mean the sign of presence in poetry – is not absorbed utterly by private experience, but rather it enters the rhythm of the poem and its shape on the page (all poems have rhythm as all living things breathe, and everything takes shape), and thereby intersects with time, with history, and with material records (‘in our own being | but never wholly separate, only a part | of the time we live in, and with others occupy’).[14] it comes into the world (is birthed?) and so it becomes an agential position: the expressive, poetic subject is an action, a vortex, a meeting point.

       But then he began to accept that he was a writer.        It was a matter of language and consciousness. The link between the                                                                                                               two.[15]

even as this process hints at abstraction (‘as he grew older he stood in separate relationship to himself’), it is actually a return to the flesh, in leonard’s beautiful, active verb: ‘he was able to body himself conceptually as a totality’.[16] … so i learn from leonard that poems are things that are done with and for bodies (‘Gin a body meet a body’),[17] and are caught in the dialectic of giving and of standing back, like mothering.

> jane also told me that tom loved the work of psychoanalyst, donald winnicott – i hadn’t remembered that consciously; it was just a feeling of correlation i had when reading leonard’s work and when reading winnicott’s work on physical touch and play, on the parenting labour that is simply, exhaustingly, that of helping our children to find their own pace and breath. but today my copy of leonard’s Reports from the Present: Selected Work, 1982-94 actually falls open here:

Breath, breath, breath, breath, breath. If only Winnicott had gone further with that aside about the baby’s first perception of breath, median between inner and outer, its role as the point at which the defences are down. Maybe he did, I just haven’t seen it. So much of his stuff is great, so exciting to read. All that stuff about the sucking-blankets (his ‘guggie’, mine used to call it) ‘transitional objects’ and their elation to culture, the first experience of symbols in time. That ‘potential space’ where play occurs … ‘It is play that is the universal, and that belongs to health.’ Good on you, Mr Winnicott. A very healthy man.[18]

in Winnicott, in leonard, in breath (that which brings together time with flesh), and in play, then, we find the scene of reciprocity:

        this time         breath

        held         between us

        each time         familiar

        each time         new[19]

so often violated – as leonard’s work distils in startling realisation – by institutionalised aggression and belittling, by militarism, by capitalist ideation (‘jesus christ that cunt was a cop!’),[20] in leonard’s poetics, reciprocity is staged through timely proximity, and is a route towards settling into the ‘now’. ‘we lightly hold hands as we sometimes do | until the first to be falling asleep begins to twitch and tonight it’s Sonya’:

        I am aged 51 years and nine months and nine to ten days[21]

reading of one of the longest days of the year from the dim of one of the shortest, i find the milky light of glasgow at 3am in june (‘the sky in the north is translucent like a lake’) illuminating the ‘now’ as a quiet scene of resistance, outwitting interpellation; an experience of the self, of the body, and of time that has evaded capitalist value. ‘from within he came to realise himself as an instance of the universal human’.[22]

> the calendar turns, light thins out and attenuates, darkness creeps (‘The three wise kings, who have travelled | All the way from Burns & Oates in Buchanan Street, | Peer at the infant under a torch-bulb’),[23] but rhythms and habits persist:

       the future, knitting the future        the present peaceful, quiet        as if

       the same woman knitting        for a thousand years

tom, i miss your voice, i miss your wisdom, i miss your knowledge. i miss your compassion, i miss your understanding. your not here-ness is painful.

> and the world keeps turning, the sun keeps rising. the marigold blooms.

                                                                               glasgow, 16 december 2019

~

Text and Image: Rhian Williams

Published: 23/12/19

[1] Tom Leonard, ‘the case for lower case’, Outside the Narrative (Exbourne & Edinburgh: etruscan books & Word Power Books, 2009), p. 178.

[2] See Jane Goldman’s contribution in Tributes to Tom Leonard, ed. Larry Butler (Glasgow, PlaySpace Publications: 2019).

[3] ‘To follow the sun’ and the term for the marigold in Middle English. It is used in a conceit by Ayrshire poet, Alexander Montgomerie (1550-1598) that is used as an epigram to Leonard’s ‘The Present Tense: a semi-epistolary romance’, Outside, p.110.

[4] ‘respite in the reading’, Outside, p. 107.

[5] ‘100 Differences Between Poetry and Prose’, Outside, p. 63.

[6] ‘Plasma Nights’, Outside, p. 196.

[7] ‘100 Differences Between Poetry and Prose’, Outside, p. 63.

[8] ‘An Ayrshire Mother’, Outside, p. 209.

[9] ‘Nora’s Place (14)’, Outside, p. 156

[10] ‘Fathers and Sons’, Outside, p. 54

[11] ‘Pollok Poster 1’, Outside, p. 13

[12] ibid.

[13] ‘The Fair Cop’, Outside, p. 189

[14] ‘proem’, Outside, p. 65

[15] ‘A life’, Outside, p. 214.

[16] ibid.

[17] Robert Burns, ‘Comin thro’ the Rye’

[18] ‘The Present Tense’, Outside, p. 113.

[19] ‘touching your face’, Outside, p. 182.

[20] ‘The Fair Cop’, Outside, p. 189.

[21] ‘June the Second’, Outside, p. 181.

[22] ‘Three Types of Envoi: A humanist (2)’, Outside, p. 213.

[23] ‘My Parents’ Living-Room at Christmas’, Outside, p. 53.

[shannsleeve]

The Bookshop: 2/5

Here’s part 2! :)  A/N:  Arthur Weasley is noted to have at least one sibling. In the Potter books, only one is named - Bilius Weasley. Since Arthur does not make an appearance just yet (as he's born quite a bit after this time), I've introduced a potential other sibling to the fray. :)

Tagging: @teacup-occamy, @njckle, @carnivorouskiwi, @allscissorsallpaper, @book-lover-dragon, @believe-in-the-jabberwocky Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11136360/chapters/24889332

Upon stepping across Scio’s threshold, it was obvious the space had once accommodated another type of business entirely. The couple stepped into a vast hall covered in an array of art deco tiles on the floor and ceiling, and quite a crowd of magical customers. A pair of children dodged between the pink marble pillars, reminiscent of regal Roman columns, that upheld the building’s foundation. Dozens of bookshelves, arranged in a tidy maze, filled the spaces between the pillars near to bursting. Two elaborate chandeliers illuminated the space while smaller lanterns attached to each pillar offered concentrated pockets of light occupied by a few older folks for leisure reading. Behind the main kiosk, glinting in the low light, was a gargantuan steel door. It was open, revealing the vault within. The cramped space was lined with more bookshelves filled with volumes that looked to be centuries old.

“Not much has changed,” Tina reflected, drinking in the familiar sight. “That’s a relief.”

Newt found himself quite enchanted with the content look on his wife’s face. “Well let’s not waste time just staring, then.” He tugged her hand, guiding her to a set of shelves closest to the main kiosk. A piece of parchment floating above the shelves informed them that they were in the Little Witches & Wizards´ section.  

“My parents devoured books,” Newt mused, craning his head to better observe the books on the highest shelf.

“Mine enjoyed ‘em too. And why do you to refer to them like you do the beasts?”

“Well, darling, humans are beasts and I didn’t refer to them as creatures. I merely observed that they had a voracious appetite for literature.”

Tina looked up at him, a groan rising in the back of her throat. “Please don’t tell me you’re gonna refer to the little one that way.”

Newt glanced down at her nonchalantly before pulling a book from the highest shelf. “But what if they really enjoy the written word?” He flipped it open to the first page – Magical Plants for Mommy and Me.

Tina ran her finger along the spines of the volumes on the shelf in front of her. “Then use another verb. I, personally, prefer absorbed.”

“Like how Devil’s Snare brings you into a…warm hug?” With a smirk, he leaned down, shoving the book in her face.

Tina came nose-to-nose with a rather adorable caricature of a baby Devil’s Snare embracing a little witch. Both had very rounded eyes, chubby cheeks, and overly saccharine smiles. The danced and played happily across the page. She sniffed as she flicked the book back towards him. “Precisely, you incorrigible man.”

Newt chuckled as he conjured a basket and placed the book inside. His inner herbologist was secretly thrilled to share a love of gardening and cultivating with his child. “As you wish, then, love.”

Tina harrumphed triumphantly and moved onto the next shelf, crouching a bit as she did so. She passed over several titles until one in particular caught her eye – Philippine Folk Tales by Mabel Cook Cole. She was about to flip it open when her husband spoke again.

“Remind me again what we’re looking for?”

“Fairytales, honey.”

“Ah yes,” said Newt, thumbing through another volume he found – New Fairy Tales and Stories by Hans Christian Andersen. “Now, I remember.”

“Both No-Maj and Wizarding ones.”

“Then why didn’t we just wait and drop by Diagon Alley?”

“Because, Newton, we aren’t going home for another week and we agreed to stop here.” She met his gaze, the book still firmly shut in her lap.

“And it was your favorite shop growing up, yes, I know.” He leaned down and placed a playful peck on her nose. “I’m only teasing, dearest.”

She returned the peck with a gentle swat on his cheek. “Then your search should yield twice the results.”

He raised New Fairy Tales in mock surrender before dropping it into the basket. “I promise I’m giving it my best go.”

“You didn’t even flip through it!”

The wizard merely shrugged and pushed past her to another shelf.

“Insufferable man,” Tina grumbled, tucking her own choice beneath her arm.

The Scamanders wove through the labyrinth, plucking books from the shelves as they went. Occasionally they shot each other mocking glances and ridiculous faces. At one point, Newt, who was in the middle of ‘hiding’ behind a tiny pamphlet on Wizarding Babies and Replenishing Diapers, tripped over a magically propelled book cart.

CRASH!

With a groan, he found himself face down on a rather scratchy rug on top of some rather pokey books right in front of two small children. The youngest, a little boy with knobby knees and flaming red hair, began to cry. His older brother, on the contrary, threw his own ginger head back, howling with laughter.

“PAPA! PAPA!” The boy roared, pointing at Newt as he struggled to stand. “HE FELL! HE FELL!”

“Bilius!” A series of hurried footsteps rounded a corner until they stopped right above Newt’s head. “Oh, Scamander! It’s you!”

Newt finally raised his head to see a portly man with a well-groomed moustache looking down at him with concern and, if he was being honest, a lot of amusement. “Ah, hello there, Mr. Weasley!”

“Newton, please! You aren’t a small lad anymore. You may call me Septimus.” He reached down and offered Newt a hand. “And don’t mind Bilius. He indulges in a strange kind of humor.”

“That’s quite all right,” said Newt, grasping the hand and rising to his feet. He dusted off his coat before he realized that the basket of books was nowhere to be seen. “Oh bugger…” He spun round in a circle, searching for the fallen basket but to no avail. “Oh dear. Mr. Weas—I mean, Septimus, h-have you seen—“

Septimus chuckled at Newt’s frantic expression. “Newton, relax. I think Caius may be able to help you find what you’ve lost.”

The little boy who had been wailing in fright a few moments earlier, stood at attention, his chubby hands wrapped tightly around the handle of a basket overflowing with books. “Here you go, Mr. Newton!”

“Ah yes. Thank you, Caius.” Newt took the basket and heaved a sigh of relief. “My wife would’ve been dreadfully upset if I’d lost these.”

Bilius jumped out from behind his father and landed soundly on the toes of Newt’s boots. Ignoring the wizard’s grunt of pain, he very matter-of-factly asked, “Who’s your wife, sir?”

“That’d be me!” Tina, who had been busy righting the fallen cart and its contents before a rancorous employee could find it, appeared at her husband’s side. She stifled a giggle as the boy stumbled off Newt’s feet and into his little brother.

Caius hastily shoved Bilius away and drew closer to Tina, mouth as wide as a Nundu’s jaws as he beheld her. “Y-You’re Mrs. Newton?”

Tina nodded. “Have been for more than a year now.” She drew close to Newt and threaded her arm through his.

Unable to resist, Newt pressed a swift kiss to her cheek. “Merlin knows it took you longer than that to accept, dear.”

“Oh, hush!” Tina hissed as the boys turned to each other and gagged. “Not in front of the children!” She shot Septimus an apologetic look. “So sorry, sir.”

Newt hastily looked away and cleared his throat, although he pulled Tina closer to him, much to her chagrin and (secretly) delight.  

Septimus waved away the apology with a hearty laugh. “My dear Porpentina, there’s no need to stand on ceremony. We’ve met over jammy-dodgers and cold coffee for months!”

“WAIT! WHAT?!” Bilius exclaimed. “Papa! Papa! PAPA!” He wildly tugged on his father’s sleeve while never taking his eyes off Tina. “Is that Porpentina Scamander? The Auror?!”

“Why yes she—“

“THE VERY FIRST PERSON WHO FOUGHT GRINDEL-EY-WALD IN THE FLESH?!”

Tina balked as a fierce blush colored her cheeks. “Oh well I didn’t know that was him in the—”

“THE ONLY LADY ‘SIDES HIS OWN MUMMY THAT HE PROBABLY FEARS?”

“Goodness, son. That’s high praise—“ Septimus said, trying to rein in Bilius whose brilliant red locks began to spark as his excitement rose.

“I KNEW YOU WERE THE ERUMPENT’S ADENOIDS!” The boy crowed, bouncing up and down, sparks now flying from the ends of his hair.

Tina stifled a laugh. “Well, that’s one I’ve never heard before.”

“ERUMPENT’S ADE-DE-NE-NODS!” Caius chorused, gleefully clapping his hands.

Newt pouted, pretending to be miffed by all the praise showered on his wife. “I did my bit too, gentlemen. I fought him in the subway, y’know…”

“BUT YOU LOST!” The boys bellowed, impudently sticking their tongues out at the bemused Magizoologist.

“Boys!” Septimus Weasley was beside himself. Caius and Bilius weren’t usually this outspoken in public. And in front of two prominent Ministry members to boot! “Please forgive their impertinence.”

The couple shook their heads in unison. The same thought ran through their heads – better to see it now and be prepared later. Sensing each other’s enthusiasm, Newt and Tina turned to one another, radiant smiles on their faces. Even now, two months after their initial visit with the Healers, they still could hardly grasp that they were to be parents. They wrestled with excitement, anticipation, and almost crushing anxiety every day; sometimes to exhaustion.

Septimus, still flustered and quite embarrassed, cleared his throat and changed the subject. “What brings you to America, my dear Scamanders?”

“We’re on holiday,” said Newt, a small smile gracing his lips. “It’s been quite welcome the respite.”

The boys’ mouths fell open in both shock and awe. “WOOOOOOOOW! WE’RE ON HOLIDAY TOO!” Bilius cried, absolutely thrilled to be sharing his vacation time with one of his idols. “Auror Scamander’s on holiday, Papa!”

Septimus chuckled. “Yes, that’s what they’ve said, son.”

“If Auror Scamander’s on holiday,” said Caius, pointedly addressing Newt. “Then what’re YOU doing, Mr. Newton, sir?”

“We’re shopping for birthday gifts,” Tina interjected, patting her husband’s arm soothingly. He squeezed her hand lovingly in thanks. These children were too blunt and judgmental for his liking.

Caius raised an eyebrow. “For who?”

“Ah, well,” Newt began, just as Tina said simultaneously: “You see…”

The couple paused. After a moment of joint consideration, Newt and Tina answered in unison, “They aren’t here just yet.”

“Oh. That’s a little odd,” said Bilius, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Caius chimed in. “Can we help you pick out the presents?”

“Well, we’ve kinda already found ‘em…” Tina trailed off as the boys shrunk in on themselves, utterly crestfallen. She looked to Newt imploringly.

Biting his lip, the wizard took a moment to think. He glanced at the heavy basket on his arm. They couldn’t possibly buy all of them for a newborn. Then it came to him. “Actually, boys, there is something you could help us with.” Newt lifted the basket to the boys’ eye level. “Tina and I were looking for a place to sit and read these.”

“Oh! I know! I know!” Caius bolted down a corridor till all they could see was a small red bob in the distance.

“Yeah, come with us! We’ll show you!” Bilius took off after his brother, leaving the Scamanders to scramble after them.

[peachingboy]

Boku No Hero Light Novel No.2 Trans

Chapter 1: Commence the Study Groups! (そろそろの勉強会),  Part 3.

[Part 1, Part 2]

t/n: at first I didn’t think I’d get this done today but! due to the fact that bnha s2 was starting today which gave me a big motivation boost to do something bnha related and hence me plus ultra-ring through part 3! Btw I also want to say thank you to those who have left kind messages in my ask box, they really make me happy! THANK YOU <3

Kyouka is starting to get the quadratic formula’s they were going through.

“Ah I see, you can solve them like this?”

“Oh, Kyouka-san, at first glance you’ll feel like you are stuck but if you look at the question properly you will be okay.”

“As expected that’s our Yaomomo, so easy to understand!”

“Oh, please, don’t say stuff like that..” 

Kyouka’s honest thoughts about Yaoyorozu made her blush happily, her explanations made it really easy for everyone to understand.

“Yaomomo-senseiiiiiiiii- How should I do this English translation?”

“Just give me a minute Ashido-san….. ah this one…”

Yaoyorozu’s standing study plan was the most perfect, each subject was carefully timetabled together, everyone’s weak point was analysed and measured. Yaoyorozu taught everyone with kindness and carefulness which made everything easy to understand too.

When they think about all the time and preparation she’d put into this, to think in the beginning they didn’t want to enter into this palace.

Because Ashido really wanted to attend the lodge for the test of courage she is aggressively trying really hard to concentrate.

“Uh, your face is gonna explode!”

However, there is already one person who has had enough, that guy is Kaminari Denki.

From the sports festival to the work placements, they’ve literally been swept away by these events, it’s bewildering and then having to come and study, the brain is going to fry if this keeps up!

“X&Y ions combination…. auxiliary verbs…. Sumerians and Crown Shock….”

“Ahhhhh! If you say anymore, I’m going to really explode!”

Even though he didn’t emit any electricity he had on his stupid facial expression. Kaminari turns towards his neighbouring Kyouka who tells him:

“Get a hold of yourself! Don’t you want to go to the lodge?”

“I doooooooo, but even Aizawa sensei said who ever gets failing marks won’t be able to attend, I even had supplementary lessons at school!”

“AHHHHHHHH…. somebody……. anybody please exchange heads with me!!”

Ojiro tried to give him some encouraging words, but the soon to be reality for Kaminari is him blowing up and sinking, because of this Ojiro felt bad and apologised for not being more sensitive.

“Kaminari-san, should we take a break soon? It’s good to have moderate breaks, it raises efficiency” Yaoyorozu suggested, just then a voice could be heard from outside the doors.

“So then…” The door opens, and the butler enters.

“As you wished, the tea has been prepared.”

“Welcome back.”

Don’t tell me, he’s just been waiting on standby all this time???

Kyouka and the gang eyes rounded at the sight of the maids reeling in a wagon with tea and cookies in front of them. 

Just from the looks of it, the tea set prepared were obviously really expensive, they watched a crimson red coloured tea being poured out into the cups. The steam along with the soft aroma can be felt drifting in the air around them.

The butlers and maid left out to avoid getting in the way of their break so they quietly and quickly distributed the tea and left the lecture hall.

“Pleas everyone drink and eat up.”

Yaoyorozu acted as a cue and everyone stopped their studying and took a sip of the crimson red tea.

“The tea brewed by the maid for us…” The carefully brewed red tea rains down and stains the dry grounds of Kaminari’s heart.

“mhmm, that hit the spot!” The obviously exhausted Ashido complimented.

“Harrods? or something right?”

“Yes that’s correct, I personally love drinking this specific blend when studying, it’s produced in a different area, that’s why the blend produces a complex flavour of persimmons so when your brain becomes weary, you relax and drink this, it’ll instantly rejuvenate you.”

“ummmmmmmm…… I don’t really get what you just said but it’s delicious!”

“I don’t usually drink tea but this crimson red tea is really good!”

Sero and Ojiro appeared to be quite interested in the tea.

Ashido eyes began to shine at the tea coloured cookie she just dipped into her cup.

“This cookie looks real yummy!” The little distorted shapes on the cookies were kinda weird but nonetheless they were certain it was ordered from some fancy high end shop which had their version of stuff they’d thought would be delicious, well that’s what everyone thought as they put the cookies into their mouths.

Yaoyorozu smiled at everyone eating, waiting for the taste of nutrients (?) to hit, it was different from the usual sweet tastes, she anticipated them to taste the complex bitterness.

“……………………”

The five cocked their head slightly at the unexpected taste, at first they were stuck in a state of confusion but suddenly a strong bitter and pungent taste came rushing in their mouth with a strong hint of salted fish!

Their senses were going off, their tongues were tingling and their mouths and throat felt like it was under attack. They turned their head back to try and stop the smell of fish from getting into their nose.

“YGYGSHJSSJSGSGSGJSG” 

This isn’t something people can eat, they had to trust the instinct of their tongues right now, but they were in such a fancy place, there must be a reason, they have to doubt their own tastebuds.

This must be the taste of celebs.

“What do you guys think?”

To stop themselves from puking, they pressed their hands down onto their mouth, their faces turned blue and started producing cold sweat.

Yaoyorozu suddenly notices their demise, but they five just chugged down the red tea alongside the cookies.

“Is it possible that it is not suitable to your taste?”

“Ah…h n-no it’s not like that…”

“The celeb cookie is grea—–t!”

Somehow Ojiro and Ashido managed to open their mouths to try and not hurt Yaoyorozu feelings but she becomes worried she made them eat bad cookies.

“………….?!”

Yaoyorozu’s face fills with shock.

“Wai- please excuse me for a moment..”

She presses her hand against her mouth as she becomes mildly confused.

The remaining five waited for her footsteps to distant away from them before they end up throwing the cookies away.

“uwaaaa! The taste is still in my mouth..”

“These aren’t cookies anymore, they’re weapons of mass destruction!” said Ashido as she tries to drink out the taste with her tea.

Kaminari was still staring suspiciously at the cookie.

“But this really woke us up right? It got me in one shot!”

Following on from what Kaminari said, Ojiro mentions with a serious expression.

“I really had to work up the courage to take bite it once.”

Kyouka also downing her tea played lookout and kept her eyes fixed on the door.

“I wonder if Yaomomo tasted something weird, she did look confuse?”

“Ah, it doesn’t matter, she’s going to return soon.”

However, it was the opposite to what Kaminari said, it didn’t seem like Yaoyorozu was going to come back any time soon. But they can’t resume their tutoring with a teacher however, they thought with concentration, motivation and a different mindset they could atleast try,

But Kyouka couldn’t function with the smell still lingering, she’s still trying to get rid of the taste that is still swimming in her mouth with the tea.

“Wait a minute guys, I’m gonna head to the toilet”

“Ah, me too! I need to go too, I drank way too much!”

Both Kyouka and Ashido get up and opened the door, there was a maid on standby for anything they might need.

They had to hurry as the urge to pee was unreal, the long corridor playing music did not help either and Ashido was about to burst!

“fuaa- I made it! 

“It’s tough because this place is so wide!”

The two exit after washing their hands both with refreshed smiling faces, suddenly they both stopped.

“Ah…. which way was back again?”

“oh.. god”

Right or left, no matter which way they look it’s just the same continuous long corridor! It feels like they came from the right but it also feels like they came from the left.

Kyouka was embarassed about the maid waiting in front of the toilet so she sent her away, now who was going to make sure they returned back okay?

“I don’t think she’s coming, let’s just go which ever!”

“Huh?!…. wait!”

Ashido simply suggested turning to the right based on only intuition, Kyouka was unsure but followed anyways.

“They’re late…. did those guys get lost or something?” Sero asked with a laughing face, Ojiro agrees with an eyebrow raise.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they got lost, look at this place.”

“But the maid would be there to bring them back right? They should be okay, no?”

“Nah, I think so too” Ojiro smiles. While Ojiro and Sero were conversing, Kaminari planted his face down into his notebook and started rubbing it around.

“…………………”

He wiggles the top half of his body like a giant worm, Sero and Ojiro couldn’t help but notice, they exchange looks and then watched Kaminari’s head, Sero with a calming voice asks;

“Dude, what did you just do?”

“I’m trying to get the knowledge to enter my head.”

“Dude, I don’t think that’s going to work, you’d probably lose more knowledge like that” Sero calmly pointed out as the teary eyed Kaminari raises his head.

“sooooooooooo what should I doooooooooo?!”

“Try and study normally.. don’t you think?”

“My brain has reached its limit!…. Limit!!! If I don’t get one more letter into me… uhhh….hu…good bye lodge camp… hello supplementary lesson hell.”

Even his dreams of having tea made by maids before couldn’t stop Kaminari from going into give up mode, Kaminari is just doing whatever now.

Ojiro and Sero tries their best to console him.

“I-it’s gonna be okay man! There’s still plenty of time elft!”

“Y-yeahh… Yeahh! That’s right! If we just focus hard enough we can surpass any difficulties! Remember the school’s motto!”

“PLUS ULTRA!”

“….Even if I can’t remember one more letter?”

It didn’t look like Kaminari’s give up mode was going to end anytime soon, this went against his usual positive attitude. I guess the studying and it’s stress really changes you negatively!

“Hey, you can definitely plus ultra that last letter can’t you?”

“Yeah, what Ojiro said, you can totally power through the last word! Don’t you want to attend the lodge camp?!”

His classmates kind, encouraging words had Kaminari’s stuck gears slowly moving again.

“………y-you’re right! I just need to power through this last letter!” said Kaminari as his eyes fell upon his English text book and its tightly packed lines of English letters.

From A to Z he tries to line up the letters in a formation he’d like and was able t to read from.

pa———–n, Kaminari bursts a brain cell!

“ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! I can’t I can’t I can’t!” Kaminari tries to escape from the reality as he covers his ears from Ojiro and Sero’s worrying words.

The world is cruel, he remembers the ridiculing from Mineta Minoru from a few days ago.

-When push comes to shove, you gotta do what you gotta do…

“….ha”

Kaminari lets out a dry laugh, the days before it was Kaminari who kept bragging to Mineta about going to study at Yaoyorozu’s house.

“Ay, you alright there dude?”

“Man,, you seem pretty tired, maybe you should call it a day and head home to bed?” suggested Ojiro and Sero who were seriously concerned Kaminari probably over studied.

Kaminari with a bitter smile said, “You’re wrong, Mineta… that guy… he said studying at Yaoyorozu would be helpless… that I should cheat… I keep remembering those words”

“Ha…ha, if you cheat you won’t be able to attend the lodge camp, don’t even think about that conversation with Mineta.”

“you’d get expelled dude!” Ojiro and Sero laughs together, Kaminari laughs too.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Kaminari looks at the reflection on Sero’s arm. Sero’s quirk allows him to shoot tape from his elbows which he can control freely and draw back whenever, it’s an extremely high-tier, useful quirk. And then Kaminari suddenly remembers the class seating order, Kaminari sits diagonally behind Sero’s seat.

“hahaha….ha…. no that can’t be right….”

“hah?”

Ojiro and Sero stared at him with puzzled faces as his laugh disappeared and his frightening voices draws near to them.

t/n next part switches back to bakushima and teaser note they visit a drinks bar after escaping the library lmfao fun times, once again dependent on my speed I’ll try to post it asap.

btw pls check my acc from time to time for updates, I thought at first I could just go back to my previous updates and post links to new parts but it’s actually really troublesome to do so, so please pop back every now and then to check for updates.

And last but not least, bring on season two!

[thelightningawardsofficial]

Review | Weapon or Game: The Comeback

Judged by Amy (daedaliaaan)

Category: I'm Not A Mary Sue

[ Author: JanaTale ]

Title (2/5): The title of your book is rather simple, but I fail to see its correlation with the plot. Especially since the summary doesn't exactly give both direct or indirect clues regarding the plot relates to a 'Weapon'. I also fail to see what part of the story refers to 'The Comeback', considering that this is the first book where the whole plot is being introduced from this point. When I first stumbled upon your book, 'The Comeback' gave me the idea that there has been a great story previous to this book and this is a continuation of sorts. This initial confusion leads me to suggest that naming a book 'The Comeback' might me bore suitable for a sequel rather than the first of a trilogy.

Summary (5/10): First, I will assess your use of language within the summary. There are noticeable mistakes in punctuation, especially in the use of commas. You have the habit of adding commas before the word 'and' in sentences that are not listing objects or have the need to link two independent clauses together. The sentence 'Jane Wolf is a student at Royal Academy, and was never like the other girls at her school' is as example for an unnecessary use of a comma before 'and'. This can easily be a single sentence without the comma and would sound better and have a more clear meaning. 'David, and Joe' can simply be 'David and Joe'. There are other multiple unnecessary usage of commas that I suggest you take another look at and review the punctuation mistakes. Aside punctuation mistakes, there are a few inconsistencies of past and present tenses. The mistakes are very few to the point that it could go unnoticed by average readers, however it is always good to have a consistent use of tense when writing to avoid confusion.

There is also a lack of variety in sentences – most of your sentences are very long when it could be broken down into separate sentences. This is also mostly due to the excessive use of commas within your sentences. I do think that having long sentences does create a certain professional feel to it which a lot of writers tends to want to put into their summary, but in this case, a variety of sentences would actually be able to create more intrigue for readers. Shorter sentences can be used to create a sense of mystery and suspense which can help build a sense of curiosity for your readers.

The last assessment will be the content of your summary. Your summary follows a nice structure of the intro-body-outro of the entirety of your plot. I think your plot has been nicely explained in your summary without spoiling too much of it. I don't have much to say about the content of your summary, honestly. Overall, it's very important for the summary to be well written because it is what gives the readers the first impression of your story. A summary with good content but poorly written in terms of structure can discourage readers from viewing your story.

Plot (10/25): I will be honest with you – your plot doesn't strike me as intriguing. When I read your summary beforehand, I was slightly interested with how the story will occur, but upon reading the next few chapters I was slightly disappointed. There were certain parts in many chapters that were quite predictable – such as Xavier's sudden attraction to Jane which contradicts his purpose of watching her and Jane's defeat when she was playing for Royal Academy – which made the story less interesting in terms of building the feeling of anticipation of what comes next for the readers.

I wasn't able to quite grasp the core plot of the story being Jane and her relation to soccer because of the multiple romantic aspects that were consistently evident in almost every single chapter. I do understand that romance is a big part of your story, but I have to say diving into more and more chapters made me lose touch with what really is going on. The romance was pushed in quite early into the story with no in-depth conflicts before it. It seemed too sudden for me to read how Gazel, Torch and Xavier instantly took a liking to her so early on into the story. I personally felt that you had emphasized more towards the romance rather than other external conflicts which made the story less engrossing, because a good romance must be built upon several other external conflicts for it to make sense.

Characterization (7/20): Jane Wolf is a good character in theory (when based on the book's summary) but the written portrayal of her character was not as good as I expected. Throughout reading the chapters, Jane felt a little bland. She is written as the typical general female protagonist – the general kindness and beauty that attracts many guys to her – similar to a Mary Sue. She doesn't seem to have a strong conviction as she claims to be, as shown in how she is said to reject being in teams due to her obsession over perfecting her soccer skills yet joins a team the second she is invited. Her obsession over her soccer skills wasn't clearly shown in the story despite being mentioned in the summary.

Also, seeing that Gazel and Torch are one of the most written about characters in the story, I noticed how their characters were not portrayed as much except for their rivalry in both soccer and their love for Jane. The way these two characters were written seems to me as if their characterization was made to support the protagonist's story by changing their original personality into something slightly foreign.

Grammar and Writing Style (6/15): As an author, it is very important to pay careful attention to grammar and writing style. Any story plot can become something amazing and worth reading, but without the ability to present it well though words, readers wouldn't be able to understand the story entirely. I have noticed that you have the tendency to pile a lot of sentences into a long paragraphs rather than breaking them apart into small paragraphs that will help ease the reading process. Dialogues are combined into one paragraph that makes it difficult to separate the context of the dialogue with the occurring scene. It is highly recommended for dialogues to be separated using a new line or new paragraph so it can identify the different speakers. If multiple dialogues are being performed by one speaker, then it is alright to make it into a single, long paragraph.

One grammatical error that you have consistently made throughout the whole book is the use of your and you're. This is a mistake often made by many authors, native and non-native English speakers, but it is important to note its difference because each word holds a significant meaning. You tend to use your to say you are, instead of using you're. Do keep in mind that the word your is used to show possession of an object by someone (for instance, your cake, meaning you own the cake), while you're is simply short for you are (for instance, you're welcome or you're beautiful). Aside this certain grammatical error, please take care with your spellings. I have spotted many misspellings in many chapters such as the word 'whole' written as 'hole', and 'venom' as 'venim'. These misspellings disrupts the flow of the story and may confuse readers, as some words when misspelled can mean a whole different thing and may change the context of a sentence.

My next point will be your writing style. In your writing, you still tend to 'tell' rather than 'show'. A good author must be able to maintain a good amount of 'telling' a story as well as 'showing' a story. Both are different in terms of how it is presented in one's writing style, but too much of one can lead a story into becoming too confusing to understand or too predictable and lacking intrigue. I suggest you improve on your ability to show what is happening rather than telling it as it can help improve your story to make it seem more interesting and captivating for readers. This can be done by describing certain places and scenes using various adjectives and verbs to explain the vibe or what is happening, rather than explicitly stating where they are. Using a first person narrative is good to present the story in a more personal way, however too much shifts in POVs can become excessive to the point that it becomes confusing to keep up with and distracting since a single occurrence will be shown in various different ways. All comments aside, I do admire and appreciate the hard work and effort you have put into completing this story! You are full of ideas, and I encourage you to continue writing and thus develop and improve your style.

Originality (5/10): This concept has often been used in many of this fandom's fanfictions – where the main female protagonist is sort of ostracized by a majority of people of her school due to her love for soccer save for her best friends. The idea of being in a love triangle with the rivalling characters is also a famous trope amongst many stories, so I can't say that your story plot is original. However, I do like the idea of her obsession with perfecting herself before joining a soccer team which is unlike many that I've read. That specific part is rather refreshing to read.

Feels Factor (5/15): Due to the writing style of your story, unfortunately it became difficult for me to immerse myself with the flow of the story and empathize with the plot. There were certain parts of the story that managed to gain my interest for short moments. I believe that you can further improve your storytelling ability with more practice and care, so do keep up the hard work!

🅞🅒 🅡🅔🅥🅘🅔🅦 -> [ ➐.➎/➊➎]

Name (5/5): Jane Wolf is a simple and memorable name that isn’t repeated by the canon character’s dub name while still sounding plausible as a name of an Inazuma Eleven character.

Appearance (5/8): There’s not much description of Jane’s appearance throughout the story, so it is quite difficult to imagine how she looks. It leads me to believe that her uniqueness comes from her personality rather than her looks, which is far more interesting than having a special physical feature.

Personality (5/10): As I said in my review of the overall book, Jane World strikes me as a good character in theory. But reading further into each chapter, Jane reveals herself as quite the fickle character, often her actions seemingly contradicting with what she claims to be. Although this may be due to a lack of descriptive characterization of Jane throughout the story. For example, her being a perfectionist and obsession over soccer skills is something she claims to be but isn’t highlighted in her thoughts, speech and action, seemingly easily persuaded to act otherwise by other characters. Jane would need to express more conviction she claims to have and avoid the risk of becoming a Mary-Sue. But she does display determination in honing her soccer skills, translated in her confidence in determining what her goals are.

Strength and Weaknesses (7/12): Jane’s strength and weakness lies in her being emotionally-driven. She fuels herself on her frustration and pride as a soccer player to drive her will to win, but she is easily swayed into romance upon meeting  Gazel and Torch. I find it odd how friendly but distanced she can be with other characters but upon first meeting, is on the way to being head over heels for Gazel and Torch. Although she has a strong drive and commitment to improve and reach her goal, it is not often portrayed in the story. I do hope you portray more of her strong side in regards to soccer, highlighting her need for perfection and stubbornness to win.

Interaction with Canon (6/10): The book follows several canon events, inclusive of Jane’s presence as well. Admittedly, I had slight trouble recognizing whether an event in the book matched a specific arc in the anime plot. Jane’s role in the plot doesn’t hinder the canon flow of the story, merely inserting herself as one of the driving forces of the plot, although there were certain parts where the overlap was confusing and unclear for me to follow along and determine whether it had changed the canon plot or not.

Relationships with Canon Characters (3/5): While Jane interacts with many canon characters, her relationships are the most prominent with Gazel, Torch and Xavier. Their dynamic reflects that of the typical love square, in which Jane becomes additional fuel to Gazel and Torch’s rivalry, with the addition of Xavier which adds further tension between the three boys, while she herself struggles to choose one of them. Each of the boys’ interaction with Jane often changes their entire behaviour to one that works in Jane’s favor and leads Jane to lose her sense of conviction when it comes to them. The story then loses track of its focus on Jane’s self-discovery in soccer and becomes a Mary-Sue romance story. They all become dependent on each other in their interaction. I would like to see more of Jane in a way that develops her character by herself through soccer asides the drama of romance, so keep up the writing!

[Raw] 40/100 + 25/50 [Scaled] 33.75/100 + 7.5/15 [Total] 41.25%

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[bouncingtigger10]

New Post has been published on The Bouncing Tigger Reads

New Post has been published on http://www.tiggerreviews.com/animals-and-farms-whats-not-to-like-the-author-explains/

Animals and Farms - what's not to like? The author explains

Questions for Authors:

How long do you think about a topic before deciding to write about it? Do you have a set of notes or a note book where you write down topics that appeal before making a decision as to which topic this time?

There’s been no set time-frame for thinking through novel ideas. Once an idea seems to have legs, I set up a “fermenting file,” which will collect odd bits of research (90 percent of it never used) and random notes to myself. My initial idea may change dramatically even before I start writing, as well as during the writing process. I’ve published four novels now (and am currently working sporadically on two at the same time) and with every one, I start out knowing how the novel should begin and how it should end. So far, that certainty has not changed. It’s that large space in the middle that gets tricky. After the first few chapters, I inevitably get stuck. This is probably because my novels are so character-driven and the characters start having minds of their own and taking me places I didn’t anticipate going. If I let them talk to me, without my losing control completely, the workflow changes halfway through the novel. At that mystical halfway point, I suddenly know how to get to that previously envisioned final chapter. Suddenly, I’m able to chart out six or seven chapters at a time. The main challenge then becomes keeping up with the flow. I may still get stuck occasionally, but nowhere near as profoundly or frequently as in the first half of the writing process.

How long does it take to research a topic before you write? And for this book?

The research time frame varies with every book. My first two books were non-fiction, ghostwritten with a deadline and overall subject area someone else proposed. That was a much more structured process than for fiction writing. With both of those non-fiction projects, I had six months to deliver the draft. In both cases, I spent four of those months researching and two months writing. Although there was some spillover, the research and writing phases were largely segregated.

With fiction, there’s much less compartmentalization. Reinventing Hillwilla required the least amount of research time of any of my books. Even though I wrote it as a standalone, it is, after all, the third in a series, with the same venue and same principal characters. So those characters were well-developed by the time Chapter 1 ended up on paper. Nevertheless, there were lots of facts I had to check — for example, about the legal system, about the exotic locales Tanner visits, etc. And before I plunked Clara in the middle of Wellesley College, I trekked up to Massachusetts and chatted with students to get a better sense of the current campus culture. That way I had something firmer than memories of my own college years, and I learned about some key changes in campus venues and dormitory life.

One final comment about research… My most valuable research tool is bald observation. A favorite pastime is to park myself, solo, in a restaurant, in a region that will be the venue for part of a novel. Then I shamelessly eavesdrop on conversations at nearby tables. I’ll make mental notes of vocabulary choices, pronunciation, phrasing. At one point, I overheard a local speak about the need to “ponder” something before finding the solution to a problem. That verb struck me as downright eloquent, uniquely West Virginian. And you’ll hear it coming out of Ben Buckhalter’s mouth.

What is your favourite genre?

My favorite genre? Hmmm, depends on my mood. I’ve certainly had my cop-shop whodunit phase, cozy mystery phase, family saga phase, biography/autobiography phase and period novel phase. Literary novels are a constant, however. Especially those involving flawed, complicated characters with dark pasts. Not surprisingly, those are the kind of novels I want to write, too.

If you recommend a living author – who would it be? A dead author?

Recommendation of a living author? When it comes to wordsmithing chops, the first name that pops up is Alexander McCall Smith, author of the Botswana lady detective agency series and the Scotland Street series (my favorite), among many, many others. That man can string words together so eloquently, combining both economy of language and lyrical flow, he just makes my jaw drop. He also has a talent for delicately tweaking certain social trends, without coming across as preachy.

As for dead authors, oy, so many. If I focus on economy of language, John Cheever and Emily Dickinson come to mind. Both could pack so much into so few words, in very different ways. Both had an appealingly dark sense of irony, too. Writers who stretched my brain — but made that painful effort worthwhile — include such greats as Shakespeare, Goethe, Rilke, Eliot. I’m sure I’m forgetting others who had a major influence on me.

Have you ever tried to imitate another author’s style? And if so, why?

No, I’ve never tried to imitate another writer’s style. But I’m sure I’ve subconsciously absorbed elements from other authors. Perhaps because I spent most of my professional life as a nonfiction ghostwriter, it’s really important for me to speak in my own (unique, I hope) voice as a novelist.

Do you have any pets?

Do I have pets? Is accounting boring? The numbers are down to a precious few these days: one soft-eyed English setter who looks a lot like Ralph (but was born years after Ralph); one English cocker spaniel with the swagger of a rhinoceros and a great sense of irony; and one gray barn cat who has staff.

If so, what are they?

Over the years, my life has been blessed by llamas; a string of English setters, one Old English Sheepdog (hmmm, there seems to be a pattern here of English-bred dogs), one mutt; one ginormous Newfoundland; a bunch of rescue and feral cats; a series of fancy long-haired cats (Himalayan and Birman); one Peruvian guinea pig (whom I named Fash, short for Fascist Pig); and two parakeets, who got me through the terrible five-year era when my childhood family was dogless.

Do they help you write?

Yes, my pets help me write. I can’t remember how many dog-walks have freed up writer’s block. Mainly, my animal companions have safeguarded my sanity, which fiction-writing constantly undermines.

Do you want to add a photo of them to this Q&A?

If you’re interested in pictures, you need look no further than the cover of Reinventing Hillwilla. My current setter Finnegan ably stepped up to portray the spectral Ralph. But, yes, I had to bribe him with treats.

Author Details:

Melanie Forde is a veteran writer, ghosting in diverse formats—from academic white papers to advertising copy. Under her own name, she has published numerous features and commentaries about the natural world, as well as the first two novels in the Hillwilla trilogy (Hillwillaand On the Hillwilla Road). She lives in Hillsboro, West Virginia.

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