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touchmycoat · 4 years ago

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I LOVE YOUR PORN AU!!!!! LIKE SO MUCH - and i'm just. if you don't mind me asking, how - the way you flesh out the characters, their motivations, and feelings in every scene in such an eloquent way, and just little things here and there, a habit or an activity that adds dimension to who they are, and - your prose is wonderful. you achieve this addictive, engrossing narrative space that readers just absolutely melt into, and i have to ask - how did you develop your writing style? 1/2

what books did you read that formatively shaped the way you write? or you know, what did you do to improve your writing? i'm so in awe of how you world-built and established the porn au - like lqg & hc being national taolu champions?? how do you come up with that stuff? i cannot comprehend the amount of research and effort that must've gone into porn au, and i'm just so deeply thankful that you decided to share that with us. i apologize if i'm coming on too strong, but wow. thank you 2/2

oh my god please don't apologize, when i saw your ask i rolled on the floor giggling hysterically for a solid 15 min, bless your heart

part of the answer to your question—i've taken like, 8 years' worth of creative writing classes/workshops! there was also a transnational literary component to my degree so whenever possible, i took literature classes fksjdfksd so whatever you see and like is definitely the result of a lot of work. My writing from not even 10 years ago but like, 5? horrid, ridiculous, wild, cringe. The Porn AU itself is the second draft of a MUCH more lackluster piece.

about my writing style. gosh, you really know how to make a writer blush. "I like your writing style" is literally an instant kill LMFAO okay okay, the useful answer: my primary criteria for choosing what to write is, don't be obvious, be interesting. Fiction tells us to show, not tell, right? Poetry is about concretizing the abstract. Screenwriting says cut all useless lines. A lot of writing rules and advice—never start with the weather, avoid detailed descriptions of the characters, don't use adverbs, etc.—are all really about this exact sentiment.

I once took a seminar on writing for horror movies. The golden rule of the horror genre is Never Show the Monster, because whatever the audience is imagining is always going to be scarier than what you actually show them. There are obviously exceptions to this (to all writing rules), but in my mind, it's all the same principle.

LONG answer under the cut

So you start with building a scene. I approach it like essay-writing—I state my thesis for the motivations/main propulsion of the plot. "In this scene, LQG and SY are motivated to save Cang Qiong's porn production, so they have sex on camera." Then you build the sub-motivations: "LQG is also doing this because he's pining after SY."

I learned this "thesis-writing" from theater, specifically from writing 10-min plays. Theater is all about characters being driven by their wants and needs, and the reason I say 10-min plays in particular is because longer forms of writing will give you more leeway, but in 10-min, you pretty much need your character motivations established from their very first line. That's why you need that very clear thesis for yourself—if you don't even know what the character wants from the get-go, then you can't establish who they are, what they want, and where they're going to go in a dynamic and interesting way.

So this thesis drives EVERYTHING that happens in your scene, just like an actual thesis for an essay, just like topic sentences for your paragraphs. Once I do this, I have the emotional direction & narrative scope of how much this scene will cover, I have a sense of where it begins and ends. "Begin with the dynamics of their sex. LQG starts showing signs of his feelings. Reveal LQG backstory for exactly what those feelings are and why he isn't telling SY. The rest of the scene implies that LQG's feelings may not be so unrequited, but also sets up the fundamental problem at the heart of the whole fic—SY's inability to comprehend his own feelings." This is kind of my new thesis now. They're having sex; LQG pines; SY doesn't know he himself is pining.

Now it's time to manifest. This is the "storytelling" part, and the hardest lmfao.

Personally, my approach is largely shaped by my very cool screenwriting teacher, who hammered into us: don't fucking waste lines. The Golden Rule of screenwriting is that every line should reveal something new. I found my old writing kind of repetitive, especially on the emotional front, so this is kind of my editing mantra now—is this line either propelling the story or revealing character? If it's revealing character, is it a revelation that has to happen right now, or is it slowing the momentum of the scene?

But these aren't rhetorical questions! "Momentum" doesn't just mean tumble forward as fast as you can, it also means taking the time to draw the bowstring back further, so your next move has even more propulsion. That's why you get the little "LQG has been in love with SY..." cut scene in the middle of the fucking (at least, that's my reasoning for putting it there). Every line has to bring a fresh revelation that "proves" your thesis further.

That brings me to the details. You said you like the details I inject into the world-building, and honestly that's so gratifying to hear, because that means I'm successfully manifesting my intentions, y'know? "Every line has to bring new info" kind of sounds like a tall order, but the most effective way I've seen it done in books and onstage/onscreen is with these hyper-specific details. If you're writing a scene in which someone feels dirty, never have them just say that—have them say they want to take a shower. Show them running out of bleach again as they scrub down the stall after they wash. Begin the scene like "Steve always washes his throat first now." Then pack the scene with even more revelatory details: "Soap in hand, he heard the pipes above his head groan for a half note on adagio, and readied himself for the blast of icy water that always followed." Shitty shower, probably not rich, is likely a classical musician.

By the same token, I want to build LQG's character. The "Liu Qingge has been in love with Shen Yuan" section is the first insight we get into his background and perspective, right, so: I need to establish LQG's emotional context for filming this scene -> I can characterize him as a nut for martial arts in the same stroke -> so this takes place at a gym, beating up sandbags is a classic way of showing manly emotional distress -> so give me more details on this gym -> Puqi Gym, XL the martial god is obviously the owner -> how do I have XL & LQG a relationship beyond gym owner & client? They spar together -> I want XL & HC's position in this AU to mirror their god/ghost king statuses in TGCF canon -> how can I concretize their fighting prowesses in real-world details? -> they're martial arts champions -> what's an actual competitive martial art form that involves weaponry? -> wushu -> wikipedia Wushu, find taolu weapons sparring

(I just realized that in my songxiao daycare AU, Hualian are Olympic gold medalists by the same narrative logic laksjdnflaksjdnflsd)

So, that's the flow of logic behind my world-building lmao. It's all in the details. Leverage is one of my all-time favorite TV shows and the way they build their stories is super inspiring. If their thesis is "the rich and powerful take what they want, we steal it back for you," they manifest it in the most specific and concrete narratives: mine workers who like the work but are fighting for workplace safety vs. the money-grubbing mine owner who will blow up their livelihoods if it means a bigger payday; the little girl from Iraq with refugee status forced to be an accomplice to antique smuggling vs. international smuggler with a fetish for British royalty.

Last pieces of writing advice I've gotten: pay attention to the real world. A writing exercise we did was just sit in a public spot and make concrete observations on our surroundings. There are stories in everything!!! I learned to observe things like weird holes in the concrete (earthquake? drilling accident? bullet mark?), odd patches of moss or bird shit (look overheard: it's an AC unit dripping water for the former and nesting swallows for the latter), ladies in flipflops walking alongside ladies in high heels (excited mother walking her antsy daughter to the bus for the daughter's first job interview—the daughter's shirt collar is unfashionable and she's taking the bus, so there's a good chance the shoes were passed down, maybe from an office lady aunt. Maybe she's even overdressed for the interview, so will her outfit be an unintended source of tension once she gets to the interview? Is it a group interview, to make the comparison more stark?).

Also, write what you know. You know why SY is a video editor in porn AU? Because I'm a video editor. One of my more popular MDZS fics is set in a plant shop 'cause I worked in a plant shop. SL was First AD in Bachelor!AU 'cause I was First AD on a set once. Concrete details like the editing software having a split-screen, always answering questions about how often to water plants, and being up until 3AM editing call-sheets are the ones that will fully immerse your readers.

And if you can't do the actual things, just watch someone who is, listen to them talk, pick up lingo, and fake it. I watched like a 15-min vox video on fencing for the fencing!AU and a 45-min music theory video on the hospital pianist!AU (also I started learning piano sklfjnlsdjlfkjsd). Of course, I just finished reading a wangxian fic that had me going, "holy fucking shit, the author is literally getting their masters in a music program" so my 45-min youtube video ain't shit, but if you just need a little bit of character establishment, then it's enough to do the trick.

Anyways, tl;dr. Find the details, find the tension. Never tell outright what the tension is supposed to be, manifest it instead. Make the manifestation as interesting as possible, and if it's meant to be funny, make it funnier.

Sorry this turned into a fucking lecture lskjnflskdjnflskd but last thing, someone asked me before if I had formative authors, and this was the list I wrote at the time:

Angels in America (play) by Tony Kushner

The God of Small Things (novel) by Arundhati Roy

The Penelopiad (novel) by Margaret Atwood

“Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out” (poem) by Richard Siken

Night Sky with Exit Wounds (poetry) by Ocean Vuong

Giovanni’s Room (novel) by James Baldwin (and then Go Tell it on the Mountain and then his essays)

Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger

And, ooh, now that I have this list I think I can even roughly sort it as such: Kushner, Atwood, Siken, and Salinger I really latched onto for their dialogue and very present narrator voice—same is true for Go Tell it on the Mountain. Roy, Vuong, and Giovanni’s Room, I think, are texts more representative of the kind of saturated figurative language I like, and emulate. Of course they all do imagery and voice and overall structure amazingly, but that’s the rough dividing line I’d draw.

But yeah James Baldwin is my fucking hero.

#long post #about me #writing #jesus sorry i spent way too long on this laksjdnflaskjdnflaskjndflas #but anyways i'm super grateful you gave me the chance to introspect and articulate all this #i'm exceedingly grateful too to all the writing mentors i've gotten to have #personal #these are the principles and rules i've learned and #i still definitely screw the pooch #on them #so you know this is just what's on my mind #this is how i school myself

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corpse--diem · 4 years ago

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Snick Snack Paddy Whack | Ben & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @professorbcampbell & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: Erin pays a visit to an old high school acquaintance. Some crushes die hard. So do snicker-snackers. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

Morgan’s classroom was empty when she arrived, save for the few students that lingered after her afternoon lecture. Her things were still at the desk, meaning her undead friend was here somewhere, likely having stepped out for a few minutes. “You don’t know where Professor Beck went, by any chance?” Erin asked one of the girls who was leaving as she lingered in the doorway.

“I think she mentioned something about grabbing some materials from the library?” The student shrugged, nothing but nonplussed in her demeanor.

Perfect. Not that she didn’t want to see her friend but it was just enough time to slip out unnoticed. Erin nodded her thanks and set the tupperware container and note on her desk. She hadn’t planned on staying long regardless but she wasn’t about to use Morgan without at least leaving a brainy treat behind as quiet thanks (even if she didn’t know it). “Can you tell me where Professor Campbell’s classroom is?”

The young woman’s directions led her down a short walk through the campus. It was hard to tell if class was clearing out or just starting by the thin trickle of students moving in and out of the room but Erin’s eyes could only focus on one thing. Ben Campbell. Suddenly, she was fifteen again, knees weak and tongue heavy in her mouth while her brain struggled to catch up around her. This was dumb. Without much more than her job to occupy her these days, her free time was abundant and curiosity (and other things) had led her to this doorway. This was about as far as her planning had gotten her. When she realized she’d been standing in the doorway far too long, watching some of the last few students reluctantly leave themselves, she cleared her throat and slapped on what she prayed was a less awkward smile. “Ben? Ben Campbell? Is that you?”

“Alright, that about wraps it up for today. Excellent discussion, I highly recommend bringing some of the topics we discussed into your essays. Remember, drafts are due in a week and a half. Have a good one.” Ben said with a nod and a smile. A few of his more studious pupils remained and he answered their questions patiently, but as he glanced around the lecture hall, he realized there was an unexpected guest in the back of the room. A woman, somewhat familiar-- he couldn’t quite place her. As he dismissed the last few curious students, he slid his hands into the pockets of his pressed dress pants and smiled, “That I am. And,” As he neared her, Ben realized just why she looked familiar. Erin. Nichols. Of the failed funeral home. They’d been talking recently, after he’d returned from his brief break off social media. “Erin! It’s good to see you. What brings you to campus?” He asked, intrigued.

He remembered her? Erin’s expression perked up, even if she hated that she realized Ben Campbell simply acknowledging her had that effect on her. “It’s good to see you too,” she grinned, taking a few bold steps into the room. When was the last time she’d seen him properly? It was a small town, and on the occasion they inevitably bumped into one another or cast a glance at community gatherings. She became painfully aware she’d never been alone in a room with him until just now. “I was just visiting Morgan--Morgan Beck. She’s a good friend of mine. I was on my way back to work before I remembered you guys taught in the same department.” She cringed internally at herself for the thousandth time. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to pop by and say hi, if you weren’t busy.” She stiffened and glanced around at the emptying lecture hall. “You’re not busy, I hope?”

Pulling his glasses free, Ben listened to her as he tucked them back into the soft case and blinked as though the transition was a bit of a strain on his eyes. But, it was a gesture, just as most of what he did was. He didn’t need glasses, there wasn’t even a prescription on the lenses. It just helped him look the part. And that was what he was doing, after all. Playing the part. At the mention of Morgan Beck, Ben kept his expression neutral, though inside a hint of irritation boiled up. Bitchy fucking Beck. That woman was such a pain. “Ah, yes! Yes, she’s an adjunct with the department, but we’ve interacted at meetings and such. Wonderful woman, excellent teacher from what I’ve heard.” Well suited for all of those budding future writers/baristas, he thought privately. “How did you know I taught for the department, though? I don’t remember mentioning what courses I taught.” He asked, though as he watched the way she seemed to brighten up and look at him, he had a feeling he knew the answer. “Oh no, not at all. This was my last class of the day.”

Erin stared longer than what was probably socially acceptable as Ben made a small show of removing his glasses. Part of her wondered if it was intentional, and another part of her would normally be rolling her eyes, but the part of her brain that had reverted back to 2003 really didn’t care. “Oh yeah, she’s brilliant. Just don’t ask too many questions if you don’t have an hour to spare,” Erin teased lightly, crossing her arms over her chest, eyes flitting anxiously from Ben to different areas of the room. Fuck. She really should have thought this through a little more. She could plot the demise of an evil crime lord but she couldn’t fucking figure out how to talk to Benjamin Campbell. It was quiet for a moment, and she wasn’t sure if it was her anxiety clawing at the walls of her mind or actually scratching, but she moved on without much though. “I just… guessed,” she fumbled for a moment, shrugging nonchalantly. “Morgan said you worked with her so I figured you were all somewhere in the same realm.” She took a long breath and found her feet moving more confidently towards Ben. “Oh, good,” she smiled again, tilting her head. “So that means I can bother you for as long as I’d like now, right?”

Watching the way she looked from him to the room and back to him, Ben couldn’t help but smile. Oh, she must have been one of those girls in high school. He didn’t remember her much, but through a little bit of browsing on Facebook and the town’s messageboard system, he’d been able to pick up on some things. He hadn’t been lying when he mentioned that he had gone to basketball games-- he had, mostly because it had been a good place to build a good rapport with some of his classmates, get them to trust him, that sort of thing. But, he hadn’t remembered her much. She was just another face in the crowd. But, it seemed she had been one of the girls who’d been rather smitten by him and had managed to escape him before graduation. With a laugh, he nodded, “I can understand that. Get me started on Roman architecture and I can do the exact same thing.” He replied, though it pained him to even draw the most minute comparison between himself and Beck. “Well, what a lucky guess for me.” Ben said with a grin as she approached him. “By all means, bother away.” He said as he retrieved his attache case from where it sat by the lectern.

Just as he was about to turn his attention back to Erin, a flicker of motion flashed in the corner of his eye. Ben frowned, his forehead creasing as he stared at a spot in the wall of the lecture hall. He could have sworn that-- “Did you happen to see something over there?” Ben asked, pointing to the spot where he could see something moving inside the wall.

God, with everything in her, Erin prayed she didn’t look nearly as aloof as she felt right now. This trip had probably been a mistake. She should’ve waited around for Morgan to return, chat with her friend over the deviled cow brain eggs she’d made her, and went on her way rather than feed the flame to some schoolgirl crush she had over twenty years ago. She had way too much time on her hands lately, and the shy, excited grin that followed his words did nothing but prove any of that right. “Lucky for the both of us, honestly,” she agreed with a tilt of her head. She’d just rested against the side of a nearby table when his attention perked forward. God damn it. Her eyes eventually moved from the concentrated look on his face to the source of the scratching. She heard it. Saw it too, when the paint cracked along the spot of the wall. “What the--” she started, standing at alert now. “I see that, yeah,” she answered, wondering if this was a sign she should’ve just. Stayed. Home. Despite her better instincts, she was moving towards it, curiosity peaked. The scratching and rustling grew louder and louder. Something--many somethings--were rushing through the wall. The wall groaned and creaked as she timidly approached it, gesturing with a hand for him to follow. “Shit, it sounds like you have a whole herd living here. You might want to call some--” A furry brown spot whizzed by her feet and she yelped, startling backwards with little grace. “Oh fuck no. Nope. This was--I gotta go.”

As Ben continued to stare at the wall with confusion, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was going on here. He prided himself in knowing this university-- this town even-- like the back of his hand. It was his domain, how dare something infringe upon his space. “A herd?” He asked. For a moment, he opened his mouth to correct her. A herd was a term typically used for large, four legged creatures; this was more like a pack or perhaps a mischief. But, before he could, the aforementioned mischief made itself known by hurtling out of a crack in the wall. First one, then another, and another. Until there was suddenly a crumbling, gaping hole in the plaster. “What in the--” Ben said, jumping back with a start. He held his case tightly in his hand and smacked at one of the furry brown animals that skittered towards him. The tiny ratlike thing bounced off the side of his leather bag and hit the wall, though at least a dozen more poured out of the ever-widening gap. “Oh my Lord.” He muttered as he watched his lecture hall begin to fill with a mass of furry, squeaking rodents. “Yes, running-- running seems wise.” He said before stumbling backwards. As he moved, one of the panels in the floor gave way underneath his shoe and Ben let out a loud curse. “What are these things?”

The thunderous sound of what looked like hundreds of tiny, skittering creatures pouring into the lecture hall overwhelmed the room. Erin wanted to say rats but they didn’t fit the typical description. Rats didn’t have horns. They swarmed by her feet, despite how quickly she was trying to get away, and she found out after her high heels cracked underneath her, these things also had strong, quick teeth. Her heels were gnawed to ribbons and she abandoned the shoes completely, grumbling curses in her panic. “Are you okay?” she shouted above the noise, watching him struggle on her way towards the door. The impact of whatever the hell these things were was clear as every wooden thing they touched started to give way. The door to the lecture hall opened. The early, unsuspecting student’s eyes were glued to his phone until one of the rodents dropped from the ceiling, sending him flying back out of the room. Her jaw set tightly as they rushed by her feet, the little pricks of sharp teeth nipping at her ankles. She jumped up onto one of the metal legged tables circling the room, using what was left of her shoe to push the creatures back. It took about one swift, hard smack but they met bloody ends as easily as they came. She looked back at the stairs, the floors completely covered in a mass of moving fur, then at the desks leading back up towards the door. “Looks like we’re climbing,” she glanced back at him, squashing another one as it came towards her, blood squirting out from under her shoe from all sides.

Waving his case back and forth around him, Ben grimaced as blood splattered across the polished leather. He could handle blood on his suit, that wasn’t a problem. But this was Italian leather. Glancing up at Erin, he saw that she was handling herself just as well as he was. Other than the fact she didn’t have her foot stuck halfway through the floor. With a grunt, Ben lashed out with his case, clearing a small patch of floor for him to pull himself up. As he did so, he could feel teeth latching onto his legs, his hands, his arms. “Vermin!” He spat, shaking them off as he hurried towards the door. “Oh, I’m doing just fine.” He said over the chittering, squeaking sounds around them. When his Lord Hrvsht’ooooor rose to the earth, Ben would have to make a note of these particular nuisances. At Erin’s words, he caught her meaning. “So it would seem.” He said before jumping up on top of the desk. Blood and matted fur covered the soles of his shoes as he did his best to climb after her, his arms and legs stinging from the bite marks. “Awful, vile little cretins.” He muttered as they hurried up towards the exit. So close, but so, so far.

Erin probably should have helped him out of the hole but with no shoes and nothing really to protect herself, handsome or not, the guy was one his own. Thankfully he took her cue and followed behind her, and as she used his to steady herself, she internally grumbled about dressing up as she hiked her dress up and leapt from one row of desks to another. Whatever these things were, they weren’t rats. They weren’t anything anyone was going to find in a textbook somewhere in this university. Just another White Crest brand of things that shouldn’t exist but do, huh? As far as she could tell, these things weren’t trying to kill them. Nibbling nuisances for sure but by the sheer amount of them, they’d have been gnawed down to the bone by now if that was the case. She hoped, anyway. But there it was--the exit. The door was cracked open, enough to allow a small trickle of them to slip out and into the hallways, but it had kept them mostly inside. A river of rodents flowed through the aisle between them. The final barrier between them and their way out. She groaned loudly. “Of fucking course.” She glanced down at Ben’s shoes, tattered and bloodstained, grabbing onto his very muscular arm and pulled what was left of her heels back onto her feet. “I’m going to be sending the university a strongly worded letter after this, I hope you know,” she tried to joke but much of the humor in her laugh was pure annoyance. She raised a brow. “We’ll jump on 3?”

Jumping from desk to desk, Ben left a trail of blood and fur behind him as he continued to stomp and smack at the vicious little creatures that seemed to be hell-bent on eating their way through the room. Kicking another out of the way, he watched as the horned rat creature careened through the air and back into the writhing swarm. As he and Erin converged on the last desk, he held still for her to catch hold of his arm. Irritating, honestly, the way she was clinging to him, but he didn’t think there was anything for it. “You know, I’d be happy to sign off on that. Give some credence,” He paused, smacking another rat creature away, “what with being faculty and all.” With a nod, Ben counted, “One, two, three.” With that, he leaped forward and made a mad dash towards the door, pulling Erin along with him.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Erin nodded with a huff. Most of her attention was fixed on what path to take when they hit 3. There wasn’t a good answer there. She’d never seen an infestation like this--there was more horned rodents than carpet visible, and when they leapt, floor and bone alike crunched beneath their feet, blood splashing up at their ankles. But they’d done it--they were spilling out into the hallway and Erin slammed her shoulder up against the door with some effort, the final shrieks of those rat-like creatures meeting their end as the door shut on them. Futile, probably. They had burrowed through walls and floors alike. A door wouldn’t stop them, but it kept some distance between her and them temporarily. She didn’t stop moving, even as her lungs heaved for breath, broken shoes clacking down the empty hallway. A few still scurried by their feet, scaring off unsuspecting students and faculty. Glancing back only to see if Ben was following her, swiping at her arms and legs as if they were still crawling along her skin. “Still in one piece?” she asked, noticing his once polished demeanor was a little more moth-bitten bargain bin chic than before. Not that she had much room to talk. She shook her head, stopping only when they’d put some distance between them and the lecture hall. “What the fuck were those things?”

As soon as they were in the hallway, Ben fumbled with his key and locked the door in a futile effort to keep those things at bay. He knew it wouldn’t help, they’d emerged from the walls, for goodness sake. But it was better than having the plague of furry, ravenous beasts coming after them. Erin was already running down the hallway and he ran to catch up with her, blood squelching under his shoes and his curly hair falling in his face. Tilting his head down a corridor, he replied, “I think so. I wish I could say the same for my case.” He said, looking down at the raggedly bitten corner of his bag. “Are you alright?” He asked, remembering that he should probably pretend to care about her well being. He gave her a once over-- she seemed to be in better shape than him, less bitten if only because she hadn’t gotten stuck in the floor. “I haven’t the slightest idea. I’ve never seen anything like that before.” He said with a baffled expression on his face. “Have you?” He asked, curious. She’d reacted… rather well, all things considered.

Erin had never seen anything like that exactly, though comparatively, they were practically harmless to the more gruesome things she had gone up against. She probably should have looked more upset or bewildered than what Ben was surely expecting but she was just--pissed. It was no secret that this town or the mysteries of it were getting to her. Not that Ben was privy to any of that information, or deserved any of the anger it brought up. “No,” she shook her head, resting her back against a wall, letting the coolness of the brick calm her frustrations. Deep breaths helped too. “I mean, I’m fine. My shoes? Not so much, but otherwise--no, I’ve never seen a rat look like that before,” she answered and shook her head, shook her head, reaching down to inspect the damage. The heels had been chewed down to nubs. Great. She tossed them into the trash bin beside her once she decided they’d be more of a hindrance on her way to the car than a help. “If you’re good, I’m gonna go shower for about a thousand hours now and pray I didn’t just catch twenty new variations of rabies.” She ran a hand through her hair, pushing off the wall, debating on whether or not to stop by Morgan’s classroom again or just tuck her tail between her legs and run home. She paused for a moment in the hall, that last trickle of hope layered in with maybe a trace of teenage desperation still coursing alongside the adrenaline in her veins. “Raincheck on the whole me bothering you thing? Maybe?” She raised an eyebrow, cringing slightly even as she said it.

There was a strange expression on Erin’s face, one Ben was annoyed that he couldn’t quite read. She hadn’t reacted as poorly as some of the students he’d introduced to the darker side of this world had, and he’d always started off small. No sense in putting their fragile minds before the full might of his Lord when they could barely handle a caged brownie. Erin had reacted in a similar way to him-- attack and then flee when it became clear it was a losing battle. Wiping at a streak of blood that ran down his chin, Ben nodded and watched her toss her shoes away. “Pity about the outfit, it suited you. Before, well,” He gestured to his own ragged suit, the hem of his pants in tatters. “All of that.” With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to set it back in place, but brown locks hung limply against his forehead. “That sounds like an excellent idea, I’d best do the same.” Ben said. At her last words, though, he couldn’t help but smile. So she was still interested in him, hm? Intriguing. He’d love to pick her brain, see just how much she really knew. Pulling out a pen from his pocket, Ben reached for her hand gently and wrote his number on her palm. “Call me sometime. Perhaps over coffee, next time.” He said with a chuckle.

Erin froze in her spot when he came closer. Why was he coming closer? Her face flushed red when he took her hand and for a moment she completely forgot where she was--forgot they’d just run from a stampede of supernatural looking rats, or that she wasn’t even wearing shoes or that her feet and ankles were bleeding all over the university hallways. Something hideously close to a giggle erupted from her as he etched the numbers into her skin. Oh, he was definitely smooth. Her? Not so much. “Coffee, yeah.” She cleared her throat, trying to stop the frantic static waves in her brain from cutting off her ability to speak. “I’ll do that.” She managed those three words with more of a struggle than she’d ever admit. Another giggle-like laugh slipped from her throat and she wanted to stab herself in the eye with that very pen. Damn it. He knew. There was no way he didn’t. She didn’t trust herself with words anymore at this point, instead opting to give a small wave as she backtracked out of the hallway. Gave a quiet yelp and hurried apology as she nearly smacked right into a student on their way to class, before booking it the hell out of there.

#chatzy #chatzy: ben #snick snack paddy whack #wickedswriting

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sinningismywinning · 5 years ago

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Do As You Please - 5

You weren’t as use to Thomas as you had thought. His small gestures of grazing your back, or slipping his finger into yours, gave your nerves an edge. No one treated you this way. Especially strangers. Strangers didn’t treat you this way.

Inside the Garrison, John and Arthur sat in a booth discussing something intimate. Their expressions were intense, but you couldn’t make out their words. There was a man seated between them. “That’s my cousin, Michael,” Thomas whispered holding the door open.

“There’s a whole lot of you? Yeah?” You questioned with a disbelieving laugh. He could only shrug in response. “There’s two more you haven’t met, yet.” He paused. “Actually three, if you include my aunt,” Your eyes went wide. That’s a lot of mouths to feed. Where did they keep them all? You pictured him as a big brother to many. Maybe even a little brother. You never learned the specifics.

You knew what it was like to barely afford candles. You couldn’t figure out how his family could feed 7, including himself. You wanted to believe he was born into wealth, but his mannerisms gave it away. He must have been self-made. Either that, or inheritance from a distant relative who he never got to meet.

For a moment, his words slipped your mind. ‘That you haven’t met, yet.’ Did he want you to take your rounds through the Shelby lineage? Not that it’d be something you were against, he was just a lot to handle by himself. The same went for his hardy group of brothers. “James will teach you how to pour drinks,” He gestured behind the bar. “He’ll tell you who has open tabs, and you’ll be under his wing for a while,” The man behind the bar nodded to his words.

This was much to take in. How would Alfie feel about you working in a bar? Dealing with drunk men? You shook the thought from your mind. You’d deal with it when necessary. “If you have any problems, let me know,” He touched the back of your arm. His sternness made you comfortable. You knew he’d handle whatever it was that came your way. You didn’t like having to rely on people, but he seemed stable enough for the task. “Yeah,” the words barely made a noise coming out.

He gave you a small smile before nodding you off to go behind the bar. He slid into the booth, and accompanied his relatives. You looked up at the beams. All wood, nice trimming. No one would ever see that, considering how fucking dim the place was.

This was a place where alcoholics came to cry. Not spend their money and enjoy themselves. That became apparent to you. You moved behind the bar and pushed your sleeves back up as they slipped past your elbows. “Ever worked in a bar?” James questioned. You could only think about your drunken stupor from a few nights prior. How embarrassing.

“I use to make drinks for my dad and his friends,” You spoke coyly. “Well consider it basically the same,” He politely smiled. “We don’t have a big list of drinks. We aren’t like the pubs down in London, with their garnishes and what not,” he insinuated. Obviously this place wasn’t like a pub in London. Your father had taken you downtown for a birthday, and you were able to witness the chandeliers and red glows from within the vicinity.

This place was a wreck in comparison, but surely some work and a set of new eyes would do it good. “No worries,” you nodded along. You gazed around. The wall paper was peeling. Paint was chipping from the bar, and some of the booths had tears.

The smell of puke wasn’t as pungent, since there wasn’t many people to hurl their guts out. Then again, the scent of tobacco covered it up, as it drifted throughout the room. James went through procedure for cleaning mugs, and wiping down the bar. None of this seemed as bad as the tailor shop. “Mr. Shelby takes a quarter of the tips,” he remarked. “So don’t hide anything from him cause’ he’ll know.” His tone made it seem like this was a previous altercation he took part in.

Your eyebrows furrowed. Taking tips? You looked over your shoulder. Thomas was in the booth smoking a cigarette. His conversation seemed fascinating, by how focused he was on Johns words. He still managed to momentarily look at you and catch your eyes. It made you could and you averted your eyes. You turned to face James once more.

“What a dick,” you remarked. James pursed his lips. He was trying to not show that he agreed with you, but it was apparent. “Your words, not mine,” he laughed. “I’m not sure if the whole share of tips works with me,” you mumbled shaking your head. James could only nod in unison. You decided to take a stab at cleaning mugs. Wasn’t as difficult as he had made it seem, but it was certainly gross.

As time went on, more people came into the bar. “That’s her?” Michael leaned to Tommy. “The one who spilled her drink?” You were a tall tale within the Blinders household, you just weren’t aware of it. “Aye,” Thomas said watching you keep up with traffic from behind the bar. “She’s a looker, hm?” Michael said keeping his eyes on you. “Pain in the ass too,” Tom said with a daring glance.

You always kept your eyes on the door. A habit instilled by your father. A tall slender woman walked in, and attention was drawn towards her. You couldn’t help but eye her sleek frame. She didn’t seem fit for a place like this. Then again, you didn’t either. You looked back to your patrons sitting in front of you. James let you pour your own drinks. It wasn’t a difficult job considering there were about four things the bar would serve.

When you looked back up, you saw her scoot in to sit next to Thomas. Was that his Aunt? You looked over, a little too intently. His arm draped behind her and she pressed a more-than-passionate kiss to his cheek. Aunts don’t do that.

You felt uneasy, but brushed it off. His cousin Michael walked up to the bar. “I’d like a mug please,” his accent differed from the rest. “Sure thing,” you said filling up a glass for him. God knew how dirty the drafts were. Your eyes went back to Tommy’s booth. The woman had her hand on his thigh, but no one else could see that. Her hand was moving, rubbing his inner leg. You narrowed your eyes in disbelief.

“You’re prettier than what my cousin described you as,” Michael pulled your thoughts away. You blinked not understanding what he was getting at, “Oh, thank you..” What else did you have to respond with? You slid him his mug. You figured enough that he drank for free, yet he still slid you money over the bar. “That’s for you, not the register.” He winked.

He was dressed sharply, and appeared closer to your age. He had an average, yet attractive face. His eyes were intense like the rest. “Thank you,” you spoke once more, tucking the cash into a pocket on your dress.

“I’m Michael,” God dammit he was getting too comfortable. “Y/N,” You hummed, cleaning a glass. You had to look at Tommy again. Sure as hell, there she was. Hands all over him, and he allowed it. Michael must’ve noticed. He saw the decrease in your productivity. “I’ve heard many things about you,” he said trying to divert your attention. “Yeah? Like what?” You shook your head.

“Heard you got a mouth like a sailor,” he smiled. “Apparently you give Tom a lotta’ shit.” The grin never left. He was more charming than the rest. “I suppose I do,” a small huff left your lips. You knew you were a handful at times, but not once did you ask for Thomas’ charity. He pushed it on you.

He was daft. Holding your hand in the streets, taking care of the head seamstress, the constant walks too and from your home. Were you in over your head? Obviously you assumed he had taken a liking towards you. Apparently you were wrong. “Don’t be so grim Y/N,” Your name rolled softly off his tongue. You didn’t have time to be charmed by every member of this family.

“You’re too real for a man like Thomas,” he said looking over his shoulder and back to you. He sipped his mug. “What are you getting at?” You set down the glass you were cleaning. He struck a nerve. “I see how you’re looking at him, how you’re looking at Lizzie,” He spoke lowly. “Don’t think too highly of him,” You were surprised to hear his own blood speak of him this way.

You didn’t know much about either of them, but Michael was being brutally honest. “I don’t think highly of him,” Yes you did “And he could fuck whoever he wants.” You felt your eyes roll from your own words.

Michael shrugged. “I mean, who wouldn’t fuck their own wife.” His statement floated in front of your face. You couldn’t help but laugh. You looked to Thomas. A ring glistened on Lizzie’s finger. His arm remained draped over her shoulder. Your eyes caught his, and he let a small smirk pass. You looked away.

He was married. The bastard was married.

Anyone would be upset, or distraught in a situation like this. Bothered, to say the least. But you kept it down. Held it in. At least you knew about this sooner, rather than later. “Whatever my boss does with his wife, my boss does with his wife.” You retorted. Michael felt the heat coming off of you. Your enunciation of the word wife made it all too obvious. He saw the red of your ears and knew you’d lean more towards him than you would to Thomas.

He was manipulative. He told people what they wanted to hear, in order to get what he desired most. It was a trait he genetically learned from his mother. You didn’t get to see Thomas remove Lizzie’s hand from his leg, and you also didn’t pay attention to when he slid away from her.

James walked back and forth from behind the bar. Giving rounds of drinks to those seated in the booths and at the tables. He slid behind you to refill glasses. “Like I said Y/N,” You looked up so he could have your attention. You wanted to leave. Start your shift over in the morning. “You’re too real of a prize for a man like Tommy to handle,” His gaze draped down your figure. “Don’t limit yourself to just him,” This was too much for you. “How about I limit myself to nobody? Hm?” You pushed with a false smile.

Who did he think he was? Dropping a bomb like that just so he could glue your pieces together. He wanted you for himself. You wouldn’t take any part of it. He picked up his mug, “That’d be a shame love, I know many men including myself don’t get to stare at a beauty such as yours,” Now you wanted to swing.

“Many men including yourself?” He didn’t seem to be a man. More-so a boy playing dress up in his fathers clothes. “I’m not the only woman in Birmingham who doesn’t take shit from people, so look harder. Maybe you’ll find one for yourself that isn’t me.” You had to remove yourself from his end of the bar. You didn’t want your tongue to get you in trouble.

The nerve of these men. You’ve never seen anything like it. Thomas watched the exchange from afar. He was able to see the disdain on Michael’s face as you walked away. That a girl.

Michael regrouped himself. Now he knew first hand what it was like to be in your line of spite. No one has handed him his ass like that in awhile. Women didn’t usually reject him. Thomas and Arthur had told him before that you had no knowledge of their history. Michael walked back to the booth. It would be a shame if he was the one to inform you.

The night went by faster than expected. You helped James put chairs on top of the bar. You swept the dirt from beneath the counter. Lizzie left hours prior. So did John and Arthur. Michael and Thomas stayed in their section. Talking away, and drinking their own supply.

You knew why the place was so grimy. James did a shit job at cleaning. “Here, give me that,” you said taking the mop from him. You washed the old floor, noticing the amount of muck that surfaced in the bucket. He’s married. How long has he been married? Any children? You were sick. Did she know he was this way? He kept popping up in your brain. Didn’t help he was six-feet away from you, either.

Michael watched you mop. Confidence ran through his blood, just like the whiskey. Smoke rolled out from his lips. James walked over to their table and laid his tip money out. You stopped to peer over. You four were the only ones in the bar.

Thomas sorted through it, half cigarette pressed between his lips. He tucked some money into his suit pocket, and gave the rest back to James. “I wanna see the books tomorrow evening.” James nodded in response. “Make sure we’re not being stiffed,” Thomas sighed. You finished your mediocre job of mopping, and set everything back in place.

Your back was killing you. Did he expect you to put your money down on the table? James looked at you, suggesting you do the same. “You can leave James,” Thomas politely dismissed. “Goodnight Mr. Shelby,” he said leaving through the doors.

“I’m sure James told you about-” “About my money, yes. He did,” You said with more of an attitude than usual. You took your money out of your dress and handed it to him. You didn’t want to put up a fight. “I’m sorry, is there a problem?” Thomas lowly threatened with authority. “No.” You bit your lip and looked at the floor. Asshole. Bastard.

“Hold up that pretty face of yours,” Michael remarked. “Hate to see ya’ look so glum,” You shook your head. Don’t respond. Thomas handed you back your money. He disregarded his cousins remark. You didn’t care if it was a rude gesture or not, you counted your money in front of him.

“You took more than twenty five percent,” You met his eyes. “I’ll take however much I want,” he quipped instantly. His expression was daring. He wanted you to snap back at him. He wanted you to give his cousin a show of the renounced mouth you have to display. Michael watched the interaction with amusement. This bar brought out the worst in you. Whether you were drunk, or not.

“I understand, probably have to buy your wife another flashy dress-” Oh you’ve fuckin’ done it now. “Excuse me?” Thomas tilted his head. He looked over to Michael. He was the only one who spoke to you during your shift. Thomas was sure of it. His eyes never left you for long. Michael was the one who spoke about his marriage. “Nothing,” You knew you fucked up.

“No, if you can say it once, I’m sure you can say it again.” His voice dropped an octave and he threatened to stand up. You couldn’t read his expression. “I insinuated, that you would use the majority of my tip money,” you paused “to buy your wife elegant dresses.” Poor Alfie might get dragged out of the house to confirm your body. You dug your grave, now step in.

He laughed low and hard. “Hm.. I guess I will then.” You were in unsafe territory. You knew that. “What do you say Michael? Think’ Lizzie needs new dresses?” Now he was taunting you. All you could think of was the food Alfie had waiting for you at home. You didn’t want this. You didn’t need this.

Michael shrugged, “I think she has plenty.” He remarked. “Maybe spend the money on Y/N,” He suggested as if you weren’t there. Assholes. Both of them.

Thomas didn’t feel the need to clarify what his relationship with Lizzie was. They weren’t necessarily together, but by law they were married. You didn’t need to know that. He found it nice to see your annoyance over it. Showed that you cared. Showed that you had a jealous bone in your body. He watched your face and saw the hurt lying underneath it. He pursed his lips. “Here,” he spoke softly and handed you back the rest of your money. You took it, feeling his pity weigh on you. “I have my own money to buy my wife dresses. I don’t need yours.”

You couldn’t muster up a sentence. You were embarrassed, annoyed, and felt like a fool. You nodded with the anger still bubbling inside you. Let it go. “Can I go home now.” You said looking at the floor. He didn’t dismiss you so easily. He watched you stand there. Basking in embarrassment. His eyes moved over you. He hated the pang you put in his chest. “Yeah, I’ll take you home..” His voice spoke soothingly. “Arthur brought the car.” He stood up. You knew better to interject. You could feel the routine beginning to form. Michael rose up as well. You were all going to pack in.

Tommy escorted you out, with Michael close behind. You wanted to rip his hand from you, but you knew he was simply being a gentleman at this point. Or was he? Was he trying to taunt you? Push it more? Michael threw his cigarette to the floor. His foot aligned and put out the ember. “Not good to do that, birds will eat it,” you chastised Michael. He shook his head. “That’s their fuckin’ problem. Not mine.” So much for compassion.

Thomas opened your door. You wanted nothing to do with him. Michael went into the back seat. Alfie use to drive you around. He was the only person in your life with enough money to afford one. He’d take days off of work to drive around with you. He knew how much you loved it.

The drive to your house was quicker than the walk. You rubbed your jaw in anticipation of laying in your bed. He lead you on. He made you think you were enough for him. You wanted to get over it. You caught yourself looking at his side profile. A sick part of you wanted to kiss him. But the stronger part of you wanted to jump out of the moving car.

Thomas pulled in front of your house. You saw a light shining from the window. Alfie probably forgot to turn the bulb off. “Michael move to my seat,” Thomas said getting out of the car. Michael followed his orders and watched as Tommy opened the passenger door for you. “Goodnight Y/N,” Michael called out. It made you uneasy. “Goodnight Michael..” The drop from the car to the pavement was more than what you bargained. Thomas was there to help you out of the car.

His hands burned you wherever they landed. The small of your back, behind your arm, anywhere. He wanted you, but you knew he couldn’t have you. You both walked up to your doorstep. “I’d appreciate it if,” spit it out “If you didn’t lead me on.” You finished. Thomas watched you speak. Intrigue dancing across his face. He wasn’t going to argue, or fight. “I’m not leading you on,” His words cut the air.

Did you misread everything? Was he an overly friendly person? If you knew better, you’d understand that Thomas Shelby was nothing of the sorts. What he meant was, ‘I’m not leading you on, this is all real.’ Yet what you took it as, was ‘I don’t know what would give you the impression I feel that way.’

You swallowed the knot in your throat. Silence settled over the both of you. “Friends?” Your voice grew timid. You weren’t afraid of him, but you knew to not push it. He gave you one of his small, rare smiles. He never considered himself to have many friends. He only had family, and enemies. You were a nice mediator. “Friends,” he nodded with the word feeling foreign on his tongue.

You took a step back and unlocked your door. “Goodnight Tommy,” God he felt his heart bounce. You haven’t called him that before. He wanted to reach out and pulled you into him. Move his lips against yours and-

“Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered back. He rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. “I’ll see you tomorrow at 9, yeah?” He suggested as you opened your door. “Sure thing,” you nodded, assuming it was for work. Getting to the pub on time wouldn’t be a hassle. You were use to being at the tailor shop by 8.

“I’ll pick you up then,” he said turning on his heels to walk down your front-steps. “It’s a date,” He called out. The words smacked you as you shut the door.

Friends don’t go on dates. He wanted to change that. You felt a weight lifted from your shoulders. You rubbed your face with confusion, but more than anything, exhaustion. Alfie was asleep on the couch. A bowl of pasta on the floor. You didn’t get to eat dinner with him. You made your way inside of the house and peered as he snored. You grabbed the blanket draped off the end of the sofa, and pulled it over him. He was always a heavy sleeper.

What would you wear? What did he fucking want from you? You figured it best to just sleep this off. Put up with it in the morning. A small part of you didn’t want to give in to the notion that he felt something towards you. Yet, you couldn’t choke down the small amount of excitement emanating from your chest.

There was an inconvenience though. A bump in the road. It was a shame that Michael had other plans in mind for you. Obviously he didn’t want to see you waste away over Tommy. You have so much potential, so much charisma. Why would he watch Thomas ruin you, when instead, he could have you for himself?

This was only the beginning of your devious interactions with Michael Grey. The worst part of it all, was that he now knew, where you lived.

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @amirahiddleston @kac-peakyblinders @urbansaint @parochialism @hereticpriest @eternallyvenus @csigeoblue @mortalflower @a-dorky-book-keeper @stressedandbandobessed7771 @patdsinner33 @1heartstillbeating1

#thomas shelby x reader #michael grey x reader #peaky blinder imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby x y/n #John Shelby #Arthur Shelby #polly grey

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thewickedverkaiking · 6 years ago

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DEH Recap 25 July 2018 (Stephen's Debut!)

I JUST FOUND THIS IN MY DRAFTS AND REALIZED I NEVER POSTED ABOUT MY FIRST EVER BROADWAY MUSICAL WHAT THE FUCK IM A DUMBASS

anyway here's my recap of deh when i went to see it on broadway back in fucking july of last year

ACT 1

we were towards the back of the theatre but the music box is so small we honestly had a great view of both the stage and the band!!

stephen was such a cute evan, he was really anxious but a little more optimistic than ben platt

the opening monologue was so fast omg

it might just have been me but it seemed like rachel’s mic was turned a little low especially in comparison to evan. it sounds fine in the audio but i had a *little* trouble hearing one or two of her lines in the theatre. it might have been acoustics idk

heidi is so painfully optimistic it hurts my heart

alex’s connor literally does not give a fuck. mike’s connor came across as a kid who had too many emotions he didn’t know how to deal with; alex’s connor is just flat out apathetic

jlt’s cynthia seems a little sterner/reprimanding compared to the earlier boots i’ve seen so that’s an interesting change

at the “he’s not high” part alex had a really creepy smile on his face and then he stalked so defiantly offstage

olivia’s zoe was colder than i expected; her zoe is a little more similar to laura’s

phoenix’s alana—bless her heart, she was so earnest and adorable

when jared said that line about zoe’s instagram, stephen was so distressed he spun in an entire circle to make sure no one was listening it was hilarious

sky is really funny but i feel like will is much funnier in terms of comedic timing? like sky’s jared is still an asshole but will’s jared is like. Major Asshole™

there was this mixed groan + laugh throughout the audience during the school shooter line

waving through a window was gorgeous i’m not ashamed to admit that was when i started crying

‘evan right?’ ‘eVAN!!’ and he was so horrified he covered his mouth with both hands

during the jazz band part my mom was like “he’s so nerdy” lmao

the staging and choreo of wtaw is so fucking powerful i love it i love it i love it so much

evan’s desperation during the letter scene was so painfully acute and real and he started crying during ‘i wish everything was different’

i’ve always liked the letter scene/wtaw reprise but i never expected to cry so hard during it

alex said the line ’you fell out of a tree? well, that is just the saddest fucking thing i ever heard’ like, completely monotonous

‘because there’s zoe’; my mom next to me: ‘oh no’

the only time real!connor ever showed emotion was when he yelled at evan at the end of the lab scene he was completely apathetic anywhere else

asa somer’s larry is a little less stoic than michael park’s

evan’s head nod at the dinner table was so exaggerated it was like he was going to nod his head off lmao

righ after evan said “i remember a lot of good things about connor” his face was instantly like ‘oh shit’

for forever never used to be a favorite song of mine until now bc wow it was so pure and earnest and heartbreaking

‘girls we wish would notice us’ he looked at zoe and then whipped his face away so quick

the absolute sass and shade heidi throws about evan’s stepmother lmao

ALRIGHT!! IT SAYS CONNOR!!! ON YOUR CAST!!!!

honestly evan talks to heidi like he’s just…trying to placate her and wait until she’s gone; like he doesn’t really care about what she’s trying to say and it breaks my heart :((

fake connor is so much more animated than real connor alex really shows the difference between the two

the nipples pose was the most Fucking Cursed thing i’ve ever seen in my life

sky laughed so hard at ‘im sending pictures of the most amazing trees’

alex does the ‘not because we’re gay’ line quite differently from mike; alex’s one is like ‘no of course not we’re not gay!!’

connor and evan high-fived

jared actually never touches them when during the sincerely me dance, it’s like he’s trying to participate but can’t and idk i think that was a really genius blocking move

when evan left the murphy after giving them the emails he made a huge berth around zoe

requiem fucked me up!! when cynthia was sitting on connor’s bed and hugging his pillow to her chest i couldn’t take it i started sobbing

olivia’s voice is so lilting and pretty, but she hit ‘monster’ really harsh and then broke down crying

the transition from heidi not being able to do taco tuesday and evan going for dinner at the murphys is just genius that’s all

evan freaked out so bad when he said ‘you’ve never been poor then’ and olivia was so deadpan the whole time it was great

evan’s so in love with zoe during if i could tell her it was adorable and tender and sweet

i think zoe genuinely wanted to know what connor thought about her, she just didn’t want to show it

he didn’t freak out that much after ‘really pretty—er, good’ but when zoe asked ‘he did?’ he made this really frustrated ARGH noise which was so funny

zoe really was just drinking in everything evan said, which was beautiful and heartbreaking

stephen's voice wavered a little on the last 'i love you' which was kind of funny

phoenix's comedic timing as alana is really great which kind of surprising. i didn't expect alana to be so funny even with all her intensity and earnestness

anyway, disappear was really cool because alex and stephen are almost the same height? and from the back of the theatre they look p similar in terms of build and all that, so the way the scene was blocked made it look like good angel/bad angel which was just so neat!

the scene where cynthia gave evan connor's tie just broke my heart ouch

the part where evan screws up his speech just before ywbf is honestly so painful to watch because of how accurate it is

stephen is such a great actor his horror and fear and shame is all so palpable

he was just lying there on the ground and sobbing

you will be found was glorious the whole stage was lit up and all the projections were screaming

cynthia's "you did" was just so excited and joyful her smile was so infectious

baby alex was really adorable i die

when zoe appeared on her bed with the blue light washing over her she looked so alone and so sad i just wanted to run up to her and give her a hug

when larry broke down and cynthia hugged him i wanted to cry

the whole scene and song was just so powerful and the lights and projections and blocking all just tie in so so well

actually that applies for the whole show lmao

ACT 2

evan really brushes off jared after the sincerely me reprise and sky really plays up jared's hurt and ouch

honestly evan's fights with heidi in act 2 are so painful because evan's just getting colder and drifting away and you can tell how frantic and heartbroken heidi is

ngl i don't really like the line about evan not taking his refills and how his anxiety is okay but idk

'so, you and zoe' 'this glove's really cool wOW' lmfao

ugh, to break in a glove was so heartbreaking guys larry really cared about connor okay?

asa's larry seems less stoic than michael's and you really see how much he likes evan and he's not afraid to show that affection

"in three hours!" evan's growl was so cute and adorable

he was like yelling and freaking out so bad over the breakup part and then he went 'thank you' in the smallest most embarrassed voice

only us was pure and wholesome and i couldn't help but think throughout that entire song that wow zoe is amazing and i really want her as my girlfriend

also olivia puckett's voice is really smooth and gorgeous

and evan's really confident in only us which is just such a sweet thing to see

alana was really fucking pissed at evan wow

and jared is just flatout apathetic and unsympathetic while evan freaks out

heidi's so shy at the murphys she's adorable

"he's got his own toothbrush" my mom laughed out loud at that line lmao

larry went over to evan when he was curled up on the chair and kinda like, nudged his shoulders and lower back to get him to sit up straight it was so funny

you can see how mortified heidi is and evan just KNOWS he's going to die once they get home

ngl heidi IS terrifying once they get home

evan really doesn't hold back with his barbs holy shit

good for you!! rockstar heidi!! rbj just strutted out like a fucking model!! i love her so much!!

i love this song so much the lighting was amazing and the music was like. shaking the theatre

same thing for the ywbf reprise

it's so haunting and terrifying and you can just Sense how evan and the murphys feel everything falling apart

stephen's acting during words fail. holy shit. i thought no one could top ben platt's words fail? but i have to say stephen probably gave my favorite performance of the song ever

i've never been so emotionally shaken by a song before, i was sobbing so hard and i need to say that that scene alone was worth the entire price of the ticket.

so big/so small was so soft and heartbreaking. evan just collapsed into heidi's arms

stephen's kinda lanky and it was really funny seeing rbj trying to half-hug/half-carry him on the couch

i didn't cry as hard during that song because i think i ran out of tears after words fail

when the scrim is pulled back and everything turns blue?? so bright? so emotional so beautiful

all those plants rising up from the ground

the ending was so satisfying oh my god i have never seen a better musical

STAGEDOOR

it was my first broadway stagedoor and we got out asap after the show ended but holy shit there were so many people

it was drizzling just a little bit so some people left before the actors came out

the most annoying thing is when there are people going in and out of the theatre and the stagedoor keeps opening and closing and you're just on an emotional rollercoaster bc you think the cast is coming out >:)

april lavalle (alex's girlfriend) stuck her head out of the door to look around at one point! alex didn't come out tho :((

asa was the first to come out!

he was so sweet, i asked him to sign a playbill for my friend sarah and he was like 'do you want me to write her name?' and i was like 'yes!' and he drew a little heart next to it was so sweet omg

sky was the next one out and i told him he was really funny and he was like !! thank you and i almost died

stephen was the last one to come out and sky got really excited and yelled 'this is his first stagedoor' and everyone cheered for him

he was really shy at first and didn't want to take pictures

but he and asa and sky took a selfie! i couldn't get in but i got a photo of them taking it and omg i would die for this cast that's all

when stephen signed my playbill im pretty sure i told him something along the lines about him being fantastic and i was so happy to have seen him and he smiled this cute dorky grin and said thank you and i died a little inside

down the line he agreed to take some selfies

and then the security guard told us that that was everyone

i was really hoping to see olivia but it's okay!! it was such an amazing incredible wonderful experience

oh and apparently my parents were waiting off to the side of the stagedoor crowd and my mom said asa waved to them as he left the theatre?!?!?!

also she saw phoenix leave

and yeah that's basically what happened

i'm still pinching myself wtf

im sorry this post was so long i have a lot to say

this is also lowkey for me to look back on next time and so i wont forget what happened

:))

pictures

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shadows-echoes · 6 years ago

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Writer’s Questionnaire

tagged by: @negotiator-on-site and @deviantramblings . Thank you guys for the tag! I spent way too long thinking about these tbh.

Short stories, novels, or poems?

For reading? Novels. I love absolutely delving into a world and completely immersing myself in it. In my experience, poems/short stories are like looking through a window: the more you look, the more you’ll probably see. Reading a novel, or an entire series, is more like walking through a door into another world, and that’s exactly what I want from a story. I want it to completely consume me.

With all of that being said, what’s the exact word count that draws the line between a short story and a novel? 10,000 words might be a short story, but is 25,000 still considered a short story? 100,000? 300,000? Where is the line drawn? Tbh, I’m 100% down with any long-ish story that draws me in.

As for writing… Imma keep it real with you chiefs, the shortest stories I’ve ever written are for D:BH. Pretty much every other fic of mine is 25+ pages, and a couple of the longer ones are closer to, or exceed, 180 pages. I haven’t finished those. They’re all drafts, so to speak, and the amount of editing needed makes me balk whenever I think about it, but they’re there. The stories that I’ve actually finished are all short-ish stories lol (at least in comparison to some of the other stuff I’ve written).

What genre do you prefer reading?

FANTASY!!!! We live in a non-fiction world that can be quite depressing at times. If I’m going to fling myself into a story, I want it to be magical. I want it to have something that this world doesn’t. I want magic and dragons and mystery and soulmates and forbidden love and all the crazy shit.

What genre do you prefer writing?

Fantasy/fiction.

Are you a planner or a write-as-I-go kind of person?

It depends on the story. Most times, I’ll write one scene and it develops into an entire plotline as I write it. Other times, like with Of Blood and Biocomponents for example, I’ll spend a lot of time planning everything out before I write it so I can work in a number of clues and Chekov’s guns’, etc.

What music do you listen to while writing?

When I really need to focus, I’ll listen to anything instrumental. That can range from soundtracks (e.g. from The Last of Us, LotR, Hans Zimmer’s stuff), to more individualized and upbeat songs (e.g. Lindsey Stirling, Peter Gundry, Max Richter, Hidden Citizens) to classical (e.g. Chopin, Wieniawski, Mozart), or even just ambiance rain sounds on youtube etc. Otherwise, when I need to get in the mood for a certain scene I have entire playlists dedicated to evoking a certain emotion (e.g angst -obviously-, sadness, love, adrenaline rushes).

Fave books/movies?

I don’t really have any favorite movies so I’m just going to list a whole bunch of books/series I love:

ACoTaR by Saraj Maas

Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi

Learning Not to Drown by Anna Shinoda

Feminist Fight Club by Jessica Bennett

ASoIaF by George Rmartin Rmartingeorge Martin

The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare

Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson (a classic that breaks my heart)

Night by Elie Wiesel (a classic that breaks my soul)

1984 by George Orwell (a classic we practically live in rn and it terrifies me)

Some Quiet Place by Kelsey Sutton

The Hunt by Andrew Fukuda (the plot twist at the end of this series blew me the fuck away. It’s been years and I still haven’t found my wig)

Any current WIPs?

Only around like… 16? (Excluding all of the half-formed ideas and prompts in my “Graveyard” folder, that is). Which is incredibly surprising to me? I thought it’d be way more. However, most of those WIPs are all… heartbreakingly long and only half-finished, so like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

Lace-up combat boots, black jeans, and a random, probably blank, t-shirt.

Create a character description for yourself:

Hi, I’m Jayde, an average human person who thinks obsessively writing and learning new stuff are fun activities. I look like Idc but I actually care too much; I’m a ride-or-die bitch. Intovert™ (I would much rather have a first conversation w/ someone be about the trolly problem or systems theory instead of the weather). Often low-key enraged by society.

Do you like incorporating people you actually know into your writing?

Aspects of them? Of course. Actually writing them into a story? Nope. I totally draw on my experiences with certain people to help me write. That’s a given with any writer. However, unless I’m writing a biography on them with a full Chicago-style bibliography then I leave real people the heck alone.

Are you kill-happy with characters?

Depends on the characters. I have killed off a couple, but my soul is fueled on angst and there’s only so much of that a single death can provide. Nah, it’s usually better if people are alive and just… injured or... problematic.

Coffee or tea while writing?

I’m usually most productive writing-wise at night, so it’s either decaffeinated green tea or hot chocolate for me (bc I do try to have some kind of sleep schedule even if I fail with that goal).

Slow or fast writer?

So, so slow.

Where/who/what do you find inspiration from?

Anything, really. Sometimes an idea will just pop into my head and I’ll have to write it. Other times, it’ll start with a feeling, a situation, or an experience that slowly morphs into a fic the more I think about it.

If you were put into a fantasy world, what would you be?

Idk what I would be, but I’d love to be literally anything/anyone with some kind of magic or special ability. Like, bruh, I’m already human, gimme something else. Gimme some of the good shit.

Most fave book cliche? Least fave book cliche?

(Well-written) LOVE TRIANGLES AND MUTUAL PINING!!!!

I’m so fuckn horny on main for a good love triangle. When they’re done badly, they’re atrocious. That’s a given. But when they’re done well??? Hot damn. Like the kind of love triangles in ACoTaR, the Shatter Me series, or even the Trylle series (which first got me into it all). The kind where problems develop naturally between the MC and the first love interest, where the MC has to work with the “bad guy” for some reason or other and it turns out he’s actually super fuckn dope (*cough* Rhysand *Cough*). The kind where the more MC learns about the people she’s/he’s/they’re around, the more their feelings start to shift based on that knowledge.

I do not mean the kind where the MC just can’t make up her/his/their mind bc omg Hot Person #1 is so hot and looks to be carved from marble, but omg Hot Person #2 is also so hot, looks to be carved from marble, and is also mysterious.

As for a cliché I hate (if the poorly written love triangle doesn’t count in and of itself), I seriously dislike the damsel-in-distress thing. Don’t get me wrong, that card can be very well played in some cases, but when it’s the only card in the whole damn deck for 200, 300, 400+ pages? Nah, brah. I’m out. I’m certainly not asking for BAMF MC every time, but like,,, at least give the MC a goddamn spine you absolute cowards.

Fave scenes to write?

Pining and angst, baby.

Most productive time of day for writing?

The ungodly hours between night and day, when the outside world falls quietly into slumber and one’s imagination runs wild in the dark.

Reason for writing?

I started writing because I had some ideas and realized that nobody could/would write them in the exact way I imagined them except for me? I’ve continued writing because it has almost become a coping mechanism to explore and organize my thoughts and feelings and daydreams in some kind of coherent way. Plus it’s fun.

Tagging: @deviantsupporter @deviancy-wasteland @sunstrain @writerscavity @aerynwrites

#tag game #writing

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jeminy3 · 6 years ago

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Excerpt from “Catch+Release”

A piece of fanfiction for @teammustangweek for the prompt “Mission/Downtime”. I think this fits both of those fairly well.

This is the first part of another fic I have in the works that’ll eventually adapt a bunch of material cut from the first draft of FIRESIDE, when that was a much longer fic. For now it’s just Team Mustang shenanigans with hints towards future… Roy/Riza? That doesn’t sound right… (spoiler: it’s not ;) )

Read this on Google Docs

For more of my Team Mustang interpretations, read Chapter 3 of FIRESIDE

---

Things are simple, just as Havoc likes it. It's just another busy afternoon in the office, working on the last bits of paperwork after an arduous mission this morning.

...Well, he's trying to work. Like many days, it's too quiet and too boring to really focus on anything, leaving Havoc bothering his cigarette with his teeth and jiggling his foot under his desk. The resulting rhythmic sound of shifting fabric and leather always got under Breda's skin, seated to Havoc's right, so he was lightly tapping his pen with his fingers in a counter-rhythm to spite it. Adding to this was Falman drumming his fingers against his desk here and there, seated across from Havoc, and next to him was the ever-quiet and dutiful Riza, bent over her desk and probably silently losing her mind from everyone else's mannerisms.

Nothing bothers Fuery, seated at Havoc's left, lost in his own world with his headphones on and hooked up to the radio he was fiddling with. His share of reports were much fewer by comparison, so he had a bit of free time - Havoc remembers this with a sting of jealousy.

Ignoring that, he instead decides to give his manic foot a rest and steal a glance into his boss's office. When he leans back and to his left (and adjusts for Fuery's presence), he can look straight through the open doorway and get a clear view of Mustang at his desk - and looking now, the Colonel was currently bent over his own personal mountain of paperwork, as evidenced by the stack of papers at his side that's larger than everyone else’s combined. He occasionally shoots it a glance and sighs deeply.

As much as Havoc begrudges this part of the job, he has nothing but sympathy for his boss.

Suddenly there's a loud ringing, and Mustang leans back from his work with a look on his face that's somewhere between dejection and relief - then he turns to answer the phone at his desk, lifting the receiver to his face and muttering distantly, "Colonel Mustang, East Headquarters. What is it?"

Havoc settles back in his chair to afford his boss some privacy - and to avoid being caught spying again. "Wonder who it is," Havoc muses out loud.

"Knowing him? It's either a superior breathing down his neck or some skirt he's chasing," Breda says at his side.

"Or it's Hughes," Riza adds without looking up.

And, as if right on cue, there's rising sounds of discontent from Mustang's office. Then barks of anger. And then the sound of a receiver being angrily slammed onto its stand.

"Hughes," everyone says, nodding and muttering in unison.

After a beat of silence, Havoc decides to take the opportunity for some kind of conversation. "Wonder if it's the peanut butter story again," he says, chuckling lightly. "I think he's told him that one, what, thirty times now?"

"Thirty-seven times, as I remember," Falman says, matter-of-fact.

Breda shakes his head, laughing. "God- Remind me to never have kids. I'd hate to be that obnoxious."

"That's just Hughes," Riza says, glancing up with a small smile. "He's always been that way."

Havoc snorts at that. "I'd rather get a call from a skirt compared to that."

"Of course you would," Riza says dryly, rolling her eyes. He could be offended by that, but Havoc knows by now that this is just her particular brand of harmless teasing.

She leans back in her chair, lifting her arms to stretch a little. "Besides, you should know by now that Roy's never talking to an actual date if they're calling during work hours."

"That checks out," Breda says with a nod.

Suddenly he smiles mischievously, something twinkling in his eye. "Besides, from what I've heard, the Colonel only has eyes for one person. Really caught his fancy, the higher-ups say."

Riza lowers her arms, blinks dumbly at him. "Hm?"

Breda's smirk splits into a grin in response. "They're a certain blonde-haired Lieutenant, apparently."

Riza startles at that - a strange thing, coming from her. Her stern eyes only widen slightly, and her cheeks darken in subtle shades, but it's still fairly obvious she's been caught off-guard.

She clears her throat and quickly tries to compose herself, bowing her head and forcing herself back into her paperwork. "...That's just a rumor," she mutters. "I've heard it too."

Breda giggles at her and Havoc follows suit, not at all surprised by the news. "C'mon Reez, no need for the shy act. You do have the most history with him, it's only natural-"

She cuts him off with a glare. "I asked you not to call me that."

Havoc blinks dumbly this time. "Uh- Did you? I dunno, I think it's cute."

Riza's glare intensifies in response. "I did, because I'd like to keep the cute nicknames solely for covert operations, Jacquelyn."

Now Havoc's the one caught off-guard. His face grows hot and his jaw goes slack for a moment, almost letting his cigarette slip out, but he catches it in time by clamping his mouth into a deep frown in Riza's direction. She meets it with a coy smile. Touché, indeed.

At Havoc's side, Breda's burst into raucous laughter, slapping his knee and lightly punching at his friend's shoulder. "Oh my god- THAT'S your codename?! Jacquelyn?!"

Havoc sputters, feeling himself blush down to his neck by now. "Hey! C'mon man, it's- it was all Mustang's idea, alright?! I didn't have a say in it!"

He throws a look back at Riza. "And I thought we agreed not to discuss those unless we needed to, Elizabeth."

Riza narrows her eyes, a challenge there. "So we did."

Havoc glares right back, to the point that one could almost see sparks fly between the two Lieutenants - Breda just laughs harder. Even Falman's started giggling by now, the bastard.

"This is rich," Breda wheezes. "A bunch of cheesy women's names, it's too perfect-"

Riza breaks eye contact to shoot a glance at him, as if to take offense to that comment - but Havoc catches her eye to shake his head at her, a silent reminder that this is Breda's type of harmless joke and he doesn't mean anything by it.

...That, and the fact that they can always break it to Breda later that Mustang has a cheesy codename waiting in the wings just for him, if the occasion calls for it. Havoc telegraphs this with a devilish smile - Riza merely rolls her eyes again, and returns to her paperwork with a sigh.

"-Thank god I'm not doing direct covert work, holy shit," Breda says after calming down. "Speaking of-" He leans back in his chair to shout across to Fuery behind Havoc's back. "Kain- Hey, Kain! What's yer codename?!"

Fuery, still wearing his headphones, doesn't appear to hear him - or maybe he does, as he frowns and casts the group a judgmental look over the frames of his glasses. His expressions says it all: 'I don't know what nonsense you're talking about, but I want no part in it.'

"Mine's Vanessa," Falman chirps up suddenly. He has his chin resting in one hand, his arm propped on his desk, miming a feminine mannerism. "I kinda like it, it sounds nice."

Breda just stares at him as he settles back in his chair - then laughs again, but it's more forced and uncomfortable now. "Wh- What, you like being called a woman's name?"

Falman quickly straightens and lays his arm flat on his desk. "N- no! I'm appreciating the Colonels' taste in names, that's all!"

Breda just snorts. "You're weird, that's what you are."

"Maybe so, but at least I have taste."

Breda sputters a retort to that, and Havoc rolls his eyes as they fall into arguing over the niceties of women's naming conventions. The mood is lighter now, but it's still not quite enough to motivate him to finish his paperwork. He catches sight of the edge of Mustang's desk in the corner of his eye, and on a whim, decides to lean over and see what the boss is doing now...

...And it's like looking in a mirror. Mustang was leaning away from his seat in much the same manner as Havoc, peering into their office through the doorway, his dark eyes squinting.

But only for this one moment - in the next, he notices Havoc staring back, and like a child being caught in the cookie jar, he whips back into his usual position, pretending he's still working and that's all he's been doing. But there's something undeniably bashful about him, as Havoc can see a flush of color creeping into his boss's features even from this distance.

Havoc's witnessed him doing this on more than one occasion, so by now he has the courtesy to suppress his temptation to snicker and quietly move away, pretending he didn't see anything.

Feeling a smidge guilty now, Havoc settles into his chair, bothering the cigarette in his mouth again. Guess they were being too loud in here - but to be fair, it probably sounded way more interesting than the red tape Mustang was currently slogging through.

Or maybe...

...Havoc sneaks a glance at Riza again, her blonde head bent over her desk and desperately ignoring Breda and Falman's arguing. He's thinking back to that rumor Breda was talking about, about the person who's caught Mustang's eye. She'd pointedly deflected Havoc's comments about it, but he was just telling the truth, really. She has known the Colonel longer than anyone else, being the daughter of the Alchemist he trained under in his youth and subsequently, Mustang's childhood friend. Anyone with eyes in their head can see how close the two of them are, how much they trust each other. As his bodyguard, Mustang trusts her with his life - and in return, Riza trusts him with something just as important to her.

(No one on the team knows the details, but no one needs to, really.)

Havoc could definitely see the two hooking up someday - perhaps when Mustang finally accomplishes his goal, and Riza finally learns to relax a little.

He can see it now - the two going out to a cafe one morning, watching the world go by while enjoying their coffee and each other's company. Spending an afternoon on a walk through the park with Riza's dog, side-by-side and hand-in-hand. Then an evening attending a fancy stage play, or a fancy restaurant, or some other fancy thing that Mustang would probably splurge on once he no longer has to settle for lonely nights at random bars with random women.

He'd have a real date for once, a partner - someone rock-steady and supportive, never taking his bullshit but never taking him for granted either, giving and receiving the love and companionship he deserves. And maybe someday she'll give and receive vows with him too, take his hand in marriage and peacefully retire to the countryside with him for the rest of their days, far away from war and death and corruption.

...Yeah. Sounds like Riza.

Havoc sighs, taking his mostly-used cigarette out of his mouth and breathing out a wistful cloud of smoke. Thinking about it, he'd love all that stuff too... with a girlfriend, that is.

Hm. He's kinda jealous, now... Ah well.

#teammustangweek18 #jeanroy #roy mustang #jean havoc #riza hawkeye #jeminy writes #fake royai? i guess? lol

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catboyrights · 7 years ago

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have some father and son reunion shit

He sits at a table away from the bar and it feels like the peeling walls are closing around him. Not sure whether or not it’s the anxious nerves or dread, it doesn't matter. The place had a kitsch to it, not one that Casey himself would have picked, but a certain charm in the almost tragic garishness. Comfortably uncomfortable amongst the sea of cheap lights and piecemeal collection of taxidermy mounts.

His drink is larger than his head--unnaturally blue save for a small streak of red he dumped in--and sweet enough to mask the reason anyone bought the thing. Not typical for him, though this in and of itself was already a clear abnormality. Never proactive before, but he figures he’s already forcing change and this is as bold a move as any.

“Tartuffe Allen Smith, pleasures all mine,” a gruff voice pipes, pulling Casey from his shallow musing. “Glad you done came, figured after the first couple’a times you turned tail you wasn't gonna show.”

“I mean, not a bad guess. Sort of figured I wouldn't show this time either,” Casey says, no need for introductions they knew exactly who they were. He takes a measured pull of his drink, something for him to focus on with ease. Allow only smallest gazes towards his guest, don't get caught. He was here, that didn't mean he had to be confident in it. Not easy to meet someone you’d imagined--in better situations and far worse--for thirty years. Especially one you hold a bias towards. Try and separate the two, this is not his “father” perhaps this is a just a strange business meeting--a good cover, hadn’t had too many of those for any comparison.

“Well you ain't done it this time, so gives ya some credit,” he says, shuffling himself into a seat. Gives Casey a chance to give him a less than subtle once-over--obvious enough the similarities, though not glaring enough he would have personally made the connection. Well, that's why he wasn't the smart one in that particular relationship if he could call it that. No matter if he couldn't see it or not, had more than enough proof. Like looking in a funhouse mirror, makes him laugh how apt it was for the situation.

“Whuzzat?” Tartuffe says, lighting a smoke and tossing a hand casually to hail a waitress. “Feels like I missed out on the damn joke, an’ I love me a good fucking joke kid.”

How the fuck could he be so damn cool about this? Casey already feels like his skeleton’s jumped from his goddamn skin, but here he is like he didn't hypothetically fuck Casey over from his very conception. Can't get angry, ruins the whole fake mood they’re trying to cultivate. Stamp it down, and make do because if anything surviving this is a giant fuck you now.

“Nothing, wondering what it would take to mount me and hang my head up here when I die. Seems fitting is all. Hell, I know a guy who would kill to stuff me--” He cuts himself off and shakes his head at the wording, maybe not the best choice around an unknown authority. At least Tartuffe takes it in stride, shoots him a wink and doesn't say anything more.

“Yer one of them artsy types ain’tcha? Not gon’ go the obvious route here, but makes sense. Got a lot’a them folks what come into the ol' business, good people.”

“Cheapest place in town. Might be able to do art for a living now, but that doesn't mean it's lucrative.”

The waitress comes round, another fishbowl drink in hand. He thanks her, tosses a couple caps her way with a smile. Well, he's not one to judge taste just look at his. Commendable to go after anything with a pulse.

“So long as they spread the fuckin’ word it don't matter none. Heard yer name get dropped a couple’a times for what it’s worth, make you some big dick? ‘Member you had that book you done sent, seems awful impressive.”

“It sold, barely enough to cover the printing--thank God for friends--but it sold if that's what you’re asking. You read it?” Back into his drink, thankful yet again the thing is large enough to take cover.

“Skimmed, ain't gonna lie t’ya. The note you done left tellin’ me t'fuck off might’ve spoiled my readin' mood iffin ya wiil.”

“Well, can't fault a guy for being direct can you?”

A chuckle, thoughtful almost. Shoots him a small look as he ashes his cigarette into a gaudy, mouth shaped tray. “Well, ‘spose you cain't.”

Tartuffe takes a long drag, long stream of blue tint smoke curling up into nothing. Maybe not the best first conversation, but it gets it out of the way so they both can pointedly ignore it. Could have gone worse, could’ve sent the first draft that called him carnie cunt and seen how that went.

“God love him, but Zeke must’ve been mistaken here. Can't what any relation with you leaving your drink like that. Haven’t even dumped in the shot, it's a ritual for Christ’s sake! You don't start drinking that damn thing I’m going to double fist ‘em.” He takes another hefty swig to punctuate his point.

Tartuffe quirks a curious eyebrow, dumps the side shot into his drink unceremoniously. A few deep pulls and smile, knowing eyes staring him down. “Nah kid, y’can drink yer mine. Though maybe tha’s all show, met a lot a of folk in my day what only thought they could handle keepin' up with me.”

“Bet I could drink your ass under the table still, got a lot of practice under my belt.”

“Really now--think real fuckin’ highly a’yerself don't ya? Don't you go makin’ a bet yer ass cain’t win kid, ain't gonna work in yer favor.” He places his smoke into the ashtray carefully, grabs up his drink once more and drains it with a smirk. “Not really much of a show, but hell good enough start.”

He follows suit, the sickly sweet cocktail syrupy and thick down his throat. Not meant for a quick consumption, but he isn't backing down now. Move to something a little less… viscous next round.

“I’ll bite if you’re the one paying, already told you what being an artist gets you.”

“Ain't gonna match me, so I can toss you yer couple’a drinks. I’m a kind man.”

Casey hails the waitress, orders two Rob Roy--seems oddly fitting for him. “You’ll regret those words.” Grabs up Tartuffe’s discarded cigarette with a shrug, an afterthought--lighting up. He grimaces at the first pull, fucking hated menthols. “Same as I regret this. Christ you really smoke these things?”

“Call me a motherfucker all y’want--guess tha’s a little on the nose--but don't you say shit about my Bel-Aires boy. Man’s gotta have a brand.”

“Not my fault your’s just happen to be disgusting.”

“Got me a real refined taste, ain't like you gotta finish that damn thing. Fuck you probably got you some overpriced status symbol jus’ like yer sisters.”

“I prefer Red Apple slims actually, if that says anything about me. Lord knows it does… And that's where you’re wrong. Started it and I’m damn well going to finish it how else will I ever learn?”

“You a rich bitch housewife an’ you just forgot to tell me? Give my left nut for a kid with taste, Christ alive…” Tartuffe drops his head in his hands with a laugh.

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onehopthistime · 8 years ago

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i feel like my entire life is temporary happiness nowadays. like it’s a weird feeling, idk. i’ve been having really fun weekends and i have a blast in the moment and i don’t think about anything else. and then the week comes and i’m just looking forward to something that isn’t coming. idk. i’m not completely miserable, but i’m definitely not actually happy. and i sort of can’t tell if it’s me just feeling like everyone else is living this super exciting life and mine isn’t good or fulfilled enough in comparison when they’re probably in the same boat or if i’m just actually a sack of shit. but i’m not even sure what i want. like after work all i wanna do is lay in bed, no desire to do anything. and i get my shit done, cook me some dinner, do my dishes, get my ass in bed and then i’m like why the fuck am i just laying in bed? then it’s like i feel lonely or whatever and have 20 unread messages/texts and have no desire to answer any of them. i feel like i’m not growing or learning or anything, i’m just existing and getting dumber by the day, but at the same time idk if i really give a shit. but i guess i do.. idk. even when i’m out having a blast, people bug the shit out of me with things and it’s like i can’t remember the last time i just hung out with people and didn’t feel like i needed to rant about something after the fact. and like that’s not good. things shouldn’t bother me that much that often. it just kinda makes me like soul search and be like yo are you already an old miserable fuck but for real? the answer to this is yes completely 100% which in some respects i’m totally cool with but at the same time no one wants to fucking be around that. i’m not sure how to fix that, how to make my life better or whatever. or if this is just how it goes and i’m just realizing that. and any answers i come up with it’s just shit i can’t have and shit that won’t happen and i’m just fixated on them anyways. and right now writing this i just feel whiny as fuck and i fucking hate it. idk i hate just being this unhappy stupid fucker who broadcasts it. so i’m emotionally inept and have only found anyone i’m willing at all to open up to online because it’s just easier that way. like i don’t need to see you in person, you can’t tell people i know how big of a pussy i am. but i’m still like holy shit i’m thaaat kid. and so like i should probably just delete it or draft it and not post it, but i have a desire to post it and yet at the same time don’t really want anyone to see it. and you see i’m so fucking sick of this shit right here, arguing about everything i do and want in my own head all of the fucking time. idk my life’s not even bad. i have a good job, it’s not hard, i make decent money, i have good roommates. i don’t have any drama, i don’t have too many issues or things going wrong. it’s just bland. which doesn’t feel bitch-worthy, but here i am bitching cause that’s just what i do. i’m also like not even in a bad mood today, so i’m not sure why i’m writing this right now, but here we are.

#idk dude

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dancingnlancing · 8 years ago

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RP advice: Paying attention to the setting

Role play is something I've been doing since I was about 5 years old. Anyone else recall make pretend games as a kid? Adult role play is quite similar to that, actually, only far more organized. You have character sheets or costumes, elaborate back stories... Dungeon Masters who build plot and question. And rules. Lots and lots of rules to keep all the stupid shit that happens when kids make pretend from happening. You know what I'm talking about.That infinite forcefield shit. Or now your character is the son of a demon and also ate gods and also... The point is, rules (from books or predefined by those engaging in rp) are around to keep the game fun-- because that's ultimately what rp is. It's a game. The closest thing I can possibly equate it to is playing adult literary dolls. And there is no better example of this comparison than the MMO. World of Warcraft, Guild Wars, Lord of the Rings Online, ESO-- these games all have a strong role player community in which participants use their player characters as avatars to represent their concepts. Like action figures or stuffed animals when you were a kid made digital. Now, each of these games have a unique narrative and experience. Lore for these universes primarily will act as your boundaries of plausibility for the setting. For example, in World of Warcraft, an orc cannot be a Druid because they aren't from Azeroth. Similarly, if you were developing a character within the Lord of the Rings universe, they couldn't be in possession of the one ring while Frodo had it. This wouldn't be logically plausible in the material you have been given to work with. Simple logical leaps such as continuity are easy enough to make, but now consider the various other laws set in place via story given to the reader though out a book, film, or game. Suddenly the scope is widened to what is and is not world breaking and this can be even more unclear in a higher fantasy, or vague setting. Imagine trying to build a character into a Dark Souls canonical setting? The story in those games is intentionally open ended. How on earth could you conceive a fan made story for it? I think there is a simple answer here... Look to the source material, and emulate what you can observe the boundaries are. It's impossible to know the exact intent of an author, and for translated games, I'm sure a lot more is lost. However, the vibe if you will, the atmosphere is usually made clear and easily relatable to many different people. Keeping with material thematically is the first step to making a good Rp character. It's very common, perhaps increasingly common for people to haze each other for specific types of character tropes or backgrounds. First off, this is wrong, as is any form of harassment. Stop picking on people for what they like. As much as I'd like to point out what's "optimal" for good setting writing, there are some people out there who are going to do their own thing no matter what. And that's totally okay. Everyone is aloud to have their own piece. You don't have to do anything with anyone you don't want to, and if they aren't hurting you, just fine like minded people and do stuff with them. Second, I find often people go WAY too far in their policing of what's canon and what isn't to the point when they themselves might be thinking a silly story far more serious and grounded in reality than it actually is. Enter Final Fantasy 14. Since it's my current MMORPG of choice at the moment (and where I do all my RP currently) I feel the most comfortable using it as an example for this particular pet peeve of mine. That being said, there WILL BE SPOILERS. FFXiV is a pure anime game through and through. In story, visuals, character archetypes. It's oozing with all those delicious Japanese animation tropes even down to cute girls and tentacle monsters. It's got no small amount of absurdities. Poorly written at times, there are more than two hand fulls of moments I've eye rolled so hard I thought my eyes would fall out. And yet, for all it's plot holes and goofy edgy neko main characters, it works-- at least for me. FF14 is this big stupid world full of stupid ideas that are so heart felt in how they are pulled off they meld into this lovely little anime universe I'm totally a sucker for. So to my surprise a game where ancient techno wizards put a dragon into a satellite and launched it into orbit, having a character who's one of the in game jobs is just TOO MUCH. An argument I hear commonly is that "WELL THOSE ARE ONLY SPECIAL CASES WITH NPCS AND FOR THE TRUE EXPERIENCE YOU MUST BE A PEASANT." Referring back to the were dragon bit, those are regular people with special tainted dragon blood because their ancestors decided a big dragon looked delicious and HEY WE COULD BE POWERFUL IF WE ATE A DRAGON. Now, there is obviously nothing wrong with wanting to be a regular person in FFs high fantasy setting. But guys, you have to consider the sort of world Eorzea has been built to be. It's a setting where friendship and love can conquer evil. It's a setting where bug people live in a hive mind, except for some because they can be remind controlled. It's a setting where Moogles can actually exist and be intended to be taken seriously-- Basically the hardest time I've ever had trying suspend my disbelief because I hate fucking HATE Moogles. Paying attention to the rules of this universe, and it's clear that FF14's universe is a pretty fantastical silly one. This is a wide, ridiculous story, and some people would like to consider and write in spirit with that. There is nothing wrong so long as they know the source material and honestly... have fun with it. That's what's RP is meant to be when you break it down. It's just a fun game of make pretend. It's not a finalized edited novel. At best, what you are writing on the fly is a rough draft collaboration. Nothing will be perfect, but if you want it to be you are missing the point entirely. Role-Play is for fun, and choosing or making up a setting you like just adds to the depth you can give it. And personally, I choose 14 over other MMORPGs because I like how stupid and bad ass it is-- and I'm totally fine with people calling my RP stupid because that means I've hit that sweet spot on setting recognition.

#rp #rp ramblings #ff14 rp #ff14 #ffxiv rp

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subtletyislost · 8 years ago

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1. Tell us about your WIP!Currently I’m working on a lesbian romance novel about two girls in college,one is a double majoring in business and english education, the other doublemajors in computer science and astrophysics (the college she goes to doesn’t do“rocket science” or aeronautical engineering, so this is probably as close asshe’s going to get for programing rockets and theoretical space flightpaths/devices). The other major part of the story is that the MC (the rocketscientist) is searching for her missing brother at the same time.

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part aboutwriting?My favorite part about writing is that moment hen someone tells me eitherthat they like my writing or gives me some kind of critique/encouragement (yes,I actually like receiving constructive criticism). My least favorite part aboutwriting is trying find people to give that critique/trying to stay focusedenough to actually finish a story.

5. Top five formative books?I don’t know what this means but the books I read as a child that made mewant to write were: 1. The Magic Treehouse Series 2. Molly Moon’s IncredibleBook of Hypnotism 3. Bloody Jack 4. The Tale-Tell Heart (and other Edgar AllenPoe things) 5. The Little Princebooks that shaped my writing style/preferences though were 1. Molly Moon’sIncredible Book of Hypnotism 2. Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witchof the West 3. Welcome to Night Vale: The Novel 4. The Hitchhiker’s Guide tothe Galaxy 5. Martin the Warrior

6. Favorite character you’ve written?Fandom: Sera, Leliana, Josephine, Cole (Dragon Age), Jack, Liara, Peebee (MassEffect), Pharah (overwatch), Raven (Teen Titans), Lara Croft (Tomb Raider)Original: Cassandra Tesla (the MC of the wip from question 1), Scion, Xia,Sage, Ruka, and Nvros

8. Do you have anywriting buddies or critique partners? yes! @wardenpharah @snowstorm-thirteen @uswhovianswillholdasiton and acouple others who I mostly talk to on discord

9. Favorite/leastfavorite tropes? Favorite: I don’t know trope names, but there’s trope that I didn’t know was atrope until I came across it in a few fics and a podcast where basicallysomeone is separated from their spouse and when they meet back up with themthey’re like “I missed you so much! Btw I kind of accidentally adopted thiskid/[wayward character]”; that trope “remove your weapons” *pulls a ridiculousamount of weapons out of nowhere* “ALL of them” *reluctantly hands over one ortwo more*; “will this work?” “I have no idea” *thing explodes* “was it supposedto do that?” “I don’t know but it was awesome!”Least favorite: that trope where they destroy the MCs hometown/house/familyjust so the MC has nothing tying them back to where they began and then proceedto do absolutely nothing with that plotwise and it affects nothing but gettingthe MC to actually leave their town

10. Pick an author(or writing friend) to co-write a book with@snowstorm-thirteen or @wardenpharah or one of my new friends from discordwhose tumblr I’ve forgotten

12. Which story ofyours do you like best? why? Original Works: either Light in the Dark or The Forgotten Realm of Dreams orThe Invisibles, because they’re all really really gay and really really nerdyFanfic: Is This Home Yet is without a doubt my best work ever. I’m consideringrewriting it as a novel. Wouldn’t be hard because the only thing making it afanfic and not an original work is that I used the two mcs to basically justget more attention.

13. Describe yourwriting processIt tends to be: sit down, open a notebook/grab paper/open scrivener/word/googledocs, stare at the page, start writing, erase things, write different things,listen to music, check tumblr, write more, somehow things get done or they don’tget done.

15. How do you dealwith self-doubt when writing? look at paper, say “I hate this”, cry, complain to anyone who will listen,stop writing for however long that takes, go back to writing, say “this is bad”,complain more, talk shit out, then it branches: if feel better, keep writing! Ifnot, stop writing and play video games then come back to writing two or threedays later!

16. Cover love/dreamcovers? I love me some good book covers, but professional ones are expensive orrequire talent that I do not have. Light in the Dark would be good with eithera mysterious cover, cover with a bunch of letters and envelopes, a soft gaycover with two girls that fit Cass and Ruka’s descriptions, or a cover that’s likethe soft gay cover but with space and video games/a computer incorporated intoit.

17. What things(scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing? scenes: anything not smut or fightingtopics: I’m comfortable writing about anything except incest/ddlg|mmlb/anythingthat falls in the realm of ‘not my thing to talk about’ (ie. I will write transcharacters, but not specifically about trans issues—nonbinary/agender issuesthough I will; I’ll write mlm characters but not specifically about theirissues; I’ll write poc or religious characters but I won’t write specificallyabout the issues that they face-without a lot of research and talking to peopleand such—because it’s just not my place. To explain a bit, I mean that I’llwrite characters that are not like me, and will do research to make sure I don’taccidentally do that in an offensive manner, but I won’t tell their stories forthem because I am not them. I hope this makes sense.)character types: women or nonbinary individuals, rebels, nerds, autistics,abuse victims/survivors, lesbians, ace people, the secretly nerdy femme, thesecretly nerdy butch, the secretly nerdy anyone,the tough girl who likes soft things, the soft girl who will kick your ass, thereptile person (person who likes reptiles), pirate, scientist, explorer, ectthere’s a lot of character types I love to write

25. What’s yourworldbuilding process like? this deserves its own post

21. What aspect ofyour writing are you most proud of? characterization

22. Tell us about thebooks on your “to write” listmost of them are in some way all part of the same series, but not necessarilyconnected, and not necessarily linearly or direct successors. Some/most can be stand-alonethat just happen to take place in the same universe as the others

27. Every writer’sleast favorite question - where does your inspiration come from? Do you docertain things to make yourself more inspired? Is it easy for you to come upwith story ideas?Dreams. Most if not all my story inspiration and ideas come from dreams, therest come from songs or random thoughts that just get stuck in my head. To getmore inspired I play games, bounce ideas off my friends, listen to music, orsleep. It’s fairly easy for me to come up with ideas, almost as easy as comingup with characters *shoves my like 300 ocs into the closet*

28. How do you stayfocused on your own work and how do you deal with comparison?I don’t focus, that’s the problem that’s why there’s so much unfinished shit onmy ao3. Tbh I’m usually the one doing the comparing and I deal with it bylearning from the work I’m comparing mine to and improving.

30. Do you like toread books similar to your project while you’re drafting or do you stick tonon-fiction/un-similar works?I don’t read. I can’t focus long enough to read. Instead I play video games inthe same genre or daydream or occasionally relisten to the Welcome To NightVale novel audiobook. I’m starting to branch out and try to find otheraudiobooks to listen to, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is a pretty goodone on Audio.

33. What’s yourrevision/rewriting process like?draft one on one side of the screen, draft two on the other side of thescreen and literally rewriting draft one in draft 2. Sometimes I’ll rewrite onthe same document using markups like strikethrough instead of deleting thingsand other colors for the new additions, also lots and lots of sleeping andcrying, and soda (I don’t drink coffee).

34. Unpopular writingthoughts/opinions? Ernest Hemmingway sucks. He’s a terrible writer and you should not aspire towrite like him nor should you look up to him. Said is a perfectly valid word.The Oxford Comma is required not optional. Adverbs are not bad, use them if youwant. First person is a valid form to write in. Parenthetical asides (likethis) are just as valid as hyphenated asides—like this—and should be used if itfits the story/narration style. If your pov character doesn’t understand theforeign language the other character is speaking, putting the words in theother language in the text with a footnote translation is just as valid as “hesaid something in [language] but MC didn’t understand it.” Stalking is notromantic. Unhappy endings do not belong in the romance genre. Your charactercan be gay without complaining about it or it making their life hard. You canhave more than one minority character! You characters never going to thebathroom is unrealistic. Mosquitoes are a thing and if your character isoutside in the summer they had better damn well be protecting themselvesagainst them or slapping at at least one. A romance story with a character whowon’t take no for an answer, who isn’tthe antagonist/big (or little) bad, is not romantic. A romance story where thecharacters kiss or have sex when one of them clearly doesn’t want to, is notromantic. BOTH characters in your romance story need to change by the end ofthe story, that’s just good characterization. You can have polyamorouscharacters, but we are not a kink/fetish, if you don’t actually support actualpolyamorous people in real life don’t write about us in your fiction it’sdisrespectful and you’re probably going to do it wrong. Cheating is notromantic. Asexuals exist, Aromantics exist, Bisexuals exist. Romance doesn’tneed sex. … I’ll stop now, I have a lot of things I could say here.

35. Post the lastsentence you wroteShe blinked them back, willing herself not to cry.

36. Post a snippetCassandra had never been one for plans, if she had she might have actuallytalked with her roommate before move-inday. Even so, despite not planning things much, she did have goals. Her goal onmove-in day was simple: move in, preferably alone. She’d been under theimpression that she was the first one to arrive and that her roommate wouldn’tbe coming until later in the day. So, it was a shock to her when she arrived ather dorm room and found it was already open. She tapped her foot against the doorto get the attention of whoever was inside the room. She couldn’t quite see whomight be in there through the boxes that she was carrying.

“I hope you don’t mind,” a soft voice from inside the roomsaid, “it’s just that it was easier to leave the door open than to have to keepunlocking it.”

Cassandra tilted her head as she walked into the room,lowering the boxes just enough to see over them as she did so. “It’s notrouble,” she replied. “Who are you?”

The girl she was addressing, that she assumed was herroommate, was probably the most delicate looking girl she’d ever seen—wearing alight blue sundress with a ribbon around her waist and matching Mary Janes. Inher mind, the girl gave the impression of the enchanted rose from Beauty and the Beast; almost more likean idea than a person. She had long dark blonde—or was it light brown—hair withfaint, but still visible, red and dark brown streaks running through it, asthough it contained a fire within its French braid. Her smile was soft, barelyeven visible, and she looked like she might have played a sport in highschool—probably archery or fencing. Her brown eyes sparkled in the light fromthe window, like a stone of topaz against a blanket of snow. Never in her life,had Cassandra ever seen a girl that made her wonder if she was staring, but shehad now.

37. Do you ever writelong handed or do you prefer to type everything?100% depends on the story, and the day, and whether or not my eyes hurt.Sometimes ideas flow better on paper, sometimes typed, sometimes they flowbetter when I talk them out those days are bad for writing but good for gettingideas.

42. How many draftsdo you usually write before you feel satisfied? 100% depends on if it’s original work or fanfiction. Original works I’m usuallynot satisfied even after 6, 7, or even 10 drafts. Fanfiction, sometimes I justpost up the first draft without caring, sometimes I’m more satisfied with a seconddraft. It usually doesn’t go beyond that.

48. Do you prefer towrite skimpy drafts and flesh them out later, or write too much and cut itback?I just write. Usually my second draft is longer and more detailed than thefirst, and by the 5th or 6th everything has changedbecause of added or removed details.

51. Are you asecretive writer or do you talk with your friends about your books?I don’t shut up about my writing, not with my friends.

52. Who do you writefor? Myself., or anyone who pays me.

54. Favorite firstline/opening you’ve written? Absolutely nothing could go wrong, she thought just exactly as everythingwent wrong.

50. Do you share yourrough drafts or do you wait until everything is all polished?I share them, if I waited until they were polished no one would ever get toread them

55. How do you manageyour time/make time for writing? (do you set aside time to write every day ordo you only write when you have a lot of free time?) I have no job and no life. 0/10 do not recommend my method of having writingtime

#writing #shut up amaranth #my writing #ask meme #anonymous

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notorious-nlp · 8 years ago

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TRAINING DATA-MAKER, ANTI-HESITATOR

[You thought I forgot about you, didn’t you? It’s a rough time for everyone right now, and so, particularly recently, it’s been easy to let projects like this fall by the wayside. It’s hard to argue that this blog is as important as, say, protesting the illegal detainment of lawful American residents. But, as a friend of mine said: we’re fighting to be able to live the lives we want, and living well is a form of resistance, too. Besides: hip hop often gives a voice to the oppressed. It’s a predominantly Black art form with undeniable Muslim influences that was pioneered by an immigrant. If there was ever a time to celebrate this kind of art, well...it’s now.

I’ll try to post once or twice a month (so: every 3ish weeks) moving forward. In the meantime, here’s a post that I somehow forgot about until now...]

My last post talked about the neural network that I built to generate novel hip hop lyrics. If you want a rough overview of how that model works, read it. This post talks about how the model performed during different stages of the training process, and how I worked to improve it.

Recall that neural networks train through repeated exposure to data. They start out by giving each feature, and each interaction, a random weight. Each time the model makes a prediction, it evaluates whether or not that prediction was “right” (i.e., that the predicted output matches the actual output) and adjusts the random weights so that future predictions will be more accurate, using (something like) gradient descent. This is why, broadly speaking, models that have been trained on larger data sets, and for longer periods of time, perform more accurately.

I actually wrote and trained several models before settlings on the final version, and I want to start out looking at the first draft. This model was trained on a (very small) dataset of 100k characters, because that was the limit of what my computer could nimbly handle. Does 100k characters should like a lot? It isn’t. I started with a relatively simple model -- metaphorically, it was equivalent to a brain with a smaller number of neurons. Generally: fewer neurons mean a simpler hypothesis, but also faster training times. If you want to know more about how the number of neurons (or, units) in a model can contribute to the model’s predictive power, The NYTime’s write up of Google Translate has a really good overview.

Because of the kind of model I chose (a LSTM-RNN) and the library I used to implemented it (Keras) my model trained in epochs -- full passes through the dataset. After each epoch (in this case exposure to all ~100,000 patterns of 101 characters), I established a “checkpoint” that stored the weights associated with the model at that point. Then I ran the model with those weights. I used the outputs of these runs (as well as, you know, actual mathematical accuracy metrics) to determine how well the model was doing after each stage of training.

Here’s how the first model did after 5 training epochs. Again, [seed text] is bolded inside brackets. Model generated text follows. Are you ready?

[similar to saying mama s baby s daddy maybe when we had sex i was in the mercedes a]nd when i cac bucy mh in i m ne bor oht duai se to me mh bol mh oo i oh the loal oh i tou pan a bia l a n a lii io she bar h gon t gan th toe datche ...

Ouch. It’s halfway between English and...Vietnamese? Obviously, we’re not doing very well right now.

Here’s how the same model looked after 15 training epochs:

[i m from the belly of the beast remember i barely used to] lame the toak mo bot t ale the toie aaasnz i make her dance thas sae io toe tooe the toal [...] what happened shas iapp nn thet the saad i mote the bitch i mote the siie [...] i want a whip and a chain i want a whip and a chain

Medium ouch. It almost starts out strong: the first word it produces is actual English, even if the sentence remember I barely used to lame isn’t so promising. Then we get total gibberish. About halfway through, we get a little more actual English (what happened) mixed in with gibberish. At the end, it looks like something promising is happening, but...

...Here’s the model after the full 30 epochs:

[that cr nack yeah i got cr nack started from the trap now i rap] this the shit you play when you sipkin suck it up this the shit you play when you snoke a zip and up this the shit you play when you sippin out a cup [...] this the shit you play when you sippin out a cup this the shit you play when you sippin out a cup this the shit you play when you sippin out a cup [...]

What looked promising after 15 epochs was really a disaster after 30: the model was basically memorizing phrases that were disproportionately common (because, say, they were part of hook of Bentley Truck) and rewarding itself for always predicting those phrases.

Part of the problem was the dataset -- I trained this practice model on too small a sample. But the way the model was built contributed to this problem, too: Always outputting the same result is an underfitting (bias) problem. Basically, this was a symptom that the model was too simple. As a result, the hypothesis that the model held about how to generate language was also too simple to be insightful. Normally, a model that’s “too simple” is a model that doesn’t consider a large enough number of features, or that isn’t looking at enough feature interactions (because, say, it doesn’t have enough neurons to do so). Because my number of features was set (the number of unique characters in my dataset) I dealt with this problem by increasing the number of interactions the model looked at. Basically, I made the model better by giving it more neurons.

Here’s how the final draft (i.e., the more complex version) of the model performed during training. This obviously isn’t a perfect comparison, because the final model was also trained on a larger dataset, but still:

After 5 epochs:

[diamond rings you say i m bad at timing things so what s a man to do when all i hand to you is handed] soees in men mo more to matee ien so take the brain out leave the heart in take the brain out leave the heart in bany mote it paf the bott to the bott to the back in the same io a saaee the same the same i m the one the peelen the cooper so the [...]

It looks like English! Some of the repetition/memorization in the middle (take the brain out leave the heart in take the brain out leave the heart in) looks like the same underfitting problem we saw earlier, but it’s less overwhelming. And this is still the beginning of the training cycle.

After epoch 15:

[motherfucker tis the season to be servin what you doin mob mobbin like a motherfucker] e saaee the siie the saaee the siig she s soal the boas sook doon i meed mo mnee in the middle bou a b t in the way i maae i m gonna find a way to make it without you i m gonna hond in you ra babk to the boat rock the boat change positions new position new position new position stroke it for me stroke it for me stroke it for me [...]

So far, still promising.

And finally, after the last training epoch:

[you should have listened motherfucker when i said don t get it twisted don t get it twisted nigga] het said i m the one to gat mo money more to work to mess with me me yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah [...] let me see you can t say the same i m gonna be alright see the same black out black out black out black out black out black out black out

You can see that the underfitting problem never really went away -- it just stopped being so (glaringly) obvious. In an ideal world, I would have trained an even more complex model, meaning that it would have been able to maintain even more sophisticated hypotheses about language (particularly, I would have trained a model with an additional LSTM layer. This kind of model performed better in some initial tests). But there’s a complexity/training time trade-off to consider. Really, it was a complexity/cost trade-off, because I had to rent a GPU to train this thing. The above is about what I could get for about $10, or a really nice beer.

#underfitting #bias vs variance #lstm-rnn #machine learning #data science #science side of tumblr #nlp #notorious nlp #keras

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