#sometimes writers are just fucking stupid and don't know what they're talking about. their word is not gospel.

[poisonousquinzel]

Harley is so cute in the Gotham Girls comic but jfc the writing around her is so questionable the large part of the time 😭😭

sorry (no I'm not) but actually that feels so damned victim blamey and I resent the nasty ass way comics talk about her mental health problems it's so offensive. Paul D. Storrie im in your closet

like now why the fuck would Ivy or Barbara react this way? Ivy knows her and Barbara is literally a superhero,,, she also knows damn well who Harleen was???? it's kinda like a part of the superhero thing is learning about the enemies you're facing???? "Sure Harley I know" yeah she does know because Harley's fucking right you don't just get hired at ARKHAM what is wrong with the writer of this comic???

AND SHE WASN'T A PHYCOLOGIST !!!!! SHE'S NEVER BEEN A DAMNED PSYCHOLOGIST !!! ITS A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THING FROM BEING A PSYCHIATRIST FFS !!!!!!!!

[doctorweebmd]

Hiii i saw some other asks but they all had like 4 emojis so now idk if this is too much im so sorry if it is, hopefully you can answer all if you want to! Hope you have a great day! 💞🤩🧠(katsuki)🤗🍦🎶

lol anon are you kidding?! I LOVE talking about myself and my writing you are doing ME the favor hahaha

💞- Who's your comfort character?

Hmmm you know I actually never really thought about the 'definition' of what a comfort character is. Like, what's the difference between that and a favorite character? I looked it up and read a thinkpiece or two... (this is not supposed to be that deep I knoowwwwww i'm sorrryyy) but if we go by what I read, like a pseudo-parasocial-relationship, about who I think about when I'm upset or who motivates me in real life or who I just vibe with in general I'd say...

Izuku Midoriya. I can't even explain it. Like, if it doesn't have Deku in it, I ain't interested (BNHA fandom-wise.) He's flawed and overly sensitive and works SO SO HARD and is so sincere and GOOD and also INSANE SOMETIMES and he's just. My favorite. Literally no other MC can do it like him.

🤩- Who is your favorite character to write?

Hahhaha oh jeez I think my favorite to write might be Katsuki. I also really love writing Akutagawa. They both have a very particular manner of speech that I think brings a LOT of character to narration. I also write writing them both because getting a read into their inner minds is super fun, because we, as the audience, don't really get to hear their internal monologues. What do they think about? How do they think about it? Their heads are SO fucked, I just love picking them apart piece by piece lmao

🧠- Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. (Katsuki)

That he's hopelessly, painfully in love with Izuku and he thinks its unrequited.

Just joking....

...Unless?

No but this is kinda hard. My thoughts about Katsuki are actively changing with canon. He's changed so much in canon. I guess this isn't a fun one, but I truly do believe Katsuki has a... difficult... relationship with his mother. They're too similar and the kind of shit she's said about him seems really cruel and backhanded. I also wouldn't be surprised if he instilled some of Katsuki's dislike of 'quirkless' Izuku. Mitsuki doesn't strike me as the kind of woman that ever really hugged Katsuki or told him that she loved him, she expected perfection from him and he GAVE her that. I also think, at least in part, his 'bad boy act' (because we know, WE KNOW its an act) is a way to rebel against her. No hate towards Mitsuki but I think across every universe she's shaped Katsuki's self-hatred and extreme pride and belief that he's not worthy of gentleness or affection. Erhem.

Wow I made myself sad with that. Oh moms. You sure are... something.

🤗 - What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

Haha I'm not sure I'm qualified to give advice! I'll definitely do my best.

I echo what lots of other people say. Just write. Whatever it is. With whatever skill you have. Get whatever story you have in your head down. It doesn't have to be perfect. Or even complete. The act of putting it into words is insanely valuable. You won't even notice yourself becoming a better writer, but it happens almost naturally.

One saying I kinda live by is 'if you build it, they will come.' None of your ideas are too 'niche' or too 'weird.' Different people connect to different concepts. Some of my most rewarding writing experiences have been from writing shit that I legitimately thought no one would read. Keep at it. Recognition is not an indicator of quality. The right people will find you.

Write your thoughts down. Even if you think its stupid. You'd be surprised how much you revisit things. I often use text-to-speech for ideas or dialogue when I'm driving. This I've started doing more recently, but when you cut things out of your writing, save them in another document or at the bottom.

Obviously, read. The more you read, the better you'll write. We're all Frankenstein amalgamations of our favorite authors. Again, you won't know what will flip a switch in your brain until you give it a shot, right? I hate to say it, but sometimes 'classics' can be that inspiration. They're survived this long for a reason. 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' and 'East of Eden' both changed my brain chemistry and they were high school reading assignments....

Gosh. I mean, not to be cheesy, but just have fun with it. Its a hobby and its supposed to bring you joy. Don't worry about updating schedules or word counts or stats. Write whats in you and let it blossom, ya know?

🍦- What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

Oh jeez this is also hard because I write like... a ton of porn.

BUT. I think my sweetest fic is Battle of the Bands.

In particular I really REALLY love the epilogue chapter. That Katsuki and Izuku go on tour together.... that they have matching tattoos instead of wedding bands... THAT THEY GET MARRIED AND LIVE THEIR DREAM TOGETHER.... plus. like. the SLOW SLOW SLOW burn of it all. the love songs. the yearning. making music of feelings you cannot say aloud. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

🎶- Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

oh definitely! its kind of become an unintentional tradition. i generally start a new playlist for every fic and add things 'vibe-wise' that i already know, then randomize and add songs on that way. It sets the stage, in a weird way. And when I'm stuck, I often look for new songs for the playlist (obviously looking up lyrics and the like) so its inspiration on inspiration!

Lately I've been.... listening to some music from my emo-esque high school and early college years. I've listened to 'Death for My Birthday' by Say Anything a lot. Their self-titled album is actually pretty decent. Hate Everyone, Do Better, Less Cute, Eloise, Crush'd, Cemetery, Narcissus, I Hate You More Than I Hate My Period are all great.

But I'm also writing The Path To Paradise, so I'm listening to my 'To Hell and Back' playlist while writing it (I'm roadtripwithlucifer on Spotify.) I really like Carve Me Open by Silences but all the playlists are solid tbh. in MY honest opinion.

AHHHh THANK yOU FOR THE QUESTIONS ANON i hope the responses are okay!!! as always i ranted and overthought everything apologies forever and ever

[rphelperblog]

Truly Devious Book Quote Rp Meme

book by Maureen Johnson- feel free to edit or change pronouns for rp purposes

“You have to take things as they are, not how you hear they're supposed to be.”

“There is nothing so serious as a game.”

“But I’m usually right. The people who worry are always right. That’s how that works.”

“I’m a strong believer in truth in advertising.”

“When you have enough power and money, you can dictate the meanings of words.”

“As a writer, are those really the words you want to use?”

“You have to take things as they are, not how you hear they’re supposed to be.”

“I like to look nice when I go to see His Majesty, the Burger King.”

“Panic attacks are mean little freaks.”

“Why was she so anxious? Because she had anxiety.”

“I always wanted stories to be real, so I started writing my own.”

“Anything is better than doing what I'm supposed to be doing.”

“Where her books were, she was. Get the books right and the rest will follow. Now she could address the rest of the room.”

"I'll drink the living blood of trees,- maple syrup.”

“Few words are more chilling when put together than make friends.”

"Believe me. I'm aware. It's an effective way to communicate if you don't have any other options. If you can't get in through the door, throw a rock through the window. And I think maybe you're the same way.”

Their idea of what constituted interesting was so limited. They were never going to have as much fun as she did.”

“His voice was deep and smooth and rich, like what gravy might sound like if gravy could talk.”

“What serves on either side, and if you wish to hide, may protect you from your foe, or show him where to go?”

“Sometimes you have to leave the fucking Shire, Frodo.”

“Games are not fun when you don't know you're playing.”

“How could she be anxious when everything was so cheerful? Very easily, as it happens. Brain chemistry doesn’t care about how pretty things are.”

“Meet my dead dad,"

“Money should never stand in the way of learning.”

“We have a limited emotional vocabulary. We’re indoor kids.”

“The whole thing smelled like a thrift shop that had been baked in a low oven and felt like a too-tight and too-long hug by a rejected Muppet.”

“He had a smile like a hammock—just get in, go to sleep, forget your troubles and cares.”

“The moon was thin like a hook, and the owls were calling. The smell of fall leaves blew on the wind and he was dead.”

“The thing about looking just a little bit means it’s really easy to look a little bit more.”

“There is something about early mornings that changes your perceptions subtly. The light is new; no one has put on the defenses of the day. All is reset and not quite real yet.”

"It's not bad or good. It just is. That's something you'll find out if you decide to go into this line of work. You have to take things as they are, not how you hear they're supposed to be.

“There is something about early mornings that changes your perceptions subtly. The light is new; no one has put on the defences of the day. All is reset and not quite real yet.”

"I liked you from the first moment I saw you, when you looked like you wanted to punch me in the face for just being alive. That probably says something dark about me. And I think you like me because I annoy you. Both of us have real problems, but maybe we should make our weird personalities work for us.”

“People say depression lies. Anxiety is just stupid. It’s unable to tell the difference between things that are actually scary (being buried alive, for example) and things that are not scary at all (being in bed under the covers). It hits all the same buttons. Stop. Go. Up. Down. It’s all the same to anxiety.”

“How did everyone else know how to do yoga?

The one advantage to all of this was that it cleared Stevie's mind of everything. She heard exercise did that. Was this what they meant? You were so busy being confused and trying to stop your sweaty hands from slipping on a mat that you couldn't think anymore?”

“There is a mistaken notion that wealth makes people content. It does the opposite, generally. It stirs a hunger in many - and no matter what they eat, they will never be full.”

"How would I know? Do I look like I go to a lot of dances?"

“That was something they taught you in anxiety therapy- the thoughts may come, but you don't have to chase them all. It was sort of the opposite of good detective work, in which you had to follow every lead.”

“Shock is a funny thing. Things get both sharp and fuzzy. Time stretches and distorts. Things come rushing into focus and seem larger than they are. Other things vanish to a single point.”

“Last things were so strange. Most people had no control over of what their last acts would be.”

“Sherlock said, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose.”

[drunktuesdays]

It’s been (nearly) two weeks! How are my alpha 4 alpha boys doing? Tbh I was kinda shocked when Garcia was using words like broke up with but I know that’s cause we’re in Eddie’s pov but aw he thought he got dumped. Is Eddie gonna accept his relationship with Garcia or is he gonna push him away some more? I have a feeling Garcia will decide to walk away if Eddie doesn’t accept their relationship. I love watching how assertive and confident Garcia has gotten since part 1. But damn I mean this in the best way but you kinda tricked me with this series. I thought it was just gonna be some pwp and then my heart got involved. So that was a good one. Thank you 💛

I'm sorry babe, you sent this to me a month ago, but I've been suffering through the worst possible writer's block and elite-related depression. So here's a very short little update, in an attempt to bust through. 😬

[one ] [two] [three] [four] [five] [six]

Seven

The kid don't spend the night anymore. That's okay. Eddie's got a lotta practice sleeping alone, and it's better, anyway. He don't have to worry about snoring, or farting in his sleep, or whether he keeps the room too cold. It's better, probably, that the kid doesn't stay anymore, just slides outta bed the moment Eddie's knot goes down and leaves. 

It's better too that he doesn't bother Eddie backstage, either. Eddie never sees him anymore unless he specifically seeks him out, which sometimes he does, just cuz. Garcia's usually with the Private Party kids, or Bowens and Hook. Not so much with the 2.0 dingdongs anymore. Eddie wants to know why—wants to know what Garcia's thinking. Wants to know if Garcia's gonna join BCC, why he looks so much older lately, where he goes when he leaves Eddie's room. 

It's fucking stupid shit. What the fuck should Eddie care? Garcia's not one of his friends. He's not one of Eddie's ride-or-die boys. What does Eddie care if Garcia goes to Yuta's room next, or out to party or anywhere at all?  Since when has Eddie ever worried about anyone's business but his own? Fuckin' get it together, he tells himself with disgust. 

He's backstage, sitting on a whole stack of folded tables, watching the guys play basketball, when Ruby comes and sits next to him.  "Yo," he says, and steals a Dorito from the open bag in her hand.  "You go to Medical yet?"

"Yeah," she says, touching the bridge of her nose. "Sampson says it looks good. I think he's gonna clear me soon."

"Good," he says. "They need you out there. They're dying without you."

She scoffs a little but bumps her shoulder against his, and they lapse into silence. Monkey steals the ball from one of the Gunn kids, and whooping, sinks a basket.  

"You ever—" Eddie starts, and then just as abruptly cuts himself off, shaking his head. 

"No, hey," Ruby says, nudging him. "What?"

He squints, cracks his knuckles, then tilts his head to crack his neck a little too. "You ever heard," he said slowly, "of alphas being able to bond with each other? Like they can with omegas?"

There's silence for a few moments, and Eddie drums his heel rhythmically on the tables they're sitting on. He wishes he didn't say anything.

"Like," she said, eventually. "The biting thing? The whole—hormone exchange—thing?"

Eddie scowls. "I was just asking. I ain't a doctor or whatever. I was just curious if like, it can happen to people. Other kinds of people. Like, if you spent a lot of time with another alpha, if you could accidentally bond. If that's possible or whatever."  

"Eddie," Ruby says, her voice infinitely kind. "You know it's okay if you fell in love with him, right?"

"Oh, eat shit," he snarls, and stands up abruptly, almost upsetting the whole stack. "Get the fuck outta here with that shit. You don't know what you're talking about."

He's storming through the backstage, heading for the locker room when his shoulder smacks right into someone. Fucking Sammy, with his stupid shit eating grin. "Hey—" Sammy says, "Watch where you—"

"Shut the fuck up," he says. "I fucking heard your little promo. If you ever talk about me like that on television, I'll fucking—"

Sammy looks surprised and confused for a second, before coming back at Eddie, blustering.  Eddie's not even listening to what he's saying, he's just mad, he's mad at Sammy, at Ruby, at—

Then he doesn't have to worry about what anyone's saying to him, because he's on the first plane home.  Goodbye. Another Eddie special. 

It's good to be home. He spends the first week being a fucking nightmare. There's an old picnic table in his backyard, cracked from when one of his idiot cousins had filmed some fucking tiktok dance on it. Eddie cracks it some more, and then spends a satisfying amount of time smashing it into a heap of jagged pieces. 

The rest of the time he spends flat on his back on the couch, trying desperately to turn his brain off. 

What are you doing? He asks himself at 3am. What are you doing? Eddie, what the fuck are you doing?  You gonna fuck up the only job you've ever loved? The only time you've ever done something you're proud of? You gonna be that guy again?  You gonna screw it all up again? For what?  Just because—

Instinctively, he jerks away from the thought, flinching away from the hot stove. Think about something else, he tells himself. Think about what you're gonna say to Tony, to CD, to Sammy—

Eddie's a lot of things. A fuck-up, a bullshitter, a piece of shit. But he isn't a coward. He never has been. He's never run from nobody and nothing, even when he really should have. But, he realizes, pacing his living room floor as 3AM slides into 4, he's been running from this. 

So okay. Okay Eddie, you can think about it.  It's okay if you fell in love with him. Okay Ruby, but he didn't. That's not what this is. They’re fucking. That's what this is. That's all this is. 

Unbidden, he remembers standing in the shower after the match with Chris, remembers Danny's hands sweeping over his skin, how Eddie had wanted to lean back against him and relax. But he hadn't. He didn't do that shit. He wasn't made for that. And anyway, that's not even what Danny wanted from him anyway.  Garcia wanted an alpha, wanted someone to hold him down and make him take it. What Ruby was saying—that wasn't—none of that was—

He jumps when a door slams next door. The neighbor's coming down the walk whistling, tossing his bags in the cab of his truck. The sun's rising in the distant horizon behind the buildings.  Eddie can't stand a single second of it anymore.

He goes to bed. 

[onwards to eight]

[themotherofhorses]

heey vic! :D

i just started following u & i just wanna say how much i adore your series 'just like animals' & 'last of her house no more' .. they're phenomenally written and so addictive to read ! ♡

i was just wondering if you'd like to check out some of my writing concepts? …(totally ok if u don’t)—i saw u reblogged the first one that i posted on this new blog (my old blog got shadow banned) ..</3

..but anyways, i'm also thinking about starting to write longer oneshots & not just concepts... i was just wondering if u had any advice? i wrote a few oneshot imagines on my old blog, but idk.…..it's just really hard for me to commit to writing something longer atm, y'know? anyways, i love ur whole blog & your writing & i’m gonna go reread 'just like animals' & wait patiently for the next part ! ♡

best wishes, xoxo.

heeelllloooo my little love

your words made me so soft and blushy, ily. and the concepts i reblogged earlier i ADORED ! like those modern!aemond w an innocent!reader ones? art. absolutely beautiful. loved it. i look forward to seeing and reading what else you give us <3

as for any advice? okay so this is what helps me a lot in staying productive and motivated (aka my writing routine when i tackle my prompts):

whenever i receive requests or think up new fic ideas of my own, i instantly write them down in my goodnotes notebook. from there, i tweak and outline, trying to figure out what i like and don't like. i think of titles, scenes, dialogue, all that jazz. and perhaps this is so silly, but i use my college essay strategy (introduction, body, and conclusion) CAUSE THAT HELPS SO MUCH! trust me on this, it makes it a shit ton easier. sometimes i start on the body and other times the introduction- whatever feels easiest for me. also, whenever you're working on a larger fic, at times, i find it best to write the part(s) where you have the most ideas and energy, and then gradually branch out.

throw out a rough draft, like a really ugly and shitty base. leave it alone for a day and then work on polishing it. it is much better to approach your writing with a fresh and clearer mind. and if you're feeling less committed to it, move on to something new and come back to it later on!

there is absolutely no use in forcing yourself to do something you don't want to do. nope. not at all. it just ruins everything.

for when i start to lose motivation (or begin to feel that stupid writer's block), i usually pull up a book to read. for my aemond fics, i'll typically reread fire and blood or one of the books in the asoiaf series. i don't know why but reading grrm's writing style fills me with a sudden rush of motivation and encouragement to write for this sexy one-eyed pathetic meow-meow bastard.

(okay well that and i'll go back to all my previous fics and reread y'all's comments, cause receiving comments from y'all is the best fucking fuel EVER.)

my love, my best advice is to find your own writing style. your own groove. as cliche as this sounds, writing is a form of art, and every artist has their own way of creating such. it is what makes us unique. play around, read some books, listen to music, talk to your mutuals (@chainsawsangel is my muse. love you bestie. everyone say thank you cause she constantly motivates my ass to write), and practice until it feels natural to you. think of your followers kicking up their feet in the air while reading your work. how excited they will be when they see you posted something new. "YAY, SHE POSTED!!!"

and if you ever need to bounce around ideas or plan how you wanna write a certain fic, don't feel shy- message me! i'd be happy to talk and help you out. this goes out to everyone.

i love y'all.

[transfemlogan]

Just a question and I’m not trying to be rude at all I’m simply curious

If you’re so mad at Thomas and what he’s doing then why are you still in the fandom and posting for it and such? If I were mad at someone to this degree I think I would just stop being apart of the fandom /genq /nm

I don’t want you to take this as me being rude and accusatory, I just want to know

HAII very good question!

I actually have left the fandom before, back in late 2020, due 2 the fandoms... increasingly racist ideals being shown thru them calling my other black mutuals the n word 4 speaking out against thomas' & the fandoms racism during the blm protests & dealing w/ my own racism being thrown at me.

I left for almost 2 years, before remaking in late 2022.

I am autistic and sanders sides is my biggest special interest and has been for 5-6 years now. So while leaving the fandom was freeing in a way, I literally cannot stop talking about SaSi. Which led to me talking about it on my main account sometimes & SaSi fans finding it & interacting w/ me despite me not wanting them to.

I am schizophrenic & deal heavily w/ paranoia & I have a weird thing w/ who can interact w/ my accounts & who cant. I don't let friends interact w/ certain accounts because of it. & so when sasi fans were interacting in a place I felt like "wasn't for them", I was more upset. & I have mutuals that don't like sanders sides so it was kind of just annoying.

& i just like 2 b critical!! That's how I interact w/ all media. complain abt every little thing & then turn around & go "yea i rlly like it :3". Bcuz not everything is perfect! & i have complex emotions !!! Abt everything !!!!

So I remade! Because I like Sanders Sides a lot it means everything to me. & I like having a place where I can talk abt it. Disliking a creator of something doesn't mean you can't enjoy what they're making.

I fucking hate scott cawthon, doesn't mean I can't enjoy FNAF.

Also, I am not super mad. At. Thomas. I know it sounds like I am, but I am just a violent thought haver & happen 2 use more angry & violent language than other people. I don't see an issue w/ that, bcuz this is my account, & iiii can do whatever I want on here (+ on places like twitter, i have him blocked so he can't even see what I am saying).

Thank u 4 being kind. This is a very silly thing 2 ask 2 me /lh. Enjoying anything doesn't mean you're enjoying what the creator does. My siblings love certain media & complain abt the writing or the creator while still loving it. like my brother who's invested w/ the new spiderman game, & he comes in2 my room 2 complain abt the lead writer & the story while also excitedly telling me about whatever is going on. My father watches marvel movies & loves marvel & yet everytime he watches one he complains abt the writing & how stupid it is (& also how much he loves it.) My older brother does it, my step mom does it, my step brother does it. My IRL friends do it (& my online friends). Hell I've had coworkers complain abt something they love around me.

This is like ... normal emotion stuff. This is just what people do. Everyone I know personally does this & has my entire life.

The concept of "not interacting w/ something bcuz ur angry at [insert thing]" is not even a Thing 2 me, I've never ever thought abt doing that ever unless I am hating every single thing abt it. Which is not the case 4 sanders sides.

[monstrousfemale]

Tagged by @punk-in-docs 💖 thank you!!!

Rules: Post a snippet of whatever you’re currently working on, no more than 300 words, and tag five other writers.

✨

In the year of 1989, Eddie falls into a routine without noticing it. He works at the garage. He eats dinners with Uncle Wayne. There's uneven times and dates for Corroded Coffin practice, gigs, the likes. Then there's even-ish dates for D&D, though he steps down as the DM to join Dustin's sick campaign. But every week, rain or shine, there's some time between 6PM and 10PM on Fridays when he sees Steve Harrington. Sometimes they'll see each other over the weekends too, but then they're usually with Robin and Nancy, other times even joined by the kids.

But Friday. Friday is Steve-day in Eddie's calendar. And it doesn't last long, not ever. And it's not about Eddie. But still. He's starting to get used to it. He can't complain. They meet, Steve buys weed, they talk for a moment. Steve looks up at him like Eddie is worth a damn, Eddie looks at Steve like he hung the moon. And Eddie's not subtle. Doesn't know how to do subtle. So Steve must know, somehow. He never comments on it, though, treats him the same as ever. And doesn't that just add fuel to Eddie's stupid little pitiful fire?

In a town this small, there's not a huge lot of gay men for Eddie Munson to fall in love with. So, of course, his brain latches onto Steve Harrington, het guy extraordinaire. Would make sense, if he were a masochist. He isn't, not really. But he can't help it. Steve is actually a good fucking dude. Steve bites bats and takes care of Dustin and Max and Steve is nice. Steve buys weed and never haggles, always pays full price. Sometimes, Steve tips. Tells him "keep the change, I don't have smaller bills". And if those times line up with all the times that Eddie's guitar strings broke during practice, or Eddie's eating one meal a day because he and uncle Wayne just can't make ends meet that month… Steve doesn't mention it.

✨

Y'all can't guess what this fic is gonna be about but it's gone be longer and better than anything I've ever written and I can't wait.

I'd like to tag anyone who hasn't done this yet, especially smaller blogs. Go forth and conquer lil guys!

[neet0]

For the writers ask game, please:

23. how do you deal with writers block?

73. how do you visualize scenes? do you see it like a movie in your head, or do the words just flow?

76. what is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain? 

99. was being a writer a dream of yours when you were little? or did it spring up when your older? or is it just a hobby? 

Thanks for the ask :) these are juicy questions, rambling incoming

23. I have a number of tools in my arsenal to deal with writer's block when it happens. For me, writer's block has to do with not finding the right words for what I'm writing. It rarely has to do with a lack of ideas.

Most often, I go on a really long walk listening to the playlists I have for whatever I'm working on. I've solved so many plot holes this way. Sometimes I switch up my writing medium -- it's easier sometimes to figure out what I want to write when I'm writing on my phone vs my laptop. Sometimes I switch projects -- I have a sugar sweet side project to help me balance myself when I'm deep in the angst trenches in my main project. Sometimes I go reread a book with prose I really enjoy to get the words in my head unstuck. Sometimes I talk to one of my betas about what I have so far and some of my ideas on how to proceed, and they help me out.

Overall, though, I don't really wait for inspiration or motivation to write, I just kinda...push stuff out like a tube of toothpaste for my first draft, and then use my little bursts of inspiration for editing and plotting. The rest is very methodical.

73. I see it like a movie in my head. I typically start writing the parts of the scene that are most vivid, then fill in the fuzzier stuff later. Sometimes if I've got the aforementioned writer's block on a scene I can visualize well, I will "block out" the scene by writing down what's supposed to happen step by step in "unpoetic" words, frame it in brackets, and then work on finding nicer ways to say it later.

76. My number one pet peeve is when villains are evil for the sake of evil, or when villains do shit just to be chaotic. It's stupid, lazy, and unrealistic. I completely ignore the Major and Millennium as an org in all of my Hellsing fics for this reason.

IRL, bad people never think what they are doing is bad. No one sees themselves as the villain. They always have reasons as to why what they're doing is good, or at least justified. IMHO, the best villains are the ones where you can totally see where they are coming from, but they've taken a wrong turn and traveled down a dark path.

With every villain I write, I make sure that what they're doing would make sense from their POV, even if it's obviously messed up to everyone else. In Revelations, one of the main antagonists asserts that she does what she does because she loves and wants to protect her family. She justifies every fucked up thing she does to them as ultimately to their benefit, up to and including hurting them. And I do truly believe she thinks she loves them, but she's a deeply messed up, possessive person -- what does 'love' even mean to someone that fucked up? What does it look like? Not anything good, that's for sure.

There's also another villain who's a little flatter but still internally consistent. He's just an arrogant asshole who's been raised to believe he's better than everyone else, but he believes it with his whole chest and has a whole culture surrounding him that supports those beliefs. None of this "I just wanna see the world burn" edgy 14-year-old shit.

99. You know, originally I was gonna say no, but I did once write a 100-page novella in elementary school, and a shitload of cringe poetry that'll never see the light of day. I RP'd a lot in middle and high school. I got too busy for any hobbies in college and immediately thereafter, but it came back to me in due time. So, I guess I always had the urge to write as a hobby, but I don't think I've ever aspired to be a career writer.

To date, I've only sold one original short story to a publisher, under a pen name. Certain characters, scenes, and worldbuilding/plot concepts will be lifted straight from Revelations into my own original work, but I'm still undecided as to whether I'll ever shoot for publication. I want people to read my stories, and I want to talk about it with them, but I'm intimidated by the prospect of my work being out there and taking on a life of its own, beyond what I ever intended. Writing in relative obscurity is kinda freeing in that way -- you get to write like no one's watching, write like no one is gonna take your words and twist them, write like no one will attribute the absolute worst intentions to you and your work. Idk if I could take the heat if my work ever got attention (which is a big if).

[variantia]

BELLUM. sorry I've been quiet and haven't really done any writing despite having three motherfucking days off work

let me just be a lil vulnerable and say I've been having trouble bc I always think I'm ... idk. bothering people. like I'm annoying and Too Much and plus I've been feeling real insecure about my writing lately

I don't talk about this a lot bc I KNOW it isn't true, but sometimes I'm just convinced that everyone here secretly doesn't like me and you're all just putting up with me / tolerating me

this isn't me saying this to make anyone feel bad bc I know, I KNOW you guys aren't like that ! I'm trying so hard to work on this, you guys are all so amazing and kind and patient and my logical brain knows that "everyone thinks you're annoying and they're just humoring you" is a complete load of bullshit, I know you guys love me and interacting with me just like I love you all and love interacting with you

this is just ... me trying to explain my quiet and give you guys an idea of where my head is at and why I've been struggling a little. it is NOTHING to do with anyone else, it's MY issue and my insecurities and it's nothing that anybody did / didn't do, it's my stupid brain LYING TO ME and I know that

I can bring myself to ramble about things but when I look at my drafts n stuff I just ... feel like every actual reply I give is going to be bad in some way. too long, too short, too descriptive, too simple, what's the word I want why can't I remember if I'm supposed to be a fucking writer

I promise I'm trying to get myself into a good place and be kinder to myself, I've just been having a rough time of it

I love you guys, thank you so much for your patience and all the support everyone gives me, I appreciate you all more than I could ever express <3

[olderthannetfic]

Haah, funny thing... I was just seeing another post on Tumblr calling you out (struck-thru vowels and everything) for "propagating racism" on AO3. I think it was some years old, but it did drop something interesting. Apparently, the "real" mass-exodus to AO3 happened because too many writers on LJ were getting into fights over racism-in-writing?

--

Oh, I'm sure there are many. People often make me the posterchild, which I suppose is somewhat justified now that my tumblr is so much more popular than before but was pretty dumb in the past when I was no longer working for OTW and not yet popular with randos. (TBH, I sometimes wonder if people spreading my name around pointlessly and advertising me is what made me popular. If so, congratulations, I guess?)

I've been criticized by at the very least Rukmini Pande for not talking more about Racefail. She's an academic who talks about racism in fandom but who mega sucks on the topic of Asian media and who conflates a lot of things I don't, including ye olde SF book fandom and fanfic fandom.

It's true that Racefail was a huge deal on LJ, but it was "fandom" in the 1960s sense where the word sans modifier means WorldCon type SF book spaces. When I say "fandom", I don't mean that community because, like most fanfiction fans today, I was never in it.

I don't even come from K/S fandom, actually. I come from X-Files fandom (one of the first "digital native" fandoms that made up its own rules) and (US, English-speaking) anime fandom. Those are my actual cultural forebears, and I haven't wasted my time on the racist, sexist, homophobic oldschool SF book publishing world since I was like 13. I do consume sff canons, but they're TV or movies or manga or self-published m/m novels that are also sff.

Why would I waste my time on trying to fix that community that isn't even mine?

Anyway, when people try to tell you that fandom left LJ over something to do with race, they're talking about a massive wankfest called "Racefail" or "Racefail 2009", which enveloped all of SF fandom on LJ and inevitably spilled into lots of more fanficcy spaces because we were all adjacent and overlapping. It largely consisted of clueless white liberals going "But I'm one of the good ones!!!" and being shocked and appalled that anyone could find them racist. People spent a lot of time "defending" their friends in unproductive ways. There was a lot of self-righteous stupidity on all sides, but it was the culmination of years of completely justified anger at the SF establishment being hella fucking racist. (So the two sides were most certainly not equal. A lot of the racist stuff being pointed out was indeed extremely racist.)

Racefail was deeply unpleasant, like any wank that rips through supposed ~civil communities of friends~. In reality, of course, a lot of the people who were pissed had been pissed about micro and not-so-microaggressions for years. It was something like one of those plays or movies about suburban morality where all of the simmering tensions boil up towards the end, destroying the façade of middle class propriety. It's deeply traumatic for people who did not realize the tensions existed, but it's hard to have much sympathy for their feelings if you've been the one suffering all that time.

It is not, however, the reason people moved to AO3. AO3 had already been in the works for a couple of years by the time Racefail was everywhere in 2009 and 2010, and AO3 was not popular at that point and continued to not be popular.

What popularized AO3 was FFN fucking up in 2012.

You know why LJ fic writers moved to AO3 in 2009? Because that's the first time it opened to users.

Moreover, while Racefail certainly affected many individual fans who like fanfic, it was primarily about oldschool US SFF publishing, a thing that 99% of AO3 users could not care less about. A far higher percentage of old LJ users care, of course, but even there, it's a mistake to think fandom=fandom.

"Fandom" in the supposedly-unmarked "book SF" sense and "fandom" in the also supposedly-unmarked "fanfic fandom" sense have never been the same thing. In the early days of Star Trek fic zines, they largely overlapped, sure, but by the early 90s, they had heavily diverged, and by 2009, they were completely distinct.

The reason they keep being conflated is that some of the loudest meta writers are in both and care deeply about that SF-->K/S zines-->AO3 history.

It's fine that they do, but it is not my history, and I see no reason to pretend it is.

The people who spread this lie about AO3's origins have an agenda, and it is not to educate the current tumblr masses about Racefail.

[nicanario]

this post is a product of its time

tw: discussion of racism, homophobia, misogyny and a short mention of sexual abuse.

ok, this is basically gonna be a very long rambling post about my not fully developed thoughts on the justification many people give to bigotry when talking about the past: "it was a product of its time"

it would be fair to say, with me being a raging SJW socialist scumbag, that I don't think this is a very good argument and is most of the time actually an excuse to not think about the problems inherent to our society, historical or not, and, by extension, the problems with ourselves. but I do think that sometimes, just sometimes, this can be a valid point, or at least one that raises some interesting questions.

I'm going to cite examples from several pieces of media, but fear not, I'll try to make this as accesible as I can.

so, let's take Star Trek: The Original Series (TOS) as our first case study. this show has, correctly, been called progressive by everyone except for clueless people who don't know much about Star Trek's history, Star Trek's crew, Star Trek's cast, or, frankly, Star Trek. because if you ignore the clear, sometimes in-your-face political history and present of the franchise, I don't think you know much about it at all. I do think you can call yourself a fan if you like it, you may have watched every single episode for all I know. but lots of mental gymnastics are needed to ignore the political progressiveness Star Trek has had since its very beginning.

episodes like Let That Be Your Last Battlefield are obviously anti-racist, at least in their intention. but the episode in question really is "a product of its time," and at the very end fails to uphold its ideals. the episode ends with the two aliens (who are LITERALLY. BLACK ON ONE SIDE. AND WHITE ON THE OTHER. BUT IN THE OPPOSITE SIDES.) fighting each other on their devastated planet, and the crew is like, "oh yeah if they both would give up on their hatred that they both share both of them equally" when it has been firmly established that one is the oppressor and the other one is the oppressed.

and that's a lot of Star Trek, not just TOS. even Discovery, one of the most recent series, has done Bury Your Gays (and Trans) TWICE (though both times literally rectified it, which is cool). there are episodes of the franchise that are overtly racist, or misogynistic, etc. TOS is lauded, mostly justifiably, as very progressive, especially for the standards of the time. they put a woman of colour as one of the senior staff, for fuck's sake. of course, when you analyse that same character, as with most of their intentions at being progressive, you'll see that she was relegated and sometimes even outright mistreated when she had the potential to be much more. but, at that time, it was a lot.

I had a friend (emphasis on "had") who, after I told him about TOS's both progressiveness and constant misogyny, told me something like "imagine feminists trying to complain about a show from the 60s." so, with unearned spite, he was, in some way, trying to make the argument that it was a product of its time.

you could say Star Trek, all of Star Trek, is "a product of its time" in the sense that it's not always perfect. uh, yes, I would agree. but that doesn't mean people have to accept it. well, I mean, the show is kinda over, you have to accept it's that way. but you don't have to accept that it's not wrong just because it was a product of its time.

H. P. Lovecraft, as another example, was a greatly influential writer whose works still shape a lot of people's ideas to this day. I have only ever read like one of his stories, so don't expect me to have an opinion on his works. but I can have an opinion on what I know about him as a person (he did have a life outside his writing, after all). and, yeah, he was a huge asshole. if you want to know more in depth about the subject, please watch Hbomberguy's video on him: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l8u8wZ0WvxI

but basically, he was incredibly racist & homophobic. some people might even say, "he was a product of his time." well, there are two possible rebuttals to that. the surface level one, and the one that examines why that argument is wrong to the core.

The Surface Level Response to "it was a product of its time": um, no it wasn't. Lovecraft was more racist than a lot of people even in his time. he wasn't just a guy who carried the racist beliefs of his society like everyone else, he was a reactionary who actively thought and discussed how racist he was, and how right he was for being that way. but that's only applicable to Lovecraft. one can't argue the same for Star Trek: TOS, because TOS did try to be more progressive and more anti-racist than the rest of its society. that leads us to the next response.

The Response that Actually Deals with the Fact that No Matter How Progressive You're Trying to Be, Your Failings Can Still be Criticized: the thing is, trying to excuse Lovecraft's or Star Trek's bigotry because they were "products of their times" misses the fact that racism is still wrong, and some people knew that in those times as well. people from these times weren't all naive or stupid or whatever. they had the capacity for rational thinking. they could stop and think, "hey, maybe what we're doing is wrong." and the fact is, some people did. not perfectly, not to our standars, but they did. everyone could have stopped and think. but most of them didn't, and we can criticize them for it. racism, homophobia, sexism, etc. HURT PEOPLE. horribly. massively.

also, even if you agree with the "it's a product of its time" argument, some people aren't criticising people's or work's bigotry: they're explaining why they don't want to experience it.

The Talons of Weng-Chiang is a 1977 Doctor Who serial, and it's one of the show's more racist stories. almost all the villains are Chinese, every single Chinese person is a villain. there's yellowface, slurs, stereotypes, the Doctor speaking nonsense words instead of actual Chinese, and a general belittling of Chinese culture.

note that I'm neither Chinese nor of Chinese descent. I have been searching for hours for a few posts I've read a while ago (some by people who are of Asian descent) about this episode and I can't find them. sorry.

suffice it to say, even though I love Jago & Litefoot (the audio series and the characters), it's not an acceptable episode at all. but it's also important to remark that, because of it, some people aren't going to want to watch it. sometimes, people aren't saying "the episode shouldn't be this way," which causes others to answer that it was "a product of its time." sometimes, people are just saying, "this is an episode that attacks real people. I don't want to see it. I don't care if it was common in that era to be racist, i don't want to experience it."

however, there is an interesting point to the "it's a product of its time" argument. after all, everything is influenced by its society, for better or worse. and we can't change it anymore. TOS sometimes didn't quite understand the political themes it wanted to explore. Lovecraft was a horrible bigot. Talons was racist towards Chinese folks. and that's that. I don't think we should change the episodes/stories or anything. edit them in any way. that would be, in a sense, changing history. and we wouldn't learn anything from it, about how we can do better.

I think there are two solutions to this:

1. warnings before starting the text: this was done with The Talons of Weng-Chiang. on Britbox, where you can watch Classic Who, this serial has a content warning before the start. that's good.

2. the removal as a whole of the text from some places: I think before applying this one, there should be a lot of thought put into each case. I don't think removing a whole serial of Doctor Who or Lovecraft's stories from anything would be, well, fair. especially on tv episodes a lot more people worked on those, not just the writers and the directors. Lovecraft's writing influenced thousands. we shouldn't erase them or anything. but sometimes, for some cases, we should.

those in the US might seen a Confederate statue being taken down. that is, in a way, a form of removal of a piece of history.

but that is a good removal. statues glorify. one sees a statue and probably thinks "this was a person worthy of admiration." they should be taken down, maybe even with a permanent mark of why this was done (a plaque that reads "a statue of X was here, but he didn't deserve it because of Y" could be put in place of the statues, for example).

another example is the removal from DVDs of the short episode A Fix with Sontarans, a Sixth Doctor minisode that featured Jimmy Savile, a presenter who was later found out to be sexually abusing children.

the removal of that minisode is good, actually. it's not a full episode (it's not even Doctor Who). some might say that's "erasing history" but, like, you can still find it online or information about it if you want. this minisode deserves removal from DVDs and Blu-Rays and whatever more than content warnings. it's not an important part of the show and it prominently features a horrible person who did horrible things during that time.

so, after all that, I have explained why I don't like the "it's a product of its time" argument. it is an interesting point that deserves to be examined, but it's not very good.

I have had this in Drafts for so long I've probably forgot some of the points I was going to make, but eh, what can you do? hope you enjoyed reading this.

bye

[elkonigin]

For the writer’s ask thing: 5, 12, 13, 18.

For you, @eowynwise, of course!

This actually turned into a really long entry, so you're probably getting more info than you wanted, but it's my answers (and you should know by now that I'm long winded.

5. What is your favourite trope to write for?

I think the underdog trope is probably the most rampant. Hurt/comfort is probably a quick second. I like the idea of someone like Kagome who is at a disadvantage in the past (to an extent) having to overcome all these differences and perceptions of her and who she should be and just proving them wrong. That notion of someone going "They wouldn't--" and then they do is just so satisfying, even when it backfires.

Hurt / comfort is a close second, and I tend to whump on Kagome more than others, because she is a really strong character who likes being independent. Turning that around and making her realize just how much she depends on others and how that's a good thing is a lesson we (ie: me) sometimes need to learn. Also, I just really want to give them a reason to overcome their stupidity and denseness and cuddle unabashedly.

12. Do you have a word/phrase that you overuse in your writing?

That shifts from mood to mood. I have to let my writing sit and marinate for a while and come back to it to see what word I liked. "Apparently" was a favorite for a few weeks and I used it everywhere. "Consequently" and "By comparison" were also topping the charts this past fortnight too. "On the other hand" tends to stay in the running for whatever reason. When I'm writing Inuyasha's perspective "fuck" in all forms is also pretty prevalent.

Sometimes it's also sentence structures, like there was a period last week where every sentence felt like it was "[Verb-ing], she [verb], and she [verb]" and I don't know why.

13. What feedback did you receive for your writing that stuck with you?

Uh, there's two. one is not nice and the other is the opposite.

One was a writing professor I had in college who looked at a story I'd written that I was really proud of and had gotten some pretty positive feedback from my classmates (with some suggestions and helpful questions for fixing some issues--which it admittedly had--and I was fine with the constructive criticism) and my professor was the last one to speak and he said, "Looking at this piece, and your work from the semester, I think your writing career will end up like ______." I said that I didn't know who that was and didn't get the reference, and he responded with, "Exactly." And that was just so soul-crushing; it literally made me never want to pick up a pen again. I mean, I'm probably not going to be one of the literary greats, but I know that I'm not bad at writing either, and to have him just obliterate me in front of my peers because I was female (he wasn't nearly so abrasive to my male peers) and not writing like Walt Whitman was so wrong and inappropriate. (Like, my dude, Shakespeare talked about dicks all the time, you're just not smart enough to realize it).

The other piece of feedback is admittedly the opposite, and it was from my poetry professor. She was donating some books for a book drive for Sigma Tau Delta, and I volunteered to help them with the manual labor of boxing and transporting. It was right before I left and we were saying our goodbyes, and she just said, "Please tell me you're still writing. You're one of the good ones." And I just felt so validated, and even thinking about it years and years later, I still cry, because it felt like someone would actually miss what I had to say and the stories I wanted to tell. It made me feel like I still mattered after all this time.

So from the teacher standpoint when kids tell me that they're not any good at writing or anything in general, I try to make sure that they know that there's only room for them to grow and get better, and that they at the very least have the potential to be "one of the good ones" too. Usually it goes something like "here's what's good about your paper, and here's what we can do to make it better". I use 'we' because I want them to know that I'm a part of the revision process and I'm invested in their success too.

18. Show us a piece of dialogue you really like.

I don't know if this a reference to a piece from me or from something else, so we'll start with the something else.

This is an excerpt from The Great Gatsby.

“There’s another little thing,” he said uncertainly, and hesitated. “Would you rather put it off for a few days?” I asked. “Oh, it isn’t about that. At least —” He fumbled with a series of beginnings. “Why, I thought — why, look here, old sport, you don’t make much money, do you?” “Not very much.” This seemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently. “I thought you didn’t, if you’ll pardon my — you see, I carry on a little business on the side, a little side line, if you understand. And I thought that if you don’t make very much — You’re selling bonds, aren’t you, old sport?” “Trying to.”

And I try to model my dialogue like normal regular speech. There's always going to be interjections and tangents and "uh" or "um" and that's natural. But there's also the physical part of communicating that we have too, and I try to make sure that's also showcased in my stories.

For instance, this little side piece from "Til Death Do Us Part" in Chapter 3, which has the stumbling speech, and the physical motions to go with it:

“You smell nice,” she said, giving his jacket a long sniff. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to remove his arm and remind his other self that she didn’t mean it like that. “You—uh—smell—too—let’s get inside,” he turned towards Miroku and Sango, who were a little too close for anyone’s comfort. “Hey!” He snapped, and both of them turned towards him. “Inside!” He pointed, well, pointedly towards the doorway of the hotel, and both Sango and Miroku groaned before shuffling towards the door, leaning on each other. .... “Shit! Geez, you okay?” He asked, helping her stand back on her own feet. “Mama-yasha to the rescue!” She said, and he rolled his eyes. “Sango, no!” He hissed, dragging Miroku away by his shirt collar and towards their shared room. “You!” He pointed to Miroku, and then to the door behind him. “Inside! Now!” “But Inuyasha,” Miroku whined, reaching out for Sango. “No!” He hissed. “You are not hanky-panky-ing tonight! Just—I don’t know—hold it until tomorrow!” Inuyasha turned back towards the girls, trying to corral them back towards their room. “But I want Sango to hold it!” He whined. “I deserve a fucking medal of honor for dealing with you three idiots,” he grumbled, catching Sango as she stumbled in her heels. “Go inside, Miroku!” There was a low whining-groaning sound that came from behind him, but the door eventually opened and shut, and Inuyasha sighed.

So when I get a passing comment about how natural my conversations are and how people can see scenes in their heads, it confirms that I'm on the right track, and I'm doing something right.

That was probably more than you wanted to know, but here it is.

From the Writers Asks Game

[rphelperblog]

Truly Devious  Quote Rp Meme

book by Maureen Johnson- feel free to edit or change pronouns for rp purposes

“You have to take things as they are, not how you hear they're supposed to be.” 

“There is nothing so serious as a game.” 

“But I’m usually right. The people who worry are always right. That’s how that works.” 

“I’m a strong believer in truth in advertising.”

“When you have enough power and money, you can dictate the meanings of words.”

“As a writer, are those really the words you want to use?” 

“You have to take things as they are, not how you hear they’re supposed to be.” 

“I like to look nice when I go to see His Majesty, the Burger King.” 

“Panic attacks are mean little freaks.” 

“Why was she so anxious? Because she had anxiety.” 

“I always wanted stories to be real, so I started writing my own.” 

“Anything is better than doing what I'm supposed to be doing.” 

“Where her books were, she was. Get the books right and the rest will follow. Now she could address the rest of the room.” 

"I'll drink the living blood of trees,- maple syrup.”

“Few words are more chilling when put together than make friends.” 

"Believe me. I'm aware. It's an effective way to communicate if you don't have any other options. If you can't get in through the door, throw a rock through the window. And I think maybe you're the same way.”

Their idea of what constituted interesting was so limited. They were never going to have as much fun as she did.” 

“His voice was deep and smooth and rich, like what gravy might sound like if gravy could talk.” 

“What serves on either side, and if you wish to hide, may protect you from your foe, or show him where to go?” 

“Sometimes you have to leave the fucking Shire, Frodo.” 

“Games are not fun when you don't know you're playing.” 

“How could she be anxious when everything was so cheerful? Very easily, as it happens. Brain chemistry doesn’t care about how pretty things are.” 

“Meet my dead dad,"

“Money should never stand in the way of learning.” 

“We have a limited emotional vocabulary. We’re indoor kids.” 

“The whole thing smelled like a thrift shop that had been baked in a low oven and felt like a too-tight and too-long hug by a rejected Muppet.” 

“He had a smile like a hammock—just get in, go to sleep, forget your troubles and cares.” 

“The moon was thin like a hook, and the owls were calling. The smell of fall leaves blew on the wind and he was dead.” 

“The thing about looking just a little bit means it’s really easy to look a little bit more.” 

“There is something about early mornings that changes your perceptions subtly. The light is new; no one has put on the defenses of the day. All is reset and not quite real yet.”

"It's not bad or good. It just is. That's something you'll find out if you decide to go into this line of work. You have to take things as they are, not how you hear they're supposed to be.

“There is something about early mornings that changes your perceptions subtly. The light is new; no one has put on the defences of the day. All is reset and not quite real yet.” 

"I liked you from the first moment I saw you, when you looked like you wanted to punch me in the face for just being alive. That probably says something dark about me. And I think you like me because I annoy you. Both of us have real problems, but maybe we should make our weird personalities work for us.” 

“People say depression lies. Anxiety is just stupid. It’s unable to tell the difference between things that are actually scary (being buried alive, for example) and things that are not scary at all (being in bed under the covers). It hits all the same buttons. Stop. Go. Up. Down. It’s all the same to anxiety.” 

“How did everyone else know how to do yoga? The one advantage to all of this was that it cleared Stevie's mind of everything. She heard exercise did that. Was this what they meant? You were so busy being confused and trying to stop your sweaty hands from slipping on a mat that you couldn't think anymore?”

“There is a mistaken notion that wealth makes people content. It does the opposite, generally. It stirs a hunger in many - and no matter what they eat, they will never be full.” 

"How would I know? Do I look like I go to a lot of dances?"

“That was something they taught you in anxiety therapy- the thoughts may come, but you don't have to chase them all. It was sort of the opposite of good detective work, in which you had to follow every lead.”

“Shock is a funny thing. Things get both sharp and fuzzy. Time stretches and distorts. Things come rushing into focus and seem larger than they are. Other things vanish to a single point.” 

“Last things were so strange. Most people had no control over of what their last acts would be.” 

“Sherlock said, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose.” 

[vivwrite]

With the Ghost of You(When the Sun Goes Down We All Get Lonely)

Maybe he’s just imagining, maybe its just another fantasy he pictures, but Luke seems semitransparent, a halo casting around his figure, holy, angelic.

“The night was very long but it didn’t seem long to the Snow Man; he stood lost in his own pleasant thoughts, and they froze until they crackled.”

or: Ashton meets Luke in a library, and the story tells itself. (AO3 link👇)

ooookay so my first fic for lashton and 5sos . Thanks for reading it. And tbh I'm extremely nervous because English's not my first language. So sorry for the mistakes lol.

One thing: I read Marquez's work in my first language, and I can't find the English version of it, so I translated the title and first sentence to English. There might be a mistake so sorry again lol

-

Ashton has always loved the library.

It isn't the school library, which is always so grand, demure, solemn, much like a robot- no, too cold and inhuman.

What he prefers, rather, is a smaller one run by a group of retired professors. It seems determined to hide itself in the northeastern corner of the campus, made up of three small but never crowded reading rooms. No matter when he walks through the doors be can find lamps shading yellowish circles on wooden tables, rows and rows of bookshelves up to the ceiling, and seats, beside small windows where the sunlight outside leaks in just perfectly on sunny afternoons.

To him it's always a getaway, a secret hiding place from the stressed and sometimes too fast school life, the only friend he can turn to when he isn't that enthusiastic about life, a comfort when facing another rock bottom. He's already studying a too rational subject; he'd love spending some time being just sensitive in here.

He'd spend hours and hours wandering among the bookshelves, picking one when he feels like it, skimming a few pages before deciding to read on or not. By doing this he feels just like a boy on the beach, amazed by an emerald or sapphire brought on shore by waves from time to time- what matters isn't just the book he gets. It's more of the communicating, the chore he gets to strike.

-

Unsatisfactory experiment result, loads of homework, a long and tiresome discussion with the professor about his research orientation- which he thinks is too early for him to consider, but she insists that as he has already got postgraduate recommendation he needs to consider it fully right now- and Ashton finds himself wandering in the library again, walking aimlessly, not for finding books, just to feel the connection.

It is a strange feeling, really, to be connected with books. Most of them on the shelves just seem to be books as they are, silent, quiet, lifeless. But, well, maybe it’s just his imagination- but some particular ones seem to be staring back- especially that one.

His hand automatically moves to pick that book out of the column.

It is quite delicate, a hard back small enough to be held on one hand, the title shimmering under the dim lights.

Ann’s Diary.

He remembers reading it in his teen years.

“Sorry, but that's mine.”

Ashton springs from the bookshelf. The book slips straight from his hand, hitting the wooden floor with a thud, as a boy rounds up from the other side.

He's tall- even taller than Ashton. And quite young, a freshman or sophomore, maybe. He is staring at Ashton from behind those strands of blonde, messy curls falling off to his face, piercing pale blue eyes met with his hazel ones, and that made his breath hitch for a second- although those eyes are definitely showing dismay.

"I... I don't really understand." He tries his best to cover all the confusion and fear- dealing with strangers always makes him uncomfortable (although he can manage it by acting cheerful and shit), especially with a pissed one.

But the boy seems determined to stay silent and on edge. He just flips the first page open, gesturing to a mark on it.

It's a two-word initial. Must have written quite a long time ago, as the lines are a bit blurry and the ink has faded into light gray. But he still recognizes the word, written in Italic, reading "L.H.".

Wait. The librarians never said that there is a place for personal collections.

Before he can ask about it the boy swirls around and walks off, leaving alone a dumbfounded Ashton.

-

He goes to ask the librarians, then the curator(because the librarians know nothing), about books with a L. H. written on it.

"This is a long story, darling, but it's late." Mrs. Hemmings' voice is collected and calm as always, but Ashton can tell that there is something as her eyes are a bit dull, "Maybe the other day."

-

His favorite spot in the library is a small table tucked behind seven rows of bookshelves of English literature(yes, he counts how many bookshelves are there), just besides a small window. Others rarely find it- unless they're crazy for novels by Adeline Virginia Woolf or they're just too bored to do anything else.

That's why he chooses here- There's no disruption, no noise, only the random shuffle for a person searching for books and pages being turned. Being alone.It suits him.

The sound of a chair pulling broke the silence,ripping him from the novel plot- someone has slipped into the chair opposite of him.

Well, fuck.

Ashton lifts his head from the pages, slight agitation rising from his chest, which shifted to utter surprise as his eyes meet a strangely familiar shade of blue.

Before he could say anything the boy blurts out , "Please... I want to explain."

For a moment Ashton just sits there, staring. Thoughts cloud his mind, tangling messily, laying conflicted- He was so senseless but now he seems so sincere! He won't trust his own voice right now, afraid that something stupid pops up all of a sudden. So he decides to just nod, a silent permit for the stranger to go on.

The boy clears his throat, looking a little nervous, "About the incident yesterday... I'm sorry. Got into something stupid and was shouted at all day long- but, I mean, fuck, even that isn't the reason I became such a jerk to you. I'm not trying to defend myself, but please don't be angry... Oh my fucking god, I don't know what I'm saying." He groans, pushing a hand through his curls, messing it up a bit.

Well, isn't that adorable.

Ashton hears himself chuckling, "I understand, no worries. Everyone has a bad day, don't we?"

He watches as the boy visibly relaxes with the reassuring words, a smile slipping on on his face, "Yeah, I guess. Thanks... Um, what's your name, by the way?"

Oh, right.

"Ashton."

"Thanks, Ashton." the boy's smile widens, "I'm Luke."

So the initial does belong to him. The L. H..

It's not until silence falls that Ashton realizes he may have stared at those sea- blue, sincere eyes for a bit too long. Hastily he ducked his head into his novel, flushed, trying to pick up the stream of Woolf's consciousness again.

"Virginia Woolf?" Luke's voice cuts in, and to Ashton's surprise- filled with pure interest.

Everyone else just thinks he's crazy and nerdy fancying Woolf's works.

"You like her?" He can't help but feel hope lighting up.

"One of my favorite!" Luke's literally buzzing with excitement, like a puppy finally getting some fresh air after a long lockdown in the house, "Never found another person to discuss, though. Everyone just say it's too hard to understand and shits."

And with that their conversation swiftly shifts into a heated discussion about stream of consciousness novels, to Woolf, then Proust, Faulkner, all way up the history, even to Freud- and Ashton finds, surprisingly, that they can strike a chord in every part of it- and the way Luke talks relentlessly, smiling so broad, eyes shining and hands waving- tells him he holds the same feelings, same thought, same passion.

His throat's sore- he hasn't talked that much in like, forever- but that doesn't stop him from being smug like an idiot when he leaves the library.

He's been alone for a long time, But it seems that he has finally found someone.

-

He starts to spend more time in the library- first just to do some more leisure reading and writing stuff there, then he starts bring his textbooks and laptop there to finish his homework, then even starts to stay there as long as he neither has classes nor needs to go back to the dorm. Yes, he admits it's kind of strange one's never tired of a library- especially that he has already ploughed through every part since he first stepped into it- but he knows why- a cute boy with ocean blue eyes and a smile is always there now.

It has become a routine. Luke accompanies him every day, sometimes already halfway through a novel when Ashton arrives, while other times Luke shows up merrily when he’s buried in the middle of projects and homework, bringing in a sense of cool breeze and fresh air before peeking over and ushering him to take a break(well sometimes the work has to be done, but Luke’s so sweet that he can’t refuse). Their time spent together is usually quiet, Ashton either typing away on his laptop or on a book, while Luke is immersed in his own novel, just piping up from time to time to discuss the plot or asking about the author. Topic wanders- books, school life, bands, music (seriously, how many same hobbies do they hold?).

They have went through so many fields- Stream of Consciousness to Science Fiction, Agatha Christie to Akudagawa, Shakespeare's Sonnet to Samuel Ullman's prose, but the list still seems far from ending. To Ashton's surprise Luke have read most of the writers not only by representative works but also less- famous chapters- many of which he only knows but has never read. He had thought he's an English Literature student, but Luke amazed him again by saying he studies Math actually- the same amazement occurred again when Luke discovered the chemistry paper Ashton's working on.

He can’t recall the last time he felt this content -Well, he can’t even remember when he has become so silent and depressed, on edge and under pressure.

But seems Luke has already become the solution.

-

Ashton sighs, recoils back in his chair, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes- He never learns the lesson of not leaving your homework to the deadline, fuck it.

Besides him Luke rises his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips, "You finally done?"

He just groaned, eyes shut."I wonder how the fuck you can even finish your homework. You never seem to be doing anything related to math."

"Maybe that's because all can be done quickly if I want."

Smug idiot.

"Wait till you're a post graduate and you'll know what's torture."

"Will quit right after four years, then."

Ashton scowls, cracks open one eye and spares a hand to flip Luke off, to which he ducks away (he always does) and giggles, "You're of no fucking help."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Don't know. Tell me a story. Or just read something. As long as I'm not thinking my head off about the synthesis route of some stupid fucking molecule I'll be fine."

He heard a light chuckle, "Aye- Aye, Captain, here we go."

The sound of pages turning, Luke clearing his throat, then,"'It's so bitterly cold that my whole body crackles!' Said the Snow Man."

Ashton lifts an eyebrow wearily,"Now you're telling me an Andersen's Fairy Tale?"

"Shh. Shut up and be a good boy. It's my favorite one." then, "This wind can really blow life into you! And how that glaring thing up there glares at me!" He meant the sun; it was just setting..."

Luke reads on, and Ashton finds himself relaxing, sinking into the familiar tale he’s read hundreds of times as a toddler, following the thread of the story, recalling the dialogue, how the Snow Man calls the Old Watchdog “my friend”.

Luke's voice fades for a brief second, then returns, slightly changed, softer, “Then the Snow Man looked, and he really saw a brightly polished thing with a brass stomach and fire glowing from the lower part of it. A very strange feeling swept over the Snow Man...”

Here comes the part- tracing the memory he can still feel it, the confusion when toddler him read to this part, then realization and excitement for no reason when he picked it up again, just for one time, before he come to this city.

He thought a new place brings a new life. That he would finally leave that old black and white town. He thought he knew what life was all about, what love was.

So ambitious, so young, so dumb.

Ashton blinks furiously, shaking the thoughts flooding up away from his mind. He’s here, in his favorite place, with an adorable boy who keeps his company, reading a tale to him. He’s fine, they’re fine, it’s fine.

His eyes lands on Luke.

The small lamp on the table is tilted slightly, soft golden light casting gently down on the boy’s right side, splitting a silhouette, leaving the left side of his face in the shadow. Curls falls off his face, dangling. His long, thick eyelashes turns to an almost-silver color under the light, trembling slightly, dancing altogether with the little particles floating in the air, as those blue eyes, clear as the sunny day but still deep as the sea, moves with each line, each word on the page. Maybe he’s just imagining, maybe its just another fantasy he pictures, but Luke seems semitransparent, a halo casting around his figure, holy, angelic.

“The night was very long but it didn’t seem long to the Snow Man; he stood lost in his own pleasant thoughts, and they froze until they crackled.”

The story’s still going, coming to an end, and Luke’s voice, a little raspy now, is merely above a whisper, like if he tells it any louder the fragile, beautiful tragedy will be destroyed.

“Come out, dear sun! Come often, skies of blue!

And nobody thought any more about the Snow Man.”

And with that Silence falls, a sad love story coming to its end.

For a while they just sits, looking into each others eyes.

The atmosphere’s changed, he knows it, can feel it. It’s a brand new feeling, one he has never felt, the rising urge, the need, the want, to get closer to the boy in front of him, to truly know him, to be with him, go through everything with him, feel the same with him, to like him, love him.

Hesitantly, he reaches out, slowly, hand trembling.

For a moment Luke seems to be on the same page with him, eyes fluttering shut and automatically leaning in, but suddenly he gasps, like being reminded of something he has long forgotten, and recoils back sharply, Ashton’s hand touches nothing but air.

Why.

“It’s late, Ash.” Luke whispered, not looking him in the face, “Maybe the other day.”

-

Something’s changed between them.

Not that the intimacy has changed- no. They still meets at the very table, reading and chatting, Luke still listens to his bickering about homework and fucking lab life- but something’s there, like The Sword of Damocles, hanging dangerously, but both just choose to ignore it.

Luke’s still Luke, sweet and gentle, cute and caring. But he’s somewhat quieter then before- he’s still chatting when it comes to their hobbies, but he always stops abruptly after the topic’s over, cutting the conversation.

It’s only that Ashton’s confused, confused about fucking all of it, confused about why Luke refused his invitation, why Luke takes a step back while he finally decides to step forward. It’s like an invisible barrier is built, all things suddenly turns indefinite without reason.

He hate it. He fucking hate all of it.

It’s only worse that he’s stuck in the library right now- it’s pouring outside, he’s left his umbrella at home, his jacket has no hat, and Luke’s oddly quiet.

He’s reading, more of scanning automatically, mind crowded with uncomfortable thoughts, screaming at him to at least find out what’s wrong with Luke(he don’t know how when they’re in this awkward state), to pluck up his courage and try again(well look what a coward he becomes when it comes to pining), to get this mess sorted (to which he has absolutely no fucking idea).

Fucking shitty day.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed- the sky is darkening, pure black seeping into pale gray, as the window starts to mirror the lighted lamp, making it unable to see the outside.

He hears a sigh, then the sound of book shut.

He can see those clear blue eyes from the corner of his eye, a little dim than usual, like the eyes of a sad puppy, and that almost break his heart. He wants to get close to the boy again, tell him it’s okay, he’s here, no need to keep those shit all alone and stuff- but instead he stares intently at the screen, so hard that his eyes starts to water, cursing himself inwardly.

A pause. Then, “Ash.”

Ashton gives himself a slap in the head, then puts on his most cheery face, “Yeah?”

Luke shakes his head furiously, “Don’t... Don’t act in front of me. I know you’re not well these days, and it’s all because of,” He waves his hand impatiently, then pulls his curls, casting out another deep sigh, “Yes, I... feel there is something I need to explain.”

And again he finds himself lost of words, exactly like the last time Luke made an explanation. But Luke’s acting different- strange. He’s frowning, shifting in his seat, hands tightly clasped together, teeth tugging at his lower lip, eyes filled with... fear.

Luke has never gone frightened in front of him.

“Hey, hey.” He reaches out, trying to grab Luke’s hand, but the boy squealed and pulls away abruptly again- so he just sighs, being as comforting as possible, “It’s okay, Luke. All okay.”

Finally the boy seems to have made the decision. He points to the book he just finished, which is lying on the table now, “The second short story.”

“You’re making me a puzzle through Marquez? Typical.” Ashton picks up the book, checking the writer. He’s trying to make a joke, but it came out weak and not funny at all, as Luke just sighs again and rests his head in his hands.

“I don’t know how to say it, so.” God, he hates how Luke’s voice sounds, all hurt and in pain.

“Luke, I mean, I’m not forcing you, but you know you can tell me everything-” panic’s rising, and he feels the urge, that they’re coming to the crossroads-

“Um, Ashton?”

He’s never hated life- the approaching librarian as well- more than now.

“Yes?”

She comes to stand beside him, a hand on his shoulder, “It’s ten now and we’re closing in five minutes. You need an umbrella?”

“Um, just a minute. We have something to discuss. I promise it’ll be quick.” He gestures to the seat across the table, where he knows Luke’s sitting.

He expects a nod, but her face is puzzled, coated with a layer he can’t read, “We? But Ashton, there’s no one across the table.”

“What?”

His head whips around, so quick that he thinks he must have strained his neck. He closes his eyes, then opens them again- yes, Luke is sitting right there, in the chair, totally frozen besides the nervous act just now- but he’s there.

“But...”

She only shakes her head, “You’re the only one here all day, Ashton. No one else feels like coming on such a stormy weather.”

With that she leaves.

Ashton turns back to Luke frantically, “What the hell-”

He’s met with a stony face and watery blue eyes. Luke seems defeated and in total grief.

“Tell me, Luke. Tell me!” Panic overcomes him, his voice three octaves higher than usual. It can’t be real, it’s just his fantasy, things like this can’t happen in real life...

Luke holds out his trembling hand, and very slowly, reaches over, linking it with Ashton’s.

A wave of icy cold rises up- from his feet up to his spine, overwhelming him, drowning him, making his head dizzy, the world turning, the sense-

The sense of not being touched.

Luke’s hands go straight through his.

“Because they can’t see me.” The silhouette figure whispers, voice barely audible.

“I’m not as real as you see me, Ash.”

-

The next three days come and go like a blurry scene.

Ashton remembers it just vaguely- he remembers fleeing out of the library, running alone the dark campus path till his chest burns and every breath becomes a burden. He remembers the rain, pouring down and hitting him relentlessly, flowing off his face, mixed with some warm fluid he didn’t dare to think about. He remembers walking back to the dorm, all worn out and broken down, throwing himself on his bed and crying till weariness finally came over. He slept, then woke, then ushered himself into sleep again, like only in dreamland he could forget all of it, until he was really not able to sleep anymore.

He pushes himself up from his bed and stumbles into the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror. He looks like shit, even worse than a hangover, purple bags hanging from his eyes and hair sticking in all directions. He sighs, turning to walk from the bathroom, cursing as he nearly trips over something on the ground- but the word died halfway in his throat.

It’s that book. The Collection of Marquez’s Short Stories. He must have thrown it on the floor that night.

Ashton swallows, hesitant- he’s not that sure if he’s ready to face it, that memory, that typical boy- but his hand does it for him, already flipping through the pages.

The second work, what is the second work......

He sees the title.

Someone Messed up the Roses.

He takes in a breath.

Today’s Sunday, the rain’s stopped, and I want to pick some red and white roses to my grave...

His eyes is welling up, but he reads on, about the story of a boy’s ghost and his sister, a wish never coming true, a story of love and regret.

There’s a note, written in Italic, at the corner of the page, end of the story, black ink suggesting it’s freshly written.

You have given me the happiest moments my whole life and beyond life, Ash. It might be like a cheesy novel, but I love you and I’m sorry.

Luke Hemmings

He’s crying before he knows it.

“Fuck, Luke.”

-

The scenery outside the window’s changing, fading from concrete jungle to fields and woods. On the end of the road, a hill’s approaching.

He’s sitting in the bus, hand clutching at Marquez’s Collection and a piece of paper- a piece of paper Mrs. Hemmings gave him, showing a route to the place he wants to go.

The vehicle stops and Ashton stands, hopping off the bus, going for the iron door just beside the muddy road.

He pushes it open, the rust on it sticking on his hands, the scent of soil coming up to greet him. As he keeps walking stones appears- delicately carved, yet lifeless.

An oak. That’s what she told him- an oak beside him.

He lifts his head, looking around, and found it- an oak, already tall, rising from the soil, pointing straight to the pale-gray sky.

Uncertainty and fear echoes in the back of his mind, trying to stop him, as he just goes on.

He’s already experienced lost once. He doesn’t want to lose it again.

He stops in front of the oak, hesitates before sitting down, cross- legged.

“I don’t know what to say, Luke.”

He stops, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“A part of me is telling me to forget all this, deny it, wave it off as a dream. It’s all just a fantasy, something I pictured, and I’m supposed to, I should...”

“But, Luke, every minute spent with you is so real.”

“They would say I’m crazy, everyone will; I mean, who would believe a person falling in love with someone already gone- and supposed to be in the state of nonexistence? But... you’re like someone I finally found, a person in this world who could understand me... Who I’ve searched for my whole life.”

He sniffs, blinking away the tears welling up, “You know, during my years alone I’ve learned about not to expect, not to hope; but you... you bring the difference, like a light suddenly cracking in. I mean... if you’re there, if you’re really there... please, just please, give me something to hope, to wish for, and don’t just go away like that.”

“Because I’m so lonely,” He finally let it slip, “So lonely, Luke.”

A soft wind picks up, leaves rustling, like an answer. But as he listens on everything just stays silent, like they’ve always been forever. No silhouette, no soft voice belonging to a boy.

The sky’s getting dark, so he just pushes himself up and leaves.

-

He continues with the life. Attending classes, finishing homework, finally deciding his research orientation. His professor says something about “A big step” and “I know you can do it”, which he just brushes it all off, not truly listen.

He continues to go to the library- but not sitting in that very table anymore, and just stays there for less then an hour each day. He’s read Someone Messed Up the Roses again and again, like all of the other works have suddenly lost their attraction to him.

The pages are all dog-eared and worn out, but he just goes on with it, flipping the pages, ready to read the short story for like the twentieth time.

“I wouldn’t treat a book like that, you know.”

He jumps from his seat, eyes widening, turning around.

Someone turns up from behind the bookshelf.

Messy curls, sea- blue eyes, the lips curling up in a slight smile.

It’s like a dream. He’s in a dream.

Like he can read Ashton’s mind, the blonde walks straight up to him and extends his arms, wrapping him into an embrace.

He feels warmth.

Still no feelings of being touched, the figure still semitransparent, but warmth.

“It’s real. Don’t doubt it.” Luke’s voice is soft, reassuring, barely above a whisper.

Just like he remembers.

The warmth doesn’t fade, like when he’s standing under the afternoon sun, closing his eyes, feeling the hope coming up.

He finally believes it- tears are sliding down his face before he knows it.

“Luke."

[ybyg]

久しぶりでしょうね？ Let's catch up.

I haven't been diligently studying Japanese due to... just life. Some unavoidable things happened and I had to live through the nightmare. It's all right now. I think. I'm here to update you about how miserable it's been trying to catch up with what I've missed and maybe talk about the time I spoke to JO1's Sho who can speak English and I wanted to make an effort to speak to him in Japanese but failed (without sounding like a twat who's showing off).

Continue reading under the cut.

Note: I barely edited it, so if it sounds out of place, or my Japanese sounds awkward... tough luck, I'm probably not going to edit it.

1. Wanikani update

レベル１０に入ってでした。正直は、まだレベル9ですね。This thing levels up as soon as you learn everything there is on the level you formerly in, without taking into account if you have complete at least a round of revision on the last thing that you've learned (they call it 'review' on WK).

The SRS thing is proven to be the best method to recall phrases and kanji. I'm paying for Wanikani (okay, the thing is good. I like it) and have Anki installed and haven't reviewed anything since I created my decks. But it works alright. I may have the worst memory/information-retaining brain and it might've taken me forever to recall what 予 is (it's beforehand, apparently), but I can still remember the ones I've learned the longest; basically from levels 1-4. (I'm learning 予 in the latest level, that is level 9. I'm still suffering turbulence here.)

I haven't seen my stats. Let's have a look, shall we?

I live by the words 'it could've been worse.'

My percentages used to be at least in the 90% across the board, but I just jumped straight into reviewing and clearing over 900 radicals, kanji, and vocabulary without revising, hence why I've done terribly and now it's bringing my stats down.

Radicals I can't believe I fucked up my radicals. They were supposed to be the easiest. I have no words.

If you need a single tip to start learning kanji, you can start by learning its components, and that is the radicals. It'd be easier for you to create stories for mnemonics. Other than that, try Heisig's Remembering the Kanji.

Kanji I am aware I could've done better at this, but kanji itself is just confusing. It's sometimes easy to predict some of the words, like ち that's used for earth or soil (地) and pond (池)--and not to mention the difference is just the radicals soil and tsunami--but I deduced that some aspects of nature fall under the ち umbrella.

And then there are devils like 他 and 地. Ugh. I'm going to leave it here.

Vocabulary

I know what the word 交じる stands for, and then you have 交わる which is thrown into the mix just to confuse me, and that just pisses me off every damn time.

I honestly know the meaning better than the pronunciation... which is dumb because if I were to speak in Japanese, I'm supposed to say the words majiru or majiwaru, not to be mixed or to intersect.

One thing about WK: you might understand the meaning differently. For example, they may offer the word substitution, but I would think of another word, replacement. Unless you input the word 'replacement' into the system, it would still be wrong in your reviews, and you're expected to remember substitution instead. And as an ESL, well, sometimes I'm just expected to drill the word substitution into my brain. I barely use the word daily anyway. So, you're expected to do extra work in order to learn, which is not a bad thing, but it can be annoying sometimes.

To recap, I don't do terribly despite not doing WK for a few months, but I could've done better. It's still in the okay territory, but I'll do my best to improve my reading skills and expand my lexicon.

What's next? I still have to clear up 92 lessons which include the level 9 that I've yet to cover and the entirety of level 10. On top of that, the tens and hundreds of reviews need to be cleared out daily... it's still going to be a rigorous routine when it comes to this one.

2. Grammar (and Reading)

In order not to spend my own money on learning materials, I persuaded my mum to get me みんなの日本語 (MNN); both workbook and notes for Level 1, and I chipped in with my Kinokuniya discount card. Yes, I am 26, but my finances haven't been the greatest as of late, so if anyone needs to hire a writer/social media manager, please send me a DM.

I digressed. Anyway, I've reached the 4th chapter, and it's been great so far! The workbook is completely in Japanese, and as someone who can read hiragana, and to some extent, katakana, it's definitely a great book that helps me improve my reading skills. I wish WK and MNN were at least streamlined because the kanji on WK has the tendency to be more scattered due to the complexity of certain kanji despite them being N5-N4 kanji.

[I edited out a paragraph on Kanji levels and complexities but would like to highlight the inconsistencies in the kanji levels that's shared on the Internet, including in WK. I suppose you will never find the one true answer as to which level does 傘 (umbrella) belongs to: is it N5 per stated in Jisho, or is it N1 as stated in WK? I guess you will never know...)

I prefer MNN over Genki as Genki explains points in English and annotates translation/furigana as bright as day underneath the Japanese texts. As a high-functioning English/romaji reader, my brain isn't doing the hard word; it's just reading the English and romaji. MNN forces me to read in Japanese and makes me translate the sentences on my own, so I am actively learning from the activity. Whilst it has a separate book that explains the chapters in English, I find it very helpful for me to immerse myself in Japanese then flip through the English version of the book just to see how well I understand the lesson. I would suggest Genki for absolute beginners and MNN for those who are in the lower-intermediate level.

I've been reading JO1's mails and articles related to them with varying degree of successes. The shorter ones are simpler and more manageable, but reading longer ones make me quit halfway. I should be reading more so it'd be easier for me to recognise the ones I've yet to learn and strengthening those I've learned.

3. Active learning (Speaking, Listening and Writing)

I've tried to speak in Japanese to myself, and it's mostly え、なんだろう今。。。、ヤッバ、マジ？、いいですね！、ほんまに？ and the latter being 'really?' in Kansai dialect (関西弁), thanks to half of the members of JO1. Since I'm learning 'textbook', formal Japanese, I'm still finding it extremely difficult to communicate in vernacular/colloquial Japanese. Not that I'm familiar with 敬語 (keigo/honorific language) either, just trying to fit the よ, ね, です, します, ません et cetera have racked my brain and I'm at the precipice of trying not to lose my mind. Perhaps, if I tried harder, I'd be able to use it comfortably. But for now, please let me suffer from my stupidity.

Since I wanted to 'try harder', I'm currently going through Making Out in Japanese (it sounds crude, but so far it's been very mild and helpful)

I haven't been writing in Japanese, which is horrible, because what's the use of reading when you can't write. I tried making my own flashcards which ended up taking too much time so I turned to digitalised SRS instead, which can be both annoying and unhelpful sometimes. I'm not a fan of learning through the screen as it takes too much space on the table and plays a part as my focus destroyer. But I can't complain as these devices do make things infinite times easier for me.

For the past couple of weeks, I've interacted with more Japanese JAMs (that's what JO1 decided to christen their fans) and have made the effort to type in Japanese, albeit broken Japanese. I employed my brain, Jisho and the untrusting Papago and Google Translate (the translation sites merely help me check if my sentences make any sense). I bet they're reading my tweets and messages thinking, 'What the fuck is this person on about?' Well, I don't know either.

And here comes the horrible part.

I won yonton (용통 in Korean, basically a video call) and had the chance to speak to the JO1's leader. Which is awesome, yes? I had a week to prepare and that particular week leading up to the event had given me multiple heart attacks. Some dramas happened, an interview happened... and I had only a few days left to prepare. Towards the end of the week, I decided I was going to do 自己紹介 (self-introduction) in Japanese. I know enough to say *キラです。クアラルンプール出身です。マレーシアJAM です, though that sounds super awkward. What I did on the day was the exact opposite.

Well, it's a known fact that the leader speaks English. Heck, it's an open secret that we know he went to a school that had an English department, whatever that means. As the owner of this brain who've spent approximately weeks and hundreds of hours on Japanese, I think know enough to say those words. But what did I do?

I spoke to him in English.

Of course, like everything, it takes a while to set in. That evening, it occurred to me that not only I had spoken to him in English, I also didn't let him speak. I didn't let him finish his sentence.

To be fair, it was only for 30 seconds. I don't need him to speak, and I wanted to, for once, assert my dominance. (The running joke here is that he plays the character of a freaking flirt, and as a lesbian whose compulsory heterosexual crush is him, I have the inclination to get the man to sit down and shut up for once. I guess I did?)

It's not me if there's no faux pas. Anyways...

Today's the 290th day since I started using WK, basically the beginning of my journey to relearn Japanese. Will I be able to communicate at least on a conversational level by the time I'm 30? We will see.

If you're reading this and needs recommendations on resources that are free, hit me up!

またね。