#they mock me and make fun of my over use of commas

[salemqz]

Low-key? Want to post writing that I'm proud of.

Problem? Too anxious.

[msotherworldly]

The Black Rain: Chapter One

In my previous posts, I mentioned my series in progress, The Children of Pandora, and how it was technically a multi-protagonist project. While Eradica is the main protagonist of the books, Insula and Rowan also have their own occasional books. The chapter below is the first in Rowan’s story - like The Blue Door, it’s still in need of editing. 

If this whole multi-protagonist business sounds confusing, check out my earlier posts. You’ll be introduced to the characters, their stories, and my comparison to Narnia on how this functions.

CHAPTER ONE: THE POSTCARD

The afternoons when I could be alone were the best, because they were also a relief. Outside, clambering over the rusty playground and dodging around the scattered beer cans, the children played. The place, with a few stunted shrubs for it’s fence, was filled with litter: there was a discarded tire, a few cardboard boxes, and some dirty clothes. The children used them as their toys, but I had my own toys to play with.

    From the window, I could see the mountains. They partially blocked a watery sun, which already fought a swath of cloud. I didn’t know that day would seem bright, when compared with the ones to come. I didn’t know a lot of things, such as what Dad looked like.

    I only knew his handwriting. I turned the postcard over. The writing was spidery and small, but I had looked it over at least once a day for the past three years. I flipped it over to the picture on the front: palm trees swayed in the wind, casting long blue shadows over the fancy cars and the newly paved roads. There were green hills, and a beach side resort with shirtless old men and grinning, skinny twenty year olds, most of them blonde. I had bought into a myth of my own making: if you stayed in the sun long enough, it turned blonde...but you had to live where it was hottest.

    At eight, that myth seemed flimsy. I curled a strand of brown hair around my finger, which was also brown, but sort of gold.

    The Palm Tree Place, where Dad lived, was like something from a dream. It was funny how it made me deeply happy and deeply sad at the same time.

    “What are you doing up here?” a voice hissed. Ms. Brocklehurst ambled into the room. A Seagull Anthromorph, she was a confusion of frayed feathers and pinstripe clothes. Her skirt was bunched around her knees, and her jacket was too loose on her thin frame. Glasses slid down her sharp, dirty beak.

    “I was just-”

    “If you don’t get down, I’ll switch you good.” Ms. Brocklehurst’s beady eyes narrowed. “Actually, I think I will anyways. You’ve already disobeyed me, haven’t you?”

    “Please, I was only-”

    “Bend over.” Ms. Brocklehurst took a cane down from the wall. “Now.”

    A lump formed in my throat. Hot tears spewed from my eyes. Mom always said I was a baby. What was the word she used? Ingrate? That’s what I am.

    The pain thudded over my back, and I screamed. That was bad, but I couldn’t help it: it whistled through the air. It hit harder. It bit. I screamed louder. My eyes were glued to the floor. A piece of it peeled away.

    Whoosh, whap, whoosh, whap. The sounds were so gentle, but they felt so hard. I tried not to count the hits. That always made me hope, and that made it worse somehow.

    The next hit didn’t come. I remained bent over. Snot streamed from my nose. The floor was a blurry mess, like a painting.

    I heard the cane being hung up. That was such a happy sound. I heard a stomp of taloned feet, squeezed between black shoes.

    “Down, or I’ll give you another set.”

    My back burned as I straightened myself. My whole body ached; my legs stung, and it was hard to move. I was stiff.

    I shuffled past worn beds with identical gray coverlets. The walls were gray; everything was. It matched the cobwebs that hung in the corners. It matched the rickety stairs that had been brown, but were now rotting and bleached from too many days of sun exposure.

    I stopped at the foot of the playground. I realized I was still holding the postcard. I shoved it into my pocket. I wore a pair of jeans that were always sliding down. My pink hoodie was baggier, or I was just too skinny.

    I saw Emma Ruth skipping along a hopscotch she had made from snapped twigs. I wandered over to her, smiling.

    “Hi, Emma.”

    “Hi, freak.”

    “Can I play?”

    “Sure. Just don’t touch me. I don’t want to catch your freak bug.”

    I hopped along behind her. I felt oddly cheerful. It was one day at a time, right? Also, nobody was hitting me. That was always a plus.

    “Do you ever think about your parents?”

    “Don’t talk to me.”

    “Maybe they’ll come back for you. Or maybe a rich man will come here and adopt us all. And he’ll check back in to get any new children that come in. And then Brocklehurst will sell the place to him. He’d be a billionaire, and he would make his money selling children’s clothes. But he’d buy all our clothes for free!”

    “You’re really stupid, aren’t you?” Emma hopped along behind me. We went in a circle. “That stuff only happens in storybooks.”

    “My dad wrote to me right before I came here. It was his only letter, but he told me how palm trees grew. He talked about coconut milk and-”

    Emma shoved me to the ground. My head hit the edge of the playground box, and pinpricks of light, golden and white, flashed across my eyes.

    Emma looked big, though she was only a tiny girl in a dress, red and white and checkered like a picnic blanket. She crossed her arms, her blue eyes growing small. “Just leave me alone, freak.”

    A mean picture came into my mind: Emma’s dress on fire, her face as she screamed. I brushed the picture away. How could I have a thought like that? How awful! It wasn’t Emma’s fault I was weird. What if I could give it to her? I guess I’d be afraid too. I didn’t want to hurt Emma. The meanness was gone, leaving behind cold.

    And she’s sad too. We all are. We’re in the same boat.

    A bell rang. Children rushed past me. I stood up. My butt was damp. I realized the grass was wet, glinting in the gray-gold light. It must have rained. I wiped my hands on my jeans; the palms were stained green.

    I was sure I would have hated school, even if it was a nice one. Math just didn’t make sense, though the other children seemed to get it, and science was sort of creepy. I only really liked art and language.

    Ms. Brocklehurst passed out our papers. We had been tasked with essays. As usual, mine was covered in red circles, red underlines, and red comments. These said things like, “Do you hate commas, or are you just dumb?” There was also, “My brother could write better than you, and he’s illiterate.”

    The comments might have bothered me, but Emma Ruth’s paper looked like it was dripping with blood. I know it’s mean, but it’s kind of awesome, too.

    We were asked to write short stories. This was the part I liked. I flew into another tale about a lost prince and the king who had sent him away because dragons were looking for him. He lived alone in a cottage, but he could see the castle from his window, surrounded by palm trees. The king drank coconuts for breakfast, ate pineapple for lunch, and dined on mangoes and watermelon in the evening.

    Emma snickered. “You’re writing that story again?”

    “I like it.”

    “You don’t have much of an imagination, do you?”

    I blushed. “It makes me happy. I wasn’t going to publish it or anything.”

    “I hope not. Otherwise people will be vomiting everywhere because it’s so bad.”

    “You’re just unhappy because your stories get picked on too.”

    “Excuse me? You don’t know anything, freak.”

    My face was on fire, and shame coated my stomach. “I didn’t mean...but I understand, Emma. I like your stories. I’m glad they have happy endings.”

    “You’re mocking me.”

    “No! My favourite was the one with the golden haired Elf. I’d run away with him in a heartbeat, though I probably would make us move somewhere warmer than in the story.”

    Emma stood up. Her chair scraped over the floor. She raised her fists. “Keep talking.”

    “Okay.” I didn’t understand sarcasm. “Um, I liked the one with the blue Dragon, too, and how it had green polka dots. I probably wouldn’t date him, but he was really cool.”

    Emma’s fist connected with my lip. It felt dull, the pain spreading in a blanket through my whole jaw. I fell to the floor. The chair caught my elbow, and I yelped. I could still hear the wet thud in my head; the moment replayed itself through my spinning head. I pressed my cheek to the floor. It was cold, and felt good on my hot skin.

    “What in the name of Genitrix-”

    “She made fun of me!” As I rolled onto my back, Emma pointed to me. “She made fun of my story!”

    Ms. Brocklehurst glared at me. She slapped a long ruler in her hand, before trotting forward. She stood over me. “Up! What are you, a dog?”

    I scrabbled to my feet. I sank into my chair. I wanted to cry that it wasn’t fair, but what good did that do? I pressed my lips together, keeping the tears in.

    “Put your hands out.”

    She’s just doing her job. I spread my fingers out over the desk. Below them lied my sketch of the prince. He had brownish gold skin, brown hair, and eyes that were so dark they were almost black. His lips were full, his nose wide and hooked. He looked just like me, except that his hair was cut short, almost a buzz.

    Mine hung down my back in a lank ponytail. The prince also has a shower everyday. He bathes on the beach, and waits for the king to collect him.

    The ruler came down with a slam. It was louder than the cane, but less painful. Even as I teared up, I couldn’t help thinking how funny that was. My fingers wrinkled back, bending at the knuckles. She hit me three times. That was easy to count.

    Addition is the only math I like. I felt dazed. My stomach growled. Was it the hunger or the pain? But subtraction sucks. I only like the math where numbers get bigger.

    Ms. Brocklehurst stocked to the front. I resumed my story, like nothing had happened. Because nothing did. She’s doing her job. She thought I was being mean, and that’s okay. So she was wrong. So what? If I had been mean, I would have deserved it. I glanced at Emma. She’s just scared, is all.

    A second voice, the one I thought of as The Meanie, answered me. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.

    I will. There’s no need to be gloomy all the time, or nasty. Gloom settled in the pit of my stomach. Despair clutched my heart like a hand. My chest sank on the inside. My eyes stung.

    “Not fair,” I whispered. I glanced at Emma again. “I’m sorry.”

    “Huh?”

    “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be mean.”

    Emma furrowed her brow. She returned to her writing, shaking her head. All around me, pencils scratched. I wanted to read all the stories. Weren’t they all good in their own way?

    A delightful idea came to me. I had to struggle through math first, and the equations made me weep—literally. I was dreading algebra when I got older. That was when math stopped making sense for everybody.

    When class was over, I rushed to enact my plan. It was like clockwork: the kids tossed their last stories into the recycling bin. They dumped out their books.

    I knelt by the blue plastic container as they filed out. When the last kid, a Dog with Rottweiler markings named Jimmy, trotted out, I shoved my arms, elbow deep, into the paper. I plucked tales and drawings from the mix. I ordered them carefully, clicking them against the floor to make them straight.

    When I had collected them all, I had a fat, albeit unbound, book in my arms. I scurried up the stairs, ecstatic over my treasure. I didn’t have any books to read, but now I could read everyone’s stories.

    I flipped through the papers, knees pulled to my chest. I sat on my bed. I felt like a jeweler, surrounded by gleaming rubies and emeralds.

    I found Emma’s story, and put it at the front. The heroine (who always looked like Emma, with blue eyes and blonde curls) was falling in love with a Bear this time. She took half a page to describe his bulging muscles and glossy fur.

    She’s going to be a great romance writer someday! The story made me happy and warm all over. I decided it was my new favourite.

    I put my story at the back. It wasn’t that good, and I knew how it went. When I had read through all the stories, including mine, I pulled out the postcard again. Even though I loved Emma’s tales, this would always be my favourite thing to read.

    I closed my eyes, smiling. I sank into sleep. In my dreams, I saw the palm trees, and a sign with the postcard’s address: Similo, Sapphire Crest, Calidi, Queen Street, 4321.

[delightfulstarlightparadise]

Stardew valley Imagine. Reader/ Sebastian (?)

-Before we start, oce again I remind you that English is not my main language, but I am doing my best.

“I didn’t think you were so tired to the point of passing out in that sofa.” Sebastian says while taking a drag of his cigarette. “If I knew we would have come earlier.”

“Aw... I shouldn’t have drink that beer.” you say, feeling sick to your stomach.

“If you are going to throw up, please do it in some bush and not near me.”

You didn’t even bother answering him. Next thing you knew, you were kneeling down barfing behind a tree. You were not very used to drinking.

“Sorry.” you say when you can finally talk.

“What about?”

“Everything.”

He shrugs and helps you stand up.

“You are... different.” he says.

“I know, I am weird.”

He laughs.

“You think you are weird? My best friend is the weirdest person I know. Being different in a town like this is not a bad thing you know?” he says.

You stare at him for a while too long, he blushes showing is uncomfort.

“You didn’t pass as a supportive type at first.” you say.  

“Don’t get used to it.” he says smirking at you.

When you arrive the farm you can see that the seeds you planted in the morning had turned into little saplings already. You shake your head, sure that it is a prank of your dizzy mind, but they are there.

“Sebastian, can you see those or am I really wasted?” you ask him, pointing at the saplings.

“I can see them, but I am also pretty sure you ARE wasted.” He mocks you.

“How can it be?! I planted them this morning!” you look at him completely astonished.

“So what?” he asks.

“They were not supposed to grow like this… I mean, this is crazy!”

“Oh really? I don’t understand much about farming.” he says while getting another cigarette from his pocket. “I will be going now, ok? Thanks for the game, I had fun. Destroying Sam every time was starting to get boring.

As he goes, you sit down on your porch staring at those little saplings.

…

You have a dream.

You are playing with your cousins by the mountain river. A younger Sam and a younger Sebastian are there too. Sebastian is ginger back then, but Sam’s hair still challenges gravity somehow. There is a third boy that is not from your family, he is brunette, very alethic and seems to like you a lot.

Sebastian challenges you all: who can go up a tree by the shore faster. You are the first to run there, before anyone even agrees to the bet. He doesn’t like it and runs as fast as he can, followed by the other boy and your cousins. Sam kind of gets left behind.

You start climbing the tree so fast, you didn’t even remember being so agile, you feel like a feral squirl. The other boy is right behind you, he even tries to hold your foot and tickle you, but you don’t give up. As you laugh together, Sebastian gets to pass you, but you quickly follow after him.

Somehow you manage to get to the top first, Sebastian is all sweaty and puffing. The other boy comes after and congratulates you on the win. He kisses you on the cheek and you get all red about it. Sebastian doesn’t like it, actually he seems really jealous. You think it is about you having won and start mocking on him.

You call him gingerbread man. He hates it and pushes you. Because of your weigh the branch you fall on cracks and you fall on the river. You can see both Sebastian and the other boy reaching towards you.

Your head hits a rock and you get unconscious. But actually, you just can't move, you still can see... everyone is jumping on the water after you, but you feel like you are nowhere to be found. Maybe that is it, your short life has come to an end.

You hear a funny sound and turn your head to the left. You see an apple.

The apple has two eyes and pink cheeks.  

There are others, they are all around you, making that funny sound and lifting you up from the bottom of the lake.

Next thing you see, a hand grabs your wrist, lifted by the little apple spirits. You are pulled out of the water by Sebastian, he has almost drowned too. He is crying and doesn’t stop apologizing, but you aren’t able to say anything to him, the words don’t come out.

You spend some days in the hospital, all your vitals are ok, but you keep seeing those little apple spirits around. The adults are afraid you had too bad of a concussion and no one believes in you... except for... grandpa?  

He says you were saved by the forest spirits, but your mother and father tell him not to incentive these kind of thoughts in you. Eventually, they stop taking you to Stardew valley.

The longer you are away, the more you forget about your time there.

When you wake up, the dream seems like a shadow, but you feel very different.

…

They were even bigger! From one night to the other, the saplings have grown as much as they should in a week.

“Am I going insane?” you ask yourself.

You water them and put some extra fertilizer, then you decide to go to the city and buy some food for the farm. When you arrive there, you see Mayor Lewis in front of a big old house behind the square.

“Oh, hi y/n!” he calls you, as you two seem to be the only people around. “Come here a second.”

You feel a little annoyed. Is it going to be like this now? Every day that amount of interaction in your life... how can you handle it?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lewis.” you say.

“Call me Lewis.” he says with a gentle smile. “Do you remember this place?”

You take a look at it. Everything is so broken and old you can swear it is probably haunted. You can’t seem to remember anything like it.

“I see.” he says. “You were so young, but you, your cousins and your grandpa used to come here. This is the community center of Pelican town. Well... it used to be. Come on in.”

You follow him inside and it looks even worse than the outside.  Bindweed has taken over the walls, there isn’t a single piece of wood that is not broken or rotten and there is even a tree fully grown in the corner of the main hall, but even that tree seems to be decaying.

“This used to be the heart of the town, everyone in the community gathered here for parties, birthdays and even city events.” he says. “But as time went by... it seems like these kinds of things are not as important nowadays.”  

He starts a discourse about how people would rather watch TV instead of gathering with the community, but you can’t follow because... there is an apple jumping by the window.

“Y/n, what’s with you?” the mayor asks turning to the place you are looking.

It immediately disappears.

“It was...” you are about to tell him about the apple but, why bother? “I think I saw a mouse.”

“This place is probably infested by mice, it has been closed for so long.” He says and sighs. “It is sad to see it like this. But I think that is what happens to old things, see Paradise farm, for example. Good that now you are there to rebuild it. Too bad for this place, there aren’t people willing to do it.”

“Did you ask people?” you ask out of curiosity.

“Unfortunately, every time we set to rebuild everyone was busy with something else. Eventually, I think everyone just gave up.” the mayor let go a long sigh. “And since Joja Mart came to town, they keep making offers to buy it and turn it into a warehouse. I am thinking about selling it by the end of this year... the city could use the money.”

You look around once more. It does seem sad to let ANYTHING that once was good end up in Joja corporation’s hands. Wasn’t this what happened to you.  

You feel a strange connection to the place.

“Anyway, I must be going now. Have some mayor duties to accomplish. Thanks for giving an old man some time to be nostalgic.” he says and chuckles. “I will leave this place open if you want to take a look, maybe you can find some of you Paradise kid’s old toys in the crafts room.”

It is weird because you wouldn’t usually do something like that, but as the mayor went away, you started exploring the rooms and they seemed to bring you back some blurry memories. Maybe you played with your cousins in that corner. Maybe you attended someone’s birthday and ate cake by that old table. Maybe you sat with your grandpa in front of that big fish tank and he told you stories about fishing.

You hear a sound and it immediately makes you turn to the decaying tree in the corner of the main hall. Your heartbeat increases as you see not one, but many apple spirits jumping around and waving at you. They seem to be talking but you can’t quite understand.

“What the hell is going on with me?” you say, rubbing your eyes and shaking your head.

They are still there.  

One of them, a green one makes you a sign for you to follow it Still uncertain, you do, and it takes you to a golden scroll in the middle of the crafts room. You see there is something written there, but you can’t quite understand it.

“Junimos?” is the only thing you can discern.

The little apple starts jumping and making that funny sound as if it is agreeing to you.

“You are Junimos?”

It seems even more excited. The more it makes those funny sounds, the more it seems like it is saying your name.

“You know me, isn’t it?”

It seems to agree.

“You saved me that day.” you say. “So either everyone was wrong and I didn’t go crazy back then, or I am going crazy right now.”

“You are certainly not going crazy, my dear.”

You yell as you listen to a voice come from behind you and a figure comes from the shadows of the corner of the room. A purple bearded wizard dressed up in a fine robe walks towards you.

“Don’t be afraid. I am Rasmodius, the Wizard, keeper of the secrets of the forest, master of the elemental’s knowledge... you get the picture.”

“Where did you come from?!” you yell as you try to step back, but you end up tripping and falling.

“I have been paying close attention to you for the past couple of days. You are the one whose arrival was foreseen by the valley. The one connected to the forest powers, the one to change the valleys destiny... well you, my friend, are a hero to become.”

“What the fuck is going on here? Am I dreaming? Am I dead? Am I dreaming in a comma?” you star hyperventilating. “I have gone crazy, that is it. I finally lost it!”

“Please, calm down.” the wizard says as he can see you going pale.

“Oh my, what if I never left Zuzu city? I must still be in bed, I need to wake up to go to work, that is it! I am not crazy I am just sleeping...”

The little Junimo beside up jumps and slaps your face with his little stick hand and it hurts way more than it seems to be possible.

“What the...” you say, but it seems to take you away from your anxious thoughts.

“As I was saying...” the Wizard cleans his throat. “You were brought back to this valley to help it heal from the many hazards it has been imposed by both mankind and witchcraft. Also, I have seen, to change the destiny of the people who live here.”

“Me?” you screech with unbelief. “Man, I can’t barely fix my own life.”

The wizard chuckles.

“Well, sometimes to help another one is the best way of helping oneself.” he says.

“What the hell is going on?” you say rubbing your temples.

“You will understand when the time is right.” the wizard replies. “For now, drink this.”

He extended to you a cup filled with a green liquid.

“You are kidding right?” you say.

“No, you are supposed to drink. These are the ingredients from the forest, it will help you understand the language of the elementals.” he says.

“I am not drinking it.”  

The Junimo beside you starts jumping and puffing in a way to demonstrate impatience and he seems so angry that you take the cup from the wizard’s hand and, after taking a nauseated look at the content, you drink it.

You feel dizzy and things start moving a lot slower. You can see the memories of yourself as a kid running among trees, playing in the river, collecting and eating savage berries. You see yourself playing with animals, riding a horse, rolling in the mud with grandpa's pig.

You see the faces of some people from the town. You are beside them, helping them and doing nice things, things you had never thought you would do in your life. You feel happy to help, you feel like a part of something. And then... there is this someone you suddenly see yourself kiss.

“If you might ever need me... meet me in the towers west Cindersap forest.” you hear the Wizard’s voice.

As you open your eyes, you see the image of a man and a girl, both with glasses in front of you.

“Y/n? Are you ok?” you hear Maru’s voice coming from the distance. “Oh my Yoba, what a scare you gave me!”

“What? Where am I?” you say slowly sitting down and looking around.

“You are in the clinic. Maru found you passed out near the fountain. You have symptoms of an insulation, perhaps you have been working too hard in the farm.” the man says, adjusting his glasses. “I am doctor Harvey.”

“Insulation? Last thing I remember I was drinking that green thing from the wizard...”

Both Maru and the doctor stare at you, looking concerned.

“I mean, I probably had a bad dream while passed out. Thanks for bringing me Maru, sorry for the trouble.” you say.

“No problem, I am stronger than I look.” she says. “Now lay down, you are taking intravenous medicine, you seem to be very poorly nourished. Have you been skipping meals?”

She gently pushes you into laying down.

“I forget to eat sometimes.”

“That is very hazardous! Even more being a farmer and working a lot in the sun and with so much physical effort!” says Harvey, looking very angry.

He gives you a full lecture about the importance of eating healthy and says that he is going to give you some supplements. You are actually worried about how you are going to pay for the treatment.

…-

Next part here:

Credits for the pose reference: https://snuffysbox.tumblr.com/post/160658875287/have-another-angsty-draw-your-otp-%E1%95%95-3-%E1%95%97-please 

[meow-bebe]

Skate Date

Pairing: Stray Kids, Yang Jeongin x reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Minor cussing but you should expect that by now, i swear a lot

Word Count: 1603

Gender: Neutral reader

A/n: Happy late birthday fox boy! I really wanted to post this yesterday but it didn't really happen. Anyway here's this though! Most of the skat terminology is stuff I've picked up from hanging out at the rink a lot and my friend who skates as well as like two things I needed to Google. Sorry the ending is trash, and also it's slightly unedited. But! I passed 1k for the first time! This doesn't seem like a huge achievement but I've only ever managed to write about 600 word before this but it's getting easier now! I'm hoping to write more often so if all goes well you'll see more of me and my overuse of commas in the coming weeks!

~~~

“Come on, Innie!” you called, screeching to a halt in front of the bench where your boyfriend was currently sitting.

“No I don’t think I will,” he said, setting his folded hands on top of the railing separating him from the ice rink, “you look like you’re having fun, and I’ll just slow you down.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you said, “And when has that ever stopped you before? I remember a certain date when you dragged out shopping for so long we didn’t have time to go to the museum and then acted like you didn’t do it on purpose because you think museums are boring.” 

“I didn’t!” he protested, “but that’s beside the point. I’m going to fall on my ass and make a fool of myself and I don’t particularly care to be covered in suspicious looking bruises for dance practice tomorrow.” 

Sighing, you placed your hand on top of his. “Jeongin, everybody falls their first time. I even fall every now and then to this day!” 

“That’s because you have horrible balance,” he retorted, and you scowled at him. 

“My point was that you’ve never been skating before, so of course you’re not going to be great at it your first try. You’ll be okay if you fall, if we’re not going very fast it’s extremely unlikely you’ll get hurt.” You squeezed his hand comfortingly under yours. “And honestly, would you rather have to explain a few inconveniently placed bruises or the fact that you decided to sit here and keep the bench warm and watch me skate for two hours because you were worried you wouldn’t be a world class figure skater the first time you set foot on the ice?” 

You cocked your head saucily, and he grumbled “Fine, I’ll try it,” in response. You offered him your hand, and taking it, he wobbled to his feet. 

“There you go!” you cheered sarcastically, “you’re standing up!” Met with his disgruntled glare, you softened, asking, “Are your skates tight enough? I tried to make sure you got them laced well but we don’t want your ankles wobbling around.” 

“I think they’re okay,” he said, tilting his feet this way and that, “they feel pretty tight.”

Guiding Jeongin towards the exit to the rink, you asked, “Do they wiggle in the skates? You should be able to move your ankles but not inside your skates.” He started moving his ankles again, experimenting to try and figure out what you meant. 

“They feel fine,” he said, just as you brought him to the juncture between the rink and benches. 

“Good!” You took his other hand in yours as well. “Now just step down. Go slow, I’ve got you,” you reassured. Maybe you were going to scold and tease him about his slightly irrational worry of being terrible, but you were also going to do your best to make sure he didn’t have much to worry about. 

“Okay so now that you’re on the ice, you need to find the balance of your skates, or the flat part you can glide best on. Just shift back and forth until you find the place where you can move smoothly.” You helped guide him slightly as he gingerly shifted his weight around. “It’ll probably be farther back than you think, that makes room for the toepick to not scrape against the ice.” 

After a moment, he seemed to have found where he needed to be. “Okay, I think I’ve got it,” he looked up from his skates, “what now?” 

“Now we skate!” you said, letting go of one of his hands and slowly starting to move forward. He seemed to panic for a moment, but soon found a slightly broken and wobbly rhythm beside you. 

“There you go!” you said, grinning happily at him, “you’re moving!”

“Yay,” he said halfheartedly, glancing down at his feet again. “Now, quick question. How does one skate? Cause I’m pretty sure this - ” he demonstrated the way that he was using the toepick to push one foot forward and then gliding a small amount forward before repeating - “isn’t how you do it.”

“No, not quite,” you laughed. “It’s a little bit difficult to explain, but to start you’re going to push off with one foot and glide on the other.” You demonstrated, letting go of Jeongin to skate a small distance in front of him. He shuffled forwards, doing his best to keep his balance and stay within a distance that he could see your small movements. “Once you’ve lost momentum, transfer your weight back to the other foot and glide on that one. Alternate your movements, and you’re skating!” Once again, you followed up your explanation by showing him how to execute the movements, but this time you didn’t stop. You continued to skate forwards for a moment, showing Jeongin how the movements feel when connected before turning around and circling back to your still slightly struggling boyfriend. 

“How are you so good at this?” Jeongin asked, slipping a little and grabbing at the wall to stay upright. 

“Oh Jeongin,” you said, pulling him upright and grasping his hand in yours, “I’ve been skating since I was young. Talent comes with practice.” 

He tentatively pushed forward, and with a nod of encouragement from you, began to shakily glide his way across the ice. 

“There you go!” you exclaimed happily, “You’re doing it!” You tried your best to keep an even pace next to Jeongin, but he kept having to ask you to slow down as you weren’t used to moving at such a slow speed. The two of you made a few rounds of the rink with little accident (you lost your balance and fell over while bending down to retrieve a little girl’s fallen glove as Jeongin laughed at you because you had fallen before he even had the chance) and small conversation was held between bouts of your reminding Jeongin not to propel himself using the toepick. 

“I think I’m going to sit down for a minute,” Jeongin said, turning to skate towards the edge of the rink where the benches are located. “My feet are starting to hurt.” 

“That’s probably a good idea,” you said, beginning to weave through the other skaters surrounding you, Jeongin’s hand still clasped securely in yours. Coming to a stop, you let go of his hand so that Jeongin could hold onto the railing and clamber up into the closed off bench area. 

“Alright,” you said, folding your arms securely across your chest and leaning against the railing, “If you don’t mind I’m going to skate around a little more while you take a break.”

“Please do. You know where to find me,” he said, smiling sweetly at you. “Have fun!” he called after you as you began to skate away. 

“Oh, you know I will!” you called lightheartedly back. 

Jeongin watched as you gained speed, dodging between the other people making their way around the rink, most moving a little slower than you. Upon reaching the corner, you executed a few flawless crossovers, a grace that you could never seem to find off the ice taking your body and propelling you across the ice in smooth, beautiful movements. Jeongin was entranced, eyes tracking your figure as you glided around the rink, lost in the way that your hair ruffled slightly and the excited little grin that lit up your face every time you got your crossovers right. He would have been more than happy to sit there until open skate ended, just watching you skate in endless circles. 

You seemed to have other ideas though, as you cut across the ice, coming to an abrupt halt in front of Jeongin, a spray of shaved ice hitting the wall. 

“Show off,” he said, voice full of affection. 

“You love watching me do stuff like that, admit it.” You leaned onto the railing, bringing your face closer to the boy in front of you. 

“Maybe a little bit,” he teased back.

“Knew it!” you laughed. “Come back out with me, you were doing so well earlier.” 

“I might actually sit here and watch you for the rest of the time. There’s only -” he glanced at the timer counting down the minutes of skate time left - “around fifteen minutes left.” 

“Aww, Jeongin,” you whined, “I didn’t bring you here to watch me skate the whole time.”

“You didn’t bring me here at all,” Jeongin retorted, playful contempt tugging at his voice, “I was the one who suggested this. And for the most part, I just wanted to watch you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That’s cute, but does this mean that the whole ‘I want to be involved in something that you love’ spiel was a lie?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, grabbing your hand and squeezing it,  “it was. Wobbling around like an idiot isn’t the most fun, but watching you skate is so much better. You’re really good, and opposed to your usual clumsiness -” you slapped at his shoulder lightly in mock irritation - “you’re really graceful and beautiful and it’s amazing to watch.” 

His compliments flustered you, but instead of letting him know that, you just tugged at his hand. “Come on, let’s go skate again.” Jeongin relented after a moment of encouragement (which he would call harassment) and the two of you were soon back out on the ice, hands twined together as you skated backwards, dragging a giggling, wobbly Jeongin behind you. No matter how much he argued and denied that he was having fun, Jeongin was really enjoying himself, both just watching you and skating himself. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Reporters who quote ums and ahs only make themselves look bad

Here's an interesting example of how journalists sometimes use a version of the facts to support faleshoods. Check out the following, posted by Daily Mail reporter David Martosko, quoting a teenager on Trump's use of the racist "Pocahontas" slur.

At the Elizabeth Warren rally I asked a 17-year-old supporter who will vote next year to comment on Trump's "Pocahontas" nickname for the senator. This is a verbatim transcript of her answer.

"I think that it's really hypocritical because not only is he making fun of someone for like, something that she didn't really like, say, um, but I do feel like he says so many like, racial slurs against like, and she just like presents themselves to be like, so like negative towards like minorities and stuff like that, that the fact that he is mocking her and calling her Pocahontas when he does nothing for Native American rights is really freaking dumb.

What Martosko wanted to establish here was that the teen—and perhaps by implication young Warren supporters in general—is confused and foolish. He did this by including all the ums and ahs of speech, filler terms such as "like", and extraneous commas.

Most people saw this "verbatim" text for what it was, and Martosko was thoroughly ratioed by readers.

But what, like, is going here?

The fact is that most of us talk just as the teen did, when challenged to speak extemporaneously. This can be true of even  polished and well-prepared speakers. Listen to politicans and pundits on cable news panels, with an ear for the fillers, and you might be surprised. Pro public speakers are well-trained enough to avoid terms like "y'know", "well" and the dreaded "like", but the basic ums and ahs are difficult to skip, especially when things get heated.

We don't usually notice it (or at least we don't usually judge speakers for it) because our brains correctly interpret it as meaningless filler and disregard it.

Moreover, in print, reporters usually remove speech disfluency when they quote subjects. In fact, it is generally considered unethical and unprofessional for editors not to remove the ums and ahs and filler terms, though there's a usually a hard line against changing words or paraphrasing within quotes.

Here's Terry Gross, the NPR host, explaining her interview policy:

"With the exception of the occasional John Updike, no one speaks readable, perfectly grammatical sentences. So we've edited the answers my questions elicited for clarity and concision, while sticking as closely as possible to each interviewee's actual speaking style."

   The 2015 edition of The New York Times Manual of Style and Usage is similarly clear:

   The writer should, of course, omit extraneous syllables like “um” and may judiciously delete false starts. If any further omission is necessary, close the quotation, insert new attribution and begin another quotation. (The Times does adjust spelling, punctuation, capitalization and abbreviations within a quotation for consistent style.) In every case, writer and editor must both be satisfied that theintent of the speaker has bee npreserved.

The Associated Press Stylebook is rather vague: it says not to "alter" quotes to correct word usage or grammar, but has nothing to say on filler talk specifically.

If a quotation is flawed because of grammar or lack of clarity, the writer must be able to paraphrase in a way that is completely true to the original quote. If a quote's meaning is too murky to be paraphrased accurately, it should not be used.

In practice, though, the AP removes it. This is a fact easy to demonstrate by comparing its quotes of Olympic-class filler-talkers Barack Obama and Donald Trump to the transcripts.

The New Yorker's Katy Waldman recently covered a story that shows how in practice, reporters tend to directly clean up grammar in quotes. The topical controversy was over a Dominican-born sportsman whose fluid but ungrammatical English is hard to render in text without reading like a questionable effort at characterization. Every outlet quoted him slightly differently.

On Deadspin, Tom Ley suggested that [Carlos] Gómez “has a right to be annoyed” that a reporter “went off and made him look dumb by not extending him a courtesy that most people quoted by reporters get”: that of subtly tweaked sentences. ...  It’s common practice in journalism for writers quoting sources to remove filler words—like, ah, um—and correct tiny grammatical violations. (Slate’s policy is to handle such issues on a case-by-case basis, but many writers at the magazine I spoke to told me they make such elisions and alterations all the time.)

Waldman adds: "the role of journalists is ... to deliver information as clearly and truthfully as possible. To include a grammatical error in a news story is to hint that such error is somehow significant, rather than something most of us do when we are asked to extemporize aloud."

When transcribed, filler speech a listener would subconsciously ignore turns into text the reader cannot.

So here is how a reporter might usually render what the Warren-supporting teen said, removing both the ums and ahs and not bothing to include the abortive sentence in the middle:

I think that it's really hypocritical, because not only is he making fun of someone for something that she didn't really say, but I do feel like he says so many racial slurs, " said the teen. "... The fact that he is mocking her and calling her Pocahontas when he does nothing for Native American rights is really freaking dumb."

This serves the reader better than the intentionally confusing "verbatim" transcript. It gives an accurate, fair representation of what the teen belives and what a listener would have understood to them say had they heard them talking in person.

Here it is with a stricter adherence to the (obviously unenforced) AP Stylebook rules suggesting mutterances be kept while allowing "murky" parts to be removed:

"I think that it's really hypocritical, because not only is he making fun of someone for, like, something that she didn't really, like, say, but I do feel like he says so many, like, racial slurs. ... The fact that he is mocking her and calling her Pocahontas when he does nothing for Native American rights is really freaking dumb."

An unfair quoting of filler, I think, but still much fairer than the Daily Mail reporter's rendering of the quote.

The same courtesy should should be extended to MAGA teens too—and anyone else who might blather a bit.

https://boingboing.net/2019/05/21/reporters-who-quote-ums-and-ah.html

[haughtbreaker]

Pour Me More Ch 2: Only a Memory

Thank you so much for all those that took a chance on this story. I appreciate all the comments and kudos. Thanks to @jaybear1701 for repeatedly telling me to stop using the word "form" and to use more commas. Although I have a huge chunk of this story typed, I’m going to be getting ready for Earp-a-palooza so I’m knee deep in prep. I’ll have a vendor table there for GalPalStitches.Com if anyone wants to drop by.

Also Posted on AO3.

Trigger Warning: Mention of past suicide attempt.

Accompanying Song for this Chapter: Beauty from Pain by SuperChick

The moment her plane touched down, Nicole could feel the chill permeating through the window. She tugged her hoodie a little closer, knowing she would soon have to adorn the heavy coat that took up most of the space inside her backpack. Even with the buds in her ears, she could still hear the flight attendant droning on about keeping her seat belt on and not standing in the aisles until the plane came to a complete stop. Nervously, she gripped the small keychain in her pocket, running her thumbnail between the layers of the keyring.

When the door to the plane opened, a rush of cold filled the air and Nicole realized something she hadn't even considered… there was no warm walkway waiting outside the door leading to the airport, only icy wind and a long trek across the tarmac. She quickly tugged out her jacket, barely getting her beanie over her head before someone was clearing their throat impatiently behind her.

The frigid cold bit right into Nicole's face as she stepped down the stairs, trying not to slip on the stairs that looked at least half a century old. She attempted to turn her mind away from her burning eyes and the frigid shock to her lungs as she followed the flock of people that headed towards a nearby building. Instead, she thought about home, picturing the sun shining on the perfect break, the wind smelling of salt and sunscreen. She tried to taste the seawater on her tongue and hear the wind blowing through the leaves of coconut trees, the feel of soft skin under her fingertips and lips pressing against the spot just below her left ear. Listening closely, she could hear that voice…

"My beautiful beach rat."

Nicole blinked as her eyes began to water, lost in a memory of what once was, her feet working by autopilot. A blast of artificial heat assaulted her just inside the door and she was pulled back to the present, feeling her skin drying almost instantly. "Welcome to fucking Canada," she mumbled as she moved with the crowd being herded towards the baggage area by security ribbons and faded signs. The large digital display on the wall told her it was just before noon and she tried not to think too much about what she'd be doing if she were home, about how she'd be in third period, American History. A lot of good that would do her now.

It wasn't a far walk. The airport didn't appear to be much bigger than one of those gas stations surrounded by cornfields in rural Indiana or some other horror movie shit like that. Where zombie kids came out of nowhere to slaughter you if you weren't paying attention.

It didn't fill her with a sense of comfort.

From what her mother had told her about her hometown, Purgatory was a bit of a shithole - a place where you were lucky if your house had indoor plumbing. She hadn't even fathomed that outhouses were still a thing. Her thoughts lingered on midnight bathroom trips and the probability of freezing to death on a shitter.

There had to be a statistic for that somewhere.

The baggage area was straight ahead through a set of automatic doors. The guard blocking the exit from the secure area was a man who had to be at least 80 years old, sitting on a stool and sleeping soundly. To Canada's credit, the waiting loved ones seemed to be keeping honest by staying near the baggage claim, waiting patiently for the passengers to exit.

Nicole wasn't quite sure who she should be looking for and raised an eyebrow as she saw a girl dressed in black leather holding a hand-written sign that said Haught Pants McGee. The girl wore a pair of aviator glasses that she lowered to look at Nicole. Blue eyes, angular features and all attitude, no doubt stuck in some sort of personal rebellion against the social norm. This had to be one of the sisters she'd heard about. Nicole sighed softly, walking straight up to her and stopping.

"I don't think we're at the point in our relationship where you can make fun of my name yet."

The girl shrugged, folding up the sign. "Well, can I make fun of you being gay at least? I do have to say, I always wanted a gay cousin. I'm Wynonna."

"I'm pretty sure that could be considered some level of prejudice." Nicole gave her a wry look. She wasn't quite sure how to gauge her new acquaintance. "Well, I'm Nicole and I can't say I ever wanted a leather-clad deviant as a cousin… adopted cousin… or second cousin of my mother's adoptive family... however the hell this works."

"Funny, I'm not the one that was sent off to another country," Wynonna paused. "This time. Shit, maybe we are related… by adoption," she mocked before pursing her lips and looking around awkwardly. "So… now that we've firmly established that we could legally bone without being shunned by society… you got more shit than that little backpack? Cause you're a little too tall for my meticulously assembled wardrobe and you're definitely about a dick and a half too tall for Waverly's shit."

Nicole couldn't help smiling. She'd had a picture of what the people of Purgatory would be like, but this was definitely not it. Wynonna was snarky and crass. It reminded her a little of her best friend back home, the one that was still alive anyway. "Yeah, I've got a suitcase and a duffle. And is the phallic measuring system particular to Canada as a whole or your own personal flare?"

"Easy now, Haught. I don't think we're in that stage of our relationship that you can ask me about my personal flare," Wynonna quipped with a wink. "And I hope you don't expect me to help you carry shit… I've got like… corporal tunnel."

"Carpal tunnel," Nicole corrected. "One too many hand jobs?"

Wynonna had the audacity to smirk. "Maybe a dozen too many." When a buzzer rang through the area, there were a few clanks before the small baggage carousel started spinning. "Let's get your shit so we can get back to Purgatory."

The drive was longer than Nicole thought it would be. It took about an hour of listening to Wynonna's shitty death metal that Nicole was pretty sure was Scandinavian before they passed the sign that said "Welcome to Purgatory! You'll never want to leave." Nicole swallowed audibly as they passed through the town at what had to be double the speed limit.

Nicole watched with apprehension as Wynonna seemed to almost gleefully speed past the sheriff's department, her eyes watching the rearview mirror with disappointment as no one noticed, as if she wanted to be pulled over. Wynonna huffed and turned the music down just a bit and slowed as the building disappeared out of view behind them.

It took another 15 minutes to push straight through the other side of town and drive the short distance away to what looked like a farm of sort. The house wasn't at all the shack Nicole imagined it would be, she thought, the Jeep pulling to a halt with a jolt. It was a two story house with a porch that wrapped around two sides of it. Behind the house and a bit away, there appeared to be a greenhouse that had seen better days, some of the windows cracked or missing.

Nicole slipped out of the Jeep, her legs a little unsteady after the less-than-smooth ride. There was a loud creak and she saw a woman standing in the doorway. She was slightly familiar, not from Nicole's own memories, but from photos she'd seen when she was younger.

"Nicole." The woman had short grey hair and wore a flannel shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans. She held the screen door open, expecting Nicole to enter.

Grabbing her suitcase and duffel from the back of the jeep, Nicole kept her head down, stepping inside and looking around. It was… rustic was the best word she could think of. Not exactly Martha Stewart's idea of rustic, but certainly not the backwater redneck motif she was expecting.

"Alright, let me look at you." Gus stepped up to her, a thoughtful look on her face. Her eyes held a wisdom that seemed befitting of her old age. Gus had of course aged since the pictures from her mother's childhood. "You look just like your mother, but definitely a lot taller," Gus mused.

"Yeah." Nicole nodded. "So I've been told." She wasn't in the mood to talk about her mother. It was one of the things she'd dreaded, having to discuss her dead mother with the woman that had adopted her. Her mother had never spoken ill of Gus, just that she was a no-nonsense woman with keen observation skills. Gus hadn't come to the funeral and Nicole hadn't understood at the time, but after her own experience with grief, it had bought Gus a bit of lenience.

Wynonna entered the house with a slam of the door, causing everyone to jump.

"Damn it, Wynonna." Gus shook her head.

Wynonna held up her hands. "Not nice to swear at kids, Gus. You're gonna give Haught here a bad impression."

"You are not a damn kid anymore. In fact, isn't it about time you went and got yourself a job?"

"I'd love to, Gus," Wynonna shrugged, "but you know with this economy, it's getting harder to find a job that will pay you an honest living when you've got a college education, let alone being a high school dropout."

"That's funny because your sister got a job during the summer, and she's two years younger than you and still in high school."

"You got her that job!"

Nicole just watched as they argued back and forth, feeling a bit like a third wheel but also feeling a passive amusement. She'd never really gotten the opportunity to argue with her mother like this, and even if Wynonna and Gus weren't actually mother and daughter, it was an interesting dynamic.

"Can you just show her to her room, please, while I get started on dinner?" Gus massaged her temple. "I have to work tonight and I'd rather not do it with a dang headache."

Wynonna did an about face, heading to the stairs and stopping suddenly before looking at Nicole. "You coming or what?"

"Sure." Nicole shook her head, grabbing her luggage. "Thanks, Gus," she said as she passed the older woman. It was a bit of a struggle getting the luggage up the stairs, but she got there to find Wynonna leaning against the wall near a door, arms crossed over her chest. "Thanks."

"Glad to help." Wynonna responded. "Here's your room. Mine is down the hall over there and my sister Waverly's room is between ours. Gus sleeps in the room downstairs."

"OK." Nicole nodded, setting her things just inside the door before looking up at Wynonna.

Wynonna pursed her lips, tapping the toe of one of her boots for a moment before clapping her hands once. "Okay, then. Welcome to Purgatory." She turned on her heels and left without another word.

Nicole released a long sigh as she looked around the room. "Well…" She shucked off the heavier coat she wore but kept her hoodie on, hugging the material closer to her. The room wasn't much smaller than her room back home, but it smelt like storage and the walls were bare. The bed looked new, at least, with fresh sheets and a thick comforter.

She probably should have started unpacking - settling into what was going to be her new life for however long her father didn't want to deal with her anymore. She didn't blame him, of course. He hadn't been the same since her mother died. Her grief was a mirror of his own, a living reminder of what loss felt like. It was easier for him to turn his back on her than to live through it again.

She ignored her suitcase completely, grabbing her duffle bag as she sat on the bed. It was softer than she liked, almost as soft as Shae's pillowtop. "Stop." She broke the silence of the room. She knew she needed to stop comparing everything to… before.

Her watch alarm went off with a soft beep, a reminder that came three times a day of just how fragile she was. In her backpack she found three brown bottles, the contents rattling softly as she fought against the child-safety locks. Her grip strength still hadn't come back fully, even after months of physical therapy. Eventually she was able to tip out the collection of whites and peach that had become her life, washing them back with the half-empty bottle of water she'd gotten on the plane. With a grimace at the bitter taste left on her tongue, Nicole tossed the bottles back into the safety of her backpack. She wasn't quite ready to share that part of herself with her new housemates. No doubt her father had already told Gus, but no sense in giving Wynonna what could be prime ammo to use against her.

From her backpack she pulled a small framed photo, her fingertip brushing along the line of Shae's jaw. "Well… we're in some shit, Babe." She set the photo on the nightstand and pulled a familiar plush throw from her duffle bag. She could feel the lethargic wave washing over her, the side effect of her medication almost irresistible when combined with hours of traveling.

Kicking off her shoes, she pushed her bags to one side of the bed before wrapping herself in the throw, breathing in the scent of home. Looking around the room once more, she let her eyes settle on the photo of Shae as she drifted off to sleep.

The sun was reaching for the horizon by the time Waverly stepped out of the locker room and headed towards the parking lot. Cheerleading had gone a little long but still Wynonna was nowhere to be seen. She sniffled against the cold as she checked her wristwatch.

"Waves!"

Looking up, she raised a hand as Jeremy jogged up to her, his breath coming out in white puffs of condensation. "Hey Jer-bear." She smiled at her best friend who was carrying a stack of books. It was Friday which meant he had been meeting with the science club. A genius when it came to anything science, he was the only other student in Purgatory that was graduating a year early, but unlike Waverly, he wasn't a cheerleader that was liked by everyone in town. He often got pushed around by the asshole jocks of the school and Waverly did her best to shield him with her own popularity. Not only was he picked on for his intelligence, but also for being one of the few out gay students in school, and the only person Waverly had confided in regarding her questioning her own sexuality.

"What are you still doing here, Crazy." He scratched at the stubble forming along his jaw. "It's freezing! Where's your Jeep?"

Waverly shrugged. "Wynonna had to pick someone up from the airport so she took it. She's running a little late, as always."

"Classic Wynonna." Jeremy shook his head. "Got some family visiting?"

"Kind of." Waverly pursed her lips, trying to think of the best way to explain it. "I guess she's kind of like a second cousin but not really? Her mom was adopted by Gus as a kid," she explained. "And I guess she's going to be living with us for a little bit. I'm not exactly sure how long."

"Whoa." Jeremy raised his eyebrows in surprise, shifting the books in his hands so he could adjust his beanie. "That's kind of crazy. Have you not met her before?"

Waverly shook her head, feeling the chill attacking her uncovered face. "Nope. Her dad is American so she lives in California…lived I guess."

Jeremy grimaced. "From California to Purgatory… that's gonna be a bit of a weather shock."

Waverly chuckled. "Completely. You'll probably meet her on Monday," she paused before an idea came to her, " unless you wanted to come over this weekend?" She gave Jeremy her best pleading look. "We can study for our physics exam?"

"As if you needed to study." He rolled his eyes in exaggeration before sniffling.

"There's never any harm in studying, even when you know the answers." Waverly heard the sound of the gears on her Jeep grinding before she saw Wynonna skidding into the lot. "God damn it, Wynonna." Waverly barked as both she and Jeremy took an instinctual step back, the Jeep barely stopped in time.

"Sup Nerd," Wynonna nodded towards Jeremy before looking at Waverly. "Get in, Loser."

Waverly rolled her eyes before giving Jeremy a quick hug. "Tomorrow? Please?"

Jeremy sighed. "You know I can't say no to you."

"Good. Awesome. Thank you. I love you." Waverly grinned and waved before she slipped into the Jeep. As they pulled away, she reached over and turned the volume of the death metal down. "So…."

"So what?"

Waverly narrowed her eyes at her sister. "What are your thoughts?"

"That Hanson should never have stopped making music."

"Wynonna!"

Wynonna huffed. "What do you want me to say? She's… quiet, but snarky. Taller than me… like Wonder Woman kind of tall minus the leather bathing suit. She… looks so gay."

Waverly had to laugh. "What the heck does that mean?" Waverly looked down at her own clothes, star speckled leggings tucked into fuzzy calf-high boots under her cheerleading uniform that was covered with a puffy white jacket with faux-fur trim. Did she's look gay? Or bisexual rather? She didn't think so.

"You're just gonna have to see for yourself I guess."

Waverly nodded, looking out at the stretch of road ahead of them. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

[ur-mom-kayn]

Loyalty Chapter 11: Deflection

Kayn Pov

After an embarrassing conversation, they lay in silence, chest to chest in bed. The mood was oppressive. Kayn could not deny it, he wanted his Master just like last night permanently. But he could do that with confidence. Zed has drawn a clear line. Kayn will probably be forever his son, but he wanted more. The thought of never being able to kiss him again drove him mad. He had to distance himself. Even if it was just a shower. Kayn tried to sit up but had to grab his head again immediately. The alcohol really set him on fire. So that's what people called a hangover.

"Hey, are you all right?" "Yeah, I think so. I'm just a little bit dizzy. But hopefully that will stop, right?" Zed sat upright and stroked Kayn's hair. "Sure, you idiot. Why do you also drink like a madman if you have not eaten a gram before? So, really, you're such a beginner." So, actually, he only drank because ... well, he wanted to make Zed drunk and ... now his plan was halfway up. It only worked for one night, but nobody could take that kiss anymore. "Hmm ... I'll forget about it. Well, that's not so bad. But I'm not the only idiot. I think hardly anyone comes to breakfast today." "Yes, the thesis is really not far-fetched. My skull is humming too. Do you want to go eat something?"

"No. Well, yes, but I want to take a shower first. I feel very dirty. Are you feeling the same way?" Zed shot him a look because he really could not arrange. A mixture of horror and amazement. "Uh yeah ... I feel 'dirty' you joke." "Ah, come on. The kiss really could not have been so bad. " Kayn had already scratched a bit. "I never said that. Qualitatively, it was better than most I have had with women so far. You are really a natural talent, but you still remain my son and a man too. So please do not get me wrong. I play in the other team." That was clear. He plays the son card again. It puked him already. When would he finally lose this stamp? If he is 18 or 21 or maybe only if he is 50 years old? Kayn went out of his way to look and act like a grown-up. And yet he remained a child in Zed's eyes.

"Thanks ...", he returned with little motivation. "I am gonna take a shower now. See you later, Master." " Okay, my boy. " He needed a few minutes to rearrange the situation. Slightly wobbly on his feet, he approached a wall so he could float through the walls with the Shadow Step. At least that worked out smoothly. In his room, he threw himself without detours in his shower. The real reason for his flight was one floor down. A morning wood was normal, but that thing was bigger than anything else before. It would not have been that bad if they had not had that moment last night.

There was not much needed to release the pressure. A quick thought on Zed's soft lips was enough. But he was not really satisfied. It was not right for Zed to demand that he return his feelings. His master was right. A relationship between them would be fundamentally wrong. Maybe Kayn was not in love. It could just be a simple teen beating. Everything within the bounds of possibility. It would be best if he nipped those feelings in the bud before it gets too late.

In general, the shower did him good. With half-wet hair tied in the bun, he entered the dining room. On his place, Zed was already waiting for him. As expected, hardly anyone was present and those who were there looked anything but healthy. Kayn ignored most of the corpses and sat down next to Zed, who re-established his cabin in the right place. "And how was the shower?" "Ah soothing. My head does not cause any problems at all." "I'm glad. Nevertheless, you should now properly hit." Kayn nodded and took that as a permission to eat. Even the small amount at the table dined with them. Out of the 30 men, only 8 were present. Most of them were probably in a drunken coma But they did not let that bother them.

Zed Pov

It was strange to pretend that nothing had happened between them. Kayn looked like he did not care, but he saw in his eyes that he was bitterly disappointed. The kiss came from him. That had to mean something. He could not just say that it was just 'fun'. Kayn hid something from him. It was not good to suppress that, but it would be even worse if Kayn candidly and honestly confessed his feelings to him. Zed was not ready for that and he probably will never be. The only way was to take Kayn on another trip. Zed just could not become his 'first big love'.

"Hey Kayn, would you like to go on a mission with me? I heard you were waiting for me." "Yes, Master. With pleasure. I had such a promise in mind, that you would like to kill with me together when I'm old enough." Kayn could be really cute with his loyalty. Zed knew how keen he was to finally kill someone again. He was born for that, and yet he waited for his Master to return. "Well then let's get started today. Who is responsible for missions?" "Ask Nakuri best. Haru seems to be in the drunken comma." "Interesting. You chose the strategists for this job. Not bad my boy. So Nakuri, would you have an assignment for us?" Nakuri choked briefly when he was approached. "Uhm yes. There is one that I could not convey because it was too heavy. So basically we did without missions that could endanger the health of our men. That's why we did not have to take any losses last year." "Good job. But for Kayn and me, there is nothing too hard. So give us the mission." Even though he did not know Kayn's progress, he knew he was ready for anything. He would never disappoint his master.

After eating, Nakuri gave him the documentation for the mission. The goal was to kill a whole clan of assassins. They were a plague for Ionia. They slaughtered innocent peasants to ensure their survival. Plundered houses and robbed weak villagers. According to testimony, these guys should be better than ordinary robbers. They were silent and precise in what they did. Understandable that people were afraid, but for the Order of Shadow that should be easy. Two men are enough. And two of the best kind.

Kayn was in his room getting ready. They made an appointment in front of the temple in 10 minutes. There he met again a half-naked Kayn. What was wrong with the boy? "I thought you were going to get dressed and not undress." "What's wrong with my outfit? I have pants on." "How about more armor?" Kayn laughed and started moving. "I do not need armor. I'm so fast that nobody will catch me. Trust me. The less I have, the faster I travel. That's my strength, so do not put your shirt in it." The boy was just incorrigible, but be that as it may. As long as he fulfilled his task, he should be right.

At their hiding place, Kayn scouted out the number of their opponents. In total, there were 35 opponents. Ten were smeared and inside the building were 25. Everything within the possible. "Kayn, can you become a Shadow Assassin outside the temple?" "Yes. But only for 10 min. Then I would need the chest again." "That's enough. How long do you have to meditate?" "Maybe 5 min?" Zed nodded to him and gave him the time. It was a lot easier when he used the mold. Kayn sat cross-legged on the wet forest floor, holding his hand in front of his face with two outstretched fingers, concentrating on his breathing.

His appearance changed abruptly. His hair became a shadow and could not be held by a mere hair tie. His marks appeared all over his body. When he opened his eyes, they shone in light blue. "Go on, master. I do not have much time left." Kayn pulled out a blade and stormed at his opponents in the Shadow Step. Zed really stayed away from the spit when he saw how incredibly fast his boy was moving. Before Zed even arrived, there were already 7 bodies on the ground. "Leave me something, too," Zed mocked him. "Sry, master. For me, it's a race against time." Unfortunately, he was right. Zed took over the remaining three before storming into the building. Kayn used the walls and Zed threw out his shadows. Together they fought each other through.

Zed really did not need to worry about Kayn. Every time someone tried to attack him, he threw a knife at him and used the umbral trespass. By now he perfected this technique. His timing was always to the point, so he got no damage. He was very proud of him. Kayn was better than his imagination. He literally slipped through his opponents. He murdered with an unusual elegance. He just wanted to see him. But that would not be in the sense of a master. He stood by his side, although his help was superfluous. Kayn struggled on a similar level to Zed himself. Almost scary.

When Kayns time was up, there was only one opponent, because Zed liked to take over with Deathmark. "Tch. Master, I could have taken over in my normal form. Really." "Do I believe you Kayn, but maybe I also wanted to kill someone? Of 35, you have just left 11 to me. That is uncool. I thought we were partners and would share the loot." "Next time Master," Kayn said, banding his hair with a scrunchy. On the way out, he braided his hair relaxed. "You enjoy it, that they became a shadow." " My hair is just so soft and supple. The perfect conditioner." Zed laughed out loud. No one else was present except them. Then you could also joke.

"Hey, do you feel like celebrating the day with me in a bar to go and maybe a woman?" "Master your serious? I have no experience with women." That was no obstacle. He could kiss already. Unfortunately, Zed knew that first-hand. The rest comes on its own. "Of course you did not have a wife in bed yet. But you have to learn that too. That's part of being a man. I can help you to make it clear. Even though I believe that your face will be perfectly adequate to weaken every woman. Now do not pretend. I had not had sex for over a year. I really need it and you too." Kayn took a deep breath and gave in. "According to me."

Kayn Pov

Zed really came up with the stupidest things. How can he think, that Kayn now needed a wife? It was more than obvious that he was on Zed. But maybe that's exactly what he did. His master wanted to distract him and show him the opposite sex. So it might be. Then he played with and who knows. Eventually, he would get Zed out of his head.

In the nearest village, they sat down in a tavern and looked for prey. Before that Zed took off his mask and presented himself from his best side. It was not long in coming and two true beauties, dressed in kimono, approached the two assassins. One had incredibly beautiful, long, wavy, brown hair with wonderful cheekbones. The other woman had straight, red hair and a really great stem. If he could decide, he would take both.

"Hey, you two sweethearts. Let us take our seats." Zed nodded to the redhead. They sat at the bar counter, so the redhead took the stool next to Zed and the other sat down next to Kayn. "Well, what's your name?" The redhead asked again. "My name is Zuko and my friend here is Shieda. And you pretty?" Both women played on their strands and felt flattered by Zed. "I am Yuna and my friend is Kyoko," the redhead replied. "So Yuna and Kyoko, should we invite you for a drink?" The girls nodded and Zed brought the barkeeper.

Everybody got a jug of beer in front of his nose a short time later. Kayn had been fed up with this drink since yesterday, but heck. Kyoko looked very hot. Even for him, who only had a look for Zed. As good as possible, he just tried to keep her eye contact. "Tell Shieda, what's a trained guy like you doing by profession?" "Hehe, ask my boss," he replied, pointing his finger at Zed. "Ah Zuko, you are his boss? But look pretty young for a boss. ", Yuna stated. "I'm older than I look and my boyfriend is younger than his looks. Anyway, our job is secret and not relevant. But yes, we train our bodies for the ladies." Kayn was amazed at how easy it was for him to invent lies in no time. He did not know this page from Zed. He was extremely charming, but still he.

"Alright, I realize. You're just looking for a quick number." Kyoko replied. That was not good. If he does nothing, then ... "You're absolutely right. We're all about meaningless sex." Kayn wanted to slap him. How could Zed be so bold? So you could not handle a woman. Against Kayn's expectations, the women did not throw their drink on the two but rather threw themselves around their neck. Kyoko kissed Kayn's neck to his ear and whispered to him. "Let's have fun then. I do not live far from here." "Then please take care of him. He does not have much experience with women yet.", Zed answered from the side. "Hm ... I do not think so. Such a handsome man cannot be alone for long." She grabbed Kayn by the right hand and pulled him out of the bar. The young acolyte followed to her home.

Once there, she did not wait long until she pushed Kayn onto her bed and slowly undressed in front of him. The bride knew how to play with her charms. After stripping down to her underwear, she tried to remove Kayn's pants. Impossible if he still had his shoes on. When she wanted to remove this, a blood-smeared knife fell out. "Shieda? Why do you have that in your boot? Who are you? Please be honest." "I'm sorry, dear. I forgot that I am on duty. I'm really an assassin, but you do not have to be afraid of me. I do not kill arbitrarily. Only for money."

Kyoko seemed to struggle with herself. Kayn got up, put a hand around her chin and kissed her. It was a gentle, loving kiss. "Hey, sweetheart. I would never hurt you. I am a good boy. Trust me." "W-when did you kill?" "Earlier? It was such a weird clan of assassins who were up to no good in the area. Do not ask me how they were called. I have no idea. Please do not tell my friend that I told you. I am a bad liar. "

"Y-y-you killed those men?" Kayn nodded. After that, Kyoko clung to him. A few tears fell on his bare skin. "What is love?" "T-Thank you ... These men killed my dad a few months ago. I can not believe it. Are they all dead?" "Sure. I'm very thorough." "Good. You will be rewarded for that. Come. Lie down. But before you take off your pants. I do not understand your belt anyway." Kayn got rid of his clothes and lay down on the bed. The beautiful brunette sat on Kayn's cock and massaged him with her plump ass. Meanwhile, she moved her torso like a goddess. She was wonderful. But ... nothing happened to him. "All right, Shieda?" "Yeah ... I just need something."

Kyoko lay down on his chest and searched his lips. Even the kissing brought nothing. She was not Zed. But when his master came to mind again, it suddenly worked. He felt him slowly getting stiffer. "That's how you like me more. Ready for the condom?" "What's that?" Incredulous, she stared at Kayn. "Are you serious? Do you live in a temple of abstinence or something?" "Well ... I live in a temple, but we do not have women there. Therefore, I have no idea. I know how sex works in theory, but that's new to me." "All right, Shieda. A condom is a contraceptive. You put this over your cock, so you do not impregnate me. Understood?" Kayn took note, as did the contraceptive. But how to put it on was still a mystery to him. Kyoko became impatient and took the matter into his own hands. "Let me guess. It's your first time, is not it?" "Exactly." Kayn could not shake the feeling that he had a very experienced woman in front of him.

"Well, it fits perfectly. Should I start or do you want to be more dominant?" Kayn did not say that twice. He grabbed her by the waist and threw her on the mattress. Now he lay over her and did not flicker around much longer. He had no time to prepare her. His appearance had to be enough to make her horny. He needed the pictures of last night.No matter how awesome she was, how pretty tight she became, only the image of Zed helped him inside. But it felt good. Kayn focused only on himself and increased his pace. That Kyoko groaned her soul, he did not care. Then should she come twice. Kayn needed his time. He wanted to enjoy the sex to the fullest. It was 1000 times better than masturbation. When he stood just before the cliff, he gave everything again. Silently his lips formed the name 'Zed' before he finally came. A few seconds later he lay down next to his bedfellow. "Wow. Sure, that was your first time?" "Yeah ...?" "Hm ... interesting. You were like an animal. In addition, you have an incredible body control. How come?" The most obvious version would be to say that the reason was training. But even Kayn understood over time that much more belonged to it. "I meditate a lot." "So you really live in a temple. Very fascinating. I wish you good luck. I hope you never have to kill me. "Kayn smiled. "I doubt that strongly. I only take care of the really big fishes. Besides, I would not kill such a daintily woman like you." Kyoko turned to Kayn and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart. Incidentally, you can pull off the condom and throw it in the bin." "Good to know. And I thought I had to wear it forever." "Very funny."

Kayn got up and removed the annoying part. He freshened up in the bathroom before putting his clothes back on. "Are you going now?" Kyoko asked. "Sorry dear, but the duty calls." Kayn gave her a kiss on the forehead. He did not mourn her. She was his first, but he was sure that many more would follow her. But there was only room for one person in his heart. And that's Zed.

..........................................

I'm not sure if this is NSFW or not. If someone got more experience with the rules, pls write to me. This time I will not put it NSFW because it was way too soft. Thank you for reading and for the hearts <3

[spaceyraccoon]

1, 11, and 13 for the writer's ask game 🥰

1. What part of the writing process is the most enjoyable?

A tie between the brainstorming and planning parts - and publishing a new work/chapter. I love coming up with ideas and spinning them into bigger, more connected ideas - THE WRITING PART ITSELF IS PURE TORTURE, WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF, SOMEONE HELP ME - and the publishing a new piece part is so satisfying! 😊

11. Who is your favorite character(s) to write about and why?

Another tie! This time between Wheatley and the Narrator. They're both so much fun to write and I have the very distinct pleasure of getting to write both of them at the same time in one of my fics. I never get sick of writing those two idiots, especially when they are arguing.

Wheatley is so much fun to write because when writing his dialogue, it's like he takes control, takes us both off into the sunset, and suddenly his one-sentence reply is an entire paragraph of rambling that ultimately circles right back around to where he first started. I love this rambly robot so much!

The Narrator is actually kind of the same way! He goes off on tangents too, usually passive aggressive or straight-up aggressive ones aimed at mocking or insulting his target in the goofiest of ways. He perceives them as genius insults, but who am I to argue? I'm just writing for him.

13. Describe your writing style. If you were to participate in an anonymous fic writers guessing game (like The Masked Author), what writing habits do you have that would be a dead giveaway that it's you?

I use a lot of en dashes. I technically mean them to be em dashes, but I'm too lazy to make the en dashes into em dashes, so we get lots and lots of en dashes. And probably an over-abundance of commas! Also, when writing dialogue that gets interrupted or cut off, I tend to have it look like this:

"Cut off? I don't know what you-..."

The little "-..." is something I use a lot. Probably isn't proper, but whatevs.

[shadow-light19]

Redemption and Forgiveness Chapter 1: No Music!

Summary: A Coco AU based on the deleted scene idea that Miguel needed to return the guitar to lift the curse. Miguel wants to play music but his family hates it. When he discovers Ernesto De la Cruz is his great-great-grandfather, he decides to borrow his guitar to play in the Day of the Dead Talent Show in order to prove himself as a musician. However, he did not realize that stealing the guitar would lead to him being cursed. Now he must traverse the land of the dead, with the guitar, to ask for the owner’s forgiveness.

Notes: I did not like the idea that the Rivera’s in the Land of the Dead had to smash the guitar in order to break the curse. That doesn’t make much sense to me. In a story of redemption and forgiveness, breaking a part of someone that you’re going to be forgiving them for is wonky. In this story, it will be similar to the Coco story except Miguel will need to be forgiven for taking the guitar. I will also be treating the guitar as Hector’s since Ernesto stole the guitar and thus is not the actual owner of the guitar. The beginning and some parts, later on, will be the same as the movie but a lot more will change once Miguel is cursed. This story won’t be updated that often since it takes a while to go through and put accents on everything. I don’t speak Spanish well, so I have to double check what I write to make sure it’s correct. I also listened multiple times to the quotes in the movie and added commas when Miguel pauses for a bit in his story, so some of it’s grammatically incorrect. This will be in Miguel’s POV.

Disclaimer: I do not own Coco, but I do own a copy of the DVD which I used to make the story accurate.

Miguel sat on his knees. He was in the Plaza Santa Cecilia with his shoe shining kit shining a mariachi’s shoes. Miguel's family were shoemakers and so Miguel often offered to shine shoes in order to help out. In reality, he liked the freedom he got by being allowed to stay out by himself. This wasn't the first time that Miguel worked in Plaza Santa Cecilia. He would sneak out here whenever he got the chance in order to listen to music and learn about it from musicians who were willing to chat with him. Any tips he got he saved and spent at stores or stalls for his Ernesto de la Cruz collection. Miguel sighed. He was already stressing out from the weight of his family’s expectations of him.

My family is always the worst on Días de Los Muertos. I can't even go 5 minutes without being reminded of family this and family that. I just want to play music but all I hear about is how they expect me to be like the rest of them!

“Sometimes, I think I’m cursed. ‘Cause of something that happened before I was even born. See, a long time ago, there was this family. The papa, he was a musician. He and his family would sing, and dance, and count their blessings. But he also had a dream. To play for the world. And one day, he left with his guitar and never returned.

And the mamá? She didn’t have time to cry over that walk-boy musician. After banishing all music from her life, she found a way to provide for her daughter. She rolled up her sleeves, and she learned to make shoes!

She could’ve made candy, o-o-or fireworks, or sparkly underwear for wrestlers?! But, no. She chose shoes. Then she taught her daughter to make shoes. And later, she taught her son-in-law. Then her grandkids got roped in. As her family grew, so did the business! Music had torn her family apart, but shoes, held them all together! You see, that woman? Was my great-great-grandmother, Mamá Imelda. She died way before I was born. But my family still tells her story, every year on Días de Los Muertos. The Day of the Dead! And her little girl? She’s my great-grandmother, Mamá Coco!

She calls me Julio, but actually, my name is Miguel. Mamá Coco, has trouble remembering things. But it’s good to talk to her anyway, so I pretty much tell her everything.

My abuelita? She’s Mamá Coco’s daughter. Abuelita runs our house just like Mamá Imelda did. I think we’re the only family in Mexico who hates music! And my family’s fine with that. But me? I’m not like the rest of my family! I know I’m not supposed to love music… But it’s not my fault!

It’s Ernesto De La Cruz’s, the greatest musician of all time! He started out a total nobody from Santa Cecilia, like me! But when he played music, he made people fall in love with him. He starred in movies, he had the coolest guitar, he could fly! And he wrote the best songs! But my all-time favorite, it’s Remember Me.

He lived the kind of life you’d dream about! Until 1942, when he was crushed by a giant bell. I wanna be just like him. Sometimes, I look at De La Cruz and get this feeling, like we’re connected somehow! Like if he could play music, maybe someday, ah-ah-I could too! If it wasn’t for my family.”

Miguel’s shoulders slumped and he stared at the man’s shoes in sadness.

I don't know how much longer I can take this.

“Aye-aye-aye muchacho! I asked for a shoe shine! Not your life’s story.” The mariachi said exasperatedly.

“O-o-oh yeah. Sorry!” Miguel quickly grabs two brushes and starts brushing his left shoe. The man begins to play his guitar.

“It’s just that I can’t really talk about any of this at home, so…”

The man looked down at him.

“Look.” Miguel obeyed.

“If I were you? I’d march right up to my family and say, ‘Hey! I’m a musician! Deal with it!’” The man made motions with his hands while he talked.

Miguel chuckles, “I could never say that.” He went back to brushing.

If you knew how scary my Abuelita can be, you’d understand why I never say anything.

The man looked at him again.

“You are a musician, no?”

Miguel frowned, “I don’t know, I mean… I only really play for myself.”

He had taught himself how to play guitar by watching videos of de la Cruz and listening to records. It took him forever to make a guitar too! But now he could at least practice playing.

“Ahhh. Did de la Cruz, become the best musician by hiding his sweet, sweet skills? No! He walked out onto that plaza, and he played out loud! Oh, mira, mira. They’re setting up for tonight! The music competition for Día de Muertos. You wanna be like your hero? You should sign up!?”

Miguel looks at the poster that was being hung up on the plaza stage, then goes back to shining the man’s shoes. He’d seen the poster before. They did it every year, after all, but he had never been able to attend and he had never thought about playing in it.

“Uh-uh. My family would freak!”

Abuelito would sic la chancla on me for sure. My parents would yell and the rest of the family would probably hate me.

“Look, if you’re too scared, then well, have fun making shoes.”

Miguel cringed.

“Come on, what did De La Cruz always say?”

“S-seize your moment?”

The man looks at his guitar, then back to Miguel.

“Show me what you got, muchacho.” He hands it over.

Miguel stares at it, dumbfounded.

No way! Does he really want to hear me play? 

“I’ll be your first audience.” He encouraged.

 Miguel took it from him and held it with reverence. This was his dream. A real audience to play for. He looked at the man again, as though making sure it was alright. The man smiled and nodded. Miguel smiled in disbelief, but just as he was about to strum the guitar,

“MIGUEL!”

Miguel gasped in horror, shoved the guitar into the man’s hands, and turned around. His abuelita was storming towards him, with his cousin Rosá and Tío Berto following close behind. Rosá and Tío Berto were carrying cempasúchil (pronounced sem-pah-sue-chill) flowers and baskets.

“Abuelita!” Miguel gave her a sheepish wave at being caught.

Oh no... What are they doing here? Abuelita never come by the plaza! I'm so dead!

“What are you doing here?!” Abuelita cried out.

“Umm, uh-uh-ahhh.” Miguel hurriedly packs up his shoe shining gear.

Abuelita notices the mariachi and glares at him, taking her sandal off as she continues walking forward.

“You leave my grandson alone!” She smacks him with the shoe, knocking his sombrero over his face in the process.

Oh no. Please don't make a scene!

The man fixed his sombrero.

“Doña, please! I was just getting a shine!”

Abuelita jabs the shoe in his face. Miguel was horrified.

“I know your tricks, mariachi! What did he say to you?” Her face softened as she looked at Miguel.

Miguel panicked.

“He was just showing me his guitar!”

Shoot! I shouldn't have said that.

His family gasped in shock.

“Shame on you!” Tío Berto glared at him from a couple feet away.

Abuelita advanced on the man, chancla still in his face. The man backed up on the bench he was sitting on. He was standing now and had his hands up in surrender. Miguel couldn’t do anything to stop her tirade against the musician and was just regretting coming to the plaza in the first place.

“My grandson is a sweet little angelito, perrito, cielito.” She looks back tenderly at Miguel, who is nervously smiling at her.

It turned into shock when abuelita shoved la chancla further at the man and he fell off the bench.

“He wants no part of your music, mariachi. You keep away from him!”

Now you know why I never said anything.

The man scrambles to back up, grabbing his guitar and sombrero with a yelp and runs off.  Abuelita puts her sandal back on.

“Aye, pobrecito! Oh, estás bien mijo.” She smothers Miguel in a hug.

After kissing his head a couple times, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him back enough to see his face. Miguel is gasping from lack of oxygen.

“You know better than to be here in this place!”

Her face pinches in sternness, “You will come home, now!”

Miguel watches her walk off in despair. Tío Berto gives him a stern glare before following abuelita and Rosá turns on one leg, sends a mocking smirk, and turns again to follow as well.

Stupid Rosá. Of course, she doesn't get caught being rude.

Miguel sighed. He slung the shoe shining kit’s strap over his head but as he is leaving, he notices some flyers for the talent show. He had never given it much thought before but that mariachi's suggestion replays in his mind.

Maybe I can sneak out to play. Or maybe I can convince Mamá or Papá to let me go watch?

When he sees no one from his family is looking, he grabs one and stuffs it in the kit. He takes off after them.

“How many times have we told you, the plaza is crawling with Mariachis!”

“Yes, Tío Berto.” Miguel monotonously replied.

Maybe if you just let me be happy you wouldn't find me to be such a bother.

As they are walking, they passed by an old blue truck filled with cempasúchiles. Dante, a stray dog that Miguel looks after, sees the family pass by.

“Arf!” He smiles and chases after Miguel. Dánte starts to run around Miguel. Miguel tries to shoo Dante away.

Can today get any worse?

“No, no, no, no!” He tells him quietly.

“Hah! Go away! You, go!” Abuelita takes her sandal off again and starts swinging it at Dánte.

Dánte managed to dodge every swing, before running off into the nearest ally way.

“It’s just Dante!” Miguel tried to assure her.

It doesn’t stop Abuelita from throwing her shoe after Dánte.                                                                                        

“Yelp!” The shoe hit its mark.

Miguel winced at the sound.

I hope he's okay.

“Never name a street dog! They’ll follow you forever. Now, go get my shoe.”

Miguel huffed and walked into the alley. Now that Abuelita was gone Dante came scurrying out from the street back into the alley.

“Woof!” Dante jumped and knocked Miguel over.

Miguel smiled and laughed as Dante stood on his stomach licking his face.

“I’m glad you’re okay Dante. Have you seen Abuelita’s sandal?”

Dante barked and retrieved the sandal from around the corner. He brought the slobbered shoe to Miguel and sat.

“Good boy, Dante! I owe you a treat later kay? See ya, Dante!” Miguel grabbed the shoe and ran back to his family.

[opticor]

speaking of bad translations, since this is apparently what i want to post about instead of being a decent human being! earlier this year i happened upon this brilliant example of mistranslation that someone else posted on the local language internet. i would like to present to you the following quote from Lois McMaster Bujold’s novel The Vor Game:

Not to mention the Cetagandans. Miles considered the historical three-legged-race between weapons development and tactics.

and now the Bulgarian translation, courtesy of Bard's 1993 release of Игрите на Вор:

Да не говорим за сетагандците. Майлс разгледа проблемите, свързани с историческата трикрака раса на Сетаганда между развитието на въоръжението и тактическите въпроси.

darling friends and followers, what happens next will blow your mind. probably. observe

Not to mention the Cetagandans. Miles considered the problems related to the historical three-legged race of Cetaganda between weapons development and tactical issues.

it may not be immediately obvious, but the “race” in the above quote is no longer “a competition between runners, horses, vehicles, etc. to see which is the fastest in covering a set course” but rather an extinct alien species that, evidently, had three legs and, uhhh, they were caught between weapons development and tactical issues as if between the proverbial rock and hard place? that is the only mental image this string of words evokes for me. the human brain has a great capability for glossing over bullshit and, as i’ve said before, whenever something in a book didn’t make sense i’ve always just assumed it’s a metaphor i don’t understand. but it really doesn’t make much sense.

but this passage still has some fun to offer us! so, i found this on the internet, right? actually it has been posted in multiple places by the same person (honestly i applaud his dedication and outrage). and once, he even got a response! that response reads:

"You missed a comma there and because of that I couldn't understand what the English text means either, for the longest time.”

first i want to say i am not mocking this person who responded! i am actually in awe. what’s happening here is beautiful and it’s, again, the human brain at work, trying to fill in the blanks. my interpretation of the above is that the reader understood the quote as a “three leg race between weapons, development, and tactics” which admittedly makes more sense than what the unfortunate translator got back in 1993. i think "leg” is rather obscure as far as sports lingo goes, and “development” on its own still lacks clarity, but i guess when you feel you really understand something, that’s about all you need; and besides, the next few paragraphs of beautiful world-building detail various types of spaceship weapons and their respective countermeasures -- technological rather than tactical. on the other hand, this is no longer 1993. the internet is a wonderful thing. we can highlight the offensive phrase & google it and find out what a three-legged-race is:)

[darkroomdarkroom-deactivated]

Gorgeous lyrics

Gorgeous a baby’s voice - innocence, blissful ignorance perhaps, sweet and cute feel

You should take it as a compliment Seems aggressive; only way she can express the feeling

That I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk Contrasts baby’s voice - drinking ref., British accent - WANEGBT ref.?

You should think about the consequence Repetition (’you should’) - she really wants him to know this, but still isn’t going to tell him, ‘compliment’ vs. ‘consequence’ = alliteration links words - what would be the consequence of her actually complimenting him?

Of your magnetic field being a little too strong She doesn’t want to be attracted to him, placing blame on him (playful)

And I got a boyfriend, he's older than us ‘us’ - makes them a team/couple already, more so than her and her boyfriend, there;s almost a sense that she’s bored with him, she wants someone the same age as her, fun and exciting

He's in the club doing, I don't know what Frustation and boredom; he’s more interested in his work than he is in her, she doesnt care any more (reminiscent of ‘indie record much cooler than mine’)

You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much (I hate you so much) Perhaps because her older boyfriends is so boring and uninterested in her; repetition makes it even funnier, because she quite clearly likes him

Whisky on ice, Sunset and Vine Assonance with ‘i’ sounds in ‘ice’ and ‘vine’ makes it almost rhyme, more drinking refs., reminiscent of island refs. in ‘...Ready for it?’, sunset and vine streets cross over in hollywood (reminiscent of ‘The Lucky One’)

You've ruined my life, by not being mine This has a whiny, childish tone to it, akin to the baby at the beginning, the comma is nice because it give the listener a moment to wonder what she’s going to say (also the assonance remains with ‘i’ sounds in ‘life’ and ‘mine’ - makes each of the four phrases feel like progressions in a story she’s dreaming up for him

You're so gorgeous So blunt (akin to directness of ‘I don’t like you’ in LWYMMD), and gorgeous is a really lovely word to use - she just loves him already

I can't say anything to your face All of this is an internal monologue throughout the evening? Despite the bluntness of the previous line, she can’t speak directly to him

'Cause look at your face Repetition; she really thinks he looks lovely, can’t get over it - she’s speechless, reminiscent of blank space (’oh my God look at that face’) - this song is about initial impressions

And I'm so furious / At you for making me feel this way Reminiscent of anger/aggression in first few lines (’you should’) - she hates how much she likes him

But, what can I say? Again, speechlessness - rhetorical question, nice emphasis

You're gorgeous Comes back to original thought; she really is speechless

You should take it as a compliment Back to frustrated feeling with; ‘you should’ and repetition of first line

That I'm talking to everyone here but you (but you, but you) She’s basically highlighting the paradox of how all she wants is to talk to him, but she’s doing the exact opposite - motif of speechlessness, and the repeated ‘but you’ emphasises how painful talking to everyone else is

And you should think about the consequence

Of you touching my hand in the darkened room (dark room, dark room) The continuation of the previous line on to the next is nice, and the fact that he wants little more than to hold his hand is representative of how her love for this guy is so innocent/pure, the repetition of ‘dark room’ is interesting because the original is ‘darkened’ not ‘dark, so it’s like she’s losing her focus imagining being in a dark room with this guy

If you got a girlfriend, I'm jealous of her Taylor’s being so blunt in this song, and she’s not damning the girl or thinking about cheating on her boyfriend with him, she just wants him in this moment - honesty is key in this song

But if you're single that's honestly worse It’s like she’s thinking through possibilities (internal monologue idea) and it’s funny that she uses the word ‘honestly’

'Cause you're so gorgeous it actually hurts Similar to ‘You’ve ruined my life ...’ - childish tone again, she’s in pain from how much she likes him

(Honey, it hurts) She often uses ‘honey’ to be patronising or playful (’Honey I rose up from the dead’), and the alliterative ‘h’ sounds emphasises

Ocean blue eyes looking in mine She is known for referencing eye colours (’four blue eyes’, ‘corey’s eyes are like a jungle’), and it’s ironic that she could be referencing her own

I feel like I might sink and drown and die Clean lyrics and OOTW music video ref, rule of three ‘sink and drown and die’ with alliterative ‘d’ sounds emphasises ridiculousness (’ruined my life’ ‘so gorgeous it actually hurts’) and childishness, also she must be looking over at him a lot for someone who isn’t talking to him if she’s looking into his eyes (he must be looking at her too)

(Chorus)

You make me so happy it turns back to sad Again, the circular hating how much she loves him thing

There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have Childish, almost whiny - it’s comical and she’s being blunt and honest, but maybe also putting her feelings through a filter as a mockery of the media reputation of her love life ( the blank space taylor seems almost childish in her desperate need for a new toy every month)

You are so gorgeous it makes me so mad ‘I’m so furious’ - can’t deal with her own overwhelming love for this guy

You make me so happy it turns back to sad

There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have Repeating the childish tone

Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats Meredith and Olivia; cat lady image contrasting drunken stumbling home image - pathetic tone - she’s mocking herself

Alone, unless you wanna come along (oh) It is comical that she talks about going home alone to her cats, and follows it up with a suggestive invitation as though the cat thing was sexy in some way, the isolation of ‘alone’ is poignant in the context of the rest of the album, and the triangle ding sets off the playful tone of the line really well, along with the sensual ‘oh’ as if he’s said yes (although it’s unlikely given she’s moaned about how she can’t bear to talk to him for the whole song) I really like this song, and the motif of speechlessness is funny when paired with the childish tone. If the 15 Taylors lined up in the LWYMMD video represent the 15 tracks, then this is the melodramatic pink 2014 Met Gala Taylor, which fits perfectly.

[sumukhcomedy]

Gentrification and Self-Awareness in Highland Park

I moved to Los Angeles in 2016. My primary reason was for comedy. I enjoyed being a comedian and my career was best suited to progress by being in Los Angeles. But I also wanted to leave Ohio and to experience something different than the 3 decades that I spent there.

I ended up moving to Highland Park. The reasons I moved there were not elaborate or based off any real research. I found a studio apartment I liked and that I could afford. The neighborhood seemed fine enough and it was located in Northeast Los Angeles which was close to where my cousin lived and where a lot of the comedy shows I enjoyed were located.

I grew up in a suburb of Cleveland and I have always been attracted to experiencing all different kinds of places and people. That’s the draw to city living. I like to experience a city for what it is: its people, its history, and its culture. The suburbs never truly had that and much of that is based on how the history of suburbs were developed. So, in living in both Columbus and in Los Angeles, and in any visits I would make to other cities for comedy, I tried my best to be a part of the city in my experience there in the way that the city was.

By March 2017, I had the opportunity to run a comedy show at Book Show, a bookstore located on the corner of Ave 55 and Figueroa in Highland Park. As anyone who knows me at all is aware, Book Show is closing at the end of the year. Book Show predates my arrival even into Highland Park. But, over the course of both Book Show and my residence in Highland Park, the presence of real estate interests and commercialization of both Figueroa and York has expanded quickly and dramatically.

As I mentioned before, in moving to Highland Park, I actually would want to experience the neighborhood in its most conventional sense and I have in a number of ways. I regularly go to the Arroyo Seco Library and while returning the book, Evicted, the library aide behind the counter and I started discussing gentrification. He described his own experiences growing up in Highland Park and suggested I read Peter Moskowitz’s How To Kill a City. Not only did I appreciate the book suggestion but I also appreciated this friendship and we converse regularly now when I go to the library on a wide array of topics. Not only is it what makes being in a city great but also what makes going to the library great.

Either way, Moskowitz’s book was eye-opening for someone like myself. I had always had self-awareness of my place in any of the locations where I lived. But, now being in Highland Park, it stood out to me the total lack of awareness of those around me. This was colonization. Worse, much like Moskowitz conveyed, I was part of that colonization by moving here 4 years ago.

So, how to approach that? Well, first, I acknowledge my place as unfortunately being a part of gentrification. My reasons for moving to Highland Park were because it was affordable for L.A. (it is now not so affordable but, luckily, I have a good enough relationship with my landlady where she does not raise my rent). I am by no means a long-time resident nor purport myself to be nor try to embrace Highland Park as my own. However, I also don’t disregard Highland Park while living there. I interact with the people, businesses, and establishments that have been there long before I have and, in many cases, prefer them.

Gentrification was already present when I arrived to Highland Park. Through the 4 years I’ve lived there, it’s progressed even more. So many new establishments have popped up from “Hippo,” which I mock for its unnecessary use of a comma in its name to Triple Beam Pizza where you hold up your hands to show how much pizza you want to Home State. They arrived to the neighborhood, make no outreach to the neighborhood other than to their own primarily white demographic, and have long lines pouring out of their venues of that very primarily white demographic. After reading Moskowitz’s book, walking on Figueroa stood out to me much differently. Every time I walk by Home State it feels like the definition of what Moskowitz wrote about. Here are a ton of people eating brunch on a patio and interacting with only each other and with a total disregard for the neighborhood and environment that they are in. It is no different than the suburbs. The kids of the suburbs have brought their money and their interests to the city and commercial real estate developers have had no problem feeding those kids. Worse, it feels like some sort of cartoon with businesses with catchy names or ironic approaches to your dining experience.

It would be one thing for everyone to simply lack self-awareness. It’s another thing to watch the gall and arrogance of those in real estate. The level to which some in real estate choose to market and brand neighborhoods can come off in such an insulting and disrespectful way to the community.

                           An apparent recent incident at Donut Friend on York

I feel I can speak to that if only because the marketing usually involves what they see as comedy. A most recent post from a Los Angeles real estate agent about Highland Park used some sort of comedy sketch about Highland Park. Even if this was meant to be satire, it’s not very good satire and why the real estate agent chose to post it is beyond me. The same goes for this dumb real estate agent group from Denver which the Internet rightfully tore into. Real estate agents pass off their marketing as “fun” without any decency or respect for the very land, property, and people that they are dealing with and profiting off of.

Additionally, purely as a comedian, white people poking fun at other white people for gentrification or “liberal bubbles” is simply done. There’s nothing funny to be had from it anymore and, as a comedian, I feel like we actually need more white people in these neighborhoods taking action to better this issue rather than to make fun of it, gain success from making fun of it, and then move on to the next thing to make fun of.

But this is how gentrification works and it’s working sadly too well in Highland Park. Real estate developers and city government salivate at the money made. Outside real estate agents (usually white) disregard the nature of the neighborhood and its history. New residents arrive and choose to live in the manner that they want and with no care for the long-time residents. The real estate developers then fuel the interests of the new residents to carve the neighborhood into theirs rather than respect the long-time residents. Rather than create a balanced, diverse environment, the neighborhood becomes imbalanced and no better than colonization. I’ve attended neighborhood council meetings and they feel just as meaningless as you’d expect.

Look, I’ve lived for 4 years in Highland Park so who the fuck am I to say anything? I’m self-aware of that which is why I mostly kept quiet on the topic. But the fact that I am saying something now is necessary because no one else in my position is. I have self-awareness of my place in this neighborhood. I am a comedian and an entertainer and I don’t think that its use with gentrification by real estate agents or even others in comedy is helpful at all. I care a great deal about community in all aspects particularly community in the places that I live. I still aspire to be better than even where I am at right now on those topics. And, yet, I additionally watch as a majority of my generation and younger in this neighborhood who have moved here don’t care at all about it. They are choosing to carve Highland Park into their image rather than embrace and amalgamate to the image it had created for itself over its long history.

Every time over the years that I would bring up that I run a show and live in Highland Park, so many people would tell me how “awesome” or “cool” the neighborhood was and how they wanted to move there. And, now I’m at a point where I hate to hear that because I know that the reasons they want to move to the neighborhood are for all the wrong ones. They want to be closer to this brewery or this chic bowling alley or this vegan brunch spot.

I love Highland Park because I talked to my elderly neighbor who has lived in this neighborhood for decades regularly and I can work on my conversational Spanish with her. I hugged her when, after I returned from the road for comedy, I found out her husband passed away. I go to the library regularly. I’ll go play pick-up basketball at the rec center. I say hello to the people at numerous tables set up selling stuff or the various street vendors on Figueroa. I’ll go to a restaurant where the menu is all in Spanish. It’s the experience I would want and the experience that makes living in a city unique. Having a place like Donut Friend is fine but why the hell would you want 800 Donut Friend-type places?

In creating Laughterhouse 5 at Book Show, what made it so enjoyable for me was that it fit so many of the visions that I had for it. I know Jen, the owner of Book Show, felt the same way. I wanted to create a show that was a great stand-up comedy show but that also reached out to everyone in the neighborhood and the community. Occasionally we had long-time residents in the audience. Many times we had newer residents open to a new experience attend. But even though this was a comedy show run by an Indian-American guy in a feminist/lesbian/circus experience of a book store, we still cared a great deal about the neighborhood, its people, and its issues. What limited money we generated from the show went back into the store and into the programs the store ran to give back to the community and its youth. I’m disappointed I won’t be a part of that anymore but it also allows me to now write this because I’m frustrated at others of my age group or of my similar experience in L.A. who don’t attempt to interact in this way either.

It’s necessary to support your local Mom and Pop businesses, respect your neighborhoods and their history, people, and culture, and the organizations or grassroots groups that try to address these issues. Otherwise, you are also just as much a part of the displacement of others as those at the top.

[shinygoku]

CutCat’s Favourite Disney Animated Canon

I’m pretty sure everyone and their grandma has already written something along the lines of “Disney was a big part of my childhood” before divulging into some bigass essay. This won’t be much different lmao

But still, I’m not making an objective list, it’s coloured by my own experiences watching the films. Some old Classics won’t even make the Top Ten because I personally didn’t get particularly into them. My favourite may or may not be the best across the board.

Also yeah, I’m not touching on all Fiftysomething films, I’m actually just gonna start with the Top Ten and whittle them down to the last one standing. I haven’t seen all of them so ones I may really dig, like Moana, hafta wait until I can judge for myself. I’ll try to cover all the things I’ve listed, even if it’s as they’ve been eliminated.

This may even be fun for other people to do, maybe!

We’ll return to our scheduled programming after the Cut! 😺✂

Ok I lied, I’ll list the Top 10 and then mention things that didn’t get quite that far, but it won’t take long.

TOP 10

(In order of release, not preference)

Pinocchio

Alice in Wonderland

The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh

The Little Mermaid

Beauty and the Beast

Aladdin

The Lion King

Mulan

Frozen

Zootopia

Honourable Mentions: Spider-Man: Homecoming (isn’t Disney Animated Canon even though it’s Marvel and therefore Disney lol), Epic Mickey as the story and gameplay and atmosphere is really great, but it’s a game instead of an animated film, and Sleeping Beauty. SB misses out because while the Animation is gorgeous and the Fairies and Maleficent are fantastic characters, the human leads drag it down.

Anyway, time to half that list! Same ordering rules as before:

TOP 5

Pinocchio

Alice in Wonderland

The Little Mermaid

Beauty and the Beast

Aladdin

Yeah, that’s right! The Lion King is already out! I know, I’m a fraud!!

Ok so like, I’m very much a cat person and I do love the film. Top 10 is still respectable! But hoo boy, I love the first act and the Celestial Mufasa scenes, but the middle and in some ways the climax kinda let it down for me. And I’m not fond of Timon and Pumbaa. Timon most of all. tsk tsk

But anyway, before I crossed off TLK, the CGI films were shed and I’m never going to fully get over the death of traditional animation. Frozen and Zootopia are both hella rad but their success also feel like even more nails in Hand-drawn animation’s coffin. Imagine what those films would be like, drawn...! Woaaah

WtP and Mulan are also not to be sneezed at, accomplishing very different narrative but doing both so well. I just feel that Pooh’s 3-shorts format kinda disqualifies it from being my favourite Disney Story and while Mulan is so great, it just lacks something that keeps the others firmly placed. I dunno, it’s more of a gut feeling than a well reasoned argument, lol

Time for 2 more eliminations! Now we’re left with:

TOP 3

Pinocchio

Beauty and the Beast

Aladdin

Alice in Wonderland may not be the most faithful adaptation, but I don’t care. I’ve read both the original books and the main thing Disney does is to discard Through the Looking Glass while taking a couple of small parts of that and putting it into Wonderland. It’s very pretty, very funny and Alice is a likable protagonist, even as Wonderland’s wackiness tries to wear her down.

The Little Mermaid was always something I liked, but never quite as much as, say, Beauty and the Beast. Even with the gorgeous Underwater Aesthetics, which I’m very fond of, didn’t quite make it. Though actually I like it more now than I did before, knowing Eric is voiced by Christopher Daniel Barnes, who did the 90s Spider-Man!! :D

Ok, things are heating the heck up in the list, only two seperate cuts left to make~

The surviving films, for now, are:

TOP 2

Pinocchio

Beauty and the Beast

Yep! Bye-bye, Aladdin, Bye-Bye~

Ok this actually annoys me a bit though lmao

Aladdin would have a really damn good shot as my favourite. It’s colourful, it’s hilarious, it’s compelling! It! It... kinda traumatised me a bit as a young girl and I still feel distinctly uncomfortable about the scene in question even today. It poisons the whole damn film for me as I hafta deal with dread as I watch it. That sucks!!

Objectively, it’s amazing, but as I said, this is my Personal List, so it loses heavy points based on that.

Ok, now the hardest part. Picking between the last two.

I didn’t start this list because I already had a choice picked, I did it because I was curious which I do dig the most.

...

For a long time, if I was asked I’d usually go ‘Uhhhhh Beauty and the Beast, I think!’.

But while B and the B is brilliant and breathtaking and ...uhhh.... bombastic, part of it winning was by default (The two sweetest words in the English Language!)

Y’see, I feel, as a whole, for some curious reason, we forget about Pinocchio.

Ok that’s enough commas for now. But it’s weird! Pinocchio was hot on the heels of Snow White, the big show starter! It’s better than Snow White!! It’s actually rated the highest of all the D.A.C. on Rotten Tomatoes! Critics and normal audience alike love it!

So how come no one talks about it? I can see why it got overlooked in 1940, what with a large and notable war happening, but I literally never come across any Meta or Discussion about it or the themes or the look--

I’m gonna properly talk about it in a sec though, hahaa

So! Beauty and The Beast! An old favourite and nearly top dog in my esteem. It has it all, catchy songs, interesting characters, stunning designs, a whole load of Youtubepoops using footage from it. But it does not have Stockholm Syndrome, you foolish buffoons. Belle only starts to develop feeling for Beast after he becomes less Beastly. THAT’S THE POINT OF THE STORY. BEAST HAS! TO! CHANGE!!

And overall it does a damn good job at this~

Ok, so we already know the winner but it deserves a bit of fanfare for actually doing so well!

NUMBER 1!

TOP DISNEY ANIMATED CANON FILM

(ACCORDING TO CUTCAT) :

PINOCCHIO

I love Pinocchio so, so much!

And not just the film as a whole, the character too! Which is a very important factor here. I’m not saying the rejected films didn’t have strong characters, not at all! But this ties in with the Forgotten sort of vibe I get from the lack of buzz with this film.

Quick! Think of a scene from Pinocchio! Just one, if you can manage it.

Now, I may be way off with my presumption here, but was it the thing about his nose growing when he lies? Or was it maybe his desire to become a Real Boy™?

If you thought of any other moment, my kudos to you. It’s just, I feel that pop culture as a whole likes to harp on those points, which are either one short [but yeah, memorable] scene and the ultimate goal. And not to point fingers, but heck, why not. I blame Shrek a good deal for this, as those are the only memorable traits from their version of him. This may sound unfair, Dreamworks are doing a different take on the same character that Disney didn’t create but instead adapted from a book, but that’s mostly reflected in the vastly different designs (as in Shrek!Pinocchio looks closer to the original book version), but on the other hand Shrek started off by riffing on what Disney did and then kind of mutated into what they were mocking after the second film. Oops.

While mentioning the book, I do not give a rat’s ass that Disney’s version deviates as much as it does, they improved every point adapted. I also really can’t imagine the film doing nearly so well if it had the creepyass vibe for the main character. Marionettes are freaky, dude.

Anyway, that’s another of Pinocchio’s strengths! He looks and sincerely is Adorable! I’m gonna paste in a quote by Milt Kahl about this:

I was quite critical of ... I have a knack for alienating people by being a little bit outspoken, and they were rather obsessed with the idea of this boy being a wooden puppet. My God, they even had this midget who did the voice for "call for Phillip Morris" as the voice for a while, and it was terrible. I was rather outspoken about it. Why didn't they forget that he was a puppet and get a cute little boy, you can always draw the wooden joints and make him a wooden puppet afterwards. And Ham Luske said, "Well, why don't you do something about it, do a scene," and I did one. What I don't remember is whether they had a new voice by then or not. Probably they did have; I don't know. I did a scene of Pinocchio underwater with the jackass ears, knocking on a shell of an oyster, saying, "Pardon me, can you tell me where I can find Monstro the whale?" The shell closed up and caused a swell in the current, which affected Pinocchio. I made kind of a cute little boy out of him, and Walt loved it; this was actually my big chance. It was my move into being one of the top animators.

Pretty cool, huh? Before this, Walt has stopped production as he didn’t like what was being made. They were putting an awful lot into making the lead so loveable! I’m paraphrasing better accounts of this, but if you’re interested I do suggest looking into such!

But maybe I oughta get back on track, lord knows this rambling mess is long enough already ;v;;; I just get interested by some of the behind the scenes workings, y’know~

-

Like I touched on earlier, I think a problem is that people forget there’s more to Pinoke than his extendo nose and urge to Become Real. He’s very sweet and well meaning, but with the snag of being too trusting and gullible. He’s easy to misread as being Too Dumb To Live, but he’s very curious and does visibly learn and develop as the story goes on.

The other lead, Jiminy Cricket, is really great! He adds charm in the darkest moments and helps prevent the sweet scenes from being too sugary. He’s a great mediator and pretty good Conscience, too, he just happens to be in the wrong place a couple of times, which is the nature of the story’s structure lol

The supporting characters are really good, too! You really feel for Gepetto and damn that dude puts a lotta work into his wares! Figaro and Cleo are really cute and play off each other well.

Special shout out to Figaro for managing to get into shorts as Minnie Mouse’s pet lmao. I’m pretty sure that kitten has influenced the way I draw cats too, pff

And the villains? Holy shit, this film is teeming with bad guys, and the cut we see has none of them getting punishment onscreen.... yikes

Ok, so not to sound like Youtube Clickbait vids made by a talentless hack, but BOY! This film is dark! hahahaa

So like, my favourite Bad Guys from here, Honest John and Gideon are the tamest and most funny, but they sell Pinocchio into slavery twice. Hhhaaaaa...

The way Stromboli alternates from humorous and jovial to screaming and stomping about abruptly is frightening. Dude slams Pinoccino in a bird cage and says how he’s gonna work our boy Pinoke pretty much until our puppet pal perishes

The Coachman....... there’s a theory going around that he’s like an evil counterpart of The Blue Fairy, how he punishes bad boys by having them turn into Donkies he can then sell to mines and circuses. They never come back... AS BOYS!! [shuddering]

And Monstro is the most force-of-nature-y type of Bad Dude in the assortment but still lives up to his name! Sure, I’d be mad if someone lit a fire inside me, but are whales really known for being vengeful to the point of body slamming a cliff? Even before that, do they try to eat literally anything they see?

But yeah, it’s not just how many bad guys there are, nor how karma doesn’t strike them in a satisfying way. The stuff they’re doing and the atmosphere, it’s all legit scary

But wait! You cry!

Jeeze CutCat, why are you talking about how scary Pinocchio is when you docked points off Aladdin for frightening you?

Because, Devil’s Advocate question, the latter film is an abrupt mood whiplash moment that took me by surprise as a young, impressionable thing. I dunno how young I was when watching either film, but not only is Pinocchio consistent with plunging into the depths, but the real horror is easy enough to miss if you’re a young child. It didn’t occur to me that the boys turned into Donkies were gonna be worked to death in back breaking labour!

Anyway, Pinocchio earns the right to be spooky and has enough charm and humour in the right moments.

But ok, yeah, the Donkies. The scene where Lampwick slowly, agonisingly transforms is a damn work of creepy art. We already know the terrible secret of Pleasure Island before it starts, but actually seeing the gradual build up, the way Pinocchio can only watch in horror and then sprout ears himself and Lampwick’s screams turning into braying... it’s sure something.

The Monstro chase scene at the end is also so damn intense I subconsciously hold my breath while watching it. It’s relentless, our heroes are up against a furious gigantic whale and the merciless sea and the fucking end of that always feels like a kick in the guts. The lingering shot and musical sting hits hard.

-

But still! The movie ain’t all Nightmare Inducing!

I’ve already said I love the characters, and helping that is the impeccable voice work for everyone. The voices and little character tics make them feel so real for such a fantastical setting. I dig how the Blue Fairy is rotoscoped and realistic, which sticks her out from the rest of the cast and enhances the Other Worldliness that fairies deserve.

The animation.... boy, the animation really is something else! It was the late 30′s but they were already creating new and highly expensive techniques to make this beautiful and not only does it work, but I struggle to think of anything that can top it. Multi-plane camera establishing shots than barely last for seconds, the underwater effects with the sways and distortion, each splash and movement done by hand. Honestly this may be the most perfectly drawn movie, I’m not exaggerating. They already came so far since Snow White, it’s almost unbelievable!

Lastly, I’ll mention the music. Fucking Fantastic, is what it is! Is it any surprise that they used the tune for the Disney Vanity Plates, to this day? There’s a few songs with different memorability levels, I know Ultron is fond of the ironic I’ve Got No Strings number. I, for one, love the atmospheric use of Little Wooden Head as a recurring motif.

I really didn’t plan on my Pinocchio talk on being this long, so if you read through it all you have my gratitude. Are you surprised that it’s my favourite? I’m enchanted by it, I certainly have a weakness for sweet hearted protagonists but the film has so many good angles!

I still think it’s dang unfair that the film seems to get overlooked so much, but hopefully my daft musing might remind a couple of people that it’s certainly worth a rewatch!

[survivingfroshyr]

Application and Admission

“I plan for my next post to be about my application and admission process; how, when, and where I applied; where I was accepted, what I thought about the colleges, what I was looking for, etc. Then, I’ll be documenting my post-commitment journey so far, and in the future!” (from my last post)

So, here’s how my admission process kind of went, the results, and why I decided on Smith College!

Applications

In about October of my senior year, we began working on our Common App essays in my AP Literature and Composition class. Our teacher helped us brainstorm, draft, edit, and finalize our essays, and we had many chances to have them peer reviewed and peer edited. It was very structured and I found it incredibly helpful, mostly because it kept me on-schedule. I wrote about being in my high school’s inaugural orchestra as the only cellist (there were only, say, 9 kids in orchestra) even though I hadn’t played since fifth grade. I’m a generally good writer, although I tend to overuse commas and have an issue with the whole “show don’t tell” thing.

I did not have class time or assistance from my teacher while writing my supplemental essays. I pushed them off--way, way off. If I could change one thing about my application process, it would be how much time I put into it. My supplemental essays all got finished very last minute, like I’m talking a week or even days before the deadline. I was so stressed about them and I didn’t feel like I was letting myself shine through because I just didn’t give myself enough time to work on them. If I had started earlier, I would have been much happier with them.

I submitted all my applications last-minute through the Common App to nine schools, all of which I had visited and liked about the same amount, with Vassar and Smith being my top choices and UMass Amherst being at the bottom.

I didn’t do any interviews before applying, which is a big regret of mine. I was under the impression that you had to have applied to do an interview. I don’t know where I got that idea from, but that’s what I thought, and as I didn’t get my applications in until right up to each school’s deadline, lots of schools’ interview periods were almost over. The only interview I did was with Dartmouth, with an alum who had never done an interview before, but it went well! I wish that I had done more at more schools that were between safety and reach schools.

As for my application, here are some things that probably looked good on paper:

above a 4.0 GPA (weighted, including art, religion, and phys ed classes)

hispanic/latina and female

both parents have a graduates degree

went to a college prep school and was still ranked high in my class

6 AP classes (Language and Composition, Calculus AB, US History my Junior year; Literature and Composition, French Language and Culture, and Calculus BC my Senior year) - passed all 3 Junior year exams, with high scores except US History (the devil’s class imo)

had plenty of art credits (4.75 credits - 9.5 semesters’ worth)

math, science, foreign language, social studies, and English all 4 years

French and honor roll awards

high SAT composite score

volunteered at school events, though not much outside of school (regrettably)

ran cross country for 3 years (though I was the worst on the JV team lol) and did the school musical for 4, and was part of the inaugural orchestra

Schools

In a college, I was looking for liberal arts schools, mostly smaller, with a good reputation and a good math department. I looked in New England and New York. I didn’t know what I wanted to major in (I still don’t), but I know I enjoy math and care about social issues and wanted a generally liberal school with a strong LGBT+ community, varied courses, smaller class sizes, and close teacher-student relationships.

Here’s where I applied, my thoughts, and the result.

Vassar College - reach school - my top choice, beautiful campus, newly redone dining hall, great academics and reputation, small town, detached, far from home - denied acceptance

Dartmouth College - reach school - I liked the quarter system and sophomore summer idea, also detached and kind of isolated, gorgeous location, great outdoors program - denied acceptance

Mount Holyoke College - safety school - small, all women’s (which I was open to but not specifically looking for), seemed humanities-oriented, pretty - accepted

Smith College - small, all women’s, more STEM-oriented than Mnt Holyoke I felt, botanical gardens!, great downtown, close to my uncle and his family, good first-year programs - accepted & committed

Wellesley College - all women’s, VERY focused on female empowerment and diversity (which is a plus but I felt like at least my tour guide overlooked academics to talk about it), nice school and similar to others I saw but didn’t really wow me in any way, my mom’s alma mater - waitlisted

Williams College - reach school - pretty campus, great service and research opportunities, blended in to me a little like Wellesley - denied acceptance

UMass Amherst - safety school - HUGE (downside for me), tons of class choices, great facilities, super cheap for me because I live in MA and my mom works in the UMass system - accepted

Skidmore College - Saratoga Springs was an amazing location (like the best of any of the colleges imo), arts-oriented, good dining, good study-abroad programs, good first-year programs - accepted

Boston College - very near home, bigger, seemed less personal than Skidmore or Smith or Mnt Holyoke, a little more athletics-focused (but not overly so), good first-year programs - accepted

Decision Making

After hearing back from all the schools, I decided it was between Smith, Skidmore, and Boston College. It was an incredibly difficult decision for me, and what really helped was the accepted students’ days/revisiting the school.

I attended Skidmore’s accepted students’ day first. I had a great time and really enjoyed how much focus was put on a liberal arts education and the arts themselves. A psyche professor also gave a mock lecture to the entire group, so even though it was a huge group of people listening and I know nothing about psychology, it was engaging and fun. I also took a bus tour of Saratoga Springs, which was a huge draw to the school. It’s a great location, and with most of Saratoga’s big crowd-drawing events in the summer, there was plenty to do and places to go without it being really crowded during the school year. After the accepted students’ day, I was thinking it would be impossible to decide on a school.

Then I attended Boston College’s “Admitted Eagles’ Day.” There were a ton of people and I felt the presentations focused more on academics than on teacher-student connections. I’d also heard that BC’s housing was pretty bad, and I wasn’t able to see a dorm room because they only had a few open and there was a giant line. Still, the proximity to both Boston and home was a huge draw for me, and I was still absolutely torn about where to go. I still had no idea where I was going to end up committing.

I wasn’t able to go to Smith’s accepted students’ days because of timing issues and upcoming AP exams, but I stayed with my uncle and aunt (who works at Smith) in Northampton for a night and saw Smith again anyways. My cousin, who is the same age as me but spends tons of time on campus because of my aunt’s job, gave me a quick tour of downtown Northampton and the campus, and then we parted ways. One of my childhood best friends is in the class of ‘22, so I sat in on her math class, grabbed lunch in a dining hall with her, chatted, and saw her dorm.

I really felt drawn to the atmosphere at Smith. It was similar to Skidmore’s, but I felt like there was more focus on STEM subjects (which may just have been my perception, but that’s how I felt). There was obvious LGBT+ presence and students of color making their voices heard, and my friend told me about tons of great events that she had attended in her first semester and the beginning of her second semester. She told me about all the upperclassmen friends she had made and how they helped her get an internship and how she loved her astronomy professor and advisor. I felt like she really enjoyed being at Smith, and I just had such a gut feeling that it was the right place for me, too. I went home and immediately knew that that’s where I was going to commit. My mom said she could tell from the first time I toured it back in my junior year of high school.

[oceangl1tter]

personal complaints against grass, future ideas, alcohol and its sidekick, mango juice, & the Eng,lish, Literature,tsunami, called, Fu,.

Lying in grass looking at the sky is not as freeing as it seems. Why is it that grassfields in parks always happen to be itchy and prickly on the skin? Why can't I just watch these clouds in comfort? and not be horrendously tickled by the furs of bugbodies climbing up my calves?

--

future things I’m itching to write about:

past lovers as colors of my nailpolish

medium-rare carnal fantasies and a side-dish of Grilled Sesame-Soy Shishito Peppers, an embarrassing meal

a tell-tale of lugging death out of the floorboards

“INFP and unrequited love: name a more iconic duo“

--

It's not like how it looks on Snapchats, or maybe I just went to a dead party but I don't think that was the case. I went early which I realized was a mistake. Nothing really started till 10:45. Fastforward sitting in the corner while girls in shorts and tanks huddle in cliques waiting for someone to approach them. I did my introductions, none of them invited me into their huddled circles. Fastforward more sitting, more talking to people around me--names I don't forget, but I guess I'm a name that people forget. I’ve never had alcohol before. My heart is beating beating beating beating ! ! ! I look it up on WebMD and WebMD says I’m okay and you already know WebMD doesn’t lie. Shit is sizzling down my throat and slushing its way into an empty stomach. I down 8 shots for some reason, actually there is a reason. He’s an easy guy to talk to. Cue a future accidental date with him. Apparently you're not supposed to mix lights and darks, which no one really told me, 'cept the guy who offered me a chaser-- the star of the show: mango juice (which I proceeded to vomit in various places, the restroom inside the apartment, the restroom near the swimming pool, the trashcan bag outside of my dorm e.t.c.). I guess 8 shots is a lot. I didn't eat that day b/c I was studying for the upcoming mid-term and surprisingly I didn't get as f*cked up as people like to portray, or maybe I'm not as lightweight as I thought I'd be. Or Maybe I got it from my dad. Still could think straight, remember people's names as they slip into unconsciousness blubbering about power rangers or something. No drunk texts going out, no one to text anyway about this.  There's nothing good to share, except a terrible experience, as this girl (one of the people hosting the party)--______,standard Korean beauty.., red-faced and less-shy than her sober self rubs your elbow and asks if you're okay, if you liked the party, if it was fun. Yes, no, and no. She's too close to say no so I nod and give a reassuring smile. The party's too early to be over but it is. People ask if I have a ride, I say I do and that's that. People clear out, others stay and chat.. but I'm just drunk walking down a dark street waiting for the lyft. Holding a red cup of water, my trusty bag, and my head.

I lyft home lugging a large garbage bag I asked the partyhosters if I could borrow (thought i'd cherish it as a keepsake...hah). Get to outside my dorm and sit on a bench and pathetically vomit shit into the bag. I don't quite make it to actually opening the bag so it almost serves as a tissue as the vomit just smears across my face. Mmm mango delight. I guess the pros of not eating and drinking is that nothing that entirely yucky comes up. An RA comes a long, sits down with me for a hot second, just to see if I'm okay. I'm okay. Physically not, mentally tired and ready to go to bed.

Get into my dorm walk around a little bit before I actually key into my room. Later walk down the same hallway and see marks trekked on the carpet and I think which fucking frat boy vomited these stains and my half-fazed brain realizes it was my dumb ass bag I've been lugging around like a 3 year old toddler on my back. The vomit must have either leaked through or had always been at the bottom. Yikes. Fastforward to now (10:30 am) still feel like shit, but in a different sense, not the fk my life fk this party that was so fking terrible sort of impending vomiting sense but the empty stomach soul-searching terrible sort of sense. My roommate doesn't care. I wish she did. I listened to her issues and now she wants to transfer rooms. It's fine. I'll just lament by myself then. Go to more parties as a lone stranger. Leave as a lone stranger.

---

Despite my Freshman/Senior English teacher (a stick-thin Asian woman with impeccable skin who pretty much deep-fried anxiety into me, I’m not even kidding :( ) deducting a point on my essays for each comma used wrong, I still don’t know how these hooked things work and at at this point I’m too scared to ask. I’ll just sprinkle them however I please and recall the times when I’d be stunned at watching 91s turn into 82s. Turns out she now follows me on Instagram (she only followed a few students?) and ALL of her posts are her impersonating her cat (complete with all the hashtags that pet instagram users tend to add) like what the fuck LMAO. I’m not saying I wasn’t a fool as a Freshman (as all Freshman are, invariably) but Freshman year I had cried in the corner in her class, sniffles and everything, while the rest of the class worked on their tests(let’s call it a combination of bad luck with Shakespeare and my test getting crumpled by her...), been handed a referral, that stupid ass pink slip, gotten rekt in a mock-interview exercise (b/c apparently a hat twisted back over my head and a beige frock isn’t a convincing outfit for Elizabeth Bennet... but like.. I didn’t think there were standards to begin with), and interrogated in annotation audits for Crime and Punishment and Hamlet despite students furiously scribbling on post-its behind her. All flashbulb memories. And what do you know. She’s a cat lady with a cat instagram. (It does feel kind of nice that I sort of got her approval in the end though..:>) It only took a few instances of public berating to get it and a half-baked understanding of commas.

[i-like-salsa]

About me tag

Ghostwritten by @anthropologeeze (commentary in brackets)

I was tagged by the best person ever whom I now owe a burnese mountain dog and a cream puff

Rules: answer the questions and tag someone you’d like to get to know better

Nickname: nerd (and Mrs. Nora Norris the dark edgelaw one)

Zodiac: Sagittarius

Height: 5’7

Time: no (what. 5:42 am)

Favourite bands/artists: imagine dragons, Bastille, AJR (NOT AJR SOMEONE IS JUST MOCKING ME also ed sheeran because I’m basic plus of monsters and men)

Song stuck in my head: bold of this tag to assume I have a head (rude. Valentine by 5sos and I said hi by any shark)

Last movie I saw: incredibles 2? (Monsters vs aliens)

Last thing I googled: where to buy @anthropologeeze a burnese mountain dog (joint pain hip remedy)

Do I get asks: classified (no one here knows I exist so no)

Why did I chose my username: I’m studying science. But I want to be a cat. But being a cat is not a thing. Unless you’re a cat. Which I’m not. So science. (✔️)

Following: yes (334)

Amount of sleep: 8ish (except tonight and I don’t know why)

What I’m wearing: jean shorts and a T-shirt that’s a colour (mostly yeah. The day you wrote this I was actually wearing a black shirt then my grey work shirt and pink apron so haha loser. Right now I’m wearing pjs)

Lucky number: 8

Dream trip: everywhere. And I won’t narrow that down because that would require making a decision (I didn’t come here to be called out. Also decision-making is your job. The only decisions you’re not allowed to make are who decides things and anything related to that. Take that)

Favourite food: pasta, chocolate, popcorn, MUSHROOMS (I HATE MUSHROOMS WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME DO THIS YOU LOVE PEARS. Also soup)

Play any instruments: I have played the flute, guitar, and piano in the past

Hair colour: brown

Eye colour: blue. Too blue (if I have to say this you have to say fiddle-fern green)

Most iconic song: COCAINE RUIN YOUR BRAIN. PLEASE DONT DO COCAINE. WHAT. (Fun story anthropologeeze and I were laughing about this in public and scream-singing it and this random lady appeared out of nowhere right in front of us. So I don’t go in public ever)

Languages you speak: English and French and clone (I’m not fluent in French)

Random fact: I once got a piece of apple stuck in my nose. It was literally the worst. (True story. Now time for my fun fact: I hate the over and misuse of the word literally)

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: sea foam, the northern lights, red roses, the sound of wind chimes, the wind in your hair, deep water and sparking campfires (hypocrite you always advocate for the Oxford comma and guess who forgot it for all of tumblr to see. Also cat squishbeans)

Tagging: you’re it ( @rehtsetur I know you won’t do it but do it because you’ve been tagged twice. I don’t know anyone else on here irl and I’m too lazy to go through my followers because I’m on the app but do it if you want to and tag me in it. If you don’t want to that’s fine too. Unless you’re @rehtsetur then you get no choice. Egg.)