#this is poorly edited but still took me like three hours because i struggle so hard to use imovie :(

[glint-fang]

Crookedjaw & Mapleshade "GHOST STORIES DUB"

[writingdayandnight]

Line Without a Hook - Rafael Barba Imagine

Pairing: Rafael Barba x Reader (Fem. Pronouns) 

Word Count: 2650

A/N: Inspiration struck, perhaps a little OOC. Will probably go back later and edit. Just a little treat for everyone who misses Barba like I do. 

10:56 PM.

There was not a doubt in Rafael’s mind that he would not be home until after midnight. This case had been excruciating--brutal, really. Everyone had been pushed to their breaking point. Blood, sweat, and tears were poured into this case.

And here Rafael was with a pen cap fastened between his teeth, struggling to write an opening argument. It all seemed trivial. That words had the power to make or break a month’s worth of hard work. And that all he could think about was going home to his partner. 

He wouldn’t allow himself the privilege of a break until he finished his opening and prepped the summations, which was always his least favorite part. Tying everything together with a neat bow seemed to minimize the effort put into seeking justice. But it was his strong suit. There wasn’t a jury he couldn’t convince if given enough leeway during summations. 

His mind wandered yet again, back to the person that was waiting for him. He knew she would still be waiting for him when he got home, undoubtedly doing work of her own. She found solace in the quiet of the night. She would sit at the dining table with papers scattered across the surface, highlighters uncapped, lukewarm tea cooling unforgotten. 

Then there were her expressions. A furrowed brow while drafting a proposal. A lip bite accompanied by pensive tapping on the table. Her head slowly moving to the beat of the music that was playing from the speaker in the corner of the room. An exasperated sigh escaping as she typed another after-hours email. All of these things were the tiny details that Rafael loved noticing, learning, anticipating.

Finally, Rafael caved and placed a long-awaited phone call.

“Raf,” she answered, voice as tender as kiss goodbye.

“Cariño,” he replied, feeling a million times better just knowing she was on the opposite end of the line.

“When will you be home?” He could hear her trying to hide a yawn behind the scenes.

“Not any time soon.”

“Rafael, please take care of yourself,” she pleaded, yet it was to no avail. She knew this.

“I have to finish this prep, Cariño.” He could hear her eyes roll from across the line, “I bet you’re still doing work, too.”

“That’s none of your business,” she retorted, with a guilty shift in energy. 

“Take care of yourself,” he repeated, “I’ll be home soon. Don’t wait up.” 

“I love you.”

His heart grew full, “I love you more.”

Rafael ended the call, reclining in his leather chair. He had been overcome by love, both for his partner and for the way his life had been going lately. Despite the monstrosities he witnessed at work, everything had been going well. Even then, he enjoyed working with his coworkers; they acted as a support system, making the job a little more bearable. 

Then there was his love life. For once, everything was going right. He felt loved, supported, and capable of doing the same for his partner. It had been too long since he had that privilege. He knew too well the outcomes of a loveless life and he was trying desperately to escape them. Deep down, he understood that he didn’t deserve that. 

But there were times where he thought he didn’t deserve the love he had stumbled into. Never in a million years would he have thought that he would have fallen in love with the girl from the bar. 

The rain had finally let up outside, encouraging a few stragglers to clear the bar. Rafael remained, nursing a scotch on the rocks, muttering to himself about the news on the television overhead. It was a bunch of nonsense about the news anchor he and the SVU squad had just charged. He couldn’t listen much longer. 

A gust of wind hit as the door to Forlini’s opened; it sent shivers down Rafael’s back. Inquisitively, Rafael turned to see the person who just waltzed into the bar. Much to his surprise, it was a beautiful woman. He smirked and returned to his drink, secretly hoping that she would find her way to the bar.

She did just that, taking a seat two stools down from Rafael. He continued to watch the television, discreetly listening to her conversation with the bartender. Small talk. Nothing more, nothing less. Aside from her order--a vodka cranberry. 

“Will you get a load of this idiot?” She chirped, scoffing at the story of the news anchor. Her head was tilted in Rafael’s direction. 

He took a moment to answer, pausing to make sure she was directing her remarks towards him. 

“He’s surely a handful,” Rafael replied. 

Just then, his face appeared on the television screen. They had played his interview on the courthouse steps. He had been ambushed by the press, and even though he delivered better than most, it was not his best work. He silently thanked the Lord that the sound was off.

“Is that you?” She asked, spinning in her seat to face Rafael.

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s a shame, you look better in person,” she tisked, taking another sip of her drink.

Rafael couldn’t respond out of awe. No, that wasn’t the right word. He couldn’t respond because he was flustered. That was a first. 

“Sorry, it’s the vodka talking,” she retracted, making a face that suggested she was embarrassed. 

“No, I’m flattered. It’s not everyday the pretty girl at the bar tells me how attractive I look while sulking alone.”

“This is your version of sulking? Sitting at a bar surrounded by a bunch of people?”

“Perhaps,” he smirked, “Rafael,” he offered his hand.

“Y/N.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

“I was named after a comic book character, please don’t give my parents that kind of credit,” she laughed. It was contagious, infecting Rafael with an affliction that could not be easily cured. Not without an exchange of numbers and a couple of dates.

The memories of their first meeting flooded Rafael’s mind. It further distracted him from the task at hand. But how could he not think of the most impactful night of his life? Screw graduating from law school or getting promoted; nothing could top falling in love with Y/N. 

Nothing could top her love. From the little notes she dropped in Rafael’s briefcase to the silent support she offered when Rafael was not strong enough to ask for it. That’s when his mind wandered even farther, thinking back to the night he decided he was in love with Y/N. 

Rafael sat on the couch in a near-catatonic state. He couldn’t muster enough energy to move. His mind kept circling back to the horrors he had witnessed over the past 24 hours. In his ten years, never once had a case hit him this hard. It just cemented the callousness of man, something he had been trying to deny for so long. There was no such thing as a good person.

There was a knock at the door, a sound that should have startled him. Instead he was too lost in thought to react. He simply got up from the couch and headed to the door, only to be greeted by Y/N on the other side. 

“Rafael,” she mused, before noticing the hurt behind his eyes, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

She invited herself in, dropping her overnight bag by the door. Concern washed over her.

Rafael tried to speak but no words came out. He couldn’t find the right thing to say. His choices were to expose Y/N to the horrors of his job or simply keep it bottled up. His choice was the latter; he couldn’t bear the thought of unloading this grief on her. 

“Raf, please talk to me,” she quietly pleaded. 

He did not respond. Instead, he made his way to the couch, taking a seat in the same spot he had been sulking in for the past three hours. 

Y/N followed without command. She rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping her hands gently around his arm. She placed a kiss on his cheek. It made Rafael’s heart jump, yet he still remained silent. 

But that didn’t deter Y/N. She remained glued to his side, occasionally laying a gentle kiss on him or drawing circles on his bicep. She didn’t push; she knew better than that. Still, just her presence brought Rafael to his knees. 

After an hour or so, Rafael could feel her heartbeat slow. He could see her eyes fluttering shut from the corners of his. 

“I love you,” he whispered, hoping that she wouldn’t hear. Rafael felt guilty saying those words for the first time in such a terrible state. 

“I love you more,” she replied, drifting into a slumber in his arms. 

Rafael knew this could never be true. 

The hands on the clock seemed to turn at an unprecedented pace, yet Rafael had gotten little done. It all seemed pointless. There had to be more to life than this. Hours spent in some poorly-lit office drinking dirt flavored coffee, waiting for his mind to stop running a marathon so he could focus. Watching people suffer everyday for some little bit of justice. Doubting the existence of good in the world with every passing moment. 

But the thing he couldn’t stand was being away from the love of his life. For such a pointless endeavor. It was pointless, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Not anymore. Not with the prospect of love sitting right in front of him. In that moment, he decided to be the most spontaneous he had ever been. 

He whipped open the bottom left drawer of his desk, pulled out a copy of his resignation letter, signed it, and placed it in the mailbox of his boss. He grabbed his jacket, briefcase, and cellphone before practically running to the lobby of Hogan Place. By a stroke of sheer luck, a taxi had been idling outside. Rafael got into the taxi without hesitation--or permission--and called out the address to the apartment he had shared with Y/N. Getting to their front door was his only objective. 

As he settled into the taxi, he reached inside of his briefcase and felt a small item lodged at the bottom. Rafael quizzically pulled it out, determining that it was cube-shaped. As it was illuminated by the passing streetlights, he recognized it instantly. And that’s where he decided to make the best decision of his life. 

“Mami, are you going to be okay if I’m gone for two weeks on vacation?” Rafael asked, changing a lightbulb in his mother’s apartment. 

It was a Saturday which meant it was his day to do chores around his mother’s apartment, with much reluctance on behalf of Lucia, while Y/N went through her laminated chore checklist back at their apartment. Rafael had come straight from his office, totally forgetting his to-dos. Until Y/N reminded him--a pretty common occurrence. 

“I promise, Mijo,” she said, taking his hand and guiding him down the step stool, “I’m just happy you’re taking time off.”

“Me too,” he sighed, a wave of bliss flooding his mind as he thought of going to Greece with Y/N. He’s dreamt of her sunburnt cheeks and wine-stained lips since the moment he bought the tickets. 

“It seems like an awfully romantic vacation. Have you thought about asking yet?” Lucia hinted, pointing to her ring finger. 

Rafael didn’t want to say ‘yes.’ He didn’t want to let her know that he had been planning it since their six-month anniversary. He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved. 

“I’ve considered it,” he teased, “but Greece is too cliche. She wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“You underestimate her, Rafi. She loves you.” 

“And I love her. More than anything.” 

Lucia scoffed, furrowing her brow in disgust.

“Besides you, Mami,” he sang, pulling her in for a hug,

While in Rafael’s arms, Lucia slyly removed a small box from her pocket and slipped it into Rafael’s briefcase. It was his grandmother’s ring, the one she always talked about leaving for him. The one she made sure to mention everyday she was sick. Lucia would never forget something that important. 

Rafael grabbed his belongings with haste, basically throwing $50 at the cab driver, telling him to keep the tip. He slammed the door behind him, jogging to the apartment elevators. He was too lost in thought to greet the doorman or the security guard at the front desk. He was focused on one thing and one thing only.

The elevator couldn’t come fast enough--Rafael tapped his foot anxiously, cursing the damned thing. As soon as it opened, he pushed the 8th floor button at least ten times. He felt a rush of nausea, excitement, fear run over him. The elevator dinged and Rafael ran, rummaging through his pockets for his keys. 

He opened the door as fast as he could, revealing Y/N calmly making a cup of tea in the kitchen. Lamplight illuminated the living room. Her laptop was opened to a document, purple and yellow sticky notes scattered on the table. 2000s Pop Hits playing in the background. He had captured her in her natural element; he was witnessing the essence of Y/N.

“Baby, it’s midnight,” he spoke, calmer than he had been all day. 

“I know, but I was in the zone. I thought you wouldn’t be home tonight,” she answered, walking over to place a kiss on his lips, before strolling back to the kitchen to stop the whistling kettle. 

Rafael’s heart was beating out of his chest. His hands were shaking, mind racing. This was it. This felt right.

“Y/N?” 

“What’s up, babe?” She gently blew on her tea to cool it down. 

“I quit my job today.” 

Y/N almost did a spit, “I’m sorry, what?” She exclaimed.

“I couldn’t do it anymore. It broke me, Y/N.” He sighed, walking to her side, “There are better things in life than case briefs and court.”

Y/N was shocked but supportive, “Well, I’m glad you’re finally free. Why don’t you get ready for bed and sleep for the first time in a decade?” She laughed, placing her hand on his shoulder. 

“There’s one more thing,” Rafael said, reaching into his pocket and for the emerald box that housed his grandmother’s ring, 

Rafael expected the words to escape him; he hadn’t prepared anything in the taxi. These weren’t summations, he needed guidance.

But that didn’t stop him. 

“Y/N, you made me realize that I don’t want to live my life circling the drain and going through the motions. You have brought color to my black and white life. The joy you bring me everyday is immeasurable. Every second I spend away from you makes me feel like the world is ending. I can’t live without you, Y/N. That’s why I’m asking you-” Rafael began to bend his knee before Y/N cut him off.

“Yes! You don’t even have to ask. Yes, yes, yes!” She exclaimed, a tear already sliding down her cheek.

Rafael pulled out his grandmother’s golden ring from the box and slipped it on Y/N’s finger with extra care, as if she was made of glass. Tears had formed in his eyes as well, seeing the ring that reminded him so much of the other most important lady in his life. The most romantic person he had ever met. 

“I love you, Y/N. I wish I could have given you a better proposal, but I couldn’t wait,” he chuckled, once again admiring how well the ring hugged her fingers. 

“If you waited any longer, I was going to ask you,” she laughed, kissing him again and again. “Let’s go to bed,” she whispered, placing a kiss on Rafael’s neck.

[zawasscarf]

Messy Liner- A Keigo Takami/Hawks × reader drabble

Warnings: none! Just endless fluff and Hawks being a clingy baby. Poorly edited.

Prespective: second person!

Sypnosis: After noticing that he was too tired to do his eyeliner correctly, you take it upon yourself to help Keigo so he goes to work on time.

Author's note: wrote this and now its 3 AM where I am. I'm going to go catch some ZZZs now. I hope you enjoy <3

Raising your head from your fluffy pillow, your eyes darted over to the door of the bathroom in your room. It was slightly open, making it completely normal to hear the water running. You could hear violent splashing, the sound of intense brushing immediately followed by complete silence. A completely still moment passed. It was eerie, how much time Keigo was spending in the bathroom. He usually takes two to three minutes inside. He was a fast-paced man as he was a pro-hero, so the delay was almost concerning. You were about call out his name, but he lazily appeared from around the corner, head staring right at the ground, hair a wet mess, in only a pair of black briefs and a red shirt, with a white towel around his neck.

His feathers were falling like cherry-blossom petals on a breezy spring day, on the ground with every step he took, making his usually glorious, protective red wings look more timid, dull. You couldn't help but notice that his eyes were closed as he walked towards the bed. Never has he ever looked so exahusted before. When he woke up, he had a habit of speed walking around the house to get things done faster, that would usually wake you up from how heavy his footsteps were, but not today. Today you woke up because how shockingly serene it was.

He sat down on the bed, making the comfortable mattress jump a little. Head facing his bedside table, Hawks opened one of the drawers and took out a black-liner pen and a magnifying mirror. He gently put down the mirror on the counter, adjusting it so he could see his eyes. What was abundantly clear in his reflection, was his drousniess. His head swayed from side to side, unable to stay steady. After trying his best to keep his head from falling to the side, he neared the eyeliner to his faded birthmarks to add the cosmetic, but as he fixed the wing, his -very- shaky hand failed him. "Tsk," The frustrated sound he let slip made you sit up. He was really good at doing his eyeliner, to the point where you ask him to do yours whenever you were going to an important gala together. His hands were always steady, accurate, he always knew what he was doing when it came to using his hands. But the exhaustion and drainage from yesterday's patrol obviously took a toll on him. 'You never know when to take a break..' You told him late at night, when your hand were smoothing his blonde locks, but he was already fast asleep. You observed him as he wiped the smudged wing, and try to do it again, only to fail -and almost poke his eye out. He let out a bothered sigh.

"Keigo.." You tapped his arm, and he looked over at you. His playful, golden, reinstone eyes were only halfway open, his lids heavy, and that cocky gleam in them were no where to be seen. "Give the pen to me," The demand was serious, but your tone was gentle, as not to startle him. You extended your hand, and he looked down at it, seemingly trying to connect the dots like you had just told him a hard riddle. He slowly gave you the eyeliner, then looked back up at you. "Put your head here and look up at me," Adjusting your position so both of you are comfortable and patting your lap, he acted just a bit faster this time, positioning his head upwards as you asked him to. You pushed the wet strands of blonde hair that stuck on his forehead, carefully began to trace the birthmarks with the pen.

The world was queit. Tranquil. The only thing you could hear were the beeping cars and sounds of the city. You didn't remember the last time Keigo was this calm and still. A cocky, intelligent, fast attitude. That's what originally attracted you to him in the first place. He always did everything so damn fast, and it was thrilling. Dating him has never felt boring. But even though you loved how he brought excitment into your life with how quick- paced he was, these rare moments where both of you were undisturbed, realxed in the comfort of your apartment...these were the moments you cherished deeply, that you held so closely to your heart.

You stopped for a minute, to take in the sight infront of you. Keigo looked so..indescribably beautiful, ethereal. His slightly sun-kissed skin gleamed under the single light ray entering the room through the open space between the curtains. His sharp eyes were shut close, letting you do your work without any bother. Crimson wings were spread on the bed, and his strong, lean arms wrapped around your figure. You put your hand in his hair, and he leaned into the touch, his cheeks going a dusty shade of pink. You smiled, and forced yourself to keep working on his eyeliner, even though you wanted this to last a lifetime.

After making sure the wings were symmetrical, you put the eyeliner on your counter, and turned to him, expecting him to finally wake up and throw a cheeky remark at you. Start flirting uncontrollably with you like he always did. Start kissing all over your face and body. But he didn't. Infact, he didn't move an inch off your lap. That whistled deep breathing of his and the way his wings rose and fell made you realise that he had fallen asleep again. You put one of your hands under his chin, and began scratching, in hopes that Keigo's ticklish nature would kick in and wake him up. But to your surprise, he groaned something uncoherable in delight, and angeled his head to get more of your touch.

"Keigo, baby, you need to wake up." You whispered, knowing that his busy work couldn't be delayed. Knowing that he wouldn't be happy if he was late. But for the first time, Keigo refused. "M..don't wanna.." He grumbled, like a child who was being forced to do something they didn't want to be doing. His grip tightened around your waist, and he buried his head in your shirt. An alarm bell rung in your head. You laid down to check if Keigo ruined his eyeliner, that you were barely able to fix and make it look like he did it. Thinking you laid back was an invitation to let him sleep, Keigo pulled your body down and laid his head on your chest. "M..warm.."

You stiffled your giggles, struggling to sit up. "Keigo, you need to go, you know that.."He didn't answer. You were not sure if he had truly fell asleep again or if he was ignoring you. "I'll be right here when you return, waiting for you.." Your fingers knit through his bangs. "But now you need to get up, other people are waiting for you.."

"But I don't want to.." Keigo replied, his eyes meeting with yours. The look in his eyes. It was innocent, desperate, needy for this moment to keep going. Needy for your touch and affection. "I want to..be here..always..with you.." That simple wish of his in his raspy, sleepy voice made your heart skip a beat. You didn't sense any sleep talk, only honesty.

You didn't know what to say. Both of you wanted to stay like this. In each other's arms, basking in each other's warmth as nothing but love filled the air around you. This was Keigo's idea of heaven.

"Mm..babybird.." He breathed in deeply, then let it all out, like he had been holding so much in for too long. "Can..we pretend..that everything is fine for just a few hours..?" The innocence in his request made you lay down. You were surprised that he asked you this, his sense of duty was always something that pushed him to get out of bed, but now it was diffrent. He didn't tell you what happened the day before, but all you knew that he was drained, drained enough not to eat and instead, bring you to bed with him so you could hold him. Drained enough to hold you this tightly, and wish for things that could only be achieved if you lived in another world.

You put your head down on the pillow, eyes closed, hand in Keigo's hair and the other on his bicep, your thumb doing circular movements on the firm muscle.

And as sleep began to cover your senses, you mumbled a few words, a few words that were enough to make Keigo smile in his slumber.

"Yeah...yeah, I guess we can.."

[marginalgloss]

I turn 35 tomorrow. How better to celebrate that than with some notes on the handful of video games I have managed to finish over the last ten months. In no particular order:

Judgment (PS4)

Something I think about often is that there aren’t many games which are set in the real world. By this I man the world in which we live today. You can travel through ancient Egypt or take a trip through the stars in the far future, but it’s relatively rare to be shown a glimpse of something familiar. Hence the unexpected popularity of the new release of Microsoft Flight Simulator, which lets you fly over a virtual representation of your front porch, as well as the Grand Canyon, and so on.

I found something like the same appeal in Judgment, a game which took me longer than anything else listed here to finish — seven or eight months, on and off. Like the Yakuza games to which it is a cousin, it’s set in Kamurocho, a fictional district of a real-world Tokyo; unlike other open-world games, it renders a space of perhaps half a square mile in intense detail. I spent a long time in this game wandering around slowly in first-person view, looking at menus and in the windows of shops and restaurants. The attention to detail is unlike everything I have ever seen, from the style of an air conditioning unit to the range of Japanese whiskies on sale in a cosy backstreet bar. And this was a thing of value at a time when the thought of going anywhere else at all, let alone abroad, seemed like it was going to be very difficult for a very long time.

It’s a game of at least three discrete parts. One of them is a fairly cold-blooded police procedural/buddy cop story: you play an ex-lawyer turned private eye investigating a series of grisly murders that, inevitably, link back to your own murky past. In another part you run around the town getting into hilarious martial arts escapades, battering lowlifes with bicycles and street furniture. In another, you can while away your hours playing meticulous mini-games that include darts, baseball, poker, Mahjong and Shogi — and that’s before we even get to the video game arcades.

All these parts are really quite fun, and if you want to focus on one to the exclusion of the others, the game is totally fine with that. The sudden tonal shifts brought about by these crazy and abrupt shifts in format are, I think, essentially unique to video games. But the scope of Judgment is a thing all its own. As a crafted spectacle of escapist fiction it’s comprehensive, and in its own way utterly definitive.  

Mafia: Definitive Edition (PS4)

I was amazed when I found out they were doing a complete remake of Mafia, a game I must have finished at least three or four times in the years after its release back in 2002. Games from this era don’t often receive the same treatment as something like Resident Evil, where players might be distracted by the controls and low-poly graphics of the original. 

A quality remake makes it easier for all kinds of reasons to appreciate what was going on there. (Not least because they have a lot of new games in the same series to sell.) But in the early 00s PC games like this one had started to get really big and ambitious, and had (mostly) fixed issues with controls; so there’s a hell of a lot more stuff going on in Mafia than in most games of that era. It was also a very hard game, with all kinds of eccentricities that most big titles don’t attempt today. Really I have no idea how this remake got made at all. 

But I was so fond of the original I had to play it. The obvious: it looks fantastic, and the orchestral soundtrack is warm and evocative. The story is basic, but for the era it seemed epic, and it’s still an entertaining spectacle. The original game got the balance of cinematic cutscenes, driving and action right the first time, even while Rockstar were still struggling to break out of the pastiche-led GTA III and Vice City. 

They have made it easier. You’re still reliant on a handful of medical boxes in each level for healing, but you get a small amount of regenerating health as well. You no longer have to struggle to keep your AI companions alive. Most of the cars are still heavy and sluggish, but I feel like they’re not quite as slow as they once were. They’ve changed some missions, and made some systems a little more comfortable — with sneaking and combat indicators and so on — but there aren’t any really significant additions.

The end result of all this is that it plays less like an awkward 3D game from 2002, and more like a standard third-person shooter from the PS3/360 era. Next to virtually any other game in a similar genre from today, it feels a bit lacking. There’s no skill tree, no XP, no levelling-up, no crafting, no side-missions, no unusual weapons or equipment, no alternative routes through the game. And often all of that stuff is tedious to the extreme in new titles, but here, you really feel the absence of anything noteworthy in the way of systems. 

My options might have been more limited in 2002 but back then the shooting and driving felt unique and fun enough that I could spend endless hours just romping around in Free Ride mode. Here, it felt flat by comparison; it felt not much different to Mafia III, which I couldn’t finish because of how baggy it felt and how poorly it played, in spite of it having one of the most interesting settings of any game in recent years. But games have come a long way in twenty years.    

Hypnospace Outlaw (Nintendo Switch)

If this game is basically a single joke worked until it almost snaps then it is worked extremely well. 

It seems to set itself up for an obvious riff on the way in which elements of the web which used to be considered obnoxious malware (intrusive popups and so on) have since become commonplace, and sometimes indispensable, parts of the online browsing experience. But it doesn’t really do that, and I think that’s because it’s a game which ends up becoming a little too fascinated by its own lore. 

The extra science fiction patina over everything is that technically this isn’t the internet but a sort of psychic metaverse delivered over via a mid-90s technology involving a direct-to-brain headset link. I don’t know that this adds very much to the game, since the early days of the internet were strange enough without actually threatening to melt the brains of its users. 

(This goes back to what I said about Judgment - I sometimes wonder if it feels easier to make a game within a complete fiction like this, rather than simply placing it in the context of the nascent internet as it really was. Because this way you don’t have to worry too much about authenticity or realism; this way the game can be as outlandish as it needs to be.) 

But, you know. It’s a fun conceit. A clever little world to romp around in for a while. 

Horace (Nintendo Switch)

I don’t know quite where to begin with describing this. One of the oddest, most idiosyncratic games I’ve played in recent years. 

As I understand it this platformer is basically the creation of two people, and took about six years to make. You start out thinking this is going to be a relatively straightforward retro run-and-jump game — and for a while, it is — but then the cutscenes start coming. And they keep coming. You do a lot of watching relative to playing in this game, but it’s forgivable because they are deeply, endearingly odd. 

It’s probably one of the most British games I’ve ever played in terms of the density and quality of its cultural references. And that goes for playing as well as watching; there’s a dream sequence which plays out like Space Harrier and driving sequences that play out like Outrun. There are references to everything from 2001 to the My Dinner with Abed episode of Community. And it never leans into any of it with a ‘remember that?’ knowing nod — it’s all just happening in the background, littered like so much cultural detritus. 

A lot of it feels like something that’s laser-targeted to appeal to a certain kind of gamer in their mid-40s. And, not being quite there myself, a lot of it passed me by. Horace is not especially interested in a mass appeal — it’s not interested in explaining itself, and it doesn’t care if you don’t like the sudden shifts in tone between heartfelt sincerity and straight-faced silliness. But as a work of singular creativity and ambition it’s simply a joyous riot. 

Horizon: Zero Dawn (PS4)

I stopped playing this after perhaps twelve or fifteen hours. There is a lot to like about it; it still looks stunning on the PS4 Pro; Aloy is endearing; the world is beautiful to plod around. But other parts of it seem downright quaint. It isn’t really sure whether it should be a RPG or an action game. And I’m surprised I’ve never heard anyone else mention the game’s peculiar dedication to maintaining a shot/reverse shot style throughout dialogue sequences, which is never more than tedious and stagey.

The combat isn’t particularly fun. Once discovered most enemies simply become enraged and blunder towards you, in some way or another; your job is to evade them, ensnare them or otherwise trip them up, then either pummel them into submission or chip away at their armour till they become weak enough to fall. I know enemy AI hasn’t come on in leaps and bounds in recent years but it’s not enough to dress up your enemies as robot dinosaurs and then expect a player to feel impressed when they feel like the simplest kind of enrageable automata. Oh, and then you have to fight human enemies too, which feels like either an admission of failure or an insistence that a game of this scale couldn’t happen without including some level of human murder. 

I don’t have a great deal more to say about it. It’s interesting to me that Death Stranding, which was built on the same Decima engine, kept the frantic and haphazard combat style from Horizon, but went to great lengths to actively discourage players from getting into fights at all. (It also fixed the other big flaw in Horizon — the flat, inflexible traversal system — and turned that into the centrepiece of the game.) 

Disco Elysium (PS4)

In 2019 I played a lot of Dungeons and Dragons. I’m talking about the actual tabletop roleplaying game, not any kind of video game equivalent. For week after week a group of us from work got together and sort of figured it out, and eventually developed not one but two sprawling campaigns of the never-ending sort. We continued for a while throughout the 2020 lockdown, holding our sessions online via Roll20, but it was never quite the same. After a while, as our life circumstances changed further, it sort of just petered out.

I mention all this because Disco Elysium is quite clearly based around the concept of a computerised tabletop roleplaying game (aka CRPG). My experience of that genre is limited to the likes of Baldurs Gate, the first Pillars of Eternity and the old Fallout games, so I was expecting to have to contend with combat and inventory management. What I wasn’t expecting was to be confronted with the best novel I’ve read this year.

To clarify: I have not read many other novels this year, by my standards. But, declarations of relative quality aside, what I really mean is that this game is, clearly and self-consciously, a literary artefact above all. It is written in the style of one of those monolithic nineteenth century novels that cuts a tranche through a society, a whole world — you could show it to any novelist from at least the past hundred years and they would understand pretty well what is going on. It is also wordy in every sense of that term: there’s a lot of reading to do, and the text is prolix in the extreme. 

You could argue it’s less a game than a very large and fairly sophisticated piece of interactive fiction. The most game-like aspects of it are not especially interesting. It has some of the stats and the dice-rolling from table-top roleplaying games, but this doesn’t sit comfortably with the overtly literary style elsewhere. Health and morale points mostly become meaningless when you can instantly heal at any time and easily stockpile the equivalent of health potions. And late on in the game, when you find yourself frantically changing clothes in order to increase your chances of passing some tricky dice roll, the systems behind the game start to feel somewhat disposable. 

Disco Elysium is, I think, a game that is basically indifferent to its own status as a game. Nothing about it exists to complement its technological limitations, and nor is it especially interested in the type of unique possibilities that are only available in games. You couldn’t experience Quake or Civilisation or the latest FIFA in any other format; but a version of Disco Elysium could have existed on more or less any home computer in about the last thirty years. And, if we were to lose the elegant art and beautiful score, and add an incredibly capable human DM, it could certainly be played out as an old-fashioned tabletop game not a million miles from Dungeons and Dragons.

All of the above is one of the overriding thoughts I have about this game. But it doesn’t come close to explaining what it is that makes Disco Elysium great.

[satoruvt]

for now; forever -- teaser

pairing → kwon soonyoung x reader

word count → 1316 (full fic is ~9k!!)

genre → mostly fluff? a solid amount of angst ↳ tags: ooh boy. firewatch au, banter, like a little bit (a lot) of pining, strangers to friends to... something, FLIRTING, reader’s kinda fucked up but its ok, hoshi’s weird and endearing (as always), a tiny bit of hurt/comfort, minghao best boy, soonyoung is very sweet it makes me want to cry

synopsis → after an unfortunate burnout that lands you in every critic’s negative and all-seeing eye, you decide to take a break from the one thing you know. you’re not sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for out in the middle of the woods - if you’re looking for anything at all - but at the very least, soonyoung will make the hunt a little less lonely. 

warnings → there’s eventually a forest fire that leads to an evacuation but it’s not super detailed, mentions and descriptions of creative burnout/breakdown

a/n → AHHHH!!!! so excited to finally tell yall abt this ive been working on it for about a month now <33 the teaser is just like an honestly solid section of the fic itself, so. idk yeah!!!! i’m very excited i loved working on this i still have some editing to go but the full thing will be out soon <333 hope you enjoy!! let me know what u thought!!!!

DAY ONE.

So. You’re… out here, now.

Save for the bugs you have to swat at every fifteen seconds, the outdoors don’t seem that bad. The weather isn’t too hot (yet, your mind reminds you) and there’s something about the color of the sky that makes your heart constrict in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but given your luck recently, you’re hoping it’s not a warning for the coming months - God knows you need a break. The weight of the journal in your bag feels heavier than any of the camping gear you brought with you.

You debate texting Minghao that you’ve made it to the park safely, but when you check your phone after deciding yes, you see the words no service instead of the familiar lines of a signal. It’s not that big of a deal - you’d told him when you left that you probably wouldn’t have service at all - but a little part of you feels the tender shake of anxiety at the thought of not being able to contact your best friend. 

He was the most worried out of everyone when you told him you were leaving for the summer. You can’t really blame him - it was abrupt, you saw the flyer at the grocery store and took it - but after what happened… doing something felt, feels, better than sitting around and waiting for nothing to happen. Waiting for a healing you aren’t sure will ever come, at least not completely.

“Is this really…” Minghao had started upon first entering your apartment after getting your text. Clothes were thrown all over your bedroom floor in an attempt to pack. ��Do you need to do this?”

The tone of his voice told you he wasn’t going to try to stop you, that he just wanted to make sure this was what you needed, what was best for you. You had only nodded, sitting down on the edge of your bed to fold clothes and pack them into your suitcase.

“I just don’t want you to run away from it all,” Minghao said softly, sitting next to you. “You’ll need to face it eventually.”

“Is escaping really such a bad thing?” You asked, looking at Minghao. He gave you the look he did when you said something stupid, and if you weren’t still so wired from everything, you might have laughed. Instead, you sighed, placing a pair of pants into your suitcase. “I just need some time.”

Before you can face it, before you can come back, before you can write again… you still don’t know. Minghao had placed a kind hand on your shoulder to tell you there was no rush.

It’d taken no more than two days for you to get everything ready - including buying some apparently necessary survival equipment from Target. In a matter of a few hours you had gathered everything up, texted some other friends and your family that you might not be available the next few months and then… you left. 

(Your manager was pretty pissed off that you left so suddenly, but she was also pissed off at you when you told her you needed a break for at least a few weeks, so you’re not really offended.)

You take one last longing look at your car before locking it, pocketing the keys, and starting on your hike.

The hike takes almost the whole day. 

You think you almost cry when you finally see the watch tower you’re supposed to be staying in, your legs barely able to hold the rest of your body up. The hike wasn’t hard, really - long, though, and for someone who usually spends a work day sitting at a desk, you’re surprised you’re still alive. You find the little lock that holds the keys to the tower at the bottom of the stairs, fastened onto the railing. It takes a few seconds for you to enter the code you’d been given earlier, relishing in the soft breeze the cools the sweat on your face and neck. The sun is just barely starting to set beyond the mountains, a beautiful sight that you can’t properly focus on because all you want to do is pass out. You’re pretty sure you almost do on your way up the stairs.

The cabin at the top of the tower is pretty scarcely furnished, save for a few basic necessities (a gas stove rests on one wall, a small desk opposite to it by the door, a mini-fridge, and a bed in the corner plus what looks like a map table in the center of the room). It’s a little weird, a feeling caught between the nostalgia of moving into a new place and something you can’t quite name, but you figure you have a few months to make it all a little more comfortable.

For now, though, you feel like you’re on the last leg of your energy. Your mind is saying eat, sleep, eat, sleep on repeat and you have to agree with it, so you change the sheets on the bed, take down the boards over the windows while you wait for the macaroni from the Kraft box to cook. You end up eating a few forkfuls of poorly-made mac and cheese before crashing.

When you wake up, it’s to gentle static and a semi-clear, unfamiliar voice. It takes you a minute to remember where you are and what you’re doing, too disoriented to even think about the voice, but then - oh. Forest. Watch tower. Escape. Okay.

“Yo, Cottonwood! Am I coming through okay? Pick up your radio!”

Right. The voice. Radio?

“Come on, I saw you get in yesterday, I know you’re there. Unless,” a gasp, “you died! Oh my God, this is like a horror movie… and I’m next!”

You manage to wake up enough to locate your radio (a walkie-talkie resting on a charger on the desk) and, after a few seconds of gentle struggle, work it. “Not dead,” you say, then clear your throat because your voice does not sound good right after waking up. “I mean… almost. But not dead.”

There’s barely a moment of hesitation before the person on the other end hoots, apparently excited. “Arisen from the dead! Brought back to life by none other than the legendary Hoshi!”

A brief thought crosses your mind about having to listen to this guy all summer, but you quickly shoo it away. You won’t have to deal with it for the whole three months, right? “Who… who is Hoshi?”

“Me!” The voice answers, sounding a little too smug. “But it’s really just an alias. You can call me Soonyoung. I’m at Twin Peaks tower, west of yours!”

You spin around your cabin, looking through the windows cluelessly - how long have you been asleep, it’s practically afternoon - until you see a very small silhouette of another tower in the distance. You nod, then realize Soonyoung can’t see you. “Oh. Cool.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?” Soonyoung asks, but his tone is light, breezy. You blink, reciting your name to him in a daze. “Pretty! So, what brings you out here?”

You weren’t expecting that question. “What?”

Soonyoung giggles into the radio. “Everyone comes out here for some reason. Like… Jihoon says it’s ‘cause it helps him write music. And Joshua loves the outdoors, so… what’s your reason?”

“You…” you start, not exactly wanting to tell a stranger the reason you ran away from everything you know. “Do you normally ask this many questions?”

“Yeah!”

You feel yourself sigh, already tired again.

“I… just wanted to get away for a while,” you end up saying. A half-truth. “I live in the city.”

“No way,” Soonyoung gasps excitedly. “Me too! I wonder if both of us have ever been walking and, like, passed each other without knowing…”

This isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you thought of escaping.

[thekidultlife]

THE RETURN OF SUPERMAN | Lee Jihoon

Author’s Note: In the last part of TROS Jeonghan, I had mistakenly labeled Yuna as Lee Jihoon’s daughter. Please forgive me! I already edited it to lessen confusion haha. Yuna will be coming out in the next story as another member’s child, as edited. Please watch out for it, and I hope you come to love Lee Jihoon’s family in this AU, too!

NEW SERIES ALERT! While reading this fic, you will have a clue as to what series is coming next on this blog. Please watch out for it and if you see the clue, you can comment it down! :D

HYERI YOU’D BETTER READ THIS ONE!

Genre: ABSOLUTE FLUFF with traces of good ol’ angst but this is definitely a happy story so go ahead and read it!

Word count: 5,896

Lee Jihoon always had a plan. It wasn’t always written on paper or formulated to the dot (you were the one responsible for that end), but it was always there. He felt a lot better if he had things under his control. And so when he decided to enter the Return of Superman show with his friends, he wasn’t going unprepared.

Because, as he stared across at the table (mind you, sudden shivers were coming up his spine as he looked at the young toddler who looked oh so innocent—for now)…

…One could never go unprepared with Lee Yeseung. 

 “I mapped it out carefully, love,” he told you over breakfast. “I mapped out every single activity I am going to do with him. He’s not an easy kid, but—“

“—Who isn’t easy?” you innocently asked, eyeing your son fondly. He had his father’s eyes and the gentleness of your facial features. His pale-white skin was also his father’s, but the color of his eyes, black with a hint of brown in them, were yours. “Yeseung is a good boy, aren’t you?”

Yeseung smiled sweetly at you and giggled his cute, toddler giggle. 

 “You know, this child doesn’t come from my side of the family,” Jihoon taunted you as he ate. “My Yeseung is too much like you. Like mother, like son.” Jihoon was laughing to himself, pleased at making you feel pissed off early in the morning. It was a ritual he was having a hard time to break, even after five years of marriage. But when Jihoon turned his eyes to you, he stopped mid-laughter.

“What?” he said, raising both hands. “It’s true!” He pointed at his son. “Look at him! He’s hyper!”

“You are uncharacteristically talkative today,” you replied to him, your eyes narrowing. “What are you up to?”

Yeseung stared up from his bowl at his father. He was holding the bowl to his face with his hands, doing his best to quietly finish his breakfast as you had sternly told him to do. He had understood your husband’s words, and now he dropped the bowl, cereal flying all over the place as he bawled.

You stabbed your fork at a hotdog and glared daggers at your husband. “Lee Jihoon!”

Jihoon turned back to his meal. “I love you both, and I’m…” he sighed, getting up on second thought and disappearing behind to the kitchen for a minute. “I’m going to get the dishcloth.”

“I wasn’t hyper this time,” Yeseung sobbed, rubbing his eyes and putting cereal on his face. “He called me hyper again. I wasn’t hyper this time.” He wailed louder. “Why does he always call me hyper?”

You sighed and scooped the child in your arms, forgetting your breakfast. You were hoping for a quiet morning, but Jihoon just had to upset your baby again. “No, appa was just joking.”

“Yeseung-ah!” Jihoon deftly scooped up Yeseung from your arms and began smothering him with kisses. “Appa was just joking! Like we always do!”

Yeseung looked up at his appa, with tearful eyes. “I’m not hyper, right? I’m a good boy, right?”

“Exactly. A very good boy who will help appa clean up the table!” 

 “What activity planning were you talking about?”

Jihoon smirked at you and peppered his son with kisses. “I’m nervous, Y/N,” he said quietly, as he looked straight into your eyes, his face going serious. “That’s why I was being talkative. I rarely do this with others, except you.”

You felt your whole face flush. “What activity planning were you talking about?” you repeated your question again.

Jihoon smiled nervously. “It’s for the Return of Superman show.”

INTERVIEW WITH LEE JIHOON, 30: 

JIHOON: Hello everyone, my name is Lee Jihoon. I am known by many as SEVENTEEN’s Woozi. This—(he hoists little Yeseung up his lap)—is my three-year-old, Lee Yeseung. Say hi to the camera, Yeseung-ah!

YESEUNG: (Smiles at the camera shyly and then burrows into his father’s jacket.)

WOOZI: (Smiles at his son’s shyness.) Sorry, he’s still a bit camera-shy. But we’re really looking forward to enjoying ourselves on this show! And—(Laughs self-consciously and hugs his little boy close to him.)—I hope I learn more as a dad!

Q: This was asked to the other members as well: How does it feel to have a child of your own?

JIHOON: (Laughs nervously and pats Yeseung, who was squirming on his lap.) Actually, it’s nerve-wracking. 

(Silence.) 

JIHOON: (Looks down at his son.) You always have to brace yourself with little Yeseung here.

Boy, were we to find out.

NARRATOR: *We are now here at the Lee residence! (Cameras pan around the lavish but minimalistic penthouse of the Lee family.) And it is a beautiful morning, with no clouds in the sky to signal any rainfall. What will this day bring for Lee-appa and little Yeseung?*

6:50 A.M.

A flutter of what seemed like paper floated into Jihoon’s face. Startled, he opened his eyes and struggled to get up quickly out of bed. 

Another piece of paper—no, poorly-made paper plane—floated into his face. 

He closed his eyes. Took deep breaths. Tried to shake the feeling of sleepiness and called, as calmly as he could, “Yeseung-ah, where did you get all these papers?”

A giggle and a high-pitched squeal of delight was all the answer he could get. 

“LEE YESEUNG!!!”

Lee Jihoon jumped out of bed the moment his eyes caught the paper. Groggily, and feeling a little bit off because it was still early, he reached out and snatched a paper plane zooming in toward him. When his eyes had adjusted enough, he looked at the paper. Oh, cool. His baby boy was making paper planes. What an artist! He smiled sleepily, and was about to say a word of praise to his little artist when he looked at the paper again. 

Panic and stress, too early to be felt in the morning, seized his heart. He was suddenly wide awake. 

Aishh, this kid!!!

Lee Yeseung, his son, was making paper planes out of his music sheets.

HIS LIFE’S WORK. HIS MUSIC SHEETS.

His mind going insane, he bounded across the room with uncharacteristic quickness (it was still early in the morning, mind you), and flung the door open. He was already beginning to panic internally. He was sure he had locked his office at the den when he went into bed at 3 a.m. He was very sure. He wouldn’t have forgotten. But he followed the paper trail—Breathe, bruh, breathe, he kept telling himself, not stopping to look at which song sheet got ripped by his little troll—and with utter disbelief, stared at his wide-open office door.

He distinctly remembered what folks kept telling him about this penthouse. “The doors, cupboards and the built-in closets are definitely (emphasis on DEFINITELY) childproof. You won’t have a problem, even if you get quintuplets running around and playing horse.” 

Now, Lee Jihoon knew better. For his kid, even if he just has ONE Lee Yeseung, all the childproofing in the world would not be able to work. 

 “Yeseung-ah,” he gently chided, as he stared helplessly at the door and the little boy on the floor, surrounded by headsets, pens, papers, song sheets, and other stuff that he had religiously put into what he had considered “safe zones”. Now, he would be much more cautious when dealing with his boy. “What did you do?”

“Paper planes!” the kid squealed in delight, throwing another newly-made paper plane into the air. Jihoon forced himself to look away from the plane circling above them; he forced himself not to see that that was his FIRST finished lyric sheet for “Adore U”. This kid knew how to pull triggers to make his dad crazy, that’s for sure. Jihoon was doing his best not to freak out. He loved his little baby more than the song sheets. He kept telling himself that HE LOVED HIS KID MORE THAN THOSE SONG SHEETS THAT HE’D STAYED UP NIGHTS FOR. YEP. NOT FREAKING OUT. 

“That…that was a piece with sentimental value…” the cameras caught Jihoon’s internally-freaking-out-I-don’t-know-how-to-handle-this-mess face, picking up the sheets that he could still salvage. The cameras also panned at the safety latches that were expertly unlatched (some were even unlatched with what looked to be like bite marks and SCISSORS), and the outlet caps that were—you guessed it—uncapped. Nothing closed remained closed. It was a good thing, though, that Jihoon’s treasure chest of other composing mementos was one with a padlock. Nothing beats a good, old padlock, he thought to himself with a sigh of relief. Not even childproof crap compared to it.

NARRATOR: *Oh, no! It looks like little Yeseung has made quite a mess! And with his dad’s most precious music sheets!*

“You won’t have a problem,” they said. “Childproof,” they said. Wow. Even with quintuplets, huh? 

It took only one Lee Yeseung, Jihoon thought to himself, to unlatch three “safety” latches on his office door. Just one, bright, hyper, adorably troll-like little boy with an adorable giggle that was making his heart melt right now, wearing nothing but a T-shirt and his nappie, and holding a ripped-up song sheet entitled—OH NO. 

“LEE YESEUNG!!!”

INTERVIEW WITH LEE JIHOON, 30: 

JIHOON: (Holds his head in his hands for a few seconds before sighing deeply). He tore up my latest work. My little boy tore up my latest work. This is so…(groans and laughs at the same time) Seriously, I don’t know what to expect of my kid anymore. He just keeps doing whatever, and…it’s…(Laughs softly now.) I don’t know how my wife manages to keep him at bay. They’re together basically fifteen hours everyday, right after work, and she always manages to teach him how to do this and that without freaking out. Now I’M freaking out. That song sheet he’d ripped up had taken me hours to write, and I’ve only finished it right before I went to bed today. I don’t know if I’d still be able to salvage it. (Looks at the camera shyly and smirks.) But this is okay for the most part. Kids sometimes do this. (Laughs sheepishly at his excuse for Yeseung’s paper plane incident.) He’s probably doing payback because I called him a “hyper kid” yesterday.

Q: Will you still be able to write that song down because he ripped up that one? We know that you also have deadlines to meet. 

JIHOON: (Nods confidently.) It’s a good thing that I always put files on backup. I never write without saving data, because accidents like this could happen. But still I have to tell Yeseung (Bites back a smile) not to mess with my work again. Even though my heart just bursts when I discipline him, I really have to do it so he learns that it’s not okay to rip up sheets and make paper planes out of them. (Nods again, as if still not quite believing what happened.) Paper planes. Wow. I didn’t teach him that, but he sure knows how to make one. 

NARRATOR: *We are now entering the Lee playroom, where Jihoon-appa is going to talk to little Yeseung! What will happen here? Let’s find out!*

7:00 A.M.

A very repentant little Yeseung was escorted inside the playroom. His eyes, very much like his dad's, were now looking pleadingly at his father, who was having a very hard time keeping a stern face with his son. Because he felt like bailing out on this “scolding session”, as he liked to dub it, Jihoon avoided his son’s eyes, and the cute pleas that followed as he set two little chairs facing each other. 

“Appa,” Yeseung called out to him, his baby voice quivering along with his lip as he spoke. “I’m really, really sorry for making a mess. Appa. Appa.” 

“I know you’re sorry,” Jihoon answered, leaning down to pick Yeseung up and to set him on one chair. Then he tried to look inconspicuous and stern as he sat down on the other one, trying not to mind the cameras and the cameramen who were watching the scene with smiles on their faces. “But we still have to talk about what happened. Now, Lee Yeseung, what did you do? Why is Appa upset?”

There was silence for a while. Jihoon wondered for a few seconds if his kid even knew what was wrong about what he did. 

Then, just as he was about to give up, Yeseung, whose eyes were by this time zooming in on his train set, was scratching his head. “Um…because I made a mess?” He whispered, his lisp making the question comical. He looked at his dad questioningly. 

Jihoon, looking at Yeseung, found the expression so similar to yours whenever you would look up to him to ask a question. The similarity of the expression struck him that he couldn’t help but become benevolent towards this cute little tyke. “Exactly. What kind of mess?”

“I knew it.” Suddenly, Yeseung sniffled. His bottom lip was trembling, and Jihoon was panicking again. He was NOT allowed to cry. He had ripped up his dad’s song sheets, a vital part of his dad’s source of income! Jihoon was aghast as the little boy sobbed uncontrollably. “Did I make too many paper airplanes, Appa?” He began crying uncontrollably now. “I…I thought you would like them. Th-that w-w-was wh-why I…I made them.” Yeseung hiccupped between words, his tears streaming down his red cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut. 

This kid is MISSING THE POINT! Who cares if he makes a thousand of those? I wouldn’t care. I’d love it even. But the material he used to make them…Jihoon took a deep breath. “Don’t cry, Lee Yeseung,” Jihoon warned, an edge to his voice, like he had heard you do whenever you would scold Yeseung. “You messed up Appa’s office. What did Eomma and Appa tell you about messing up Appa’s office?”

“You…” Yeseung looked at him with eyes that mirrored hurt. “You…” Hiccup. “Don’t…” Hiccup. “Like…” Hiccup. “My…” Hiccup. “PAPER PLANES!!!” 

“No! I like them!” 

At that point. Yeseung bawled like the baby he was. “I’m…” Hiccup. “Sorry!!!” He cried again. 

“It’s true. I like them!”

You were supposed to be scolding him, Lee Jihoon, Jihoon could hear you chiding, NOT giving in the minute he cries like this. 

Of course, Jihoon knew that. But he just sat there, speechless for a few seconds before coming down on his knees and consoling his baby. He really couldn’t be upset with this one for long, hard as he might try! “Hey, I liked your paper planes,” he whispered gently, rubbing his boy’s back and scooping him up into his arms, walking to and from one side of the room to the other. “You did great! I liked them.” 

Yeseung looked up from Jihoon’s now-wet shirt where he had burrowed his face in to study his appa’s face. “Really? You…” Hiccup. “Really…” Hiccup. “Liked it…FOR REAL?” 

Jihoon nodded, relieved to see that Yeseung had stopped sobbing his hurt little heart out. “I did. But what I didn’t like about them was that you made them out of my music sheets. What did Eomma and I tell you about that?”

“I…” he sniffled. “I wasn’t supposed to tear it up like I did.” 

“But you did. Now, are you going to do that again?” 

Yeseung, bless his heart, wiped his tears and shook his head.  His eyes, now hopefully alight again, were looking at his father. “Not ever again.”

“You promise?” Jihoon looked at his little boy with a twinkle in his eye.

“I promise,” Yeseung solemnly replied. 

“That’s my boy!” Jihoon kissed him on the cheek. “How about I get the ‘I Love You’ kiss to be sure that we’re friends again?”

Yeseung’s face lit up just like that. Using his hands wetted by tears, he held his father’s face on both and kissed Jihoon on the nose to start. He began to chant this unique family ritual in his irresistibly endearing, sing-song voice. “Appa, appa, I love you!” Left cheek kiss. “I love you!” Right cheek kiss. “I love you!” Nose kiss. 

Jihoon laughed and did the same. “Yeseung, Yeseung, I love you!” Left cheek kiss. “I love you!” Right cheek kiss. “I love you!” Nose kiss.

“There!” Yeseung looked at him cheekily and patted his face, as if consoling him, as if his dad were the one who did something wrong. “We’re friends again now!” Then he burrowed his face into his dad’s shirt and said something that sounded like, “I wuv youuuu”.

Jihoon just stayed like that, as if time became suspended for him. Never had he felt these unexplainable emotions inside him right now. And, as was characteristic of him, he couldn’t say a word. This feeling, with his baby boy tucked into him so snugly, was too precious for words.

Soft laughs could be heard from the cameramen, breaking his awed reverie. He smiled shyly at one camera, and exited the room, still carrying his early-morning troublemaker.

And so father and son became reconciled after the paper plane incident, happily playing around with each other and laughing, the way they always do whenever they are together. 

INTERVIEW WITH LEE JIHOON, 30: 

JIHOON: (Smiles shyly.) I’m really happy that I got to be a part of this show. Being part of an idol group is amazing, and the companionship and the effort each of us put to make SEVENTEEN survive the challenges and achieve milestones cannot be compared to anything…but it’s true that we sometimes miss out on family life. The tours, the training, the endless engagements and other things that work requires us to do, are often at the expense of our time with our personal and family lives. I’m really thankful for shows like this, where the line between career and personal lives could be blurred for a few enjoyable days to show people that we, too, have families, and we want to spend time with them as much as we could. (Shows a picture of Yeseung.) This was taken during Yeseung’s second birthday party. He had just gotten his front teeth then, and you could see that there (points at Yeseung’s grinning mouth in the picture.)…he’s cute, isn’t he? (Laughs shyly again.) But the reason why I was showing this is because I would like to tell you that this was one of the times when I wasn’t able to make it for an important family event. It’s a good thing that my wife understands enough, loving enough, and patient enough to go on and do things even when I am not there. She has never resented me for having less time with them as I’d like. (Smiles briefly.) But here I am, and I promise myself that I will enjoy these moments with my baby.

9:00 A.M.

NARRATOR: *Little artist Yeseung is going to daycare today. Will he enjoy his day with friends today? Let’s find out!*

“THAT’S NOT A STAR!!!” 

Yeseung’s eyes started to water with tears as he looked at Eunha, his girl crush since forever, glaring at him with her tiny arms crossed around her chest. 

The daycare toddlers had been told by their teacher to draw shapes with different kinds of crayons and pencils, all neatly laid out on the tables. The kids, sitting patiently on their chairs and putting their creative minds to work, were seated three by three on each table. But the cameras were zoomed in on Lee Yeseung and Jeon Eunha’s table. They were supposed to have another classmate on their table, but a friend of theirs wasn’t able to come to daycare today. Cameramen smiled as they panned swiftly to Lee Yeseung, whose lower lip had started to tremble, a sure sign that he was about to cry. Again. 

Beautiful Jeon Eunha, Jeon Wonwoo’s bright little baby girl, dressed in a white dress and baby blue cardigan, would not stop telling Yeseung that he had made an unusual drawing of a star. Therefore, it could not be a star. 

A cameraman zoomed in on the artwork in question, and he had to agree. The huge yellow-and-orange blob in the middle of Lee Yeseung’s paper did not look like a star at first glance.

But how could we say that to such a cute little boy who looked even cuter in his navy trousers, cream-colored sweater and round-rimmed glasses? How?

“B-but it is a star,” he sobbed as he pointed at his artwork with a yellow crayon. “See? It--it even looks like it’s burning bright!”

“It’s not a star, Lee Yeseung,” Eunha insisted, her beautiful chin arched up imperiously. “Stars do not look like that!”

Yeseung cried. “Don’t fight with each other, Yeseung and Eunha,” Yoon Jae Eun wisely shouted from the other table where she was also drawing shapes with the Choi twins. “Don’t cry anymore, Lee Yeseung!”

Eunha saw that she had made Yeseung cry, and she stopped crossing her arms and sat down next to him. Embarrassed because he could not stop crying, she awkwardly patted his shoulder. 

“Don’t cry,” she softly consoled, “don’t cry.”

“No I don’t wanna cry,” Choi Seungjae sang from the other table. Soft laughter emanated from the cameremen’s different perches. Seriously, Choi Seungjae? 

NARRATOR: *Aww, the argument between Lee Yeseung and Jeon Eunha is now ending with a warm gesture from Eunha! How cute these two are!*

“I’m sorry for making you cry,” Eunha whispered, her braids swishing as she leaned close to Yeseung. Her pretty, almond-shaped eyes, which shone fiercely a few moments ago, now looked kind. And Yeseung, seeing that his friend was being nice to him again, gave Eunha a wobbly smile. 

“I can show you how to make a better star. May I?”

Yeseung nods, his eyes filled with unashamed wonder again at Eunha. 

Watching from a floor-to-ceiling window facing the tables, Jihoon and Wonwoo stood watching their kids. 

Lee Jihoon groaned and put his hand to his face. “Wow.” 

Wonwoo looked over at Jihoon and grinned. “I told you: let’s match them up.” 

“Stop that! They’re so young!” But Jihoon laughed and pressed a hand to the windowpane, his watchful eyes never leaving his son, who was now coloring with Eunha. “You’re right, though. My Yeseung likes Eunha very much.” 

Wonwoo nodded wisely, very much like his daughter. “I guess he liked her from the very moment he met Eunha.”

INTERVIEW WITH LEE JIHOON, 30:

JIHOON: (Rubs his chin thoughtfully.) When Yeseung was about two years old, my wife and I noticed that he was having a hard time trying to speak. I thought we were just both paranoid parents since he was our first baby, but when we relayed our concerns to our family doctor, he immediately referred us to a speech-language pathologist, who confirmed our fears. This pathologist told us that Yeseung had the beginning stages of a “speech sound disorder”. Yeseung checks the box on the symptoms that this disorder is known widely for: not using consonants when babbling, using mainly vowels or resorting to gestures to communicate even at age 2...we were really--how do I put  this--distraught, that our little boy could have that kind of speech impediment. But the doctor told us not to worry, and said that because we found out about Yeseung’s speech disorder earlier, we could treat it with a higher chance of success. 

(Short pause as Jihoon takes a drink.)

JIHOON: We took him to a lot of individual therapy sessions for the first few months, but there were no changes. We took less hours from work as much as we could to spend more time with him. Yeseung was a bright kid. He knew that there was something wrong and I could see that he wanted to help us make him better, but he could only do so much. 

(Looks lost in thought for a while.)

JIHOON: I remember thinking during that time, “My baby boy is about to attend daycare and then preschool--if we don’t have success in therapeutic treatment, he may have a hard time at school.” (Looks at his hands.) I remember nights when I would carry him in my arms at night, rock him to sleep, and then go to my wife, who would be crying silently. I would hold her close, too. Where words sound empty, gestures fill. (Smiles sadly.) It was a very hard time for her because the both of us had demanding jobs, and there are particularly hard days at work, which adds to the pressure of making sure that our child gets the love, care and attention that he needs. Sometimes, as a parent, you feel so inadequate because even though you love your child with all of your being, it’s...it’s not enough. And you have to learn to accept that you aren’t enough, and that you have to learn harder to wait. I learned that as we helped Yeseung overcome his speech sound disorder.

JIHOON: (Pauses for a while, then suddenly smiles.) Things took a turn for the better when Wonwoo and his family visited on a Monday. My wife was at work and I was the one with Yeseung then, because it was my day off. Wonwoo brought Eunha to Yeseung, and I could still remember Yeseung’s face (Gestures wildly with his hands, eyes smiling.), all bright and cheerful and all smiles--he only had his four front teeth, then! I remember that they played together a lot, and Wonwoo and I talked all afternoon about...dad stuff. (Laughs lightly.) Who knew, right? Who knew that we’d get to this point. We got married at about the same time, we had kids that are separated only by months--it was an amazing conversation that I still recall fondly. 

(The cameraman nods agreement at Jihoon’s comments about how fast time flies. Jihoon gives him a high-five.)

JIHOON: But what amazed me was when we ended the day and I was carrying Yeseung, as we waved goodbye to our visitors, Yeseung shouted out, “Jeon Eunha, bye-bye!” (Looks at the camera, smiling incredulously.) If anyone could have seen my face when he said those three words. He said it clearly, without any sign of the impediment he was being treated with. I tried to make him say it again, but he looked up at me and I knew that I had to wait a little longer for him to speak clearly on his own. I didn’t have to wait longer. During dinner later that night, my wife and I were surprised. He suddenly said, “Jeon Eunha. I like Jeon Eunha.”

(Wonderment from the background of the interview. Jihoon nods, smiling and then shakes his head in disbelief.)

JIHOON: (Looks at the camera again, smirking his FAMOUS SMIRK.) To everyone who is watching, yes, it’s true. Yeseung’s first clear sentence wasn’t about his parents. (Shakes his head again.) It was about how he liked Jeon Eunha.

12:00 P.M.

“LEE YESEUNG!!!” 

Jihoon’s piercing cry of alarm could be heard all around the whole daycare center. Cameras panned at him quickly, standing, distraught and in shock, as he watched his toddler tumble down the supposedly safe slide at the playroom, head first. 

As fast as his feet could carry him, Jihoon was beside his son at once. He cradled Yeseung’s head on his lap and he checked for bumps. His heart raced inside so fast he felt like he was about to faint. He recorded today in his mind: Lee Yeseung’s first slide accident. He wanted no more accidents in the future. 

“Why did you slide down like that?” he chided worriedly. He kissed Yeseung’s head over and over again and hugged his boy close to him. “You’re not allowed to slide that way again, are we clear?” When he did not get a response from the little tyke, he repeated, more firmly, “Are we clear, Lee Yeseung?”

“Hehehe.”

The gurgling giggles that only four-year-old toddlers can produce vibrated in Lee Jihoon’s chest. Surprised, he looked down at Yeseung in his arms. 

Lee Yeseung wasn’t crying. 

Lee Yeseung was laughing. 

As in bursting to the seams with laughter. 

“Lee Yeseung, I didn’t hear you reply to me. Are we clear?” Jihoon intentionally made his voice sound sterner than usual. “Are. We. Clear? Or do I have to make you face the wall like your Eomma does?” 

The little lip trembled again. Jihoon thought Yeseung was about to have another crying session, but something different happened. 

The trembling lip was a moment’s hesitation, in a toddler’s language. 

Yeseung reached up, cupped his father’s face in his small hands, and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Lee Ye--”

--another kiss on the cheek. Followed by a giggle. 

“You look funny when you’re mad, Appa,” Yeseung giggled again. “Funny, funny, funny!”

“Lee Yeseung,” Lee Jihoon groaned. Again, he received a kiss on the cheek. 

“Don’t be mad at Yeseung anymore!”

“LEE YESEEEUNNGGGG!!!”

With that, Lee Yeseung bounded away, towards the direction where Choi Seungjae’s voice came from. His playmates were calling again. 

And Lee Jihoon--while charmed and red-faced by his son’s “kiss-on-the-cheek diplomacy”--still watched worriedly. He had felt a huge bump that he knew would soon grow into a humongous one later. He knew that you would be furious the moment you see that bump on Yeseung’s forehead. 

Sighing and completely resigned to his fate as a worried dad and soon-to-be-interrogated husband, he watched as Yeseung played tag with his hyper friends.

Oops. He had to remove that word from his vocabulary. He mentally slapped his head. Yeseung doesn’t like being called hyper. Yeseung won’t like it if Jihoon described his friends as hyper, too, he knew. 

“I love my son,” he repeated over and over. “I love my son. I love my wife. This will be a great day.” 

And of course it will be!

8:00 P.M.

NARRATOR: *We are back at the Lee Residence! Looks like little Lee Yeseung is telling his mom about his day while they are playing with his Legos. Let’s look at what they are doing!* 

It was a rule in your house that Lee Yeseung will only be allowed to play with his iPad for a certain amount of hours, and with parental supervision. Nights were reserved for non-gadget games and quality time as a family. 

Which is why, after dinner, cameras slowly zoomed in on Yeseung’s bedroom, where you, Jihoon and Yeseung were all sprawled on the padded floor, helping the little one play with his Lego blocks. You, of course, had your face blurred on the cameras for privacy purposes. On his small bed, tidily decorated and loud with Toy Story designs (Woody was Yeseung’s favorite cartoon character), were Yeseung’s pajamas and socks, folded neatly and waiting to be worn by their owner when bedtime approached. 

You helped Lee Yeseung build a ship with his Lego blocks, and Lee Jihoon sat on one side, pen and paper in hand. He had been trying to salvage what he could still remember about his latest work, which had been torn apart and made into paper planes, now hanging on the ceiling above. Yeseung had insisted, and you had overruled Jihoon’s protestations. Jihoon had given in and helped you and Yeseung hang the paper planes onto the ceiling with different colored strings. 

“Eunha and I had a fight,” Yeseung dutifully reported to you as he skilfully attached a Lego to complete the hull of the ship.

“Aww. Now that’s a story I haven’t heard about.” you said consolingly at your son before turning to Jihoon, whispering fiercely, “Was this before or after our baby got a bump on his head?”

Jihoon stopped writing. “Ouch. That hurts. I was watching him all the time when he slid the wrong way, love!”

You made faces at Jihoon and turned back to Yeseung. The ship was almost completed. “Why did you have a fight?”

“She told me that my star did not look like a star.” Yeseung’s face twisted again when he mentioned what happened, but he did not cry. “But it was a star, Eommai! I even made it burn brightly.”

You were taken by surprise at the reason for the fight and decided to be gentle. “Well...we learned about what stars look like, right? Remember? You and Eomma made stars together?”

Yeseung nodded and looked up at you with sad eyes. “I remember.”

“So…” you purse your lips. “What did your star look like?” 

Yeseung immediately got up and skipped to his small drawing table, where he picked up a piece of paper. “Here, Eomma! And I promise you, it’s really a star!”

You looked at the blob of yellow on the paper and could not speak for a moment. Ah. Maybe they were learning about shapes earlier, and to everyone in the classroom, this did not look like a star shape. But you knew how Yeseung was thinking. You glanced at your son appreciatively, smiling at him.

“It is a star,” you confirmed, and Yeseung beamed at you. 

By nine o’clock, after tucking Yeseung in to sleep, cameras were still trained on you and Jihoon, sitting next to your toddler’s bed. 

Jihoon cleared his throat. “So...is it really a star?”

You looked at Jihoon quickly and laughed softly. Then you reached for Yeseung’s iPad on the bedside table where you were leaning. 

“See for yourself.”

You opened the iPad and showed Jihoon a recent video that Yeseung had just watched. It was about the solar system and the stars. 

No stars shown on the video looked five-pointed. All stars shown were balls of fire, burning brightly. 

“Eunha was right when she showed Yeseung how to draw the star shape that we use in art,” you said softly, closing the iPad, “but Yeseung was thinking differently. He was picturing a real star. He knew what they really looked like and he wanted to draw it well.” 

“Hence the blob.” Jihoon was holding Yeseung’s artwork. “He’s a genius.

You laughed again. “Yes. Hence the blob of burning yellow.”

You both laughed, and watched Yeseung’s deep breaths. Then you turned off the lamp. “Let’s go. He’s asleep.”

“Remind me to get padlocks for my office.”

You laughed again.

Cameras panned away from Yeseung’s room as you and Jihoon retreated to your bedroom. But, faintly, just before the scene was completed, Jihoon was heard speaking in low tones.

“Remember those thirty nights we spent together, love?”

“Shhhh! Lee Jihoon!”

Mercifully, the scene had already been completed. Lee Jihoon’s teasing laugh and your noises of protest went unrecorded and your bedroom door closed.

So there ended another night at the Lee residence. 

3:04 A.M.

Or so we thought. 

The soft patter of footsteps and a little figure in pajamas could be heard quietly sneaking into a forbidden part of the house. 

Click. 

“Let’s make boats for Eomma,” a voice sang in the dark. 

An automatic light came on in the forbidden room, followed by the sound of paper being ripped. Rip, rip, rip. And singing! But you and Jihoon did not hear all the commotion happening. The cameras, though, recorded the sneaky action.

You better hope that ripping sound is not coming out of your books…

…because Lee Yeseung is about to make you a lot of boats.

EPISODES | Ep. 1 | Ep. 2 | after-party |  Ep. 3 | only us | Ep. 4 | afterglow

- Admin Leanne

[shipping-isnt-morality]

On ending friendships with antis/fanfom assholes

So I get a lot of asks abt friendships fracturing in the current fandom, and feeling bad about being unable to just “block and move on” when dealing with people they know. and I have an experience with that that i think might help people feel less alone in it?

So: once upon a time a few years ago I made a new friend in a fandom I was really excited about. We were both writers who were active in the still-small community and who loved each other’s work. In the course of about a week we added each other on skype, started collabing on a fic, started a new edit trend in the fandom, and talked basically daily.

And then she asked me to edit a story, in which a character that I read as an abuser gets together with his victim and they are much happier and sexier together than the main ship.

I tried at first to just say I didn’t like the ship and didn’t think I was the person to edit it, but on pushing admitted that I read him as an abuser in canon and wasn’t comfortable with how dismissive her fic was of his behavior. She took this.......... poorly. Basically said I was accusing her personally of being an abuser, because she related to this character, and that I was trying to manipulate her into only writing the pairing we had in common. I said “no, I just don’t want to beta this fic for you”, and we..... sort of dropped it.

But - and you may have noticed this about me - I can’t leave a topic well enough alone if my life depended on it, and her insistence that I was reading him as an abuser to spite her annoyed me, so I wrote a post breaking down basically everything the character had done so far, how his ex acted and spoke around him, and how those look a lot like abusive behaviors and trauma. And... well, let’s just say just about everyone in the tumblr fandom saw it within the next couple days.

I spent about 12 hours getting positive responses and “I don’t agree but I appreciate the thought you put into this”. And then his stans found me.

I.... don’t think I need to go into how this went? We know the song and dance; I had to shut down my askbox, locked my social media profiles, stopped accepting Skype friend requests, and endured a ton of people telling me that I was A) calling them, personally, abusers or B) was trivializing abuse and was the worst kind of tumblrite or C) should just choke and die already. Sometimes all three, it was a very fun..... 72 hours or so.

Anyways. After the initial backlash, there was a group of about 8-9 people who were still stubbornly going after me and anyone associated with me on every platform they could find. (I would find out later that they made a group chat and all became friends over their hatred of me, which is kind of flattering and kind of fucking obnoxious.) One charmingly implied, after I admitted to being an abuse survivor, that either I was lying or I deserved it. My new friend, who’d been mostly silent through all this, was mutuals with all of them.

I went to her with their behavior, and she said, essentially, “it’s not my business, you said stuff that really hurt them” and I said “I literally wrote meta, it is not my fault that they took it this personally. I’m a real person, this character they’re defending isn’t.” and she.... wasn’t willing to talk to them, or ask them to stop, or even just not share my content with this group (god, remember when tumblr’s blocking features were even worse somehow? Me too). After about a week and a half I decided I had to just block her too and move on with my life, because I was miserable and anxious and wanted to unlock my damn accounts.

It hurt. I guess that’s what I’m getting at. I knew her for maybe 20 days total, and we barely spoke for the last 10, and yet it still hurt, y’know? It can really, really suck, to have people you connect with turn out to be totally willing to hurt you, or leave you out in the cold, because of an opinion about fiction. If I was younger when this happened, I may well have backed down on my opinion to save the friendship. As it was I had to get a LOT of reassurance that I hadn’t done anything wrong and didn’t deserve what happened.

This isn’t something with a grand solution. It sucked, I got hurt, I had to end a friendship for my own health and lean on my other friends while I got over it. If I’d known her for months, or years, I can’t imagine how much worse it would have been. “Block and move on” is ok advice when it’s strangers shouting at you; it is infinitely harder when it’s mutuals, friends, people you trust and like doing this to you. I have nothing but sympathy for people who struggle with leaving friends because those friends are being assholes about fandom opinions. Cutting friends off is hard, of course it’s hard, and it’s a personal decision. Just because it’s technically easier to cut someone off online doesn’t mean it’s emotionally easier. Be kind to yourself about this stuff.

[amarantine-amirite]

The Write Stuff

Shontelle wrapped up her story about how she saw her dad die. We clapped, and I offered feedback.

"Quick question," I said, "the last two stories you wrote were pretty bleak. Are you OK?"

Shontelle laughed. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, "The prof recommended I get a private tutor because of how much I'm struggling with the class, and the tutor said that it doesn't matter how well you write...all that matters is the topic."

To be honest, it surprised me that she said that out loud. I've always thought that about this class, and I'm sure everyone else did too. I'm kind of relieved to know that I'm not crazy. That said, I still didn't believe her when she said it.

"I'm serious," she continued, "poorly written my little brother is actually my son but I haven't told him yet always gets higher marks than well written my dad almost peed on the computer."

I smiled, knowing that I left an impact on the girls in my editing group with such a funny story. "And, by the way, Margaret," Shontelle finished, "good job. That made me laugh so hard."

It pleased me to no end that they all liked that story about my dad almost peeing on the computer. I worked hard on it, and I was a bit concerned that our professor wouldn't like it. I remember I took that story to his office, and he had to end office hours early because he was laughing so hard.

"Anyway," I said, "did you read the next chapter of the book a little bit?"

"I did," Gwen said, groaning, "please tell me we're not going to have to write about romantic relationships in this course."

I winced. I have never been in a romantic relationship and thus have nothing to work with. "God, I hope not, because all I've got in that department is the story about how the cashier at the grocery store tried to break up with his girlfriend over the phone, and she told him she was pregnant because she poked holes in his condoms and didn't tell him to try and keep him in the relationship, and I told him he could do so much better."

Shontelle's jaw dropped. "You actually said that to someone?" she gasped.

I nodded. The girls giggled. "You should write that, Margaret," they said, "that's really funny!"

The next time I came to class, I overheard people planning to make stuff up for the next story. I would guess that only three or so students in the class saw this tutor, but they told the others, so now, everyone thinks that tragic stories get better marks.

After that, it came for us. The Relationship Assignment. Write about a romantic relationship that you have experienced. The writing must be about an actual relationship - no crushes or other people's relationships allowed. Seems pretty straightforward, but something like that is incredibly personal to most people. Not to mention there goes my cashier story.

I don't think anyone in our class worked hard on that story. I think they just pulled something out of their ass, handed it in, and did their best to forget about it.

That is, of course, until about two weeks later.

When we rolled into class that day, two weeks after the professor announced our relationship assignment, we got a hell of a surprise from our professor, Dr. Bobby Chao.

"OK guys, I need to talk to you about your relationship pieces," he began. He glared at us, like a cat whose tiny expectations had not been met. "Every single one of you wrote the same thing."

We all looked at each other in a state of confusion. "What do you mean?" somebody asked.

"All you handed in the same story," he said, "the story of the make-out session in the woods interrupted by a deranged killer with a hook for a hand."

Some of us laughed. Others groaned. A few of us texted despite the ban on electronics in class.

"I have a good mind to speak to the registrar's office about what you did," he said in a tone I can only describe as restrained barking, "this whole thing constitutes plagiarism, we could have you all expelled."

The minute he said the word expelled, everyone stopped what they were doing, looked up, and blinked.

"Unless you want to be expelled, you must rewrite your relationship piece, and this time, provide proof!"

Everyone in class collectively flipped their wig. "You can't do that!" said one boy.

"I don't want you calling my old boyfriend!" said a girl.

"My partner died two years ago!" said the girl who sits behind me.

Dr. Chao did not back down. "I understand this may upset you, but I'm afraid you don't have a choice. As it is, the department has already launched an investigation. I could lose my job over this."

By the next class, I had a rewrite ready: the (totally fake, by the way) story of the time my first kiss guy died from a peanut allergy. What happened was I ate something with peanuts in it, and played spin the bottle, and the guy I kissed had a huge peanut allergy. Because nobody could remember how to work an EpiPen properly (it’s not that hard; blue to the sky, orange to the thigh), he died.

It was perfect. Since the guy died, my prof wouldn’t ask for me to call him and verify that the story was true.

I heard him say this the minute I came to office hours.

“Margaret.” Dr. Chao began, “What’s wrong with this picture?”

I blinked nervously. “Nothing,”

Dr. Chao raised his eyebrow. “Really? Did I not ask for proof that this story actually happened?”

I nodded and suppressed a brief laugh. “You did, but given that he died; you won’t have much luck talking to him,” I chuckled.

Dr. Chao did not see my humour. “Margaret,” he said, “it’s OK to write about a romantic partner that is currently dead, but you must hand in a death certificate with the story.”

Uh-oh. Margaret, they’re onto you, I thought, quick, say something.

“Well,” I told him, “I don't have a copy of the death certificate, but I do have the kid's dad's contact info. Here, let me write it down for you,” I said as I grabbed a post-it note, wrote down a fake phone number and gave it to him.

I found out later that the prof called the number, and got some guy in Ottawa. I wish I’d told him that he may have changed his number for some reason between now and then.

[multimetaverse]

Andi Mack 3x18 Review

Something To Talk A-Boot was a pretty good ep that was surprisingly fillery and made apparent the cracks in the show’s writing. Let’s dig in!

We got some great Tyrus scenes that more than made up for the crappy writing we’ve seen the last two Tyrus eps. For once they got to end on a happy note which was much appreciated. We returned to the same fun and flirty dynamic we saw before costume day and it’s like that whole mess never happened (which I’ll discuss more in the negatives). 

We’re back to the confident and flirty TJ we had been seeing up until costume day and it’s good that the show has abandoned it’s incredibly ill advised and poorly done internalized homophobia story line which is necessary because Tyrus can’t canon in the finale if TJ and Cyrus aren’t both comfortable with themselves and with each other. Luckily for the show, most of the audience will never know what the hell was going on with TJ in eps 13 and 15 and will just ignore it as bad writing. 

Lot’s of completely unnecessary touching between Tyrus in this ep like holding on to each others shoulders after the verdict and TJ tapping Cyrus as he was putting his seat belt on. I was pleasantly surprised by the full on hug we got; I didn’t think Terri would get a hug approved in this ep and be able to get hand holding approved in the finale but looks like she pulled it off. It made for a rare rule of three for Cyrus as we saw three increasingly gay hugs between him and TJ this season. I loved the whole you’ll visit me on the inside bit, that’s the kind of thing only couples say. 

Man was that Tyrus golf cart scene ever romantic. Just pure flirty fluff and it was wonderful to see. Really the only reason TJ stole the golf cart again and drove off to find Cyrus was to flirt with him. It’s the closest a show with 14 year olds can get to a classic drive off into the sunset ending. Has there ever been a better nerd/jock ship? The golf cart scene was a perfect encapsulation of their dynamic and showed such growth on Cyrus’ part from the scared kid who couldn’t imagine breaking the rules to the more confident self TJ has helped him become. It’s a bittersweet thought but even though a good chunk if not most of the audience still thinks Tyrus is a friendship or one sided crush, everyone who ever starts the show after the finale will know that Tyrus is a romantic relationship and for them subtext will be text from the very start. 

I think it was very deliberate that all of TJ’s scenes were at the school, we needed to see him interacting like normal with Cyrus at the place they’ll spend most of their time. This ep really was in many ways a glimpse of what canon Tyrus will be like after they get together and come out to the world; supportive, flirty, comfortable.

They really took advantage of Luke being 17 and a good driver. I wonder if ‘leggo’’ was in the script or if that was a Luke ad lib.

This was the last confirmed ep they ever filmed at the school and there’s an extremely good chance that the very wholesome and very gay Tyrus golf cart scene was the last scene we’ll ever see at the school. Which is a hell of a way to say goodbye to the school. 

We got just under 5 minutes of Tyrus screen time and just over 5 and a half minutes of total TJ screen time this ep (excluding TJ cheering in the stands). This is the most he’s had since 3x06 and may actually be the most he’s had or will have all season. And this was more Tyrus screen time than we’ve had in 3x11, 3x13, and 3x15 combined which is a damning indictment of Disney’s censorship. Partly this was likely because the writers were trying to pad his screen time a bit since he was originally supposed to be gone for 3 eps in a row instead of 2. Funnily enough, because his story line was left intact even with the cut ep and re-shoots it now looks as though he may actually get a little more screen time in these final 7 eps than Marty does.

It’s impressive too because all of TJ’s scenes were filmed over two days; it makes such a difference when they’re actually allowed to have him on set for more than one day and that they let Luke and Josh actually have scenes together and took advantage of them being older and able to work longer hours.

This ep really built TJ’s character back up and it’s easy to see that the writers knew they had to get the audience back on TJ’s side and remind them of his and Cyrus’ dynamic especially since he was supposed to have been gone for 3 eps in a row instead of 2. 

Josh did a great job hamming it up at the trial. Loved the ‘’you’re showboating’’ ‘’thank you for noticing your honour’’ bit. And Cyrus adding ‘’sir’’ when he was pretending to respond to himself from the witness box was good too. Love that Cyrus took the time to change back into a suit before hearing the verdict.

It makes such a difference for Cyrus’ character is TJ is in an ep or not and I don’t even mean from a shipping perspective. In non TJ eps Cyrus is almost always reduced to therapist friend or comic relief, when TJ is an ep he usually gets to be an active character and actually get to do things. 

We had Buffy saying he used to be the worst and is now the best and Cyrus taking credit for seeing the good in him which was a nice reminder of the amazing growth TJ has had. And of course, there was no real reason to have TJ be the one to help Buffy get to class except to make him look good in the audience’s eyes.

I know a lot of people wanted to see more of Buffy and TJ’s friendship but I’m fine with their brief interactions. The only reason he had so much time with her in S2 and why the end of S2 set up a friendship between them was because Garren had left and they didn’t know they could get him back.

Such great growth on Buffy’s part from the girl who wouldn’t even pass the baton to her team mates back in S1. The Spikes have largely been treated as a joke but we really saw a great dynamic between them and Buffy tonight; they all felt like a real team for the first time ever. And it was interesting seeing Buffy’s room and seeing her doing normal teen stuff with people outside of the GHC. Glad the Spikes got a win and glad Buffy was able to bounce back from her injury and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. 

Very sweet last scene between Jonah and Amber, it was a nice call back to 2x01 when Amber confided in Jonah about her family’s money problems. It was messy but they did help and support each other. I’m happy that Jonah will now be in a more secure place. 

This was also the last confirmed ep they filmed at the Spoon and Jonah watching Amber get him a milkshake is a sweet way to say goodbye to a location that was almost a character in and of itself. We also got to see one last glimpse of the ginger waitress who we’ve seen in a couple of eps.

I liked that Jonah pointed out how well the GHC know each other; he’s a part of the friend group but he’s always stood apart from the GHC itself. 

I also liked that Jonah didn’t know what an existential crisis was. Always funny when they lean into dumb Jonah. 

Jonah and Andi had a sweet scene; glad he’s self aware enough to know he’s not a good advice giver. Liked the callback to Jonah scaring Andi. 

Bex is doing her best. Andi is definitely reacting like a teen. 

No Kira this ep which was great.

Shout out to the FBI and SLPD for shrinking the gap between TJ’s appearances. As much as cutting Ham has ended up damaging the other story lines it will definitely make Cyrus’ story line age much better. Having TJ be gone for 3 eps in a row only to come back after the wedding and only being able to have this kind of screen time and nice scenes after the wedding is so transparent that even kids would have noticed why that was.

Negatives:

I plan to have a happy finale night so I’m going to get my criticism of Terri’s handling of Tyrus out of the way now. I’ve seen quite a few posts on different social media sites wondering if TJ was in the cut ep and that’s why Kira isn’t mentioned or if there were cut Tyrus scenes but the plain simple truth is that this is just bad writing, some of the worst Terri has done. It’s not a satisfying explanation but it’s reality. 

I’d like to hear Terri one day explain what she thought she was going to accomplish with this internalized homophobia plot line on a show with so many restrictions and with an audience that doesn’t know TJ is gay. I don’t think there is a good explanation but I would like to know what the hell she was thinking. She’s always shown such care with the gay story line and to just drop the ball so badly when the show is almost done is more sad than anything else. Thank god Disney let her have canon Tyrus in the finale.

It’s clear from the writing of S3 that they knew from the very start that Tyrus couldn’t canon until the finale, if at all. It’s been nothing but drama that keeps them apart up until now: Buffy is still kind of mad at TJ, Reed had a gun, Jonah is mad at TJ, Bubbe Rose dies, Kira comes in. TJ isn’t even involved with the Spikes after 3x04 and barely had any scenes with Buffy and he hasn’t had a single scene with Jonah since so it’s not like those plots were meant to have an impact. And Terri would have known that TJ could only be in 9 eps max this season and she was the one who cast a 14 year old to play Kira, knowing that Raquel just wouldn’t be able to be on set nearly as long as Luke which of course she did because she knew it didn’t matter how old she was because Kira and TJ would have limited screen time anyways. And she would have known that the look back had been edited to make it look like TJ was straight and yet she still went ahead. 

Honestly, Terri is lucky that most of the audience will never know that TJ was supposed to be struggling with his sexuality in 3x13-3x15 because if they did this story line would come off as much worse than it does for them. I can buy that she wouldn’t have known how far she could go with canon Tyrus until close to the finale itself but that just makes her decisions even more baffling. If she ends up being able to have a textual ending then she has to have TJ be confident or it just won’t make sense. But if Disney said no to canon Tyrus then there’s no way they would have let her properly explore an internalized homophobia arc anyways which makes it all pointless. 

Now that we’ve seen up until 18 we can see just how defensive Terri’s instagram post back in November about not complaining about Disney censorship or queerbaiting was. At the time all she had actually accomplished was Cyrus saying the word gay which was historic and wonderful but only one ep. There’s obvious censorship by Disney and it would have been even more apparent if it wasn’t for Stoney’s arrest. And up until now there’s really nothing differentiating  Tyrus from queerbaiting as Cyrus hasn’t even been able to say he has a crush on TJ. I know she’ll do a good job with Tyrus in the finale but I really hope she doesn’t do something egregiously bad with Kira’s ‘redemption’

It doesn’t make sense that no one would mention Kira. We had TJ scenes over 4 days in universe and no Kira in sight. So either she’s not clinging to him or he told her off. It’s all just so her appearance at the party can make Cyrus flee to the bench for one last bit of contrived drama. 

We finally ended the very poorly plotted Jamber arc. It’s clear that they first decided to get Jamber back together, likely to keep Jandi apart and as a shocking twist, and then worked backwards from there to figure out how to make it plausible and settled on Jonah also having financial issues. The problem being is that those financial problems were largely ignored and we never got an in depth exploration of Jonah or Amber’s psychology. It’s not like they didn’t have time for it since Amber set a new record for recurring characters, excepting S2 Bowie. It’s hard to say Amber has had a true arc over the series. She definitely got nicer but we’ve only really gotten character development from her these past couple of eps. She’s in the same place she was back in 2x01, newly broken up with Jonah, with parents who fight, and forced to work at the Spoon to help support her family. 

Loved that the Spikes were watching footage of their game with the Spartans, which hadn’t happened yet, at their sleep over. Back in the S2 finale when Buffy announced that she was founding a girls team I never imagined that they would be written as a joke and barely shown. I’d guess that was another casualty of them being able to get Marty back for S3.

Looking Ahead:

I’m a lot more content with the show ending after S3 after seeing these recent eps. There’s been way too much filler and a lot of bizarre decisions. Yes the cut ep and the re-shoots hurt a lot of plots but it doesn’t seem like the originals were all that much better. It’s clear that the Muffy plot in 3x17 ended after the bowling alley and Amber’s plot ended with her leaving Cyrus’ house which means that Marty went with Buffy as her date to the wedding in the original 3x18 only to friendzone her and tell her to get her foot checked. And Amber still went with Jonah even though she knew he had been lying to her and they only broke up at the wedding. I’m sure the Mack family A plot would have been great but the B and C plots look like they would have sucked. 

Terri’s never had a show that went beyond 2 seasons and I think in some ways she struggled with plotting out 21 eps worth of story lines. Better to end now when the show will go down as historic then drag it down in a potential S4. And better for Terri’s reputation as well, she gets to end the show as a visionary whereas if we got a S4 she’d likely end up with more of a Michael Jacob’s type reputation. 

Also this ep shows that any hope for seeing canon Tyrus in S4 was just a dream. Disney is clearly only willing to let things get textual in the finale itself. Even Mack Chat didn’t mention Cyrus once tonight despite him having a big role in the ep. An odd game Disney plays with showing the bench scene in promos but not letting Mack Chat get too gay. 

New finale promo sheds a little more light on things. Two Cyrus waving scenes, probably one is before the bench scene and one is after. Bench scene starts with some extras near the fire and once they leave is when things get textual. TJ and Marty will probably have an interaction after both Tyrus and Muffy canon. Looks like there doing something with Jandi but again I don’t think we get canon Jandi, just something ambiguous. Bowie and Bex dancing in the back ground, Bowie in his dad’s tux and Bex possibly in her wedding dress. Obviously they’re already married but it’s probably them re-creating the wedding they had planned for but didn’t end up having.

Next ep is one with a ton of re-shoots and should feature the new wedding. We’ll see how smooth it is. My one hope is that we get some word that Jonah has told his parents about his panic attacks, even if it’s off screen. 

[dhominis]

drunkblogging. Obvious CWs for alcohol use, brief mention of emesis. Also introspection.

(Until alcohol, I’d never experienced consciousness without rapid-fire dialectical barrages of thought.)

Until alcohol, I’d never experienced consciousness without rapid-fire dialectical barrages of thought. My experience of self is a constant stream of new topics and analysis and morally neutral whataboutism -- my brain is constantly sealioning -- nothing goes unexamined, though frequently poorly examined -- and I love it, I do, I enjoy existing as this self, but it never shuts up. Sleep: every night, at least half an hour (and generally more like an hour) of herding the thoughts into a little corner, telling the brain patiently parent-like no we’re not thinking right now we’re blank we’re pretending the whole world isn’t interesting --

Just this side of unsustainable. Every night; every minute of every day. It never shuts up. And the warnings about even mild alcohol intoxication -- drinking makes you stupid, doncha know? Until I started, I’d never understood the appeal of stupidity, but it makes sense. Not stupidity, but for once in my life, peace and quiet.

As much as I claim to hate my homeland, I sure drink like a native. Not beer, at least, there’s still that, but sizable quantities of liquor... the cheap stuff, shitty vodka that raises BAC fast. No lingering taste of hops. Low volume of liquid.

Sober, I cannot even aspire to unselfconsciousness. Even when it’s good. Successes I analyze to death: these are the actions I’ve taken, these are the aspects of my personality that contributed, these the environmental factors, these the key figures. This mind does meaning-making exceedingly well; this mind is beautiful but high-maintenance. I need people -- I need many friends, many mentors. I need polyamory, too. It is impossible for a single person to fulfill all of one role in my life. Except the self, because even if it’s impossible I have to; can’t have anyone fill in for me, for what I am to myself.

The mind is beautiful but the person, the I, the metacogniteur -- the self gets tired. When sober, at least.

Drunk I can listen to music and be engulfed. I can lie down and listen to a good song and that’s enough for the intoxicated mind. I can think, I can analyze, but it requires focus -- sober the base state is endless extrapolation of endless potentialities and eventualities and externalities. Drunk I can do this but not at as high a level, much slower, and only voluntarily. That’s the key; when drunk it’s voluntary. Sober a wide fast river filled with junk -- but not a river, a rushing estuary with the tide coming in --

I wasn’t sober while writing this post, though likely you’ve already picked up on that (or not? theory of mind goes downhill too). After two or three drinks, inhibition begins to plummet and my brain quiets a bit. Right now I’ve had... well, not two or three. More like four or five before starting to write, and more in the process. Excess, probably -- not something I indulge in often (two or three typically is enough for stress reduction, for sleep), but enough to be confident in saying excess. Enough to be drunk, and enough so that cognition is entirely unintrusive when I’m not trying to bring it to the surface. (When the self isn’t trying, rather. Good and accurate to think of I as instead the self.) Enough nausea I’ve been careful to ensure I have a suitable receptacle for vomiting... and that safeguard took a few minutes to put in place, but cognition still works when I’m drunk, just slower.

Slower. Usually I’ve got a sublime mismatch between the speed the brain is built to handle and the speed at which the consciousness moves. The quasireligious quasipsychotic experiences in which this brain specializes, those local maxima in meaning-making, they’re absent when the cognition of the self is impaired.

A hypothetical counterfactual billboard on one of my beloved Midwestern highways, right next to a warning of eternal damnation: Budweiser. Neurotoxicity you can trust. Not a real ad but not unrealistic. I don’t trust my homeland’s culture. Is this bad, though? Unhealthy? More unhealthy than my baseline?

Not a question I can answer. Yet. Probably yes, I know, but even so I’ll give it a while before [I decide|the self decides]. I don’t do this often and on both sides of the family there’s a history of alcoholism and other abuses of psychotropics. One parent uses (both use, if we’re being a bit more lenient) alcohol for purposes more related to coping than to enjoyment. In writing this: frequently I must backtrack, fix typos. It’s difficult. Accurate and coherent text is easy, usually, for me. This is (I think) coherent, if concerning in style and content, but this limited coherence required as much editing as my poor poisoned frontal lobe can take. The posting is more impulsive; generally when I present a facet of myself to any sort of public, it’s after quite a bit of deliberation.

Motor function is impaired. I am past the point of caring. So what if I struggle to stand? So what if the speech is slurred? Those traits shouldn’t be stigmatized, after all. (The willing induction of them should be, maybe -- the sober self would find that a patently convincing argument but the current self doesn’t care quite enough to find it even slightly compelling. Luckily the sober self is the one that makes that initial decision to imbibe.) And the brain is for once cooperative, it has at least shut up, the constant stream of thoughts has slowed to a trickle or even when lucky to a void vacant gully, a streambed. And so even if the body’s movements are fluid and unpredictable, I always have cared more about cognition than about motion. This I need, now.

There should, I know, be general takeaways from this disjointed painstaking impaired sequence of word-vomit... a gully filled less with void than with a heavingly toxic efflux, an unusually unselfconscious ejection of an overly verbose teen’s inner monologue. This is what it sounds like, in my brain; imagine not being able to step back. Imagine not being able to close the tab! Read this aloud to yourself and imagine it never shutting off, imagine whatever inner voice comes most naturally reading this aloud. This will, reader, last the rest of your natural life. Except when drunk.

I know later I’ll think this is stupid and overwrought and likely I’ll be right. Maybe. Either way it’s off-topic. The high-effort subset of the intoxicated self says I should search for takeaways and for once it took effort to ask myself that question...  and that’s useless effort, even, because I don’t know. Likely I’ll regret this disclosure in the morning.

Sober I find it easy to conclude a train of thought; the end of a sober monologue ties everything together. My text output isn't good, not always, but there’s always a conclusion. Usually that’s very important to me, connecting the style to the substance, ending well. Now, drunk and exquisitely slow and stupid, public presentation and infosec and narrative and ending well are orders of magnitude less important than that old joke. You know the joke or at least you should. Takeaway: what’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?

I don’t know and I don’t care.

[prettyboy-jimin]

Ripped Away; ii

Pairing: Brothers!Jinkook, Namjin

Genre: Heavy Angst

Warnings: Major Character death, Funeral mentions

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Jungkook’s first Christmas without his hyung

Note

In relation to RA’s first instalment, I was given a project to create a Christmas scene using various figures of speech. I had to edit out the original characters’ names and take out most of the figures of speech because it was very rushed and poorly written. Hope I fixed it enough for you guys to enjoy!

--

He was first to wake up on Christmas morning, just like every morning. The sun had yet to peek over the horizon in the distance, but its rays had already illuminated the quiet neighborhood. With all sleep gone from his eyes, the ceiling became the most interesting thing at that moment as he tried desperately not to let reality ruin him; it was his first Christmas without Jin.

They had cleaned out their shared bedroom a month after the funeral, Jungkook’s mother believed it was enough time to grieve and therefore forced him to move on; despite all his begging and crying, all that he managed to keep of his big brother was a box containing a shirt, a cap, some books and that stupid deflated basketball. He would have to make-do.

With his hair chaotically framing his pale face he let out a tired sigh, Jungkook got out of bed and began to put on his legs. It had been three months since he lost his brother and during those months he had learned how to walk on his own; without the crutches. Though the incisions at what used to be the bend of his knees still hurt after a long time of not moving. He changed out of his pajamas as soon as the prosthetics were on and wore a pair of sweatpants as well as socks. It still disturbed him. After a while, the sharp stabs of pain faded and he faced the daily challenge of steep stairs. It was barely past six in the morning, the house hadn’t uttered a sound and his half of the world was yet to awake. The kitchen was empty, disregarding the open chair at the table and the broken beer bottle on the floor.

The Christmas tree was blinking as Jungkook cleaned up what most likely would have been his father’s drunken mess. The gifts varied from gold metallic paper to last week’s newspaper because his cousins went shopping too late. Most of the gift tags had his name, most of them were from his mother; thinking that maybe if she showered her child in presents  then it would ease his loss and retrieve his mother at least a scrap of forgiveness for treating him so badly.

He made a sandwich from scratch, and proceeded to sit on the couch, television off so as to not wake his parents prematurely. The sunlight began to soak through the cotton lace curtains and real feet padded down the stairs. “’Bout time” he called out, not looking back to see them approach him or greet them good morning.

“I have something for you, sweetheart.” His mother said; kneeling before him and placing a fairly wrinkled hand on his knee, making him flinch at the contact.

“Mom, you already bought me twenty gifts I’m telling you, I don’t want or need any more.”

His mother looked low-spirited, dejected and hesitant. She looked to her husband behind their irate teenager for support and he gave her this with a single nod of his head. Go on, he meant to say. The Christmas wreaths that decorated the room wordlessly cheered her on, make amends, this was it. The Christmas lights that were overpowered by the sun gave her a reassuring warmth, and she found her voice.

“Kookie,” she whispered, “it’s from your brother.”

This caught his attention. Jin got him a gift? That’s impossible. He died four months before Christmas could even cross his mind.

“It’s Christmas, Mom… not April Fools.” he said through gritted teeth, ��and this is not a good joke.”

His mother looked as disheartened as ever. Her vision slowly became glossy, she never imagined to ever lose a child let alone have the only one left hate her. Merely tolerating her existence until he can leave, or at least until he can accept what he’d become. Hand still on his knee, pressure slowly becoming unbearable on his left incision scar; Jungkook moved his leg which made his mother remove his hand.  

“I want to be alone, please.” he said. His parents silently left the room, moving to make breakfast instead. As his mother stood and left his sight, a rectangular box that was poorly wrapped in newspaper and topped with an equally poorly tied red ribbon took her place.

“At least see what’s inside,” his mother pleaded, “I swear to you, I don’t know what’s in it.”

His parents left for the kitchen to make Christmas breakfast. He was alone with another solid object to remind him that his best friend was gone. Jungkook stared at it, the blinking lights did not deter him, the smell of cinnamon that he always swore was radiating off the Christmas carpet did not steal his attention, and the sudden generation of power from the television did nothing to hinder his stare. He was determined to burn a hole through that box.

When the sound of pancake batter being mixed and eggs being cracked floated through his ears, he slowly reached for it. Holding it gently yet firmly, afraid it was going to fall apart just like his life did. He tore through the paper slowly, his hands trembled with excitement but his lungs hollowed out with fear. With the paper and ribbons out of the way, Jungkook lifted the lid off of the box. His parents paused and watched intently from the kitchen, he wasn’t bothered. Before anything else, there was a letter. He removed it and planted it beside him on the couch to save for later, underneath where the letter was, laid a framed photograph of them both. He gasped. It was of him and Jin, laughing. Jin’s arm was around his shoulders and their eyes were closed in pure happiness. It was taken last summer; they were having a family picnic by the beach in late July. Jungkook began to cry as he remembered how Jin started contributing to their conversations in a heightened voice. It made him laugh until he started snorting, which made his brother laugh and snort with him. Their father had stolen the wonderful moment when neither brother noticed, later on showing his first born when they returned home. But Jungkook never knew.

Jungkook set it aside and picked up the letter, he saw that it was written in his hyung’s handwriting.

Kookie,

I miss you. I haven’t seen you for the past several days because I’ve been drowning in college application forms and coach has been beating us to a pulp at training. I’m sorry I haven’t had time for you. I see you working hard in school, even here at home. It’s weird to see you in the hallways now. I guess I’m so used to leaving school and heading out to the elementary to pick you up and go home. I never really got the chance to look at you, really look at you and see how much you’ve grown. It’s really weird and un-brotherly-like to say this but, puberty is doing you well. (Well, without all the pimples and voice cracking anyway).

Dad took this picture of us, it’s my favorite one (and I decided to share it with you so feel special.) We were on a picnic in Santa Barbara when we went to visit Nana and Grandpa. That was probably your ugliest laugh yet and I can’t wait until you change it, but I must admit; you were beautiful. I hope school doesn’t repress that beauty. Don’t let it overwork you, twerp.

Anyway, I didn’t want to buy you any Christmas gifts so this wasn’t that big of a sacrifice though it does have purpose behind it; Jungkook, I’ve been filling out application forms… for scholarships that will inevitably take me either half-way across the country or six hours away from home. I just wanted you to have a piece of me with you always. Merry Christmas? I love you, little brother. I know you’re going to achieve many great things.

Jungkook finished reading the letter with a tear drop landing on the paper just shy of Jin’s praise for him. Struggling to breathe, he put it down and let his head fell into his hands, unable to keep it in any longer.

Jungkook cried, harder than he did the day he lost his hyung, because now reality finally slapped him in the face as his parents wrapped their arms around him, struggling not to join his fit of tears.

Jin was never coming back, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

i . ii . iii . masterlist

[whispersandwhiskerburn]

A Human Life Lost

Summary: Castiel has to cope with the mistakes he’s made with the Reader. She still loves him, but she has to deal with his decisions and her own loss. Pairing: Castiel x Reader Word Count: 2,760 Warnings: This whole thing is ANGST. Every single word of it. Pain and angst. Depression, loss of a child (stillborn), and self-doubt. There’s not an ounce of fluff in this, no smut—it’s just pain. Author’s Note: I’m so sorry I did this to you guys. Feel free to skip this fic. This is a sequel to “A Human Life” which was a kind of angsty smut fic to begin with (and a poorly written one that I need to go back and edit and probably never will) which I never intended to continue.... but when I took on @impalaimagining’s 1k challenge with the Chris Young song, “The Man I Want to Be”, it just fit so well with what Castiel’s emotions would be, I couldn’t put it anywhere else. Please note that I have never been pregnant, lost a child, or been depressed, so… I wrote it as authentically as I could without any first-hand experience. It’s written in four segments, Reader’s POV, Cass’s POV, then Reader, then Castiel. Feedback is welcomed. Tags: My forever crowd is at the end, but this was also requested by several others in a Pick the Fic post a while back. To make sure you don’t miss your Castiel angst: @rissbennett, @thegreatficmaster, @ariethegreat98, @deanandsamsbitch.

PART 1 IS HERE!

gif source 

The demon was dead and Cass knew. He knew that you were pregnant with his child—his purely human child. Castiel still had no grace, and watching him now, his blue eyes swimming with emotion as he sat on the couch in front of you, your hands trembling as you cleaned his cuts.

You had known about your baby for 2 months now—your little angel. You knew you loved him or her. You knew that your life was completely centered on this new life being made inside you.

Cass was still trying to adjust.

“Are you okay?” His eyes were locked on your rounded belly. You were showing now, but not so much that a flowing shirt couldn’t hide your bump.

You knew what he was really asking, and you reassured him again. “I think I’m fine. Pregnant doesn’t mean fragile, Cass.”

He physically started when you used the word. You had been his first—and you never had regretted that steamy union born of comfort and need. You had always loved Castiel, your angel. When he had come to you, lost, human, and hurting, you had taken him into your arms, your body, your heart.

And he had given you the greatest gift.

You had never really wanted to be a mother—having been raised in the hunting life, you knew how short life was, and you had trained yourself early on to cut away any thoughts of happily ever after and families.

But you were out of the hunting life now. You had a normal life, and now a baby, your own little angel.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

This was the part you hadn’t looked forward to. Castiel was moving past the shock and his eyes were hurt and accusing as they peered into yours, his hand coming up to stop yours from dabbing at the cut on his brow.

You looked down at your lap, not wanting to meet that gaze. God how you loved him. You had never wanted to hurt him.

“Castiel, I told you to leave. I told you to stay away unless you wanted a normal life with me… and you left. You made your choice. When I found out,” your hand went to your abdomen at the life you knew was inside you, though you had yet to feel him or her kick, “I didn’t know what or how to tell you. You had already chosen not to stay with me… and I didn’t want you to feel forced to stay with me when you obviously didn’t want to be.”

Your voice was slightly bitter now, and when you looked up it was with your jaw clenched in defense.

“Don’t you think I deserved to know? If I’m going to be a father, Y/N, I have a right—or did you not want me to be a father?” His voice was hard, angry.

You had never dreamed he would think of it that way.

“Castiel, I love you.”

His eyes widened in shock and you took advantage of his silence.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you…though, it did take me a while to realize it. But you are an angel, and I was a human hunter who wanted away from everything supernatural. It was never going to work.”

You took in a deep shuddering breath, glad to see that he was listening. You should have told him this that night he lost his powers and ended up on your doorstep. “You were one of the reasons I knew I couldn’t stay in that life. You made me want…so much. It got to the point where everywhere I went, I saw you. Every thought I had, connected back to you. I couldn’t hunt well enough to stay alive, and what I really wanted was out of my reach.

“So, I left. I found a house. I learned to love normalcy…not as much as you, but since I couldn’t have both, I chose the safer option.”

This was going to be the tough part. “I know losing your wings, your grace, your powers, seems like the worst thing that has ever happened to you, Cass. So, I am sorry they were stolen from you. But the selfish part of me? It was everything I ever wished for. You, human but still you, and here with me—it was a fantasy I had given up on. And when I learned I was pregnant, it seemed so much like a dream, I was afraid I would wake up and it would all just disappear.”

You got up off the couch and started pacing now, trying to decide what to do. You were glad that Cass stayed silent, letting you talk your way through this. It used to be like that when you hunted together too—you reasoning out what the monster was while Cass and the Winchesters listened and chimed in.

“I was going to tell you, Cass. You’re right that you had the right to know. But I had already offered you a normal human life once, and this wasn’t what you wanted. This isn’t the family you chose—you picked the Winchesters and your fellow angels. Because they needed you.

“And you, Castiel, you need to feel needed. I am independent and strong, and despite this situation with the demon, and although I want you so much it’s hard to breathe sometimes, I can be okay without you. I want you here, but…I don’t need you. We don’t need you.”

You turned and Castiel was standing now, his eyes boring down into yours in intensity. Your voice lost some of its passion as you struggled to finish what you needed to say, for you and your unborn child, in the face of his emotion.

“I don’t want you to stay if you feel like you need to be somewhere else, with someone else. If you can’t devote yourself to us,” you cradled your hand on your belly, “then this isn’t the place for you.”

His hands were on your shoulders now as his beautiful face scrunched, his crystal blue eyes narrowed as he worked through your words.

“You want me to choose. To walk away from my mistakes, the people who need me…to just turn my back on them?”

You felt your heart break. You could already tell what his decision was in the way he said that.

“No, Castiel. I want you to choose what you think is right. You’re a good man. Make the choice that you can live with. The rest will take care of itself.”

And with that, you walked out of the room. You knew what he would pick, and you knew it would be easier for the man you loved to leave again, if he didn’t have to see you while he did it.

A lot could happen in four months. Castiel had stolen grace, murdered angels, won and lost a host of Heaven, and Dean had died, then vanished.

He was weak now, dying from…well, trying to be something he wasn’t any more.

But this was the life he chose. He had been trying to do the right thing.

That didn’t mean he didn’t think about Y/N and the baby all the time. They practically never left his mind. But he’d already endangered them once, and he had gained even more enemies since them.

Y/N was strong. She could raise the child without him. They would be better off, safer without him.

And if Cass found himself idly wondering at times what it would be like to, as Metatron once told him, settle down and live a normal happy life, he quickly shook that idea off.

Then he heard it. Despite his lack of powers, Angel Radio had never gone away.

Castiel, help me! The baby, something’s wrong with the baby!

“Y/N!” Castiel stood up, knocking over a nightstand that was beside the crappy hotel bed he had been resting his frail human host’s body on.

He was alone; Sam was hunting what used to be his brother and wouldn’t be able to help. His brothers and sisters may have partially forgiven him after he had revealed the duplicity of Metatron, but they had made it clear that he was unwelcome among them.

He had to help Y/N. He had to help his child. But how? He was too far away, what could he do—why had he ever left?

I’m going to the hospital, there are—the prayer from Y/N broke and Castiel winced as he felt her mental pain—contractions. It’s too soon. Cass, I wouldn’t ask, but I’m scared. Please.

“I’m coming, Y/N.”

The steady beep of the monitor was the first thing you noticed.

Then the antiseptic smell that was so clearly a hospital. You had spent so much of your life in and out of ERs as a hunter, you knew what to expect when you opened your eyes—white walls, white sheets, blinking lights and the desperate mood of sick and hurt people and their loved ones.

But when you opened your eyes, you were surprised. Cass was sitting there beside you. You smiled, happy your loved one was here after all.

Your angel.

Your little angel—your baby!

The panic shot through you as you remembered, as you tried to reach for your child, who should still be inside you for another three months. You were here because she wanted to come early. You knew so much about her—she hated Mexican food, loved to kick you at three in the morning, and you could swear she always knew when your favorite song came on the radio, even if you weren’t able to dance to it.

Your hands were restrained, tangled in wires and cords.

“Castiel, what happened? What about my baby—our baby?”

You had known something was wrong. She’d been unusually still for a few hours this morning—was it still this morning? How long had you been here?—and then you had started bleeding. And the cramping, like contractions.

You knew it was too soon. Preemie’s had so many health risks, and God, you were so scared.

You had prayed. To Castiel, which explained why he was here.

But not why he was looking at you like that. With tears in his eyes. Oh, God, no.

Please no.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. When I got here, they…the doctor said she was stillborn… there was nothing I could do. I—“ His voice broke, probably at the sight of you.

It felt like there was a huge gaping hole inside you, linked to where the weight and bulge of your belly should be. You wanted to fall into it, to be away from here, to be away from Castiel’s apologetic, useless words. To be with your baby, your daughter.

You closed your eyes and welcomed the blackness that you had been holding back, ignoring Castiel’s calls. You didn’t want to be here. Not even for him.

When you woke again, he was still there though. Your arms were free, and you immediately curved them around your empty abdomen, curling up and sobbing your pain.

She was gone.

She was gone.

Your baby was gone.

Castiel’s hands were there, then his whole body as he crawled into the hospital bed and pulled you into his arms, his chest. You clung wildly, desperate for comfort, for safety, for release from the terrible knowledge. You cried into his shirt, your fists beat his shoulder, and you screamed, unable to hold it back, the sound muffled in his chest.

He pulled you tighter and said nothing.

There was nothing to say.

Our baby was gone.

You didn’t know how long it took for the sobs to stop, for your tears to run out. Hours, days? Your back was to the door, and if anyone had tried to come in, Cass must have shooed them away. This was a moment of grief, of loss, and only Cass could be there for you.

He was more than human now. You could tell. There was a difference in the air around him, in his smell. But he wasn’t the old Cass either. He was much more frail.

You focused on those details, trying to pull yourself away.

But there was no away. Looking up into his eyes, you couldn’t help but remember how often you had wished that your daughter would inherit those baby blues, or that dark hair.

God, she would have been so beautiful.

“Tell me about her, Y/N.” Cass’s voice was gentle, a soft whisper that still struck like a knife at your pain. “Tell me about our daughter.”

You struggled to breathe through the pains in your chest, your eyes directed at the stubble of his chin. Your voice, when you managed to speak was hoarse from crying, monotone and distant.

“She…the doctor said she was coming along nicely. We had a check-up next week. I found out she was a girl at an ultrasound last month—God, I wanted to call and tell you. I named her Celeste… it means ‘heavenly’. It seemed appropriate. She—“ Your voice cracked and you burrowed your head into his chest, unable to continue.

Cass held you tighter and it seemed, at that moment, that his strong arms were the only things that kept you from shattering into a million pieces.

Castiel had taken her home.

The doctor had given him strict instructions about what medicines she was to take, what activities she wasn’t allowed to do, and to watch her carefully for a full list of symptoms.

Y/N had been there, but in one of her dazes.

He didn’t know what else to call them. There were times when she would just be… lost. Her eyes would be open, clear and empty. Those times scared him worse than the tears.

Horrible sobs that sounded like her soul itself was weeping. Her body would shake and she would sit and rock back and forth, so lost in her grief that nothing he could say would ever make it better.

Nothing he could do. If he had only gotten there in time… he would have given every last remaining speck of his grace to her, to the baby, to spare her this awful pain. Even if it had killed him. But by the time he had arrived, it was too late.

And Castiel didn’t know what to do.

In one of the rare times when she was cognizant and almost her old self, he had suggested calling Sam. Sam would probably have known what to do, though to Castiel’s knowledge he’d never been in this situation himself. But Y/N had insisted that he leave the Winchesters out of this, that she was done with that life. And considering how dark Sam had become at the loss of his brother, which Y/N didn’t even know about, Castiel thought it might have been the wiser course.

Pain couldn’t heal pain.

He never thought of leaving again. Y/N was broken. At times, he would find her sitting and staring at nothing, tears rolling down her face.

Once, he had followed the sounds of crashing to find her destroying a crib in the back yard, next to her greenhouse, that awful place where he had almost lost her once before. He had let her finish her demolition, then carried her inside to rest.

He wished he just knew what to do, how to be the man she needed.

Finally, with no other options before him, Castiel decided to ask his own father, though he knew he probably no longer listened. He shut the door in the guest bedroom, his hands folded in front of him as he did what he swore he would never do again. He prayed for guidance, for help—and he did it for Y/N.

Listen as Cass prays

“God, I'm down here on my knees Cause it's the last place left to fall Beggin' for another chance If there's any chance at all That you might still be listenin' Lovin' and forgivin' guys like me.

“I've spent my whole life gettin' it all wrong And I sure could use your help cause from now on

“I wanna be a good man A 'do like I should' man I wanna be the kind of man the mirror likes to see I wanna be a strong man An admit-that-I-was-wrong man God I'm asking you to come change me To the man I wanna be.”

“Father, please. Just help me be the man she needs. Please.”

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[quiescentcastiel]

Last week I said I’d do something sensible in the future. But not this future. Another future. A parallel future. Someone else’s future. A future in which I am not a smartass.

Anyways, Round 3 of @mittensmorgul‘s Great Fic Writer’s Scavenger Hunt. Prompts: “Strangled by the Red String (aka “Smooch Ex Machina”)” and “The fact that the Supernatural Books (aka The Winchester Gospels) exist in-universe, and were penned by God himself”

This takes place in a canonverse where the Winchesters are meeting Chuck but haven’t yet met Cas. I’m not even gonna comment on the logistics of that.

“He knows about us stabbing the pagan suburbia couple from hell with Christmas tree shanks!” Dean exclaimed.

Sam opened his mouth, but had no answer to that.

Dean lowered his voice menacingly. “He knows about your dream about Bela.”

Sam sputtered, “No- that- it didn’t happen- I’m sure he just made it up.”

“Yeah, right. Considering how the rest of the books aren’t word for word exactly what happened.”

Sam’s voice stepped up a pitch. “There were some embellishments.”

“Not really.”

They pulled up outside an overgrown yard hiding a neglected wooden house. Dean turned off the Impala and looked over at Sam, who was still pouting.

“Look, Sammy, let’s just go in there, find out where he go the info, and what kinda monster he is so we can gank him and move on. Ok?” 

“Fine.”

They both got out of the car and not-so-surreptitiously tucked machetes into the waistbands of their jeans. They went up to the house and knocked on the door. It took a couple moments before anyone answered, and the only reason why Dean didn’t pull out his lock-picking kit or even just kick the door down, was the large about of shuffling, knocking stuff over, and swearing that was going on. 

Finally, a short man wearing a dressing gown over nothing but his underwear pulled the door open. Dean was about to pull a ‘move bitch, we’re the Winchesters,’ but the abnormally human-looking man who knew so much about them beat him to it.

“I’m God, capital G. Get in the house before the angel paparazzis see.”

Both the Winchester’s feet carried them into the house, and they weren’t even sure if the signal to their nerves had come from their own brains. Inside this man’s home, they saw sheets of paper splayed across the floor, dirty dishes, half eaten take-out, an old computer that sounded like it was struggling to process all the dust stuck in its fan, and a bookshelf filled with somewhere between 50-100 books labelled Supernatural.

Dean wanted to burn them all on site, but he managed to refrain himself as he turned to face the man(there was no fucking way he was God) and ask him what the hell was going on.

“I am God, Dean. You’d better believe it.”

“Why would you tell us this? Aren’t you supposed to be MIA?”

“I prefer to call it ‘extended-vacation-where-I-try-everything-in-the-Bible-I-told-everyone-else-not-to-do’ but same thing really. Anyways, if you go spouting about how you met God, no one will believe you. I mean literally no one. Not even the religious people. I joked about angel paparazzi earlier, but even they think I’m dead.”

“Uh...” Dean looked over at his brother to check if he was hearing all this, but Sam was busy reading a manuscript that he’d found by God’s keyboard. “Sam, are you even paying attention to this right now.”

Sam only put the paper down low enough that he could frown at Dean. “No, I’m trying to read as much about our future as I can before we stab this guy and torch the place.”

“Hey!” said God. “You can’t read that; I haven’t edited it yet!”

He ran over to Sam to snatch it out of his hands, but with a condescending look Sam simply lifted his arm over his head.

“So, Dean,” Sam said in a voice that made Dean remember uncomfortably the comment he’d made about Bela earlier, “looks like you’re getting a love interest.”

Dean swore silently, but he tried to brush it off. “Yeah, and how many chapters does she last? Two? Three?”

“He,” emphasized Sam, “is an angel of the Lord. I think he’ll be a bit harder to kill than that.”

Dean swore again but this time out loud. “How do we meet?”

Sam lowered the pages so that he could read them. Unfortunately, it was just low enough that God could jump up and snatch them out of Sam’s hands.

“That’s enough of that!” He squeaked. “You can’t know these things.”

Sam rolled his eyes and ignored Him. “In a bar. His name’s Castiel.”

“And he’s an angel?”

“Yep.”

“Great, let’s just summon the son-of-a-bitch and get this over with.”

“No!” yelled God. “That’s not how it was written. It’s not how the script goes.”

“Fuck the script,” snapped Dean. “C’mon Sam.”

He and Sam left without taking a second look at God, who was trying to chase them down.

“Stop,” he cried, standing in the doorframe, watching the Winchesters walk down his messy yard. “You can’t do this! I’m God!”

“Not that I thought I’d ever quote Tywin Lannister, but ‘any man who must say "I am the king" is no true king at all.’” Dean called, as he and Sam climbed into the Impala.

“I still don’t get why we didn’t kill him,” said Sam as they were finishing up the last of the summoning spell for Dean’s new bae.

“Kill God? With what, our machetes?”

“He looked human enough to me.”

“He’d probably think of a beheading as a flesh wound,” Dean protested. “Besides, screwing up his Fate is much more effective. And insulting.”

Sam sighed. Dean had a point. Anyways, they were just about done with the spell.

“Vocare angelum decorus Castiel,” Dean chanted, “Mutinium de.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then all of a sudden, the walls of the barn that Sam and Dean were in fell outward like a poorly built set. The roof just vanished, revealing the clear night sky.

A beam of light appeared on the wooden floor, at first only about a fist size in diameter, but it quickly stretched and fluttered into something large enough to fit a grown man. And indeed, this was the moment that Dean first saw his beloved. In a tan coat, the man plummeted from the sky and landed face down in the spotlight. Dean could’ve sworn he’d heard an angelic choir singing “Ecce homo qui est faba,” but then suddenly the light disappeared, and the singing stopped.

The angel got to his feet and looked around, before his eyes finally settled on Dean. Dean had to take a deep breath because damn. He’d been hoping for a hot new love interest, but he hadn’t expected to get someone this gorgeous.

The angel spoke first, his voice deep and gravelly. “My name is Castiel. Why have you summoned me here so soon?”

“Well, Castiel,” said Dean, “I have it on God’s authority that you’ll come home with me tonight.”

“Dude,” interrupted Sam, “That’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard you use.”

“It’s the truest pick up line I’ve ever used,” Dean corrected. “And much better than that ‘did it hurt when you fell from heaven’ crap.”

“You haven’t told me why I’m here,” Cas growled, fixing Dean with a dark stare.

“Uh... Um...” Dean stuttered.

“God told us that you’d meet Dean and fall in love with him, so we figured we’d just cut to the chase,” Sam explained.

“God?” said Cas, his eyes widening. “Take me to him.”

“Ok!” Dean finally spoke up.

“Dude!” Sam grabbed Dean by the arm and pulled him aside.

“We agreed that we’d kill him on the spot,” Sam whispered.

“We can’t kill him! I haven’t slept with him yet.”

“Dean!”

“Your not gonna get your hands on him before I do.” Dean wrenched his arm away from Sam and strode back over to Castiel. “C’mon, let me take you to Him.”

“No need,” said Castiel. He wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and cloudless poof they vanished.

Dean was still gazing in awe up at those deep blue eyes moments after they’d landed. In a split second decision, he pulled the angel in and kissed him.

Cas smiled oddly as they broke apart. “I suddenly feel compelled to follow you to the ends of the Earth, Dean Winchester.”

“First thing’s first. Follow me to God.”

“Is this His house?” asked Castiel, frowning up at the worn-out cabin.

“Yep. You’re not gonna be too proud of what He’s been up to instead of saving the Earth and keeping everything in order. He could’ve been rescuing orphans, but instead he was writing about Sam and I’s shitty life.”

They walked up to God’s house and knocked on the front door. He opened the door, still in his underwear, and stared in shock up at Castiel.

“This is not happening,” He muttered. “This is not happening!”

“Yes it is, buddy. Suck it up,” said Dean.

“I didn’t think you could possibly convince anyone of my physical existence.”

“Well, I guess you hooked me up with the one angel who still believes.”

God groaned. He forced his eyes over to Castiel. “I was just gonna have you two meet in a bar and get struck by a Cupid’s arrow. That way even if you did believe in my existence, you’d be so in love with Dean that you wouldn’t care.”

“That’s even crappier writing than this,” Dean commented.

“So what are you going to do? Force me back to heaven? Call the angel paparazzis? Call up whoever’s in charge of Hell right now and have them send up three demons per hour dressed in clown costumes singing Ave Maria with the voices of Alvin and the Chipmunks?”

Cas frowned. “No.”

“What then?”

“God...” Castiel made a meaningful look at Dean. “I’m just here to tell you that you did well.”

God sighed in relief. “Thank you. And you’re welcome.”

[thegloober]

Where Did All the Color on Instagram Go?

Years ago Instagram was filled with poorly filtered and over processed HDR images. Thankfully we have moved away from those days but how did we end up in a world without much color?

Before we start I’d like to make it very clear that I am not referring to every singular person on Instagram. There are still many people, landscape photographers like myself who post photos full of color. That said I’ve noticed a continuing trend of influencers who tend to follow the same exact style.

The Look

Typically the style consists of these three qualities:

Raised black values (“Fade”)

Crushed highlights

Reduced Saturation

There is nothing wrong with editing in this style. As you can see I have personally done it myself and will likely do it again in the future. However, it feels as though any random travel or nature photographer I stumble upon edits in this exact same way. So it got me thinking, why did this become so popular? 

Versatility

In the world of social media, the amount of content you produce is likely more important than it’s quality. Not to say that you shouldn’t post quality content but if you were simply trying to gain traction it’s typically better to post more often than only post your absolute best. Keeping up with such a task can be difficult. Especially in a genre like landscape photography where you don’t control the weather. Many times you might take a week long trip and only come back with a few photos during golden hour. While that yield is great for your portfolio it simply isn’t enough to keep a consistent schedule on your social media profile. What if I told you that you could sleep in and never worry about the weather but still get enough material to post?

That is what this style excels at accomplishing. This look wants mood meaning you don’t have to wake up for that golden light or have the perfect cloud cover. It can be overcast, foggy, or even sunny and you can walk away with a photo that will look great. A prime example of a place like this is Iceland. I spent seven days there and only one of those days had any sun. Thus if I was someone who was trying to gain a following and needed consistent content it would be nearly impossible to keep up if I was only posting photos from ideal conditions. 

I took this photo during daylight hours with zero preparation in mind. It didn’t require good light, filters, or even a tripod (although I did use one). This photo certainly isn’t winning any landscape photography contests but it’s just good enough for my social media profile. In short, using this technique means you can travel somewhere and produce a larger sum of content by removing factors outside of your control. 

Influence

Now that we’ve established why such a style is appealing to someone producing a lot of content, the next result is how that person’s style will influence others. This is one of the more obvious reasons why Instagram has lost all its color. The people that are posting the most content with a lot of followers are all using this style because of its versatility. This, in turn, influences newer photographers into mimicking said style. One of the ways to earn income as a nature/travel/adventure Instagram influencer is to sell Lightroom presents. As a new photographer, this can be a great way to learn how people achieve the ascetics they enjoy. Over a few years, some of those new photographers might become influencers themselves and the cycle will continue.

Influencer groups are another reason this style is so popular. Typically these groups consist of people with a larger following who travel or work together to create content. A great example of this is local photographers in the area around Bavaria, Germany. There’s an absolutely insane amount of photo locations in this small area and many of the larger influencers from that area take photos together. They all influence each other, all have thousands of followers, and nearly all of them edit in the same style. Thus so many of the photos from that area end up looking strikingly similar. One of those spots is in northern Italy just a few hours drive from Munich. If you haven’t seen this location on Instagram then you may be living under a rock.

Again I did nothing special to capture this photo. It’s taken a few hours after sunrise, handheld, point and shoot. Yet it’s been one of the most engaged photos I have ever posted even though it looks exactly like every other photo from there. 

Conclusion

One thing I have struggled with as a landscape photographer is coming to terms with the idea that many of my favorite photos don’t match the ideals of many viewers. I may get more engagement on a photo that took very little technical knowledge or preparation and have a photo I spent multiple days waking up for sunrise to capture get minimal reception (see above). With that in mind I still take photos for my enjoyment and remind myself that I can separate the work I would put in my portfolio with all the content I post to social media. 

So where did the color go? Wel,l it’s still there but certainly might not be the ascetic viewers are looking for. My advice is to keep shooting what you enjoy whether it’s bright and vibrant sunrises or moody overcast green spaces. Your happiness is always more important than your follower count.

I’d love to hear what you think about why there is such saturation (pun intended) of this style on social media.

Source: https://bloghyped.com/where-did-all-the-color-on-instagram-go/

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

“Fanfic writer asks”: Skipping the “asks” and doing the answers!

I just saw this and I’m too excited to wait for someone to see this, decide what to ask, and I wanted to answer all of them, anyways.

Some of these are fill-in-the-blanks for askers, so I can’t answer them. But if anyone wants elaboration, or wants to know a specific something in regards to a particular story, or character: Absolutely, feel free to send me some!

Questions taken from here: http://criminal-minds-fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/172926526725

--

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fanfiction? Oh geez, we practically need a time machine for that. I was only 11 or 12! I started "writing" fanfics with my action figures (guest-starring other childhood toys) as far back as I can remember. Literally, from the time I was 5-8 and obsessed with Pokemon and Yoshi's Story and Powerpuff Girls, I was playing out stories and adventures, from beginning to end, imagining backstories for why they're there, what they were doing, what motivated them. They even came with continuity (from one play-session to the next)!

As for actually writing it down, though... That also started Very Early. I think I must've been 11 or 12? The earliest one I ever dated was 2005, anyway. They were descriptive, illustrating actions to display emotions, and characterization was... well, it Sure Existed (even if it varied from "So Wrong", to Definitely the Right Remark).

But ever since the moment I touched a pen to my first fanfic notebook, it was about my OCs (and Raven, because, surprise surprise, she was my favorite to write about). I've had plot since I first took those Crayola twistables to paper to illustrate the story in my head, the first story I ever Had a Solid Plot For (that is, Mystery Sickness-- which is being rewritten with Actual Explanations, re: Why Dove Made Her Feel So Shitty in the first place): that was also in 2005. (Fun fact: it was originally in Poorly-Drawn Comic Form). The actual "novelization" went through to 2007.

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one? As my fanfiction.net profile will tell you: "Author has written 32 stories for Teen Titans, Pokémon, and Ruby Gloom." - The Ruby Gloom fanfic was abandoned, unfortunately. (It was a direct and shameless self-insert, that got abandoned because, quite frankly, I had no idea what to do with it. Maybe I should put it up for adoption at this point...) - A Work of Magic (my Pokemon fanfic, with related bios/etc) gets written for very rarely, because the inspiration to do so is rare and sporadic, and more tied to a Specific Scene I want to write, than where I left off in the story. @w@;; - A Steven Universe fanfic is in the works, though I'm struggling to flesh it out.. due to the Aforementioned Preoccupation with The FAVE MOMENTS, moreso than the backstory and movement through those moments. @D;;

And then, you have the Teen Titans stories. You know, the ones with Dove, and Kary, and Srentha, and Leyla will eventually be there. My most precious, dearly beloved, absolutely irreplaceable OCs. My TT story folder has about 100 files, which belong to about 30 full-length stories. (And that's not counting the oneshots, like Heart to Heart, which is still one of the best things I've ever written.) There are also a few poems here and there, particularly Dove's Prophecy (of self-fulfillment, really), and stories illustrating Dove's childhood, her mother/grandmother's past, Srentha's childhood... There's just Quite A Lot! I've been doing this, writing them, for 12+ years.~ And my fandomatic obsession for Teen Titans has never dulled, quieted, or been forgotten. So yes, I definitely do have a "particular" favorite. I may prefer exploring their world through my OCs, but damn, is it more FUN than any other world to explore!

3) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer. Ah, you can probably tell it's OCs by now. At least, MY OC's. Someone else's OCs, well, I tried that once, they were going to commission me. But I never got it finished. (I just didn't have quite the same connection. And I didn't know the canon; that can't have helped.) But character I *do* get to know, like my girlfriend's OCs in our collaborations (or characters I got to know so well through playing together that I just totally shamelessly adopted, specifically: Kary), I do enjoy writing for~ There's just something so incredibly special in knowing that you, solely, are responsible for their growth, their development, and their well-being. It's a bit like having kids, without the screaming. (At least, without them screaming in your ear. Dove and Kary have both done their fair share of screaming, come to think of it...)

( (( Although, to be fair: I've never tried writing a writer insert. I doubt anyone would actually WANT to endure the stories I put my characters through... ;P )) )

4) What is your favourite genre to write for? Fantasy? Action/Adventure? It's hard to say, because I actually write for a HUGE variety of Genres. But I guess my favorite, if I can encompass all of them under this one umbrella, would have to be Hurt/Comfort.

5) If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be and why? DAMN IT, DON'T DO THIS TO ME.

Gods, that's hard! Basically ALL of my stories are multi-chaptered... Well, it's definitely one of my Teen Titans stories. DDD has definitely been the most challenging to write, the most fulfilling to finish chapters on, and the most pivotal point in Dove's life, so it will always hold a special place in my heart. Writing for Azar in "The Final Journey" and Dove taking her first unintended steps into heroism has been so personally touching for me, and it does so much good for Dove, and especially her relationship with the team, that it's just so, so special to watch. Something Special About Srentha is probably my most epic multi-faceted story, and the narrative timeline (handling two very distinct and separate struggles in totally separate places) is really challenging me to grow as a writer. "Continuum Wars" is going to be the grandest scale of struggle and magic, so I'm really especially excited to start figuring it out. It is just so, so HARD to decide on ONE; they're all so special, and I love watching my style evolve with each story, and more than anything, watching my characters come out of these situations alive. lD;;

6) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why? you mean the Teen Titans and Pokemon crossover where Dove brings home a Misdreavus? been there, done that. Honestly though, every single one of my stories has its place in my characters' lives, and is important for continuity. And personal growth. And I've honestly never been ashamed of something I've written.

(If you travel far back enough in my fanfic archive, you WILL find a really old character bio for Dove, which I completely revamped, because I didn't learn until later how to frame her without comparing her to Raven, even though she's always been a very different and independently-extant character. Also, the bits I learned about Being Kept A Secret and her grandmother's exile were Nearly Learned around 2010, 2012...)

7) When is your preferred time to write? Whenever the inspiration bug bites! ASAP!! But as for general adding and editing, it's fairly late at night, usually~ Sometimes afternoons. Usually an hour or more after eating, and especially when it's cool and quiet in the room.

8) Where do you take your inspiration from? Canon, personal experience (my personal struggles, my search for my identity, and my struggle to define myself), and sometimes even my own spirituality. (Wild shit goes down when you get into astral exploration, let me TELL you!)

9) In your xxx fic, what’s your favourite scene that you wrote? Can I just... use my personal favorite? (If you have any questions about a particular fic, or universe, or point in a character's life that didn't happen in the fics, let me know and I'll gladly answer!)

- Holy GOD, the climax scene of Dove's Dark Discovery! It takes place entirely in Dove's mindscape, while Dove's power is maxed out, and you've got a very powerful telepath and a TREMENDOUSLY power empath battling within a mindscape that has been slowly devastated over the past few months, and it's just this absolute EPIC culmination of their powers and, to a degree, even the connection they'd been forging since Dove came. Dove seriously oversteps some boundaries, Raven nearly kills Dove by accident, it's seriously crazy stuff.

Bonus: Way back in, like, probably 2008 or 2009, when titansgo.net was still around: I had asked my all-time favorite fanfic author for critique on the climax. His advice, to make it "three times as long and nine times the punch", absolutely inspired me to reach WAY higher with their fight, and once I realized what kind of mind-bending maelstrom shenanigans can go down in a MINDSCAPE, the scene fairly EXPLODED with potential!

And I especially like the fact that, including the revisions after his (entirely justified) advice: This scene has gone through like nine different incarnations. And my favorite part: It was originally inspired by a battle in the Teen Titans videogame! I think my little sister was playing White Raven (who my mind always read as Being Dove, because White Cape and Magic Powers), I was playing Raven, and the battle took place in "Nevermore", Raven's mindscape. It was actually a good fight. And I was fucking AMPED... But also emotionally RAVAGED, because "holy shit, Raven fighting Dove... in a mindscape......" And the scene happened like two days later. (In middle school. Honors Spanish class. As a note in the margins of my assignment notebook!)

Gods, guys. That scene is just so incredibly important, and it has come oh, so very far~

10) In your xxx fic, why did you decide to end it like that? Did you have an alternative ending in mind? I'm gonna answer one that I really like the ending of, but feel free to ask for others. Like, maybe one I've actually published, that you've actually read? 8F But honestly: Spellbound pt. II. I haven't published it yet... but it ends in absolute tragedy. The reason is twofold: First off, I knew Dove and Srentha were end-game, so although Dove was falling pretty deep into love, I couldn't have him hanging around... 8F But also because I wanted to illustrate the strength of sacrificial redemption. (I don't want to give too much away, because... well, that's the ENDING. But it's heart-wrenching and I can only hope I've done it justice.)

Other faves include: Srentha having heart-issues at the end of Something Special (because it's the Very First Symptom that something is going to be Dreadfully Wrong with him in the sequel), DDD ending with Dove absolutely traumatized and seriously hurt (because the following story is going to be all about her learning to Take Action on her pain, instead of hiding herself away), and A Work of Magic ending with everyone thinking Mistress had died trying to save her family... but the ending is, and the epicness kind of speaks for itself in this: "You can't kill a ghost."

11) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it? You mean like the way I completely rewrote Dove's character bio 6 years later, in response to all the accusations of her being a Mary Sue? Despite literally nothing (but more specific illustration) changing in the way I wrote her? 8F Other than that, absolutely not! I mean, if someone made a valid point I would. But nobody can tell me how to write my OCs, you know?

12) Who is your favourite character to write for? Why? My OCs. But you probably mean canon characters... and that easily comes down to Raven. She's just so layered, working with very inward, introspective mechanics, before she takes her action, usually in a very well-thought out direction, or sometimes an INSANELY emotional outburst, and either way, it tends to be Very Important, Poignant, and Make a Difference in the scene. I relate to her; I idolized her for the longest time; I know exactly how to write the struggle between not being able to express your emotions, and being true to yourself, because I've lived it. I'm an empath, so writing her empathic powers is always sort of therapeutic, because outside of my mirrorbook, I'd never gotten to EXPLORE that aspect of myself before. Her wit is hard to capture sometimes, I'll admit, but, I mean, I was making the nurses at the hospital laugh all the way up to my procedure, armed with nothing but my dry remarks. I think I'm up to the challenge.

13) Who is your least favourite character to write for? Why? Beast... Boy...... I'm sorry, I really am. I've just never been able to relate to him, or understand how his mind works (if it even works at all?), or write him into any of the plots-- outside of, like, trying to cheer Dove up, which is iconic and appreciated on Dove's end. But otherwise? What do I even DO with him? His sense of humor is just... so lowkey annoying that I sincerely cannot fathom why it's So Funny, let alone make it up for him. (Thankfully, at least the comics come in handy for exploring Why he's Like That, which has honestly helped a lot more than anything the show ever did. All but ONE of his episodes, were... pretty crack-tastic. And that just doesn't mesh well with my stories that are Trying to Deal with a Serious Issue Here.)

14) How did you come up with the title for the xxx? - You can ask about multiple stories. Mostly, they're descriptive of the Most Iconic Thing, or Most Pivotal Plot Point, in the story! "Something Special About Srentha". "Dove's Dark Discovery". "Growing Up Demon: Leyla's Story". "Mystery Sickness", being renamed "Soul Sickness" for poetic value, but still keeping that iconic "Sickness" thing, while also making it More Relevant to Raven Specifically. The exception is probably "Unforeseen and Unforesaken". Yes, it's misspelled, I did that on purpose for visual balance in the title. It's weird. I know. But it's Intentional. (Still highly important things though, because it illustrates both Dove's arrival, and what happens once she's there, being unforeseen. And Dove absolutely hardcore valuing the team because they don't Forsake her.)

15) If you write OC’s, how do you decide on their names? Bold of you to assume I have this kind of CONTROL over them. Seriously, the way my writing works isn't so much "I get to decide what they do", and more like "huh, this Resonates. That must be a Thing... Let's try to seek out all the relevant details on why it happened, how they reacted, and how it ends!" It's like detective work. And this is absolutely best illustrated by trying to find Srentha's name. Because holy frick. What kinda name is that. (Turns out, it's literally in another language. 8F It means "flight", by the way! Onomatopoeia for the sound wings make.) Anyways, I literally found out one day that, "Dove tried to keep her pregnancy hidden... That must mean she had a kid. With someone." And thus began the Classic RHS Storytelling Search for "who's the guy?" And immediately I knew his name began with an "S". So I tried a bunch of names. I figured it was feminine-sounding, for some reason, thus I realized it ended in "-a". I knew it had two beats. Finding the "-ntha" was the easy part, it was figuring out how the heck to parse "Sren" into the right sounds and number of beats that was the REAL challenge. It wasn't until I remembered "Sri Lanka" exists that I figured out his entire name. (It's pronounced without the English "sh", though - it's just "Sren". As he says, "like Wren, with a Sss.")

16) How did you come up with the idea for xxx? Mostly, they came to me when I was thinking about my characters' lives. Except The Final Journey, that one was based on "the crystals" my girlfriend illustrated Dove having in her room, and I kinda just took that entire concept and made it Azarathean and RAN with it!~ (If you're curious about any particular story, let me know!)

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on. "I killed six people. Do I deserve to die?" hello, this is your daily reminder that DDD absolutely Destroys Dove's self-image. But because it's So IMPORTANT and uhh, it was too Dark for me to leave that there, I also want to quote Raven's responses, which include "We all have our dark days," and "I do know that pain, that guilt. I know it better than anyone...[but] Solitary confinement won't cure it...[and] we don't want to see you leave." And also, "You won't be able to help anyone if you destroy yourself first."

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them? Oh, stars. Let's see... The first "wip" I abandoned was a character I named "gayla", not knowing "gay" was actually a word, first of all, but her concept turned out to actually be part of Srentha's story, and honestly I should've figured out that "heh, same name as Raven's nursemaid" wasn't a thing. {lD (Whose name was actually Galya, by the way. I didn't realize that mistake for like, five years.)

I only so very RARELY abandon an actual story, though. I know there have been a couple of Moment Concepts I've lost, due to not writing them down; that honestly hurts much worse. ;; But there's the aforementioned Pokemon+TT crossover, where Dove brings home a Misdreavus by accident. That was purely self-indulgent, and it just didn't fit with the timeline, so I decided to stop writing that AU. It was really more that I wanted to focus on The Other Stories, and only had 3 short chapters planned. (The one where the little ghost gets herself stuck in Raven's mind had so much potential! But I didn't know how to write Raven's emoticlones in without Raven becoming aware of it. And now that I think about it, that could've been what got Dove to send her back.. But, eh, I've long lost the story file for it, and long LONG lost interest.)

If anyone tells you "A Work of Magic" is abandoned, they're wRONG, I'm just really, really caught up in Dove's struggle with DDD and Srentha and Steven Universe (even if I'm not really writing that fic most of the time), so my inspiration to write that story with As Much Lighthearted Fun Silliness as it deserves is seriously impaired. =w=;;

Oh, but I did kind of abandon the story from Sieara's point of view, because honestly, I'd rather just explore her through Dove. (That little bird gets plenty of epic spotlight moments; she even channels Azar's spirit at one point. Or two. ;P ) But mostly, I abandoned it because I didn't want to write about a bird being too old to reproduce, getting close to death, and then dying, anymore? (It was going to be about her noticing Dove spending more time with Srentha, Srentha's bird dying, and Sieara meeting Dove's daughter, and dying shortly after. But I... don't know, I didn't want to write that Angst without a Resolution.) I wrote that story for Exactly 1 Day, and then decided to stick to writing about her through Dove.

19) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to? I fully intend to do sequels to all of them, thank you very much.~ (At least for the TT fics, all of them are connected in some way. A Work of Magic has both a sequel and a prequel planned. And the Steven Universe fic is really only planned for One Conflict, I really don't want to explore it much beyond that singular unit of Canon Divergence.)

20) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently? That would be akin to lying, with the way my stories and my characters go.

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire? thechroniclerjon, holy stars and envy batman. This is one writer who knows how to build a conflict, write magic in a way that's both Believable, and Relatable, and Awesome, and interweaves different plot threads into one rather EPIC confrontation. Obviously I couldn't take the element of religion into my stories, being so totally personally disconnected from it. (spirituality? ABSOLUTELY. Let me explore aLL the Azarathean feels!) But like. Those descriptions. The conversations. The build-up. The plot-twists. The raw emotion. I aspire, very much, to someday, in my own way, find a style that translates as much Excitement and Tension and Delight as his stories manage to convey.

Also, the author of Learning to Breathe Underwater, because that story had amazingly spot-on characterization, included so many canon elements (despite being Canon Divergent) while still having its own (very well escalated, incredibly well-executed!) plot! I write for the Teen Titans universe far more than Steven Universe, but I really admire their way of including basically every single character, giving them plenty of attention and growth, and giving a lot of them development in the process. I don't know if I could do that, but someday, I'd like to try.

22) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it? The old Mystery Sickness. Like, the first version. It was, ah... originally what I now call an "emvent", and if you know what that is, great; if not, I don't want to go into details, but it's a story that helps me process my phobia? Which, geez, poor Raven okay, but what's really "cringe" about it is the way I narrated it in first-person. XD Weird metaphors, she had a Detective Noir tone for some reason, and let's just say there's a reason I never shared any of the panels. (I kept it secret because of the phobia. Equally as horrifying, I kept it in words because of the pictures.)

23) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence? Silence, but I prefer gentle background noises I'm used to. (Like birds fluttering around, gentle aquarium filters and the water rippling, wind in the trees, etc. It's an ADD thing; lowkey background noise, if kept at a distance, helps me focus.)

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes? Eh. I have the Occasional Mood for it... like, once a year. 8P But generally, I'm just Not Interested. Sure, Dove and Srentha have... done some things that would entertain fans of the genre. And actually, some things that get borderline supernatural. But mostly, I'd just really rather be writing other things.

25) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story? Oh, stars. Yes... Yes. Dove's Dark Discovery. (I drew on... an awful lot of personal experiences, and none of them were good.) Plus, her guilt and self-flagellating... let's just say it's a major Depression Mood. Also noteworthy: I cried writing the Death Sequence and farewell letter in Spellbound pt. II. I've cried for Dove's loss of Azarath, and her mother. I've cried for the things Dove and Srentha tell Leyla when she's really struggling (because, dear gods, if only I'd heard those words when I was a kid)... It doesn't happen often. But sometimes, it just... gets overwhelming.

26) Which part of your xxx fic was the hardest to write? ASK ABOUT ANY OF THEm, because DEAR GODS, there are PLENTY. But the hardest of all was DDD. I struggled with describing how/why an Extremely Gentle, Timid Pacifist was suddenly Losing Herself to Internal Evil, and doing Terrible Things. I struggled to capture the IMMENSITY of the mindscape battle, both in how these two Incredibly Powerful Demi-demons were unleashing their powers, and also in how much of a personal toll it takes on BOTH of them afterwards. And now, I'm struggling to find the words for Dove in the aftermath, because... Gods, there's just so much turmoil and emotion. It echoes an awful lot of Seriously Dangerous Depression Thoughts, right down to suicide ideation and lashing out at the people she loves because she doesn't think she deserves them, and aren't they all fools for loving her. All I can say is thank god Raven's such a realistic beacon of hope, because (much like she did for me, come to think of it) she's able to help Dove battle those thoughts with reminders, wisdom, and hope.

27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow? This one depends entirely on the story. Generally, it's really quite sporadic and incidental. I write out the scenes as they come to me (usually WAY out of order), and then figure out how they all fit together. Sometimes I don't even realize two scenes are in the same story at first! Or how they're related. I tend to write the beginning, several scenes from When Things Are Very Serious, then go back to fill in the blanks. A lot of times the climax happens either before I know how to start the story, before I know what led up to it, or before I know how it ends. (DDD began with the climax scene. Heart to Heart began with realizing Srentha had a heart attack as a child.)

And then other times, it begins with a vague concept, and I start writing right at the beginning. (Something Special was first written at the beginning, with Srentha performing a spell. I didn't know what it was going to do, just that it was Relevant. A Work of Magic started with me in the Pokemon world wanting a Misdreavus, and developed into a full-team adventure from there. Unforeseen and Unforesaken, or rather "Unforeseen Surprises" in its original form, starting with the very moment Dove showed up, was written as I went along, knowing which points I wanted to hit before the story was over, but writing the scenes as they came to me.)

A Work of Magic has a lot of travel scenes, and moments that take place in specific areas, with Specific Species, so I had to plan out a timeline from region to region, to make sure they weren't in Sinnoh one day, then encountering a Unova legendary, and battling a psychic type in a Kanto forest the very next day, you know? Then there's DDD, which is such a gradually PROGRESSING story that I definitely had to outline some of the chapters, too. Making sure Dove's gradually growing powers were highlighted, and she wasn't going from Total Telekinetic Failure to Suddenly Really Strong and Breaking The Entire Gym Room in the next scene. That sort of thing.

Either way, it's usually As I'm Writing that I notice the connections, the causes rooted in previous stories or scenes, and the Effects These Incidents Have as I'm writing it out. I always start with An Incident and A Concept, because I wouldn't have a story to write without it. But where it becomes Actual Scenes, and what order I write them, depends entirely on the order I discover them.

28) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction? What a Mary Sue was supposed to be, and that Dove isn't what they claimed. That criticism that so many reviewers threw onto her bio wasn't at all helpful, I didn't know what that meant, let alone how to fix it, and I didn't know how to demonstrate that Dove wasn't, in fact, "entirely like Raven", because she had her own powerset, her own history, and her own personality. To be fair, a lot of the Highlights on Their Differences happen in later stories, and it's the initial shock of "why the frick is wearing those clothes and using that mantra", so of course on first impression, it's like. "Raven? similarities???" But... I don't know, it's just so very OBVIOUS to me that, unless we're talking about Timid!Raven (the emoticlone), their differences are so VAST. And I spent a lot of time, WASTED a lot of time, trying to kill the assumption. It really wasn't worth it.

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like? DOVE'S! DARK! DISCOVERY!!! I nearly BROKE myself (both of time AND emotion) writing this thing! I understand that Some Friends can't Do Sadism, but like. This story is 250k words long, I've dumped a GREAT DEAL of my heart and soul into it, and Dove's plight seriously needs to be recognized to understand her growth moving forward. But! There! Are! So! Few! People! READING IT. The story has like 20 reviews on fanfic.net, BUT THE CLIMAX HASn'T GOTTEN ANY yet? ???? Please recognize the metaphorical blood, literal sweat, and literal tears I put into this. Gods. Yes I wish it got WAY more love.

30) In contrast to 29 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at? That poem from middle school, "The Raven and the Dove"? It's a neat poem, sure. Kind, of, a unique concept? But it's not very well explored, it just goes "here are their differences. They're opposites. But they get along." No explanation of how or why. (That's all in the fanfics.) It's not nearly as rhythmic as Dove's Prophecy, it's not clever, it's not plot-twisty, and as far as poetic cred goes, I don't think it's anything special. ? ?? I mean, somebody found it online, and contacted me via email, and it nearly got PUBLISHED. (But I would've had to pay them to include it in their book, which I wasn't down with.) I just don't understand, literally at all, why so many people really LIKE it.

31) Send me a fic recommendation and I’ll post it for my followers to see! (The asker is to send the rec not the answerer) SEND ME FICS, I WILL READ.

32) Are any of your characters based on real people? Nah, they're all based on themselves.

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten? My favorite fanfic author read, and then complimented, the (second or third version of?) the climax scene in DDD.~

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten? Mostly just comments on Dove's first bio that went, "She's such a Mary Sue, burn it and scrap her entirely to start fresh"? (Thank *all* the gods that I didn't take that advice, because she's incredible and deserves to exist in her own right.)

35) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest? Honestly? The first thing I do is WRITE about it. Unless I'm prompted to, or rambling about something that has me Inordinately Emotional, I don't really share them.

36) Can you give us a spoiler for one of your WIP’s? Don't worry, outside of Azarath's canonical demise, I only ever write somebody ACTUALLY dying once. But she comes back, because that's what she does, apparently.

37) What’s the funniest story you’ve written? Bold of you to assume I write comedy! But seriously, probably Srentha's debut story. When he discovers pizza, he assumes pepperoni isn't edible (a fair assumption, really, but he's vegetarian anyways). When he tries the cheese, his reaction is just so DELIGHTFUL and warm; he laughs so hard he's literally crying. The things he says and does when he's sugar-high are hysterical. He's just so exuberant and energetic, absolutely positive, he really brings a load of smiles to the table, and both I and Dove irrevocably love him for it.

38) If you could collab with any other writer on here, who would it be? (Perhaps this question will inspire some collabs!) If you’re shy, don’t tag the blog, just name it. I don't know if I have an answer for this. I don't really read a lot of Tumblr fanfics. I've already collaborated with Pix in RPs, my girlfriend and I have already collaborated on stories for both Kary and Pokemon, and the author of The Chronicler Saga implemented one of my scenes into his stories. What more can I really ask for?

I mean, if anyone WANTs to collaborate, just let me know, and I'd love to work something out.

39) Do you prefer first, second or third person? Third person, multiple, and preferably omniscient (or damn close to it)! Exploring everyone's inner workings is Exactly My Style. (And just more fun for me to write.)

40) Do people know you write fanfiction? Well, I only talk about it, like, once every three hours or so. (/sarcasm)

41) What’s you favourite minor character you’ve written? Sieara? Alerina? As for actual Canon Characters, I'm having a righteously wonderful time characterizing Azar. Lapis is fun and interesting to work with, but she's so full of emotional "tides" that it's really hard for me to write for her.

42) Song fic - What made you decide to use the song xxx for xxx. (I have only ever done songfics on papers, and wound up not needing the songs after all. They were all Evanescence, of course.)

43) Has anyone ever guessed the plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it? Not that I know of! Someone once guessed Dove was Raven's cousin, on Unforeseen+Unforesaken, and I haven't written the climax (when Raven realizes Dove is Trigon's child) yet. That's about the closest anyone has come.

44) What is the last line you wrote? Oh, stars, let me check. (This is where Tracking Changes comes in handy. ;P ) In Nothing Good Lasts Forever, the story that's (possibly going to be renamed "Even in Death", when Raven takes Dove back to Azarath for closure): This may or may not be polished before publishing. But this takes place immediately after Raven pulls Dove from a flashback.

"There's a lot you have to deal with. Your mind has been seriously damaged by what you've been through. I wonder..." And she trailed off there, hesitating, considering the concept before she dared give it voice.

Dove kept looking up at her, confused and seeming entirely absorbed in her analysis. It was so true. Tearing her apart, every time she remembered... The nightmares and flashbacks wouldn't let her forget it.

45) What spurs you on during the writing process? My own excitement, curiosity, and even desperation to learn what happens next! And a general sense of lowkey affectionate "tribute", like I'm the only person with these peoples' stories in my head, and they deserve to have their stories told. And also the hope that, maybe, someone, somewhere, will read the story, and if just ONE person feels their heart soothed or their struggle validated by my writings, then I've done a good thing, and that's all I really want.

46) I really loved your xxx fic. If you were ever to do a sequel, what do you think might happen in it? (Someone ask me, because EVERYTHING has sequels, and if you want to know about it, just Ask!)

47) Here’s a fic title - insert a made up title. What would this story be about? DO IT??

48) What’s your favourite trope to write? I'm... not sure, entirely, but probably "bullshit [insert genre here] magic".

49) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about? I remember one OF the first fics I ever read, because for about 7, 8 years, I was SCOURING fanfiction.net to find it again. It was about Raven having terrible visions, Azarath being destroyed, and Robin feeling her pain through their connection, but thinking it was heartburn. And then a group of people dropped in, took Raven away (on a spaceships? Though hyperspace???). And they were going to rebuild Azarath. And I think Robin had just discovered Raven was gone, before the story ended. Oh, and they spelled Azarath like "Azerath". That's all I can remember, but I really do wish I'd known what happened, because that story had me absolutely HOOKED. (But alas, I didn't have an account at the time, and I was reading it at the computer lab.)

50) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why? Ohh, this one's hard. I'd drop smut like it's hot (haha, get it?). But seriously, I'm a 99%-sex-repulsed aroace, and I've only ever written like 5 half-done smut scenes. Imagined a Fair Few more, but they don't keep my interest for the long multi-hour process of editing that comprises my writing process.

This probably means "romantic fluff" though, right? I mean, I HAVE to write angst (because let's be real, without Angst I wouldn't have much of a story, since all of my stories are Driven By Characters Issues, WAY moreso than external events). But I really think the REAL beauty of my characters is how they go through that angst, and COME OUT with each others' support. I don't know how to write angst without someone being supported (i.e. "Hurt/Comfort", really), and I don't know how to write fluff without something Heavy bringing it on.

Secretshipping (Dove+Srentha) is equal parts angst and fluff, because honestly Angst is in Dove's Job Description, and Srentha is so light-hearted and goofy and silly that he balances it out (and Dove has some goof in her, and Srentha has some rare moments of angst, and it's how they interact and balance out and HELP each other through it that really brings them to LIFE together). Kary's whole characterization is because The Angst seriously fucked up her psyche, but scenes between her and Dove (and Yo-yo!), even her future husband, can get seriously silly and fluffy. Leyla's real growth and development comes from Realizing that the World is Not Like her Sheltered Life. (And how she doesn't want to expose her parents to Her Angst.) But it's also the fluffy deep softness and sincerity she and her parents share that gets her through these realizations. So like... Angst and fluff go hand-in-hand for me? I wouldn't be able to write one without the other.

[ronnykblair]

From Biology to Investment Banking: How to Become an Even Better “MD”

A long time ago, an angry reader kept leaving comments saying that my estimates for MD-level compensation were off.

He posted an analysis showing why my estimate of $1,000 per hour was wrong and explained why MDs make more like $100-$200 per hour.

His numbers lined up, but then I reached the end of his “analysis” and read the punchline:

“People have been led to believe that MDs make a huge salary, but the ones that are really making money are the hospitals; doctors are just employees at the hospitals and clinics.”

Oops.

I can understand the confusion.

But on this site, MD means Managing Director.

And the pay differences above are one of the many points that lead many students to switch from biology to investment banking – as our reader today did:

Switching from Biology to Business

Q: Can you summarize your story for us?

A: Sure. I graduated from high school as one of the top students in my class and started university at a Top 25 school in the U.S.

I began as a biology major, mostly due to my personal interest in the industry, but within a few months, I realized I had no idea what I was doing with myself.

So, I transferred to a much smaller and lesser-known school.

It wasn’t even ranked at the national level, and it had approximately 3-5 alumni, total, in investment banking.

I stuck with biology at first, but I began to lose interest in it after two years of classes.

My roommate was an economics major, and after speaking with him, professors in the business school, and those 3-5 alumni, I switched into economics.

I liked that a lot more, but I got such a late start that it was almost impossible to win a finance internship in my junior year, let alone an internship in investment banking.

I applied to more internships than anyone else I’ve spoken to – maybe 500+ applications – but nothing worked because all my experience and coursework had been in healthcare.

I read about valuation groups at accounting firms and learned how the skill set might be relevant for IB roles, so I gave myself a crash course in accounting, valuation, and financial modeling.

Then, I applied for and won a role at a non-Big-4 firm by heavily spinning my background.

About 9 months into that job, I began networking for IB roles.

I spent 10-15 hours per week on informational interviews, emails, and calls, and won a full-time IB Analyst role at a bulge-bracket bank after about 9 months of the job search.

Q: To start with, how did you spin your background to win the valuation role?

A: I pointed to my self-study and relevant coursework and de-emphasized my biology and healthcare work experience.

Many valuation firms look for students who held leadership roles on campus, so I emphasized those in place of my non-finance work experience.

Networking also works well at these firms since fewer students do it; it’s easily the best way to get through the resume screen.

Biology to Investment Banking: Networking Strategies

Q: You mentioned earlier that you had used some “creative” networking strategies.

Can you share them with us?

A: Sure. The standard tactics worked well for valuation roles at accounting firms, but I had to become more creative as I began searching for IB roles.

Initially, I sent mass cold emails to bankers and received a total of 0 replies.

That was because I had a weak story and no mutual connections; also, I looked like a non-traditional candidate.

So, I changed my strategy and began writing physical letters (i.e., snail mail) to decision makers at banks.

If they could ignore my email in 1 second, it would take them at least 5 seconds to open my letter and decide whether or not to read it.

Q: OK, but how did you find the physical addresses?

A: If you think about it, it’s easier than finding email addresses: Just look up the bank’s address on Google Maps!

I searched for bankers’ first and last names on LinkedIn and combined that with the address data from Google Maps to send the letters.

After I sent the physical letter, I also followed up via email.

If the bank used middle names or initials in their email address format, I searched FINRA registrations to find that information.

This process of writing letters to explain my background, story, and why I wanted to work in banking was time-consuming (~1 hour per letter at first), but then I remembered your suggestion to outsource networking, and I began doing that.

I hired a virtual assistant on Upwork to gather the data and draft letters for me, which took the bulk of the time.

I then reviewed each letter and made minor edits, and my girlfriend and I sent them out weekly. Even today we joke about how we’ve perfected the trifold.

The process became so streamlined that I could easily send out 20 letters per week.

Q: Wow.

Which banks or groups did you focus on, and how did you follow up with them?

A: I started out by focusing on healthcare and tech groups, but bankers kept telling me to be industry-agnostic.

I took their advice and began to research other industries so I could discuss trends and deals anywhere.

I started with the bulge-bracket banks and moved down from there.

After I sent a physical letter, I waited a week, and if I didn’t hear anything, I followed up via email.

If I still didn’t hear anything, I followed up a few days later and kept following up every few days for a week or two after that.

Emails sent around office open time in the local time zone got the best response rates; I won informational interviews or referrals from three Vice Chairmen (!) at different banks like that.

Q: Yeah, you want the email to arrive after they’ve cleared away everything received overnight, but before the craziness of the day begins.

What were the biggest challenges you encountered in this process?

A: The biggest challenge, by far, was telling my story effectively and convincing them I was serious about the biology to investment banking move.

I had an unusual background – I had transferred to a smaller university, I had switched majors, and I had become interested in finance very late – and I struggled to explain all that at first.

Also, I had to use my story to preempt the inevitable “Why haven’t you done a previous IB or finance internship?” and “Why didn’t you get in earlier?” questions.

I did not encounter problems with firms never getting back to me after interviews.

Lateral opportunities come up as a result of unexpected departures, so teams usually need to hire someone quickly.

Investment Banking Non-Finance Backgrounds: How to Tell Your Story and Handle Surprises

Q: Agreed; it’s also more of an issue at small banks rather than the bulge brackets.

On that note, how did you tell your story effectively?

A: I stripped my story down to its bare essentials and resisted the urge to “explain” too much.

For example, I left out the part about transferring to a smaller university because it didn’t help my case at all.

I also left out my university’s name because it wasn’t well-known, and I already had full-time work experience.

My rough story outline was:

Beginning: Entering university, I majored in biology. I had family members in medicine, and I also wanted to go into the industry.

Spark: Halfway through, I realized it wasn’t for me, and I became more interested in economics because of [Specific Professor/Class].

Growing Interest: I liked economics, but I also wanted more practical, hands-on applications of the topics, so I became interested in investment banking and valuation, which led to my current role.

Preempting of Key Objections: I started late in the process, so I was not able to complete an IB internship. But valuation work seemed like the next-best alternative, and I felt the skill set would apply to IB roles as well.

The Future / Why You’re Here Today: So, I’m here today because I want to take the skills I’ve gained in my current role and apply them to major transactions. I’m interested in IB because you influence deals rather than just weighing in one aspect, such as valuation, or analyzing deals after they’ve taken place, and I’m excited about this firm and group because of [Recent Deals the Group Has Worked On].

Q: That story outline is better than 99% of the ones we see.

What other surprises or challenges did you encounter in networking and interviews?

A: I was surprised at how my story worked very well with some bankers but very poorly with others.

Anyone who had attended a non-target school or moved in from a different career responded well, but it was harder to connect with graduates of elite universities and business schools.

Also, at some banks, I kept getting “referrals to HR” from bankers.

They were trying to be helpful, but these calls tended to be useless because they were often with teams that had no open positions.

One HR group at a bank asked me to stop asking for referrals since they had no open roles!

Since lateral roles pop up unexpectedly, staying in touch with bankers was crucial.

If someone quits randomly in the middle of the year, you need to be #1 on senior bankers’ list of “candidates to call.”

Q: Yeah, it’s even more critical than in on-cycle recruiting because of the timing.

What else did they ask you about in interviews?

A: My valuation experience and perspective put me in a good position since I had more real-world experience than most candidates.

Bankers did not ask me that many conceptual questions, but focused on topics like the selection of comparable companies and how to tweak the set to get the results the client wanted to see.

Other than that, they focused heavily on my story, how much I knew about the bank, and recent deals they worked on (which you need to know about).

Q: Great. Any final thoughts for students who also want to move from biology to investment banking (or another non-finance major to IB)?

A: The main points are:

1) Think of networking as a process, not a series of results.

It’s discouraging to focus on the results because most networking efforts turn into dead ends.

It’s better to think of it as an extended process and not worry too much about how many responses you get in one week.

2) Frame your story for your audience.

You can have the best story in the world, but it’s useless unless the person you’re speaking to can relate to it.

3) Be persistent.

If there’s anything that bankers care about besides academic background and work experience, neither of which you can immediately change, it’s persistence.

Some people track how many times candidates have contacted them and recommend the ones with the most attempts, even if they never respond to those candidates!

Q: Thanks for your time! Great tips.

A: My pleasure.

The post From Biology to Investment Banking: How to Become an Even Better “MD” appeared first on Mergers & Inquisitions.

from ronnykblair digest https://www.mergersandinquisitions.com/biology-to-investment-banking/