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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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How Arachnophobia Became the Perfect Creepy Crawly Horror Comedy

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There’s a moment in Arachnophobia where Jeff Daniels’ Dr Ross Jennings, lying in bed one night worried his new hometown of Canaima is under attack from venomous spiders, spots an eight-legged intruder lurking in plain sight on his bedroom wall. The scene builds to a terrifying crescendo when the panic-stricken Jennings, who has a pathological fear of spiders, decides to confront the arachnid – only to discover it’s a coat hook.

It’s a prime example of the power Arachnophobia still possesses, 30 years on from its release. The power to have audiences breaking out in cold sweats one minute and fits of laughter the next.

The story of an ordinary American town that becomes infested with a deadly new species of spider unwittingly transported over from the Amazon rainforest, Arachnophobia might have been a very different prospect in the hands of another filmmaker.

Fortunately, Arachnophobia had Frank Marshall at the helm.

A long-time producer who had worked with everyone from Orson Welles to Martin Scorsese prior to founding Amblin Entertainment with his wife Kathleen Kennedy and long-time collaborator Steven Spielberg, Arachnophobia represented Marshall’s directorial debut. In many ways, he couldn’t have picked a better project.

Never work with animals and children

While the old Hollywood adage claimed you should never work with children or animals, Marshall had an impressive track record with both – especially animals. He had overseen the uses of several snakes in Raiders of the Lost Ark as well as Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and orchestrated the plague of rats that pop up in the sewers of Venice during Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

More importantly, like Spielberg, he wasn’t averse to cranking up the PG scares whether it be a melting Nazi or the desiccated corpse of a spider bite victim. The key to cooking up a scare in Arachnophobia, however, were the arachnids themselves.

Marshall and his production team auditioned a variety of spiders for the film, whittling it down to a shortlist of four distinct species, including wolf spiders, tarantulas, and huntsman spiders.

“I held what I called the Spider Olympics,” he explained in an interview with Amblin. “I really put them through their paces to see if they could climb a glass, if they looked scary, to see how big they were or if they looked good on camera and how we could motivate them.”

He eventually settled on three-inch wide Delena spiders; a huntsman arachnid native to Australia that had arrived in New Zealand in the 1920s.

Hundreds of little Marlon Brandos

Over 300 were shipped to the US for filming, with more arachnids added as filming continued.

“We had a spider condominium where we had different drawers with spiders that could climb better than others and some that were faster than others. It was really a science of different spider actors.”

A variety of techniques were used to direct the spiders. Hot and cold air proved effective while the crew also hit on the use of Lemon Pledge cleaner to help guide their movements.

In some of the more complex shots, microscopic leashes and tiny steel plates were used but even they had their limitations. Even so, takes regularly ran into the double digits with the film’s arachnid performers guilty of going off script like a bunch of eight-legged Marlon Brandos.

Sometimes things went like clockwork, like the scene where spiders begin to burst out of a bathroom sink.

“We blew hot air and they came bursting out of the drain,” Marshall said. “I never dreamed they would just explode.”

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Other times, however, it proved difficult, with the director citing the scene in which the town coroner and his wife are offed when a rogue arachnid gets inside their bowl of popcorn.

Marshall said: “The popcorn was probably the hardest one and in the shot that we got, the spider comes out and we follow it. That’s all ad-libbed by the spider.”

It required meticulous planning on Marshall’s part and a wealth of patience from stars like Daniels, who acknowledged to the New York Times that it took a “special kind of actor” to work with spiders. It was all worth it though.

The practical approach proved crucial, imbuing Arachnophobia with a sense of realism and a timeless quality missing from the many CGI-led spider monstrosities that have followed in the years since. Not that Marshall was averse to a little technical wizardry though.

While a real-life Amazonian bird-eating tarantula was cast as larger spider credited as “The General” in the movie and known as “Big Bob” on set, Marshall knew the arachnid was neither big enough for some of the film’s stunts nor trained enough to pull off many of the film’s crucial scenes – including any and all close-ups.

Instead, a 15-inch mechanical spider was built in his place by then-rookie special effect whizz Jamie Hyneman, who would go on to find fame on the TV series Mythbusters.

While the handling of the spiders was crucial, Marshall also understood the importance of grounding Arachnophobia in reality was equally important. That required two crucial elements: good casting and relatable set pieces.

Killer casting

One of Arachnophobia’s strengths lies in the fact the film takes the time to establish characters and setting before tearing the whole thing apart with a childlike glee. For Marshall, setting out the stall of the movie was crucial to cranking up the scares – and the fun.

“What’s important in all of these movies is you’ve got to care about the characters,” he told Amblin. “I tried to cast really great actors in the character parts and the smaller parts. I did feel it needed a little bit of comic relief in this story because it was going to be so creepy.”

Populating the town’s doomed cast of characters with seasoned performers like Henry Jones and Mary Carver as well as comedic actors like Stuart Pankin and Peter Jason proved a masterstroke and ensured, by the time the spiders were closing in, you actually cared for their safety. When the arachnids did descend, it was often to disrupt an otherwise familiar scene of life in small town USA: a garden party, a night in watching Jeopardy or a football practice. In another nightmarish set piece, the town’s soon to retire doctor is bitten by a spider hiding in his slippers.

“I thought what’s scariest to people is everyday common things that we all would freak out by,” Marshall said. “I know that every morning when I get up to put on my slippers, I still shake them off.”

In the wrong hands, Arachnophobia could easily have become a straightforward enough horror movie – and, for a brief period at least, it was. According to Jeff Daniels, when he first signed on the film was a far more serious affair.

“You could tell that the lines were kind of written by computer,” he told the Philadelphia Daily News.

With time ticking on both Daniels and Marshall eager for the film to have a streak of black comedy running through it, producer Kathleen Kennedy went in search of help. In December of 1988, she found it in Wesley Strick.

Low-hanging fruit

By then filming had already begun on the movie, with work complete on all of the scenes charting photographer Jerry Manley’s horrifying death at the hands of a spider in the jungles of Venezuela and subsequent transportation back to the US with an arachnid in tow.

Strick had been working with Spielberg on the script for a remake of Cape Fear. When he got the call from Kennedy, he was settling in for a quiet Christmas with his wife and young children. He didn’t know it yet, but Christmas was about to be cancelled.

“Kathleen called and asked: ‘do you have holiday plans? Would you be available to work for two or three weeks on a film called Arachnophobia for my husband, Frank Marshall?’ It sounded like fun and I was stuck at home, so I said yeah,” Strick tells Den of Geek.

Arachnophobia had been in development long before Marshall took charge and, with time ticking on, Kennedy felt it would be beneficial for Strick to glance through some of the previous revisions of screenwriter Don Jakoby’s original script. There were quite a few revisions, as it turned out.

“A messenger showed up from Amblin with basically a massive box full of scripts,” Strick says. “I had never seen so many drafts. It had been in development for a long time. She sent me like 12 scripts that had been written over two years.”

Strick immediately identified the issue.

“The early drafts were both funny and horrific. But by the time I got to the draft they were working with I could see they had developed out most of the horror and the humor. This kind of thing happens in development because studios often seek clarity over entertainment. They believe the audience should be spoon-fed everything.”

But without “the horror and the humor” Arachnophobia wasn’t working.

“In this instance, however, the changes had ended up flattening out the plot in an effort to make the story clear,” Strick says. “They forgot that it also needed to be funny and scary. In these prolonged development situations, people kind of lose focus on what it is they are really trying to do while trying to solve very literal problems. That’s why it’s beneficial to have another writer come in with a fresh eye. Someone who hasn’t been worn down by two years of search and can fix what got broken by accident.”

Something else that jumped out at him too – nobody in the script had arachnophobia.

“That struck me as a huge missed opportunity,” he says. “It was such low-hanging fruit. I started to question my own sanity like, how could they have missed that? So, I called Frank and Kathleen and said ‘hey nobody has arachnophobia; do you not think Ross Jennings should have arachnophobia? And they were both quiet and just kind of said ‘well do you?’ and I said ‘Yeah’ and they were like ‘well go do that’”

While Strick acknowledges such changes come off as “screenwriter 101 stuff”, the decision to make Jeff Daniels’s character an arachnophobe proved crucial in tying the plot together.

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“It helps the movie a lot. It became the dramatic arc of the story,” Strick says. “Things like the moment, early in the film, when Dr Jennings recalls how he became an arachnophobe after a spider crawled up his body as a child. That plays out again in the final act, when he’s pinned down and ‘the general’ is crawling over him. He’s forced to overcome that primal fear. Those moments play great and provide the spine of the picture. Without it, I don’t know how the story would play. It would be a series of set pieces. Maybe that would have been good enough but it’s hard to imagine it without that through line.”

Strick’s role was also to reinvigorate some of what had been lost in the multiple drafts, in an editing process known as “punching up.” The screenwriter and script doctor explains it perfectly in the context of Arachnophobia.

“With a film like this, you were essentially building a ride at a theme park,” he says. “You want to deliver thrills so there needs to be a forward momentum to it. It can’t meander. The dialogue has to crackle. That’s how movies entertain. I am always looking to focus scenes. Often, you read lots of scenes that are fine and have a clear point, but the dialogue isn’t focused. That’s where polishing comes in. It’s looking at every single line and making sure it’s right down to the number of syllables. With Arachnophobia, I had to liven it up. Add some energy and a bit of humor.”

Over the course of three weeks, Strick worked in a garage converted into a makeshift office, “punching up” the script.

“There was a lot of pressure because it was already in production but I had a sense of what was needed,” he said. “Even so, it was a little dicey. There was a lot hanging on it.”

Good times and Goodman

Both Kennedy and Marshall were thrilled with the changes Strick made. It struck a chord with Marshall’s desire to make Arachnophobia more like a ghost train ride at an amusement park than a night in a haunted house.

“I liked his dialogue and he wrote creepy scenes,” Marshall later told Amblin. “I thought that was fun… he wrote good characters.”

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Daniels echoed that sentiment, explaining to the Orlando Sentinel how the fresh injection of comedy helped the film ebb and flow.

“We approached it as a comedy with a couple of thrills,” he said. “We knew we had the thrills in there, so we worked hard to make sure the movie had a sense of humour about itself.”

The humor, he said, “kind of relaxes the audience, so that we can come in and get them again.”

Strick ended up staying involved in the project, albeit in a removed capacity – Marshall would occasionally phone him from the set to bounce around ideas. Whether he can be credited for John Goodman’s performance is up for debate, though he did write several of his lines. Goodman’s cameo remains a source of some contention among Arachnophobia fans. Riding high off the success of Roseanne at the time, it was Spielberg who suggested Goodman appear as exterminator Delbert McClintock.

Marshall had been eager to inject some humor into the proceedings but Goodman’s exaggerated performance – supposedly based on a real-life exterminator he knew and an old science teacher – jars with the straight-faced approach seen elsewhere.

Testing and Box Office

Not that it mattered all that much to movie-goers.

“I went to a few test screenings and the whole audience would be shrieking and just generally reacting,” Strick says.

Those test screenings did pick up one issue though, the original ending, which saw the film conclude immediately after the spider nest is destroyed, fell flat. It was Strick who came up with the idea of showing that the family had moved back to San Francisco.

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“They wanted something they could shoot in one day. It had to be simple.”

Billed as the first “thrill-omedy” – a term widely ridiculed by the press at the time – Arachnophobia went on to enjoy modest success at the box office, drawing $53.2 million off a budget of $22 million.

Strick has his own theory for why the film underwhelmed.

“I remember my younger sister, Charlotte, told me she couldn’t see it because she was too scared of spiders. I realized a lot of women felt like that. They say when couples go to the movies it’s the female that picks the movies. I’m not sure if that’s true but that’s gospel in Hollywood. I worried that if women were afraid to see it men wouldn’t either.”

In any case, like many films of the era, Arachnophobia went on to enjoy a second life on video, helped by some standout scares that proved popular with the rewind/slow-motion generation of VHS hounds.

Remake

While Strick tends to avoid revisiting his own work, he was pleasantly surprised when rewatching Arachnophobia.

“I was reluctant to watch it again in case it was a relic of another era of Hollywood but it’s still loads of fun,” he says. “My wife was jumping and shrieking and she’s the ideal audience because she’s terrified with spiders. It’s a very funny movie and yet a lot of people die.”

With talk of a potential remake on the way, Strick has one bit of advice: “Don’t do it”.

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“I don’t especially see how or why they would need to remake it for a modern audience. There is something timeless about the original and the way we made it.”

30 years later, Arachnophobia remains a true one-off. A film equal parts horror and comedy and one that would fall flat if either side hadn’t been up to muster. In that sense it’s wholly unique and might be better off staying that way.

The post How Arachnophobia Became the Perfect Creepy Crawly Horror Comedy appeared first on Den of Geek.

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slit-the-rasceta · 5 years ago

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For you, I’ll stay | III: The Soldier

written by — @slit-the-rasceta // @monoluvie

BREAK AND ENTRY AT THE HILL January 10, 1996, Wednesday

YONGSAN-GU, SEOUL — Dispatch calls to the Seoul patrol at around 11:00 PM last night, January 9, reported a break and entry at the executive subdivision, The Hill. To those unfamiliar with the residential area, The Hill is publicised as the most upscale, private subdivision in the greater Yongsan area. This places it as one of the more heavily guarded places in the district as it houses mostly political and affluent residents.

Officers arrived at the scene of the crime at approximately twenty minutes past the time of the distress call. According to the police, the call was made by Assistant Inspector Lee Yuna as she arrived at the house of the Minister of National Defense, Kim Dongjin, taken on the record, the Assistant Inspector confirms that it was indeed the Minister’s house that was broken into, she adds that this was not a case of mere breach of property, but also of assault and possibly attempted kidnapping.

The victim was the Minister’s 19-year old daughter, Kim Jiho, who was found by the Minister himself at their garage—bruised, bloodied and unconscious. Medics arrived soon after to treat the family for shock as well as Ms. Jiho for the severe wounds she sustained.

When asked about the suspect or the possible motive, Assistant Inspector Lee refused to give any comment and closed the scene from further media personnel. — THE SEOUL DAILY

132-12 Cheongdam-dong, Gangnam-Gu, Seoul The Miroh Brotherhood House (미로 일족 집) January 10, 1996, Wednesday 5:00 hrs.

In the silence of their mansion, he sits with a posture so straight one would think he had never experienced the feeling of bowing down to someone. He was wearing a double-breasted suit with fabric that gives off a sheen as the dawn peeks through the blinds, and with not a stray hair in sight, he looks every bit of the capo famiglia, albeit he’d rather be called just “Hyung”—although never “Chan”.

His underboss, or capo bastone, is the singular exception. “Chan.” his voice is level, knowing full well what their leader is up to so early in the morning.

“They’re like a bunch of ants, Woojin,” he sighs, folding the newspaper and placing it back on the mahogany coffee table—as though it was pure entertainment to see the police force scrambling just to give a decent statement to the press. “One break in their routine and they end up in chaos, it’s hilarious.”

His light chuckle only earned him a glare from his right-hand man. “You really shouldn’t mock them, you know.” he shakes his head, hands pocketed. Although he must admit that he too, found it amusing—the SMPA’s inefficiency, that is.

“And why not?” Chan stands, smoothing out the creases of his suit jacket. “They can’t even trace a simple phone call, besides, I think I’m allowed to revel in some form of gratification while this is all happening. It’s not every day that you come across this.” he picks up the documents that they retrieved from the Minister’s home office.

That was the main objective, after all; In order of priority, their operation centered on first, retrieving all the vetting intel of every legislative electoral candidate and second, on replacing that intel with a carefully-curated message for the Minister.

—

Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, Jogno-gu District. January 13, 1996, Saturday. 13:30 hrs.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and her neck was strained, but she had finally figured it out, after three sleepless nights, and a minimum of three cups of coffee per day, she had finally sorted things out. On the first day, she had successfully detailed the night’s events in proper order—down to the time the security system was breached and the moment the wiretapped phone lines were restored to normal.

On the second day, she had returned to the crime scene and taken statements from a secondary victim, the maid, and from eyewitnesses who reportedly saw a suspicious-looking van parked at an empty lot near the residence of the Minister, and finally, on the last day, she realized how that 19-year old girl fit into all of this.

She had pieced everything together as soon as she heard the new development on the case earlier that day.

“Assistant Inspector,” one of the officers-in-training had called her, knocking on the glass door before stepping through the threshold of the conference room. She had been the only one left on the floor as everyone took their lunch break. It was something she was used to doing, and since the briefing with the Minister was due on Monday, everyone knew that she would be cooped up in the conference room anyway.

“What is it?” she asks, not turning around to face the younger boy.

“The Minister called.” his voice was level, but there was a slight undertone of worry, she turns her head so quickly she almost got whiplash. “What did he say?”

“He said…” the officer trails off, hesitant, but at the grave look on her face, he gulps and continues. “The Minister said he found out just now that on the night of the assault, the perpetrators also broke into his home office, cracked the vault and took the documents.”

She quirks an eyebrow at this; how could the Minister only know of this now? Surely he noticed that the documents were missing that same night or at the very latest the day after? Did he have an oversight or was he waiting for something?

“What kind of documents?” she asks, shoulders squared and lips pressed in a thin line. If she was being honest, she hadn’t the slightest clue what they could possibly want but if they were detailed enough to carry out such an elaborate plan, it would have to be something concerning—at the very least, national governance or those with high-enough security clearance to even keep such a paper trail in their own home.

“Vetting documents…” the officer said, handing a list of names over to her. “Of all the electoral candidates for this year’s legislative elections.”

—

51-7, Gocheog il-dong, Guro-gu, Seoul. Assistant Inspector Lee Yuna’s Residence. January 14, 1996, Sunday. 02:00 hrs.

Her apartment was on the seventh floor. It had been a routine of hers to take the stairs instead of the elevator, no matter how tired she was, but she had checked out of the agency at almost 2:00 am, and while the commute back to the apartment complex wasn’t too taxing, she knew that she had no more energy left to walk six flights of stairs.

The elevator lobby was empty, the stone flooring gleaming as the lights bounced off of its surface, she had pressed the arrow pointing up, but the current elevator cabs were still making their way to the ground floor. While waiting, she heard footsteps echo across the lobby, but thought less of it because she had gotten used to crossing paths with one or two night owls, or sometimes, the occasional delivery man.

She was living in an upper middle-class apartment complex where most of the tenants either had middle management positions in their own jobs, or were a few people away from getting the position of their boss, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t order takeout or come home in the early hours of the morning.

Just as the sound of the footfalls stopped, the ‘ding’ of the elevator cab opening snapped her out of her reverie, she had been thinking about the case throughout her whole commute home—it was the small things, like the public service announcements at the train station or the elevator ding just now, that kept her on her toes; granted, she was practically sleepwalking, but she made sure to give herself some pockets of lucidity before she finally falls flat on her bed.

As the elevator doors closed, she looks up, and sees a man wearing an all-black attire and a navy blue baseball cap. He was just standing there, hands in his pockets and stance at ease.

However, something about him sent a chill through her spine. Her mind traces back to the sound of footsteps a while ago, but she belatedly realizes that she had never seen that guy in their apartment complex before.

Thoroughly awake—and downright unnerved, she brisk-walks towards her unit as soon as she exits the elevator. At the last turn, she feels her pulse quicken as she senses something shuffling at the end of the corridor. Immediately, she double-locks the door as she safely enters the apartment.

By this time, she’s dropped her attaché case and file folders on the floor, one hand trembling over the holster at the small of her back and the other still perched over the brass doorknob. The entire apartment is silent, yet she could feel her heart threaten to burst through her ribcage and her breathing spin into an irregular pattern of inhale, exhale, exhale, inhale.

Realizing that there was nothing to be worried about, she focuses on her breath, and closes her eyes, removing her hands from the holster and doorknob. After a few minutes, she was finally able to match her breathing with her heartbeat. The deeper her inhale, the slower the exhale—the calmer she became. Gradually, she felt a warmth travel from her nape to the soles of her feet, as though her shadow had somewhat become a spectre of positive light behind her.

She felt calmer and calmer, all thoughts of the case drifting away momentarily as the brief surge of adrenaline after bolting away from that disturbing (not to mention, obscure) force brought her down an unprecedented high, she began to vocalize her breathing, inhaling from the nose and exhaling from the mouth.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Somehow she heard her breathing becoming louder, even though she had only controlled it to the point where it was no more than a few decibels higher than a whisper.

Curiously, she felt her breathing form some sort of echo, as though after the sound of her inhale or exhale, a ripple was heard throughout her apartment—like a follow-through of another breath being expelled.

And then, she hears it again. This time, a full beat earlier than her, as it grew louder and louder, she felt the unease build up again, and just when she moves to turn her head, the sound of the breathing is redirected straight to the shell of her ear, the warm burst of air sending goosebumps rising all over her skin.

“It took you three days?”

Her breath caught in her throat. It was a man’s voice. Her knee-jerk reaction was to reach for her gun, but she flinches instead, giving him purchase over her entire upper torso. He snakes one hand through both her arms and locks both behind her back, with his other hand unclasping the gun and tossing it halfway across the room.

This time her breathing skyrockets into an erratic, rollercoaster-like pace. She knows she is about to experience another panic attack, but she also will not let her assailant get the upper hand.

She charges backwards to the wall with a force enough to elicit a grunt from him as he momentarily loosens his grip over her arms. She wrestles away and scrambles for the gun in the dark. After making out the shape of her handgun, she reaches for it just as her assailant is about to pick up her files.

They both stand at attention, her gun pointed at him. He was the epitome of sleek and composed—the lines of his body fluidly melding into one resolute silhouette. Meanwhile, her entire figure was shaking and her aim was for sure aligned with the peephole instead of his actual figure. She realizes now that he was standing by the doorway—where her things were, and she was by the terrace, the telephone an arm’s reach away.

She contemplates on making a dispatch call to any patrol officer in the area, but realizes she couldn’t risk that move with him having more than one of the advantages. He’s got immediate access to the exit as well as all her files about the case—she assumed that was what he was asking about earlier, and he could easily just pick up the files and still have enough time to flee the scene before any unit actually comes.

No, she has to play along with the deadlock—at least until she manages another plan.

“What do you want?” she doesn’t stutter but there is a relatively distinct lilt in her tone.

“You’re asking the wrong question,” he gives a one-shouldered shrug, hands still in his pockets. Just as she was about to lower her gun, he moves forward. She takes a step back, almost as if he had taken an entire lunge across the room.

Thoroughly confused, she feels her grip on her handgun quiver even more, as he keeps on taking step after step towards her. Finally, he stops, a few feet away from her. He holds onto her gun. She hesitates for a second, not wanting to lower her gun down. But he reaches for the safety, pulls it back and realigns her gun to his face. “You are going to shoot me after all, right, Ms. Inspector?”

He takes a step back, letting the moonlight wash over the both of them.

“So,” he puts his hands back in his pants’ pockets. “Might as well make the question count before you take a shot.”

Baffled at his nonchalance, she squares her shoulders. If he’s actually giving her an opportunity to shoot him at such close proximity, she might have a chance at severely wounding him, after a beat, she stiffens her hold on the gun, supporting it with her other hand. She’s thought of a question to buy her some time to get a proper shot.

“What do you want with those documents?” she squints, hoping to make out some features of her assailant.

“Hm,” He hums in response, looking up to the ceiling as if in thought. “Close enough.”

Almost instantaneously, he disappears from her direct line of sight. Before she could register what was happening, he knocks out the gun from her hand as he bolts up from a crouching position, reappearing a hair’s breadth away from her.

The sting from his blow renders her dominant hand useless. Thrown off balance, she has no time to recover as he takes advantage of her open form and holds down her entire arm with one hand and envelopes her throat with the other.

He lifts her up a few inches from the floor—his russet irises turning into gold against the moonlight. He slowly clenches his hand around her throat, revelling in the sound of her chokes and gasps. Despite her attempts at clawing on his arm or prying his fingers off, tears well at her waterline as she feels herself slowly lose hold of the present moment.

“A broken wrist,” he says, and snaps her entire hand backward. She wants to scream but she could barely breathe as it is. “And a few minutes of unconsciousness should be enough answer.” he says, but she can barely make out his voice.

Her world slowly began to fade into darkness as he let her drop to the floor with a dull thud.

He walks towards the entrance, picks up her files from the floor and tucked it inside his inner pocket. He was about to leave, his hand was already holding the door knob but he spares her a second glance, and catches sight of the telephone.

“You should have called when you had the chance.” he says to himself in the night’s silence. “He was patrolling your area tonight.” He closes the door behind him, walking back to the parking lot.

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ilcaeryx · 5 years ago

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Limelight: Chapter 3 [Bakugou Katsuki/Reader]

SUMMARY: In their ingenuity, villains spurred the competence and excellence of heroes with unexpected consequences. Before, most heroes could focus solely on combating villany and make a living out of it. Today, a well-established hero is multifunctional: a protector, entertainer and idol in one person. Engaging the public the way a celebrity would is a common strategy, leaving the tabloid industry flourishing and eager to make a killing.Number 2 hero Bakugou “Ground Zero” Katsuki refuses to indulge others’ fantasties… though he’ll make an exception for you.

TAGS: Reader-Insert, Idol-like Heroes, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Vacation, Long-Distance Relationship, Hero Dating Civilian, Influences from K-pop, Comedy, Aged-Up Character(s), Idol Variety

COMMENT: Yikes, I forgot I had actually written this chapter but not uploaded it here...

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Stalker Tendencies

Today was a good day. For you, a good day translated into a productive, fullfilling day and by extension a serene night. Lately (meaning these last few years) those had been rationed out like canned pineapple during war time. You, dear reader, had been starving for quite a while by that point. It wasn't the ferocious type of hunger either. Instead, it was the cautious nibbling on your sole slice of pineapple for the week, perhaps the entire month, even though your very instinct harassed you to consume.

In the quiet town of Shirahiga, the days blurred into an amalgam… allowing you to eat your one slice in peace.

Now if you were a pessimist, you would assume that there were around two hours left of the day to become disappointed. For the sake of your well-being, you hoped that no superior being was orchestrating anything nasty for you. If it were true, it would be massively discouraging, wouldn't it?

But thats's enough of your shallow and edgy background. Let us snap back to reality.

Being a temporarily productive person, you were re-stocking the modest shelves of the village's sole grocery stole. Although it wasn't in your job description, you figured you could spare a few minutes to help the owners out. According to the agreement of last week, you had one delivery left tonight before you could call it a day and it was only to the café down the street.

Just the bread left and I'll head out.

You, L/N Y/N, were certainly getting that bread and in about 15 minutes you could head home.

The entrance bell tinged cheerfully. Making a surprised face to yourself, you finished loading the bread and stood up, brushing residue off your jeans. This was a small town grocery store, not a convenience store in Tokyo - in this town things weren't open late. Late meaning after 9PM, in this context.

You had better things to do than babysit someone so you made Matrushka dolls out of the carton boxes and carried them to the designated spot behind the store. Afterwards the owner quickly gave you the delivery wares for your next target, eager to close the shop.

It seems like everything is here, you thought as you counted the groceries inside your backpack and checked them off with your list. With a zip you closed it and struggled to get it on since it was one of those bulky hiking backpacks.

You were more than motivated to leave this place.

However, upon standing up and appearing like some sickly hunchback out of fucking nowhere from behind the counter, you locked eyes with the dude.

You didn't catch a lot of him, but you didn't like what you did see.

Upon seeing the customer, you did a 90 degrees bow and pretended to tie your shoe-laces to avoid him. People always said you shouldn't stereotype others but once safety was involved virtue signalling could fuck off. That was the appearance profile of a robber, seriously; tall man dressed in dark jeans and hoodie, hair and face neatly nestled underneath the hoodie and mouth mask. If you couldn't see his face, your Quirk would remain inactive and that made you anxious. You sure as fuck weren't going to walk up to him to touch or smell him instead.

"Hey, cashier girl," he rumbled from above. "Are you done?"

You couldn't pretend any longer, so you stood up and you adapted your 'customer service' persona and shot him a nervous and fake smile, looking him in the eyes. All you could distinguish were red eyes and broad cheekbones, along with stray pale hairs dodging the hoodie's edge. He was irritatedly tapping on the glass surface with his fingers. Okay, maybe he wasn't a robber this time around but no one went around dressed like that without a motive. Thus you decided to peace out.

Breathing in deeply, you answered, "I don't work here, sir."

Bye bitch, you bade him farewell inside your head as you walked passed him, clinging onto your backpack straps.

When you were outside, you sneaked a peek inside the store. The owner had taken the guy's payment and he didn't seem distressed, so with a relieved sigh you kept going.

Tonight's weather was pleasant and you generally liked taking nightly walks but you just wanted this over with. Dipping in and out of the public lights, you made your way down the street past the few stores in this town, all locked. By the end of the road, the little café was welcoming your inside, even though there was a 'CLOSED' sign on the door.

You froze up mid motion when something overtook you by your left, whirling into a full stop in front of you. Light deepened the night with his black clothing, your stunned silence and the afterglow of fear bursting inside you.

He cracked his knuckles using his thumb on his left hand while cocking his head to the side, glaring.

"Leave me the fuck alone," he said slowly, his brows narrowed and knit a spider-web-like network of creases above his nose. "You pieces of shit can't just do that, can you?"

The guy moved, causing you to stutter backwards. He made a noise of disgust and rolled his eyes before continuing down the road, eventually slipping into the darkness between the vegetation.

You couldn't get into the entrance of the café fast enough, but fuck - you tried inserting the wrong key repeatedly, your hands shaking. When the right one slid in you unlocked the door, swung it open in the smallest arc possible and darted inside. The door shook in its frame and with a click it locked.

It became hard to stand with your knees clobbering against each other so you slid down on the floor, wrapping your arms around your legs. Your breathing was loud in your ears and your chest felt like it couldn't expand properly with your iron-grip on your legs. You told yourself that he wouldn't enter, he was simply threatening you not to ever go near him.

Who was that?

That guy wasn't from here, that you were sure of. Judging by his clothes, stature and voice you pinned him in his mid-20s. There wasn't an abundance of younger people in this area; aside from visiting family members and tourists, most people there were above the age of 30. Thus, you could draw the conclusion that he indeed was a tourist.

Whoever that person was, you'd heed his advice and stay clear out of his way.

Unfortunately, because of his mouth mask you couldn't fullfill all critera for you to track him… which meant that you would have to be more careful from now on. Not that you wouldn't be if you could track him, but it was always reassuring to know where those you wanted to avoid were, The lack option of having complete control whether a person could approach you or not made you feel unsafe and exposed. It was not something you were used to.

This was not something you could deal with alone, you realized when the shaking stopped and you had trouble breathing with your dry throat. Asking for help was the right thing to do, definitely. After all, this person could be a threat to anyone, regardless of age and gender. Thus, you gathered yourself the best you could and told the café owner about your

Incidentally, this is how L/N Y/N incited a witch hunt that would eventually make her a D-tier celebrity.

If you enjoyed this, give it a like or reblog.

#bnha x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #bnha imagines #ilcaeryx.limelight

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pasteltofus · 5 years ago

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1 Year of Learning Korean

One of the most popular questions I’ve gotten since coming back from Korea is: Are you fluent in Korean now??*

*Spoilers: I am not. 🙃

Looking back, I probably would have become more conversational if I had just done a 3-month intensive program. Although, compared to just learning by myself in the Bay Area, being in Korea definitely gave me more opportunities and motivation. I was placed in the high intermediate class for orientation (switched to low intermediate), but I would say that I’m now truly at an intermediate level. I think my Korean’s more or less the same as my Japanese (which has regressed a lot, and I only took 3 semesters in college) but with very shaky foundations.

Anyways, here’s a brief timeline of what I did this grant year. Let’s go~

[Initiate lock n’ load montage]

July

Korean Intensive Program (8-12pm, 1-2pm M-F)

Because of how the program was structured, I didn’t feel like I learned very much. This is partly why my foundation is so full of holes...we skipped around here and there.

August

Korean Intensive Program

September

Korean was put on pause due to troubles adjusting to homestay

October

Occasionally did a few chapters of Billy Go’s Korean Made Simple at school

Studied some Korean vocab

November

???

December

I don’t think I studied Korean at all

January

Got a wakeup call when I spent 5 minutes trying to read the back of a sign at a smoothie shop and realized how slow I was at reading

February

Vocab grind (1000 Essential Korean Words), plan was to finish by the end of March. Two weeks of intense vocabulary cramming on Quizlet (did nothing in the end lol don’t try that)

Bought the Real Life Conversations Intermediate book

Studied Korean in Kpop lyrics

Started a side coding project to help my touch typing (K-pop lyric typing game)

March

Memorized dialogues from Real Life Conversations book with Lauren

Improved reading skills slightly by listening and following along with the audio recordings that come with the book

Read through the dialogues with the Korean literature teacher in my gyomushil

Continued to learn song lyrics

Wrote sentences with each new vocabulary word, got my co-teacher and the Korean literature teacher to check them (<-this was probably the most helpful game changer...it helped a lot with my spelling too)

Continued working on the K-pop typing game

April

Stopped learning new vocab at around Chapter 11 of Essential Words, focused on retaining old vocab through Anki flash cards

Finished the Go! Billy Korean Made Simple book that I bought ages ago (tbh it was too easy for me at this point but I was just too lazy)

Finally sat down and “learned” Korean verb conjugations (I’d just been going by gut instinct before…tbh I still kind of do 😅)

Kind of dropped the typing game after finishing the MVP 😅but I’m gonna try to finish it up now that I’m back

May

Started to panic about leaving Korea in 2.5 months but still sucking at Korean

Signed up for private lessons once a week for 90 minutes (My tutor asked me to give her a shout out. Her name is 서영심 ([email protected]). If you’re in the Cheongju/Ochang area, she comes to you! She’s very professional and you’ll get your money’s worth.)

Started at the intermediate book that focused on grammar

Learned ~5 grammar points every week

Started writing and reading a lot more and actually seeing how words are spelled. The first time I saw 여기--a super common word (yogi) that means here--written out I thought it was so strange...not that I had thought it was 요기 (also pronounced yogi) but I just didn’t have a visual of it in my head, I guess.

June

Depressed about lack of improvement

Continued with private lessons but felt like I wasn’t really retaining the grammar dump from each week

At the very least, Korean homework kept me on track and made me practice even when I didn’t want to

Started Anki again since I hadn’t actively studied vocab since April.

An old K.Will song that I hadn’t listened to for a long time came up and I realized I could suddenly understand the lyrics. That was pretty cool and one of my small win moments.

July

Feeling pretty hopeless with Korean

However, hung out with more Korean friends that only spoke Korean and felt like I was actually able to contribute to the conversation. (3 hours of Korean Listening ...🙃)

Was able to understand 70% of the conversation at my gyomushil’s final farewell lunch for me. I contributed to the gossip!

Went home and immediately lost 50% of my Korean skills upon touching U.S. soil.

So basically, after my burst of inspiration in February, my confidence and motivation in Korean just kept plummeting. Even now as I write up this post I feel an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. But I do want to highlight the progress that I’ve made since orientation.

Korean Reading

We were all supposed to be able to read Hangul before we came to Korea. Being able to recognize the alphabet is different from being able to read and also different from knowing the pronunciation rules and where to pause in your reading. During my first semester, my eyes would automatically glaze over whenever I saw Korean text. When the second semester started, I tried to force myself to read everything I came across - storefronts, street signs, advertisements on buses, etc. Even if I didn’t know what it meant, I would force myself to read it. Right now, I can navigate a Korean shopping website and read a menu semi-comfortably. I’m still waiting for the day when I’ll see English sounding hangul and be able to read it as fast as English. Although, I will say it’s really nice to be able to read the Korean titles in Kpop videos on Youtube, especially when I come across really old songs (like Super Junior’s No Other 너 같은 사람 또 없어) and realize I now know what it means.

Also, a new world that has opened up to me is...노래방!! Karaoke is such an adrenaline rush. I’d compare it to sight-reading or DDR/rhythm games where you know something is coming up and the satisfaction you get when you get it right with the beat of the music is 👌. It’s so gratifying to be able to sing along...거기 너 I FANCY YOU 아무나 원하지 않아 HEY! I love you (LOVE YA)!!

Korean Writing

Back during orientation, I couldn’t spell anything on my own. I knew words every koreaboo knew like 어떻게 and 괜찮아 but I couldn’t write it because I didn’t know how spelling worked. It’s no wonder my spelling didn’t improve since a) I didn’t write and b) I didn’t even read. Even now I still make a lot of spelling mistakes, but I pay attention to words when I see them. It’s still a very slow process, but now I can picture the hangul in my head when I think of the word.

Typing: I started orientation with around 15 wpm, then by the end of orientation I got to around 30 wpm. Currently, I’m at 60 wpm when I start cold and after I get warmed up I can go up to 80wpm. Being able to touch type is so useful, especially when I’m typing up long sentences from my textbook and I don’t have to look up.

Korean Listening

Dare I say...my Korean listening is my strongest point??? I remember when I took French listening tests in high school, I would always lament with everyone else that they spoke too fast for me to understand. But interestingly, for both Japanese and Korean, I never had that problem. If it only contains words and grammar I know, I can understand it perfectly fine even if it’s fast. I intuitively understand most Korean verb endings and exclamations so it’s not hard to know which way the conversation is flowing or when to interject with “세상에,” “맞아 맞아,” or “말도 안돼.” I used to think my poor lack of vocabulary was the number 1 thing blocking me from understanding, but then I learned more grammar and realized the things I didn’t know. I do feel like parts of the fog are being lifted...sometimes...

Korean Speaking:

I still feel pretty embarrassed when I speak Korean because there are some sounds that I can’t pronounce. Compared to orientation, I have a few more stock phrases tucked and ready to go, but I still feel unable to express myself. Every conversation will start out fine, but they’ll all stagnate to the same topics and sentences after a while.

Complications with other languages

I talked about how knowing some Japanese and Chinese was both an advantage and a disadvantage during my beginning stages, but this is true even now.

Ever since I started getting more comfortable with typing and spelling Korean, I’ve started seeing the actual Hangul in my head when I think/hear Korean. I’ve also started to associate the locations of the Hangul characters with their locations on the Korean keyboard.

One day, I was trying to text back my mom with “那是什么?” (Na Shi Shen Me/What’s that?) but was confused because those characters weren’t showing up. Then I realized I was typing “sk” instead of “na.” Some of you guys might get it....because “s” is where ㄴ(n) is and k is where ㅏ(a) is on the Korean keyboard. Clearly, my brain can’t handle it. It’s interesting because both the Japanese and Chinese keyboard uses the same alphabet placements as English.

Another time: I was watching a Talk To Me in Korean video where Hyunwoo talked about how 하다 is a very versatile verb. I immediately thought about how the Japanese equivalent is 수루 and even mentally mapped it out on the Korean keyboard...before realizing this is WRONG, WRONG, it’s する not 수루 LOUISE WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING. (They are both pronounced suru)

What’s next?

Now that I’m back in the States, it’s going to take even more determination and self-discipline to keep up with my Korean. But I really don’t want everything I’ve worked towards to just wash down the drain. I’ll aim to finish my intermediate grammar textbook and grind anki flashcards. Hopefully, I can find a language partner or a study group. We’ll see!

#language learning #studying Korean #korean #fulbright korea #sorry for the long post #but yes i am back in california #also which one of you messaged isabel about my blog #thanks for reading whoever you are!!#also shout out to my buddy #i actually have one more post to make on my school festival #and then i'll wrap up this blog #learning korean

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farafeys · 6 years ago

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instant karma

my third, most recent fic (written as a comic on dl-6 day adapted to prose the day after), and the beginning of an au i’m currently VERY focused on haha

Characters: Gregory Edgeworth, Miles Edgeworth, Manfred von Karma, Blaise Debeste, Raymond Shields, Bonnie Young, Franziska von Karma, and Sebastian Debeste, mentions of various other investigations characters

2,242 words; no romantic relationships; spoilers for aa1/turnabout goodbyes, spoilers for investigations 2 specifically the backstory mentioned in the inherited turnabout/aai2.4; not-super-graphic violence but violence nonetheless

on december 28, 2001, gregory and miles edgeworth go home safe and sound. about a year later, von karma finds his revenge in a different way.

(link to ao3; fic under cut)

December 28, 2001

District Court 7:00 PM

The long long trial had finally reached an end. Miles could still hear the old judge declaring Mr. Masters guilty as he and his father walked into the elevator to go home.

Mr. Masters wasn't guilty. He knew, because his father said he didn't kill anyone, and he even proved that that mean loud old prosecutor man had forced Mr. Masters to say he did it. It was infuriating. His father had taken the loss with grace, elegantly accepting the unfair, incorrect verdict.

Miles glanced up at his father. He didn't look upset, his usual strong gaze watching the floor numbers tick lower on the elevator display. Miles watched it too, trying to mimic his stoic expression.

Then in an instant everything changed.

he couldn't see everything was dark

the elevator LURCHED they stopped moving

he heard a yell that wasn't his father was it that man with the official-looking hat he'd forgotten he was there

what was going on—

And the lights turned back on.

They flickered, then stayed constant as the elevator smoothly began its descent again.

Miles found that he was clutching his father's arm. He felt somewhat embarrassed; it had only been a second or two, and he was too old for such things.

Gregory placed a strong hand on Miles’ shoulder. If he was frazzled by that incident, his face didn't show it. With a small smile, he asked, “Are you alright, Miles?”

He glanced between the ceiling lights and his father's kind face. “Y-yes, the light just— just went out, Father.”

The security guard sharing the elevator with them leveled a neutral look at the father and son. He seemed to be breathing almost as heavily as Miles.

Gregory squeezed his son's shoulder. “I know, dear, it's all alright. That was frightening, though, wasn't it?”

Miles nodded solemnly.

After several seconds of quiet, there was a gentle ding. The elevator doors opened onto the ground floor and the occupants all made their ways home.

About three minutes later, the same elevator let out a man holding an expensive cane, wearing expensive clothes, and thinking livid things.

January 15, 2003

Criminal Affairs Department- Morgue 2:00 PM

A simple slip of the tongue, a moment of forgetfulness, the vaguest implication, and multiple lives were instantly in danger.

Dr. Bonnie Young flinched as the tall man on the other side of the table roared, “FORGED? ”

“Did I hear you correctly, woman!?” Her face soured and she steeled herself against the cold eyes of the veteran prosecutor.

“I don't know what you're impl-”

von Karma cut her off, “Dover's autopsy was doctored and I was not informed.” His nostrils flared. Unflattering, she thought. “Correct?”

Dr. Young's denial stuck in her throat. Failure to keep the secret could easily cost her life but in the face of such an accurate deduction the lie she had prepared evaporated.

Too enraged to give her time to improvise, von Karma turned on his heel. “Enough.” He said nothing else as he strode out of the morgue, slamming the exterior door.

January 15

Chief Prosecutor's Office 2:30 PM

Blaise DeBeste was infuriatingly unruffled as von Karma burst into his office as if he were trying to tear the doors off their hinges. It was even more so as he leveled heated, snide accusations of his meddling in the Masters case.

The Chief leaned his cheek into his hand, grinning.

“REALLY, I got no clue what yer talkin’ bout, Manny. Are ya implying I'm at fault for that penalty last year?” His hands flapped lazily in rhythm with his words.

DeBeste reached up to adjust his ugly driving goggles. “Ohh, just the idea brings tears to m-”

“Do not condescend to me, DeBeste,” von Karma hissed. He leaned over onto the desk, getting into the other's space. By chance, his right hand brushed over a custom-made letter opener; the handle was custom engraved with a favorite phrase of Blaise's, 'previligium fori ’.

Manfred von Karma was not aware of this engraving. He was barely aware that there was an object in his hand, let alone a lethal one, as he gripped it unconsciously, fingers clenching as a means of sweating out desperate rage.

DeBeste, however, did notice this. His eyes narrowed, watching his hand as the other continued, “No one fools Manfred von Karma.” He was leaning far enough over the desk that spit flecked Debeste's face with every consonant.

DeBeste leaned back in his expensive swivel chair, glanced at the hand holding the letter opener, and took his favorite cigarette lighter out of his pocket.

“... Are ya threatening me, Manny? Cute.” He flicked the fire on and off, speaking to von Karma but not looking at him.

“What exactly are ya gonna do to the Chief, huh?” He glanced up once to smirk at von Karma's contorted expression. “Unless you wanna disappear?”

Several seconds of silence other than the subtle flick - whoosh - flicks of the lighter.

von Karma by now recognized that he was brandishing a small knife, and the idea of a simple and quick out to this problem was very enticing. He held onto perspective, the knowledge that they were in the Prosecutor's Office and that this man was more indestructible than even he himself, for a tense and chafing while.

The threat hanging in the air, inflamed by the nonchalant arrogance of its creator, felt like a string stretched taut over a quivering knife.

Somehow, something in the mind of that enraged man snapped.

In less than a minute’s time, Blaise DeBeste's assistant ran into the room at the sound of a pained shout. In less than ten minutes’ time, Manfred von Karma was handcuffed after being caught by a perfect witness with perfect evidence. In less than ten seconds’ time, and for the next five hours until all the evidence was documented, Blaise DeBeste's custom-made letter opener was lodged 4 inches into his heart, only previlig- visible over his bloodied chest.

January 15

Detention Center 7:30 PM

Ray stood nervous outside the visiting room door. He usually accompanied Mr. Edgeworth while talking to potential clients, but he had said that this visit was more a courtesy than anything, and he doubted they'd actually be hired. Knowing what he did about the man in question, Ray was glad both that they wouldn't be working with him and that he wasn't a part of this current conversation. Still, he was anxious for his mentor.

Inside, Gregory Edgeworth was enduring an unpleasant but, he thought, necessary conversation.

On the other side of the safety glass, Manfred von Karma sneered at him. “Don't make me laugh.”

His arms were crossed haughtily. “Defend me? Why not just spit in my face, Edgeworth?”

Gregory sighed and ran a thumb along his hat where it rested on the sill below the glass.

“Does the possibility of the death penalty not worry you?” von Karma's eyes flicked from his face to his extended arm. His glare deepened. “Everyone deserves an attorney, even you, Prosecutor von Karma.”

Gregory waited several seconds while the other glared at him, almost searchingly. Perhaps his words actually got through to him?

von Karma swallowed, then huffed a contemptuous sigh. “Leave now.”

His tone allowed no argument. Gregory stood, retrieved his hat, and bid the murderer farewell with a small nod.

January 16

District Court: Courtroom no. Three 10:21 AM

It was not a long trial. It made sense, what with how perfectly decisive the evidence was. The prosecutor called Dr. Young to explain the forgery of Isaac Dover's autopsy report, the subsequent reveal of which enraged von Karma to the point of attacking the man responsible for it. A perfectly precise motive.

Less than an hour and a half after the trial opened, with only three witnesses, the judge was ready to declare a verdict. There was no objection from the defense, as von Karma had refused the public defender offered to him, and had remained silent, glowering in the defendant's chair, the entire morning.

Despite how one-sided and clear-cut the proceedings had been, there was a tense anticipation in the moments before the verdict was called. As the judge's booming voice called out, “Guilty,” something just too sour to be relief filled the courtroom air.

Gregory and Raymond sat in the gallery a few moments past the time the rest of the audience had begun to make their way out. Just the two of them had come together, even though Katie Hall and Miles had both expressed strong interest in seeing the trial (Kate had a performance she couldn't cancel, although she asked Ray over the phone to tell her about the trial later; Gregory refused to let his son meet Manfred von Karma again, even at his murder trial, and even besides that pointed out that it was a school day.).

Just as the two of them got through the lobby into the main atrium of the courthouse, there was a quick tapping sound behind them, then a gentle hand on Gregory's shoulder.

“Excuse me, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Hmm?” Gregory turned around. The person who had stopped him, her hand now again at her side, was the prosecutor who had just convicted von Karma, Ms. Werther.

She spoke again, “You were the lawyer that got a penalty against him, right?”

Gregory assumed that she meant von Karma. He nodded. Raymond hovered behind him, watching over his shoulder.

Prosecutor Werther smiled a bit and jiggled the papers in her hand. The wind from it ruffled her impressively large ascot and coiffed white hair.

“There's been an issue no one at the Prosecutor's Office could help me resolve. Both von Karma and DeBeste had small children- a three year old girl and a very little baby boy, just over a year.” Her glasses were too thick to see her eyes and her posture was neutral, but a tremble in her typically steady voice betrayed strong feeling.

“None of us want them to go into the foster care system, especially not when they're fathers were our co-workers (...however corrupt). But they don't seem to have willing relatives.”

“But!” her voice got several shades brighter, “I remembered that your son observes your trials! I've met him during recesses, he's a very polite child. I thought, since you're a parent and already connected to the case, you might know what to do.”

Ray looked between the two lawyers. It was a little odd hearing this lady ask his mentor for advice about kids, especially since she looked quite a bit older than Mr. Edgeworth. Her hair reminded Ray of his grandma.

Prosecutor Werther cleared her throat. “Regardless, do you have any advice about these children?”

Gregory stayed quiet a few moments, his hand on his chin. “Prosecutor Werther,” he began. “... What are these children's names?”

January 15

County Social Security Office 6:57 PM

“That's the last of the paperwork! All the best to your family!” The man behind the agency desk gave Gregory a tired smile and handed him carbon copies of the documents.

“Thank you,” Gregory replied, doing the best he could to give a farewell nod at the same time as tucking away the papers with the sleeping Sebastian in his arms.

As far as adoptions go, Gregory may have set a record for speed. Thanks to the thorough work of Prosecutor Werther, gaining the official approval of a judge for Gregory to take in both Franziska and Sebastian was very much painless. Most of the day had been spent speaking with the children themselves (who were not in attendance of the trial but had been supervised at the courthouse during it), then dealing with the many and varied tedious kinds of paperwork. The whole process would have taken much longer without Werther's help in the groundwork and legal aspects, and Raymond's youthful energy and support, as well as his attempts to entertain a stressed, bored three year old girl.

As Ray saw Mr. Edgeworth returning from the desk to the waiting room, he sprung up from his chair and offered Franziska a piggyback ride. After some barbed questions and several tiny slaps to his arm, she agreed and was on his back by the time her new father was ready to leave.

They made their way to Gregory's car. He had offered to drive Raymond home that morning well before all this, and reiterated it several times over the afternoon. He felt no need to repeat it again now.

“...Thank you for helping me all day, Raymond, it was entirely above and beyond the expectations of your position.”

Ray laughed and hopped a little to keep Franziska from sliding down his back. She whined tiredly but said nothing. “ 'Course, Mr. Edgeworth! Ha, Miles is in for a big surprise in a bit, isn't he?”

Gregory internally winced for a moment. Aside from not yet telling his son about this significant change to their lives, he hadn't called him after being out all day. It wasn't unusual for him to be out late and Miles was both very capable and used to this, but it still weighed on Gregory's mind. He certainly wouldn't be able to try that trick anymore; he well remembered how much attention toddlers need, not to mention a 16-month old like Sebastian. Perhaps he'd be spending more time at home with Miles now.

“... Yes. A good surprise, I hope.”

#instant karma au #ace attorney fanfiction #gregory edgeworth #manfred von karma #blaise debeste #im never consistent w the capitalization of the name debeste and i dont.. feel like fixing it lol #gregory is a GOOD DAD!!!!!

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3w-writer-with-wings · 7 years ago

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Dealing with writer’s block, trying to solve plot holes and overall writing... here’s some tips!

As a fanfic writer, I absolutely enjoy creating stories for my favorite fandoms, but there are times when I have to face two of my greatest enemies: writer’s block and solving the plot holes. Those two also take most of my time when I’m writing new chapters and over the years I came up with a few techniques that helped me a lot. Now, keep in mind that these worked for me, so it’s not 100% certain they will work for you as well, but either way here are the tips (they also help you improve your writing mood):

1) Keep a small notebook close to you or download an app on your cell phone for making notes

You never know when an idea or inspiration will hit you, so be ready to note down the idea as fast as you can. Those sudden inspirations and ideas are like dreams - you’ll forget them fast so make sure to write it down quickly. I mostly note down my ideas by hand since I can’t type fast. If you often have vivid dreams, it’s also good if you keep a dream journal close to your bed since dreams can also be inspiring.

2) Do something nostalgic

This may appear weird, but it helped me a lot when I just didn’t know how to continue the story. If I had a feeling that my writing was going nowhere I would usually do something else and I noticed that whenever I did something that I used to do a lot but now not anymore, I got more ideas for the story. For example, I got ideas when I went to tidy up the attic and I found a bunch of stuff from my childhood, when I rewatched shows I haven’t watched for years or when I would simply remember things that happened a long time ago. The sense of familiarity can give you a much-needed motivation to create something new because you’re literally reliving your own story and it may help you continuing it.

3) Get enough sleep or take a nap

Let’s face it, we can’t function properly if we don’t get enough time to sleep. At times I would get ideas late at night, but when I wrote them down, they were a grammatical disaster or made no sense. So, you better make sure you get enough sleep and let your mind rest so you can brainstorm better the next day. In case a healthy amount of sleep is something you cannot afford (due to work, college etc.) then take a short 20-minute nap. Make sure the room where you sleep is dim enough, that room temperature is around 65 degrees Fahrenheit (18 degrees Celsius) and that there’s no noise (put on a pair of headphones if you can’t avoid it). Instrumental music can also help you relax, as well as scented candles and essential oils. Switch the phone on the airplane mode and set your alarm on maximum 30 minutes (I usually put it on 20 minutes and then have an additional 10-minute nap). If you nap longer there’s a big chance you won’t be able to sleep at night.

4) Stay hydrated

Like a good night sleep, staying hydrated is another thing that will help you think better. The best thing to drink is water and in case you’re not a fan of it, mix some juice or fruit in it. Tea is another great candidate, especially herbal mixes like mint, green tea, and chamomile. Try to avoid energy drinks, carbonated drinks, and coffee - those will only give you a sugar rush and energy burst that will end fast which will mess up your thinking and might also have a reverse effect on you - you will feel sleepy sooner!

5) Have some snacks ready near you

And with snacks, I don’t mean stuff like pocky, crisps and similar junk food. There are a lot of so-called brainfoods that can help you clear your mind, such as blueberries, chocolate (with at least 65% of cocoa) and nuts. In case you really crave some good old junk food while you write, treat yourself to crackers, pretzels, popcorn without butter and fruit dipped into melted chocolate. Those don’t have as much sugar, salt and additives that like to mess up with your brain. You can also look up for recipes of healthier alternatives to your favorite snacks. Trust me, when I had a bag of chips next to my face I didn’t feel like writing at all - only thinking how I’m going to take that potato chip and eat it XD

6) Make a timeline or map

Not only will timelines and maps help you have a better control over your story, it is also a great way to keep your story more organized. Timelines helped me the most whenever I had a plot hole to fix since I could see better which pieces needed fixing and what I needed to keep in mind for the future chapters. Maps are especially useful if you’re writing a fantasy AU, plus the map can give readers a better idea where is the story taking place. If you’re actively posting your stories (like on AO3 and fanfiction.net) and make a plot-related mistake there’s no going back. Small ones (like forgetting to add info about a certain character, short scenes or ages) can be fixed, bit bigger ones (like killing characters or keeping them alive, longer scenes, and character’s actions or personalities) are much more difficult to be overlooked - if you mess up like this, don’t worry, you may still fix it. Take that one big plot-related mistake and put it right next to the rest of the story and ask yourself these questions:

Will it change the rest of the story?

Is there a way to connect the loose ends?

In case you need to get rid of the scene - Is it really that important to the story?

In case you have to change a character’s personality - What would be the reason behind their sudden personality change?

In case you’re struggling with timelines - When do the certain events have to happen?

Which leads to the next tip.

7) Question yourself as much as possible

Ask yourself if the plot makes sense. Ask yourself if that person you write about would react the same way in real life. Ask yourself if a certain event would be possible... ask yourself as many questions as possible. Try to imagine it happening before your eyes or watching it on tv? What are your thoughts? Do you find it boring, interesting, funny, dramatic... ? Then think it through - do I really want it to go that way? Will I regret it later? Does it need any additional scenes to spice it up? The more questions you answer, better your writing feeling will become.

8) Have multiple options

This I can explain using an example from one of my not-yet-written fanfic. The thing was - I didn’t know what to do with one of the character’s parents so it would affect the character the way I needed them to in the story. So I came down with three different options:

Parent is murdered

Parent is alive but missing

Parent is alive but doesn’t remember their child

All three cases result in the character not having their parent around, but despite it, all three options still affect the story differently. The first case will make the child grieve or seek revenge. The second case will make the child look for the parent or give readers hope that they will get to see the parent in future chapters. The last case most definitely hints that the character will interact with parent sometime in the future and will have to deal with this situation. In the end, I created another option: 4. Parent is murdered, but the child gets to know more about them through diaries and photographs - which was a perfect way to tell more about the parent without putting them directly in the story and let the character continue with their own adventure. So the more options you have, the more certain you are where do you want your story to go. Those same options might become handy in the future for the other stories as well.

9) Plan ahead

Many times I find myself at that one part of the story or scene that I simply don’t know how to continue. I stare at that paragraph like I expect it to magically write itself since it’s so annoying that I can’t properly finish it. In that case, just leave that part and move ahead if you feel like writing future scenes. They won’t go anywhere once you write them down. It’s much easier to have the begging and end and no middle rather than just being stuck at the beginning. That way you simply need to find a way to connect the beginning and ending together. The same thing can be done for the start of the story: if you have no idea how to start, add some points that happen in the middle or end and try to think of how would you get to that point. Try to brainstorm as much as you can, even if the ideas sound ridicules - you’ll have plenty of time to fix them later. Maybe even imagine the sequel and again think what would need to happen to reach that point. Whatever you do, just don’t stop when you don’t know how to continue - write future scenes instead.

10) Have someone read it and discuss it with you

What I also find very difficult as a writer is that I only see my own viewpoint all the time when I write anything. I’m never really sure if readers will get my viewpoint, if everything makes sense to them and if they’ll like it or not. Fortunately, I have few friends who help me out by listening to my ideas and giving me their opinions. In case you don’t have anyone to discuss your writing, you can ask your readers for their thoughts (in case you’re posting your fanfic anywhere). Someone who knows you or had read quite a lot will give you their own viewpoint which will help you see your own work in a different light. Be ready to accept every criticism since its purpose isn’t to spread hate but to help you improve as a writer. Talking about your story also helps you brainstorm and solving the plotholes - sometimes even if you have someone listen to you can help since you clear up your mind that way and you think better.

Well, those were my tips, I hope they can help you out. Do you know any more of those? If you do, feel free to add them. :D

#writing #fanfiction #writing tips #health #brainstorming #ao3 #fanfiction.net

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occasionalthoughtsofunimpor-blog · 7 years ago

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Camp.

That one, simple, monosyllabic word, means so much to me. It contains so many memories, so many people, and so many important moments of my life, it is hard to conceive how just one word could evoke so many thoughts and emotions.

This week, as we take the docks out of the chilly waters here at Camp Lakeview in Seymour, Indiana, it will mark 10 years since I first embarked on this journey known as camp. I could never have imagined where the winding road would lead!

It was 10 years ago that I boarded a plane in Cleveland, OH, headed to the distant Sawthooth Mountains of Idaho, to discover what being a camp counselor was all about...I had never been to Idaho before. Heck, I had never been to a camp before!

My story begins as I feel most great tales of adventure, calamity, and triumph often do, with that most primordial of masculine quests: impressing a girl. Fall semester of my freshman year of college, while searching half-heartedly and fruitlessly for a summer job, I learned that the cute girl who lived down the hall in my grungy dorm, had plans to work at a camp over those months of freedom. I had never been to camp before, let alone considered working at one! But all of a sudden, it seemed like the only logical conclusion to my aimless search for employment was sleeping in a cabin with 12 other smelly human beings.

Now here we must pause to gaze in awe at my infinite brilliance and cunningness. I knew it would be too obvious, too mundane, not impressive enough, to work at any old camp, let alone the same camp that the cute girl was working at. No, indeed not! It only made sense to go spend the summer in some far-flung, mysterious wilderness...as far away from home, and her, as possible! So on a Tuesday morning, having received a tip from my childhood Pastor (unaware of my motives, and who himself worked at a camp while a student) about an organization of many different Lutheran camps, I logged onto the interwebs, loaded a map listing all the various locations on it, and pinpointed the dot furthest away from rural Ohio.

Camp Perkins, Idaho.

I took 30 minutes of spare time between classes to flip through the application and send it on its way to the camp. The wheels were set in motion. This unsuspecting maiden would be swept off her feet by my bold, daring, trek across the country into the great unknown!

If you haven’t already guessed, my start in camp ministry did not have the best of intentions. Truthfully, even though I grew up in a faithful, Christian family; attended church and youth group every week through high school; my faith had taken a backseat in my newfound, liberated, college lifestyle . Sure, I would try to read my Bible a couple times a week, maybe go to church a few times a semester, and for the most part hold to the moral principles I had learned to live by from my upbringing. From the outside, you might even say I was being a model Christian. But on the inside, in the heart that I know, there was simply very little room for an active, living, faith and relationship with the Lord. Indeed, only 30 minutes after I finished my phone interview for a position at the camp, I was headed to a keg party with some friends.

As I prepared to venture to Idaho, the responsibilities leading Bible studies, and sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ, were the furthest things from my mind. There were more pressing matters at hand! Which hiking boots should I get to conquer those mighty peaks?! Would 5 pairs of wool socks be enough?? Is this knife big enough to kill a grizzly?!

It was a warm, sunny day when I landed in Boise. I debarked the plane in my favorite lime green basketball shorts, an ultra trendy t-shirt, and some nike flip flops. After retrieving my 50 lb. duffel bag, bursting at the seams with everything I would need for the next 11 weeks, I crossed the Potomac river like General Washington (translation: walked outside), to meet my ride up to camp. I sat down on my duffel bag at the arrival pick up lane and waited. And waited. And waited some more. In my continuing infinite brilliance, in the age before smart phones, I had neglected to write down a phone number to contact either Camp Perkins or my ride.

After 1 hour, I began to worry I had given the camp incorrect flight information.

After 2 hours, I started calculating how long I could survive on the $45 in my wallet.

After 3 hours, waves of anxiety started crashing down with the humiliating thought of having to recount the tale of my embarrassment and failure to the cute girl down the hall...

After 4 hours, the seas parted, and a chariot of fire (ok, a Subaru Outback) from heaven came roaring into the airport terminal and out popped a young man with a Camp Perkins t-shirt. Salvation at last!

As we began the 3 hour journey from Boise to camp, myself and my driver, (Whose name was Chris, but at camp they called him Bash. I liked that!) fantasized of what adventures would await us this summer. I also marveled at the scenery outside the car window. If you have never been to Idaho, it is the most under-appreciated state in the entire country! I’ve traveled to Colorado, Montana, Oregon, Arizona, Utah, California, and still, there is not sight more beautiful to me than the wild, untouched, mountains of Idaho. However, as we ventured further away from the airport, I begin to notice a worrying sign along the road. You see, we were still over an hour SOUTH of camp, and yet there was already a solid covering of this white, shiny stuff on the ground. SNOW?!?! It’s mid-May!! It was 75 degrees in Boise! In my extensive preparations, I had somehow overlooked this tiny detail...bring pants to camp. I nervously brushed off this small oversight and carried on as if it was no big deal.

We arrived at camp in the waning sunset to the sounds of loud singing coming from somewhere off in the distance. As we hauled our heavy bags across the property to our cabin, we gradually drew nearer to the source of the boisterous chanting, until we came to the top of hill where we could see a group of 40 some people singing and dancing wildly around a fire below. What had I gotten myself into?! These people were crazy!! These people were something I was not! They were loud, joyful, and couldn’t care less what anyone else around them thought! They had a passion and desire to serve the Lord and live out the gospel written on their heart!

These people were something I was not...these people were something I only conveniently pretended to be...

I was not the best counselor that summer. In fact, I don’t think I was even a good counselor! Certainly, not when I compared myself to those around me. I had never supervised kids before, I had never led a devotion before, I had never tried to console a homesick child crying in his bed. There were so many things I had never done before, never even thought about before! And all of a sudden, my life was no longer about serving myself, or doing what I wanted to do. My life was about caring for these little creatures (for some reason, I always seemed to get the youngest campers....), making sure they were having fun, making friends, staying alive, and learning about a faith that I wasn’t even sure I had.

And, through it all, the goods times and bad, the triumphs and failures, I was surrounded, supported, challenged, and loved by an amazing group of people. My fellow summer staff. I could tell you stories about the time I wore a gator skin suit and pretended to be a daredevil, or the camper who wore the same red sweatpants and sweatshirt for an entire week, or the boy who shot an arrow through his hand...the tales are endless! But while those stories are entertaining (at least to me) and exciting, what was infinitely more exciting was the story of God’s working in my heart.

That summer, the Lord led me on a journey to discover Him. I learned how the faith of a child can be the most amazing, beautiful thing you have ever seen. I discovered that God does not only exist in church on Sunday mornings, but in the most competitive game of knockout you’ve ever seen, around the warm glow of a campfire, and even in taking camper Johnny to go pee at 3 freaking-in-the-morning. I saw that God is merciful, patient, and abounding in love to the n-th degree. I found a God who was working in me and through me, in spite of my less-than-Godly motivations.

Camp.

I believe in camp ministry because I am a product of camp ministry. It is a place apart, where for a period of time, whether a summer, a week, or even a day, we can encounter the Lord in the rawness of His majestic creation. It is a place where the concerns and anxieties of daily life seem to melt away; where cell phones go to die; where sinners can go to find life.

10 years ago I first set foot on that hallowed ground that is Camp Perkins. I have seen countless victims thrown into freezing cold lakes. I have been eliminated from more games of dodgeball and knockout, by seemingly innocent children, than I care to share. I have met thousands of amazing people, each with their own unique story. I have witnessed the Lord’s Spirit at work in innumerable lives, none more so than my own. 10 years later I am still at camp because I believe it is a place that changes and saves lives. It did for me.

I could never have imagined the journey the Lord would lead me on over these past 10 years, but I could never be more grateful. I am beyond blessed. As we head into this “offseason”, I can’t but to be excited for the even more amazing things the Lord Jesus Christ is going to do!

And as for that cute girl down the hill, well it’s a funny thing...I returned to school the next fall only to learn that she had transferred to another college! Apparently she was not impressed.

I guess my going to camp was all for naught after all!

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bangtannoon · 8 years ago

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The Note

Words: 2078

Pairings: yoongi x reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: You never thought someone would actually get interest in you, until a note shows up one day.

WARNING: talks of self esteem issues

“Y/N!! It’s time for school!” Your mom called from the bottom of the stairs. You groaned until you felt the motivation and strength to push yourself off of bed to look at the clock seeing that it was 7:30am. School started at 8:20am. You throw the covers off of you and run into the bathroom brushing your teeth and hair at the simultaneously trying not to waste time. You run into you closet and pick out the first thing you see. Leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that was your dad’s. You throw them on and look in the full length mirror you have hanging on your closet door. You didn’t like the way you looked. You never really did. It never was something super big to you because you had always not liked yourself since you first saw your reflection. You brushed off your emotions and grabbed your backpack running downstairs skipping several steps causing the adrenaline of almost falling to rush through your body waking you up.

“Slow down Y/N!” Your mom yells from the couch as you throw your backpack on the kitchen floor grabbing some coffee and a banana.

“Sorry, I’m going to be late if i don’t rush.” You say throwing whatever microwave lunch you have in the freezer into your backpack. You get your stuff all settled, fast walk to the back door grabbing your keys off of the hook they were hanging on and slam the door behind you before saying goodbye.

You pull into the school parking lot and immediately feel a rush of no enthusiasm go over your entire body. It was your senior year, and if senioritis wasn’t a real thing before, it is now. You pull into a parking spot and sit in your car until it was time to go to class. You pull out your phone and start to scroll through Instagram and Snapchat stories seeing people’s lives so perfectly showcased and free. You wish you had that. You were the classic kid who grew up being very isolated from the world by your parents. You never really got to go anywhere and when you did, they would make a huge deal about it and make the idea of going somewhere fun, less fun.

You checked the clock to see that it was 8:16. Getting out of your car was one of the many small successes you’d make throughout your day. As soon as you got everything settled and in hand you started to walk to the school only to be almost ran over by a huge truck coming your way. The car abruptly stops right in front of you barely grazing the skin on your legs.

“Come on! Get out the way!” The guy in the car yells as he sticks his torso out the window.

“Idiot.” You thought as you continued on your way to your first class.

Your first class of the day was Math, what great scheduling the counselors did. Let’s put all 17-18 year olds in a class where they have to focus on the material while they’re half asleep, great thinking. You were good at Math, one of the few things you were good at and actually enjoyed. Everyone in the class always asked you for help and for the answers everyday which made going to this class, not fun at all. The only reason you stayed was for none other than, Min Yoongi. He was a foreign exchange student from Korea and was carved by the God’s themselves. Every girl had a crush on him but he was oblivious to it. He didn’t know much English but enough to keep a good steady conversation going, plus, he was good at math. Which made you sad and happy. Sad because he wasn’t asking you for help. Happy because it meant he was super smart.

“Y/N? Can you come up to the board and show your work.” The teacher said shoving a marker in your face. You felt all the blood rush through your body and you meant numb. Grabbing your notebook ever so slowly you felt all eyes on you watching your every move as you make your way to the front of the room. You took a deep breath focusing on the problem in front of you, not the people behind you. When you were finished you looked around to see everyone had their eyes on you, except his. The one person you actually wanted to acknowledge you.

“Thank you Y/N, great work as always.” The teacher said as soon as the bell rings.

Everyone fidgets around putting their stuff back into their backpacks as the once quiet room fills with words and letters escaping mouths. You push your way through the crowd leaving the room to get to your things. One person knocks into you causing all your books to fall. You lower yourself to the ground to pick them up thinking how this day could get any worse. All of a sudden, you see a hand on your textbook. You look up to see it was Yoongi. Staring at you, waiting for you to take the book. You were frozen solid by his look, that piercing look that could cut through diamonds. He stood up and placed the book on the desk in front of you and walked away.

“That was your chance, and you blew it, just like you always do.” You thought to yourself. You push yourself off the ground and grab your things fast walking out of the room to the nearest bathroom. You slammed the door behind you in the stall as tears started flowing out of your eyes. You felt embarrassed and hopeless. You don’t know why, you do everything just as everyone else does but for some reason it just is harder for you. You stayed in the stall until the tardy bell rings for your next class. You open the door, grab your things, and leave before anyone can notice your tear-stained face.

“I’m home.” You say as you walk in through the back door.

“Hello, how was school.” Your mom says still on the couch like she was this morning.

“It was fine.” You say grabbing another banana and walking upstairs to your room. You throw your stuff on your floor near your bed, hop into the covers, and fall asleep immediately.

30 minutes later you wake up to the sound of your mom and dad yelling in the kitchen. They always fought, but they’d never get a divorce. You stayed in bed with your eyes open listening to every word they said feeling the love in the air drop to anger. You covered yourself in your blanket and made your way to your desk opening your laptop to work on homework.

But instead, you find yourself scrolling through pictures and articles of celebrities who are perfect and loved and everything successful and you feel worthless compared to them.

You slam your laptop shut thinking you’ll just do the homework in the morning and head to bed.

“Y/N? Are you with us?” Your math teacher says as he stands above you. Everyone in the class laughs when you open your eyes to see drool all over the desk and your arm. You sit up straight and look down into your lap for the remainder of the class period fighting back the urge to cry infront of everyone. When the bell rings you feel relief rush into your skin as everyone gets up and leaves, leaving you alone for a short period of time in the class. You take a deep breath and go to reach for your bag when you notice a note. You pick it up and open it.

“You look cute today :)” was written on it. You crumble it up and throw it in the trash thinking it was someone trying to play tricks on you like how they did in the movie Heathers to Martha. You walk out the class and see him again, leaning against his locker, watching you walk out of the class. You lock eyes for a good 5 seconds before you crash into someone in front of you.

“I’m so sorry!!” You say not looking into the person’s eyes. You feel your body jerk into the lockers as a hand holds onto your jacket you were wearing.

“Why’d you do that?!” The guy yells at you, you recognized the voice, it was the same guy who almost ran you over the day before.

“I...I…” You tried to get out the words but before you knew it his hands were off of you. You opened your eyes to see him on the floor with a bloody nose. You were frozen and didn’t know what to do. Suddenly you were jerked away from the scene but the sheer thought of thinking it was another one of those guys made you burst into tears and close your eyes as your were being swept away down the halls. You were pulled into one of the janitor’s closets and felt your body go numb as you prepared for the worst. You started to scream and shout hoping someone would hear you and come save you from being beaten to death. A hand was thrown over your mouth causing your eyes to open wide seeing a familiar silhouette of a face in front of you.

You heard footsteps and yelling go past the room you two were in for a good 2 minutes before it went silent.

“Are you okay?” the person said in a bad english accent. It was Min Yoongi.

“Y..yes.” You said feeling embarrassed that you put him in this situation for being the stupid idiot you are. You tried to turn around and leave the room but his hands found yours and pulled you back around.

“You know, i’ve been trying to talk to you since I came here.” He said making the air heavier from his breath.

“Really?” You say feeling shocked. He must obviously be mistaking you for someone else. You never would've thought someone would actually be interested in talking to you. All of those other girls in your class and he chose you, the one who cries if anyone even looks at her, the one who dresses like she’s going to the homeless shelter everyday, the one who has literally nothing to offer to him because he could do so much better than you.

“Y..yeah, I just never knew how to approach you, that’s why I wrote the note.” He said letting go of your hand and putting his hands in his pockets.

“You did that?” You said.

“Yeah it was dumb, i know.” He said turning around to walk further into the closet.

“No it wasn’t!” You say jumping towards him grabbing his hand. You noticed what you were doing and let go of it quicker than you’ve ever done anything before stepping back from him.

“It wasn’t? Well then what if I did this?” He said stepping towards you making things go from 0 to 100 super fast as he grabbed your waist and pulled you close into a soft kiss. Aka, your first kiss. The two of you pulled apart after a few seconds, both embarrassed by what just happened.

“I’m sorry, i don't know what got over me.” He said stepping back from you.

“It’s okay, I’ve been wanting to talk to you too since you came.” You said confessing to him. You felt your heart beat out of your chest, you knew thought you’d ever be stuck in this position.

“Really?” He said as you could see a smile form on his face through the darkness.

“Yes you idiot.” You said playfully smacking his arm not knowing what else to do. You heard a giggle come from him which helped you calm down a little.

“I guess I won’t write a note again now that we’re talking.” He said holding your hands pushing them out of your sleeves.

“You can continue with those and maybe i’ll write some for you too.” You said wrapping your hands around his feeling the warmth of his skin.

“I’d like that a lot.” He said smiling and pulling you in for another kiss. Yes this was unlike anything you’ve ever done, let alone anything you’ve seen your parents do but you could get used to this very quickly.

#bts #bts imagines #min yoongi #suga #bts suga #bts yoongi #min yoongi imagines #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop min yoongi #min suga

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irisfaeblossom · 8 years ago

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Writing prompt: Write about an alternate version of yourself. What would they be like? How would they be different than you?

Another uneventful day is coming to a close. I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. It takes maybe five to ten minutes before I start thinking about my future and what my purpose in this world is. Dreading the worse mixed with the hopefulness that I’ll eventually find my answers cause my eyes to glaze over with tears before they cascade down my face. Sometimes, I wonder how I ended up like this, but I know full well.

It’s been this way at the beginning of my senior year of high school and a year after graduating. The second day of the first full week of my senior year of high school was the day my dreams got crushed, sending me down a path of despair and existential dread. It was a stupid reason that caused me to no longer feel motivated to follow my heart and do the things I love. I can no longer trust to tell people what I’m passionate about and what I want to do without the fear of that same thing happening again. While I agree we need more doctors, engineers, nurses, etc., that’s not the kind of person I am. I love to write, whenever I have the inspiration, as well as sing. You see, music has been a part of me since I was three years old. It will always be a part of me. Hell, music is part of the reason I’m still alive.

Eventually, I fall asleep, the fan by my bedside creating a sort of white noise and cool breeze to further lull me. The overthinking doesn’t stop until my mind shuts off to give me a moment of peace. Then, and only then, do I start to dream.

I wake up. I’m still in my bedroom at dad’s, fan still whirring, calming music playing, and dad has gone to work. I check the time on my phone. 7:30 AM. With that, I turn off the music and slowly get out of bed. The moment I open the bedroom door to fix a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I freeze. There’s a girl in the kitchen. She looks my age, has my figure except her stomach is flatter, and has dark cherry-colored hair, a hair color I’ve wanted to try out on myself since seeing what it looked like. She was dressed in something I’d wear. She wore a gray top with two black feathers on the front of it, a red flannel jacket, a black beanie, skinny jeans, and black ankle-length boots.

I snap out of the shock to find she was staring back at me with the same confused expression on her face. “Who the hell are you?” I ask. I wanted to make a break for the baseball bat by the corner of the living room, but the girl seemed harmless, so I stayed standing by the doorway.

“Who are you?” She asks back.

“Hailey?”

“Spelled the same way as my name?”

“Uhhh….I guess? Are you some kind of….Are you me?”

She blinks rapidly a couple times, taken aback by the question before scanning me up and down. She says slowly, “We do kinda look the same. Come closer?”

We walk a couple paces toward each other to get a better glimpse of each others’ faces. “Same nose, same eye shape and color, same face shape….oh my god I am you!” Startled, I jump back from her. My other self gives me an apologetic smile before leading me to the living room couch to talk. I definitely needed answers.

“So, how do we start this conversation?” The other me ponders.

“Well, we can...talk about what you do. Is your personality the same as mine?” I ask her.

Twisting a strand of cherry hair, she replies, “If you’re the same as me and likes to stay home, read books, browse the internet, play video games, yada yada yada, then yeah. I still care a lot about people and try to be as open-minded and empathetic as I can. As for what I do, I’m a writer, currently learning how to play three instruments, still trying to get better at songwriting, and I’m fairly noticed online for my stories and vlogs. I’m nothing big, but I may just get there some day. Who knows? I’ll impact more people if I keep on going with what I’m doing.”

“Wait, you said you’re learning how to play three instruments. What are they?” I ask, my breathing catching in my throat and my eyes burning with unshed tears.

“Violin, guitar, and piano. Hey, are you okay?” My alternate self gazes at me tenderly, concerned by my sudden change in mood.

The dam bursts and I turn my face so she doesn’t see me cry. It’s a futile attempt to hide my emotions, I know. I hear her rising from her seat to kneel down in front of me on the ground. “Is that what you’ve dreamt of doing with your life, too?” I nod. I look up at her a sniffling, sobbing mess. She gently moves my dark brown hair out of my face and holds my hand. “You know it’s not too late for you, right? You can still make it a reality, if you’re willing to try. Whoever told you you couldn’t or that it’s unrealistic or useless, fuck them, okay! They don’t know you like you know yourself. Don’t let a-holes like them make you think your existence is unnecessary because you’re different. I know it’s hard, but the more you listen to your heart and follow it where it leads you and you believe in yourself, it’ll make a big difference. Believe me. There will be things you don’t want do in order to get on the path you’re aspiring to walk on, but it’ll all be worth it in the end. It sounds impossible now, but I believe in you and I want you to put more faith in yourself for me, okay? Come here.”

I lean off the rocking chair I’ve been sitting on and fall into her embrace, sobbing into her shoulder. I can feel warm liquid on the side of my neck. I didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know my other self was crying, too. We stayed like this for at least a minute before pulling away. Embarrassed by my getting emotional, I bashfully murmur, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She lightly chuckled.

My eyes began to grow heavy, begging for more rest. Yawning, I say, “I’m emotionally drained. Mind if I go back to bed? You can help yourself in the kitchen.”

Lightly laughing again, she responded, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

We get off the floor to go our separate ways with me going back in the bedroom and other me going back to the kitchen to fix herself breakfast. Before I close the door, I say one last thing, “Hey, future me…thank you. Really.” She smiles at me and gives a small nod in my direction.

I’m back to reality and I wake up with a start. I get out of bed to find nobody else is home. I’m alone. I go back to my room to write about my strange dream in a journal entry on a word document. This is a dream I want to remember and look back on it later on down the road. I can swear I have a little more hope in me than before, the words my other self said to me during our talk repeating in my head.

I’ll make you proud, future me. I’ll start fighting harder than ever. I’m not sure where life will take me, but I hope to be like you some day.

(I’m so sorry if this sucks! My writing’s a little rusty as I haven’t written a story in forever. I kinda ran into this prompt on my feed on here and read somebody’s take on the prompt before trying it myself. So, again, sorry if this sucks. I’m wanting to start back writing again because I effin’ miss it!)

#writing prompt #rusty writing #getting back into the swing of it #sorry

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muckyrunner-blog · 7 years ago

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Salomon Glencoe Skyline Race

Blowing oot my arse running up Bishops Hill, a niggle developed in the top of the buttock. “what the hell” . Ignored it on the way up but it gradually got tighter heading down. 10 days till race day. Long planned run a week before was also cut short due to the niggle developing into a pain. The sensible thing to do at these times is meekly retreat back to the car.

Well i’m an idiot so the best course of action was to chase a downhill Strava segment record. I got it BTW..... Ah bugger. See, i can’t help myself , had to tell you. The pain had transferred to my lower back by now. Some self flagellation with the Cat o nine tails and mocking myself in an idiotic voice. “ Mungo like strava records “ did little to lift my mood.

Rest, stretch, and roller with some spin bike session followed with no running. 2 days before the race i attempted a short 3.5k run. Glute , hip and lower back are tight as hell. This is not good. Bassstaaaards !!! The only course of action now is a big girly huff. The useless runner demon was now perched on my shoulder whispering in my ear “ you're dooooomed “ The good runner angel was whispering in my other ear “you’re doooooomed “ . it all seemed hopeless.

Organised all my gear anyway with the idea of being able to spectate and take pics at least. A long drive Drive up with my long term running buddy Chris kept my spirits up despite the toothache feeling in my arse. Registration , food and bed was the order of the day. A last speculative stretch before bed did nothing for my confidence.

Race day dawns and it is a cracker, 4 degrees outside on the drive down to Kinlochleven. A short jog before the start and instantly feel my arse tight. Do i start or not was all i could think about. As i think it my legs are already taking me to the start pen. My planned Selfie with a Mr Jornet evaporated in a haze of self pity. As usual i’m eyeing all the shiny legged, bouncy opposition thinking “ i do not belong”.

We are off ! Stayed close to the back with the plan to drop out at checkpoint 1, walk back to car, get showered and walk back up to take pictures of the race leaders.

From sea level at Kinlochleven to the top of the devils Staircase is around the 8k mark and over 500 metres of ascent and easy to push too hard. Kept my pace light and steady as i focused on my arse pain. I felt grumpy. A female runner in front was annoying me with really swishy and bouncy ponytail. This thing had a life of its own and i was positive it was giving her unfair advantage the way she floated up the hills. Did it have an engine? Random thoughts to distract. Top of the Devils is upon me and the pain eases a bit. The downhill is going well to checkpoint 1 and its a decision has to be made. Onto checkpoint 2 it is.

Running well at this point and well within my limits. The trail up to curved ridge seemed effortless this year. Its Narrow so stayed in my position more or less to the summit. The ridge itself was tightly packed and very slow. I thought maybe someone had taken fright? I found myself on a few of the short vertical sections having to wait on small ledges. Quite a feeling of exposure as i looked down to the river and road below, the sun sparkling off countless tiny Lochans in a sea of emerald. What a place. Up over the crux and plain sailing to the top of Stob Dearg and checkpoint 2.

“ ach , just as well heading to checkpoint 3 since your here “ talking to myself seemed to lift my spirits. The runners from warmer climates wore, hats, gloves and jackets at this point. I wore shorts and a t shirt. being Scottish and no breeze to speak of equals “roastin”. The first section of rough technical downhill catches me off guard and a few runners pass me. I have a new pair of X talon 212′s on the feet with gaiters to keep stones out. I boot a rock hard and know instantly that another big toenail bites the dust. Start to build confidence and find my downhill legs and take back the lost places. The pain has settled even more and for the first time i dare to think ”could i possibly do this”. The first big descent comes just before Stob Coire Altruim. This marks Checkpoint 3.

I have been careful to get fuel in regularly and use solid food early on using SIS bars that Chris provided. sort of energy bar that requires water to swallow it. Save my shot bloks and gels for later. I eat a full bar before every big descent. This one is technical but fun. Muddy, rough, and sloping slabs means care is required. Passed two people hobbling down it last year after mishaps. Down to the river Coupall and checkpoint 4. A refreshing dash across and onwards.

To this point very few runners i have spoken to seemed to speak english. Well maybe my Scottish english but loads of marshalls and walkers are shouting my name and giving me encouragement. I felt really ignorant as i couldn't place the faces or names. Then the realisation that they know my name because its written on my race number. I’m not famous, I’m a complete tit.

The next climb up to the Col of Buachaille Etive Beag is only around 350 metres but it is a bog and slog. head down, grind it out. Still feeling good but it is warm here. After the col, a great descent on man made steps. Fast short and choppy does the trick. The path turns towards the road and almost down to it. Lots of cowbells and shouts of encouragement lift the spirit here to checkpoint 5. I take a deep route across the stream to cool down.

Feel a wee bit rough so take on fuel and start up the Lairig Eilde , a 3km section that is rough trail and a gradual climb. I see quite a few runners in the distance and decide to go hunting. I ran this full section but at an easy pace and reeled in quite a few and ended up catching a large group by the time i reached checkpoint 6.

The Climb up to Stob Coire Sgreamhach is a howler. around 600 metres. I was passed by a good few runners in the two previous years. Filled my bottle from a small stream and set off up. This time was different. i was gaining places. The pain was now gone and this made my spirit soar. My Vision suddenly went funny with flashing lights and dizzy spells . I had to look up and focus on a single object in the distance. Pushing too hard and paying the price. Slow down slightly and it settles. Thank god. The summit and checkpoint 7 reached.

The next section is rough as hell and relentless. I’m slower on this terrain finding it difficult to get into any kind of rhythm. I reach Bidean Nam Bian. At 1150 metres the highest point of the race. This is checkpoint 8 and 10. A cruel twist by the organisers sends you on an out and back to checkpoint 9, Stob Coire Nan Lochan. You are passing runners who are already on the way back. It can really F**k you up if you do something silly like count them. Ahem! Its tough ground here and not much space to pass each other. I deal with it by being super cheery and saying well done to everybody i pass even though i’m dying. This is one of the tougher sections, mentally and Physically. Heading back to checkpoint 10 I pass Chris. Its good to see him as he was forced to retire last year through injury. The short sharp loose climb back to checkpoint 10 is the first real indication of fatigue setting in.

On to Stob Coire Nam Beith. Fuelled and started to feel good again. A couple of runners who passed me on the out and back were now being reeled in. its mostly runable to the summit but thrown instantly into a really tough technical 1000 metre descent to checkpoint 11 at Loch Achtriochtan. Caught up with the two runners and bide my time. They took a hard zig zag path but I remembered being overtaken here last year so took a traverse straight onto a really steep scree slope. It was bliss, moving fast and gaiters doing their job, i soon left the other two far behind. Further down the slope changes to man made steps, really small and sloping away from you. Dry sections are great but hit a wet step with the fell shoes and it quickly turns hairy. I slip badly and my feet are above my head momentarily, landing with my hands below me , a rock spreads my fingers and splits the skin between them. ouch! I use a glove to stem the blood. After this i use any route that avoids the steps. A few hundred metres from the checkpoint you can hear the cheers and cowbells. Time to puff out chest and try to make it look effortless and fast. It was smoke and mirrors. This checkpoint is the only part of the race where any support is granted . I had none so had to carry all my food for the entire race. Fortunately you are allowed to fill up with water. I had only filled one of my bottles up till now but knew no water was available for the next 3 or 4 hours. Drank 3 cups of coke while both water bottles are being filled. I check my watch for the first time since Kinlochleven. I has been running for 6 hours and 30 minutes. 45 minutes up on last year. I grab a Flapjack and head out from strong From Checkpoint 11 with shouts of encouragement from David Murdoch.

You can see the full 850 metre climb to ahead of you up to Sgorr Nam Fiannaidh now and its a terrifying looking thing. I run up a short steep section from the road crossing and intend to walk as soon as i’m out of sight of spectators eyes. Ah Shit, Graham Macbroom and David Invererity were over the crest watching the race unfold. They had both had a great ring of Steall race. Graham took a picture at this point and i stuck my bravest ever face on. The climb Started off well. A girl asked me to give encouragement to her boyfriend Olly who was in a poor state and was 100 metres or so in front. I was moving well and passed Olly. I tried my best to give motivational words but I was Beginning to feel the pressure of the climb. My energy Levels slumped and my legs felt as though i was dragging a wee invisible fat bastard up the hill with every step. My lungs were bursting and with no breeze i was overheating. I caught up with another runner but as i tried to pass he took a right turn and headed into the heather to lie down. Jesus, i feel a bit sick and realise its trapped wind from all the coke. I start to belch really loud. I sounded like an elephant seal on heat as it echoed around the mountainside.The sick feeling went as quick as it came. It was now getting steeper and Heather and ferns turned to scree. I kept looking to the right and the ridge above to try and judge how many metres i still had to climb to top out. The race line tried to keep us off the scree and i was using my hands now, grabbing vegetation to drag my ass up. I was suddenly really dizzy again and staggered about the hill like a new born giraffe on a treadmill. I was still clutching the F**king Flapjack which was covered in mud and foliage by now. Stopped for a breather and ate two gels and two shot bloks. Picked the stuff off the flapjack and managed to eat this too. Olly was fairing better by now and passed me along with another 4 runners. This is close to the summit thank god. We hit the summit and Checkpoint 12

This marked the start of the Aonach Eagach Ridge. Once on this section i regained all my places bar one. I was still really struggling with energy levels. Its an intimidating place to be when fresh but i was regularly catching a toe on tired legs. On the up side you get a wee burst of adrenaline when to are close to a drop. Shouting at myself “pick yer feet up ya big fanny or your going to die” made me concentrate harder. The conditions were good as it was dry all day but the rocks in the shade were greasy. On a short down climb section that pushes you out to a vertical big drop, i was facing out but somehow managed to get both arms jammed out to the side and above. I could not move, it was ridiculous. Had to wriggle and climb back up slightly while looking straight down a precipice. The rest of the ridge went pretty smoothly. I could hear voices of runners behind me but always just out of sight. The summit of Am Bodach marks the end of the difficulties.

I had to stop and take a stone out my shoe that had worked its way past the gaiter. 2 runners nipped past me at this point. Soon i went hunting again. You feel at this point that you have it in the bag but the run back to the finish at this point is well over 12k with two hills still to go. I catch up and start to chat to a guy called Colin McGregor. I had not chatted since the race started partly due to the huge mix of different languages on the course. It came as a huge surprise when we discovered we lived in the same town and knew all the same people. I took this as a sign and we stuck together. Once off the last hill the ground turns into a steep sided bog before checkpoint 14. I absolutely loved this section this year. The x talons doing a great job of keeping me upright. We hit the west highland way again at checkpoint 14.

Ahhhhhh , the feeling of hitting familiar ground, by now we were laughing and chatting as though on a training run. We decided to finish this together and the familiar feelings of Joy and relief. This is my third year in a row and took almost 2 hours off last years time. A minute after the race i vowed not to do it again. Five minutes later i have changed my mind. I finished in 10 hours 39 and in joint 84th place, 10th in my age group. Chris finished in 12 hours. I know he was disappointed this year but he will be back take revenge. To finish 3 years on the trott after my injury woe was better than any time. Close to a third of starters will not finish due to injury, cut off times or just to bloody hard.

The race is tough and a bit frightening at times but the terrain is so brutally beautiful you cannot help but become addicted. 5 years ago i decided to take up running to get fit well into my forties and what a journey

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