#was aiming for the last few days of feb to finish this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

linaket · 10 months ago

Text

Monthly Update (Feb 6, 2024)

It has definitely been... a January. This year, I had a lot of plans and goals relating to my writing, but a lot of them are already not going through. One was to do weekly or monthly updates, kind of like when I did weekly updates while working on TS. But, it's still early in the year, so I figure its better late than never. Also still early in the month even if I didn't manage to get this out there at the end of January...

My personal life has been a bit hectic. First thing was that some major projects in the house I planned to have completed last year were finally finished this month--I have all new windows installed in my house now, and a new door, and while I didn't personally do the windows (I did install the door, though) it takes a lot of time to prep before and clean up after reno projects and get the house back in order, so I've spent the last two weeks on this. Additionally, I'd applied for a promotion at work, and then was coated in stress waiting for the results... (which I received a few days ago... and I got it! Been a long time coming, really.)

So this is the first one of these... just gonna throw things out here and decide on a format as they go.

Books Read

Finally completed The Fifth Season trilogy by N. K. Jemison. I wanted to finish this one last year, but the last book lingered into the new year.

All the Hidden Paths by Foz Meadows

The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw

The Dead Take The A Train by Cassandra Khaw & Richard Kadrey

Important Posts

I shared a summary of my 2024 writing goals/wips on instagram. I meant to bring this over to tumblr and do a bit more on it but... didn't. Maybe this month?

Shadow's Prey: Act 1 wip intro here on tumblr

Writing

30k on Mortal Teeth. 15 chapters done of.. ?? a lot probably. 40 something, at least, if not 50-60 range. This completed the second major arc/goalpost (there are about 5 of these at the moment)

Shadow's Prey: Act 1 formatting is moving along well, and so it's still on time for a March release. I may aim more for mid March, depends on how quickly I'm able to finish up the extras and get some promo in. I really wish I could figure out exactly what size image it takes to make a full-page image in ebooks, but I think I'm going to have to settle for the title page not being... perfect. Which. Does not make me happy. But there really isn't a way to appease every e-reader, as they are all different sizes, so I am finding there is only so much I can control here.

Favorite Excerpt

I wrote a lot of things in Mortal Teeth that I was proud of this past month, but one of my favorite things I ran across when writing was realizing that my writing has improved... massively. It's been a while since I've had a leap of growth that I can easily pinpoint, but the extra I planned for SP Act 1 was partially written, and I needed to work on it. I kept getting stuck on continuing because something about it felt off/forced when I tried, so I did the classic open a new doc and retype/rework as I go... and quickly realized why I was having trouble working on it. My style had shifted dramatically....

This isn't a major point in the short, but I wrote the beginning of this around the middle of last year and it went from this:

Whereas Kanna actively ignored Masao’s approach, Ira glared at him in challenge. “Here,” Kanna said, drawing Ira’s attention by offering Amon’s reins as a lead. “Find someone to tend him, and get me a count of the survivors.” Masao’s voice at her back carried a smirk she could feel between her shoulder blades. “What about the casualties?”

to this:

While Ira glared at Masao in challenge, Kanna actively ignored him. Though she was coated with the blood of those she��d killed, her hands to her wrists to her elbows with it, Masao delighted in his stain. Even here, with the smell of death in the air and the unholy silence that followed battle, he smiled. The joy he radiated amidst destruction unsettled her, something deep inside of her flinching from it. Kanna gathered Amon’s reins, drawing Ira’s attention by offering them. “Find someone to tend him, and get me a count of the survivors.” Masao’s voice at her back carried a smirk she could feel between her shoulder blades. “What about the casualties?”

Final Thoughts

I was excited to get through another phase of MT in writing, but I don't think the time I've allotted to finish the draft is going to be enough. This stresses me out a bit, because I gave myself a pretty tight schedule for the year with all the releases (there are 4 ebooks, and I was considering restarting Act 4 in the serial which would be 5 releases total....)

I'm actually... thinking once again that I won't go back to serial posting for SP. Tapas was/is my primary platform for it, and I am simply... no longer a fan of the platform, and not really interested in others, either. So that might be one of the things in the "coming this year" that ends up pushed to next year or later this year, depending, as it will likely be an ebook release instead of serial and... I'm still working on drafting the teeth wip and I don't see it taking a backseat for a while, until I'm truly stuck.

I've been trying not to beat myself up about not doing the things I said I'd do at the start of the year (daily journaling, more updates here and other platforms, etc) because it's simply... not great for me. And really, I'm not sure I would have had the aforementioned improvement in my writing if I'd continued to stress myself out about writing itself, on top of doing all these other things that I'm supposed to do. I took it pretty easy last year after a massive disappointment, shutting down a lot of my online presence and focusing on reading and writing for myself, and I think that's what allowed me to become comfortable again and led to growth. I don't want to feel as defeated as I had that time, because its the kind of thing that would have led to me completely giving up in my younger years, and I also don't want to get stagnant because I'm trying to do too much that isn't... the actual writing. So... I guess we'll see how this goes?

#linaupdates #writeblr

7 notes · View notes

fandom-trauma · 2 years ago

Text

Hello hello! Ive been gone a while. Lots of things have happened, and I'm still in the thick of my final year project, but it's (mostly) coming to an end mid-Feb! Thought Id do a little post (mainly for me and the 4 followers I have) on my current WIPs Ive picked up, and what I plan to be doing. Personal update under the Read More.

First of all, I have like a million art and fic WIPs related to Immortal Desires and Perfect Match 2. No biggie, I just have... lots and lots of thoughts about Poly!PM MC and Poly!ID MC. Yes, this means I do have a fix-it fic about how that end of book confession goes... maybe even a rewrite of the entire last chapter... but hold that thought!

Now that I'm a little bit more versed in Twinery (see second point below for why), I'm a little bit tempted to make my rewrite interactive as well. Just text tho lol, but either way, an ending rewrite is a ways away, and also I kinda wanna wait till Bk2 is released to really start working on it. (I didn't realise ID was GOC so you bet I binged it within three fuckin days when I did. It's a bloody amazing book. I also finally finished my playthrough of PM2, so that explains why these books are giving me immense brainrot.)

SECONDLY, 'A Date with Bryce Lahela' is about halfway done! I'm not exactly sure if I've ever shared the idea publicly to the fandom, but this is the basic gist of it: Date is an attempt on my end of trying to recreate those TF Date Specials, but with the one and only Bryce Lahela. Cool, right? Unfortunately, it's only in text format, bc I'm learning Twinery Harlowe.

What's left of Date? When can I play it/a demo? Pronoun choices, smut scenes and equipment variations, a whole activity is uncoded, trackable achievements, load/save functionality, and after that it's just making sure the whole damn thing works. As for a demo... ;) .. ... Joking. The entire predicted gameplay is short enough to not really need a demo, so there won't be a public one. I aim to have this done by, god, hopefully end of the year? This damn thing's been sitting in my WIPs for two whole years, so I would really like it done and over with, haha, but it's a lot of work for one person.

THIRD, I have a 1.2k word rewrite of Foreign Affairs Ch12 Tatum diamond scene that has been in the making, and rotting away in my WIPs, since 2 April 2021. Honest to god, it's a little bit of a vent fic, and I've been slowly chipping away at it whenever I've been stressed. The rewrite isn't because I see the scene as bad, but I do wish there was a liiiiiittle more hurt/comfort in it lol.

FOURTH, well... I have a few Bryce x M!MC smut fics that, uh, really should be finished and see the light of day. Or, at least escape the WIP folder and experience the cool damp corner of my tumblr blog.

So, that's my WIPs so far! Personal stuff under the read more.

----- ----- ----- -----

My 3D animation final year project wraps up a couple of weeks before my graduation. I knew the workload was going to be larger than what I've had with my previous 2D animation projects, but boy it really hits different when you're actually working on it. I won't go into it too detailed, but if you're curious, feel free to ask about it!

My 2023 started off as a... mixed bag. Low lows and high highs, I guess. Won't go into it, but yeah, not great.

Me having Date in semi-working condition is purely because of a NYE group gift exchange and my hubris at making a working product within 2 weeks. It was... yeah, no, I've been humbled, but man was the result such an endorphin rush.

I've also got really into making custom content for The Sims 4, so that's where the bulk of my free time went, really. I'm active in a few TS4 discord servers, so if you see mothy-simmie, say hi :P

#aaron speaks #my ask box is open #if you wna. yknow. send something #tbh it's perpetually open lol #anon is on if youre curious

2 notes · View notes

myinventoryisfull · 3 years ago

Text

Feb DWC Day 5: Nostalgic/Starve

Content warning: Brief allusions to cannibalism near the end

A wave of emotion crashed over Dave as he watched Attzi walk away from the estate. It was almost nostalgic, bringing him back to a… well, more complicated time, if he was being honest. How many times had he watched his daughter walk away from the house on her way to school or to visit her friends? The last time it happened, she had walked hand in hand with her father to go pick up groceries.

The Scourge swept through before they returned. None of them survived, but one day, Dave woke up from a fugue like state to find that death hadn’t been the be all, end all it was made out to be. When he went into town in search of direction, he found them shambling together, still hand in hand just like the last time he saw them.

He gave them mercy, buried them behind the house, then burned it all down, wishing he felt something other than an overwhelming sense of relief.

He’d stolen his husband’s name, then. He stole his entire identity and a few articles of clothing along with it. Dave wouldn’t miss it, and Dave felt the most at peace with himself he ever had in his entire life.

Unlife became much simpler after that. A constant stream of bodies in need of repair kept him busy, and each new injury he encountered opened a world of possibilities he’d never dared to hope for before. When he wasn’t stitching arms back onto shoulders, Dave studied necromancy and ritual magic, greedily consuming all the knowledge he could get his hands on. How far could he push the definition of life? How much of a body could be replaced until it stopped being one's own? Would the constant shifting of pieces affect the soul?

A dark presence loomed behind Dave, drawing him from his thoughts. He cast his glowing pink eyes over his shoulder and aimed a fond smile in Jousu’s glowering direction. There stood the fruit of his research, his most precious possession, glaring at Dave as though he’d personally pissed in his drink.

“All this time, you complain about how much you hate it when I dote on you, and now that I’ve finally directed my attention to someone else, you’re suddenly jealous?” he mused as the Abomination’s eyes went wide and he drew himself up straighter, his scowl plunging to new depths.

“I’m not jealous,” Jousu barked, lips pulled back in a sneer and Dave laughed, closing the front door before moving to catch Jousu’s arm in his own. “I’m not!”

“It’s alright if you are, dear,” Dave laughed as he pulled Jousu deeper into the estate, ambling vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. He’d have to start stocking some fresher food if Attzi was to visit more frequently and move their own provisions deeper into the house. “It’s a very human feeling, after all.”

Jousu grimaced with a noise of disgust, wrinkling his nose up as his whole face scrunched together. “Gross, feelings, I hate it.”

“I know you do,” Dave chuckled reassuringly as he patted the Abomination’s arm. “Just know that no matter how many people pass through our lives, you’ll always be my pride and joy.”

Jousu made another face, but Dave could tell he was secretly pleased by the way his elvish ears stood a little straighter. His weren’t as expressive as some elves Dave had met, but then, the Abomination’s emotional range didn’t exactly extend very far. Perhaps farther than most other constructs of his nature, but rage, resentment, and frustration tended to be predominant with a sense of contentment only settling over him whenever plants were involved.

“Now, I don’t know about you, my dear boy, but I’m absolutely starving,” Dave cooed, giving Jousu’s arm a little squeeze. “Shall we see what’s in the larder?”

Mismatched blue and green eyes squinted as Jousu’s brow furrowed in thought, and after a moment, he said, “There’s a gnoll lost in the maze.”

“What have I told you about junk food?” gently chided Dave, shaking his head with a little sigh. “After we’re finished, I want you to go let that poor thing out, preferably back near the mines where you found it. Besides, I’m almost certain we have half a Ranger left in the icebox we really ought to finish off before it gets freezer burns.”

@daily-writing-challenge

#febdwc2022 #febday52022 #dave and jou

11 notes · View notes

haylanmakesstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Day 21 and Day 0 of my 21 day Skeksis Costume Build

DAY 21: OCTOBER 30th

The final full day; finishing the head and neck, lower body/skirt, and distressing the costume.

1.) I finished up the skirt today, can you tell the craftsmanship went down the tube because it’s the day before Halloween and I needed to finish? Yeah. After matching the materials mentioned in the last post, I added some large sprigs of chiffon to a few places in the bottom for effect.

My apologies for the terrible mirror picture, my assistant has a job.

2.) Now are the final finishes on the head. I glued on the head scythe and its base, then started putting black velvet around it. This was also part of the torn up kids kitty cat costume that was only $1.

I was nervous about the velvet pulling up so you can see I darkened the line where the latex meets the green foam with a black sharpie marker.

Now to add more black chiffon to the head materials.

Once all the material is added, gold paint was delicately put on, just like the collar.

3.) I wanted to give the costume that ethereal, glittery look that so often appears in The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth, so I sprayed the torso of the costume with spray glitter adhesive hair spray, and went really heavy on the collar part that is most glittery in the show/movie.

You’ll notice the black neck ruffles (that I see through) are pinned down in all these pictures. I’ve been training them to lay flat with these pins since I made them, where the day of Halloween they will lay flat easily and not look like a mess.

4.) Now the body and head are almost done, here they are going to bed to await Halloween Day!

DAY 0: OCTOBER 31st!

I wasn’t completely done, but my 21 days were up. Halloween Day is a day to put on finishing touches and distressing. I figure 21 days is still accurate, because I did spend more than a whole day shopping, going to pumpkin patches, etc.

1.) Time to take this bad boy out to the barn to finish up. I distressed the entire costume’s fabrics and robes with black spray paint to give it a worn, gross, and tired look that all the Skeksis have. Then I added on all the adornments I made pretty early on: The neck ornaments, collar spikes, the beetle brooch, and triangle necklace.

2.) You can also see I added on a layer of stretched and dangly thin pieces of creepy cloth around the front collar, and strands of hot glue to dangle – the hot glue is supposed to look like spit strings, because...Skeksis are G.R.O.S.S.

I also made some hot glue slobber coming off of the teeth and jaw. This is the final step for Halloween 2019!

3.) Now it was time to put the costume on and get some shots before it got dark and we headed out.

We headed into Austin for meeting and hassling people on 6th street at the cities huge Halloween celebration. I am partial to this one where I am chasing a kid:

I mean, is it really Halloween unless at least one kid cries? This year I was lucky to have multiple kids cry, and even some super scared adults.

My friends and family are really into Halloween too, here are a few shots with them:

I did take one break out of the costume all night, and we were out between about 8:30pm to 2:15am. This was good to stretch, drink some water, relax. The costume wasn’t heavy at all and wasn’t near as tiring as I was worried it would be. I learned pretty early on that people LOVED it when I would dance. I was very surprised by how many people actually knew what I was from! I expected to be a hit with those that didn’t, just because it’s neat and scary, but a lot of people actually knew what a Skeksis was, or called me Chamberlain because that’s the only one they knew the name of. Fine by me of course!

Overall, I learned a lot about costume construction, as this costume was very different from any other I’ve ever created.

Although this is the end of the 21 day build, I do wear this costume to the Cult Classic Convention in Feb 2020, and during quarantine worked to create the belly plate armor and the back of the costume that I knew I simply couldn’t get to in the 21 day build. There will be one more post sometime later with those details and the completely finished and polished costume -- the pandemic meant Halloween 2020 was cancelled for me, so I haven’t finished the back yet, but plan to this summer.

Thanks for going on this journey through Thra and The Darkening with me. I love Jim Henson and the Creature Shop with my whole heart. This has always been a dream build of mine. I remember the actual day I heard Jim Henson passed away – I was in the 2nd grade, standing in my front yard, and I was devastated. At that point they thought he passed of pneumonia and my mom had pneumonia on that very day too, so I thought that surely meant she was going to die too. Lucky she didn’t, but we lost one of the most creative and inspirational human’s on that day. In high school for our career project I chose a mupeteer in the Creature Shop and the school was NOT having it. Then I tried Ringmaster of a Circus and they didn’t like that either. They didn’t want a girl to aim high or dream, I suppose! These movies and all of their work bring me happiness, fantasy, and magic, and no matter what I’m making, to him and all the people that put their hard work and love into things like The Dark Crystal, I owe a big thank you to for all of my creativity and crafting. Happy Halloween!

#dark crystal #Age of Resistance #skeksis costume #skeksis #jim henson #creature shop #muppets #cosplayer #costumer #halloween #halloween costume #maker

59 notes · View notes

antoine-roquentin · 4 years ago

Text

Protests Unite Myanmar’s Ethnic Groups Against Common Foe

Myanmar’s military, known as the Tatmadaw, has killed at least 510 people and detained more than 2,500 others since it took power on Feb. 1. Now terrorized by the military themselves, many people from the Bamar ethnic majority are developing a sense of solidarity with the country’s numerous minority groups. Public apologies for years of indifference and denial of minority people’s experiences have proliferated. “We have learned day by day, and our point of view has changed. We feel really sorry,” said Yin Yin, a Bamar youth who worked as a hotelier in Yangon before the coup.

Many Bamar people also seem to be shifting their political objectives. Early in the protests, a split emerged between groups led by an older generation of protesters from the 1988 student uprisings who called for the release of democratic leader Aung San Suu Kyi and elected officials and a return to the previous system of governance and a diverse group of protesters who united under the General Strike Committee of Nationalities (GSCN) with more ambitious demands. The GSCN advocates for the abolition of the military-drafted 2008 constitution and the establishment of a new one based on federalism. These calls have rapidly gained momentum, especially among a young generation eager to make amends for past injustices and build a more equitable society.

Before the coup, military violence and government oppression of ethnic minorities evoked only weak responses from the Bamar public. Mass denial followed the 2017 campaign against the Rohingya, and only a few activists spoke out. When the Tatmadaw launched airstrikes in Kachin state in 2018 and the government blocked displaced people from safe passage or access to humanitarian assistance, there was little outcry beyond activist circles. The same was true when the government shut down the internet in Rakhine state and parts of Chin state for more than a year.

But the shared experience of suffering under military violence has contributed to shifting views among Bamar demonstrators. “Since the coup started, we all faced the same thing, the same tragic incidents all over the country,” Yin Yin said. “It doesn’t matter if we are Burmese, Kachin, Chin, or any ethnic group. As long as we are living in Myanmar, we have the same rights and we need the same freedom, so federal democracy is a must.”

Myanmar's ethnic rebels isolate junta ahead of Armed Forces Day

Since then, these insurgent groups from the Karen, the Shan, and the Kachin have become emboldened in their anti-junta positions. The armed wing of the Karen National Union recently cut the food supply lines to feed soldiers deployed near the Thai-Myanmar border, according to media reports. Elsewhere, according to local sources, the armed wing of the Kachin, active close to the Myanmar-China border, launched fresh strikes against military positions this month. Last Sunday, a battalion of the Kachin Independence Army mounted dawn attacks on three Tatamadaw-held bases.

"The KNU has already condemned the coup, and no longer recognizes the Tatmadaw as a legitimate actor," said Jason Tower, a researcher working on conflict issues in Myanmar for the United States Institute of Peace, a think tank supported by the U.S. Congress. "The Tatmadaw will have to address growing push back from the ethnic armed groups."

He said the military's grip on Myanmar will be loosened as the rebel groups become emboldened by the chaos caused by the coup. "The Tatmadaw will be strategically weakened if it has to face conflict with ethnic armed groups on many fronts," he said. "This can worsen as the rebel armies strategically align themselves with the CDM."

A Tuesday statement by the Arakan Army -- a powerful rebel force that battled the Tatmadaw in 2019 and 2020 in the state of Rakhine -- was the latest warning shot to the junta about the shifting political alliances. It declared that it was closing ranks with the other armed ethnic groups in condemning the coup and subsequent crackdown. The move comes after the militant group had agreed on a ceasefire with the Tatmadaw last year, suggesting that the two adversaries were headed for peace.

But that is not all. The military's resources are also being stretched as China pressures the junta to protect its economic assets after 32 Chinese-owned factories in Yangon were torched this month. The investments were part of China's multibillion-dollar stake in Myanmar, spanning an oil-and-gas pipeline and large infrastructure projects as part of Beijing's Belt and Road infrastructure initiative.

"Threats to Chinese property and lives will be taken very seriously and, as has already been seen, diplomats will want to show an immediate response," said a senior analyst at a Yangon-based think tank, who spoke on condition of anonymity. "But [Chinese] officials also know that relations will have to be maintained with all sides in the current impasse, including the military government, NLD and ethnic nationality movements because it is too early to know who will ultimately succeed."

China’s rare earth supplies disrupted by Myanmar tumult

Chinese companies started complaining about delays in shipments of the minerals since mid-March, reportedly due to the deteriorating political and economic situation, which Chinese media reports say have had an impact on logistics.

Rare earth metals are used in aerospace, advanced military equipment, mobile phones and electric vehicles, among other tech products. Myanmar is a major supplier of rare earth ores, which are exported to China for extraction and processing, and then either used in local production or shipped on to global markets.

Hiccups in Myanmar’s supply of rare earths are the latest indicator that the audacious military coup, launched by Senior General Min Aung Hlaing, and subsequent national chaos is starting to seriously disrupt Myanmar’s economy and businesses.

The impact on rare earth shipments is the latest sign the coup is adversely impacting China, which earlier expressed concern about the security of its twin oil and gas pipelines that run through Myanmar into southern China and other commercial interests amid a public backlash against Beijing for its perceived support of the country’s ruling generals.

The geopolitics of Myanmar’s black swan coup

India is being wooed by the United States as a member of a military proto-alliance aimed at containing China, known as the Quad.

Yet the normative foundations of this arrangement were exposed as frail because India, which was also present at the parade, can’t afford to put democratic values before its interest in securing its eastern border, for which it needs close ties with the Myanmar military.

China is also in a quandary. The coup undermined all the hard work Beijing put in to building a solid relationship with a transitional democratic government led by Aung San Suu Kyi.

Beijing’s client is now under arrest and its strategic investment projects linking China to the sea along the so-called China-Myanmar Economic Corridor are exposed to risk by an army that is at best ambivalent about close ties with China.

There was therefore no hesitation on Beijing’s part to lend support to coup leader Senior General Min Aung Hlaing at the Army Day Parade. China is key to the Myanmar military junta’s survival and while the surge in instability on its border may not be ideal, all in all this probably suits Beijing just fine.

Neighboring countries Bangladesh, Laos and Thailand were also present at the parade, highlighting their own narrow security interests, but also how divided the region is over the coup.

ASEAN member states have struggled to forge a consensus of concern and agreed action to de-escalate the situation. Indonesia has pushed for action, supported by Brunei, Malaysia and Singapore, but mainland states such a Thailand and Vietnam have dragged their feet, arguing that the coup is an internal affair – despite the rising risk of a mass outflow of refugees.

This regional divide has upset Washington’s geopolitical calculus. The new Biden administration is trying to corral ASEAN into a more effective bulwark against China. The Myanmar coup has been a distraction to that drive.

Washington’s priority is to solidify alliances with larger powers India, Japan and South Korea. In mid-March US Secretary of State Antony Blinken and Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin paid an inaugural visit to Tokyo and Seoul. Blinken finished the trip in a testy meeting with Chinese counterparts in Alaska, while Austin went onto Delhi.

Missing from their itinerary was anywhere near Myanmar in Southeast Asia; nor was there a hoped-for joint statement on Myanmar in US talks with the Chinese, an omission that was noticed in the region.

35 notes · View notes

druidx · 3 years ago

Text

Feb Roundup/ WIP Whenever

What was on the Task List for Jan:

✅ Write/ Rewrite/ Edit more of The Ruby Falls

❌ Put the Finishing touches on Dru-Reads-Writeblr so I can start using it

❌ Upload original stuff to Royal Road

❌ Upload missing fanfics to AO3

So what have I been doing?

As you can see above, all my writing time has been taken up with The Ruby Falls. It’s taken me a whole month just to rewrite the second section.

Why so slow going? I can only assume it’s because this is the second draft, so there’s been a lot of plotting and worldbuilding, a lot of putting more thought into background characters, and more attempts to write with subtlety and subtext.

For example, I spent three days learning about Bulgaria, their naming conventions and culture, so one B-grade character could be a proper person, instead of a cardboard cutout.

Some Word Count Stats for The Ruby Falls

Previous w/c of section 2: 4,455

New w/c of section 2: 4,732

New total w/c for project: 128,332

So what’s next?

You’ll probably be able to guess, but just in case: Rewriting Section 3 of The Ruby Falls! Section 3 is currently at 3,655 words. There is a lot I want to change in this section, so I fully expect the count to get bigger by the time I’m done. For example the pacing is shot to hell, everything has minimal descriptions, and there’s a fair chunk of details that need to move around. At this stage of the process I feel like an director: “Cut, cut. No this isn’t working. Let’s put you two over here, under this light, instead of where you were and try that scene again.”

Instead of ICYMI, here’s a few excerpts from The Ruby Falls:

CW blood

[Aderyn’s] hands shook as she climbed in, breath hitching as her nose filled with the cloying scent of industrial car polish. Aderyn grasped the steering wheel, riding out the icy tremors that passed through her. She sniffed and whimpered; a hand rising to brush away tears came back streaked with pink. She stared at with growing horror, then in a flurry was pawing at her face, scrabbling in the glovebox and pockets of the heavy coat for something to clean her face. With great heaving sobs, Aderyn swiped her face with surfactant wipes, dropping the blood-stained fabric into the passenger footwell and collapsed over the steering wheel when the wipes ran out.

CW death mention; guns

A thin man inside the mesh cage looked up at their approach, a grin spreading over his face as he stopped counting packs of shining brass bullets. "Agent Simmons," he said, deep voice rolling out like the purr of an engine. "What brings you all the way down here? Perhaps hoping for a chance to win your money back?" Jena snorted. "No, Agent Burns. I learnt my lesson the hard way last time. Director wants you to run up a scenario and allocate stock for it." Agent Burns picked up a notepad and cocked his head. "Ferrum Burns, meet our... adopted Blade sister, Aderyn Griffiths," Jena said, leaning against the mesh wall. A cocked eyebrow joined the tilted head. "Run that by me again?" "I'm just a contractor," Aderyn said, aiming a frown at Jena. "Ain't nothing close to a Blade. Just doing a favour for a favour, y'know?" "There's an illegitimate Septim in the Netherlands," Jena said. "Director wants her to go pick him up, but she might be walking into an assassination attempt, so he wants her loaded for bear." Ferrum looked Aderyn up and down. "How big of a bear?" he said to Jena. "Did Baurus say-" "It was a lotta small groups," Aderyn said. "That's what you wanted to know, right – what happened when they came for Uriel? Each time it was a group of up to five, spaced maybe half an hour apart." She swallowed, gaze going vacant. "Only took one in the end." Silence fell in the room; Jena and Ferrum exchanged worried glances. Jena pulled away from the mesh wall. "Griffiths?" she asked, laying a tentative hand on Aderyn's arm. Aderyn inhaled sharply and pulled back, eyes darting. "You good?" Aderyn blinked a few times. "Yeah... Yeah, I'm fine." She pressed a hand to her forehead. "You sure?" "Yeah. Yes. Just been a long day, yeah?" Ferrum grunted. "What kind of training have you had?" "With fighting? Not much. Mostly self-defence classes and bar brawls." "Guns?" "Went clay pigeon shooting once, so got the theory down." Aderyn shrugged. "I take on corporate buildings. Ain't exactly often I need to be armed. 'Sides, once Preston gets me my wheels, I'll have all the kit I need. The Fox might be a bit of a bastard, but he don't skimp on our gear." Ferrum scribbled something onto his pad before looking up and catching her eye. "Normally, I'd agree, but the situation is volatile. I'd prefer you have enough protection to ensure you come home." He held her gaze for a long moment until she blinked and looked away.

#writing #meta wandering words #wip update #wip wednesday #wip whenever #hero of kvatch #TESFic #oblivion fanfiction #tes oblivion #The Elder Scrolls #WIP 'the ruby falls' excerpt #oblivion modern au #oc aderyn griffiths

5 notes · View notes

sevenfactorial · 4 years ago

Text

Info about applying to PhD programs in pure math

This is... basically what it sounds like. I’m sure a lot of this is applicable to other PhD applications but I’m only very familiar with pure math. This is aimed at current seniors about to apply, but there is a section about prepping for applications in advance.

The highlights:

Recommendation letters are the most important thing. Most schools ask for 3ish. Try to get people who know you well, not just a student in the class. Someone you've conducted research with and one from a different institution are ideal if possible

Ask for rec letters at least a month before the due date is a good rule of thumb.

Research experience is probably the second most important.

Get the opinion of multiple professors who know you in order to build a list of potential schools. Then widdle it down to your will-actually-apply list (probably 8-14 ish).

My opinion but please apply to at least 3-4 safety/match schools. Even when you're fully qualified, acceptance rates are simply low enough that a bit of bad luck means getting rejected or waitlisted from a few of them.

Most pure math due dates are in early-mid Dec but a few schools are in Nov and some are as late as mid-Jan.

Schools will generally have their own graduate application portals. Some are better organized than others. Some require you to submit all your material before you can send a request for submitting rec letters so plan accordingly.

Acceptance letters will very slowly start going out in mid-Feb but the vast majority of programs won't send out anything until like, March and not be done until later than that. Accordingly, wait until at least mid-March to begin freaking out if you haven't been accepted anywhere.

You should 100% be expecting a tuition waiver and stipend from a program if you're applying for a PhD.

The rest of the posts is.... ridiculously long so I’m putting it under a cut. I mention things to do in advance to help you decide if grad school is right for you and things that make your application look good, give a full time line of the process, a list of things applications commonly ask for, and some miscellaneous notes. (The points above are repeated in more detail).

In addition, some links to other resources math students may appreciate:

an old post of mine about grad school apps (overlaps a lot and features some ranting from during the application process)

about REUs including my addition specifically about math ones

summer programs for undergrads that aren’t REUs by @counter-example and @jungleuniversity

Tips for prospective grad student visits

Also about prospective grad student visits by @thisurlhasbeenleftasanexercise

Also for context, I went to a large state school in the US for undergrad. I started as a CS major and added on math as a secondary major after my first year and dropped CS during third year. I’m primarily interested in discrete and algebra, though I have a significant topology background from undergrad too. I got most of my advice from people around the department, as I became pretty involved during my third year. Now, I’m a first year grad student at another large state school in the US, generally considered pretty decent though not a “top math program” at all. Not that much else has happened so far.

Things in advance (aka things to help you decide if grad school is for you and things that look good on an application)

Take the standard classes. For pure math, this is at least one semester of linear alg, abstract alg, and analysis each. Linear and analysis are also good for applied math but I'm not sure what else if anything is considered standard.

Take some grad classes if you have the option. Most people are not ready for this until senior year, but some do manage as juniors. Talk to people who know you well and the prof teaching the class before you do this though.

Try to get involved with research whether this is through independent studies at your home institution, REUs, internships, or other stuff.

Be involved in your department. This helps with getting you more personalized advice for applying.

The rough suggested timeline (assuming junior yr is your second to last year and senior is your last of undergrad)

Junior April: Take the math subject GRE so you can take it again in Sep or Oct if desired (perhaps not applicable atm). The general can be taken kinda whenever; I suggest fall of senior year.

Junior April/May: Start talking to professors/post docs/mentors/etc. about programs you may be interested in. Write/type it down. Don't worry if it gets long, you will shorten again later.

Summer: Do some research if possible; an REU or research at your institution (if an REU, also get your mentor's opinion on potential schools towards the end as well)

Senior Sep: Start whittling down your list. 8-14 seems to be the "normal" range of schools to apply to but some people panic and do more. Remember that asking for waivers is completely acceptable but applying is still just generally expensive (I spent around $800 for 10 schools)

Senior Sep: Apply for the NSF GRFP. You can apply as an undergrad senior and once during your first or second year of grad school if you didn't already get it. The due date is in mid-late OC but ideally you'll have a draft of your essays and ask for rec letters by the end of Sep, if not earlier.

Senior early Nov: Ask for rec letters if you haven't already. The rule of thumb is a month before the due date. Provide them a list of schools you want to apply to including due date and where/how to submit as soon as possible (as well as anything else they request of course; many ask for a resume and a draft of your personal statement).

Senior Dec-Jan: Submit stuff! Pure math programs typically have deadlines in Dec or early Jan. I think the big days are Dec 10th, Dec 15th, and Jan 15th but some are earlier or later. (applied math masters tend to be earlier I think; in Nov). I suggest putting them all into a list or calendar. In addition, some schools won't let letter writers submit until all of your stuff is submitted so start applications early, even if you don't finish them immediately.

Senior Feb: Programs will slowly start sending out offers in early Feb and pick up in mid Feb, but don't fret until AT LEAST the beginning of March! Grad programs are just way too slow at getting out offers for it to be worth worrying until then (and even then, it's definitely not time to panic but mathematicians are frequently anxious people so I get it). Waitlists are slower to come out; usually starting in early March. Also note, there are many programs that don't actually send out replies to everyone unfortunately.

Senior late Feb-early April: prospective student days! They might be online in 2021 unfortunately but try to attend whatever form they're in if you can (only one of my visits during spring 2020 was online since the others happen to be very early and safely beat covid in the US). Be warned, it's very possible to get offers of admissions and to visit very last minute. I do not have advice for how to make that less stressful.

Senior April 15th: Common reply deadline. If you got your offer in the first round or two, this is probably your deadline to accept. In addition, this means more offers will likely come out shortly after once more people have declined.

Senior summer: graduate. Send a completed, official transcript to your new institution. Check your new email account for stuff you're suppose to do. Some programs have some sort of program during the summer for in-coming students. Most places have graduate student training of some sort for a week or two before semester starts.

Some common things to be asked for in applications

Not actually a thing asked for but many graduate schools have their own portal for which you will have to make an account to submit an application. A few use a common system that kinda sort shares a database of accounts? Some are fine and some massively suck.

Personal Statement/Statement of Purpose: Occasionally called something else and once in a while actually separate things; will usually have a prompt of wildly differing specificity. Sometimes, the prompts come from the department itself and sometimes from the university's graduate school. I suggest having one or two "base" essays then tweaking them for each school. Sometimes a word/page limit is specified but if it's not, around 2 pages/1000 words is pretty reasonable.

Transcript. Some accept unofficial but some require official but generally not an unsealed one. I ordered myself one official transcript and sent it to multiple schools instead of paying for them to be sent to each school during the application process.

Resume or CV: Most ask for either a CV or is fine with either, in which case I give them my CV. I sent more or less the same one everywhere.

Some other notes

Yes, ask for application waivers. Just be polite about it.

Your goals for your essays are primarily to show that you're interested in math and math research and are capable of like…. writing things that make sense

Do not start out an essay with either "I loved math since I was little" or "I actually didn't like math when I was young" or any variations of those. (I had one essay that started with a mildly humourous anecdote from undergrad combinatorics and another that talked about how my undergrad department has greatly affected me).

You should 100% expect to get a tuition waiver and living stipend as part of a TA fellowship (or more rarely, an research fellowship) as part of your offer of acceptance for a math PhD program (pure or applied). Health insurance is also frequently part of the package. This is not true of masters programs unfortunately.

How schools do waitlists depend wildly though most don't have super long ones like prestigious undergrads do. If you're still interested in a place you're waitlisted at, follow their instructions to confirm your placement on the waitlist then wait until April before following up again, expressing your continued interest and asking for an update. You might even want to wait until around the common deadline, April 15th. The number of people who declined before April is just really really low so nothing really happens until then.

#grad school applications #math grad school applications #math phd applications #math grad school application tips #math grad school application advise #seriously not qualified beyond i managed to do it #but hey it's good to have more people's advice for cross referencing!#seven stories #long post #grad school #god

50 notes · View notes

october31st1981 · 5 years ago

Text

Scenes from the Past Six Years

There are a number of fics in the drafts of this blog that I started a few years ago, and no longer feel the inclination to finish. But there are still some pretty fun bits and bobs, so I’m going to throw them all up in one post if anyone is interested in some disjointed excerpts.

Dueling - Jan 27, 2014

James has his hands on her shoulders, and she is calculating how best to catapult him off of her body when his lips descend to kiss her thoroughly.

“James,” she protests, as they pause for a breath, “we’re supposed to be fighting.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but the grin on his face contradicts his apology.

Later, when they are about to leave, Lily says, “I think we should compartmentalize our situations.” She does not meet his eyes, choosing instead to rub nonexistent grease off of her wand by running it against her jeans.

“How so?”

“Well… as much as I like snogging you, I think that we should have… snogging times, and dueling times. So we can be efficient with, er, both,” It sounds oddly formal and for reasons Lily is unsure about, a flush has risen in her cheeks. She still refuses to look him in the face.

James tilts her chin up, a gleeful look on his face. “Lily Evans, are you asking me out?”

She splutters out an indignant protest but James just grins all the wider. “You are asking me out,” he says, leaning closer to get her to look at him directly. Her cheeks are hot as his hands move to either side of her face. “Yes.”

And There Was Only One Bed - Feb 2, 2014

“One of you can come up and sleep with me.” As all four boys seem to prepare themselves for a smarmy comment, she adds, “Don’t start, gits. You know what I mean.”

“If someone’s joining you, Wormtail’s out,” Sirius says, his eyes flicking to the boy in question, “he’s a kicker.” From his tone, it seems that Sirius has experienced this very quality one too many times.

Peter huffs indignantly. “Padfoot’s a prat, I kicked him out of a hammock one time—” He cuts himself off as he sees the black-haired boy fingering his wand. “Fine, I’m out.”

“I’m out, too,” Remus says with a sigh. “I roll about too much, I’m afraid. I’d be falling out of the bed anyway."

James does not say anything, but instead he and Sirius seem to communicate something with a glance between them. James gives Sirius a warning look, but Sirius simply grins and pats the wooden arms of the chair, saying, "I’m comfortable where I am,”

“C'mere, then,” Lily says to James, gesturing to the spot next to her. Shooting a loaded glance at his best mate, he sits down.

Pecker Parody - April 22, 2014

James Potter had a problem. This particular dilemma was approximately five feet tall, freckled, and had a habit of popping up at inopportune times.

This problem was his diddly-doo. His magical wanking stick, if you will. You see, while having a dingler the size of a broomstick was all well and good when he was a boy, due to the fact he could ride it around like a pogo stick, at the age of eighteen, it was a bit more troublesome.

The truth of the matter was that he wanted to put his party popper inside Lily’s cash register, but he didn’t know how to tell her.

Birth - March 15, 2015

“I can’t believe you just did that,” he says in awe. “Did you know you could do that?”

Brushing some of her hair out of her sweaty face, Lily laughs. “I’d had some time to get used to the idea, yeah.”

James looks back at the bundle in his arms, and then again at his wife. “You just pushed an entire person out of you. Our person. He’s not tiny, either. I mean, he is tiny, but only because he’s a baby. Otherwise, he’s quite a large thing to be exiting any orifice.”

“If we ever do this again, you can do that part,” she says leaning back against the pillows.

Grease AU - June 25, 2015

(Also posted here.)

“This is… ridiculous,” she murmurs against his lips.

James laughs. “It’s a little late to denounce snogging on the beach, Evans, since we’ve been doing it for the past few weeks.” As he speaks, he drops his mouth to her neck, smiling as her eyes flutter.

Lily pulls his face up by the chin to meet his gaze. “I meant this whole thing.” She gestures around them. “After what happened after the Defence O.W.L. at the end of last term, how can you find any of this normal? Everything was such a mess after. Hell, if we hadn’t both come to the same place this holiday, I’d still be stewing in it by September.”

“But we did,” says James, brushing his nose against hers. “We talked and we yelled and we talked more and then you threw yourself at me.”

He dodges her swat at him much too easily to satisfy her, but at her raised brow he makes an amendment. “Alright, so I may have done some of the throwing. I’m a Chaser. I need to hone my reflexes.”

“My point is, it doesn’t feel like you’re Potter on this beach,” Lily says, ruffling his hair pointedly. She smiles. “You’re just James.”

“Just James,” he repeats, adjusting so he lies beside her instead of half atop her. “You make it sound like I’m two different people.”

It is Lily’s turn to laugh. “Aren’t you? I can’t imagine this version of you hoisting someone up by their ankles.”

“Of course not,” says James immediately. “I’m wearing trunks. Where would I keep my wand?”

Lily is already giggling by the time James begins suggesting locations on his body that he might be hiding his wand, and by the end of his lewd list, she is nearly having a fit on the sand. When she catches her breath, she looks at him. “I know I don’t get to keep Just James forever,” she says, leaning on his arm. “But at least try to preserve the illusion for me when we get back to school by avoiding me.”

James is quiet for a moment, but when he speaks his voice is soft. “You’re being silly, Lily,” he tells her, pulling her closer. “This is who I am. Caring about your feelings, about anyone’s feelings, isn’t exclusive to this beach.”

She kisses him, slowly and deeply. “Try to remember saying that.”

James grins. “If I’m going to be reliving a memory from this holiday, I reckon I have to choose the night under the pier—”

Lily laughs, cutting him off with her lips. “Be quiet, James.”

Masquerade - Dec 16, 2015

“So you’re Muggle-born, then?” he says thoughtfully. She stiffens, and he hasten to add, “It doesn’t matter to me. I’m just trying to figure how that narrows down the options for who you are.”

She smiles, but then looks a little put-out. “That’s hardly fair, I don’t know anything about you.”

“Pureblood,” he tells her, kissing her neck.

“A pureblood that doesn’t care that I’m Muggle-born? That does narrow down the options.” Her fingers tug at his robe. “N.E.W.T. classes?”

He shakes his head, kissing her lips quickly. “Too easy. Do you play Quidditch?”

“No. Do you?”

After a moment of hesitation, he says, “Yes,” so she is quick to follow with a suspicious, “On a team or for leisure?”

He laughs. “Both.”

Problematic.jpg - March 29, 2016

“James Potter,” Lily says to Mary suddenly, “is my problematic fave.”

“Receipts, please,” says Mary, not looking up from her copy of Witch Weekly.

“Plus, he’s like, a pureblood. So he’s got the whole legacy of all that fucked-up culture.”

“But like, a lowkey pureblood. He’s 12% Muggle-born.”

Junks the Trash King: The Sequel - April 18, 2016

“I’ve met the Rubbish Man,” announces Lily upon entering her flat.

“Good, tell him we need a new recycling bin,” says Mary absently. “There’s a family of raccoon living in ours.”

“Not him, Junks.”

The name catches Mary’s attention. “The soulmate?” she asks, straightening up. “How was he?”

Lily drags herself over to their kitchen table and collapses into a seat. “Not named Junks, for one.” Lily holds up her palm for Mary to inspect. “Apparently this is supposed to say ‘James.’”

“Shame. I’d rather hoped to one day receive a wedding invitation inviting me to the marriage of Lily and Junks. Though I’d have to bin it for the wordplay, you understand.” Lily turns her hand so she can flip Mary the bird, but from the look in her eyes, her friend has already spotted something new. “Got his number already, did you?”

Baby Brain - June 15, 2016

“I think I'm pregnant,” says Lily, so quietly that James almost doesn't hear it.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” she repeats, turning over in bed to face him. “I tell you I might be up the spout and all I get is, ‘Oh?’”

James grins at her in the dark. “Would you have preferred ‘Blimey?’” He expects the pillow that's aimed at his face.

“James.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Would you be okay with it? If I am?” It's hard to see her eyes clearly with such little light, but James can hear in her tone that she's nervous.

“I... Yeah, I would,” says James, seeking out her hand. “You know I want kids with you. I mean, I might not have seen this starting so soon, but I think we're pretty great at improvising. Remember our wedding reception?”

Lily laughs. “Somehow I don't think using Dumbledore's hat to catch projectile vomit is the same thing as raising a child.”

“I think you'll find they're remarkably similar.”

She laughs again. “I'm trying to work myself into a worry, James, and you're making it very difficult.”

He leans over to kiss her on the cheek. “Sorry, dear. Feel free to treat our child as a sign of impending doom.”

Lily leans her head onto his shoulder. “We're nineteen, James.”

“Old enough to be married,” he replies, poking her with his ring finger.

“We don't know anything about children.”

James smiles. “Children don’t know anything either, so we’ll be on a level playing field.”

(ʘ‿ʘ)ノ✿ Hold My Flower - August 17, 2016

“Lily, no.”

She scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘Lily, no?’ I didn’t say anything.”

“Lily,” he says cheerfully, throwing an arm around her shoulder, “We have been married for forty-five years now—”

“Dating for eight months,” she corrects, holding back a smile.

James waves a hand dismissively. “So, in that time, I am confident that I’ve grown to recognize what your faces mean. And that face said, ‘I’m going to put frogspawn in his tea.’”

“I don’t carry around frogspawn, James.”

He looks at her dubiously. “But you’d find some, wouldn’t you?”

Countdown - October 31, 2016

“Padfoot gets back from his assignment tomorrow,” Lily tells him, eyes on their calendar.

James pauses in trying to convince his son of the merits of pureed beets. His eyes drift towards the day on the calendar circled in red. Lately, they’ve taken to marking their calendar with the events of their day, if only to make the days seem more distinct. August 27th: ‘At 3 o’clock, Harry said his first full sentence.’ September 12th: ‘At 6 in the morning, the cat brought James a present and left it in his mouth.’ Tomorrow, October 31st, is a rare date that marks the future.

“Good,” he says. “I was hoping he’d be back before his birthday.”

A small, hopeful smile blooms on her lips. “Perhaps we can finally give him a nice celebration. I know Moony is still underground, but Wormy said he’d stay close by. I could bake him a cake.”

“Cake!” says Harry, and James laughs. He takes advantage of his boy’s opened-mouth enthusiasm to give him a spoonful of beets. The look he receives is nothing short of betrayed.

Victorious and still chuckling, James turns back to his wife. “We can ask him to come by as soon as he’s home.”

Baby I’m Trying: The Sequel Pt. 1 - Jan 4, 2017

He wishes his mum were still around, but since she’s not, in his desperation, James consults his neighbour, Batty Bagshot. Though she’s had no children of her own, she’s looked after many of her nieces and nephews over the years, and James has never been more thankful to hear her drone on.

After his conversation with Bathilda, he comes home, arms laden with all the supplies she recommended he find. Sirius’s eyes are wide as James brings the load inside the flat. “Reckon you got enough?”

James slumps over to the floor and leans his head on the pram. “This stuff is only for the first six months,” he says, staring into space. “Do you know how many times a day a baby needs formula? D’you think McGonagall will let me take the baby to class?”

Sirius considers it. “McGonagall does let her cat into the lectures. Although,” he says, wrinkling his nose and holding the baby out to James, “she knows how to use a litter box.”

James wonders if it’s pathetic to google ‘How to change a nappy.’

Baby I’m Trying: The Sequel Pt. 2 - Jan 4, 2017

In three days, James has a paper documenting that the baby is one hundred percent, undeniably his. He hadn’t doubted that he was, but it’s something different to see it on paper. It makes the whole thing more real for him. He sets about telling the rest of his friends, and while they are as surprised as he is, they take it in stride and help him sort it out, as they’ve always done.

“What are you going to name him?” asks Remus.

“Wilberforce,” suggests Sirius, grinning.

James cracks a smile at that. “Maybe something unisex. Elvendork?”

“You’ll have no trouble calling out for him if you ever lose him,” says Peter fairly.

James laughs. The baby fusses a bit in his arms and he runs a hand over the dark mass of hair that is already on this boy’s head. “Could go with a family name,” James says thoughtfully.

“I’m going to take a moment to remind you that your father’s name was Fleamont,” says Remus.

He shakes his head. “My grandfather,” James says.

None of the boys know much about his grandfather, since he died while James was still in primary school, but Sirius lived with his parents for a time, and he knows James better than anyone else. So it is Sirius who asks, “Henry?”

“Harry,” corrects James. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but the baby stops squirming. “His name was Henry, but they called him Harry.”

“Harry Potter,” says Peter. “I like it.”

His son has a name. “Harry Potter,” James repeats quietly.

Ring Out - June 15, 2017

“Frank and Alice are engaged,” Sirius tells him as he slides a drink to James across the table.

James lifts the pint into the air. “Congratulations to them,” he says, and he means it. He knows many couples rushing to the altar these days, but Alice and Frank seem the best-suited for marriage of all of them. He takes a large swig of his firewhiskey.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. It takes no more than this movement for James to know what he will say next. Still, Sirius asks, “When are you going to ask her?”

“What, you reckon because everyone else we know is getting married, I ought to as well?” James asks, mirroring his friend's expression.

Sirius snorts. “No, I reckon that you're horrendously in love with Evans and want to ask her to be your wife.”

James takes another drink. “We're in the middle of a war, Padfoot.”

“Seems to be reason enough for everyone else,” Sirius counters, shrugging.

“Exactly," says James firmly. “I don't want Lily to marry me because she's afraid we're doing to die.”

Sirius pauses, reaching for his own firewhiskey. After a moment, he lowers his glass and shrugs once more. “We might.”

“We might not.” James retorts. He runs a hand through his hair. “I'd rather wait for her to be certain.”

“You're living together," Sirius says, and when James opens his mouth he shakes his head. “You say you live with me but you spend more time at Lily's than you do at ours.”

James chuckles. “So your concern is that we’re living in sin? Talk about glass houses, mate.”

#jily #james potter #lily evans #marauders #sirius black #fanfiction #these are just my favourite bits of thousands of words #to the rest of my drafts #a lovely viking funeral trip to valhalla #ayesha writes things #writing #exceprts #some of these may have been put up already idk #i am a packrat in all respects #long post #mine

151 notes · View notes

mishinashen · 4 years ago

Photo

Home Again by James Collinson, 1856

Home Again was painted in the final year of the Crimean War. The British Public had followed the two-year conflict between Britain and Russia in the popular press; with this painting Collinson satisfied the demand for staged homecomings.A weary soldier wearing the uniform of the Coldstream Guards is returning home to his rural cottage. When it was first exhibited a quotation beside the painting explained that the soldier had been discharged because of an accident leading to blindness. As a consequence, the family now faced a bleak future.

'Home Again' was exhibited in 1857 just one year after the Crimean War had finished and viewers who saw the picture then would immediately have grasped the full meaning of Collinson's work. However, much of the force of Collinson's narrative, relying as it does on details and allusions which were undoubtedly familiar to mid-nineteenth-century eyes, is lost on present day gallery-goers.

In March 1854 Britain had declared war on Russia over what she considered Russia's unprovoked aggression against her ally Turkey and which had its roots in a dispute over who should have the guardianship of Christian shrines in Palestine. In July 1853 Russia had invaded Moldavia and Wallachia, two provinces of the Ottoman Empire, and then in the following November had sunk the Turkish fleet. She thereby made plain that her ambition was to eventually gain control of the Bosphorus and the Dardenelles so that her navy could have unhindered access to the Mediterranean from the Black Sea. Britain saw the Russian navy as a threat to her supremacy in the Mediterranean, but it was the Russian refusal to move out of Moldavia and Wallachia, even in the face of a British and French naval threat in the Black Sea, which led to the formal alliance of Britain and France (with, later, Turkey) followed by the outbreak of hostilities with Russia.

By the time peace was proclaimed in April 1856 the British public had been exposed to some of the realities of a foreign war in a way that had never before happened in the country's history. Two important factors contributed to this state of affairs: the presence of a reporter - William Russell from The Times - in the field meant that there were frequent accounts in the daily press of both the appalling conditions endured by the soldiers in the extremes of the Crimean summer and winter and also just how badly the war was being managed by the Government back home; and then the existence of the weekly paper The Illustrated London News ensured that images of the landscape, the battles and the military commanders were easily accessible to the public for more or less the entire duration of the conflict. The public thirst for news and impressions of the war was also satisfied by a number of exhibitions and panoramas (for example, those at the Gallery of Illustration in Regent Street and Burford's Panorama in Leicester Square in which the displays showing the progress of the allied armies were periodically updated).

The war was dominated by the allies' year long siege of the Russian naval base at Sebastopol which lasted from September 1854 until September 1855 - a period which embraced victories at the Battles of the Alma and of Balaklava. An idea of just how much impact the war made on the home public at the time can perhaps be gauged by the extent to which there are still reminders of it surviving to this day. For example, the Balaklava helmet - a woollen covering for the head and neck worn by soldiers camped out on the plain near the village of that name; William Russell's description, in a dispatch in The Times of 25 October 1854, of the 93rd Regiment in action at Balaklava as a 'thin red streak tipped with a line of steel' is perpetrated in the 'thin red line' commonly used when pinpointing a battle front on a map; the modern profession of nursing was created by Florence Nightingale in her hospital for soldiers at Scutari; the order for valour, the Victoria Cross, was instituted by Queen Victoria in 1856, and until 1942 its bronze cross was made from the metal of guns captured at Sebastopol; and the Battle of Alma is commemorated in the names of streets, terraces and public houses in London and elsewhere in England. The most famous piece of literature inspired by the war is, of course, Alfred Tennyson's 'The Charge of the Light Brigade', published a few weeks after the occasion on which the Brigade had been all but wiped out at Balaklava. Rather less well known is the debt owed by Charles Dickens's extraordinary creation of the Circumlocution Office in Little Dorrit (published from 1855) to the revelations about the inefficient workings of the War Office brought to light by an official commission of enquiry into the conduct of the war.

Engaging as it did the full attention of a patriotic public the Crimean campaign presented a wealth of opportunities - for artists to exploit - from the production of portraits of the leading politicians and officers involved in the conflict to the rendering of battlefield topography. Some, for example William Simpson (1823-99) and E.A. Goodall (1819-1908), actually received commissions early on to travel to the Crimea so they could send back drawings to London - in Simpson s case for the dealer Colnaghi who published prints after his work and in Goodall's case for The Illustrated London News. In February 1855, in a collaboration between the dealer Agnew and the Government, the photographer Roger Fenton (1819-69) who had trained as a history painter, left for the Crimea in order to provide a record of the war which would - so the authorities hoped - counterbalance Russell's pessimistic account of affairs. Some of his prints formed the basis of engravings in The Illustrated London News but towards the end of 1855, after Fenton had come back, Agnew's started selling them to the public - more than three hundred images being made available in this way. The great revelations provided by Fenton's photographs (though he was only one of a number of war photographers) were, firstly, the vast scale of the destruction wrought by modern military bombardments and, secondly, the fact that the conventional view of battles purveyed by history painters - where perfectly kitted-out armies charged in ordered lines - was false. Nevertheless,. Edward Armitage (1817-96), an established history painter, was to be commissioned by the dealer Gambart to visit the battlefields at Balaklava and Inkerman in order that he might recreate on canvas appropriately heroic views of the British actions there. They were duly put on public display to some acclaim, along with other Crimean views by Simpson, at Gambart's Gallery in Pall Mall in March 1856 (Critic, 15 March 1856, p.156 and Jeremy Maas, Gambart, Prince of the Victorian Art World, 1975, p.79).

Predictably enough, not only because it was the largest of the London picture shows, but also because historically its role was one of promoting a national school of history painting, the Royal Academy exhibitions during the war years provide an accurate barometer of how strongly artists responded to the challenge presented by the war. And so, in 1855, there were seventeen painters and sculptors who dealt with the subject, in 1856, thirteen and then, in 1857, only seven. Collinson's 'Home Again' has to be set within the context of work exhibited here and elsewhere, and also alongside other pictures which had the war as their inspiration.

First to be considered - because they formed the earliest graphic commentary on the war - must be the cartoons which started appearing in the weekly journal Punch from early 1854 onwards. Frequently comparable in their bite to Dickens's satire in Little Dorrit, their subject - just as in 'Home Again' - was often the lot of the simple soldier: John Leech's picture of two raggedly clad privates camped out in a snowswept plain and their conversation - '"Well, Jack! Here's good news from Home. We're to have a Medal". | "That's very kind. Maybe one of these days we'll have a coat to stick it on"' - was a pithy comment on the plight of the expeditionary force (Punch, 17 Feb. 1855, p.64). Other Punch drawings by Leech, 'Britannia Taking Care of the Soldiers' Children' (4 March 1854, p.85) and 'For the Soldiers' Children' (6 May 1854, p.184), or by other artists, 'The Soldier's Dream' (5 April 1854, p.130), 'Sebastopol - A Prayer for the Brave' (30 Sept. 1854, p. 127) and 'Britannia Takes the Widows and Orphans of the Brave under her Protection' (21 Oct. 1854, p.161), represent a potent distillation of a national as well as a private sense of grief about the effects of war and underline the fact that more substantial images on the same theme, such as C.W. Cope's 'Consolation' (RA 1855, no.69, oil on canvas, 700 x 590, 17 x 20, Christie's 1 Nov. 1985, lot 72, repr.) and F.G. Stephens's similar but unexhibited 'Mother and Child' of about the same date (Tate Gallery, N04634) are not to be dismissed as mere products of Victorian sentimentality.

For those easel painters who, like Collinson, Cope and Stephens, remained at home, two of the most obvious war subjects available to them were those which touched upon the themes of what might be broadly termed 'news from the front' and 'the returning soldier'. Not surprisingly, given their early hopes that their combined aims of absolute truth to nature and utter sincerity of purpose would imbue their treatment of modern life subjects with the power of 'turning the minds of men to good reflections' (J.E. Millais to Mrs Combe, 28 May 1851, quoted in J.G. Millais, The Life and Letters of Sir John Everett Millais, 1899, I, p.103), some of the members of the by then dispersed Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, one of whom, of course, was Collinson (another being F.G. Stephens), as well as others from their immediate circle who sympathized with their aims, were quick to test the potential of Crimean subject matter in precisely these two areas.

Among the very earliest and most notable of those pictures in the first category was Ford Madox Brown's 'An English Fireside in the Winter of 1854-5' which was first exhibited in Paris in 1855 and then again at the Liverpool Academy in 1856 (270). This shows an officer's wife, her sleeping child lying across her lap, pausing as she sews, engrossed in thoughts of her husband (whose portrait lies on the table beside her) at Sebastopol (Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, oil on panel 310 x 200, 12 x 8; repr. Art Journal, 1909, p.251). It was an idea which Brown had developed in the spring of 1855, just as the final assault on Sebastopol was beginning to gain momentum, out of an earlier, similar, composition (see Mary Bennett, Ford Madox Brown, 1821-1893, exh. cat., Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool 1964, p.18 no.24). What elevates Brown's small picture above any other work inspired by the war is its successful projection of the idea of uncertainty. By contrast, the two pictures by Cope and Stephens already referred to, which might be regarded as sequels to the episode depicted by Brown, are inevitably less satisfactory because they show that moment after the news of a husband's and father's death has arrived: the tension has snapped because grief in all its fullness is displayed.

One artist in the Pre-Raphaelite circle, Arthur Hughes (1832-1915), felt sufficiently strongly about the effects of the war at this time to not only treat the subject but also to contribute his painting to the Patriotic Fund Exhibition in time for its opening in March 1855 - where it was to be sold for the benefit of orphans and widows of soldiers and sailors. The picture, now lost, but described as a small oil sketch, showed a soldier coming back to his wife and child, and apparently resembled Millais's 'The Order of Release' (Tate Galley, N01657) in its composition (Spectator, 31 March 1855 p.344). With the siege of Sebastopol over in the following September and the war officially finished in April 1856, the same subject acquired a new significance because the entire Crimean army was soon on its way back to England. The first painting in the genre (in which Hughes might perhaps be regarded as a pioneer in this instance) to actually catch the eyes of the critics was by yet another artist who sympathized with the Pre-Raphaelites, Joseph Noel Paton (1821-1901), who exhibited 'Home' at the Royal Academy in 1856 (35; untraced). This showed a corporal in the Guards who has just returned to his cottage; he has lost his left arm and, exhausted by his journey, has slumped onto a chair to be embraced by his kneeling wife while his mother weeps upon his shoulder. Described by John Ruskin as a 'most pathetic and precious picture' ('Academy Notes, 1856', E.T. Cook and A. Wedderburn, eds, The Works of John Ruskin, XIV, 1904, p.150), a print after it appeared in the following November (mezzotint by H.T. Ryall; An Alphabetical List of Engravings Declared at the Office of the Printsellers' Association, London 1847-1891, 1892, p.171, records that it appeared in an edition of 1,775 impressions) and Queen Victoria commissioned a replica (Oliver Millar, The Queen's Pictures, 1977, p.184, pl.219). Within a few weeks of the appearance of Paton's picture, Ford Madox Brown was considering a more pathetic variation on the theme though, in the end, it was never worked up into a finished picture: '... three figures, to be called "How it was", a youth quite a boy home from the Crimea with one arm, narrating to a poor young widow "how it was", a young girl, his sister, hugging him' (Virginia Surtees, ed., The Diary of Ford Madox Brown, New Haven and London, 1981, p.178, entry for 19 July 1856).

One final, initially very different, view of the returning soldier but one which in its changed state acquired the greatest popularity in its day must be mentioned here. John Millais, perhaps owing some debt to the satire of his great friend Leech, set out to deal with the privileges enjoyed by the officer class. He found a good subject in the scandal surrounding those who had excused themselves from further active service in the Crimea on the grounds of having 'urgent private affairs' to attend to back home. The contrasting total lack of similar rights for the humble private was illuminated by Punch in its cartoon 'The New Game of Follow my Leader' in which the infantryman is shown asking his general 'May me and these other chaps have leave to go home on urgent private affairs' (24 Nov. 1855 p.209). Millais showed 'a young officer ... being caressed by his wife and their infant children were themselves the laurels which he ought to be gathering'. However, with the coming of peace and the satire thus misplaced, Millais had to revise the composition: the officer was instead shown weakened by the effects of a wound, reading, with his wife, the news of the cessation of hostilities as printed in The Times, and the composition was entitled 'Peace Concluded' when exhibited at the 1856 Academy (no.200; now Minneapolis Institute of Art; repr. Geoffroy Millais, Sir John Everett Millais, 1979, p.56; see also, W. Holman Hunt, Pre-Raphaelitism and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, 1905, II, p.105 and Virginia Surtees, op.cit., p.169, entry for 11 April 1856). Extravagantly praised by Ruskin, the work was one of the pictures of the year at the Academy and Millais's name has helped ensure that it is the only image from the war years to have achieved any sort of lasting fame.

At the opposite extreme, in subject matter, in the depth of feeling which seems to underly its conception, and in the critical reception accorded to it, is Collinson's 'Home Again'. Dated 1856 but not exhibited until the Spring of 1857 it must be numbered among the last of those paintings which owed their inspiration directly to the spirit of the times - and which, no doubt, the artist hoped would help sell his picture. But 'Home Again', far from being an isolated response to the war on Collinson's part, actually seems to represent the culmination of his efforts to produce a substantial image incorporating his thoughts about the war. In the spring of 1856 he had exhibited a picture entitled 'A Man Who Has Been with Death' at the National Institution of Fine Arts (349, untraced). It must have been a small work since it was only priced at fifteen guineas and it is quite conceivable that a painting Collinson exhibited at the Liverpool Academy later that year, 'A Crimean Hero' (790, untraced), for sale at twelve guineas was the same work under a different title. Whether or not this was the case, there can be little doubt that in the latter instance at least, the artist's subject must have been a soldier back from the war - the central theme, of course, of T04105. Alongside this, another work by Collinson which has survived should be considered for it too has a direct bearing on 'Home Again'. Once again a small work, in oil on panel, 270 x 215, 10 3/8 x 8 1/2, it is signed and dated 1856 and is prominently inscribed 'Siege of Sebastopol | by an eye witness' (Christopher Forbes and Andrea Rose, The Art and Mind of Victorian England, exh. cat., University of Minnesota Art Gallery 1974, pp.31-2, repr., and also Sotheby's Belgravia, 9 April 1980, lot 18, repr. in col.). It depicts two young boys playing: one, on top of a mangle, attempts to repel the other who, grasping its handle, is about to set the mangle in motion and so topple his opponent off his perch. On the wall behind them is a print, the subject of which - a guardsman bayonetting his enemy - sombrely echoes the boys' horseplay; the print bears the word 'ALMA' and then a sign just above this print notes, in words which both pinpoint the actual domestic circumstances in which the boys live and at the same time act as an incisive commentary on the separate images of conflict which Collinson has shown, 'MANGLING | DONE HERE'. The irony employed here suggests that the picture could well have been the work exhibited by Collinson at the Liverpool Academy, also in 1856, under the title of 'Children at Play' (774, price £36.15.0).

Clearly, the 'Sebastopol' painting is a first idea, and is used virtually unaltered, for the left-hand group in 'Home Again', but this time the boy on top of the mangle holds aloft the Royal Standard, out of reach of his assailant, the print on the wall beyond shows a more clearly defined, though unidentified, battle scene and the 'mangling' notice has gone. Below them, sitting on the floor and leaning against a tub in which two toy warships float, is a third child who, nursing a grazed knee, has also been involved in this childish scrap.

The motif of children acting out more serious adult preoccupations in their play is a device which Victorian painters frequently used to provide a commentary on the abiding weaknesses and irresponsibilities of humanity in general. An obvious parallel with 'Home Again in this respect is found in William Mulready's 'The Convalescent from Waterloo' of 1822, where a wounded soldier is faced by the sight of two boys scrapping (Victoria and Albert Museum; see Marcia Pointon, Mulready, exh. cat., Victoria and Albert Museum 1986, p.128 no.108, pl.XXVII). In T04105 the universal truth expressed, so far as the inevitability and folly of war is concerned, is given further weight by the reminders - in the Royal Standard, the royal crest on the stoneware jug next to the tub and the model of the British Lion on the mantelpiece - that patriotism too, plays a part in the shaping of men's ambitions.

Collinson's audience would have had little difficulty in picking up these points and even if there is still the whiff of the studio about the picture (for example, the lantern and the tartan rug slung over a washing line are props used by the artist in 'The Writing Lesson', RA 1855, no.321; Christie's 24 June 1983, lot 13, repr.) the meticulous attention to detail as well as overall concern for authenticity in those areas where the artist's public would quickly identify any solecism do demand our attention. The returning soldier is tanned and bearded - a characteristic of the Crimean veterans which was commented upon by the press at the time. His red coatee, with its dark blue collar and cuff facings, pewter buttons in pairs and white epaulette with its loose tassels and the dark blue field service cap with its white piping (known as the 'Albert Bonnet' after Prince Albert, its designer) single him out as a private in the Coldstream Guards. In a touch that is intended to add further pathos to the scene Collinson has indicated on the soldier's right sleeve four chevrons for good conduct; and pinned to his left breast is a silver medal on a crimson ribbon which is the Long Service and Good Conduct Medal (Army) instituted in 1830 and awarded to soldiers who, in the case of the infantry, had served for twenty-one years (the compiler is indebted to Mrs Daphne Willcox of the National Army Museum for kindly supplying this information).

Collinson's hero would have been in the 1st Battalion of the Coldstream Guards, one of the three Guards battalions (the others being the Grenadiers and the Scots Fusiliers) which served in the Crimea. The first draft left London, before hostilities began, on 14 February 1854 and the arrival of the sixth and last draft in the Crimea on 1 March 1856 brought the total number of Coldstreams who served in the war to two thousand and sixty. According to a survey of the occupations held by the men at the time of enlistment, of the total about seventy-five per cent were agricultural labourers and Collinson accurately reflects this by setting his scene in what is obviously a rural cottage. The Battalion finally embarked from the Crimea on board HMS Agamemnon on 4 June 1856, arriving at Spithead twenty-four days later and then travelled by train to their camp at Aldershot. The triumphal entry into London of all the Guards who had seen war service took place on 5 July when they marched from Nine Elms Station over Vauxhall Bridge, along Pall Mall and then via Buckingham Palace to Hyde Park, led by the Grenadiers marching to the tune of 'See the Conquering Hero Comes'. The seven Guards Battalions mustered in Hyde Park where the salute was taken by Prince Albert and where they were mobbed and cheered by the proud and patriotic citizens of London. Overshadowing the thrilling spectacle was the grim fact that three hundred and ninety officers and more than twenty thousand non-commissioned officers had not returned and nearly fifteen thousand men had been invalided during the course of the war. Of the Coldstream Guards, the central figure in 'Home Again', who is apparently blind, would have been one of the one hundred and eleven men discharged from the army on account of their disabilities (information from Col. Ross of Bladensburg, CB, The Coldstream Guards in the Crimea, 1897). None of these men would have been in the victory parade and although the guardsman here, with his long service medal, would have received a pension, his prospects were indeed bleak: he would be excluded from any further useful employment unlike those veterans who suffered the commonest disability inflicted by the war - loss of limbs, through cannon shot. 'Many of these men', pointed out an earlier writer, 'although unfit for military service, are quite capable of duties where steady habits of discipline, trustworthiness and obedience are required ... they are well suited to act as watchmen, gatekeepers, porters or warehouse keepers, and as porters in attendance upon passengers at railways would be highly useful ... We are glad to learn that every opportunity of employing them in the Royal Parks will not be forgotten' (Illustrated London News, 10 March 1859, p.238).

Few critics noticed 'Home Again' when it was exhibited: the Society of British Artists rarely attracted any sustained attention from the press and the subject was by now, anyway, rather too familiar. The Spectator thought it a work 'containing a good deal of matter, clearly if not strongly presented' (28 March 1857, p.343) while the Art Journal described it as 'full of appropriate material very minutely executed' (vol.3, May 1857, p.144). The most extended and adverse comment appeared in the Literary Gazette. It was, the critic wrote,

a picture which has manifestly cost the author much patient and careful thought, and the amount of success accomplished is by no means inconsiderable. The subject is trite to weariness ... nor is the treatment of a character to redeem the picture from the usually homely type. Here are the stock members of the family group which have figured in every similar scene from Wilkie's [Blind] Fiddler downwards; and it is only upon another version of this oft told tale that the ingenuity of the composer has been employed. For the careful, painstaking and modest manner, however, in which the attempt has been carried out, much praise is due to the artist. (4 April 1857, p.330)

'Home Again' was at one time owned by a prominent Liverpool businessman, Samuel Stitt (1816-98) who made his fortune as an iron merchant and shipowner. Very probably Stitt acquired the picture directly from the artist (it was for sale for £150 at the SBA) though the earliest indication of it having been in his collection is found in an advertisement for the sale of the contents of his house in the Liverpool Daily Post for 19 September 1898 (p.4). As a religious and benevolent man and also as a politician of a radical persuasion (he had been an active member of the Anti-Corn Law League) he may well have viewed the Crimean war with particular distaste and so the moral behind Collinson's picture would have appealed to him. In addition, in 1857, Stitt moved into a new house, The Grange, at Claughton which he had built for himself and it would have been quite natural for him to acquire new pictures at that time (see B. Guiness Orchard, Liverpool's Legion of Honour, Liverpool 1893, pp.655-6; the compiler is indebted to Edward Morris for supplying this reference). His collection also included works by other British artists including F.W. Hulme, Patrick Nasmyth and T.L. Rowbotham. In 1885 he presented a bust of W.E. Gladstone by Albert Joy (1842-1924) to the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool and under the terms of his will an oil painting by John Smart (1838-99), 'The Pass of the Cateran', was also bequeathed to the same gallery (Walker Art Gallery: Illustrated Catalogue of the Permanent Collection, Liverpool 1927, pp.105,174).

#art #pre-raphaelite #crimean war

6 notes · View notes

chyrstis · 4 years ago

Text

A change of pace (and opinion)

Somewhat of a companion fic, but not quite, this has been in the workings for a while now (as far back as either Feb/March?) and I finally managed to figure out what direction I wanted to take it, and also gave me the chance to play around with some fun headcanons I've seen floating around too!

With a lot of time left unaccounted for during the main fic, that gave me a great chance to start tackling some missing scenes between chapters, and this is hopefully the first of at least two fics to do that. There's also more than a few ideas taking place after, but I wanted to see if I could at least finish this up first before moving forward timeline-wise.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed (pre-ship) Rating: T Word Count: 5K

Link to AO3!

—

It’s a hot day down by the river, and while Sharky’s not too keen on a break when John suggests it, a bet’s a whole other story altogether.

[Set between I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I'd like you) ’s Ch. 3 and 4]

———–

It was a scorcher. One that Sharky wasn’t entirely prepared to face as he trudged over to the boathouse, lugging as much wood as he could carry under his arm.

His tank clung to his back in record time as the sun kept on shooting rays down at him, making him pull at it every now and then to get some kind of a breeze going, but the relief never lasted.

He’d hardly been spared a single cloud, which meant he was going to burn before the day was out, and removed his hat off to wipe at his forehead. The sweat would be back in minutes, falling back into his eyes as he threw another ten, twenty, thirty, who knew how many pounds of shit around, all while under the watchful eye of the asshole currently doing anything but the actual watching part.

Leaning back on the bench as he sunned himself, John reclined as he stretched into it, like the world’s pissiest cat, but worse.

He’d been there for roughly ten to fifteen minutes now, taking the position shortly after heading off in the direction of the picnic table, and Sharky didn’t think anything of it at first. Ignored it mostly, because not having John breathing down his neck was a holiday in and of itself and he was set on celebrating it, but the silence stretched on. Started turning weird as he kept on going, taking looks over his shoulder every now and then to see if John had budged even.

And no, he hadn’t moved at all.

Not even an inch as John let out a loud sigh, and reached for the bottle of water sitting next to him.

Sharky swiped at his forehead, irritated at just how blatant he was being about all of it, and swore if his next move involved pouring it over himself he was out.

John had already ruined most of his week by dragging him out here twice, but ruining Flashdance? That was just straight-up fucking wrong, and like hell was he going to be stuck thinking of him shaking that water off whenever he’d want to fire the movie up. He didn’t need that thought popping up or existing at all, and it wouldn’t be the only time it’d come to mind either.

No, it’d be stuck there in his head permanently, and seeing John, dripping wet and wearing a smug-ass grin at any point wasn’t his idea of a good time.

The water bottle went up as John took a drink, and Sharky watched his eyebrow climb up with it.

But the water went where it was intended. Right down his throat, not over his head, and John lowered the bottle back down as he leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. Finally focusing his attention on something other than the sun hanging above their heads.

A shame it took Sharky five minutes too long to realize just what he was looking at.

Him. Standing there, wooden planks in hand all while he’d let Maniac run through his head on repeat, and John held that stare as the corners of his lips curved up.

Aw, fuck.

Fumbling everything, the wood clattered as it fell to his feet, and Sharky quickly picked it all up. The rest went right into the wheelbarrow next to him, and he hightailed it towards the boathouse.

His thoughts shifted to sorting through specs after that. Lengths and widths as he tried to stack and sort what he’d brought with him in the hopes he could hold out there as long as he could before John came sniffing around to check.

Time ticked by as the piles grew in height, but nothing happened. So, he went and re-stacked them again, making sure he’d had it right the first time.

Still, nothing.

Leaning against the wall by Billy, Sharky eyed the doorway, staring at that open space as he waited for John to step through it, but he didn’t. He’d managed to summon him like this before on accident, but this time it’d failed. Almost as if he wanted to be hands-off this time around, and that didn’t make a lick of sense at all.

His knuckles were rapping against the wood by Billy now, tap, tap, tapping along with his foot’s anxious rhythm, and the sound only grew louder as Sharky kept up with it. He even set off Billy once so he wouldn’t be able to hear his own tapping anymore, and shoved away from the wall when the tune only made it all worse.

Poking his head out of the door, he looked over towards the bench, and noticed John hadn’t moved much at all. Sitting there with his head leaned back, he looked like he was taking a nap on top of everything else. A motherfucking catnap all while Sharky was busting his ass, waiting to see how he’d fuck up without him, and like hell was he going to play right into that.

Whistling loud enough to make anyone want to clap their hands over their ears, Sharky gave it his all, and John’s head shot up instantly.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Looking right at him as he raised his sunglasses, John’s surprise settled into an expectant smile. “Yes?”

“Seriously?” Sharky took a few steps towards him, and crossed his arms. “That’s it? Like, you’re just going to stay there the whole time?”

“I wasn’t planning to,” John started, crossing one leg over the other, “but I was thinking about just how lovely this day was, and maybe it would be nice to enjoy it for once. Just to sit back for a moment or two to take in the breeze, and how the sun feels. You appear to know what you’re doing, so I was content to leave you be. Unless you have concerns?”

“Wait, hold up.” He made a move to clear his ear out, because John didn’t just throw out what he thought he did. “You wanna repeat that, ‘cause it kinda sounded like you said I know what I’m doing.”

“Well, I thought you did.” John tilted his head to the side, aiming his stare at him long enough for Sharky to want to fidget in place. “You do, don’t you?"

Standing up straighter, he almost sneered at him. “Psh, yeah!”

“Good,” John said, relaxing. “I’ve been counting on that. But truthfully, I was thinking that I may have been harsh in my methods, and pushed you harder than necessary. You almost broke your neck the last time you were out here due to overworking yourself, so I was thinking you could join me.”

“…Join you?”

Patting the seat next to him, John nodded. “Right here. To relax and have some water even.”

Sharky’s eyes darted from the spot to John, and back again. “You’re fucking with me.”

John rolled his eyes. “Please. If I actually wanted to fuck with you, I could do so much better than this.” Leaning back, he inclined his head towards the seat. “Rest. Take five, take ten even, and understand that there’s no catch to this. Just…a friendly suggestion.”

Friendly and John didn’t even belong in the same sentence, but he’d caught a hint of that once already. Saw what that looked like coming from him, and couldn’t even plead ignorance after spending hours before talking to the guy and borderline liking it.

And while John wasn’t offering him beer this time, Sharky could imagine just how good it’d feel to throw back that water and chug it.

John patted the seat again.

Fuck it, Sharky thought, and made his way over the bench. Sitting down, he cracked open the water John pushed his way, and downed it in record time.

And it was good. Good enough to get a loud, drawn out sigh from him the minute it was gone.

John smiled out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. Just lowered his sunglasses and tilted his head skyward again as he soaked in the sun.

He almost didn’t know how John did it. Still in all of his layers, he looked comfortable, and wanted more sun on top of it.

At least he’d given up on his hoodie hours back. Pulling at the neck of his tank, Sharky dragged it up to mop at his face, peeling it away from his skin long enough to get some airflow going. It wasn’t much, but he’d take it, cooling off even a hair just by having it there.

It was quiet after that. Quiet enough for him to hear every bird that flew overhead, and the movement of the river as it drifted on by. Soaking it all in reminded him just how damn pretty it all was, and how he’d be fine with spending a lazy day here himself, but he wasn’t here to be lazy. Hell, he wasn’t even here to take a breather, even with John’s stamp of approval, because that didn’t put boards up. That didn’t knock dollar signs off of any of this, and instead of making progress Sharky was sitting well within view of it all with his thumb up his ass.

Well, he was twiddling them more than anything, and he’d found a decent rhythm to follow with his feet going off of the one started in his head, but the longer he stayed in place the more he felt the need to move, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it much longer. Not at this rate.

“Having trouble?”

With his sunglasses still down, John angled his head just enough to be able to see him, and Sharky side-eyed him as he dragged his tank off. “Yeah, it’s hot. I’m fucking swimming over here and you’re telling me you’re not?” He twisted it between his hands and squeezed, and John’s nose wrinkled at the gesture. “I’d have shed more than half of that shit after ten minutes.”

“Clearly, judging from your current state,” John said, opening both eyes to look at him. “But I wasn’t referring to any of that. It’s hardly been five minutes, and you’re all but vibrating in place. Is it really that difficult to stand still?”

Sharky gave him a withering look. “You kinda forget the part where I’m working to pay you off? And the longer I take, the longer I gotta do any of this?”

Pursing his lips, John sighed. “You can take ten to rest. You can take fifteen even. If you’re tired you get injured, and if you’re injured you can’t work. Defeats the purpose of any of it, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yeah. But-”

“Believe it or not, I don’t want to see you hurt again.” John sat up, and leaned towards him. “And I’m in charge here still, aren’t I? I could order you to sit here for however long I wanted, but I won’t.”

A frown had crept in, but Sharky let it go. “Yeah?”

“Yes, because that won’t get either of us what we want, and right now I want you healthy and thinking clearly. You, on the other hand, want to be debt-free, and only work will properly get you there, but I think I may have found a compromise. I did mention that I wouldn’t be throwing orders at you to sit still. That’s still true, but a bet? That might be more to your liking.”

“…A bet?”

John’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “That’s right. A bet. Interested?”

Asking about it to begin with was a strike. John’s growing smug-ass smirk, strike two. Admitting he was interested at all was the third, and the longer the answer sat in his mouth, the longer he wanted to keep it there.

“Seeing as a bet got you into this to begin with, I can understand the hesitation,” John replied, stretching the word out, “but it does tempt, doesn’t it? And I will promise you there’s no hidden catch, or difficult task ahead. Only a simple request.”

Simple. The guy had on almost a three-piece suit to sweat in, and was regularly paid to make shit as complicated as possible. Simple for him came with enough fine print to make Sharky’s head want to start pounding. But hearing him out and agreeing to it were two totally different things. Nothing set in stone, nothing he could claim as legally binding or whatever, so…

“Like what?”

John raised his sunglasses, and made sure they were looking at each other directly. “You remain here, in place, resting with no complaints for fifteen minutes, and you’ll be fifty dollars richer for it.”

Letting it all sink in, Sharky ran over the challenge, lapped it two times over, scrunched up his face as he came back to the start, and still couldn’t drop the suspicious look he shot John’s way. “You want me to sit here.”

“Yes.”

“Doing nothing, like just kicking back and loving it, and that’ll net me fifty big ones?”

“I’ll place it in your hand myself as long as you don’t move a single muscle. Is that acceptable?”

Fifty dollars for doing jack-shit? Hell yeah, it was.

It was also playing right into whatever John wanted. Let him pull the strings on whatever mini-power trip this was, which annoyed the hell out of him the longer Sharky thought about it, so he crossed his arms and focused on giving him as cold a shoulder as he could. Just ignored him completely as John started tapping his fingers against the bench, and didn’t say jack or shit in response.

“Would a hundred dollars suffice?”

That made his eyebrows go up.

“I suppose fifty might’ve been too modest of a thing to offer. Hardly worth taking a risk for.”

“Oh, it’s still fifty bucks,” Sharky said, turning towards him. “That’s some good shit right there.”

“Really? Then I can only imagine how appealing double that amount would be. Or perhaps even triple?”

Boom. A hundred and fifty dollars, as if it were nothing.

Sharky sat up and held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, just-first up, you’ve got that much on you right now? And second, you’re just gonna hand that over?”

John shrugged a shoulder and glanced away. “I wouldn’t make an offer I couldn’t back, and it’s only if you earn it.”

“So, you do.”

“I might.” The smile came back, one that really should’ve set off more warning bells than it did, and John aimed it right at him. “Depending on whether or not you decide to say yes.”

Scrunching up his face, Sharky really didn’t want to, but John had him. Fucking hook, line, and sinker, and he let out a sound of aggravation before finally saying, “All right, all right. I’ll do it.”

“You will? So, we have a deal?”

“…Yes, we do.”

John held out his hand to him. Eyed him expectantly as his smile grew even sharper. He had half a mind to shove it back at him, but knew exactly what he was waiting for. What was going to seal this for him, and rolled his eyes only for John to jerk his hand away the second Sharky reached for it.

“Ah, ah, if you could,” John said, pretending to wipe his hand off on his shirt.

Sharky glanced down at his palm. It really wasn’t that bad, just sweaty, but he scrubbed it against his jeans anyway, shooting John a dirty look as he did it. However, when he went for him again, John didn’t fake him out. Just let him take his hand as Sharky gave it a firm shake.

“Excellent,” John replied, and he could’ve sworn the motherfucker almost purred it.

Lawyers, man. He probably got off on this shit, and Sharky let go of his hand as soon as the thought hit.

Returning to his side of the bench, John checked the time on his watch and gently tapped at its face. During this, Sharky slipped his tank back on and waited as the seconds ticked by. Started tapping his fingers against the bench himself - none of it even close to John’s established rhythm - and almost attempted whistling before deciding to say something.

“Yo, you gonna start this? Or are we-”

“Almost. Patience is a virtue after all,” John said, eyes right on his watch, “and yours will be rewarded in due time.”

Tap, tap, tap.

By the third set of taps, he’d fallen back into it too, drawn in without even thinking.

Tap, tap, tap.

All of it like clockwork up until he saw John’s finger pause in mid-air. “All right. Your time starts…now, and don’t forget our terms.”

“Yeah, yeah, my ass ain’t going anywhere. Better hope you’ve got more than a twenty and a few crumpled ones, though, ‘cause I ain’t gonna lose this.”

“Oh?”

“It’s half-off shots at the Eagle tonight,” Sharky replied with a grin. “Karaoke’s on too. Hurk’s already got me covered for half, but the minute I win this and head out there, shit’s gonna be fucking lit.”

John rolled his eyes. “And every cent gone just as fast as you've earned it.”

“So, I wanna go out and enjoy myself. The hell’s wrong with that?” Sharky shot. “That’s making the best of a Tuesday when I don’t got a whole lot else going on. ‘Sides, can’t spend it all there anyway. Still gotta buy underwear, socks, shoes and shit.”

Ticking each one off on his fingers, the mental price tag kept climbing, and he squinted out over at the boathouse as he added it all up.

“Then there’s gas. Can’t run out of that. Mags, ‘cause I gotta stay up to date on my reading and viewing material. Food, though my jerky stash’s all right, but I could grab more cereal. And duct tape, which is fucking magical. Seriously, get a roll, it’ll fix anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Hole in your pants? Done. Hole in your roof? Done. Hole in you? Also done, though if it’s a real gusher, you uh….might wanna slap two or three layers onto it, or I don’t know, go with that Flex Seal shit. You know, like on the infomercials?” he asked, nudging John with his elbow. “Keeps most of the bleeding internal rather than external, though you’d need to ask Hurk about the last time we tried that. Might’ve been in and out of it as he ran me to the clinic, and he swears by the stuff.”

Sharky pretended to slap some on his arm - flashing John a thumbs up while he was at it - only for John to give him a flat look.

“What? Shit works! It seals, and it holds. And I know it works ‘cause I only lost so much of my blood on the way into the clinic, and even the doc was looking at me like I should’ve kicked it. So, if anyone’s gonna give it a bonafide seal of approval, it’s me. Get it? ‘Cause it’s a seal, and I’m here telling you about it, and uh…yeah.”

Sharky’s crooked smile fell as John stared him down, and he let the rest trail off after that. Just shifted his attention to his hands as he pulled off his cap and gave it a few shakes before flexing and folding it between them.

“How either of you are alive at this point I don’t think I’ll ever understand.”

“Good luck, and maybe a little something my cuz calls Boshaw Bo-wisdom.”

John pressed both hands to his eyes, breathed deep, and then dragged them down. “Wisdom.”

“Bo-wisdom.”

“Charlemagne, you are…” John began, considering him long enough to make Sharky’s leg start bouncing in place, “absolutely bewildering, and yet-”

“Really, really ridiculously good looking?”

John’s words caught in his throat, and he coughed out a laugh a beat later.

"That don’t sound like a no." Sharky slapped a grin on his face and slipped his hat back on. “Like, I know I ain’t a fancy lawyer or a pilot, but I got it.”

John opened his mouth, but paused. Hmm-ed to himself as he gave him a quick once-over, and cocked his head. “A certain, je ne sais quoi?”

He'd been full set on John giving him a no straight-up, but that wasn't it at all. “Uh, sure? If you wanna get all fancy with that too.”

Never mind the handful of French he knew came from commercials, food labels, and old Saturday morning cartoons, but he’d heard some form of that before once or twice, and didn’t recall anyone getting slapped for it.

“Fancy?” John laughed, and said something else. A whole string of words Sharky didn’t recognize at all up until the final ‘oui?’, and raised an eyebrow.

“Amigo, if you want me to agree to any of that, you’ll have to give me something. ‘Cause I got the yes, but everything else?” Sharky waved a hand right over his head, and whistled.

Because of course John would know another language inside and out too. Probably went straight to France to learn it, and could’ve spun up all sorts of shit that sounded nice on first pass only to mean something else entirely. The longer Sharky thought it over, the more it made him want to frown at it, and before long went back to staring out at the boathouse. Focused on burning a hole right into it, and wouldn’t have cared too much if he’d actually had the ability.

“What did you think I said?”

“I dunno,” Sharky muttered. “Something-something, mustache twirl, you suck?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched John’s amusement fade. “I said that you probably didn’t understand me, which was a shame. It leaves things more than a little one-sided, and insulting you during that’s something I’d prefer not to do. Especially since a proper insult would’ve been more along the lines of this.”

The next string of words still had that overly fancy ring to it as it all flowed together, but by the time John turned to him, Sharky was watching him intently.

“Would you like to know that one?” John asked.

“Dude, you can’t just say that shit and leave it hanging like that.”

John leaned towards him, silent as Sharky motioned for him to get on with it, but what followed was stated so bluntly, it took a solid minute to sink in.

But the moment it did, Sharky let out a laugh that had him almost doubling over as he struggled to recover from it. “Fuck, man! Are you for real?”

A smile crept onto John’s face, and soon he was smiling as wide as Sharky was. “I might’ve picked that one up a long time ago from an acquaintance of mine.”

“And you actually got to say it? Like face-to-face?”

“Once or twice, but it loses its impact if you say it too often, so I might’ve had to use a few alternatives in its place. A hazard of the job, really.”

“So you’ve got a whole bunch of these stashed and ready to go, huh? Like if I say something, like ‘shove your head up your own ass’, you’d be able to translate it, no problem?” More French followed, and Sharky squinted at John when his name popped up in the middle of it. “Cool. ...Long as you didn’t just tell me to shove my own head up there.”

“No, I merely said that of course, it would be possible.”

“The whole saying it part, and not-”

“Not the second.” And John slipped back into it again, saying every last word with a smile right on his face. “But that would be how I’d phrase it if I wanted to.”

With that on that table, Sharky threw another insult at him. Just let the eager feeling driving him take the wheel, and John didn’t even pause this time before quickly giving him the translation for it. He even sounded it out for him as Sharky tried reciting it right after, and was left practicing Rs with John until even his tongue needed a fucking break. Then went for another, and another, and neither of them let up for a second. Even when he decided to get creative with it, throwing weirder and more obscure stuff at him, it didn't matter. John gave it all a fair shake. Whether he was thinking over some of the harder phrases, or giving him the evil eye, John never told him no, or to fuck off. He dished it all back, the words way too damn smooth for the kinds of things Sharky was asking about, and even started chuckling with him midway through the last one, giving up the fight completely as he came to a stop and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Stumped?”

John peered over at Sharky as he kicked back in his seat, but glanced away the minute he started waggling his eyebrows at him. “This was not the intended use of the language. Not as I first learned it, and not later on when I experimented with it as well, so forgive me if I need a moment to continue entertaining any of the things that have left your mouth so far.”

“Hey, you offered.”

“After you asked,” John countered, lowering his hand. “And you did, so there’s no arguing that point. But I will admit that this is one of the more interesting uses of that particular skill set. Even after having a chance to test it on the streets of Paris myself.”

“Figures,” Sharky chuckled. “Probably been everywhere.”

“Almost. I made a list of places when I was fresh out of law school, and started crossing them off one by one. Wanted to see the world beyond the one built around me and for me, but…over time it lost its appeal, and other things became much more important.”

John leaned forward, folding his hands together as he rested them on his thighs, and aimed a curious glance his way. “How about you? Ever traveled?”

“Me?” Sharky asked, gesturing towards himself. “Like, I’ve been to the border. Got to see Canada for about five minutes before Hurk had to get us out of there, but having a PO kinda put a damper on any travel plans real quick. But that don’t mean I don’t want to. Just never had the chance, you know?”

“So, where would you go if you were able to?”

“Shit, all sorts of places. Could probably stay local, but where’s the fun in that? Better somewhere far away, exotic. Like Florida.”

John’s eyebrows drew together. “…Florida.”

“Florida,” Sharky repeated, bobbing his head.

When he didn’t say anything further, John wet his lips and turned towards him fully. “I could offer to fly you anywhere in the world right now. To any continent, any place, and given those options would you still make the same choice?”

“What’s wrong with Florida?”

John slowly blinked at him. “Aside from it being Florida?”

“Aw, come on," Sharky said, lightly punching him in the arm, "they got all sorts of nice things there. It ain’t all orange juice and gators. Got cocktails, racing, and palm trees too. Oh, and water sports.”

This time when John pressed his lips into a thin line and scowled, Sharky eyed him right back.

“I’m talking polo and jet skis. Dunno where your mind’s going, man.”

“Well, there’s a good reason for that,” John spat, “and I’m staring right at i-”

A shrill beeping cut him off, nearly making Sharky jump in his seat as he gripped the bench. “Not it! Also, my ass is on this. Didn’t leave it once.”

John dropped his gaze down to his watch, and frowned deeply as he shut it off.

“Wait, we hit fifteen already?”

That had Sharky’s eyebrows flying sky high with no hope of falling. Leaning towards him - which was pretty pointless seeing as he couldn’t read shit even from the new angle - he got as far as reading the hour before John jerked his left arm away from him.

“Yes, and much as I’m loathe to admit it, you’ve honored our agreement.”

On the edge of his seat, Sharky watched John climb to his feet and pull out his wallet. Thumbing quickly through the bills, he didn’t even look up at Sharky before withdrawing them, and just tossed the cash his way.

“Uh, cool, I guess-whoa, hey!” Snatching them out of the air, he’d crumpled the bills in his rush to save them, and did a double-take when he realized just what he was looking at. “Yo, this is-you said one-fifty, max.”

“And?” John asked, acting like he’d just tried to inform him the sky was blue, that he was a dick, or that water was wet. Simple run of the mill shit that anyone would know.

“This is two-hundred, man. Don’t remember agreeing to that.”

John tilted his head back, and lowered his sunglasses. “They’re the smallest bills I have. Perhaps you lucked out there as well.”

The smallest he had. Not a fifty, not even a twenty, but hundreds only.

What. The fuck, Sharky mouthed, gaping at him.

“And I do believe that means your break is also over, so if you could?”

“Whoa, what?” Sharky sputtered, as John turned his back on him and headed towards the building. “You-you told me to do this shit!”

“I bet you that you wouldn’t be able to,” John threw out, glancing at him over his shoulder. “Now that you’ve proven me wrong, I see no reason why you wouldn’t be able to redouble your efforts and really impress me, hmm?”

Disappearing through the entrance to the boathouse, Sharky had a minute to sit there. Mouth open, wide enough to swallow a fucking bee if it decided to fly right into it, before John poked his head out of the doorway.

“Sometime today?”

Letting out a string of profanities - including more than a few he’d thrown at John not even five minutes ago - Sharky crammed the bills into his pocket and booked it after him.

With over half of the day left to burn, he might as well not waste it.

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw #john seed #john seed/sharky boshaw #fanfiction #FC5 fanfiction #I love how on the previous fic I hoped it wouldn't take too long to finish this #and here we are three months later #(and also 1-2K longer than intended)#but my weakness is two characters sitting and talking it out so...whoops #fic series: we could make a home out of this

27 notes · View notes

abundanceofsoph · 4 years ago

Text

SkyFire 2: Chapter 3

Another surgery & Harry gets back in the studio: Feb/March 2016

Word count: 1.5k

PART 1

SkyFire 2 MASTERLIST

They flew back to New York at the end of the week and Aurora went back to the hospital for her fourth surgery on her hand, as well as getting the skin grafts on her shoulder. When she returned home to the tower the following day she curled up in bed with Harry and they spent the evening watching movies.

“Hey babe?” Harry said during a lull in the film. Aurora hummed in reply, her head resting on his chest while his hands carded through her hair. “I asked Jeff to find me a few musicians to start working with and to find a studio for me to rent. I’m feeling ready to get back to work.”

“Why are you renting a studio when we have a commercial grade studio downstairs?” she asked, not lifting her head.

“That’s your space,” Harry said. “I don’t want to just take over.”

“Harry,” Rori sighed, lifting herself up to look him in eyes. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not exactly using it right now.” Her gaze flicked down to her hand before she looked back at his face. “Besides, I’ll be wherever you are, so it makes more sense for you to get set up here. We can even offer up the spare rooms the lads used last time they visited.”

“You sure?” Harry asked softly.

“Just because I can’t get back to making music yet doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

“You don’t need to use your hand to sing,” Harry reminded her, “or to write a song. Why don’t you join me? Always work better when you’re involved.”

“Let’s just see who Jeff finds for you and I’ll think about it,” Rori said. “It’s hard to be in there and not be able to play.”

“I know, love,” Harry murmured, pulling her close to kiss her. “Promise it’ll get better. Just gotta give it time.”

xXx

Jeff arrived at the tower the following week with a producer that Harry had worked with before as well as a drummer, bassist, and guitarist. Aurora didn’t join them, instead letting Harry get settled in with the new team. At the end of their first week working together, Rori had JARVIS order a heap of Chinese food and when it arrived, she headed downstairs to delivery it. She knocked on the door softly before walking in. One of the men stood up quickly to help her with all the bags she was trying to carry one handed for which she was grateful.

“Thought you all might be hungry,” she said. “Wasn’t sure what you liked so I got a bit of everything so help yourselves.”

“Hey love,” Harry said, sauntering over to her side and wrapping her up in his arms. “Thanks for the food.”

“Your welcome, noticed it was getting a little late and JARVIS said it didn’t seem like anyone was going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Yeah we just clicked and everything’s working,” Harry replied. “Everyone, this is Aurora,” he announced to the room. “Rors this is Sarah, Adam, Alex and Mitch.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Rori said with a warm smile. “Didn’t you say there was a guitarist called Tim or Tom or something?”

“Tim,” Harry replied. “He couldn’t make it back after the first day, so Alex called Mitch and thankfully he was available. Bloody incredible too.”

Aurora nodded and went to grab some honey soy chicken from the table. Harry grabbed his own food and then joined her on the sofa. She stayed for a while after the food was finished, enjoying getting to know the odd assortment of musicians. Before it got too late, everyone headed out for the night and Aurora agreed to join them when they all came back in on Monday.

They spent the rest of February in the studio and Aurora found herself starting to find her grove again. Most of the time she just spent chatting with everyone and getting to know them but every so often she would butt in to suggest something or to change some of Harry’s lyrics and every time she did, his face would light up with a huge grin.

xXx

As March rolled around, Aurora went back to her surgeon for her regular post-surgery check up and as promised Sam joined her. After introducing him to Dr Walker and having her hand assessed once again, the three settled into their seats to discuss.

“I think what I’m looking for is a clearer picture of what we’re trying to accomplish with all of these surgeries,” Aurora said. “Like, we’ve been doing one every month or so and I’m not seeing much improvement so I’m just hoping you can explain a little more about what your goals are?”

“Well I would like to continue operating every 4-6 weeks as that provides your body with enough time to recover without dragging this out longer than it needs to be. In terms of what the goals are I’m hoping that after the next 2 procedures, we can get you started in physical therapy. I’d say by the end of the year you should be able to bend your fingers; grasp objects and your hand should be weight bearing to an extent.” Aurora froze in her seat. Dr Walkers tone made it clear that she thought this would be incredible progress and Aurora instantly realised that she had been horribly mistaken in her own expectations.

Sam quickly noticed how she deflated and stepped in. “I think we were under the assumption that we were working towards Rori being able to play piano again. In your opinion what kind of time frame would we be looking at and what work would need to be done to achieve that goal?”

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear Aurora,” Dr Walker replied softly. “But given the extent of your injuries, I just don’t see it being a realistic goal for you to aim for. The level of dexterity needed to play any instrument will most likely be beyond what you will be capable of, even with another dozen surgeries and years of therapy. I’m very sorry, but I don’t want to give you false hope. For now, I think it’s better to be focusing on getting you back to being able to accomplish simple everyday tasks.”

Rori nodded in understanding, not really trusting herself to speak as she felt her heart breaking. She had gone through so much pain and discomfort in the months since the shooting and she had been willing to go through it all so that she could play again, but now she was wondering if it was even worth continuing with the surgeries at all. Sam continued the conversation without her, seeking clarifications on the half a dozen surgeries Dr Walker already had planned. He asked about the purpose and intended outcome of each operation and Aurora was only half paying attention as she spiralled.

“What about the pain?” she finally asked. “It always hurts. When will that stop?”

“There will always be some discomfort,” Dr Walker explained. “Most likely when it’s cold you will feel an ache, similar to what you’ve experienced with your shoulder, but once the plates and screws are removed the more intense pain should lessen.”

“And you were planning to remove those around November?” Sam clarified, somehow aware that she had not been paying attention earlier. Dr Walker nodded, causing the colour to run from Rori’s face.

“I’m going to be in this much pain until November?” she asked.

“If your current prescription isn’t helping, we can look to change that,” Dr Walker replied.

“They make me dizzy,” Rori admitted. “I haven’t really been taking them much.”

“How about I write you a different a prescription and we try something else?”

Aurora agreed, once again falling silent while Sam clarified further points until eventually, they left and headed home.

“I know its not what you wanted to hear,” Sam said as they stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse. “But we’ll get through this.”

“Sam, I appreciate that, but I think I just need to wallow in this today,” she admitted. “Can we save the pep talk for tomorrow?”

Sam nodded and Aurora quickly hustled her way down the hall towards her room before she ran into either of her fathers. She knew she couldn’t fake a smile for them with the tears she could feel building in her eyes. As soon has her bedroom door closed behind her, the first sob broke from her chest, ripping her apart. She didn’t even notice when Harry joined her on the bed 20 minutes later. He didn’t speak, instead crawling to her side and holding her tightly as she sobbed into his chest.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

#skyfire #skyfire fic #aurora stark #dad!tony #iron dad #step dad steve rogers #stony #stony fic #boyfriend harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #superfamily #Harry Styles #tony stark

9 notes · View notes

batik96 · 5 years ago

Text

Venturing into 2020 ...

This will be the third year that I’ve used a daily word-count self-challenge to see if I can inspire myself to write more.

The first year, 2018, I wrote 43 words on New Year’s Day and, realizing that managing that every day would give me nearly 15,700 words at year’s end, I set that as my goal. (Not literal everyday writing but averaging it all out.) I surprised myself and ended up with a 50-words-a-day average. So I upped my self-challenge for 2019 to that 50-word level.

I ended 2019 with a daily word average of 114 words and more than 41,000 total words.

I feel as if upping my self-challenge to 114 words a day in 2020 would be setting myself up for failure -- there’s a fine line between *challenge* and “seemingly impossible task” -- so I’m not officially going to go there. Instead, I’m going to maintain the 50-words-a-day goal for 2020 and hope that I meet it (and maybe, just maybe, manage to exceed those 114 words a day anyway)!

Dec. 31: Happy end to 2020. I am about to end the year having written far fewer words than I did in 2019. While I’m glad I managed to beat my daily word-average goal, and to some extent am pleased that I managed to write anything at all, I had been hoping for more. I have the ideas. (Well, a couple of ideas.) And I have a WIP that I think I’ll really like -- if I can pull it off. But the words don’t want to come. So I’m trying to be OK with writing about 25 percent* less than I did in 2019, recognizing that it’s still more than I wrote in the majority of years since 2012. And 2021 is a new year in which I can try again to write more (and hopefully better) words. (* That percentage depends on what measure I use. According to AO3, I’ve posted 20,000 fewer words than 2019′s 47,000. Which is pushing a loose 50 percent drop. But I know I have about 7,000 words in my unposted WIP, which brings the difference closer to 13,000, which I’m loosely considering 25 percent.)

Feb. 21: This is my first entry of 2020 and ... not great. But ... part of the reason I do it this way is because, when the words come, they tend to come in clusters of more than 50 words.So taking six weeks to write my first words isn’t fatal to the year-end goal.

During the weekend of Feb. 15-16, I wrote 1,320 words. Today (Feb. 21) I have added another 903 words, for a year-to-date word total of 2,223 words and a daily word average of 42.75 words. Which isn’t far off of that 50-words-a-day goal, despite my late start. (The words still feel kind of like I’m pulling teeth, but I have a solid idea -- and a unique idea -- that I like. Here’s hoping I can see it through to the end.

Feb. 23: Well, it wasn’t much, especially considering it was the weekend, but I added another 200 words to my current doc today, which brings my yearly word count up to 2,423 and my daily word average up to 44.87 words a day. I’m creeping closer to my 50-word-a-day goal and trying not to stall out for lack of time/energy. I want to write this. But every time I sit down to write, I’m also aware that I want to quilt. And I want to read. And I want to bake. And I barely have time for any of those things, let alone all of them. But I am trying to juggle. We’ll see how long I can keep everything in the air.

Feb. 29: It’s Leap Day, and I am determined not to waste an extra day in the year by doing nothing. So, along with making peanut butter cups and hoping to quilt yet today and maybe go for a walk, I have added 560 words to my current WIP, bringing my year-to-date word total up to 2,983 words and my daily average up to 49.71 words. I’m going to try to add to that before today is over. If not, then before the weekend is over. But I’m pleased that I’ve managed that many.

March 7: So far today I haven’t managed any words. (I can hope that changes.) But, earlier this week, over the course of two days, I managed 599 words. That brings my yearly total today up to 3,582 words and my daily average to 53.46.

March 11: On March 9 I managed 277 words. Today I added 363, for a combined 640 words. That brings the yearly total up to 4,222 words and my daily average up to 59.46 words. Slow but steady ...

March 15: Today I have added 579 words to my current WIP, which brings my yearly total up to 4,801 and my daily average to 64 words a day. (Though my doc says I have 5,108 words, so I’m not sure how to account for the missing 307 words. And, if I were to add them, it would push my word average to 68 words a day.)

April 16: I managed 1,031 words April 15 on a new WIP. (I would still be focused on my old WIP, except I have an exchange fic due at the end of May.) It took me a while to hit on an idea for the new one, but I’m happy with how it’s going so far. So, in the 106 days (as of April 15, not today) so far this year, I’ve written 5,832 words, for a daily average of 55.01 words a day. My average dropped in that month I apparently took off from writing, but I’m still above my daily average goal and my exchange fic is moving along, so I’m counting it as a win!

April 19: I have written another 1,339 words today on my exchange fic. Still quite a way to go, but it’s progress. I probably could keep writing -- conditions in my house are good at the moment. But I’ve been working on in for hours now (amid texting with friends and browsing Tumblr and Twitter), so I feel as if it’s a good time to stop and try something else for a bit. Anyway. That brings my yearly word count up to 7,171 words and my daily average (in 110 days) up to 65.19 words. I’m OK with that!

April 25: I’m developing a pattern, though not a bad one, I don’t think. I seem to be maxing out my writing sessions around 1,000 words before feeling the need to stop for the moment. Today, for example, I wrote 1,066 words. Not gonna complain about that, at all! It brings my year-to-date word total up to 8,237 words (in 116 days) and my daily word average to 71 words a day. I’m going to aim for more tomorrow, since I seem to manage to write on weekends more easily than I manage during the week. But we’ll see how things go.

April 26: I managed to write again today -- a good thing, since I rarely find time during the week and, thus, rely on weekends to get much of my writing done. I wrote 1,856 words (not including the ones I wrote to explain the ideas I have for the parts I haven’t yet written). That brings my yearly word total up to 10,093 words in 117 days, for a daily word average of 86.26 words. I’ll take it!

May 2: Well, I wrote 1,010 words today. None of them were for the exchange fic on which I should be working, but they were words. Words that I’m actually pretty pleased with, so I’m not feeling any regret about not focusing on my exchange fic. Today’s words bring me up to 11,103 words in 123 days, for a daily word average of 90.268. Fingers crossed I can find more time to write tomorrow -- and maybe on my exchange fic!

May 3: Well, I wrote another 1,023 words today and think I’ve finished (pending beta) the short little one-off that settled into my brain. That brings my word count for the year to 12,126 words in 124 days, for a daily average of 97.79 words. I’m still hoping to write more before the day is done, but I wanted to note this before I lost track of how many words I had in the first doc. Now ... on to my exchange fic. Update: I just added another 1,378 words to my exchange fic, which puts me at 2,401 words for the day and 13,504 words for the year. That raises my daily word average to 108.9 words a day.

May 6: Over the past few days, I’ve written 474 words to put the finishing touches on something. That number’s deceptive, considering that some of those were new and some of them were replacing others already written and I honestly can’t be sure how many I actually wrote. But it was at least 474. Which brings my year-to-date word total up to 13,978 and my daily word average over 127 days to 110.06. The writing’s not what I would call “easy” right now. It’s not just flowing from my fingertips perfectly to grace my Gdocs. But it is happening, which means it’s not as hard as it has been at points during the past few years. I appreciate that.

May 9: I just added 1,051 words to my WIP. That brings me to a 130-day year-to-date word total of 15,029 and a daily word average of 115.6 words. I’m ... stunned.

May 16: I think I’ve finished my exchange fic. Today’s writing involved approximately 946 words, for an approximate year-to-date total of 15,975 words and a daily word average (in 137 days) of 116.6 words. (And my exchange deadline is still an astounding 15 days away. It’s not even a result of my “deadline’s approaching” panic-induced “inspiration”!)

June 21: It seems like I’ve had a lull in writing (yes), but I finished my exchange fic and then spent some time beta-ing other exchange fics, so I wasn’t non-wordy during the past month. Still, it felt good today when I was able to add 579 words to the WIP I started in February. I also reworked a section, probably adding a few words, subtracting a few words, so I have no idea how many words I added there. And I think I have a workable route forward on finishing the WIP one of these days. (I won’t set a deadline, because artificial deadlines seem to freeze me as much as real ones inspire me.) Anyway ... 579 words added to the yearly word count makes for 16,554 words and a daily average (in 173 days) of 95.687 words a day.

July 5: I finally had some time when things were quiet enough for me to focus on writing, so I did. I was at 1,214 words when the quiet went away. That gives a year-to-date word total of 17,768 words and a daily average (in 187 days) of 95.01 words.

July 12: I’m still hoping to write more, but ... I went back and tweaked a conversation I wrote last week, adding 236 words. That brings me up to 18,004 words in 194 days for a daily average of 92.8 words.

July 21: I’m running behind in updating this, but ... on Sunday (July 19 -- happy birthday, BC!) I wrote 1,411 words on my current WIP. [It’s getting closer to done, but I’m still leery of my (made up) Aug. 1 deadline.] Those words bring me up to a yearly total of 19,415 words in 201 days, for a daily average of 96.59 words. I want to hope I get more written before the weekend, but ... it never seems to work. I managed to get my doc open Monday but didn’t add a word. It just sat there in a tab all day, watching me work. It’s open again today, but I’m not sure the result will be any different. Still, I’m trying!

P.S. I added another 555 words on July 21, bringing my word total (for 203 days) up to 19,970 words and a daily average of 98.37 words.

July 24: I’m surprising myself this week, managing to write a bit in the morning before work. (And letting a few minutes of writing time bleed into working time. But I was good and eventually closed out the doc to keep myself from straying away from work.) Anyway, on Thursday (yesterday/the 23rd), I wrote 779 words (and got a good chunk of my WIP’s ending written)! I still have to finish the ending and write an earlier scene, but ... it feels doable. The 779 words brings my word total for the year up to 20,749 words and a daily average (for 205 days) up to 101,21 words!

July 26: I am really trying to get this WIP finished. To that end, I have written 932 words so far today. I am optimistic that not many more will be needed and I hope maybe to write some of them today. Still, for now, that brings me to a year-to-date word total of 21,681 words and a daily average (in 207 days) of 104.73 words.

Aug. 2: I added 431 words to my WIP on Aug. 1, bringing my year-to-date word total up to 22,112 words and a daily average (in 213 days) of 103.8 words a day. (That was 213 days as of Aug. 1, not Aug. 2.) I had hoped to write some more today, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen. It’s ... complicated.

Aug. 19: No writing update. I’m kind of ... stuck. My WIP is either very nearly done or about to be razed to its foundation. I’m not sure which. While I decide, it’s sitting and I’m not writing. But I didn’t want this post to end up too far down my dash to find if/when I manage to string together words in a coherent fic-ly fashion again.

Sept. 6: Maybe it’s the three-day weekend allowing my brain a chance to relax and consider words, but, between today and Saturday/yesterday, I have managed 807 words on my WIP. I would like to think I’ll be able to add more before the weekend is done, but ... I’ll be happy with 807 words, if that’s what I end up with. It brings me to a year-to-date total of 22,919 words in 249 days, and a daily average of 92.04 words. Not as good as I’d like, but still well above my goal, so ... I’m OK with that! (And glad to be writing again, however slowly.)

Oct. 1: Between Sept. 30 and today, I have written 633 words. I still have a long way to go toward finishing this new thing (my WIP is on hold while I work on an exchange fic that is coming due alarmingly quickly, considering I just started writing it). That brings my year-to-date word total up to 23,552 words and my daily average (in 274 days) to 85.956 words. A bit lower than I had hoped, but they are words and I won’t complain.

Oct. 7: It’s been hard the past few days to keep track of a word count. I’ve basically been leaving my doc open all day every day and hoping that I manage to add a few words here and there. Along with adding some, I’ve subtracted some, I’ve tweaked some so they’re barely recognizable as having come from what was there before. But I have officially added 1,208 words since Oct. 1. That brings my year-to-date word total to 24,760 words and my daily average (in 280 days) to 88.4 words. I still have a long way to go on this WIP and not a long time in which to finish it, but it’s progress.

Oct. 11: OK, so ... I’m totally losing track of words gained. In the past few days, I added words. And then I subtracted words and added new words. And then I took a chunk of words and reworked them. I can say for sure that I have added 182 words. Though the reality is that there were many more than that written. Anyway. That’s 182 words added to the total word count to get 24,942 words in 284 days, That’s a daily average of 87.8 words. With 13 days left until I have to submit this WIP as a finished exchange gift.

Oct. 17: I’m optimistic that I finished my current WIP (as opposed to the one that was a WIP before the current WIP and remains a WIP) this morning. If my beta agrees. Between edits and tweaks and the section I added this morning, I have no idea how many words that is. But, if I go back to when I started this WIP and add the current total to my word count as I started, I have written 26,588 words so far this year (not counting the ones I wrote and then edited or the ones I wrote and then deleted), for a daily average of 91.68 words in 290 days.

Oct. 18: My beta didn’t think I was quite done yesterday, but I was close, and I think I addressed her questions this morning. That’s another 291 words on Day 291 of the year. With a year-to-date word total of 26,879 words, that’s a daily word average of 92.367 words.

Dec. 7: *sigh* My writing mojo has well and truly flown the coop. I think I need a vacation. But, while I have time to take (or lose) by the end of the year, work is too busy -- and too shorthanded -- for that to happen. So ... I muddle on. After submitting my exchange fic before Halloween, I haven’t really written anything new. Until I got an inkling of a thought for a scene at bedtime last night. I texted myself the bare bones and turned them into 451 words this morning. That’s not going to make up for not having written in close to two months, but ... it’s something. It’s 27,330 words in 342 days, for a daily word average of 79.679 words. I’m behind last year’s average, but still above my stated goal for the year (if not my hoped-for goal) and I still have time ... if I can find my focus.

Dec. 14: Baby steps. I’ve made no new progress on my WIP, but I did manage 518 words for an Advent fic prompt -- held over from 2019 because I only made it about halfway through them last December. That brings my yearly total to 27,848 words in 349 days (the way this day has started, I’m assuming there will be no time for non-work writing today), for a daily average of 79.79 words. Unless I somehow manage to finish the year strong, I’m not going to top last year’s average (and, not to seem pessimistic -- more realistic -- if it’s taken me 349 days to write nearly 28,000 words, I don’t see myself managing 13,000 words in the next 17 days. (That really would be a Christmas miracle.) But it is still well about my initial 43-words-a-day average and my “official” 50-words-a-day goal, even if I don’t write another word this year. So I will continue trying to write as I am able and try not to be too frustrated by how difficult words have seemed at large chunks of time this year.

Dec. 20: I tell myself that, with a handful of days before Christmas, I should be trying to write more of last year’s Advent fic. Or that cabin fic I’ve been pondering for months (well before the cabin fic fest was a thing). Instead, I managed 434 words on my WIP -- and count it as a win, even though I wish it were so much more. That brings me to 28,282 words in 255 days, for a daily average of 110.9 words a day. (That jump in average still doesn’t seem right, but apparently it is. It goes to show how even a relative few words can make a big difference.)

#Batik96 babbles about life #and writing

73 notes · View notes

fictionfactorygames · 6 years ago

Text

Exodus From Floating Point

Before starting Arcade Spirits, I was writing a trilogy of novels called Floating Point. I’m relieved to announce that I’ve released book three in the series in print and ebook form, and it’s now available from my book store.

I say “relieved” because this was supposed to be released in 2017, and I only now got off my butt and finished up the work needed to compile it together. Why did it take so long? A few reasons.

First, difficulty. Floating Point used a lot of iconography, emoji, and other imagery which can be tricky to format into print and ebook formats. It took a few days to pull it all together; fortunately I had a surplus of time thanks to being temporarily furloughed. But still, I could’ve done it at any point prior, if I’d just sat down to do the work.

Second, exhaustion. Honestly, Floating Point was a doom grind of a book to write for me. It’s all about how the nexus of partisanship, hatred, and anonymity have torn down online discourse and reduced it to a slouching beast that devours and kills. It used metaphors to point to things actually happening in the real world, terrible things, and constantly exposing myself to that stuff and researching it to make the book work ground me down into a fine gravel by the end. I’m proud of the work but it was a miserable experience by the time I reached the third in the series.

(That’s also why I aimed to have Arcade Spirits be something lighter, fluffier, more optimistic. A simpler story about friendship and love and the arcade industry. I wanted something a bit less divisive, something anyone could enjoy. …but apparently merely including a pronoun option makes me a radical leftist, so what the hell, I chose to lean into that eventually.)

Third, motivation. Once I start a new project, I have a hard time keeping my motivation up to do any final cleanup for the previous one. I’m avoiding this with Arcade Spirits… sort of… by not diving into any potential sequel design work until completely finishing AS1. It’s completely finished now, and my mind’s moved on to AS2. Hopefully AS1 is a success and I get to make an AS2 (no promises, folks!) but yeah, I move from project to project, and I’d moved on from Floating Point by that, uh, point.

Finally, finances. Let’s be real, my book sales were barely enough to afford a dinner at a nice restaurant once a year. Doing a chunk of work to produce a book maybe twelve people will buy felt like a weird investment.

But let’s be real, these are all excuses. In the end I admire the sort of people who knuckle down and do what needs to be done, regardless of circumstances. Dudes who serve with both hands, to quote a cyberpunk novel I love. So while it’s a long time coming, I’m relieved to close the last chapter on Floating Point, and proud of my accomplishments. I’m proud of the stories, I’m proud of the people who backed me and helped me see it through, and I hope you enjoy the novel.

Now, then. Arcade Spirits launches Feb 12, and I’m shifting my focus back there. Let’s rally and make this happen!

#visualnovel

2 notes · View notes

alliswell21 · 7 years ago

Text

Curling a Shot at Gold

I owed @katnissdoesnotfollowback an Olympic drabble... it’s not as detailed and riveting as I would’ve love to deliver, but I hope it’s still a good offering. I still have 5 minutes to post this on Feb. 25th, so, hope you enjoy it.

Rated G.

>>——————> >>——————->

Katniss plops on her stomach way harder than she meant to. She’s in first place and according to her calculations she’s got around 20 seconds on her closest contender. She got bullseyes on all of her targets in her previous two shooting rounds, so theoretically, she can relax and take breather, but her competitiveness won’t allow it.

To make matters worse (or maybe make matters better, she’s still on the fence on that) she saw Peeta at the edge of the track with the rest of the spectators cheering her on when she passed by. It’s irritating how easily she can pick him out in a crowd even in full winter gear covering his mop of ashy blonde curls and his sweet blue eyes hidden behind sunglasses. She could recognize the perfectly blinding smile even if he was masquerading as a riverbed rock like he once joked about. She shouldn’t be able to pick him out so fast, but after sneaking around the Olympic Village to be with him where no prying eyes could find them, she doubts she’ll ever erase his familiar presence from her sensory receptors. To her body and mind, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

She blushes, and is grateful for the protective mesh mask shielding her face from the achingly cold air, because her body feels his pull anywhere and responds to him with the least amount of provocation.

Katniss smiles to herself. She can’t deny she’s pleased he came to see her competing- not come across as full of herself, but who else is he here to see? She’s the only one from their selection left in this run- she likes to think, hopes really, their time together has made as deep, marked impression on him as it did on her. She was there for a couple of his events, including the night he made Silver on Curling Mixed Doubles, where he was paired with his sister-in-law, Delly Cartwright-Mellark, in his brother’s place, since the older Mellark sibling had fracture his leg in two places falling from the frozen staircase leading to their parents apartment atop their bakery back home.

The night he made his first medal was the night they celebrated without any discretion. They made out in public, drunk on his accomplishment alone, and the fireworks that exploded in his room after, where thing of legends. Of course, by the next day, everybody in their delegation had heard about them, if they didn’t witness it first hand.

Concentrating on her task at hand, she brings her rifle up to line the sight to her eye. Her finger rests comfortably on the trigger while aiming at the closest target. She inhales a calming breath and just as she shoots, the next competitor drops onto a lane two spaces away from hers, by the time Katniss is taking aim at her third target, two more athletes have arrived and chosen lanes for themselves.

She gets 4 bullseyes and one just an inch below. she’s glad all the prone shootings are behind her now, the position it’s not as accurate as standing, and it takes more time to reset for skiing. Barely registering the last target has flipped from red and white to black and white, Katniss hops to her feet, checks her skis and ambles into position to continue on to her next lap.

She’s freestyling. As she gets in her groove, she takes as deep a breath as she can. She’s calmer now somehow, but the race is not over; she still has two laps to go and one more shooting round in between before she can secure her victory.

She’s pleasantly surprised she didn’t picture Gale Hawthorne’s face as her target on this round, though. It's a good thing! It means she’s not as angry at him anymore. She’s relieved, but still scowls at the events that transpired the day after the Curling medal ceremonies.

“Are you serious, Catnip? You hooked up with that curler?” Katniss hears Gale’s angry voice in her head as she gains ground up the hill. Her heart races just as it did then, as if it was happening all over again.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” She had snap irritably. “As if it’s shameful or something.”

“He’s just some guy!” He practically yelled pulling his scarf off his neck and shoulders and balling it up in his fist. “You’re a serious athlete!”

“He’s as much an athlete as I am, in case you didn’t know this, I am just a girl too!” She rolled her eyes.

“You, are not, just some girl! You’re a skier. An Olympian. A Victor for fucks sakes! What are you doing with that guy?”

Her heckles rose. “For your information, Peeta is a hell of an Olympian himself. A silver medalists! A Victor, as you so obnoxiously put it.”

Gale threw his arms up in the air, scowling. He finally retorted angrily, “If you gotta fuck around, at least do it with a real winner! A gold medalist or something… but a curler?”

Katniss was furious. “Wait until the Men’s Curling events take the court. Peeta’s team will mop the ice with the rest of the other teams. They’ll wish they were the little brushes so they could experience the touch of greatness!” It was really bad form and poor sportsmanship to gloat and taunt, but she was beyond angry, defending their national Curling team to part of her own Biathlon team mate. “And even if they don’t win, I’d still be proud of Peeta and his accomplishments, and since the cat is very much out of the bag, I’d still go public with him when we return home.”

Relieving the satisfaction of walking away from a equally dumbfounded, stricken and angry Gale, would have to wait until later, the first bend of the lap was upon her.

With a shake of her head, Katniss looks up and brings herself back from her aggravating memories. Gale was way out of line, but he’s an amazing practice partner and she’d hate to lose him- training with a male biathlete has worked wonders for her times- he pushes her limits until she overcomes them. She’s faster, more aggressive and enduring thanks to her partnership with Gale, but there’s no way she can stay with him if he doesn’t get a clue soon, no matter how hard it is to find good practice partners.

She leans into position for the fast descent. Her form is graceful and perfect and soon she’s zooming across the familiar track. She mentally curses Gale again, she was so distracted relieving their argument, she didn’t take a glance at the board with the current standings or the other women in the Biathlon. Heck! She doesn’t even remember swinging her rifle back in place on her back when she left the shooting lane, nor she remembers taking her ski poles from her side. She thanks her memory muscle for acting on autopilot, because sure enough, all her equipment is exactly where they should be, and to prove it, she sinks her poles into the powdery snow to push herself forward, gaining speed.

The next shooting station is just behind the next bend, past the roped area where family, friends and other expectators are congregated. She is going too fast. She was hoping to take another peek at Peeta before her last shooting round, but the crowd was just a loud, colorful blur. For now, She has to content herself just knowing he’s out there, cheering her on.

She has to turn sideways to stop herself in front of the shooting lanes. Just like with the previous 3 rounds, she takes her position, brings her rifle up, loads the cartridge and aims, this is a standing round. She smirks, because although the target distance is larger on the final round, she’s racked up the points and has added at least two minutes to her run, and this is her favorite position and best event. The fact that she’s a much better shot than Gale Hawthorne any day of the week, has nothing to do with it… that’ll be petty. Although, she wants to see him try to match her speed. Just saying.

She tips her head from side to side, plants her feet in her shooting stance, squares her shoulders quickly relaxing them down and her eye aligns with the rifle sight. Her finger curls like a caress over the trigger. She inhales deeply.

“For the gold!” She exhales to herself.

One last thought crosses her mind: ‘I don’t need my man to make gold, I’m my own gold!’

Then she shoots.

Resets.

Shoots.

Resets.

It goes on like this until it’s over, in under 40 seconds.

She places her rifle behind her back for her last lap, all the while taking time to look at the board. Her name is in first place, by her count, she’s 33 seconds ahead of the next closest biathlete, which is enough for her, so she turns without comparing the times listed besides her name on the screen. She lowers her goggles over her eyes and pulls on her mask over her mouth and nose, and as soon as she closes her fists on her poles, she’s gone.

She crosses the finish line in a blur.

She comes to a halt hard, once she’s in front of the board and almost loses her balance. She can’t hear anything over the roar of her own blood rushing to her ears, but she can see her smirking picture on the screen, bigger than life, the number 1 next to her name, and a time of 43:34.8.

Then a couple of other women fly by and stop next to her, names and pictures pop up under hers, taking the second and third slots. Another group of skiers arrives. Then all the points from the shootings are awarded and the names on the board start scrambling and switching places, some drop a few positions, while others climb up, her name doesn’t change, but her times do. She gets 2 minutes subtracted off her skiing time, bringing her down to 41:34.8.

The next closest time is 43:05.6 including deductions, and she has no idea she’s jumping and screaming and crying all at once while pumping her fist into the air, until her pole that’s been flailing helplessly around with every shake of her arm, smacks her rifle on her back. Somebody drapes a flag around her shoulders, she has enough presence of mind to grip the edges tightly as she keeps her exuberant celebration going, until is time to take her place in the podium with her fellow medalists.

Her eyes find the face she’s looking for: Frostbitten nose and cheeks under sparkling, intense blue eyes and a smile so wide it has to be painful to its owner. He’s holding up a sign she didn’t see at first: “Katniss Shoot Straight! Your #1 Fan.”

Just then, she realizes, she has no clue about the intricacies of Curling, she knows there’s a good deal of strategizing involved, but she vows to learned all she can about the curler beaming up at her from the crowd. She’s his number one fan after all. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, Curling is cool!

#everlark ficlet #winter olympics #biathlete!Katniss #Curler!Peeta #rated g

96 notes · View notes

douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years ago

Text

I'VE BEEN PONDERING PG

It's very common for startups to present to them. Do people live downtown, or have some sort of exit. There is less stress in total, but more as an exploration of gender and sexuality in an urban context, etc.1 I think the goal of this rule; if you can't explain your plans concisely, you don't worry that it might come out badly, or upset delicate social balances, or that can incorporate live data feeds, or that you won't be demoralized if they seem pointless.2 One YC founder told me that it wasn't worth investing in. The patent pledge doesn't fix every problem with patents.3 I can tell from the case. This site isn't lame. They wouldn't all grow as big. It will be easier in proportion to an estimate of your company's value that you'd both agreed upon.

Then you could, I don't care what he says, I'm going to name them: type A fundraising is when you can do, you don't see the opportunities all around us is that we get on average only about 5-7% of a much larger number.4 In most fields the great work is: very exacting taste, plus the ability to direct the course of adding some feature they were asking for.5 Most hackers are employees, and this trick merely forces you to clean up your apartment, writing something that you'll be able to say whether he should be classified as a friend or angel.6 Don't say anything unless you're fairly sure what you want to reach; from paragraph to paragraph I let the ideas take their course. Sometimes a competitor will deliberately threaten you with a business background, and he will automatically get paid proportionally more. Not all of them had never seen the Web before we came to tell them to stop.7 If you're free of a misconception that everyone else is crazy. Most startups that raise money and the kind of alarms you'd set off if you operate like Columbus and just head in a general westerly direction.

As we were in the old sense of managing the round. Technology is a lever. Modern literature is important, but I suspect that most of them a part time job. In the Bay Area would be the answer. But let someone else start those startups. They're not necessarily trying to mislead you. Like a lot of people will make them.

But if you make something they like. 05 PM subject: Re: Revenge of the Nerds on the LL1 mailing list.8 American universities currently seem to be a media company to throw Microsoft off their scent. Java white paper, Gosling explicitly says Java was designed to be a missile aimed right at what makes America successful.9 Different users have different requirements, but I don't think that's the right way to do it. But this is merely an artifact of the rule of law.10 All you'll learn is the words kids are allowed to use. That's the way to the close.11 It did serve some purposes: reading a talk out loud can expose awkward parts. What investors still don't get is what insanely great translates to in a larval startup.

When I talk about humans being meant or designed to live a certain way out of habit or politeness. Hackers & Painters that hadn't been online. Incidentally, the switch in the 1920s to financing growth with retained earnings till the 1920s.12 And the programmers liked it because they don't like to have it. What counts as property depends on what works to treat as property. But this is wrong. What's a prostitute?13 Everyone by now presumably knows about the danger of premature optimization. Essentially, they lead you on. That will change the way they treat the music they sell through iTunes.14

So tablet makers should be thinking: what else can we give developers access to? White said, good writing is rewriting, wrote E. Almost four decades later, fragmentation is still increasing. The more people you have to do it than literally making a mark on the world. Investors looked at Yahoo's earnings and said to one of the principles they teach you is to align the car not by lining up the hood with the stripes painted on the road, but by trying to use mass lawsuits against randomly chosen people as a form of evolutionary pressure. People think that what you want. In principle anyone there ought to have multiple founders who were already friends before they decided to build recipe sites, or aggregators for local events.

Better Bayesian Filtering. They may play some behind the scenes as adults spin the world for a while, can make visual perception flow in through his eye and out through his hand as automatically as someone tapping his foot to a beat. If you looked in people's heads. They are all fundamentally subversive for this reason. I sat down and calculated what I thought was hard, the groups all turned out ok. Election forecasters are proud when they can get it, at this stage.15 The danger of symmetry, and repetition especially, is where the richest buyers are, but figure out precisely where you lose them. If they didn't know what language our software was so complex. 2:21 AM subject: Re: meet the airbeds PG, Thanks for the lead Fred to: Fred Wilson date: Mon, Feb 9,2009 at 11:42 AM subject: Re: airbnb There's a lot to start a startup. And yet they can hold their own with any work of art ever made.

Leonardo?16 It is, as far as possible prevent them from having fun. Doesn't that show people will pay most for?17 After thinking about it than most, but almost everywhere the trend is in that direction. Till then they had to ask permission to release software: the last thing you changed. But fortunately in the US are more conservative than Boston ones.18 People are all you need is to be battered by circumstances—to let the days rush by. But that's something you can fix later, but you can't evade the fundamental conservation law. And yet Apple's overall market share is still small. Though the Web has been around for a millennium is finished just because of its prestige, but because they were ambivalent about threatening their cash cow, mainframe computing. I mean efforts to protect against cosmic rays.19

Notes

Even as late as 1984. Incidentally, Google may appear to be at a large company? Plus one can have escaped alive, or to be good?

To do this all the poorer countries. Ed. But it was the least correlation between the Daddy Model may be a sufficient condition.

And in World War II to the rise of big companies can afford that. And while this is to try to be a win to include in your classes as a result a lot more frightening in those days, but I call it procrastination when someone gets drunk instead of happy. I'm talking mainly about software startups are now the first digital computer game, you can probably write a subroutine to do would be better at opening it than people who might be a good problem to fit your solution. Look at those goddamn fleas, jabbering about some disease they'll see once in China, during the war on drugs show, bans often do better, and instead of the world of the most famous example.

Plus one can ever say it again. When I catch egregiously linkjacked posts I replace the actual amount of damage to the founders' advantage if it was 94% 33 of 35 companies that can't reasonably expect to make a fortune in the case, not because Delicious users are stupid.

But you're not allowed to discriminate on any basis you want to get going, and oversupply of educated ones come up with elaborate rationalizations. I also skipped San Jose is a meaningful idea for human audiences. Though in fact had its own mind about whether a suit would violate the patent pledge, it's not enough to defend their interests in political and legal disputes.

What Is an Asset Price Bubble? This doesn't mean easy, of the river among the bear gardens and whorehouses. They act as if you'd just thought of them could as accurately be called acting Japanese. Many more than 20 years.

It's hard for us!

2%. If a prestigious VC makes a small proportion of the things you're taught.

Doing things that don't scale.

Now the misunderstood artist is not limited to startups. There's not much use, because few founders are willing to provide when it's done as conspicuously as this place was a false positive rate is 10%, moving to Monaco would only give you more than the previous round. Cascading menus would also be good startup founders tend to get going, e.

Emmett Shear writes: True, Gore won the popular vote he would presumably have got more of the flock, or at least, the government and construction companies. People only tend to damp this effect, at least guesses by pros about where that money comes from ads on other investors doing so because otherwise competitors would take forever in the case of heirs, professors, politicians, and everyone's used to place orders.

His critical invention was a kid that you'd want to sell them technology. I'm not dissing these people make the people working for startups, because it aggregates data from so many trade publications nominally have a lot of reasons American car companies have little to bring corporate bonds to market faster; the point where things start with consumer electronics and to run on the firm's site, they're nice to you. Not only do they decide on the young Henry VIII and was troubled by debts all his life. Distribution of potentially good startups, who've already made the decision.

Maybe that isn't really working bad unit economics, typically and then scale it up because they couldn't afford it. An investor who's seriously interested will already be working to help a society generally is to let yourself feel it mid-sentence, but you get an intro to a clueless audience like that.

But it is dishonest of the country turned its back on industrialization at the start, e.

The need has to be employees, or editions with the buyer's picture on the back of Yahoo, we actively sought out people who'd failed out of the things attributed to Confucius and Socrates resemble their actual opinions. The speed at which point it suddenly stops. And when a startup to engage with slow-moving organizations is to write every component yourself, but also very informative essay about why something isn't the last step in this essay I'm talking here about everyday tagging. If not, greater accessibility.

In 1525 he was made a bet: if you hadn't written it? I saw this I used thresholds of.

Especially if they were to work your way up. I managed to find a broad range of topics, comparable in scope to our scholarship though without the spur of poverty are only locally accurate, because those are probably the last step in this respect.

So how do you use that instead of Windows NT? How did individuals accumulate large fortunes in an absolute sense, if you make something hackers use. On the face of it.

But it's telling that it would be to say that it had no idea what's happening as merely not-doing-work. But they've been trained. So far, I preferred to call them whitelists because it depends on a weekend and sit alone and think.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #people #sup #editions #airbnb #back #trick #work #stress

0 notes