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mlem2460 · 28 days

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TC Notes

Livin' in the Overflow

Part 4

Optimism is not an option, it's an order

Michael Todd

does the time u spend w God last past the time u spend w God?

ur personal time w God should overflow into other parts of ur life

sidebar: i had Jesus tell me to shut up in a convo 1time & it felt very rude (completely deserved & i realized i was bein a hypocritical bish & He had me go back to apologize, but still....)

overflow = whatever u need, already there & available when u need it

I'm living in the overflow

the thought of order can become overwhelming

u dont need to get it all together, u just need to take a step in the right direction

journey w Jesus bout progression, not perfection

Philippians 4:8 NLT

And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable.

optimism is not an option, its an order

order don't happen in ur hands first, it happens in ur head

ur actions follow ur mindset

the church needs to be more optimistic; cause it aint an option, its an order

\\\ optimism = hopeful & confident bout the future/successful outcome of an something \\\

change of scenery w the same thoughts just give u a new tent for the same circus 🤡

if God came down in person to tell u His plan for u, would ur own thoughts kill the message before it could be received?

ur thoughts can be the assassination to ur ascension

dont let ur thoughts kill what God spoke life into

Phil 4:8 NLT

And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable.

ur thought life is ur responsibility & priority

part of living in the overflow, is already thinking in the overflow

u wanna get ur life in order so u can live in the overflow? start w optimism

this is not personality based

God has given us emotions & u r allowed to feel

but do not fix ur thoughts somewhere u dont want to be

do not fix ur thoughts somewhere/on something that u do not want to become ur life

\\\ God's not gonna fix ur thoughts \\\

supernatural optimism is not empty positivity

how can u have faith for something, if u dont first hope fpr it?

perfected pessimism doesnt protect u fr disappointment

there r people who have lost the fuel for faith, because they have stopped hoping

Hebrews 11:1 KJV

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Hebrews 11:6 NIV

Matthew 18:19-20

the church needs hope to fuel faith for miracles

it may not happen, but without hope? it cannot happen

Philippians 4:8 AMP

Finally, believers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable and worthy of respect, whatever is right and confirmed by God's word, whatever is pure and wholesome, whatever is lovely and brings peace, whatever is admirable and of good repute; if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think continually on these things [center your mind on them, and implant them in your heart].

God knows us & He knows we become drained focusing on things not of Him

ur faith walk is gonna require ur own discipline

at salvation God renews ur heart, but u still have the same brain

take responsibility for the thoughts/area that is hurting/harming u

or nothing changes

God's people: get ur hopes up

God's never needed us to hold up His name

if u do get disappointed? He can handle that

if it aint happen for u? kno He got a reason

ur mind is ur house & home

have u taken care of ur home?

would u tolerate intruders in ur home?

2 Corinthians 10:5 NKJV

...casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought i to captivity to the obedience of Christ,...

do not let ur thoughts kill the life God breathes into u & ur life

u cant stop a bird fr flying over ur head, but u can stop it fr making a nest there

i aint gon focus on the negative, but the everyday blessings & future promises

cast ur cares

fix ur thoughts

\\\ ur life becomes the fruit of ur thoughts \\\

my life today is the fruit of the thoughts i've constantly & consistently visited thru the past

\\\ the enemy would love to turn ur mind into a trap house \\\

lack of maintenance of ur mine (home) will allow the deterioration of it

a pretty house of the outside can still have rot on the inside

my God is a Restorer

if i welcome Him, He can renovate my home to restore its former glory

squatter laws: some places have passed laws that allow people that stay in an unattended property long enough to claim it as their own

u paid for it & u own it, but didnt take care of it & now someone who's been there so long can display rightful ownership of it

not another day in this mind

i have the mind of Christ

i have thoughts that glorify God & bring me into my purpose

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rainscribbles · 2 years

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Running Horses

Original Work | Alludes to forbidden romance between two women | No Warnings

Words: 1800 | Constructive criticism is welcome

A/N: This is my first published work ever! I'm really proud of it and the idea came late at night after I had finished watching 'Little Women' so I hope you enjoy!

Link for Bionic Reading

The train rattled and shook softly as it chugged along the train line. The groan and grunt of the wheels had become music to my ears. Every so often, the cart would jolt along the rough track, frightening the old, wealthy women sitting nearby. It was comical to watch as each time they almost flew, with how high they jumped.

The journey was not uncomfortable for me, years of train rides across country had weathered my body. Every odd movement and jolt of the train cart went virtually unnoticed by me as I scribbled in my journal.

It was a relatively cheap and small notebook. The cover was black, and leather bound with a tie that kept it firmly closed. I had recently bought it in the last town I stopped at. My last journal I had finished that week and my hands were itching for something to do.

My mother used to refer to my habits as ‘scribbling’. My handwriting is an unpleasant scrawl, but still relatively legible. Sketches of the world outside donned the margins of my work. Birds, horses, and interesting plants I spotted on my journey. It was never dull or void of life outside. Flowers bloomed and created bright, captivating scenery. You just had to stop long enough to admire it.

The countryside moved slowly along outside. Fields of green dotted with herds of farm animals appeared now and then, with the odd cow or horse chasing after the train until they were brought to a halt at the edge of their enclosures. They look free. It was a feeling I deemed unobtainable. They ran as if the edge of their enclosures were leagues away when, really; it was only a matter of metres. It was hope. Now that was a familiar feeling. Hope for a future outside of confinement. Hope for greener pastures.

The old saying goes: The grass is always greener on the other side. In many cases, I hesitate to agree. Sometimes the illusion of greener grass is just that – an illusion. Here, however, I am inclined to agree that the grass is indeed greener.��

The world I exist in now lacks in many things. Among them, resources for women to live their life to the fullest. Education on topics that could be useful in life—such as math, English or science—were rarely provided to women. If such an education was provided, it was only to the highest bidder. Or it is instruction on how to be the perfect wife.

Women are no more than objects of love and innocence. We can be the future of society. Yet, we are simply hidden behind the curtain. No matter how big or loud we make ourselves, we cannot be seen or heard. As a result, I often wonder about the possibilities of the future. What it would be like for my daughter and her daughter, and so on? I imagine that the opportunities would be limitless. She could become an engineer or a mathematician. She could shape the world and be sent down in history. She could truly be anything. But these are thoughts I would never dare say aloud. A woman’s place, at least now, is in the home. Silent and serving.

My racing thoughts were calmed as the train pulled into the newly opened Bewdley station—Platform 2. From my seat, I could see the stationmaster—Thomas Appleton—racing down the station blowing his whistle at all pitches and ensuring the train was clear for its slow departure. I was so entranced by his little dance that I did not notice when the door to my compartment slid open, and a lady took a seat across from me.

As the train began moving slowly from the station I turned back to my compartment, meaning to continue my scribbling.

When I turned my gaze back towards my immediate surroundings, I jumped like those old ladies. The lady was looking directly at me. She held a level, unmoving gaze. A veil obscured her eyes from my view, and in this moment, I longed to see them more than anything. They say the eyes are a window to the soul and I wished to gaze upon hers. Instead, I hastily shut my journal closed in a fleeting feeling of embarrassment.

I dared not move another muscle as she sized me up, surveying my appearance. My outfit had been hurriedly put together that morning. A rather cheap mauve dress made from bombazine that I had bought from an old woman sometime last week. I wore no jewellery – having pawned it off some time ago to afford a train ticket. Instead, I decorated the lapel of my dress with a beautiful violet.

Finally, her head tilted to the side, a slight and quick purse of the lips signalled an incoming question.

“The book,” she began, then seemed to think better of it and switched to gazing out the window. I took a chance to admire her vulnerability. She donned a black silk dress trimmed with crape. Her hands were adorned with three simple black rings spread out across both hands and a string of black pearls hung from her neck. Her auburn hair sat against her nape in a simple yet elegant bun, and stray pieces of hair framed her angular face as it was lit up by the setting sun. Most importantly, a small, purple violet was pinned to her lapel. Almost the same as my own. As she sat her foot lightly tapped against the cart floor, never off beat despite the rough movements of the train.

Oh, how I longed for a simple conversation with another like-minded human being. Another woman. This lady across from me seemed just the person I could converse with. How I knew that at the time I have no clue. Yet, I was so sure of myself. Even if she only seemed interested in taunting me with simple questions.

In that moment I cast aside all hopes of dignity. I was determined to get a conversation out of her. I refused to be a fleeting thought in her mind that mattered little in the grand scheme of things. This mysterious, elegant, and harsh lady would know me, of that, I was sure.

“The book?” I finally answered. My hands went to rest on the small journal in my lap. A method of storing my inner desires away behind more than a simple veil, an extension of my mind that possessed as much security as Buckingham Palace.

She tore her gaze away from the window, where a horse had begun to keep pace with the train with a gentle fluidity. Always graceful. Always gentle. Always elegant. Those eyes met mine again and, despite being hidden behind a veil, I felt my hair stand on end and a shiver run down my spine. Such power she held and all in a single gaze.

“What do you write in it?” she continued.

I was stunned into silence and elected instead to look at the ground, studying her, looking for a single flaw to pick out. There were none I could find. Despite the train's movement, her legs remained firmly tucked to the side, her feet crossed at the ankles. She was the perfect embodiment of grace and elegance, like a feather floating through the air. Unlike myself who had foregone a position of grace long ago in favour of not moving. Any appearance that I was put together had vanished the moment this lady entered my compartment. I was both disgusted and entranced by her.

“Well?” she asked again. This time her voice had more of an edge to it. I wasn’t as enamoured by it this time around. Her voice now urged me to answer her. “Anything, I suppose,” I hurried out. "When this is all over, I may write about you," I said.

My eyes widened in shock. Here I had just been, priding myself on concealing my thoughts, and this woman had ripped that pride to shreds in minutes. I moved to collect my journal and bid her farewell, ready to brave the jostling train rather than sit in embarrassed silence.

Just as I opened my mouth, I heard an unusual sound. Well, it wasn’t so unusual as no one had heard it before. More like it was never heard outside the home. And certainly not from ladies dressed in our attire.

A chuckle. A small chuckle had slipped past her lips. Despite my panic I had what I assumed to be a rare opportunity to see her hand shoot up to silence it. Why was that rare? It was an uncontrolled movement. Something that was not done with any calculation at all. I knew for a fact that was not something this lady did often. In my brief panic, I found myself laughing along with her.

“This behaviour is not becoming of a lady,” a voice in my head spoke. And yet, here was the embodiment of a lady! Chuckling along at my lack of grace and sophistication. Here was someone to prove you wrong!

When we calmed, a small smile remained present on her face, and I found myself smiling along with her. She turned to the window again and gazed out. Sometime during my panic, a horse had begun keeping pace alongside the train car. It ran steadily. The wind in its mane and hooves pounding against the earth. That familiar feeling of envy returned, and I hastily looked away.

I planned on reopening my journal to begin scribbling again until I noticed the lady. With a smile on her face, she was the embodiment of not only grace, but youth. The sun light shone on her face at just the right angle, creating the illusion that she was a child again. Her hair glistened in the light, and even her outfit seemed to shine brighter. It was as if the sun was in front of me and I was but a planet orbiting around her. I knew I would do anything for this woman to speak again.

Finally, she turned back to me. Her eyes glistened in the light, full of hope and beauty. Something that was rare today. I felt like I was on the edge of my seat. “When you do, be sure to give me auburn hair.”

With that, her smile faded, and she unlocked her ankles, rising gently from her seat. Her dress bore no wrinkles despite how long she had sat. She stole one more glance at me, and I at her. Desperate to commit her face to memory. Our eyes met, and a sad smile graced her face before she turned and exited the compartment.

With her, the light left, and the compartment sat in the shade once again. I noticed the jostle of the train cart again, losing my footing slightly before rectifying my posture. Now, the train seemed to creak as it moved along the tracks.

When I returned my gaze back to the window, the fields were barren. The horse had stopped running long ago.

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nadiamakesthings · 3 years

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Hybrid Note Taking Style

A note taking method that blends the best of paper and digital note taking that I’ve been exploring lately. So far it’s working really well for me :) Hope it helps!

Hybrid Note Taking Method

Problems with other note taking systems

Each note taking system has its pros and cons. Here are some of the problems I found with (fully) paper and (fully) digital note taking systems.

Paper

Can't use the search function on your notes.

Can't add images and other types of digital files easily.

Difficult to keep overview between notebooks.

Can't share these as easily as digital notes.

Digital

Not as 'romantic'.

Sometimes less engaging.

Lack of physical presence can lead to you forgetting about it.

Can be more difficult to do things like sketching, making schemes, making illustrations etc.

Benefits of Hybrid

I like using hybrid methods because they bring you the best of both worlds.

Easily searchable.

Information in your notes is traceable.

Makes it easier to find and carry out actions e.g. finding extra info.

Doesn't damage books.

Allows you to embed different types of files.

What you'll need

Source material (e.g. book, academic paper)

Any kind of notebook :)

Digital note-taking app → I like Notion (it's free).

Step 1 - Read & number the material

As you go, use a pencil to lightly put numbers into the margins whenever you deem something worthy of noting down or remembering. This will help you locate the source of specific parts of your notes later.

Step 2 - Write Q&A-style notes

Write the information down in question-and-answer style. Come up with useful questions that link to the material you want to remember (e.g. Q → What is the main problem with using platform-based planning for new ventures? A → Assumptions underlying the plan are used as fact rather than best-guess estimates to be tested and questioned). Use the numbers you placed in the margin of the pages to specify the source of the information you used for each answer.

Example → Chapter 1 page 27 note 3 becomes 1.p27.3

Step 3 - Write actions as you go (Supporting notes)

Supporting notes

Write down your thoughts, anything you're curious about, things you want to look up, things you're confused about, actions you've been inspired to do, etc. For example → ?m Maybe I can apply this to my visualization assignment? / ! Look up what 'plurality of the future' is / fex Organizational transformation through design. I find this a great way to support and manage the learning process.

Action key

Keep a small action key in which you have an overview of what your action marks mean (e.g. ?m→ questions to myself, f → find, fex → find example, ?? → I don't get it, ! → general actions)

Don't be afraid to customize your actions!

What you'll get

Actionable notes

Your paper notes will contain a structured and easy to read overview of actionable items that came up during the reading. This can be questions you need answered, reminders to find specific information, etc. This will make them a lot harder to forget to do!

Easily traceable sources

With the codes you'll be able to tell easily and quickly where the information you've written in your notes came from.

Searchable & review-ready notes

Notes will be (mostly) made in question-and-answer style. This will allow you to easily review using active recall. All you need to do is cover/hide the answer and you can check how well you truly know the material.

Thanks for reading!

#mypost #studyblr #studymethod #masterpost #bnistudies #note taking #notetaking #studying #notebook #notion #review #nadiamakesthings

5K notes · View notes

downywrites · 3 years

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Hello, bird is getting to everyone’s requests. Please hang on, your items will be delivered asap.

Enjoy this little drabble, beans! Love you all! /p

Ranboo(Lethe) gets a back massage from Nikki(Nemesis).

Nikki was very used to helping people when they needed it, regardless of whether or not they asked for her help or not. The smiles that lit up their face made the toil worth it, no matter how small or fleeting that smile was. She loved the feeling of love. Soft, warm, fluffy like the soft curves of her famous loaves of sweet bread. .But love was fleeting. Change was imminent. Soon, her soft, warm bread went from something akin to a gift to the people to something the people expected of her. The love she so desperately seeked drained from the place. She felt lonely in the crowd, a source of love that seemed to be infinite to the people who so desperately craved it. Soon, her love ran dry. She wasted away, feeling less and less whole every day. She lashed out, hurt people she didn’t want to hurt, made people cry when all she wanted was to make people’s tears run dry. All she ever wanted was love, full, mutual, trusting love. But there was none where she searched. All of her ventures left her beaten and broken, forcing her to return to the land where bombs and bows were the norm, not the exception. Where swords were drawn over the slightest encroaching of anyone’s boundaries. Where blood moistened the ground more than pure, fresh water. She was tired of it.

So she left.

She cast aside her name during the bloodshed she was forced to cause, forced to enable, in order to end the never ending cycle that the people followed. She cast aside the memories, the thoughts of love and warmth and cookies, for the sake of the iron tang of blood and victory, the feeling of accomplishment and rush she felt when she rode into battle. She cast aside her old baker’s apron for one that she washed nightly to rid it of the tears and blood of her enemies.

She rose again from the ashes of the baker’s oven, wings of fire and fury glowing like hot coals rebirthed sprouting from her back. In her ex-friend’s eyes, she was a monster. She was terrifying, something too wild to tame and too strong and smart to fool. But, to her allies, she was a powerful creature, a person so strong, she could fell an entire army with a single sword and a burning, all consuming rage.

That didn’t mean she didn’t remember her past, though.

She sat on the windowsill of the stronghold they had been calling their home, wind whistling by her ear as she stared at the twinkling, shimmering stars. Her teammates had built in above and below ground, making sure that the area was fully protected from any attacks made by the enemy groups of the government. Her gossamer cape flowed behind her, sunset-orange and beautiful against the dark clothes she wore to blend in with the environment, at least a little. She adjusted her glasses to look closer at a certain cluster, before penning down a general shape in a small notebook beside her. The wind played with her hair and the pages of the notebook, making her clutch the pages tightly as particularly strong breezes racked the area. Her bleached hair fluttered slightly into her face, making her shift her face to the side a little. She huffed in slight annoyance at the disruption in her work, but continued to map out a general shape of the stars. Nibbling at the end of the quill, she dipped its tip into a well of blood red ink, careful not to get any on the stones. No need to make Techno lose any sleep. Nikki heard the sound of claws scraping against the hewn stone bricks, tensing up instinctually. The footsteps stopped almost immediately, giving her good reason to think of a few specific people up at such an ungodly time.

“Hmm, is that Ranboo or Techno up at this time? I don’t think any other hybrids would be up so late- er, so early.” She patted the side of the area not covered by her parchment and work. “Take a seat, dear. Star-gazing can help take your mind off of things.” A enderspeak-warbled voice echoed behind her. “I would, but...my muscles hurt a lot, and...I guess it kept me up?” Ah, Ranboo. He didn’t seem like much to most people, but the Syndicate saw his worth the second the man teleported in and out of one of the most respected facilities and grabbed Dream’s mask from the top of the pedestal, all without tripping off a single trap. (Granted, he forgot why he needed it in the first place, and tried to keep it for himself due to his confusion with the object once he came back. They still counted it as a win.) Even then, Ranboo was not a threat, no matter how hard he tried.

Nikki sighed, soft voice hinting a slight smile. “Oh? Muscles are hurting? Now that’s a first.” She turned around, looking into the shadows to look for the slightest bit of off-white. A shift in the left side of her eyes made her focus on the spot, trying to see the enderman through the inky blackness without making him startle. Ranboo immediately backtracked. “D-don’t worry about me, though. It’s not your problem- I’m so sorry for intruding on your peace, I’ll just see myself out.” He backed away, slowly losing his shape in the shadows. “Wait, Lethe.”

Ranboo went stock still in the depths of the darkness. “I can give you a massage. I used to do that for people back in L’manberg! Besides, I needed to stop focusing on those silly clumps for a tiny bit, anyways.” She swung her legs onto the floor, scuffing her shoes on the cold, icy ground. She winced at the change in temperature, already wishing for the semi-warm winds of the nearby desert again, but she ignored the nagging wish in favor of flicking the nearest lever to her person. The lights flickered on, casting the whole hallway in a burst of warm, soft lighting, Even though the lights were relatively dim, both Nikki and Ranboo winced, shielding their eyes from the piercing white flash.

“Ow.”

Once the ivory light dimmed to a soft, gentle color, Nikki gently grabbed the enderman’s arm, careful not to grab at his fragile claws. The bi-colored hybrid yelped, eyes still trying to focus on the shape in front of him. “H-hey!”

Nikki didn’t even glance back at the stumbling man. “I found Phil’s grooming area a while ago. I think we can use that to massage your muscles in some nice positions, okay? I won’t slam you into a wall, trust me.”

From the way Ranboo’s slitted pupils flicked to the side, he wasn’t too sure, but he followed along anyways. Nikki stifled a giggle at the semi-nervous look on the obviously taller person. What does he have to be afraid of? It’s just her. She steered the two of them into a large, softly-styled room.

Dimming the lights as to make it more comfortable for the enderman hybrid, she tugged her ally onto the cushioned platform in the middle. She glanced around, scanning for items she could use to relax his muscles. Dozens of tools lay scattered all over the soft, padded floor. She walked slowly over to one specific pile, feet bouncing slightly off of the bouncy fabric on the floor as she did so. `Kneeling down carefully, as to not aggravate her own sore muscles, she picked up a few tools she deemed were useful to her endeavor.

From across the room, Ranboo’s tail swished nervously from side to side, almost afraid of the shadows of her figure dancing in the light of the redstone-powered lamps. “A-are you sure we’re allowed to be in here?” Small warbles of fear laced his voice. Nikki sighed patiently. “Yes, it’s fine.” She returned to his side, guiding him onto his back. The enderman hybrid vwooped quietly, eyes flitting back and forth on the objects he could still see. “You’re sure we can do this. Like, really, really sure?” She didn’t even reply to that one, rolling her eyes from behind him.

That was one thing she never could understand about the boy. He could literally kill anyone he wanted with his claws, tear muscle and flesh apart like it was nothing. He could claw and bite and scratch until all around him were bloody and broken from his onslaught. He could simply screech, and nobody would be able to stand long enough to get in his way.

Yet he didn’t.

Ironically, and almost eerily like her, he loved to make people happy. He stumbled over himself to keep others safe and satisfied, even injuring himself badly to create a new axe for techno when his went missing. He loved his people, even when they failed to love him back. He kept on giving and giving, just like her. Yet he persevered in it. She almost wanted to ask him how he did it. She could, if she wanted to. He was right there, in front of her. If she could only open her mouth to ask.. No. She turned her head away slightly. “Nikki?” She turned back to see him glancing back at her, heterochromatic eyes slitting with worry. “Is something wrong? I can get up, if you want me to. I’m so sorry for bother-”

“No!..I mean, no, don’t leave. It’s okay, I just had...a flashback, of sorts.” Ranboo nodded, head movements limited by his positioning on the cushion. She moved closer, tools lying on the side of the table beside the cushion. A part of her wanted to ask where they came from. Did she do that? Prime if she knew. She was too tired to think about it, too tired to notice that she didn’t place it there herself. Nikki slowly started rubbing the backs of her hands against the tense muscles on the enderman’s shoulders, moving in small circles as she did so. As she put more and more pressure on the taut muscles, they began to relax under her careful eye. The effort it took to make just the tops of his shoulders relax was monumental for the smaller warrior, but the sighs of relief from Ranboo made it all worthwhile to her. She smiled slightly, empathetic side of her soaking in a similar amount of happiness. Her arms moved downwards of their own accord. She let her muscle memory do the talking, allowing her mind to wander away. In a haze of softened focus and the sweet, sweet scent of chorus fruit wafting in the air, she bathed in the calmness and the warmth of the situation.

It was almost pleasant to feel the boy’s muscles give way underneath her. Almost, being the key word. The slight amounts of pressure she had to keep on Ranboo at all times to keep him from teleporting away was the only thing keeping her grounded. All the same, she enjoyed his company. He never really spoke much outside of small, casual conversations, leading to comfortable stretches of silence between them. Personally, Nikki loved it. If she could, she’d love to have the team lounge about together. She knew it would be the most quality time she would ever get with a group of people who respect her for more than her baked goods. Nevertheless, she knew it was nigh impossible. When one side of the team was awake, the other was asleep. When all of them were around, they would all be in separate rooms. When they were all in the same place, they always had to go out to get new supplies, or fight off another horde of fools. Nikki longed to have more time with them, but… thus was their life. She-they chose it. She wouldn’t trade it for the world, even though there were a great many downsides to- “Ah- Nihikki!”

Nikki snapped back into focus, worry coloring her words. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?” His tail curled around her arm, wagging slightly. Wait, wagging? She pushed gently at the spot that elicited the reaction, getting a similar squeak and a giggle. Oh. Nikki processed the information for a moment more, before snapping back to attention again. “Ranboo, are you, by any chance, ticklish?” Ranboo’s whole body froze, even his tail. “U-Uhhh….Would you believe me if I said no?” She tutted slightly. “Hmm, no, I don’t think so.” She moved her hands lower, delighting in the fact that the enderman had to bite his lip in order to keep all of the giggles in. His ears and tail flicked slightly, broadcasting how much he actually enjoyed it, even though he tried to protest every time she slowed down her testing for even a moment. “Why are you hiding you little giggles? I just want you to be happy, little enderboo!” At the nickname, the poor boy melted, small little warped giggles escaping. She stopped massaging in favor of lightly scratching all over his back, giggling softly herself when she felt his tail wiggle slightly because of the change. “Coochie coo, cutie pie! Giggle for me, dearie!” Ranboo couldn’t hold it in anymore. His giggles increased in volume and in pitch as she scratched at his lower back, tail unwinding and wagging from side to side in mirth. “Ehihihi! Nihihikkihihi!”

She cooed softly at him, enjoying his flustered whimpering and high-pitched giggles that starkly contrasted the low, deep voice her ally normally had. She found it even more endearing that, even though she couldn’t see the whole of his face, she knew that he was flushed a deep plum all over his cheeks and ears. “What’s the matter, Ranboo? Are you okay? You look a little...plum, if I may!” Ranboo groaned through his laughter. “Nihihikki! Nohoho puhuhuns…” “Oh, no Punz, you say? Of course there’s no Punz! You think that greedy pink piggy would want to come out to see us at this time of night?” At that, Ranboo’s squirming increased, forcing Nikki to pin him down further into the cushion with one of her hands. “You know, if you keep struggling like this, I may have to bring out the heavy-duty tools.” Ranboo shuddered violently, blush deepening at her words. “Unless, of course, you can keep your arms up for me~” She rolled him over, careful not to tense up the relaxed muscles by moving him around violently

. As his deep purple blush was revealed to the cooing baker, Ranboo’s hands twitched, having to fight the urge to simply curl up into a little duochromatic ball and avoid all contact from the other in a bid to keep his last shreds of dignity intact. But Nikki’s command, albeit concealed by soft, loving almond eyes and a sugar-sweet tone, was final, and he knew it. He chose to turn his head to the side instead, ears twitching madly in equal parts embarrassment and joy. Nikki took a step back from the cushion, looking down at her feet to avoid the enderman’s swishing tail. Watching to make sure her little victim didn’t escape while her back was turned, she picked up a small set of preening tools, all intended for other purposes. She would have to make do; after all, most people didn’t have a set of perfect grooming tools for the soft, almost silky fur of an enderman hybrid such as Ranboo.

Especially not him himself. No, that altruistic enderman refused to take care of himself. He refused to take dust baths or lava baths, saying that it was ‘too much to ask’ of them to give him some sand or a fire resistance potion (and some privacy). He refused to use Phil’s preening brushes, insisting that ‘enderman fur don’t get as gunked up as wing feathers’. Yeah, right. Even as she moved back towards the trembling, whimpering hybrid, she knew that brushing his fur would be a real challenge. The only way she was going to get the whole of his back and sides, along with his legs and tail, would be with his full cooperation. And boy, even though he could be a real pushover, he somehow always ended up refusing help at the very last minute, She sighed, resigning herself to a very, very long night.

Haha I just speedran this fic feeling good :3

#dsmp tickle #mcyt tickle #lee!ranboo #ler!nikki #My writing #downywrites #i am trying to get through my inbox :3 #tickle fic #sfw tickling

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hitsuackerman · 4 years

Text

Soom Meetings (Hawks x Reader) nsfw

Prompt: Its quarantine time. You were preparing for a video conference with a few other heroes. Hawks, being the cheeky bird that he is, has other plans for both of you

Warnings: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), cursing

a/n: this entered my mind since we have to do online meetings w/c are a pain in the ass huhuhu i just thought, what would Hawks do if he were added into the mix? Enjoy my self indulgence xD

Masterlist to my other fics :) here

Taking a sip of your coffee, you couldn’t help but stare blindly into space. It was quite early, at least for you. On a normal day, you would wake up at 10am. Gotta get that full 5 hour sleep heroes dream of. Today would mark the 80th day of quarantine and things were not going well.

The bitter goodness your coffee had to offer now began to circulate your system. The stinging sensation your eyes felt with each blink slowly went away. Yawning somewhat made things a little more tolerable. Staring at the view of your glass windows, you savored the clear blue skies and silence your unit had to offer.

At least for now.

With the steaming cup of coffee in your hand, you tiptoed to your room. A ghost of a smile on your face.

Slowly opening the door, you creeped closer to your bed. Careful not to step on any of the feathers scattered on the floor. Eyes darting to the messed up sheets, crimson wings spread out flat as his back rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His arm hanging limply on the edge of the bed.

Gently, you lifted one of his larger feathers and made space for you to sit down. His hair as messy as always. The tufts of hair splayed all over the pillow. Not a sign of stress on his sleeping face. Unconsciously, your finger began to trace his jaw.

His wings began to crest and his feathers began to fluff up. His hanging hand now blindly searched for you. When he felt the soft skin your thigh had to offer, you quickly placed the cup on the bedside table and waited for him to make his move.

A small squeak left your mouth when he easily maneuvered you back into bed. Bare arms snaking your waist as his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Legs beginning to tangle with each other. One wing now protectively resting above you. There was no doubt in your mind. You adored mornings like this.

“Well, good morning to you.” You ran your fingers through his hair. The feeling of him tightening his hold on you felt lovely.

“I have to admit,” His voice was still raspy. Deep. “This quarantine makes me thankful. I get to spend more time with my favorite hero.”

“Oh… I’m your favorite hero?”

“Fishing for comments?”

“Perhaps.” You giggled. “You are ranked higher than me, though.”

“That doesn’t matter, Lovebird.” He chirped. “You're a rank below me yet you're underground. That’s literally an impossible feat.”

“I honestly don’t know how that happened.” Drawing circles on his back, he let out a satisfied hum. His eyelashes tickled your skin. Hawks was fully awake now.

“Well, we don’t have any patrols scheduled for today.” He shifted his position. Placing himself between your legs you willingly opened. His hands slowly grabbed your wrist and pinned them just above your head. Bringing himself closer to you, he began to trace the tip of his nose on your neck. “How about we continue where we left off last night, eh?”

The sudden grinding of his hip along your accumulating heat was enough to make you wrap your legs around his waist. Tilting your head, Hawks growled a tiny bit before sucking on your tender skin. As he sucked on your skin, he interlaced his fingers with yours.

His morning wood rather evident. He pushed himself on your clothed entrance. Lazy morning sex was something you would want. Hell. Just feeling Hawks inside you was something you would definitely want. BUT, you couldn’t.

“As much as I’d like you to fuck me lazily in the morning,” You managed to free your hand and pushed him away. Your foot resting on his chest, keeping his lust filled eyes at bay. He was pouting and this only made things worse. “I have a meeting in 20 minutes.”

Holding your ankles, he placed your leg on his shoulder and went back to his previous position. His chest now touching yours. His trademark smirk resting on his lip.

“I’m sure you can just turn your video off, baby~” He nibbled on your lower lip and grinded his hips once more. “Or we can just give them a show.”

Hawks felt a tugging sensation on his chest. He knew you were using your quirk on him. The next thing he knew, he was floating away from the bed. Your fingertips emitting a mahogany glow. Placing him on the chair, you sat on your knees and smiled. Acting all innocent.

“We can do that later.” You stood up and went to the closet. Feeling his eyes following your every movement. You took out your hero costume’s leather jacket and white shirt dress. Used to his stare, you changed in front of him.

“You’ll regret teasing me, chickadee.” He threatened. He stood up and walked towards you. Buttoning your shirt when he was inches away from you. His hot breath brushing your face. When he finished, his hands began to wander your curves as you put on your jacket. “Better watch out, Number 3.”

This man would be the death of you. The way he smoothly held on to your chin while giving you a deep kiss was enough to make you weak. Screw the meeting, that’s what you thought, but this was an ‘important’ one based on the email.

“I’ll be in my office, Number 2.” You booped his nose and went your way. He did, however, smack your bare ass when you turned around. For a second, you played with the thought of grabbing a pair of his boxers but, nah. It would be a lie if you weren’t curious what his antics would be later.

Opening the doors (and leaving them ajar), you immediately went to your PC and prepared everything. When your wallpaper finally appeared, you blushed at the sight. It was one of your first photos with Hawks. Taken approximately 4 years ago.

Opening the Soom app, you let out a silent groan. Everyone was now online and currently waiting for the host to start the meeting. There were 8 green dots. A bunch of heroes that you were in charge of. Edgeshot being one of them.

The meeting was a simple one. A briefing for an upcoming mission to come in 3 months. As to why they chose this online platform still baffles your mind. Your eyes darted to the door when a stray feather began to float it and wander around your office. Right when you were about to call for Hawks, the call for the meeting began.

Straightening yourself, you put on your game face and observed each of the participants. The feeling of weight being slowly added onto your shoulders crept in. Somehow, you had managed to let the spotlight land on you. Because of that, you were given more missions despite not being tied to any agencies.

Teamwork was never your forte. But safety was. You always managed to coax yourself into being a team player by making sure each of them were far from harm.

As the minutes dragged by, the familiar pop of yellow peeked inside your office. Raising a brow, he took that as an invitation and led himself in. A plate of chicken nuggets on his hand. Looking at his wings, you saw how there were barely any feathers. Just the small soft ones.

Your eyes widened when he was just about to walk into your camera’s view.

“Is something wrong, (hero name)?” Fatgum asked. His voice cutting the meeting. All eyes were on your video now. The corner of your eye twitched when Hawks moved your notebooks aside and sat down. One knee resting on top of the other.

“Nothing.” You faked a smile and your professional tone back. People were still clueless that you and Hawks were dating. The two of you had to thank you being an underground hero for that. “Please proceed.”

The meeting continued and this time you made sure you were on mute before opening your mouth.

“Whatever it is… do NOT.” You scolded him. Eyes not wavering from the call. But, your arm was extended just enough for you to pinch his thigh. The little wince of pain was enough to make you content.

“Shouldn’t have done that, love nugget.” He took the wandering feather and made it hover around his finger. Instructing the small feather to creep behind your back, the small red thing did its job.

Your breath hitched when the feather brushed your exposed nape. Your body shivered as the feather did small back and forth movements. Yet, in the video, the feather was small enough to be deemed as non-existent. Clenching your fists, you tried not to be bothered by the sensually soft touches Hawks gave indirectly.

Hawks was now walking away from you. The feather still doing its job. Your eyes were focused but he knew your peripheral vision was on him. Perfect, he thought. Now he was situated across from you. The same playful smirk on his lip. Lifting his hand, he motioned that he would keep his mouth shut.

You knew too well he was playful, cocky, and a tease. So when he began to take his shirt off, your eyes darted to his little strip show. It was not helping one bit that he was flexing his toned muscles. Your throat was definitely dry.

“So what are your thoughts about the plan, (hero name)?” Edgeshot asked. There was no response and all they could see was you and your eyes focusing somewhere else. “(hero name)?”

“YES!” You snapped back. Clearing your throat. “I think the plan looks alright. The division among heroes is compatible. But I am con-”

You jumped from your seat a tiny bit. Your hands held on to the edge of your desk. The feeling of his hands running up and down your thigh was making your core heat up. Having caught you off guard, Hawks managed to pry open your legs. His golden eyes clearly teasing you from under the table.

“I’m, uh, concerned about the entry?” Your hand now held on to his messy hair. Hoping that he wouldn’t go any further than that. The regret of not getting his boxers now flooded your system. Only being in your panties made things much easier for him. You were now biting your tongue and tried to even your breathing.

Hawks was now kissing your inner thighs. Poking his tongue out, he trailed it all the way to the hem of your panties. His teeth tugging the hem and releasing it with a snap. Seeing your jaw tighten and your chest heaving, it only encouraged him.

His finger now began to slide up and down on your panties. A wet spot indicating that you were turned on with his advancement. Spreading your legs further apart, another feather came swooping in and landed straight into his hand. Using the tip, he began to brush it on your skin. The grip you had on his head shattered.

Using the feather, he sliced the corners of your panties. Looking down at him, you gave him a small pout. One not noticeable to those on the video. You liked those panties and now he just had to slice em. It was still hot though, no denying that.

“Holy shit~ Keigo~” Thank quirks your mic was on mute. Feeling his tongue lick your entrance made you push your back to the chair. Blinking away the urge to end the meeting and have him take you on your office table. Which, come to think of it, has never happened.

It was pretty evident that your cheeks were now pink and your eyes hazy. When he sucked on your swelling clit, you fisted some of his hair. Only pushing him and telling him to continue.

“Now that we’ve got that cleared. (hero name). We suggest that you hold another meeting to run through the details.” The chairperson said.

“Fuck, yeah.” It was more breathy than you intended. You mentally slapped yourself.

Both Hawks and your eyes widened. This was getting too interesting for the winged hero. Wanting to push it more, he inserted his middle finger and began to pump slowly. His teeth began nibbling on your lower lips and clit alternatively.

“What I meant to say was, yeah.” Your face was a blushing mess but stoic in their eyes. “Forgive the language. I was rather excited and pumped up.”

“Pumped…” Hawks whispered with a small chuckle. Sucking on your clit one more time, he inserted two fingers. His pace a little faster. Using his free hand, he trailed under your shirt and squeezed on your breast, tugging your hardened nipple.

Releasing the grip your right hand had on his head, you slammed the mute button once more.

“Fuck!” You covered your mouth and hoped they saw it as a cough. “Holyshitholyshitholyshit!”

Your back was now glued to the back of the chair. Lowering your body a bit, you gave him easier access and he happily licked and sucked your engorged clit some more. Knowing the mute button was doing its magic, he too let out a moan. He was starting to become frustrated. The throbbing sensation in his caged cock was getting out of control.

“When will that meeting be over, baby?” He asked. His fingers doing the work for him as he palmed his cock. His eyes blew up with lust.

“Shh…” You reassured him. Meeting his gaze, you gave a soft smile. “It’s almost over.”

With hints of frustration, he fully exited his fingers away from your wet pussy. Licking the juices off his fingers, he crawled out from under your desk. All he wanted to do now was to show himself in the video and put an end to his suffering. Taking his boxers off, he stuck his tongue out and tossed it over your head.

No one noticed it except for one.

Your chat box pinged and you opened it.

MT. LADY: GIRL! WTF WERE THOSE BOXERS?!

(h/n): Are you seeing things, Yu? :p

MY. LADY: Dont think I didnt see yer face. Im not as blind as the others. Who? Do i know him? You dating someone? How did i not see this coming?!

(h/n): Hmm… ;)

That’s all you replied and you closed the chat. Your eyes traveled to Hawks, who was now hovering behind your monitor. Palming his throbbing member. Winking at your flustered face.

“C’mon baby bird…” He mouthed. He wiped a fake tear away from his eye.

Finally, the chairperson spoke and wrapped things up. When he finally dismissed the meeting you practically left the room without saying farewell. Pushing your chair back, you opened your arms and immediately felt his warm body against yours.

Both your lips crashed into each other. It was the perfect definition of a hot, steamy, and messy make out session. Lifting you up, he placed you on your desk. Your hands pushing any obstacles that lay in your path. Quickly taking your jacket off, you tilted your head as Hawks began to leave a trail of kisses and hickeys.

Impatience won and the winged hero practically ripped apart your shirt. Pushing both your bodies, you felt the cold surface touch your back.

A loud moan escaped your mouth as he began to suck and nibble on your hardened bud. His other hand entering your wet hole. 2 fingers in while his thumb rubbed circles on your clit.

“I want you now, Keigo…” You whimpered as he began moving downwards. Leaving behind sloppy kisses till he reached your abdomen. Taking his fingers out, he used the juice and began spreading it on his cock.

Teasing you with the tip, he brushed it against your clit. Your legs instinctevely wrapped around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer. Before he would put himself in you, he glanced at the door and red blurs came swarming in. Attaching them to the base of his wings. Once all of them were in place, he stretched them to their full span. He knew you were always turned on when his plumage was full while he made love to you.

Resting his elbow beside your head, he gave you a deep kiss. His tongue asking for entrance as he slowly slid himself in. Your back arched with pleasure as he nibbled on your lower lip. Your wet hungry pussy feeling full from his shaft.

Roaming hands found their way to the base of his wings. Giving them a bit of massage before digging your nails into his skin. He let out a growl mid-kiss. Thrusting harder, he earned a loud moan from you. The kind of moan that immediately pushed him to the edges.

His hands found their way to your hips. His grip firm, keeping you in place as he began thrusting into you faster and deeper. The carnal look in his golden eyes slowly ate the coil in your stomach away.

Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. The hickeys now fully visible. The only sound inside your office were the sounds of skin slapping against each other, moans, pants, and loud cursing from sheer pleasure.

“Kei…” You were close and you were not sure how long you could last. “Fuck~ Harder, baby~”

Placing the bend of your knee on his shoulders, he leaned closer towards you and kissed you once more. His thrust much more deeper and he felt his cock twitching. His sinful mouth found its way to your earlobe. Tugging it ever so slightly and nibbling on it.

“Cum for me, Pro-Hero #3.” He whispered. “Show me just how much I can break your walls.”

The last thrust he gave you snapped. You nails dug into his skin while your legs pushed him in even deeper. A wave of heat began to flood your body. Each thrust Hawks did as he rode out your orgasm made your body shudder. Not soon after, Hawks grunted and bit down your neck as he let his twitching cock release inside you. Feeling your pussy milking his cum was overwhelmingly delicious.

Collapsing on top of you, he chuckled.

“You need to have more online conferences, nugget.” He lifted his head and peppered your face with light, feathery kisses. The afterglow evident on your blushing smiling face. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Keigo.” Your leg began brushing his. “Shall we prepare lunch?”

The two of you shared a giggle as his feathers flew out of the room to get some towels and clothes. In your mind, you were already plotting your revenge. Two could definitely play this game.

#hawks #wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #mha hawks #bnha hawks

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falsegoodnight · 3 years

Note

hi! not sure if you’ve ever talked about this before, but do you have a specific writing process you follow when you write fics?? i’d love to hear about it if you do :)) love your fics so much!!! (p.s. feel free to ignore this if you don’t want to/don’t feel comfortable talking about it!)

hiiii! first of all, i’m really glad you like my fics! thank you for reading them :) and for my writing process: i think i have talked about it a couple times but i do plan on making a thorough and detailed post describing my writing process but i’m lazy so it keeps getting put off! for now, i’m copy & posting what i said for an old ask where i split it into stages and described how long each one took (+ new notes!!)

(under the cut because i ramble)

1) idea/brainstorm

i tend to get ideas from other subject matter such as books, tv shows, movies, music, etcetera just like most people but i also get a lot of fic ideas in dreams. those actually tend to be the best ones, in my opinion. and once i get an idea and it won’t leave my brain for a bit, i open up a notebook page or my notes app and write down everything i can about it (the general gist, anything specific i dreamt/wanted, etc). sometimes i’ll even write out a scene if i can’t stop thinking about it. in fact, i’ve based an entire fic around one written scene more than once in the past.

if i’m super excited, i usually end up blurting out the idea to a friend and there’s just something about explaining an idea to someone else that has you fleshing it out and building upon it and then suddenly you’re even more excited than before--

2) outlining

this actually tends to be a relatively quick stage for me! for the most part, once i get an idea and i get inspired, the story just comes together! there may be gaps but i don’t worry about them yet - i just start my character profiles and a scene list! my outlines tend to be pretty detailed but they can range from around 1k to up to 5k depending on the complexity of the story, characters, and whether any worldbuilding needs to be done. and every story is different - some i just have fleshed out in my head already so i don’t need to work it out on paper (or, on screen, i guess) and others i need to plan out every last detail or else my brain gets too muddled trying to sort everything out. and in my experience: the longer the outline, the longer the fic.

i’d say typically this takes around a couple hours (for the basic outline) but i always come back to my outline frequently even when drafting, changing and tweaking things or adding/cutting things. outlines are fluid! they’re meant to change and alter with new ideas and different directions :)

[edit: i’m just quickly going to add a:

3.5) research

this isn’t for every fic but sometimes a story i want to write involves something i don’t have a lot of knowledge/experience for and so i always make sure to research the topic as best as i can in order to portray it as accurately as possible. of course, this is fanfiction and no one is going to grade you on how credible everything is (and they shouldn’t!! this is all for fun!!) but i personally really enjoy the research aspect of writing and getting to learn about things i normally wouldn’t ever get the chance to. i’m currently writing a fic that’s required so much research (i have pages of notes; it’s ridiculous) and i’ve been having a lot of fun with it!! i also want to make a post about this but the main thing i try to do is find experts, whether that be from expert sources or from experts themselves on platforms such as youtube, specific websites, or even reddit and quora. the best way to learn is to learn from someone else who knows it well]

3) drafting

as expected, this stage definitely takes the longest. i’d say my average for writing days (as in, only counting days where i write) is around 2-3k or maybe 4k. on a really good day, i can write 6-8k (edit: haven’t done that in a hot second haha). the biggest streak i’ve had was when i wrote 40k in 4 days (ie: before we knew, which i posted the same day i finished, of course) but that is very uncommon, obviously.

so it all depends on the length of the fic and the type of story for how long drafting takes but i’d say majority of my fics were written either in a week (these are the shorter ones, just to clarify) or in a few weeks depending on length. one of my 50k+ fics was written in exactly 25 days (that sounds a bit like Nanawrimo but it was october) and then on the other hand, a fic that ended up at 30k-ish took me months to write - part of that was just that i wasn’t prioritizing it, but i also just struggled a lot with it.

(edit: so just to elaborate a bit more with challenges that are typically faced in this stage - there’ll be times where i get stuck on a scene or lose motivation and then i typically jump around and move to a different scene that i feel more excited about. that’s what’s so helpful with outlines: they let me switch between different points of the story without getting everything jumbled or creating hordes of plot holes and inconsistencies. for more on things i do to help me write more, i answered this ask a while ago. also if i get stuck plot-wise, then i often consult a fellow writing friend or go back to my outline to work it out)

4) beta stage

i have two very lovely people who beta for me: @soldouthaz and my friend chelsea who does not have a tumblr :( (edit: she does now!! @kittenlouis :D) i’d say they’re both pretty fast, finishing in a couple days when i need them to! but again, it depends on the fic/length/other circumstances. they’re really good at catching my embarrassing typos and giving me feedback when i ask (edit: i tend to leave questions in the form of comments on google docs if i want specific input or feedback and it’s really helpful)

honestly i really don’t reread/revise my own work (i actually sort of did for my second blff though since i had the extra time so we’ll see if it pays off!) (edit: i think it did!) but when i go through the edits from sarah and chelsea, i do typically end up skimming scenes and making changes that i deem necessary. i do highly suggest self-editing to anyone else though because it only ever makes the story better, never hurts it. i need to get better at it myself.

i hope this gives you some sort of idea of my writing process even though it’s sort of a mess. feel free to ask more questions if you want me to extrapolate/elaborate anything. i wish you all the best!

#asks #writing advice #my writing tips #writing

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dragon-kazansky · 4 years

Text

A rose in shadows - Chapter seven

Chapter 7 - The game is on

When you had bid John and Mary goodbye and watched them go their own way to change and catch their train for their honeymoon, you headed back to the flat with Mrs. Hudson and Gladstone. You smiled as Mrs. Hudson left to make you a cup of tea. You took Gladstone upstairs, promising to take good care of him until John and Mary returned. You let him off his leash and followed him into the flat.

With the wedding over, you changed into something more simple and comfortable for the rest of the evening. You sat down in Sherlock's armchair by the window and reached for your little notebook. Inside were little notes and paragraphs of your days in Baker Street. John kept his own journal of adventures with Sherlock, so you were inspired to write your own, though not quite as in depth as John's.

Gladstone made himself comfortable by your feet. You smiled at him and began to write down about the wedding. Mrs. Hudson brought up your tea and placed it on the table beside you. You thanked her and watched her leave you alone once more.

When you were done writing, and your cup was empty, you most have dozed off, for you were woken by light shaking at your shoulders.

"Y/N, my dear, we don't have time to waste."

You blinked your eyes open and took a moment to gather your thoughts. Sherlock was crouched over you, a hand resting on your arm and a smile on his face.

"Sherlock? You're back! I'm sorry, I must have been more tired than I thought."

"No need to apologise, but we must hurry. What time is Watson's train leaving?" He got up and hurried across the room, taking off his suit from the wedding. You got up quickly.

"Uh, I think it leaves in about an hour, give or take." You watched him rush about the apartment. "Sherlock? What's happening? What's going on?"

Sherlock stops. His back his facing you and he's gripping something in his hand. You approach him quietly and come to stand in front of him. Sherlock turns to face you, his eyes seemingly lost. You gaze down at his hand as he holds out to you. You reach out slowly and take the handkerchief from him. You feel a chill run down your spine as you turn it over and see the initials on it.... and the blood stain.

"Oh... Sherlock.... Is she...?"

Sherlock covers the handkerchief with his hand and looks you in the eye. He uses his other hand to make you look up at him.

"I have to protect you and John."

"Sherlock-"

"The game has begun. I cannot afford to lose."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and waste no time wrapping your arms around Sherlock, pulling him for a hug. It had been a long time since you had last done this with him. He missed your warmth, not that he would ever admit to that. His arms wrapped around you and he pulled you close to him, savouring the moment.

Really, there wasn't time for this, but he couldn't let this moment slip him by.

"Come on, we better get ready." You say quietly in his ear.

"Right, get changed. We have a train to catch."

You pull away from him and nod, hurrying to change clothes. Sherlock needed you and you were not about to let him down. Especially where John was concerned.

You changed into a pair of grey trousers, a blouse, a jacket to match the trousers and put on a hat. There was no doubt with Sherlock that there would be running involved. Just as you finished adding the final touches, you turned around and came to a stop.

"What are you wearing?"

In front of you stood the detective in a dress, less elegant than anything you had ever seen, a wig and bonnet on his head, and blue eye shadow heavily caked over his eyelids.

"A disguise."

You blinked slowly.

"Right... I mean, no one will recognise you, but dear lord..." You shake your head. "Those colours aren't very flattering on you."

"No? I thought I looked rather dashing."

"Clearly there is something wrong with your mirror."

"Are you ready?" He asks, letting none of your comments get to him.

"Yes. Am I going first, or am I to be seen walking alongside you?"

Sherlock came over to your side and reached for your hand, bringing it his lips and kissing it.

"I always want to be seen walking with you."

"Yeah, but I don't mean dressed like that." You chuckle. "Come on, he train will leave the station soon."

John and Mary boarded the train on platform 7. Their arms were linked and they both smiling and chatting to one another. It had been a wonderful day and quite possibly more than either one could have asked for.

"Which coach are we?" Mary asks, as they walk alongside the train.

"We should be just here." John uses his cane to point up ahead.

Mary gives a little gasp. "Ooh!" They have come to a stop outside a first class carriage. John was giving her only the best. "First class." Mary steps onto the train.

John looks further down the platform to see men in uniform loading the train with cases.

Mary pops her head out of the door and smiles at her husband.

"Hurry up, Dr. Watson, your wife needs you."

"Coming, Mrs. Watson."

He climbs onto the train. Their carriage is very nice. Mary picks up a bottle that has been left for them.

"Ooh, first class, champagne. You do know how to spoil a girl, Mr. Watson." She grins at him.

"You're not just any girl." He tells her as he passes her to look out into the aisle. He takes a look in both directions, watching as one man stops a lady from entering the lavatory. Seeing nothing of interest, he returns to his wife, sliding the door shut behind him. "You're Mrs. Watson." He looks at the bottle in her hand. "Give me that bottle."

She hands it over.

You sit in the carriage Sherlock had managed to book for you both. The door slides open and Sherlock enters.

"Well?"

"They are two rooms over." He smiles at you.

"And non the wiser right now. Are you sure he's coming after Watson?" You ask, your voice dropping.

"Yes, certain. Concerned?"

"Very."

You both look at each other. You smile softly.

"I trust you, Sherlock. You know I do."

"But you haven't forgiven me."

"What do you mean?"

"You're still not wearing your ring." He gestures to your hand. You sigh as you shake your head.

"Sherlock..."

"Y/N."

"Just.... forget about it." You turn your gaze away from him and move over slightly, putting space between you both. You don't like how hung up he about that silly little ring. He can't honestly expect you to be over his behaviour the last few months. You decide to sit on the opposite seat and look outside. All the while you can feel his gaze on you.

The train travels for quite some time. The hour grows late.

You don't speak to Sherlock unless you deem it necessary, updates on anything he might think is wrong.

Meanwhile, Mary and John were enjoying themselves in their compartment. Mary was sitting across the good doctor's lap, both of them busy kissing one another. The exact opposite of what was going on with you and Sherlock.

"John, there is nowhere else in the world I would rather be." Mary says, all her emotions coming out in that one sentence.

"There's no one I'd rather be with." He tells her.

"Why do you have a gun stuffed down the back of your trousers?" Mary holds the gun up and looks at it.

"Old habits." John chuckles.

They are interrupted by a knock on the door. Mary slides from John's lap and leans into his side.

"Come in."

A man wearing the uniform for the train stands in the doorway holding a bottle of champagne. He holds it out to them. Mary smiles.

"Oh, yes, please."

"We didn't order that." John says.

"With out compliments, Sir." The man nods.

"Thank you. Put it there." John gestures across from them.

The man enters the compartment and closes the door behind him. Just as the door slides shut, the lights flicker out. The man pulls out a small knife and lunges at John. Mary gasps. As John grabs the man's wrist, Mary stands up and leans against the door. John and the man fight, John avoiding the knife, he man swinging at him. Watson manages to pin the man to the seat.

Still holding the gun, Mary holds it up at the man.

"Open the door, John." She tells him.

John opens the door leading outside.

"I think it's time for you to leave." She says, looking down at the man.

John pulls the man up and with one swift motion, pushes the man out of the train.

"Sit down." John says to Mary. He takes the gun from her. She appears to be in a bit of shock as she catches her breath. John signals for her to be quiet as he moves over to the door. He pulls it open and leans against the frame, looking out. There is nothing to his left, but as he looks right he spots the lady from earlier leave her compartment and then turn and quickly elbow the solider coming down the aisle. John ducks back into the compartment as the "lady" grabs the gun from the solider and shoot down the train where others have gathered.

Sherlock clears the soldiers at both ends and turns around to come face to face with John.

You stick your head into the aisle and come out once you see it's safe. You hurry over to Sherlock's side.

"I agree it's not my best disguise." Sherlock says to John.

You furrow your gaze at him. "Funny, you thought it suited you earlier."

Sherlock enters the compartment, John holding him by the shoulder. You stand in the door looking at them.

"My God." Mary looks at Sherlock.

"They'll be back." Sherlock says, holding out the fun to John. He gestures for you to come inside, so you slide in next to him. You give John and Mary an awkward smile.

"Oh. John, shut the door." Mary sighs.

"They'll only shoot through it, my love."

"He's right, you know."

"Oh, my God." Sherlock helps Mary sit down. You take the seat opposite them.

"I understand."

"Do you?"

"Terribly inconvenient." Sherlock stands. "We don't have much time." He leans out of the train, looking ahead. In a moment the train would reach the bridge.

"How many are expecting?" John asks, keeping his eyes on the aisle.

"Half a dozen."

"Who are they?"

"A wedding present from Moriarty." Sherlock stand back up in the compartment and looks at Mary. "Lovely ceremony, by the way. Many a tear shed in joy."

"Oh, John?" Mary calls for her husband.

"Yeah, just a minute, darling." He shoots his gun.

"Do you trust me?" Sherlock asks, holding Mary up.

"No."

"Well, then I shall have to... do something about that."

You watch as Sherlock pushes Mary from the train. She screams all the way down until she hits the river. Sherlock removes the hat and looks at you as John yells at the soldiers.

"Nicely done." You mutter.

"Do you wish to join her?"

"No."

He gives you a quick grin before looking up at John.

"John, do shut the door." Sherlock orders.

John closes the door and turns around. He takes great notice that someone is missing.

"It had to be done." Sherlock says, raising his hands.

John hurries to the open door and looks out, realising what Sherlock had done. You wait with baited breath.

"She's safe now." Sherlock states.

John turns sharply and stares at Holmes with a cold look.

"In my own defence, I timed it perfectly."

John grabs Sherlock around the neck and pulls him down to pin him onto the floor.

"Did you kill my wife?" John yells, holding Sherlock by the scruff of his neck. "Did you just kill my new wife?"

"Of course not!" Sherlock yells.

John punches him.

"What do you mean?" He grabs Sherlock's face and makes him look at him. "How do you know that when you just threw her off a train?"

"I told you, I timed it perfectly!"

"What does that mean?!" John tears away Sherlock's shirt. You watch silently as the wrestle on the floor. Sherlock has a leg over John's shoulder.

"Calm down."

"EXPLAIN!"

"By the time I've explained we'd both be dead!"

The door slides open and a rifle cocks as a soldier leans into the room. The barrel is pointed directly at John. You take the next moment to slide from the seat and get down on the floor beside the boys.

What John doesn't know, but you spotted because Sherlock had told you what he did, was that the rifle has a thin tube of lipstick jammed into it, well the lid of the lipstick. When given the chance, he got to work. When the conductor told him the lavatory was closed, he slipped past him and unlocked the door when the conductor left. He could see the soldiers through a small peep hole. He used what was available to him in that small toilet to black out the electricity on the train, just as another passed by, make a distraction with a flammable powder to urge a coughing fit onto the soldiers, and coat them in the flammable powder, and replace a bullet with his tube of lipstick. He kept the bullet for himself. Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing.

The man fires the rifle, the bullet slides down the barrel only to reach the tube of lipstick in the end. This causes the gun to backfire and the men to go up in flames.

Sherlock pushes John off of him and sits up.

"That was no accident." Sherlock lifts up his skirt. "That was by design." He grabs the chain from toilet and jams it into the carrier above your head and then through the door handle.

You take Sherlock's hand as he helps you up off the floor. You can't help but glance down as his bare chest.

"Now... do you need me to elaborate..." He pulls off the skirt, "or can we just crack on?" He asks John.

Sherlock turns to the open door and climbs out, shuffling along the side of the train. You glance at John before you follow Sherlock out, following his lead. John climbs out after you, not left with much choice.

"Don't worry, old boy, she's as safe as house." Sherlock yells out. "She's with my brother."

"I'M ON MY HONEYMOON!" John yells back. "WHY DID YOU LEAD THEM HERE?! WHY DID YOU INVOLVE US?"

"They aren't here for him!" You shout at John. "They're here for you."

"Fortunately...." Sherlock leans back enough to see the open door you had all emerged from. A soldier is sticking his head out. John turns to see him. The man raises his gun to shoot, but just like before the whole room is up in flames and the man is blasted out from the train.

For a moment you lose your footing as the train shakes, but you feel and arm pulling you back up. You turn to see Sherlock holding onto the train with one hand, the other holding you up.

"So am I." Sherlock yells at John, but he's looking at you. "Now mind the door!" Sherlock pulls the nearest door open and climbs inside. You climb around the door and follow him.

"Good evening." He addresses the people he had just disturbed. He opens the door to the train aisle and holds up a gun. "I think you'll find that second class is more comfortable." He tells the couple. "The coast is clear." He gestures to the door after checking the aisle. "To the South, quick march!" He claps his hands and speaks loudly, scaring them out of the carriage.

John finally climbs into the train, closing the door behind him, while Sherlock closes the other.

By the time John has turned around to face you both, he finds Sherlock laying on the floor, you sprawled across him. He has one arm around you keeping you close to his bare chest. You're not sure where to look.

"Lie down with us, Watson."

"Why?" John groans.

"I insist." With his free arm, Sherlock pulls John down onto the floor.

You have to move your head a bit as Sherlock pulls out his pipe and lights it. This causes you to press against him a bit more. You can tell Sherlock had done this on purpose, he was enjoying this.

"What are we doing down here?" John asks, looking over at the pair of you.

"We are waiting. I am smoking." Once the pipe is lit, he wraps his arm back round you again. You have very little option but to succumb to resting your head on him and looking towards John awkwardly.

A beat of silence passes.

Then all at once gun fire explodes through the train. You close your eyes as the wood of the wall splinters into the air. Sherlock's arm squeezes around you as he pulls you into him, shielding you from the debris. John turns over to hide his own face, as Sherlock does the same, only leaving enough room for him to continue smoking.

"Patiently waiting."

"For what?" John asks, yelling over the noise.

Sherlock holds up a gun to John.

"Your window of opportunity."

The gunfire stops. Sherlock's little swap earlier on in the evening had paid off. The lipstick had been caught within the gun, stopping it. Knowing this was his opportunity, John sat up. He looked through the hole in the wall where he could see the soldiers at the far end. He raised his gun and held it up, just as the soldier lined up perfectly, he shot. When his friend had fixed the gun, John ducked down. They started firing again.

"I said make it count!" Sherlock had rolled over to the point where you were between both men. He was still protecting you from the debris falling above. "How many windows must I provide?"

In the next moment there was an explosion.

What you didn't see was when John shot the solider, he had pulled the pin from a grenade. The grenade fell into the sack beside the soldier, which was full to the brim of grenades. Therefore, tragedy on their end.

The explosion had caused half the train to disconnect.

When it had grown quiet, you all got up off the floor. Sherlock had led you all the last carriage, which was torn in two. You sighed and sat down, looking out at the tracks. Sherlock grabbed a coat that he passed earlier, forgotten by it's original owner. He draped it around our shoulders. You smiled softly at the warmth.

John sat a little ahead of you, staring out. He had every right to be angry with Sherlock.

Today was supposed to be the happiest day of his life.

"Who'd have known that honeymooning in Brighton was such a dangerous notion?" Sherlock said, sitting down beside you, now dressed to and extent.

"Is that what this is about?"

"By your own admission, you've never enjoyed it there."

"I've never been to Brighton!" John says loudly.

"Or you're just too fragile to remember it at present."

"Shut up, Sherlock." You say, done with their bickering.

"Tell me my wife is safe." John demands.

"I can't do both." Sherlock says, looking between you and John. You roll your eyes and sigh. Now he's just being childish. "I promise, as I said, I timed it perfectly."

Mary was pushed while the train crossed the bridge, her landing being a river. Sherlock had told you that Mycroft would be on a boat, approaching the bridge at that time. She would be safe with him.

"Why were Mary and I targeted at all?" John asked.

"Excellent question. The answer is twofold."

"He's after us because of you."

"I'm afraid you must bear half the responsibility." Sherlock claimed.

"Here it comes." John uttered.

"Had you and Mary..."

"So predictable."

"...not been so hell-bent on your wedding, we could've already solved this case."

"There it is. Oh, it's my fault now."

"All I'm saying is the argument could be made..."

"No, it couldn't."

"...That your nuptials were rather poorly timed. Thus, our relationship..."

"Relationship?"

"Very well, partnership... has not yet run its course." Sherlock had gone over to stand next to John.

You had fought the urge to yell at the, to tell them to grow up and shut up, but you couldn't stop the smile from appearing on your face at the end.

"My dear fellow, if you could be bothered to see this through to the end... I shall never again ask you to assist me." Sherlock said.

Silence fell between the boys. You watched curiously.

"Once more unto the breach." John held up a finger, a warning to Sherlock.

"That's the spirit." Sherlock glanced back at you and you smiled, shaking your head lightly at him. Your detective got what he wanted. "Now, to the question. This is so deliciously complicated. You may be asking yourselves what does a criminal mastermind want with a simple gypsy fortune teller? It's her brother, I tell you."

"When we find him, and we must..."

"After you find my luggage." John points out. "Go on."

Sherlock turns.

"Wait!"

Sherlock turns back.

"Where is it we're going?" John asks. You look up to Sherlock, not knowing any more of the plan other than what took place on this train tonight.

"Paris... The most sensible honeymoon destination of all."

John smile.

You chuckle.

You get and move to sit next to John, who smiles as you join him.

"How are you holding up?" He asks.

"Alright."

"You're tagging along with Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"I was under the impression you weren't all that happy with him." John raises a brow in your direction.

"Water under the bridge." You shrug. "Sherlock is Sherlock, I need to get used to that." You glance behind you to see Sherlock was looking away. You pulled a chain from under your shirt and showed it to John.

"Ah yes, he mentioned a ring."

"I took it off because I was mad at him, but... I can't stay mad at him."

"But you don't want him to know you have it with you?"

"Oh God no, do you have any idea what that will do to his ego?" You ask, grinning.

You both laugh.

Sherlock looks up at the sound of your laughter. It was a wonderful sound, and one he hadn't heard in a while. He vowed there and then to himself that he was going to make it right.

He was going to make you happy again.

Tags:

@hufflepuff-pide-honey-badger @theatricalbride @phantomofhogwarts @awyr @fandombeehive @charmed-asylum @sigynbandraoi-blog @procrastinatingmurder @madshelily @photography-to-all @sitkafay @melancholicsthings @misspoisonouslove

#Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #a rose in shadows #chapter 7

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momo-de-avis · 4 years

Text

To everyone who sends me asks about their mental health, in particular ones concerning violence and abuse

With no trigger warnings, with absolutely no prior warning and no heads up whatsoever:

I am not a psychologist. And you guys need to learn that.

I normally try to overlook this. Normally, normally, it doesn’t bother me. Not always. Sometimes it does. But I just normally brush it aside. But it keeps bothering me still. I look the other way because, as always, I keep thinking people just have real problems out there, while here I am, you know.

(Some of you guys send me an ask beforehand asking like ‘Can I vent?’ and that’s actually pretty cool, I love that. Gives me the perfect heads up I need!)

Then came today.

I just turned on this website and read an honest to God such a violent ask without even a single “hello”. Someone just came into my page and poured into MY inbox their personal experience with violence. Did not ask me. Did not give me a heads up. And I need you to understand I am only a regular joe navigating through life.

What you just described to me is not something you randomly deliver to anyone on the streets. This is an online website I use to relax, occasionally talk about serious matters, but generally not a platform I use specifically for mental health issues. If you’ve been follwing me for a while you know that when I do post crap about that, I always used the read more thing and specify it in the tags, and though admittedly I am absolute shit at trigger warnings because I am shit at remembering to tag stuff (well, general organization competences tbh), I keep reminding you guys to not hesitate to coming into my inbox if you would like me to tag something that you deem reasonable.

But there are several blogs entirely dedicated to mental health.

But some of the stuff I get in my inbox is downright mentally exhausting. When I tell you’ve been asked in real life repeatedly how the fuck do I deal with the stuff I’m sent on here without breaking down, you know it’s reached a point.

And after the particular ask I’ve gotten that’s sitting on my inbox, I’m sorry but this is way too fucking much. You have to understand I am not a pyschologist. I love doing my best with helping, with providing what I can and being there for you guys, but certain topics are above the internet’s pay grade. I get my kick of fun navigating through r/relationships too but even there you see some shit that you just do not solve on the internet.

And I do not mean that you shouldn’t share these things online. Be free. Get a blog, go on reddit, you name it. But it is specifically haunting for me that you came anonymously into MY inbox and decided to, without even saying “hello” or even “I’m just going to vent”, like 99% of the asks I get, just drop an extremely violent story in MY inbox. To ME. No one else. What the hell am I supposed to do? Do you understand how powerless I am? Do you understand that I can virtually do nothing, and that you could have literally triggered a very dangerous reaction out of me by doing that?

I am not, in any way, eliminating your experience. It was incredibly traumatic, and I am so, so sorry you had to experience. But just to explain to you the extent of my impotence, I know in my heart there are serious resources, like associations, that can help you, but I don’t know them. I literally don’t know what to do. I hope you find the support and help you need, but I don’t know how I can do that.

Please, seek help outside. Real, professional help. I have literally spoken to my therapist about this because it’s gotten a bit out of hand in the past. She’s actually told me once: “Do you know why I do this job and you don’t? Because I studied it for six years, and you didn’t. That’s also why you do your job, and I don’t. I have training, and you don’t. It’s not easy.” If this isn’t an option, try finding communities that will listen to you, a friend, or write a journal. I am not joking. People think I am being condescending when I say “write a journal” but writing a journal literally saved my life as a teen. Buy a notebook and a pen and write a journal. Dead serious.

But stop and think for a second next time you go on somebody’s inbox and to just drop a story there.

I’m sorry for this, as I really really love getting anons, but I’m turning off my inbox for a while now.

#momo speaks

17 notes · View notes

mchanv · 4 years

Text

(DFYaH) Chapter 2: The First Pages

[Originally on AO3]

Summary: I’ve always wondered what Draco Malfoy’s side of the Harry Potter saga was, that’s how I came up with this idea. It is not possible at all to be canon, due to the inability of certain magical items in the story. It runs alongside the books very closely, so some dialogue or actions can come directly from them. Draco Malfoy goes to Hogwarts for his first year. After being sorted into Slytherin and the night had fallen, a strange silvery bird gives him a message. The bird, seemingly a Phoenix, belongs to Albus Dumbledore, his Headmaster, who gives Draco a book upon his arrival in his office that same night. Draco has no idea what the book meant, but decides to go through with what Dumbledore has asked of him.

Ship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood (background)

Genre: Adventure/Romance

Word count: 4,630

—————

Draco woke up the next morning by Goyle calling him to ‘hurry and get dressed, breakfast’s about to start!’ He grunted and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with one hand, while his other searched blindly for his wand. Instead of his wand, his hand touched something different, something with a weird, wooden texture.

He raised his eyebrows, took it and looked at it. He recognised the pencil Dumbledore had given to him the day, more like night, before. He looked down at his bedside table at the other things; all of them were still there: the notebook, eraser and the sharpener of which he had forgotten to ask the exact use, and the book. The book was still there, the book Dumbledore had asked him to study, the book of which Draco got the feeling was something full of extremely difficult and powerful magic.

He dismissed it and searched for his wand, finding it at last underneath the notebook. He took it and put it in his pocket before realising he was still wearing his robes from the day, or night, before. He dropped the hawthorn wand back on his bedside table and disposed off his robes. He took new ones from his trunk, put them on, took his wand, and was planning to leave the room before his eyes fell back upon the book.

He wondered for a second if he should take it with him, but decided against it. Either way, they got their timetables today, so he’d have to come back for his school books. He’d have the chance to take it with him then.

—————

Down at breakfast, they got their timetables at eight o’clock. Draco looked down at his and searched for Potions. The Slytherins had their first lesson Potions on Friday morning, double Potions with, Draco groaned, the Gryffindors. He looked back at Monday and saw they started with Charms, and then Herbology. He got up, deciding he had eaten enough, and went down to the Slytherin dormitories again to get his books. Classes started at nine, so he only had about half an hour to get his book before having to start the impossible quest of reaching his first lesson in time.

In his dorm, he took The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore figuring he’d come back after his second period for those of Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration for the afternoon. He wanted to leave and start his search but his attention was pulled away, for the third time that morning, to the book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone on his bedside table. He stood there for a good five minutes, contemplating. His Headmaster wanted him to study the book, page 1 to 139 before Friday no less, but he would look flat-out ridiculous walking around with a book about Potter in his hands.

Draco sighed and put the book in his bag. Maybe, maybe, he’d get a few minutes off during the lessons so he could start reading.

—————

Draco soon found out it would be impossible for him to actually read the book during the lessons. Flitwick had almost immediately, after taking the register, started with a bit of history about wands and a few magical laws. He hadn’t given them any homework yet, but Draco thought it wouldn’t be long until they got foot-long essays to write and difficult assignments to fulfill. It was the same for Herbology. Although it was a calmer lesson, and Sprout gave them a full fifteen minutes free at the end of the lesson, Draco didn’t deem it safe to take out the book. While everyone was talking about their lessons or lunch, Draco sneaked out and went back to the castle, down to his dormitory in the Dungeons.

There, Draco switched his books for A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switchand and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble. Figuring Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration would be the same as Charms and Herbology, he took the book Dumbledore gave him out of his bag and put it in his trunk. He walked over to his bedside, took the four other things, and put them with the book.

But, for the second time that day, he had been mistaken. Defence Against the Dark Arts was the most boring lesson he had ever had. Of course, his first History of Magic lesson was the next day, so he didn’t know how boring they would be yet. Quirrell taught them nothing and, the last half an hour of class, just gave up and let them talk to each other for the remainder of class.

Draco thought he was the only one that wasn’t talking to anyone, his mind drifting off to the book every five to ten seconds. The whole class was talking in groups of two or three, often to their neighbours. Crabbe and Goyle were talking together to his right, but Draco couldn’t understand a word they were saying, and not just because they were whispering.

Draco sighed and was about to get up when his eyes fell upon a brown-haired girl sitting alone in the corner. Draco thought for a moment that she might not be a Slytherin, and that that was the reason she sat alone, but dismissed it as he saw the green and silver linings on the uniform.

He got up and walked over to her, his bag swung around his shoulder. The girl looked up as Draco neared her. Draco felt her gaze upon him as he sat down opposite her.

“What’s your name?” Draco asked carefully. “And why are you on your own?” The second part was out before he could stop himself.

The girl sniffed quietly and looked up at him. She seemed sad even though there weren’t any tears in her eyes.

“My name’s Pansy, Pansy Parkinson. And I don’t really have any friends...” the girl named Parkinson whispered.

“Yet,” Draco added. She looked up at him with a quizzical look.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we could be friends,” Draco decided. Beside of Crabbe and Goyle, who he only knew because their fathers were ‘old friends’, as his father always told him, Draco didn’t really have any friends. And the one time he did try to befriend someone... Well... Draco still remembered that moment vividly, as if it was the day before, which, he reminded himself, was.

Draco looked up at the girl to see a small smile on her face.

“I’d love to!” she beamed excited. Draco hesitated before holding out his hand and was delighted when Pansy took it. He returned her smile, and he found himself chatting away for the remaining fifteen minutes of class.

He actually only remembered they were in class as, at a quarter past two, the bell for break rang. Draco talked with Pansy the whole way to their Transfiguration classroom, completely forgotten about the book. For the first time in a long time, he finally felt that he had found a friend, a real friend, not the son of your father’s friend.

They made sure to sit next to each other in Transfiguration, but had little time to talk as it seemed every word McGonagall told them was of high importance. They ended up with half a scroll of notes each. Draco again felt he lucked out as they didn’t get any homework.

They had around two hours before dinner started so Draco pulled Pansy to every little secret his father had told him the day before he left for school.

—————

An hour later, the two eleven-year-olds entered the Slytherin common room exhausted. They each went up to their respective dormitories to get rid of their books.

Upstairs, Draco took out his timetable and was delighted to see they got Tuesday afternoons off. Only Herbology and History of Magic to suffer through. He put his books away in his trunk. Right before he closed it, the lights reflected on something golden on the bottom of his trunk. He reached out and grabbed it; it was the book. He had completely forgotten about it since he’d made a new friend.

He looked around the deserted dormitory and sat down on his bed. He read the title: Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. The words seemed almost natural, having read them a few times already. But, thinking them through a little, he didn’t understand a third of them. What was this ‘Philosopher’s Stone’ that was written in the title?

Curiosity taking him over, he opened the book and soon found a table of contents.

They read:

Chapter one The Boy Who Lived

Chapter two The Vanishing Glass

Chapter three The Letters from No One

Chapter four The Keeper of the Keys

Chapter five Diagon Alley

Chapter six The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

Chapter seven The Sorting Hat

And, at last:

Chapter eight The Potions Master

This time, Draco knew the meaning of most of the words. The Boy Who Lived was that Harry Potter, Draco’s father had told him about that once; the Keeper of the Keys must refer to that Hagrid oaf that lives on the grounds in this little shabby shed; Diagon Alley, who doesn’t know that? Well Muggles and Mudbloods... but they’re incompetent either way. Platform Nine and Three Quarters, the well-known Platform. The Sorting Hat speaks for itself and the Potions Master must refer to Severus Snape, Potions teacher and Head of Draco’s house.

At the end of that list, there weren’t any more things written. Strange, Draco thought, only eight chapters for this many pages? Deciding to test his ‘theory’, Draco opened the book at random and found himself looking at a blank piece of paper. It was as if the book wasn’t finished yet. It seemed Draco’s guts had been correct in telling him this was not just a book, not even a book of the Wizarding World. No, it was stronger than that, way stronger.

He turned over the next page and looked with wide eyes at a map of Hogwarts and its surrounding grounds. Of course, it wasn’t a very accurate map, but everything was on it: Hogwarts, the Greenhouses, Hogsmeade Station, even Hogsmeade itself, a while outside of the Grounds. Whatever this book was, Draco had started taking a liking to it.

He turned over one more page and saw the start of Chapter one: The Boy Who Lived. Out of pure curiosity, Draco started to read.

The book started with a certain Mr and Mrs Dursley, who lived at number four, Privet Drive. And, even though he had no idea who these Dursleys were, Draco soon found he didn’t like them that much.

“How dare that ‘Mr Dursley’ insult our style!” he whispered under his breath, outraged. These people were obviously Muggles.

He continued reading, making random comments under his breath, until he read two certain lines. He had to read them again to make sure they really stood there.

‘The Potters, that’s right, that’s what I heard —’

‘—yes, their son, Harry —’

Draco got the feeling he knew when this was. He read a bit further and the lines about a ‘tiny old man’ telling that Mr Muggle to ‘Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last!’ confirmed his thoughts.

This was the day after the Dark Lord had lost his powers.

Filled with a new curiosity, he read on with excitement travelling through him like a blazing fire.

Still making his usual comments, Draco soon noticed something. That cat... a tabby cat with markings around its eyes... He remembered their first Transfiguration lesson.

They had entered the Classroom right on time only to find a cat sitting on the desk, no McGonagall in sight. Suddenly, the cat had transformed into McGonagall. The cat had been a tabby and had peculiar markings around its, or rather, her eyes!

Feeling proud of himself, he read on.

Soon, he forgot about his usual comments. At ends of certain sentences he just stared blankly at the page, fascinated, entranced and sometimes even sorry. His expression turned more serious as he read about his Headmaster wanting to make Potter live with those horrible Muggles. Like, what was he thinking?!?! But, after a while, he understood his intentions.

Draco finished the chapter right as the door opened. He jumped and hid his book, looking up to see Pansy.

“And what do you think you’re doing? Dinner’s about to start!” she said slightly angry.

“Sorry, Pansy,” Draco apologised, he got off of his bed, the book hidden behind his back.

“I’ll wait for you in the common room, hurry,” she said and left.

Draco sighed and looked at the book one last time, a small smile on his face. Suddenly, he didn’t really mind having to study it. “Study! I totally forgot about that!“ he remembered, speaking in a whisper, “I’ll do it after Dinner.”

He put the book away and left the room.

—————

After dinner, he returned to his dormitory straight away, telling Pansy he had something important to do for school. It wasn’t a complete lie; he did have something important to do, but he wasn’t sure if it was for the school or just for his Headmaster.

In his dorm, he took the book and the four Muggle things from the bottom of his trunk and settled down behind his desk, next to his bed. Every student had one to make homework on. It also kind of sported as a bedside table since it stood next to the bed.

He read through the chapter once more, scribbling down important pages on a spare piece of parchment with the pencil. He had never worked with one before, but it wasn’t all too bad.

Finishing the chapter for the second time, he opened the notebook and wrote:

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone Chapter one: The Boy Who Lived

Beneath it, Draco started making notes. He soon found a good system: reading a page, writing important information, reading the next page, writing important information... He continued this for the whole chapter and then looked at the time.

His eyes widened, it was half-past nine. For a second, he wondered if it might be wrong; the dorm was still deserted. But Crabbe and Goyle answered his doubts by entering. Draco sighed, he put away the pencil, the eraser of which he found out erased the pencil, as its name said, and the sharpener he had used to sharpen it, in his trunk. He put the book and notebook in his bag and swung it around his shoulder.

Crabbe and Goyle didn’t even bat an eye as Draco left the room. Unfortunately, getting out of the common room turned out to be a bit more difficult.

“Where do you think you’re going, First Year!” the male Slytherin Prefect called over the noise, Draco came to a stop right in front of the exit.

Draco started sweating nervously; most of the students in the common room were Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Years. “Out,” he answered briefly, turning back to the door.

“I don��t think so, boy,” the Prefect said, “First Years aren’t allowed to be out after eight o’clock, you must know that.”

“Of course, I do!” Draco exclaimed loudly, “Who do you see me for? Some dumb, reckless Gryffindor?” Many people laughed at the joke, but the Prefect only got more angry.

“Don’t talk to you superior like that!” the other Prefect demanded above the laughter, silencing the room. “Students are only allowed out after curfew if a teacher says so.”

“I know,” Draco said. “So, can I go now?”

The two Prefects stared at him with their eyes wide.

“Didn’t you hear her?!” the male one shouted. “You are not allowed out of the Dormitories!!”

Draco gave them each a sharp glare before giving up and returning to his dorm. There he saw the other four boys were already in bed. Determined not to pull any more attention to himself, he walked over to the window and sat down, staring deep into the Black Lake. It was quite fascinating, honestly, how the windows in the Slytherin Dormitories were underwater.

But Draco wasn’t paying attention, he was trying to find a way out of there, unnoticed by anyone. Dumbledore expected him to be in his office at ten o’clock, but the Prefects wouldn’t let him pass. A quarter had passed already, a quarter to go. Would Dumbledore mind it if he came late because of his Prefects? Draco hoped not because there was nothing to do except to wait. Draco waited and waited until a quarter past ten.

He got up and sneaked to the door, opening it soundlessly. He looked into the common room and was relieved, to say the least, it was mostly deserted. He walked over to the exit and left, unnoticed by the handful of Slytherins still in the room, working on their homework. While hurrying through the corridors, Draco hoped he never had to make his homework this late at night and made a note to himself to never let it come to that.

—————

Five minutes later, he finally found the stone gargoyle statue, waiting for a password to allow entrance to the Headmaster’s office. With his bag carrying the book and notebook clutched tightly in his hand, Draco hurried over to the statue and said, in a clear voice: “Chocolate Frog” the password Dumbledore had told him the night before.

The gargoyle freed the way and Draco walked up to the door. He knocked and entered after the Headmaster’s voice had allowed it. Draco entered, looking slightly ashamed; he was at least twenty minutes late and he wasn’t proud of it.

“Ah, Draco. I was wondering when you’d come!” Dumbledore greeted. He gestured Draco to sit down, Draco complied without a word.

A few seconds later, he dared open his mouth. “I’m sorry I’m late, sir...” he apologised, “the Prefects wouldn’t let me leave.”

Draco hoped this was enough for his Headmaster and was relieved to see him nod and bear a small, understanding smile. “I certainly don’t blame you, Draco. Sneaking out this late at night, but not late enough, is incredibly difficult.

“Now, you’ve received your timetables today. When is your first Potions lesson?”

“Friday morning,” Draco answered simply.

“Right. And you remember your task?”

“Finish the first seven chapters before the first lesson.”

“Good.” Dumbledore gave him a bright smile. “Have you started working already? Seeing as you were locked up in your Dormitories for a while.”

Draco nodded. “I finished the first chapter and noted the most important parts in the notebook.”

“Great!” Dumbledore beamed. “Can I see it?”

Draco nodded again and took both the book and notebook out of his bag. He handed the notebook over while keeping the book to himself. Dumbledore opened it and examined it for a while before looking back up at Draco.

“Can I keep this for the night? I’ll make sure you have it back before tomorrow morning,” Dumbledore requested, Draco nodded.

“All right, then that’s settled. I was wondering whether you could come here again Saturday night.” Draco nodded again.

“Goodnight Draco.”

“‘Night, sir,” Draco said, he put the book back in his bag and left the office. He was halfway to his Dormitories as he remembered all the little notes he had made in the margins. He walked the rest of the way in embarrassment, his head held low and his pale cheeks tinted pink.

That night, he might have fallen asleep even sooner than the night before, certainly feeling way more tired. He cheered himself up with the thought of having the afternoon of the next day off before drifting off.

—————

Draco woke up by the sound of wings fluttering. He opened his eyes and saw a real Phoenix this time, not the silver copy of it, holding a book in its beak. Draco sat up and took the book. A small smile formed on his face as he noticed it was the notebook.

‘Before tomorrow morning’, he does stay through to his words; it’s only four o’clock.

The Phoenix flew away. Deciding he couldn’t sleep anymore, or just because he didn’t want to, he grabbed the book from his trunk and opened it on page 19, were the second chapter, The Vanishing Glass, started.

He lit a small night-lamp his mother had given with him, laid down on his bed and started to read.

A while later, he had to suppress a scream. He reread a certain part a few more times, not believing a word of it.

He’s a Parselmouth!! What! No, that’s impossible... He can’t be. Draco couldn’t believe it; he just couldn’t. Potter, a Parselmouth... He had to give it to him, though, vanishing glass just like that. Still, he couldn’t believe it, not until he had some kind of confirmation. The book must have been lying, Draco decided.

He read on and felt slightly sorry; he knew exactly what that flash of green light was and why it had brought him pain. And had those Muggles really been telling Potter his parents died in a car crash? They’re horrible... Azkaban worthy.

He finished the chapter in a small half hour and decided to immediately read the next one. It was only half past four in the morning and classes started at nine so he had plenty of time.

Draco, he had to say, was incredibly surprised that those Dursleys, or horrible Muggles as he liked to call them, just discarded the Hogwarts Letters. Like, how could they?!

He finished the chapter another half an hour later; it was five o’clock now and immediately read on.

He started getting some respect for that Hagrid oaf as well. If it wasn’t for him, H—Potter would still be with those Muggles, and Draco thought even some of the most horrible wizards and witches didn’t deserve that. Some did though, some certainly did.

And that pig’s tail was amazing, totally worth it. Draco was glad Hagrid had told Potter the truth about everything, so glad he was beaming at the end of the chapter.

That last chapter only took about twenty to twenty-five minutes, but it felt way shorter to Draco as he jumped in surprise as he saw it was already half-past five. He laid the book by the notebook on his desk and took the pencil, eraser and sharpener out of his trunk. Settling down behind his desk, he followed his system of the day before.

It took him an hour to complete only the second chapter and only got halfway through the third as Theodore Nott woke up. Still afraid of judgement, he marked the page and hid the things. Who wakes up at six? Draco wondered after taking a look at the clock.

A quarter later, Theodore left the room and Draco returned to work on the third chapter, finishing it in time for the other three boys to wake up and leave the room before the clock hit seven. Draco was convinced he’d manage to finish the fourth chapter before eight, so he continued working.

—————

Draco sighed and leaned back, about an hour later; he finished it and was very proud of himself. Right as he had put everything away and was planning to change and go down to breakfast, Pansy entered the dorm.

“Morning Pansy,” Draco greeted cheerfully as he noticed her.

“Mornin’,” she muttered sleepily, “I was coming to see if you were up already, but I see you are. See you up at breakfast, then.”

“Sure,” Draco answered and Pansy left the room.

—————

The morning went by fairly quickly, although History of Magic was incredibly boring, he was lucky he still had Pansy to talk to. He had to say; they were already becoming good friends, and he looked out on strengthening that friendship even more.

Draco was happy he had already finished more than half of the task Dumbledore had given him so he allowed himself to spend the afternoon chatting with Pansy. Draco often saw heads turning their way as they sat next to each other on a couch a bit away from the fireplace. Sometimes, he saw small groups of First, Second or Third Years repeatedly looking back at them in between whispers.

After dinner, Draco was the first one to go to the First Years Boys’ Dormitory, and he decided to read one more chapter before going to bed. He smirked triumphantly as he saw he was already on chapter 5, Diagon Alley.

After a few pages, he got quite a suspicious feeling from Quirrell; he didn’t know why. He read the part about a vault seven hundred and thirteen very attentive, not missing a word. Whatever that package was, Draco got the feeling it would be something important.

His expression changed again to a half sad, half stern one as he read on. He read about the part where he and Potter met for the very first time at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. Back then, Draco had had no idea who that ruffled-looking glasses-wearing boy in oversized clothes was, acting incredibly idiotic and, Draco felt bad when he read it, reminding him of that horrible Muggle bully cousin.

He quickly read on, laughing a little at precious Potter, wanting to buy a solid golden cauldron. Wait. Precious? Draco thought incredulously. Never! He read on and, at the part in Ollivanders, he returned his full attention to book again.

‘... holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.’

A pretty nice wand, if Draco would say so himself. Draco had got a hawthorn and unicorn hair, ten inches, springy when he went there the same day.

He was surprised about the fact Lord V—the Dark Lord’s wand and Potter’s wand had the same core, making it brothers, but suppressed his surprise as he heard voices slowly nearing. He quickly read on and, right at the end, Crabbe and Goyle entered the room. He hurriedly put away the book, changed into his pyjamas and got into bed.

This time, he lay awake for a while. Not thinking about the book, well, kind of maybe, but thinking about what he had called Potter. That morning, he had nearly called him Harry, although that must have been because that’s how it’s written in the book. But that didn’t change the fact he had called him precious, and that thought couldn’t leave his mind.

He lay awake for maybe a full hour, recounting the times he had seen Potter the past three days. He had to stop himself from smiling every time he recalled Potter smiling, feeling sad every time he remembered Potter being abused and bullied by those who were supposed to be his family.

And, after a long time, he had to stop himself from thinking about Potter and finally get some bloody sleep because tomorrow was a school day with a midnight lesson. In the end he did manage to fall asleep, only to meet a smiling Potter in his dreams.

—————

#drarry #harry potter #harry x draco #draco malfoy #hp #fanfiction #romance #adventure #rewrite #retelling #multichap #destinia: first year at hogwarts

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bgarlich4 · 4 years

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“In the Blink of an Eye” ⏳

Capturing Attention in Social Media

For this discussion regarding the effects that social media has on a person’s attention span, I found a plethora of information that pertains to how we are all adjusting to this ever-changing, fast-paced world. Everyone is always busy. As Americans especially, it seems we are always in a hurry to get somewhere. And technology has made it so that we are able to acquire things in such a short, almost immediate time. This seems beneficial, until we consider the impact that it is having on ourselves and the youth after us. We are programmed to have things like our phones that remember information and numbers for us, so it truly is a ‘use it or lose it,’ type or way of life. I don’t believe it is because we have become lazy, but it is how we are taught especially through formats such as social media. This creation and intentions of many of these sites; such as Instagram, Facebook, and snapchat, are to update others on our life and to be updated on theirs. These platforms allow us to update a status of a line or two that can subconsciously fill people in on so many things. “Along with the short attention span, we are also noticing a shorter memory, with the Internet and social media being partly responsible for this. With the information overload, our brain is not able to retain every detail it processes and most of the times, it’s not even necessary. Your smartphone may serve as a calendar, reminder, notebook for everything you need to remember. And if you have a question, all you have to do is check Wikipedia or Google to find the answer. (What Google does to our brain is another topic we already discussed). Moreover, you don’t even need to remember your friends’ birthdays anymore, since Facebook is serving as your reminder. All you have to do, is check the birthdays on your Events and wish accordingly. However, with our brain learning to function in a different way, it’s not always easy to distinguish the useful information from the useless, which makes us unintentionally forget important details. The lack of concentration with the shorter attention span may also lead to accidents, which is an issue that should not be ignored.” (Litsa, 2014.) Things such as emotion, good/bad news, inspirational, or seeking sympathy. It is truly astonishing how much can be retained from so few words. As we know, some of this attention is good, and some of it is negative or sometime hurtful. How others can use pictures can additionally help put a sense of mood or emotion more than the actual words. For instance, a family picture of kids carving pumpkins would be very contrast from a bully posting a picture to get a specific person's attention, therefore adding to exclusion through this type of public display. And the thing is, this information once posted can be difficult, if not impossible to get rid of if needed or desired. Along with procrastination, quicker reaction times, the temptation for one’s brain to stray, and less requirement to focus, these qualities are unarguably negative more than beneficial.

Maintaining Engagement in Social Media

As I stressed the motivations and intentions for many of these social media outlets, the general purpose is to interact and be entertained. That can be scary when some people may have a hard time deciphering ‘real life’ from the life that is portrayed from someone else hiding behind a computer screen. Cell phones make these types of engagement so immediate too, that the detriment and effects can be immediate and lasting. People also are capable of getting addicted to this way of engagement and feel the need to constantly refresh or update a newsfeed, so to not miss anything deemed crucial. Properly administering these platforms can be easier for adults, although all demographics can fall victim to this new way of interaction and communicating. These factors should not require us to never use social media, but I do think being aware of the patterns and tendencies that can become so routine and regular, that the problems get harder and harder to see. While when businesses use these sites, they feel the pressure to reply to everyone in a timely matter, and it does look better for any employer to do so in this modern world. “It started as a way for friends to connect online, evolved into a broadcasting channel, and is now a place for brands to provide personalized, human experiences with their audience and customers. Social media is as much about engagement with other people as it is about sharing content. It’s why we call it “social” media. What’s more – social media experiences are, by design, both public and easy to share. This creates a compounding impact on positive experiences, compared to say, an email exchange or phone call. The Twitter exchange below is a neat example of how thoughtful and fun social engagement between a customer and brand can go viral. Aside from garnering hundreds of retweets, it got picked up by news outlets including Buzzfeed and the Mirror. I believe there are three key challenges that, on the surface, seem quite daunting for marketers and their organizations.

Finding the resources to engage with all relevant conversations.

Quality control: maintaining a consistent, authentic voice and tone.

Measuring the impact of social media engagement.

The best brands on social media turn these challenges into opportunities, and this is how you can nail your social media engagement too. You might have different goals for your social media program, so how you measure your social media engagement should line up with those goals.” (Eckstein, 2016.). To conclude all of my findings and research regarding the effects that social media has on our attention spans and ways of engagement, I believe it is best to simply always be aware of your intentions and motivations for utilizing these platforms and outlets of media. Realizing things can often not be taken back when placed onto the internet, and allowing these social media applications to not dictate your life and friendships is the key in using these wonderful tools successfully and safely.

References

Eckstein, Mike (2016, October 1.). Social Media Engagement: Why It’s Important and How to Do it Well. Retrieved on October 22, 2020 from https://buffer.com/library/social-media-engagement/

Litsa, Tereza. (2014, May 19.). How Social Media Affects Your Attention Spans. Retrieved on October 22, 2020 from https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/20140519183028-114333012-how-social-media-affects-your-attention-span

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summers-even · 4 years

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Writing Overview - 2019

Last year was a huge year for me - I started my writing blogs @drowning-in-dennor and @hanas-helltalia-house, and with their creation my passion for storytelling has only grown. I’d like to take this time to look back at my old works, from January to December!

January - Solitary Pathos (Unpublished)

Margaret’s blood runs cold. At the corner of her eye, she sees the nearby guillotine at the church, just a few footsteps away. And a pair of guards, pushing someone out of a wooden cart.

A someone with the soulful dark eyes and serene face that Margaret has looked into all too many times.

She wants to scream, to jump out of her seat, to push Jennifer out of hers and plead for forgiveness. Valley’s hands are tied back, her head bowed. She does not look at the guards, or the crowd, or the nobles. She does not shake, or cry, or plead. Margaret’s lover is slowly escorted to the deadly platform with quiet acceptance.

Something keeps Margaret in her seat and keeps her from snapping. Probably the gaze of Jennifer, spiteful and malevolent, that threatens the same fate if she steps out of line.

The princess nods at the black-garbed executioner, who pushes Valley to her knees and places her head right beneath the blade. She is not provided the mercy of a blindfold.

Margaret is motionless, rooted helplessly in her seat as the executioner pulls on the rope of the blade, drawing it up high. Jennifer almost appears to have a smirk on her face.

Valley draws her head up the moment before the blade whistles down, giving Margaret one last, loving smile.

February - Clear Your Mind (Unpublished)

9 a.m., a meeting with your boss. 11 a.m., a talk at the local kindergarten. Use your human name, Lukas Norsson. 12 p.m., lunch with Arthur and Aleksander, and make sure to bring those interesting books you found. They’ll get mad if you don’t. 1:30 p.m., complete that stack of paperwork. Don’t forget to send those documents to Germany. 4 p.m., supervise the building of the new school. 6 p.m., a meeting with the Nordic Council, then dinner.

Norway runs his schedule through his head one last time while packing his bag for the day. Each notebook, each sheet of paper, each folder drops into the bag neatly, before he scoops up his bag and heads downstairs. He checks his reflection in the mirror once (is your hair neat?), twice (your shirt is wrinkled!), thrice (is your clip polished?), before he deems himself presentable. Putting on his shoes, he slings his bag over his shoulder (but not before checking that he’s brought everything), grabs his coffee and leaves.

The meeting with his boss goes well enough — he’s lucky that the coffee manages to wake him up after a stressful, sleepless night. He leaves at ten o’clock (is that enough time for me to catch the bus?) and heads for the kindergarten.

March - Saga Ills (Published)

Mette opens the door of his cell, holding rope in her hands. “It’s time to go.”

His hands are tied behind his back, and the blonde leads him out into the light. He does not speak.

If they laugh or jeer or they plan your demise, (Poised above my kin with its gaping maw of steel,)

The people are shouting. Some are jeering. Some are throwing stones, all of them deftly deflected by the Norjon King. Mette pushes him to his knees and places his head into the guillotine. She apologises. He does not speak.

I shall fight for you, the most loyal of your court, (And uncaring still, your gaze is cast up high,)

The blade screeches as Mette draws it up high. His eyes scan over the crowd. They do not show sympathy, except for somebody at the very front.

Her face is mostly hidden by a hooded cloak, but the shining eyes are familiar. She is crying, but notices when he tries to make eye contact with her.

Sula tries to smile, and he smiles back. He still does not speak.

So please smile, for you’re the fairest of them all! (And in your final moment, you say my favourite line!)

The blade falls with a deafening whistle, and he shouts the line that once delighted Sula.

Then the blade cuts into his neck and he sees no more.

April - The Wolf Who Fell In Love With Red Riding Hood (Published)

He starts to hum. He swings his basket a little, and smiles.

The smile fades when Tino hears leaves crunching behind him. He turns.

The boy from last week is leaning against a tree, staring at him with those scary green eyes. To Tino’s horror, he starts walking towards him.

Holding the basket like a lifeline, Tino takes off again. His legs ache and the cold air hurts his throat, but he runs. His heart thumps wildly, so quickly that he can hear the blood pounding in his ears. Don’t let him catch me, don’t let him catch me, please, where’s the village!?

The ground flashes before him.

Tino drops the basket and throws his arms out. He lands on the ground with a thud, pain rippling through his body.

“Ow…” Tino rolls over to sit on the ground and pulls his knees up to his chest. At least my knees hit the ground and not my face.

Footsteps sound, and Tino looks up. His stomach sinks.

It’s him.

Tino inches backward, his blood running cold with terror. He follows, steps slow and steady. “P-Please don’t hurt me!” He tries to say, fighting back tears. “I won’t run into you again, I promise!”

He stops walking, instead crouching down in front of Tino. His eyes, somehow, look slightly less scary. Wordlessly, he points to Tino’s scraped knee. Before Tino can speak, the boy tears off a strip of cloth from his dark cloak and tugs at his leg.

“Huh?” Tino stretches his leg to lie flat on the ground. “Do you want me to do this?”

The boy nods. He wraps the strip of cloth around Tino’s knee and over the wound, knotting it.

“Oh!” Tino runs his fingers over the makeshift bandage and tugs at the soft cloth. “Oh, um… thank you.” It’s better than the bandages that Mother ties, he thinks. And my knee doesn’t hurt too much any more.

By the time Tino gets to his feet, the boy is already gone.

May - Celebration (Published - My first story at drowning-in-dennor!)

The two of them shut the door to Norway’s bedroom and sit, side by side, on his bed. Denmark speaks first, his normally loud voice now soft and gentle. “Happy birthday, Norge.”

Shyly, Norway inches closer until there is no space between him and Denmark. He rests his head on the taller’s shoulder, eyelids drooping in exhaustion. “It’s been two hundred and two years,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“Two hundred and two years, since my Constitution was signed.” His eyes close in contentment when Denmark wraps one arm around his waist. “It feels like such a long time ago.”

“Time really does fly, doesn’t it?” Denmark laughs. “It seems like ages ago when I called you at midnight.”

“Oh, that. Well, I’m tired again.”

“Don’t go to sleep yet. I haven’t given you my present yet.”

Norway straightens up a little, staring into Denmark’s bright blue eyes. “Oh?”

Before he realises what’s happening, gentle fingers curl under his chin and lift his face up, and Denmark seals their lips in a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers against Norway’s lips.

“I love you too,” Norway whispers back.

June - Night Sky (Published)

The park is next, and the two approach it with joined hands and cheery conversation. They sit on a bench with malt crackers from street vendors and talk, conversation straying from silly younger brothers to recipes to an intense debate about just how the Renaissance came to be. Vincente’s argument on the Crusades is cut off when Madeline leans in to kiss him, the gesture sweetened by malt syrup and making his next point fade away before he can say it.

But all talk of Renaissance and revolution disappears when Vincente’s phone rings, bringing a call from Yao at exactly 12:00a.m., like the clock striking midnight after a ball.

Except there’s no glass slipper left behind.

They return to the apartment to find it dead quiet, everyone else probably in their bedrooms. The door swings closed behind them and, exchanging smiles, head for the guest room, where Madeline stays. Her suitcase is still half-unpacked, boxes of cookies and other souvenirs strewn across the floor. Vincente watches as she clears up the mess and digs around for a clean set of clothing, then walks past him for the bathroom. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

So he goes back to his own room, cringing a bit at Leon’s snoring on the way and closing the door. His curtains are still open, and the dark sky is dotted with lights, bright advertisement-flaunting billboards and sparkling buildings and little stars of apartment windows like his. The sky he showed Madeline over video call, the sky they strolled under just minutes ago, the sky his girlfriend is so amazed at.

He thanks the sky, the sky that cloaks the city that never sleeps, for bringing out the most beautiful part of Madeline: her eyes, bright and blue reflecting the noon sky and deep and soulful mirroring the night sky. And he thanks his home city, for making Madeline laugh and smile in a way he can’t. He thanks everything that makes Madeline happy: his siblings, the bakeries, the books, the world itself.

July - Rosenhave (Published)

The guard turns.

He launches.

Stellan hitches up the skirt of his gown and dashes across the path, jumping up the gilded iron gates and scaling it before the guard can turn around again. He lands on the soft grass, dusts the soil off his slippers and straightens up, heading deeper into the garden.

The garden is all red — soft, pale stargazer lilies, crimson azalea like little bunches of red fabric, delicate Danish orchids that remind Stellan of vermillion bells. And, at the very end, a rosebush with beautiful, blood-red blossoms dotting the thorny branches.

He feels out-of-place in his blue garments and dull accessories, like a pebble among diamonds. He strokes his pendant, his most valuable possession, pensively as he waits.

Clank, clank, clank.

Creaking footsteps near the castle entrance. The door creaks open, and out steps an armoured boy. The scabbard attached at his waist knocks against his fauld, and the visor of his helm flaps as he takes it off, revealing messy golden hair, glittering blue eyes and a bright smile.

Stellan does his best to look annoyed, placing his hands on his hips and glaring at him. “You’re late, Henrik.”

August - Home (In progress)

The city of Macau never slept, and neither did Vicente.

His brother told him of how he, as a baby, would stay up for hours, staring out the window at the street lamps and billboards through his crib with wide eyes. Vicente didn’t remember much about Macau except for those lights, shining like stars even when the clock struck midnight. They were such a stark contrast from his brother Yao, who had eyes like pools of ink that always twinkled in the night.

One night, Yao had scooped him up from his crib and carried him, grunting from his weight, to look out the window and into the night. “Look,” he’d whispered in his accented Cantonese, “look at where we are. It’s huge, isn’t it? When you grow bigger, Mother and Father will take us out there, and we’ll walk and walk until we know this place like the back of our hands.”

He told him a story another night, under the soft glow of Vicente’s night-light. “Before you were born, Mother, Father and I lived in Beijing,” he’d said, “and it was nothing like Macau. The nighttimes were always dark, and I don’t think anybody walked in the streets after sunset. This is far more beautiful, don’t you think?

Yao spoke to him like that almost every night, sitting by his crib and talking. He remembered Yao saying once, when he was almost two years old, “Mother made us egg tarts today for dessert. One day, she’ll teach me how and we can eat them together, while walking through the streets. We’ll buy books in that new bookstore that opened up nearby, and then play in the park.”

He helped Vicente towards the window and pointed at a particularly bright building. “Do you see that? That building is called the Venetian. I heard that the inside looks like a castle, and a river runs through it! We’ll go there as well, and we can ride boats on the river and pretend to be princes.”

That day never came.

September - Romeo and Mercutio (Published)

“Love,” Francis muses, “is love a blessing or a curse? It takes, it hurts, it kills, but with it comes new life and changed man. People do insane things in the name of love, whether good or bad. Tell me,” he asks himself, “when the Lord allowed us to love, what type of gift was it?”

“Love is love.” Basch sets down a plate of flan on the table. “Simple as that. Love is something nice that one person feels for another. No blessings, no curses, no nothing.”

Dramatically, Francis sighs. “Oh, how you wound me, Zwingli. Seeing love as something so mundane and technical… I’ll bet you’ve never been in love before.”

“And so what if I haven’t?” Basch retorts, “my parents loved me. It was nice. There was nothing taken, nothing given, nothing changed nor anything hurt. There weren’t any dramatic sacrifices like in those love stories you read too much. That’s all love is to me, and all love is in real life — something nice.”

Francis bites at a spoonful of flan. “Nice, nice, nice. Is that all you can say about the most beautiful thing in the world? Why not ‘radiant’, ‘elegant’, ‘pretty’, some lovelier words than plain old ‘nice’?”

Basch rolls his eyes, tired of his antics. “Because I don’t need flowery words to describe love. Love doesn’t hide behind snobby vocabulary. Four letters and that’s all. Easy as pie.”

Taking another bite of flan, Francis stares out the window. “How I wish love were easy. Alas, unrequited love is as painful as a blade digging into one’s heart, and there is nothing one can do about it.” He sighs. “When you’re pining after the most stunning person you’ve ever laid your eyes on, knowing that nothing can bring them to love you back, that is pain worse than the blow of a sword.”

“You’re talking about Erika Vogel, aren’t you?” Basch asks, “the Queen.”

He doesn’t reply, continuing to gaze wistfully out the window. “Untainted by the cruel world, pure and immaculate unlike anything else in this kingdom. Compared to them, I am nothing.”

“Nothing?” Basch repeats, “you’re the King of the entire Diamond Kingdom. You’ve run the kingdom peacefully for, what, ten years? You could have anyone you want.”

“If only it were so simple, Zwingli.” Francis closes his eyes. “If only.”

October - Game Of Love (Published)

Denmark drops to his knees, kissing Norway as he does so. “Oh, don’t lie to yourself. You know why you fuck me like this, why you touch me this way.”

“Do I really?” Letting Denmark cradle him, Norway arches an eyebrow. “Enlighten me, Denmark. Just why do I touch you like this?”

“Well, maybe it’s because you feel something. You know, something like a little spark, a flame, a - “

“Love.” Norway reaches out a trembling hand to caress Denmark’s face. “Maybe it’s that.”

How’s that? You like that, don’t you? Well, Denmark, it looks like I’ll be with you from now on. Is that shocking? I won’t push you away, don’t worry. Why? Well, it’s simple. You’re the only one…

Who I truly love.

…

Jos puts the script back down, staring at it. “Well, that was… a journey.”

“Don’t say that, Jos.” Francis grins, flipping through the pages of his copy. “I think Kiku did a lovely job with this, for somebody who’s never written a script before.”

“A script?” Jos repeats incredulously. “This reads less like a script and more like some erotic fiction written by an overzealous author.”

Francis kicks his chair. “Well, too bad. I’ve given the script to Jens and Eirik, and they’ll be playing it out two days from now.” He winks. “So I hope that it’ll grow on you by then.”

November - The Summer Side (Published - my proudest work yet!)

Whatever he tries to say gets stuck in his throat. Stellan finds himself lost in Henrik’s eyes, the shade of the bright summer sky. For the third time since arriving at the fairy realm, he cannot speak.

“How about you?” Somehow, for Stellan didn’t think it possible, Henrik closes the already-narrow distance between the two of them. Their lips are almost touching — it is practically an invitation for a kiss. “If I were to leave, what would you do?”

A shudder, thrilling, riveting and perhaps even enchanting, ripples throughout Stellan. He clears his throat, but his voice is still hoarse with emotion when he speaks. “I don’t know,” he replies, “because wherever you go, I’ll follow along.”

Right after answering, like he is possessed by the spirit of someone lovelier, more romantic and far bolder, Stellan teeters up on his tiptoes and kisses him.

Henrik’s lips taste even sweeter, even more addicting than fairy fruit. They bring the scorching intensity of the summer sun, the balm of fountain water; they are softer and gentler than feathers. And though Stellan closes his eyes, stars explode before his vision as he sways, pure, untouched adoration igniting in the very depths of his heart.

Stellan opens his eyes. It seems that all but Henrik has disappeared from his view and there is nothing else he can focus on, except the touch of his lips.

The sight of Henrik, after he pulls away, flustered and red-faced and devoid of his usual winning charisma is nearly amusing. Once again out of breath, Stellan tentatively reaches out to cup Henrik’s cheek, like Henrik did to him when they first met. Henrik seems to flush even deeper. “I — “ he stammers, “I, er, well.” He coughs. “Yes. Do — do you mean it? Do you, um, really, y’know, want to stay with me?”

It feels nice to be the one with charming words this time. “I meant every word.”

With a little gasp, Henrik grabs Stellan and cradles him to his chest, laughing joyously. Arms once again ‘round his waist, he spins them around and around, laughing still, and Stellan cannot help smiling along. It seems dream-like, fantastical — he has fallen in love with the fairy king, and the king loves him right back.

December - The Soldier Who Challenged Fate (Published)

With no intention to be anywhere near fires, nor to listen to the horrid toys and their words, Henrik limped away from his tittering tormentors on his solitary leg.

Across the large table he went, until he came across a vast castle, a grand thing made of cardboard. It was very pretty, but even prettier were the little ballerina figures inside. They had dresses sewn from scrap cloth, and golden hair made of old thread. Upon their dresses were lovely ribbon sashes, fastened with the shiniest little spangles. One of them, who stood at the very corner and away from her fellow dancers, didn’t look as charming as the rest. Her elegant face was marred by a stain of ink, right over her eyes. Just wait, though. She’s the most extraordinary of them all.

One by one, the ballerinas fluttered out of their castle, their dresses bouncing. The ink-stained one stumbled out last. She nearly fell down, and she would have, if not for Henrik’s being in front of her. He held her steady with his arms, and looked at her face. She indeed was very lovely, despite the ink blinding her. Henrik gazed at her lovingly, and noticed the little words stitched at the hem of her gown — they read “Linnea”.

Linnea fumbled, reaching out for Henrik’s shoulders. She placed her hands there, and Henrik set his hands around her waist. She lifted her leg up high, so it appeared that she, too, had only one leg. And all night they remained like that, holding each other as the fire crackled, keeping them warm and happy.

...

I’d like to thank all of you for supporting me since my writing blogs were created. I’ve improved so much since January, and I know I have a long way to go before my writing is the best it can be. Until then, I’ll keep practicing, and I’ll keep writing for you all! Thank you for a lovely 2019, and let’s hope for an even better 2020!

#my writing #spilled ink #fanfiction

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sladvlactia · 5 years

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The Division 2 and Dissonance

No one with a platform seems to be talking about the Division 2, other than a few more liberal or collegiate papers. And what can be said of it that wasn’t already said about the first Division? A fetishistic gun-porn cover based shooter. One that asks you to uphold all that ‘Makes America Great” but not in so many words. A strong game so far as mechanics goes, that has forced me to exist in a state of cognitive dissonance as I enjoy my way through multiple hours of the kind of violence so expertly mocked and denigrated by Spec Ops: The Line. It has the potential of being a masterful story, if they only knew what it was they wanted to say.

But let’s start with the strengths the game has, which to be fair, are many. A tight cover based shooter that incentivizes creative tactics and strategies, a well-balanced progression system for your gear that makes you care more about what you use on a more complex level than whatever has the highest numbers. Excellent level design with environmental puzzles and storytelling that require you to look beyond your next place of cover and allows for a more expansive story as well as smaller, side-stories you can ferret out if your curious and determined enough. In fact, these side stories are generally more well thought out and nuanced than the main storyline is.

With cover based shooters, there’s always the danger of having the game devolve into a stagnant hide and seek punctuated by grenade explosions. The mix of enemy types, various elevations of cover, and the myriad of different skills makes each battle feel unique, even if you are replaying a mission, you’ll need to adapt to the different enemies or the different paths they may take to flank you or catch you out in the open. The result is a fast paced challenge that requires you to constantly adapt to your surroundings. You have to keep an eye out for anyone with specific gear, do they have a grenade bag? Wait for them to be near someone else and shoot the bag, taking out them and those around them. Are they near a breaker box? Shoot the box and shock them, buying you time to line up a headshot, or to reposition if you’re being flanked.

That attention to detail, and the effort made obvious by the positioning of each element in the game world, leads to the first issue for the Division 2. Of the four different factions, each has specific strategies they use to combat you. Military tactics from the remnants of a battalion with the True-Son’s. Fast and Furious kamikaze and fire with the Outcasts, or the chaotic and “street-tough” style of the Hyena’s. To explore what I’m getting at, let’s start with the Hyena’s; a faction made up of either black people or, “inbred” white people. The “animals” of the Division world, specifically likened to “Black-Bloc” in the in-game descriptions. Whereas the other factions will rely on the cover given, or use their various tools to flush you out of cover, the Hyena’s will rush you, They’re designed to be chaotic, to be an embodiment of anarchy. A miss-step at best when they’re all brown or poor people in the game world, but outright racism/classism is more likely. The Outcasts are villains because of what they did in response to being rounded up and put into a concentration camp, because they want revenge and took it too far. Is another uncomfortable portrayal; as a friend put it, “I can identify the most, with the outcasts…” They’ve become terrorists to be sure, but when the alternative is to trust in the same government agencies that left you to die in the first place, it’s hard to judge. Especially when the faction that is more or less responsible for their suffering, is the military remnant known as the True-Sons. A fascist proxy force clearly meant to be the more jingoist aspect of America, and those that just “Follow-Orders” a step in the right direction for acknowledging the dangers of power and following orders, one that seems to be mysteriously missing from the Division agents themselves. Perhaps portraying a faction of almost religious fanatics known for nursing a grudge from being forced into concentration camps by fascists wasn’t the best idea.

The gear itself is balanced and nuanced enough to allow for customizing your play style, and giving you the option of spending hours going through your stash of goods, trying to get the right amount of attack, vs, skill, vs, Defense boosts to make use of your various talents or skill modifications. Something that is enjoyable to a great number of people who appreciate such fine-tuning. (myself included) As I go through each armor piece, I find myself attempting to match my branding, as each brand has specific perks unlocked by stacking pieces together, modifying my weapons with various scopes, or larger magazines. It’s well designed, and each piece carries a benefit and a detriment to the stats of the gun. It’s easier for me to ignore that narrative behind it, the oh so blunt tagline in the beginning cinematic “Did you have a gun?...Did your neighbor?” A Jingoist, refrain that all but screams that all that keeps us from turning on each other is the threat of punishment. Of violence, Of Death and the end of a highly customized and lovingly crafted weapon. But it’s always there, in the back of your mind that everything in this world is solved by shooting it, even locked doors, in most instances. In fact, the only real interaction the player has comes via bullets. A sacrifice for streamlining the work put into gameplay, models and animation of course, but maybe I just want experience this world without destroying it.

Which leads into the beautiful level design, and the amazing work and the evident love that went into making DC. During missions, you can generally tell where it is you need to go through clever use of extension cords, or discarded shell casings, or even blood smears. Letting you know that THIS door, of the many available, is the one you want to open to proceed. Every alleyway, abandoned parking garage, or small nook in the sewers has sleeping bags or tents, discarded food wrappers or even torn pages from a notebook, telling someone to be strong, that the writer has gone to look for food. Taken together, the level designers have obviously put in a staggering amount of effort and thought into their work. You can find small treasures, hidden easter-eggs or simply little oasis of peace or an excuse to put something silly in. Searching the sewers, I found a small room full of plush animals, in front was a turtle with a miniature Hard Hat on it. Looking around you can see several plushy snakes wrapped around the pipes. There’s nothing else that’s important in this room, no reason to go through the effort of resizing a hard hat to fit on a plush turtle, just the knowledge that some players will find this room, feel a small bit of levity, and be encouraged to stop and explore before moving on. At one point, I came across an area enclosed in wood, a place that you cannot access as a player. And I hear a blues harmonica playing from somewhere inside. Again, no real reason that I’ve found, just something nice to put into the world, something to break up the unceasing “gritty-ness”. Which is, perhaps, the most damning bit of cognitive dissonance in the Division 2. Each faction has found footage style “intel” little cinematic clips that illustrate just how capitol “E” Evil they are. It quickly becomes absurd; the Hyena’s leave a child alive after murdering the adults because they think it would be “funnier to watch him starve”. The outcasts ritualistically murder the builder of their camp, by literally beating him to death with a hammer. The leader of the true sons, true to his 80’s villain trope, kills a doctor in cold blood when she dares tell him that they cannot just abandon the victims of the plague. Each video, or audio clip is entirely serious, each faction is irremediably evil. Only the heroes, the good guys are allowed to be morally grey.

Which, all told, is I think the largest issue I have with the Division 2, the narrative. Helpign defend America, to rebuild it, restore what it once was. The settlements you are tasked with helping in the game are closed off areas within the city. Large walls, armed guards and patrolling squads of armed militia keep the area more or less “safe”. Loudspeakers tell anyone nearby that they cannot simply take in more people, than only the worthy are allowed inside. ‘If you stay here, you have to pull your weight” is a literal quote from one settlement. As you help to strengthen each, more American Flags, and colors of red, white, and blue crop up. The sun shines brighter, the guns get bigger. The people inside are kept inside, safe with work rotas, physical training time, clear rules and regulations. A prison to be blunt, one that only allows in those they deem “desirables”. You find recordings and messages from the leaders or residents of the settlements, hear the radio broadcasts from those inside. They struggle with the knowledge that they cannot allow everyone in, that they live the life of prisoners or impose that life on others. Each recording found reinforces that it is “necessary”, that they are simply doing what must be done for now for a brighter future. Commendable, but worryingly fascist in its execution. Especially when the difference between the good guys and bad guys, functionally, is non-existent. The Hyena’s control the drugs, The True-sons have the most guns and the best gear, the outcasts are weaponizing their own infection, ingeniously turning their outcast status into a weapon itself. Each group is attempting to restore control, or some semblance of a reason to continue to live, through demolishing the past, through exacting revenge, through imposing order, or by preserving what’s left of a lost empire. It’s difficult to feel any different from any other faction, when all you do, all you are capable of doing, is killing and destroying. Even the end game enemies, Black Tusk; a clear nod towards Blackwater, are ambiguously evil. The only thing you know about them is that they oppose you. Finding more of the hidden story pieces, through abandoned cell-phones, laptops, and found footage begins to show a clear breakdown of government. The almost saccharine portrayal of congress “putting aside their differences” to help the sick and wounded is shown in counterpoint to how they fled as soon as things got bad. The current president may or may not have seized control after the assassination of the previous administration.

In all, maybe my issue with this game is that it gives me no choice but to accept that America is corrupt, broken, and racist. That we as a society are one bad day away from warring factions. That the “best” of us, people sworn to defend us and rebuild us, or little more than glorified trained killers. Who scavenge colorful sunglasses to snap selfies in front of their slaughter. Maybe that’s the whole point of the Division, America is great for a small group of people, who are only kept safe by murdering anyone and everyone who doesn’t fit. “Good-Job!” You’ll be told. “By recruiting this camps only doctor, you now have a barber!” Good thing you can look good while fighting people who revel in killing those weaker. To bring it full circle, your mission here was to re-activate your magic SHD network, one you managed to complete relatively early on, why are you here now? A question asked hauntingly in Spec-Ops. Not addressed or entertained in The Division.

#video games #the division 2 #the division game #racisim #fascisim #cognitive dissonance #Slad's Rambles

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tech-news-today-worldwide · 3 years

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Best Puzzle VR Games Available For Oculus Quest 2

Looking for some mind-bending puzzle games to play through on Quest 2? Here are our picks. The Oculus Quest library is only growing larger and stronger by the day with a few options available in most genres. For puzzle fans, we’ve put together this list of some of the best in the genre available on Quest. Some are inventive and creative, some are mind-bending and challenging, but there should be something for everyone. Here are our picks for the best puzzle games available on Oculus Quest. A Fisherman’s Tale Before its more recent game Maskmaker, Innerspace released the acclaimed A Fisherman’s Tale on Quest in 2019. It’s a short yet incredibly charming puzzle game, with ingenious puzzles will make you rack your brain until you finally reach that critical ‘a-ha’ moment that feels so satisfying. A Fisherman’s Tale was nominated in our Best of VR 2019 Awards for the Best PSVR Game/Experience, Best Quest Game/Experience, Best PC VR Game/Experience, and overall Overall Best VR Of 2019. You can read more in our review. Cubism Cubism is a deceptively simple game. Each level features a 3D wireframe shape into which you have to fit different Tetris-like block pieces. The puzzles get harder and the pieces more complex – it’s a slow and measured puzzle experience. Even better, the game’s recent updates include 120Hz and hand tracking support. The latter in particular is a near-perfect fit for Cubism – all you’re doing is picking up pieces and placing them into the wireframe, but it’s enough to create a sublime hand tracking experience. This isn’t a ranked list, but if it were, Cubism would be my personal #1. You can read our review of Cubism here (written before hand tracking support was added) and read our impressions of the hand tracking update here. Floor Plan 2 Floor Plan 2 feels like a VR episode of The Muppet Show, not just in the hilarious absurdity of its world but also in the constant, invigorating ingenuity of its puzzles. It is a logic-based puzzle game in a completely illogical world and one of the best recent releases on the Quest platform. Read more in our Floor Plan 2 review. The Curious Tale of the Stolen Pets The Curious Tale of the Stolen Pets presents you with several short little puzzles set in a diorama-scale worlds, which you can manipulate and interact with to solve the level and progress onwards. It’s short, charming and features worlds that are expertly crafted. The puzzles can be a little one-note, but the short length of the game somewhat compensates for that. Even better, Curious Tale added support for hand tracking as well. If you’re keen on playing a puzzle game without controllers, this is a great option. Read more in our Curious Tale review. Tetris Effect If you’re a fan of Tetris, then Tetsuya Mizuguchi’s Tetris Effect is an absolute must-play. It launched first on PSVR and PC VR before finally making its way over the Quest platform in 2020. It is exactly what it sounds like – it’s Tetris in VR. However, it’s matched with a spectacular, powerful and at times hypnotic amount of visual and audio flair. While these visuals have had to be pared down slightly for the Quest release, we still deemed it the definitive version of the game across all platforms – the lack of tethered wires on Quest remains priceless. You can read more in our Tetris Effect Quest review. I Expect You To Die With a sequel just around the corner, now is the perfect time to dive into the original game on Quest. I Expect You To Die is a James Bond spoof puzzle game that first launched on other VR platforms and was then brought over to the Quest in 2019. As is often the case, we feel it’s best played on Quest too. The name says it all – you’ll be dying a lot in this game, and learning from those deaths so you can do better next time. You can read more in our I Expect You To Die Quest review. The Room VR: A Dark Matter The latest installment in The Room series is also its first installment in VR. This isn’t a mobile or PC port either – The Room VR: A Dark Matter is made entirely for VR from the ground up. Developer Fireproof hasn’t lost its penchant for incredibly clever and creative puzzles in the transition. Read more in our review. Gadgeteer Gadgeteer has been around on VR platforms for many years, but new updates ensure it only keeps getting better and better. One of the most recent additions is online level sharing, ensuring that you’ll never run out of puzzles to play through. It’s the ultimate Rube Goldberg machine playground, with both a campaign and a sandbox mode so you can create amazing creations of your own. Myst This seminal PC game made its way over to the Oculus Quest late last year. It’s an upgraded and all-around solid port of the original PC title that will have you reaching for a notebook or a friend to help work your way through the tough puzzles. It’s a game everyone should play once and the Quest 2 port provides you with a modern but faithful way to do so. You can read more in our review. Angry Birds VR: Isle of Pigs While the Angry Birds franchise started on mobile, its first foray into VR is a completely natural transition and results in an extremely fun VR puzzle game. It’s an intuitive VR title that’s perfect for VR beginners and veterans alike. The campaign levels do veer slightly to the easy end of the spectrum, but it’s also a game primarily targeted at kids. This isn’t to say it’s not enjoyable for all ages though, and the custom level builder and online sharing functions mean that you’ll be able to create and play more levels long after you’ve finished the campaign. You can read more in our review. What are your favorite puzzle games on Quest? Let us know in the comments. Read the full article

#artificialintelligence #augmentedreality #gaming #htcvive #mixedreality #virtual #VirtualReality #virtualrealitygames #VR #vrgame #vrgaming

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emilyplaysotome · 6 years

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Dating Diaries - Chapter 9 - The Sound of Silence

Inspired by real events, Emi enters the dating world after her long term relationship ends. Determined to move forward, she starts dating and quickly finds herself in over her head.

In case you missed it, here are the previous chapters:

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

Two weeks into Mako’s trip, I found myself visiting Kyoto of all places. I went back and forth with myself on whether or not I should tell Kazumi I’d be in his neck of the woods.

After a week of silence where he’d some space from me, he’d reached out with one of his very Kazumi-esque messages.

Hope you haven’t frozen your nose

In what was a bit of a fluke for winter, temperatures in Tokyo had dropped unusually low for the season. Everyday before work, I’d bundled myself up before dragging myself to the train and heading in for the day.

Everyday I looked at my phone which was void of the messages Kazumi used to send in which he wished me “Good Morning” and reminded me that I was beautiful.

The silence served to remind me of how much had changed between us.

Going cold turkey had been hard, but I’d stuck to my guns after muting him and accepted that he hadn’t reached out in any capacity. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I missed our nebulous relationship - perhaps because it had been comforting and familiar in a new era of my life that was anything but.

When Kazu had asked me for space, I figured that he would last 3-4 days which was the longest we’d ever gone without talking. On day 5, I felt a twinge of sadness that he didn’t miss me. On day 6 I was convinced I’d never see his familiar name in my notifications again.

In the past, Yuri often spoke to the fact that Kazu wasn’t the type to let me go so easily, but it seemed that he had somehow let go successfully while something in my heart was still holding on. It was a strange feeling to know that I did not want him (that I had deemed him toxic for me), yet I was still not able to let go.

And on the seventh day of silence I felt hurt, rejected, insecure, and every ugly feeling that I have tucked away in the recesses of my heart.

On the morning of day 8, I saw his name and I felt that anxious feeling I hadn’t felt for some time. When I saw his message I shook my head at how weird it was (seeing as how most people would have said something along the lines of, “I hope you’re staying warm” and left it at that).

I wrote back the following, and I felt my heart race as I did:

Haha is that a thing people say? My nose is fine! Hope you’ve been well.

No I just invented it.

I’ve been worried and preoccupied with my latest novel.

His words which usually bled with affection towards me lacked that warmth entirely, and I didn’t want to make excuses for the fact that he didn’t seem into me anymore. I didn’t understand why he’d continue to like my tweets, or text me again if he was over me, and somewhere deep in my heart I wanted to believe that I hadn’t been rejected.

It was my ego, not my head that was struggling with letting go.

Sorry to hear that. I missed your weird inventions, so let me know if we can be friends again (as in, if you still want space or if I can text you a bunch). I’m also going to be in Kyoto for work for a couple of days and if you’re around maybe we can meet up. If you’re busy, it’s all good...just let me know :)

I sent the response and it sat in limbo.

The next morning I grabbed my things and headed for the bullet train to Kyoto.

My coworker Masaki was waiting for me on the platform, and as we found our seats he said, “So Ayumi tells me that your boyfriend is Kazumi Kagami.”

“Ayumi is nothing but a gossip.”

“Oh, so he’s not?”

I shook my head no, “We’re friends.”

“Doesn’t he live in Kyoto? Are you going to see him?”

I could feel my anxiety pick up but in an attempt to play it cool I replied as nonchalantly as I could, “I don’t know. Maybe. Why?”

“I’ve got a book of his I’d love to get signed if you wouldn’t mind.”

Masaki handed me one of his more popular novels, and I nodded as I tucked it into my bag without making any promises.

I’d checked my phone that morning and saw that my message was still in limbo, and that new familiar feeling I associated with Kazumi filled my heart. It was a mix of disappointment, sadness, and hurt and it didn’t seem to matter that I logically knew the universe was doing me a solid.

That’s the funny thing about matters of the heart - you can know what’s best but still be hurt by the reality of what is.

That morning I did have a message from someone - Makoto.

He’d sent me a picture from his capsule hotel where he was smiling on the bed giving the camera a little wave. Unlike Kazumi, for the past couple of weeks I’d been surprised by how often we communicated.

Usually it was once a day or once every two days, and despite his busy schedule he always seemed to find time to write, watch my InstaPicStories, or like something of mine on Tweeter. The attention he gave me didn’t feel manipulative like it did with Kazumi - there was something pure and sweet about it.

With Mako it felt like we were old friends and as a result I didn’t find myself obsessing over my word choice as I’d done with Kazu - I just felt like another version of myself who was confident, secure, and relaxed. We bantered until one of us stopped replying with the knowledge that we would continue the conversation at some point soon.

I looked at the two familiar names and I thought about how each man represented a version of myself.

As a Gemini the notion of the “twins” is one that I hold near and dear to my heart. I can go between incredibly awkward and incredibly charming at the drop of a hat, just as I can go between being an introvert and extrovert.

My personality is a complete contradiction, and so much of how I respond to a situation has to do with what twin is currently dominant.

If I were to apply the idea of “like attracting like” Makoto is the perfect pairing for my good twin. My good twin is the twin who I strive to be for the majority of my life.

She is secure, fun, happy, optimistic, and sees the good in other people. She radiates confidence and her light draws people in.

People like Makoto, and another ex-boyfriend of mine (who was sweet, loyal, and overall one of the best men you’ll ever meet) mirror everything about my good twin. A man who appeals to my good twin draws her out and allows her to thrive. Though he’ll occasionally catch a glimpse of the twin that hides in the shadows, for the most part he’ll see me as my best self.

Kazumi is the man that appeals to my bad twin.

My bad twin is critical, selfish, insecure, mischievous, exciting, devious, and bitter. She is the one who sits on my shoulder and tells me that nothing I do is good enough and that no one will ever love me. She thrives off negativity and uses bad behavior to validate her negative ego - whispering messages in my ear such as, “He’s not that into you because you’re not as special as you think you are...”

She is meek in the face of conflict, and her insecurity makes her desperate for validation and love.

When she rears her ugly head it is hard to get rid of her, and I find myself giving into obsession, anxiety, and depression - all of which is fueled by her toxic whisperings.

She is not all bad, for without her I would never push myself the way I do. She allows me to be critical of myself in a way that my good twin never could, and has helped me grow as a person in the face of self-imposed adversity.

She is the twin who makes me a perfectionist at work because nothing is ever good enough for her, and when it is good enough for her, people are amazed by what I can do. She is the reason why I was promoted recently, and she is the reason why I’ll be a success in my professional life.

She is the twin who attracts people like Kazumi, who have a deep insecurity within and she thrives off that energy, making me just as insecure in turn. Her brand of fun is excitement and drama and she loves the emotional roller coaster my good twin despises. She luxuriates in hurt and turmoil because it validates all those awful things she likes to whisper in my ear.

And when it comes to matters of the heart, she is everything I never want to be seen as - desperate, weak, and insecure.

While I want to believe I’ve successfully hidden that image from Kazu, I’ll never know. I do know that with Shizuo, he saw all those things and whether he realized it or not, used them to his advantage.

With my bad twin at the helm that morning, I stared at the TalkTime message to Kazu that still hadn’t received a read receipt and wrestled with the impulse to follow up.

In the past, my good twin would have lost this battle quickly but because of all the work I’d been doing lately, I heard her say to me, “Emi...what are you trying to achieve by writing to him?”

“I miss the attention. Why doesn’t he like me anymore?” my bad twin snapped back.

“Why does that matter?”

“Because! What does it say about me if he walks away?”

“Nothing. Other than the fact he can’t handle a woman who doesn’t cater to him completely.”

“But he used to fight for me - it made me believe that I was one of a kind.”

“You are one of a kind - don’t give him the power to make that true or untrue. What do you want from him?”

“I want him to want me.”

“For what purpose? Do you want to be his girlfriend?”

Even my bad twin knew that the answer to that question was “no”, and so I resolved myself to letting it lie and put my phone away for the remainder of the ride.

I’d told myself that this month away from Makoto I would work on me, but my bad twin didn’t want to deal with what that meant. I told myself that things were over with Kazumi but my bad twin didn’t want to accept that. I told myself that everything that was cropping up was probably about these two men, but my good twin held me accountable.

Once Masaki was asleep, I pulled out my notebook and started to write another letter I’d never send to the person with whom my unresolved issues further fueled my bad twin’s obsession with Kazumi.

Dear Shizuo,

I’m headed to Kyoto with Masaki (that coworker of mine you were always suspect of [which is ironic now that I’m thinking about it]) for work. There’s a big wedding expo here and we’ll be manning our booth for a couple of days before going home.

Do you remember when we came here for our anniversary?

I do. I remember that was our last happy memory together, and that a month later I’d find out that you were cheating on me.

Do you know what that did to me?

Masaki and I are staying at a hotel near Gyoen National Park. I’m worried I’ll see it and cry when I think about being there with you. I’m worried the memories of being happy and feeling good about myself will bubble up and remind me that I haven’t healed as much as I want to believe, and that I miss you even though I know I shouldn’t.

I don’t want to cry in front of him.

I’ve realized that the aftermath of what you did validated that small part of myself who has always wondered if I’m not good enough to be with someone. I gave you the power to dictate how I feel about myself, and I know I need to take that away from you...from Kazumi...but it’s hard.

Are you with her right now?

Are you happy?

Those questions I know don’t really matter, but that side of me that loves to revel in disappointment and distress wants to know. She wants to punish me for being not enough...but I know that I have to stop her on my own.

- Emi

I wrote several more letters like that over the course of the time I spent in Kyoto.

Masaki was surprisingly well behaved that trip, and I found myself hanging out with him in the evenings and actually enjoying myself. I realized that once he was away from the rest of our coworkers he didn’t have the impulse to show off and do all the stuff I thought was a bit obnoxious.

On the first full day we were there, we went to dinner and he caught me checking my phone a bunch. He ignored it at first and then asked me if I was expecting a call which made me realize that I’d been obsessing over the fact that I still hadn’t received a “read” receipt from Kazu.

Against my better judgement (thanks to the second bottle of wine we were currently sharing) I told Masaki the full story about Kazumi (without any salacious details) and was pleasantly surprised when he thoughtfully let me know that he no longer wanted Kazumi Kagami to sign his book.

“I don’t like that he’d do that - even if you were just friends that’s not how you treat someone,” Masaki said softly.

“I agree. It’s why I’ve tried to distance myself, but I still feel sad. I don’t know why...but for some reason I still want his attention and his approval somehow.”

“I’ve been there and there’s no easy way to push through it because your head knows what’s best but your heart just doesn’t want to get on board for some reason.”

“Yeah...” I chuckled, “Maybe I just have really bad taste in men. My last boyfriend cheated on me.”

Masaki smiled at in me in a way that was far softer than any smile I’d ever seen him wear and he said, “My ex cheated on me too.”

“Really?”

“Mmm. And you know...for months I thought about it. I wondered - are they together? Are they happy? Does she laugh about how they carried on together for months before I found out?”

Masaki spoke so quietly that I worried should I breathe too loudly I’d miss what he was saying, and somehow every word he was saying felt important to hear.

“And this one day, a year and half later I ran into one of her friends. We were at a work party, and as much as I didn’t want to talk to her I also knew I couldn’t just run away. I played it like I was fine, you know...that I was doing well...and I asked how she was and how Kana was and she told me that Kana was fine and then very quickly excused herself. Of course, that only made me obsess more...”

Masaki looked lost in the memory, and let out a self deprecating laugh as he continued his story.

“Six months later, I was running in the park and I saw Kana. She was alone on a bench and was reading book. I had this moment where I contemplated just ignoring her and continuing my run but something stopped me from doing that...and so, I approached her. We got to talking and after exchanging a few pleasantries she apologized to me for what she’d done. She told me that after our breakup, she sank into a deep depression which had resulted in her being hospitalized. The day I’d seen her friend, she must have realized that it wasn’t her place to tell me what had happened and so all this time I was thinking Kana was happy and engaged and that the reason her friend ran away from me that night was because she didn’t want to pour salt on the wound...it was just a story I made up. None of it was real...”

Masaki finally snapped back to reality with me, and took another sip of wine before shaking his head.

“My point is that you’ll just never know. Not with Kazu. Not with Shizuo. You don’t know what their real story is and it’s not worth trying to guess. So yeah...it sucks when someone hurts you like that but you can’t live in a story you make up about them. You know? You gotta deal with your own story and what’s there and make the best of it.”

I nodded, taking in everything Masaki had said.

When I’d left Shizuo, he’d begged me not to. He’d followed me out of his apartment after I ended it even though he was only in a towel and in front of all his neighbors he pleaded with me to stay.

Masaki was right - it had never occurred to my bad twin that he might be grappling with the same kind of sadness I was dealing with.

My bad twin was so caught up in being rejected and stroking my own insecurities that I never even thought about the fact that I was telling myself fables about Shizuo and Kazu to avoid looking in the mirror and dealing with my own story.

“Damn Masaki, that was super profound.”

“What can I say? I’m more than just a pretty face.”

We smiled at each other and clinked our glasses before toasting to moving on.

The rest of my time in Kyoto was rather enjoyable and between the Expo and dinner with Masaki I didn’t have time to obsess. It was only that hour or two before bed where the silence was palpable and I started to feel lonely that I thought about Kazu or Shizuo.

If I’m being honest, I guess it wasn’t “them” that I was thinking about but their rejection and how that related to me. My bad twin fought to hold on while my good twin had me writing letters I’d never send in the spirit of letting go.

Even though a battle inside myself raged on for days, I was proud of the fact that I did not follow up or reach out, and that I kept Kazu muted.

With that said, the morning we were headed home to Toyko (aka the 3rd day of my trip) I checked my phone as I always did first thing the morning.

Makoto had texted me pictures from Nagano where he’d gone with a few of his work friends on a day trip skiing. There were some really beautiful shots of the mountain, one of him looking cute in ski apparel, and one of a fancy hot chocolate that he’d gotten at the lodge and he said he wished he could share with me.

The messages made my good twin smile, so naturally my bad one whispered, “Has Kazu read your message yet?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not seeing him. He made his intentions towards me clear.”

“But has he read it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“...But has he?”

He hadn’t.

I didn’t let Masaki know that I’d checked, nor did I talk about Kazumi with any of my friends. There was no point - it had all been said again and again and the only person who hadn’t accepted the fact that it was over was me...

...my bad twin at least.

One week later, I still found myself thinking about Kazumi.

It wasn’t just my bad twin - it was my good one as well. She had been proud of how she’d kept her sister in check, but something in both of them felt unresolved.

As a result, I found myself looking at Kazu’s tweeter feed and saw that in the week he’d been silent, he continued to “like” random tweets of mine. If I knew him the way I thought I did, it was his lazy attempt to keep me at arm’s length while he deliberated over what he wanted. I realized that perhaps the thing that felt unresolved was that I hadn’t established what I wanted - which was access to his brilliant mind and a friendship in which we could chat and not be so emotionally affected by each other.

In the week of silence, Makoto had texted me. Yuri had texted me. Hiromi and Keima had texted me. Even Masaki had texted me.

I realized that when I opened my TalkTime or FriendFind, they were full of people who wanted me around. They were full of friends I cared about and new acquaintances who knew that they wanted to be in my life and made an effort in doing so.

During this time, I spent an entire day cooped up in my apartment, playing video games, reading books, and just doing whatever it was that I wanted, all the while remembering that I really liked the person I was and currently am.

I wondered why at this point in time, it was not just my bad twin that was thinking about him, but my good one as well.

I stepped back and realized that my good twin (the one that is secure and values the person I am in this very moment) wanted me to make it known that I wasn’t about to allow myself to be in limbo. She wanted me to know that if Kazumi refused to provide me with the closure necessary for both good and bad twins to move on, I had the power to do it for myself.

It didn’t matter if he read this message or not.

I was sending it for me, not him. I was sending it so if I were to look back on our nebulous three month relationship one day, I would not feel as if anything were unresolved. I would look back and realize that I had carried myself with dignity, and had said the things necessary in order to establish that I valued myself too much than to waste time talking to a man who was too cowardly to express that he wanted to walk away.

Hey - I just wanted to say that I hope you’re doing ok.

I was debating reaching out again, but I feel as if I need to. I can’t really tell what you want from me anymore. I figured after not hearing from you that moved but then you “like” random tweets of mine which makes it hard for me to forget you. I really hope we can be friends but I don’t want to chase someone who doesn’t want me around. And if you don’t, it’s ok. I’ll miss you but I am still very happy to have met you. So just let me know...I do hope we can be friends. I want to be friends.

I sent it, and then deleted the message in my history.

I didn’t need a read receipt. It didn’t matter.

He might stop liking my tweets. He might never speak to me again.

That was ok.

My good twin needed to let him know that just because he’d held my bad one hostage for the past few weeks, she was back in the driver’s seat now. She was not going to allow for me to waste my time with someone who couldn’t figure out if he wanted me around.

She wanted me to see that I don’t have to sit and be a silent passenger to someone else’s whims like I was with Shizuo, and now Kazu.

She wanted me to see that you make your own path, you get your own closure, and most importantly you hold fast to the belief that your value comes from within.

She wanted to be friends, and if he didn’t...that was ok.

It will probably make my life easier if Kazumi doesn’t reply, but as is the case with life, I simply don’t know what the final outcome will be.

I don’t know if we’ll be friends or if he’ll disappear into the ether and just be added to the list of “somebody that I used to know”. I am thankful for the mirror he’s held up to me, and for the fact that as flawed as he is, he has served a purpose in my life to help me get through what has been a difficult time.

With Makoto, while I do not know if he’ll stick around, I am thankful that he has reminded me of the type of man who is best paired with my good twin. The mirror he has held up has reminded me of my best self and so, I have worked on and will continue to work on making her even better.

Most importantly, as I move forward I am thankful for the person I am becoming and for those around me who continue to walk beside me as I continue to evolve. They remind me everyday of the things I already know - that I am kind, fun to be around, and deserving of love.

And on that note, the person I’ve realized who is most deserving of my love is me - not either of the men who have taken up the majority of my thoughts over the past few months.

As I reclaim the person I am, it’s hard to remember that I ever forgot who I was.

It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that I once asked myself, “Who am I without Shizuo?”

I know that I’ll have good days and bad, but I feel secure in the fact that the core of who I am is dope as fuck, and that whoever is lucky enough to be awarded the title of my “boyfriend” in the future is going to need to prove that he’s worthy of it...and most importantly, of me.

This is the final chapter of my Dating Diaries.

To be honest, my initial ending was when I thought it was done with both of them but as life has shown me there is more nuance to relationships if you allow for it. I may do an epilogue but it doesn’t matter - the heart of this story is about finding yourself after a breakup and realizing that your worth does not come from external forces but within.

In the words of RuPaul, “If you can’t love yourself how the hell are you gonna love someone else - can I get an amen!”

If you liked the story, I hope you’ll share it and if you’re feeling really generous I hope you’ll consider buying me a coffee!

Thanks for reading and hope you got something out of it!

@robotloveskitten

@airashime

@kingdomzeldaquest

@hifftn

@speakfearlessly1989

@nitelotus

@scorpioslover

@untilsmidnight

@dreamfar628

@bluebutterflyrose

@aftertheclockstrikes

@mai-dreaming

@cupcakezprototype

@rose-of-yonezawa

@kitty-kat-ty

@kiniloves-yoi

@mandakatt

@111archravenue

@lone-wolf155

@lilombc123

@frywen-babbles

@bolt8826

@lxvescramble

@ticoerica

@huntressofsheep

@rapmotaku

@taecifer

@wickedtiff

@sleepdeprivedlunatics

@venuslively

@aeirwen

@itshaejinju

@lostfish-03

@sapphirerosero

@galaxyinqkxy

@maolvirahdani

@juliettebbgamer

@itshouldcometothis

@bunnysroom

@voltage-trash

#makoto morimachi #Kazumi Kagami #my last first kiss fanfic #my last first kiss #liar! uncover the truth fanfic #voltage fanfic #Voltage fan fiction #voltage fan

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perfectirishgifts · 3 years

Text

An Informative Intel Industry Analyst Conference 2020

New Post has been published on https://perfectirishgifts.com/an-informative-intel-industry-analyst-conference-2020/

An Informative Intel Industry Analyst Conference 2020

I spent close to three days attending the 2020 Intel industry analyst day last week. All the new information was NDA, I am not going to rehash what has already been said over the past year, but I did want to share some of my high-level opinions exiting the week. Comparatively, there was less new information shared than in previous years and less one on ones to get down to the nitty gritty details. I do not see this necessarily as the company withholding information, but rather, the inconveniences brought on by Covid-19 and the lack of face to face communications. Net-net, my view of Intel has improved in some areas and remains the same in others. If you have not read my previous opinions on Intel’s strategies and products, please check out the resources at the very bottom of the article.

My goals of the week were to re-assess Intel’s strategy, get an update on its fab position, its products, and position in AI training.

Strategy

I still think that Intel’s strategy is the right one. It is focused on six pillars of innovation and remaining an IDM. Intel has expanded the definition of compute, which Intel calls the “XPU” across multiple types of compute, the CPU, GPU, FPGA, and ASIC. I have believed in this approach for 20 years and I still believe it is the right path. And I also think right now, IDM (Integrated Device Manufacturer) is still the right move for Intel, with the ability to tweak and tune the designs. If a company is executing well on an IDM strategy, it can also be the lowest cost, and it has the most flexibility. The challenge is on Intel’s 10nm execution but try not to confuse that with the merits of strategically being an IDM.

Intel strategy- simplified view

And I think disaggregating chip design makes sense for Intel, even though this is not what the mobile players are doing right now. Qualcomm and Apple, for the time being, are sticking with monolithic designs. AMD has already disaggregated, and Xilinx and NVIDIA are on its way. You see, the larger the die area and the more heterogeneity the SOC, the bigger the need for a 2D, 2.5D, or 3D design. AMD got there first with 2D, and it is paying off well so far. Intel is first on 3D which is early but looks very promising to achieve more density in new designs. I know we’ve seen Intel 3D in lower power designs, but I’m more excited seeing this in datacenter products for mix and match IP.

Intel CSO Saf Yeboah-Amankwah outside perspective

Intel Fabs

When you ask most people in the tech industry about the state of Intel fabs, I think they would say they were “broken”. I understand this sentiment, but I believe it is too simplistic and not accurate. Intel has had big issues with 10nm execution, delayed over two years, and issues with 7nm execution, which have been delayed another six months. This is an issue, but fundamentally what people are missing are what the company is doing with 14nm and the real progress on 10nm. Intel is servicing 90% of the server and PC industry mostly with a super-optimized 14nm process and silicon designs. Intel even had to “back-port” features and parts from 10nm to 14nm. In the notebook market on 10nm process, Intel is competitive and would say most competitive with battery life. Intel has never shared yield in the 30 years I’ve known them, and the company did not share 14nm or 10nm yields with the group.

I did have the chance to talk 1:1 with Dr. Ann B. Kelleher, SVP and GM of Technology Development at Intel. She is responsible for the research, development and deployment of next-generation silicon logic, packaging and test technologies, and before that led manufacturing where she managed a significant expansion of 14nm supply and ramping the 10nm process. Here is the high-level of what she shared with me that I can share here. Note, I cannot share everything that was discussed.

Overall: Fabs are at full capacity, including Ireland, Israel, Arizona and Oregon. The rumored cost issues based on fab underloading is just not happening. Every open space is being converted to factory space including a café in Israel. 14nm is at peak performance and capacity, better than any process she had seen in her 24 years at Intel. Yields continue to improve on 14nm and 10nm.

10nm: Crossover between 14nm and 10nm volume will be sometime in 2021, meaning Intel is adding more 10nm capacity as we speak. Comparing 10nm Ice Lake onwards (not 10nm Cannon Lake), 10nm is within a quarter or so of where 14nm was in its lifetime. Israel, Arizona, and Oregon are all doing 10nm in high volume. SuperFIN has been instrumental in increasing 10nm performance.

7nm: We can expect an official 7nm update in January, but clearly there is an intense focus on meeting product schedule commitments.

More fabs: Building even more fab space in Oregon and Ireland and starting additional site prep to have room for 7nm and 5nm.

Net-net for me is the Intel fabs are full, 14nm is performing great, 10nm is better than rumors, we have to wait until January on 7nm, but the focus is there, and Intel is building enough capacity as quickly as it can, short-term and mid-term.

External Fabs

Now let’s talk about external fabs.

First off, Intel has used external fabs a lot historically if it got into a jam or if it made an acquisition and that design was externally fabbed. We saw this in chipsets, FPGAs and LTE modems. So, when the world went nuts after CEO Bob Swan suggested it was going to look at external foundries, I was puzzled, as it already did that. While I think it could have been more strategically communicated, I suppose Swan had to tell the street coincident when he knew it. What I do understand is the surprise at the notion that Intel would take some of leading edge designs to a foundry. That is new.

I spent nearly 10 years at an OEM (chip customer) and 11 years at a chipmaker and for the most part, customers don’t care where a part is fabbed as long as it is on time, feature complete and at a good cost. Customers want predictable cadence. Therefore, I think the notion that Intel fabs must compete with TSMC and Samsung for future designs is a great idea and doesn’t negate the strategic benefit of Intel’s IDM strategy. I would love to see Ice Lake on TSMC’s 5nm process, wouldn’t you?

Products

Let’s talk products. I left the conference more confident with the client computing roadmap through 2022 that was shared for reasons I cannot divulge under NDA. Gregory Bryant aka “GB” answered all my questions and I think he had a great grasp of the market situation and answers for most. Let me just say that GB and the client group isn’t backing down. At all.

Innovate Through Platforms

I had a good 1:1 chat with Lisa Spelman, who leads the Xeon product line . I am quite intrigued by the upcoming Xeon roadmap, particularly in 2023. I think strategically, given where Intel is, what it wants to accomplish, and the competitive set, it’s the right direction. Spelman also briefed us all on an exciting new category of datacenter products but unfortunately, I cannot dive into it. There is a market need for these new products and I am excited about them. I expect we’ll hear more about this in the new year.

3rd Gen Intel Xeon Scalable Processor

AI training

One of the biggest things investors and CSPs are clamoring from Intel was a competitive accelerated ML and DL training solution. Nervana didn’t pan out as planned, GPUs weren’t coming to the rescue, so Intel intelligently acquired Habana Labs. The great news was that Amazon AWS announced at its 2020 re:Invent that same week that it was creating instances based on Habana Gaudi. I wrote about this here. Promised in 2021, AWS set a goal of delivering up to 40% better single-node price-performance compared to its current GPU-based EC2 instances supporting ML. This is a really big deal as NVIDIA hasn’t any competition in training from a tier 1 silicon vendor. I know the EC2 folks at AWS pretty well and don’t think for a second that AWS would productize anything that it didn’t deem competitive, no matter the price. While one CSP make not a market, if you’re going to start with anyone, you want it to be AWS to pull through all the other CSPs, tier 2s and enterprises.

AWS CEO Andy Jassy announces Intel Habana Gaudi Instances

Summary

Overall, I felt much better exiting Intel’s industry analyst day than I did entering it and I appreciate everybody at Intel taking the time to do it. I liked almost everything I saw on the slides and in the conversations, but in the end, it really does come down to Intel’s execution.

I think Intel is going to coming storming back. This does not mean I think the company will achieve the same market share in its traditional 95% PC and server markets- I don’t. I think the cat is already of the bag on that.

I do think Intel can grow as it has widened the aperture considerably when I look at its increased TAM and SAM. The “old” Intel did CPUs and chipsets with monolithic designs for datacenter servers and PCs. The “new” Intel does a family of XPUs (CPU/GPU/NPU/FPGA) with disaggregated designs for datacenter server, storage and networking, the edge, carrier and autonomous cars. The new Intel will use the fab or foundry that is best suited for its disaggregated designs that best meets its customers needs by decoupling design from the state of the fab or its technologies. If that’s the Intel fab-great. If not, TSMC or Samsung. Customers don’t care.

If I were a customer, I would prefer the new Intel over the old. Now it’s up to Intel to prove everybody wrong and execute.

To get up to speed on my opinions of Intel’s products and strategies, please find these resources below:

Intel Announces Gold Release Of OneAPI Toolkits And New Intel Server GPU

Intel’s 11th Gen Core Processors And ‘Evo’ Platform Brand Raises The Notebook Processor Competitive Stakes

Intel Architecture Day 2020 Gives A Glimpse Into A Brighter Future

Intel Core With Intel Hybrid Technology Marks A New Way Forward

Intel’s Amps Up Its 2030 CSR Goals Amongst The COVID19 Crisis Backdrop

Intel Beefs Up Capabilities In Managed Notebooks With Latest VPro

Intel’s Gaming CPU Brings Competition We Like

Intel Quietly Becoming A Player On The ‘Edge’

Intel Aggressively Updates Xeon And Announces Key 5G Product Lines

Intel Lays Out Strategy For AI: It’s Habana

Intel Shows Off PC Platform, Compute And Graphics Futures At CES 2020

Intel Demonstrates At Data-Centric Day That It’s The Datacenter Technology Company To Beat

Intel Registers Solid Q2 Earnings And Its Future Opportunities Look Even Brighter

Note: Moor Insights & Strategy writers and editors may have contributed to this article.

Moor Insights & Strategy, like all research and analyst firms, provides or has provided paid research, analysis, advising, or consulting to many high-tech companies in the industry, including 8×8, Advanced Micro Devices, Amazon, Applied Micro, ARM, Aruba Networks, AT&T, AWS, A-10 Strategies, Bitfusion, Blaize, Box, Broadcom, Calix, Cisco Systems, Clear Software, Cloudera, Clumio, Cognitive Systems, CompuCom, Dell, Dell EMC, Dell Technologies, Diablo Technologies, Digital Optics, Dreamchain, Echelon, Ericsson, Extreme Networks, Flex, Foxconn, Frame (now VMware), Fujitsu, Gen Z Consortium, Glue Networks, GlobalFoundries, Google (Nest-Revolve), Google Cloud, HP Inc., Hewlett Packard Enterprise, Honeywell, Huawei Technologies, IBM, Ion VR, Inseego, Infosys, Intel, Interdigital, Jabil Circuit, Konica Minolta, Lattice Semiconductor, Lenovo, Linux Foundation, MapBox, Marvell, Mavenir, Marseille Inc, Mayfair Equity, Meraki (Cisco), Mesophere, Microsoft, Mojo Networks, National Instruments, NetApp, Nightwatch, NOKIA (Alcatel-Lucent), Nortek, Novumind, NVIDIA, Nuvia, ON Semiconductor, ONUG, OpenStack Foundation, Oracle, Poly, Panasas, Peraso, Pexip, Pixelworks, Plume Design, Poly, Portworx, Pure Storage, Qualcomm, Rackspace, Rambus, Rayvolt E-Bikes, Red Hat, Residio, Samsung Electronics, SAP, SAS, Scale Computing, Schneider Electric, Silver Peak, SONY, Springpath, Spirent, Splunk, Sprint, Stratus Technologies, Symantec, Synaptics, Syniverse, Synopsys, Tanium, TE Connectivity, TensTorrent, Tobii Technology, T-Mobile, Twitter, Unity Technologies, UiPath, Verizon Communications, Vidyo, VMware, Wave Computing, Wellsmith, Xilinx, Zebra, Zededa, and Zoho which may be cited in blogs and research.

From Enterprise Tech in Perfectirishgifts

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sylvaetria · 7 years

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Hey Richtor, did you ever post anything in your resources about tips for storing and organizing spells and supplies?

Yo anon.

Most of what I have for storing spells is all about grimoires and the like - compiling them in books or folders or digital archives, etc. I talk about that (how one might organize spells for a grimoire) specifically in [this post].

I’ll try to throw together a quick list of tips for things for you, though, because yeah, don’t see a lot of that.

For spells:

Firstly, decide if it matters to you. Because for some people, they’re happy to flip through their stuff looking for things, but me, I like being able to find what I need when I need it super fast. If you don’t wanna put any time into organization like that, that’s fine, it doesn’t need to be that way; your grimoire, you do you. So decide, first of all, if you care about spells being in a particular order or categorized or whatever, and then go from there.

Me, personally, I try to keep things grouped by intent. So, I try to keep all the protection spells together, followed by cleansing, then banishing, etc. I do it in a order of importance that I find significant; the more “frivolous” spells go in the back of the book, and curses at the very very back. But that’s just my personal preference; you sort (or not sort) however your magical heart desires.

If you want to be able to arrange your spells exactly as you want, a three-ring binder is a good choice; if you want aesthetics for your grimoire, they may not seem the obvious one, but they’re wonderful for their ability to allow the moving of pages to wherever you deem necessary, and also discreet if you need that. There are also those binders that kinda look like sweet magical textbooks, I think they’re on Etsy, if you’ve got a bit of extra budget to spend on something like that. Otherwise, Sharpies and sigils can go a long way to making any book look magical, but that’s an entire other post lmao.

Another good system for storage is loose leaf paper in those accordion folder things. Whatever they’re called. These mother fuckers:

Again, not exactly the best for aesthetic, but super great for easy labelling to find exactly what is where. You can rearrange things at a whim, and not worry about having to tear a page out of a fifty dollar leather-bound book because you misspelled a single word. (Me, I cry.)

For most other books, it could be useful to keep a table of contents somewhere at the front or back, or wherever you can, if you happen to add spells in whatever order you find them in, and not section them off based off intent or purpose. I see a lot of bullet journal style grimoires with a theme much like this, so if that piques your interest, I’d suggest doing a search on bullet journals. Particularly, I believe I have a post about bullet journaling, magic-styles, somewhere... Boom, [here].

We haven’t even started on digital grimoires yet. Probably the easiest to organize and maintain, in my personal opinion in any case. It can be online or off, in a blogging platform or on a cloud, saved as a word document on your phone or PC, broken up into separate files and folders... Almost endless options for this one. And the best part? Password protection. (I’m a tech kid.) I could honestly go on and on forever about this particular point, but there are so many options, feel free to try some yourself if you’re looking for a discreet, easy-access and organized way to sort your spells.

If it helps anyone, I have four binders, like four or five notebooks, a blog, a OneNote, and folders on my computer all dedicated to witchcraft. This blog literally acts as a digital grimoire for me - it’s also why I spend so much time tagging and hating it, so when I need to find something for my own reference, I have that easy access. I have a huge list of herb correspondences in its own cute little notebook, just because it would take up so much damn space in a binder on its own anyway. My tarot spreads have their own notebook, as do a set of very detailed interpretations for the card meanings, because some of my books are, super lacking to say the least.

So, like, it’s clear I put a lot of time into my witchy notes and how I keep them, but that is just me. If it sounds like too much work and you don’t wanna bother, honestly don’t. I do it because it satisfies me, because I feel it adds to my craft, because I enjoy it. That’s what it should be like for all y’all too. So, again, if you don’t feel like having your stuff in any particular order or manner is relevant to how you do your magic-y biz, seriously don’t bother - your grimoire is no less a grimoire (or whatever term you use to call a book of magic) because it’s not organized, or doesn’t look witchy, or you just write the notes and not bother with designs. I will say it as many times as it takes to run it into the ground - you do you in your own magic.

For supplies:

This one I might have less to say on, because my stuff is, heh, not so organized lmao.

I guess mostly, again, it comes down to what works for you, or whatever keeps your supplies safe from harm.

Some people keep boxes for their supplies - I’ve painted a shoe box and kept witchy biz in it. If you want to line it or not to keep things safe, probably depends on you or what you plan to put it in.

Sometimes things don’t need to be stored - if you have space and you are able, you can leave them out on a shelf or even tucked into a drawer. Seriously, wherever you can put them, wherever they will be safe, I think that’s mostly what matters for that.

Crystals might need the most special treatment, especially more fragile specimens. I know, when I moved, I had to wrap all my crystals into shirts and socks to make sure nothing damaged them on the way. And, quite frankly, they’re still all like that. Mostly because I don’t have a lot of other place to put them right now, but it really is keeping them protected too. So while it may not look the most witchy, it’s pretty damn functional.

Labels are helpful, particularly with herbs that look veeery similar.

On the topic of herb containers, as long as the herbs are dry, they are safe to store in whatever container you want to put them in. I have herbs in a mixture of glass jars, plastic containers, and sandwich bags. So yeah.

Like I said, not really so much experience on supplies - most of my stuff is practical, not necessarily done because it looks good but because it works. And a lot of my more important supplies are just, chilling on a shelf. I know not everyone has the ability to be so open with their craft, but based on my scope of perspective and experience, I can only talk about things that I have done or encountered, and so I may not be able to give accurate advice for every situation. You know?

Regardless, I hope that helps you anon! If you have any more questions about more specific things I may have mentioned here, feel free to shoot more asks. Hopefully I will be on a bit more frequently here, now that I can see again, though my PC is still, so, so slow. Good luck!

#witch tips #grimoire #grimoires #grimoire tips #organization #long post #anonymous #answered ask

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