#but second i am not clicking four goddamn things just to know whether youre cool w me being on your blog. god

[sophrosinn]

indescribable

synopsis: Fashion photographer Bakugou Katsuki’s world got irrevocably changed when he inadvertently met Uraraka Ochako, whose fiery eyes are strangely familiar to him for some reason.

prompt: je ne sais quoi, a French phrase which literally translates to “I do not know what.” It is commonly used to describe a certain quality that cannot be adequately put into words.

word count: 1,628 words

note: Shout-out to @vanaera and @senfleurs for being the bestest friends a girl could ever ask for. Seriously, I hope you both realize just how much your words have motivated me to continue writing.

If you have noticed any inaccuracies, please let me know. Also, I am unsure as to whether or not to continue this. I guess we’ll see in time. Comments and constructive criticisms are highly appreciated! ❤️

—

Under the bright stage lights, as if it was only natural, Katsuki’s eyes found hers immediately among the sea of hopeful faces. She, with her soft pink ensemble, doe eyed look, and short but curvy physique, stood out in the crowd of skinny figures dressed in the fanciest clothes with practiced smiles and brimming with confidence. It was ironic, to say the least, that it seemed that his eyes automatically singled her out when there was nothing remarkable about her appearance: a simple white buttoned top with cut-out shoulders tucked into her pastel green flowing skirt. Her eyes, though, were different from her otherwise inconspicuous get-up. They sparkled with unflinching determination, almost breaking through the surface of her fragile mask of composure. It was a look of pure challenge, taunting and daring, and fuck, it looked really good on her cherub face. Not one to back down from challenges, Katsuki stared right back, unable to stop the feral grin from breaking out on his face.

This should be interesting, he thought.

“You, round face, at the back,” he called out, resolutely, as if there could never be any other choice than her (and perhaps, there never was). His voice reverberated against the four walls of the studio room, halting all the quiet conversations and nervous ramblings among the participants at once. “With the orange headband and grass skirt.”

Everyone turned to look at him, for this was the first time he had spoken after he was introduced ten minutes ago. not that he needed any kind of introduction. He was Katsuki Bakugou, a photographer whose name has long been circulating in the fashion industry for having featured in and worked with various famous magazines. His parents have long since established the family’s reputation by creating the most glamorous and avant-garde designs to grace the catwalk. While Katsuki chose a path for himself, opting instead to work behind a camera, he did not stray too far from his parents’ influence. 

Nonetheless, in spite of his wish to separate his career from his parents’ connections, he quickly rose to fame for being a Bakugou. Katsuki, being his usual self, did not bother to prove himself to anyone else. After all, his photographs, which were more than enough to showcase his abilities, never failed to capture the candidness and reality beyond the fabricated portrayal of the world of fashion. 

And now there he was, inside a spare atelier in his parents’ building, searching for a suitable candidate for his next project. Given his work history, it was not unusual that out of all the stunning women occupying the same room as him, he chose her.

She, who must have been unconsciously looking at him, but was actually intensely focused on something else. Because the second he pointed at her form, she froze. As did everyone else, and a beat of unnerving silence passed. 

Her eyes went wide in bewilderment, surprised at the sudden attention. When she answered, it was meek and hesitant. “M-me?” She pointed at herself, and under the scrutinizing eyes of the other hopeful attendees, she reminded him of a gazelle about to be preyed upon by a pack of hungry lions.

It was fucking hilarious to Katsuki, the duality with which the girl held herself. Just a moment ago, he glimpsed a vexed goddess, looking every bit as someone rudely awakened from her eternal slumber. Now, it’s gone, and there’s barely a trace of her left in this fragile girl. 

“Yes, you,” he replied, “what’s your name, round face?”

Ah, there it fucking was, he thought as he was regarded with that same blazing look in her eyes. But as quickly as it came, it was gone underneath her lids as she closed her eyes. She took a deep breath before replying in a steady voice, “Ochako Uraraka, sir!”  

Although he was expecting it, he had to admit that he was surprised to hear the strength in her voice. From that distance, he can almost see her fists clenched at her sides. 

“Uraraka,” he breathed, amused at how strangely natural it seemed to roll off his tongue. “Follow me then.”

Uraraka immediately nodded, squeezing in between the women standing in front of her, before following Bakugou who’s almost out the door. However, Kirishima, Bakugou’s optimistic friend and close companion, stopped him from leaving by asking: “but what of the other girls?” 

“Escort them to the exit, and make sure they don’t loiter and find any of the old hag’s stuff lying around. It’s almost fashion week, you know how fucking chaotic it gets.”

“Got it, Bakubro.” Kirishima saluted him, about to turn the other way when he immediately stopped. “Even if I’m so not your assistant.”

Smirking, Bakugou crossed his arms and raised one of his eyebrows at Kirishima. In return, Kirishima stared at him unnervingly, and by the looks of it, it seemed like an unspoken conversation was ongoing between the two men. 

In the end, Kirishima sighed good-naturedly, putting his hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. “This is why they say you run your assistants dry,” Kirishima quipped, shaking his head at Bakugou before he turned to the side, smiling brightly at Uraraka. “Nice to meet ya, Ms. Uraraka! I’m Kirishima! Play nice, Bakubro!” 

With that, he winked at Bakugou and took off.

“That dumbass,” Bakugou muttered, walking out the door and motioning for Uraraka to follow him. 

In the silent hallway, Uraraka cleared her throat awkwardly. “Uh, Bakugou-san? Sir?”

He grunted in response.

“I just want to say thank you for choosing me. I know I’m not that pretty as all those other girls, and given that I just came from the province, I probably wouldn’t know what to do but I promise I will do—”

“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue and ran a hand over his hair in frustration. Apparently, this girl has not seen any of his works; when did he ever choose a conventionally pretty model? He, honest to God, never cared for looks; his photographs attest to that fact. “Don’t be fucking daft, I didn’t choose you because you’re pretty.” He paused and turned around, intending to let his words sink in. 

At the same time, he also took the chance to look over her form (average height, chopped angled bob cut for her brown hair, functional clothes), which, as he noted beforehand, were nothing out of the ordinary. He gazed at her face, and as he did, he was once again greeted by those fiery eyes—that same look which demanded his attention. There was a fire burning just beyond the surface of her brown irises, as bright and dazzling as the afternoon sun, when her face twisted in irritation. He was pleasantly surprised to see that. But in just a blink of an eye, the look was gone, replaced instead by embarrassment as she averted her gaze away. 

Bakugou internally groaned. Dumbass wears her fucking heart on her sleeve. How. Wonderful.

“You’re right, I'm not pretty,” she eventually whispered, quite dejectedly if he must note.

“Listen, it’s because I am not looking for someone pretty—if I were, you wouldn’t be my first choice. And goddamn, are you blind or something? You are pretty.” At that, she jolted in surprise and stared at him, dumbfounded at the sudden compliment. Fuck, even he was shocked at himself. “Not beautiful, just, pretty, urgh, fuck off,” he immediately amended which earned him a giggle. 

“Really?” she cheekily replied, and he ignored her in favor of maintaining his cool. 

“Here’s the thing, the fact that you’re here means that you thought you’ve got what it fucking takes to succeed in this line of work.” She nodded, opening her mouth, perhaps intending to contradict him but he wasn’t quite finished chiding her. “And goddamn, you do. Don’t waste my time and my fucking trust, which I don’t freely give to just some random extra, if you’re just gonna spout some nonsensical bullshit about your appearance or whatever fucking absurd things you’ve got going inside that head. I’ll say this only once: this industry is not for the bitch ass whiny pissbabies, and if you think you are one of those, then fuck off and don’t return.”

Fucking hell! So much for cool. 

He took a deep breath, releasing the tension in his shoulders, before he turned to look at the round-faced newbie whose face’s—wait, what the fuck, are his eyes deceiving him or does she really have the guts to outright laugh at his face?

“What’s so funny, huh?”

Uraraka spluttered, covering her mouth to stifle her giggles but it was for moot. He watched dumbly as she tried to stop her laughter, eyes crinkled with tears flowing down to her rosy cheeks. Frozen still, immobilized by the ringing sound of her carefree laughter in his ears, Bakugou had the sudden urge to reach for his camera and immortalize the breathtaking moment. 

“You, Mr. Bakugou, sir! Thank you for your words, as harsh as they may seem, I mean—that was your attempt at bolstering my confidence, right?”

“Fucking—call me Bakugou. Don’t add any ‘sir,’ makes me feel goddamn old.”

“Well, your scowl certainly makes you look like a grump,” she offhandedly commented. 

“What?!” he barked. This chick was really testing the limitations of his short fuse, huh? 

She immediately jerked upright at the tone of his voice. “Nothing, si—I mean, Bakugou! E-he.”

He exhaled through his nose. “What-the-fuck ever, I’m out of here. Tell that red-headed idiot,” he pointed at Kirishima who’s running to catch up to them, “your contact details. Or don’t, see if I care.”

“Don’t worry, Bakugou,” she called out behind him, “I won’t give in! I'll have you know I'm tough!”

He didn’t doubt her one bit.

[jaehyun-eclipsed]

Before I Met You | Thirteen

Updates: Sundays

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Warnings: Some swearing and mentions of mature content

Before I Met You Masterlist

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Choi Jisu.

Interestingly, I don’t actually know Jisu personally. I only know of her. She’s a year older than me and I only recognize her because she was dating an upperclassman from my high school when he became a student here. She was always tagging him in their photos together.

I scoff. No wonder I hadn’t been seeing those lately. She has a new man. I sigh. Small world.

I select her profile and begin clicking through her viewable photos. Jisu is an avid photo taker – and not the artistic kind. She’s the kind that clearly demonstrates the need to post about everything she does for social, and ultimately, external validation – as illustrated by her endless number of publicly available photo albums, allowing me to quickly discover that she participates in beauty pageants… and wins.

And as I juggle all that information, it starts to make sense. She’s used to being the center of attention. In fact, she likes being the center of attention and being treated like she’s important, hence her behavior regarding Jaemin opening the door for her. She has “high maintenance” written all over her.

As I continue browsing through her photos, I notice that all of the pictures she had with the guy from my high school are gone. Jisu clearly likes publicizing all of her relationships while she’s in them… and then quickly deleting any evidence of them as soon as they’re over as if they never even happened.

Wouldn’t that bother her? Having all 700 of her Facebook friends be able to pinpoint when she started a new relationship and with whom. One boyfriend after another – someone who clearly has difficulties being alone. It’s common for a lot of people, but why would you want everyone to know?

Her second most recent album that’s titled “Third Year – Summer” is where I find the photos of relevance – the photos showcasing her new and blooming romance with Jaemin. Most of them are pretty standard: dinner outings and various dates to the park and ice cream parlor.

My nostrils flare as I glare at the screen. That scumbag. Blatantly flirting with me when he has a girlfriend that he has conveniently left out of every conversation we’ve ever had!

I don’t know what to do with this information.

Wow, Jaemin! You probably thought you were so slick – and I’ll admit, you had me there for a second! But you made the mistake of bringing her home and coincidentally, I happen to know her. That last bit isn’t your fault, but really, what are the chances in a school with thousands of people?

I am not okay with this! We’ve already had an experience of a guy with a girlfriend flirting with me and it didn’t end well!

Am I just supposed to back off? But I didn’t do anything. I’m not even supposed to know anything!

I huff in irritation. I genuinely need help in physics and Jaemin has been quite helpful the last couple times I asked him. I conclude that I have two options: continue what I’ve been doing and act like I know nothing or find a new physics tutor.

The first option is purely convenient since he lives right down the hall and I know he can help, but it tests my moral conscience. The second option is more work on my part because I’d have to go through the tedious task of finding a new person and determining whether or not they’re any good.

But then I ask myself another question: am I actually doing anything wrong? I’m not the one who’s flirting. I can’t control how he acts around me. I’m not even supposed to know about this… but my conscience reminds me that I unfortunately do know about this.

Goddamn. Why’d I have to be home at this time?

Screw my conscience, I need help. My grade is more important and the flirting is kind of flattering.

And that’s the thing about the supposed “ignorance is bliss”: it can be taken away from you at any time, without your consent.

Hydroxyl groups are alcohols including methanol, ethanol, etc. They are polar and can form hydrogen bonds. Have the ability to assist in dissolving compounds such as sugars.

A carbonyl group is a carbon atom connected to an oxygen atom via a double bond.

I roll my eyes and chuck my highlighter to the side, sighing in annoyance as I look around the empty dining room. I’m so lame. It’s Friday night and I’m sitting at home studying.

Despite having adjusted a bit better at the beginning of my second year, I still haven’t made many friends that I can hang out with. The “friends” I have are mostly acquaintances – classmates that I could contact if I ever need anything for class. That’s why I was quite thrilled that Jaemin seemed pretty cool and that he actually liked spending time with me. But I’m not sure how I feel about this new revelation. Based on the superficial facts, I have qualms to pick with his moral compass.

So I started contemplating other housemates I was interested in getting to know – people I could come home to and hang out with in the common rooms. Jaemin’s other roommate – Jeno – seemed worth speaking to. Renjun is polite, but he’s built a nearly impenetrable wall to his friendship. Perhaps he’s just more comfortable with guys.

I turn my head when Jeno walks into the dining room. We make eye contact for several seconds before he turns away and continues into the kitchen. That’s how it always is with him. He’s always expressionless when he looks at me, but his eyes appear to betray him with that lingering glance that tells me he knows something.

I hear the opening of cabinets, the clanging of pots and pans followed by the stove fan being turned on.  

I don’t know what’s so scary about going up to new people – like you’re constantly afraid of being judged for talking to them. I know they don’t care, but this feels different considering Jeno and I have seen each other many times, never acknowledging each other, just… staring.

Jeno? He’s nice. You should introduce yourself to him!

Jaemin’s encouraging words convince me to get up from my seat and walk into the kitchen. Jeno is standing in front of the stove, cutting vegetables. Slowly, I walk up to him, tilting my head and peering up at him. He jumps a bit when he turns around, startled by my sudden appearance.

“Hi,” I say with a smile. “Um, you’re Jaemin’s roommate, right?”

“Yeah!” He returns a wide grin. “I’m Jeno.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N.”

He extends his hand out to me, barely gripping my hand – almost as if he’s afraid he’ll break it – and lightly shaking it up and down.

“Jaemin told me you’re a chemistry major?”

“Yeah, how about you?”

“Biology.”

We proceed to ask each other the standard series of questions: Where are you from? What classes are you taking this semester? Are you part of any clubs?

And of course, I always mention my struggles with physics because I’m half hoping he’ll have another suggestion in case I decide I want to jump the Jaemin-ship.

“Oh yeah, I took physics last semester,” he responds. “It was terrible because I hate math so I’m taking a break this semester. You should ask Jaemin for help. He’s much better at it than me.”

Goddammit.

“Yeah, I’ve been asking him for help. He’s been helpful…”

A silence passes between us and when I look up at Jeno again, he has this weird look on his face. The corner of his mouth is upturned and his eyes are – well, they look like they’re undressing me. And then I realize that it’s nearly identical to that mischievous look Jaemin has.

Good Lord, do all three of you have the same look?

Actually, you know what? I don’t want to find out.

“I’ll let you get back to cooking,” I say, abruptly heading towards the door. “It was nice meeting you.”

“What were you doing?” Jia asks when I return to our room towards the end of Saturday night.

“I was doing my physics problem set and studying for the bio midterm next week.”

“Ooh,” she coos suggestively. “Were you with Jaemin?”

“No. He’s going to help me tomorrow because went to a football game tonight.”

Hmm… I bet Jisu was there with him.

There’s a stupid grin on her face when I turn to look at her. “Do you like him?”

“No.”

“Really? You guys look like you get along really well.”

“Yeah, he’s fun to hang out with.”

“But you don’t like him?”

“No.”

“But –”

Thankfully Jia’s laptop starts ringing. Her parents are calling her from Beijing. I excuse myself, grabbing my laptop, phone, and water bottle to sit in the little inlet in the hallway until she gets off her call.

I know she suspects something and her inexperience with boys is what naturally makes her curious. According to her, she’s never had a crush on anyone. Not sure I totally believe that. And she’s not aware of anyone who has ever had a crush on her. Actually, she’s never had any guy friends and had once asked me how you communicate with them, her tone almost implying that they were an alien species. Like I said, she’s been quite sheltered most of her life. So she’s slowly learning things. I only wish I wouldn’t have to be the one she asks to tell her what a blowjob is.

When I left my room, I noticed that Jaemin’s door was cracked open. Actually, it’s always cracked open like that. And normally, it’s quiet, but tonight, I quickly learn, is a much different story.

“My girlfriend fucked up the pizza,” Jaemin says disdainfully.

So she was at the game…

“How do you fuck up pizza?” Jeno asks.

“She got cheddar pizza.”

“Cheddar pizza?”

“It doesn’t taste bad.” I hear the microwave door slam. “But it still tastes kinda weird. She also gave me a bunch of coupons.”

“For what?” Jeno asks.

“This one says ‘fifteen minutes of oral.’”

I nearly spit out my water. The hell?

“Fifteen minutes?!” Jeno responds in disbelief. “Can you even last fifteen minutes?!”

“Shut up!”

“Wait, maybe you can see if it can be fifteen minutes total,” Renjun says. “So if it takes you ten times to get to the fifteen –”

“You fucking –”

The rest of Jaemin’s crude response is muffled due to a loud crash. I imagine he threw something at Renjun given that Renjun and Jeno are uncontrollably laughing and I have to cover my mouth to prevent myself from laughing out loud. 

“But yeah,” Jaemin continues. “She gives me these coupons like, ‘You win this fight,’ ‘I won’t get mad when you fall asleep on me,’ ‘I won’t complain when you say you say you want to hang out with your guy friends’ –”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jeno interrupts. “She won’t complain when you say you want to hang out with your guy friends? Isn’t that sorta… shouldn’t that be a given?”

There’s a look of horror on my face as I process what I’ve just heard. Jisu sounds… let’s just say I would not want to be dating her.

“Exactly! She’s crazy!” Jaemin exclaims. “If I spend more time with her, I get more of these things and they’re kind of useful. But I don’t want to spend more time with her…”

“I didn’t really talk to her at the game, but she didn’t seem like she was enjoying it much,” Jeno says.

I purse my lips and run my tongue along my front teeth, completely stunned and quite frankly, somewhat amused that I happened to be out here at the time they were discussing this.

Wow, Jaemin, that sounds like a really secure relationship. Congratulations. If you hate her so much, why are you even dating – oh – the fifteen minutes…

All of these revelations were a disappointing confirmation. First, Jaemin actually does have a girlfriend. He said the G word himself. Second, Jisu is just as high maintenance as I had been able to analyze from her photos. And third, Jaemin is a liar! Well, actually, he hasn’t lied to me. He’s just conveniently left things out.

The alarm bells in my head have started ringing off the hook. At first, they were just there in the background, an occasional beep to warn of a possible danger. But I think now is safe to say that he’s a flirt – and he’s good at hiding it. That’s what makes him so dangerous.

The next afternoon after meeting with Jaemin, I had scheduled a call with Mark. We finally managed to figure out a time that worked for both of us and I had insisted that it was quite important. I was quite irked as I had actually confirmed that third assumption from last night.

I walk up the stairs shortly before my call time, taking note of Jaemin’s door slightly ajar again. As I near my door, I pause when I hear Renjun’s voice.

“Where’s Jaemin?”

“I think he’s out with –”

Dammit. Did he say Jisu?

“Again?”

“Yeah, he hasn’t been very happy lately,” Jeno responds.

“He should just break up with her,” Renjun says.

I continue onto my room, trying to make my footsteps almost silent to make sure they don’t suspect anyone is listening to them, but I nearly drop my things after hearing Renjun’s next question.

“Do you know anything about Y/N?”

“I talked to her once. She’s nice. I think Jaemin likes her though. She’s pretty attractive.”

“Do you think she knows about –?”

“I don’t know –

Suddenly, I hear someone coming up the stairs and shortly thereafter, one of my neighbors rounds the corner. I make eye contact with her, realizing how weird it is for me to be standing in the middle of the hallway. Quickly, I begin acting like I’m shifting my things into one arm in an attempt to grab my keys.

– Probably not. Jaemin never brings her here.”  

“Hey, Y/N!” she greets.

Fuck.

“Hi…”

I turn away quickly, tapping the key fob against my door and run inside.

“No, Mark, I’m serious! He has a girlfriend!”

“How’d you find out?”

I relay to him my story from last week – walking by Jaemin’s room and overhearing Jisu by happenstance, strategizing my method of figuring out who she was, the Facebook discovery, the coupons…

“And he’s been flirting with you like that? And spending three plus hours with you helping you do your homework?” he asks in disbelief. “Yo, Y/N, this guy sounds like trash.”

“He was helping me with physics today and I asked him who he went to the football game with and he said he only went with his roommates. He lied straight through his teeth!”

“I mean, it’s not like he’d actually tell you. He hasn’t told you before.”

“I kept trying to ask him some questions that would easily allow him to say something about it, but he never did.” I purse my lips. “He’s not stupid though. He probably knew I was fishing for information.”

“Wait, wait, wait, I have another question, Y/N. Who gives coupons like that?!”

“Uh… an insecure person?”

Mark lets out a loud sigh. “I mean – I – I can understand giving out coupons for like… a massage or to cook their favorite dinner. You know? Something cute like that. But these are just weird.”

Clicking my tongue, I respond, “Yeah, that was my conclusion. He doesn’t seem to like her very much though. Not sure why he doesn’t just break up with her.”

“Yo, he’s probably scared.”

“I was just hoping that you wouldn’t also confirm that he sounds like trash.”

“Why? Do you like him?”

“No, I’m not interested in dating him. I think he’s fun to hang around and I want to be his friend, but I feel like that’ll be kinda complicated.”

“Do you know what his girlfriend is like?”

“Only from what I’ve seen and overheard. She sounds –” I scrunch my face is displeasure “– high maintenance. She does beauty pageants… and wins.”

“So she’s pretty,” he concludes.

“Yeah, she’s pretty. I don’t really know why he’s interested me if he’s dating this pageant girl.”

“What are you talking about? Y/N, have you looked in a mirror? You’re really pretty,” he says. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m your friend.”

I’m thankful that Mark can’t see my expression since we’re talking on the phone.

“I met his roommate the other day. I don’t – I don’t know how I feel about him. He was looking at me like he was undressing me.”

“See! I told you!”

“But Mark, he’s a college guy. He’s probably interested in sleeping with any girl that’s at least a seven and is okay with ‘no strings attached.’”

Mark is silent for a moment.

“Y/N?”

“What?”

“You know that you just admitted that you’re at least a seven, right?”

“…your point?”

“I’m just saying! Anyway, you know that there’s only one reason why Jaemin wouldn’t tell you he has a girlfriend, right?”

I have a feeling I know what the reason is, but I entertain Mark’s question.

“What’s that?”

“That he’s looking for someone else… someone else meaning you.”

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Before I Met You Masterlist Masterlist

[ckret2]

So a lot of care goes into your writing (I assume) and it seems like you do a lot of research. I was wondering how you conduct your research, what kind of sites you look for, how you narrow done what your looking for, etc, if you wouldn’t mind sharing?

It honestly depends on what I’m looking for! Like, I work better when I have specific examples, so I’m gonna ramble to you about one thing I looked up today:

When Ghidorah hooked up to a radio station, I wanted it to be an actual real world radio station so that I could listen to the station online and go “yeah, here are the songs they’re listening to.” Because that’s a lot better than me, whose sum total of Spanish knowledge comes from a couple years of very spotty Duolingo practice, trying to guess what kind of songs play on actual Mexican radio stations.

Based on prior research I already knew that the fictional Isla de Mara is basically straight out east from the Rio Grande, next to the state Tamaulipas, so I got on Google Maps, scrolled around to where the Grande dumps into the Gulf, and looked for the city nearest the coast that looked sizable enough to have a radio station (i.e., the one closest to the coast that has a big name). And that ended up being Matamoros:

Here’s a pro tip: if you’re trying to find info about something in a non-English-speaking country, you’re probably going to find a lot more reliable resources a lot more easily if you actually google for that info in the language that’s spoken in that country. If you don’t know the language, Google Translate it. When you find the page you want, Google Translate it back. Yes, you’re gonna lose some nuance and some of the translations will be wonky, but it’ll still probably give you better info than if you’re googling for English pages about something in, like, Indonesia or wherever.

(Can you tell Indonesia is also on the list of places I’ve been researching! Do y’all wanna read the best myth I’ve ever read in my life? It features a snake named Stupid Boy and a misunderstanding worthy of an Abbott & Costello skit. I love it and I’ve only read a Wikipedia summary of it. And a Google Translated version of the Indonesian Wikipedia version of the story, which is 20% wilder. This has absolutely nothing to do with what I was trying to research.)

So I plugged “radio station” into Google Translate, got the Spanish, googled “estaciones de radio matamoros tamaulipas,” and clicked on the very first result because it’s a streaming site, and look at the options. All the FM stations are out. All the AM stations that don’t have genres listed, I’m pushing to the bottom of the list because I don’t wanna listen to each individual one trying to find out if they actually play music or not. The station that gives its genre as “noticias” I ignore because I’m not here for news, I’m here for music. There are two stations that have “balada/grupera/mexicano/ranchera” listed for their genres, and these I do know are music genres due to Prior Research, because yes I had to do research to find that out because I don’t know crap about Mexican music genres but I’m sure gonna learn.

And also while I’m at it I look up “balada” and “grupera” on wikipedia because I don’t know what those genres are, and now I know that “balada” is just Latin ballad, and more significantly I know from one single line on Wikipedia that balada is partially distinguishable from the bolero genre it spawned from because ballads usually have more direct straightforward romantic lyrics whereas boleros are generally more subtle/metaphorical, which, okay! What am I going to do with this information? I don’t know! Possibly nothing! But because I read the Wikipedia page it’s now a fact that lives inside my head! Ballads are straightforward about the romance! That’s a distinguishing feature!

There’s pro tip #2 on research: when there’s a subject you need to know, seriously, just go to wikipedia and read up on it and start clicking on all the links on the page you’re on and absorb the knowledge. You might use none of it, or it might end up super important. The fic Mafic exists because when I was writing Gold Gilt on Molten Basalt Ghidorah licked Rodan and I needed to know what he’d taste like, so I looked up igneous rocks to find out what minerals are in them, and “feldspar” was on the list, so I said he tasted like feldspar, and then I kept reading the page and found out there was a difference between intrusive and extrusive igneous rock, with “extrusive” meaning the rock formed on the surface rather than inside/under the volcano, and it said “basalt” is common extrusive rock, and well okay then obviously any rock that makes up Rodan’s hide is going to be extrusive, and “basalt” is a word which I have heard before which means readers have probably heard it before, so bam now he’s made out of basalt. … And then doing more research on volcanoes in subsequent weeks I find out that basalt is a common extrusive igneous rock from volcanoes with mafic lava, which are typically short dome-shaped volcanoes that ooze rather than tall pointy volcanoes that go boom, but Rodan’s volcano is definitely tall and pointy and goes boom, and whoops I hecked up. And now because I looked up mafic and felsic volcanoes, I made up a whole-ass goddamn set of Rodan subspecies, and my worldbuilding is richer for it, even though mafic & felsic lava wasn’t relevant to the info I was looking for when I found it out. And these are things learned gradually, over several weeks of looking up one tiny volcano detail for Rodan at a time and then reading three more Wikipedia pages in the process. Do I understand 70% of what I read? I sure don’t, because I’m neither a chemist nor a geologist. Do I make use of the 30% I do understand? I sure do! And that makes it worth it.

So back to the radio.

So there are two radio stations on this site that play music, so I click on the first one. And what do you know, I get a radio stream and it’s playing music! That’s it research done I got what I’m looking for. I bookmark the station and listen to it from time to time to like, absorb the sound, so that I can describe it in fic when I need to. (Admittedly, when I finally did describe it in fic it was “confusing noise???” because I was writing from the perspective of a couple creatures that have never heard human music before—but as they adjust to the sound any descriptions of it will, like, reflect what it actually sounds like.)

So that was a week or two ago. Today, I’m trying to write a fic where actual humans are hearing that same radio station, which means they can probably like, actually understand what songs are playing. So I listen to the station and try to pick out lyrics to google so I can find out the titles of the songs. (I am told by Google Translate that the Spanish word for lyrics is “letra,” but I seem to get about the same results whether my search term is “lyrics” or “letra.”) But the thing is, I suck at picking out lyrics in English, which I actually speak, and duolingo does not prepare you for the challenge of picking out individual words from balada as they’re singing and you’re trying to parse two words inside your head when the next three words come and you forget the first two words and then you forget the whole phrase and fifteen seconds have gone by and the only word you picked out was “mañana” and that’s not enough lyrics to google. So I recorded 20-odd minutes of the station so that I could listen to the same lines over and over until I picked out a few words well enough to google. And I’ve now picked out… two lyrics that let me identify two songs! 

Pro tip #3: research is slow sometimes.

pro tip #4: if you’re trying to decipher spanish lyrics from a live radio station maybe like ask if any of your friends know more spanish than you and don’t have anything better to do with their evening than help you google lyrics.

So uh the tl;dr is research is a lot of Google and a lot of Wikipedia. If I was writing, like, an actual novel or something that I planned on publishing or putting before an audience bigger than… *checks notes on fics* a hundred people, then it would also be a lot of books and a lot of finding people from the actual cultures I’m trying to write about to ask them about whatever subject I’m writing about; but eventually you’ve gotta balance out the effort vs the rewards, and hauling ass to the library to spend five days doing research for a fic I’m gonna write in two hours and post the night I wrote it is a time sink that my ADHD and I lack the coordination and attention span to manage.

But hey here’s my last pro tip: assume you don’t know things, unless you know that you already know them. Like, if you’re going to drop a fish in a volcano, you probably assume that you know what that smoke is going to look like, because, generally, you know what smoke looks like, don’t you? But unless you’ve already seen a fish fall in a volcano, don’t assume that. Assume that you don’t know what the smoke of a lava-cooked fish looks like. Look it up. If you can’t find a result, look up a fish in a fire instead because that’s the next closest thing. Some smoke is whitish and some is black and if you want to describe that smoke you’ve gotta have seen it to know which it’s gonna be.

And here’s where “assume nothing” gets really important: if you’re gonna have a giant pteranodon make glass in his volcano, you’re probably going to assume that the volcano will be hot enough to actually melt the glass, because volcanoes are literally so hot they melt rocks. So it’s def hot enough for glass, right? Don’t assume that. Look it up. When you do you’ll find out that lava is actually approximately 500°C too cool to melt sand into glass. You’ll also find out that lava is too cool to melt the very rocks that go into lava, and you’ll spend four hours obsessively googling lava to find out how the hell magma is formed if it’s not actually hot enough to be liquid. (The answer: water mixed with the rocks lowers the melting point; and the drop in the extreme pressure when rocks move upward in the mantle also lowers the melting point; until the melting point is reduced to the actual temperature of the rock. I found this out while trying to write about a pteranodon making glass.)

And that’s it that’s how I do research. To answer your specific questions: I don’t concern myself with “what kind of sites” I look for because the sites that I’m gonna look at are the first results that pop up when I google a question, and if the first results don’t have the answer, then I click on the next results, and the next results, until I find the site that’s got it. I don’t “narrow down” what I’m looking for—if anything, what I do is the exact opposite of “narrowing down” what I’m looking for, I start with one question and then I broaden it to read about a half dozen tangentially-related concepts because that tangential info will probably be useful and I won’t know that until it’s in my brain percolating. If you want to know One Specific Fact and you look up that One Specific Fact and immediately leave, then you fail to learn the Fifteen Related Facts that are super important to the overall topic you’re writing about but that you never knew to ask about because you were only looking for that One Specific Fact.

Feel free to ask for clarification. I went stream-of-consciousness as hell on this ask.

[quarra]

Ficlet Challenge Prompt

Yo. Tagging these folks because IT CONTINUES: @kat-atomic @tinybearswithjetpacks , @brooklynbetty, @mariastill    plus @colorcoated01  because they seemed interested. Also, I credit @needmorefiction  with Steve’s opinions on pants.

So, I dug up a little more time, and here is Part Two of the Sloth Prompt. This has even more crack and more pining. Also, a great deal of swearing. Poor, poor Bucky. It’s a little long, so again, it’s under the line.

After all, how bad could it be?

Turns out, pretty fucking bad.

It had only been three days and already Bucky was contemplating a life of intrigue as an internationally wanted fugitive and assassin. Because anything was starting to look good compared to dealing with Steve’s fucking lazy ass.

“Buuuuuuuuuck, the TV remote is really far away!” Steve yelled from the living room.

Bucky paused in picking up yet another pile of wrappers from the hallway to bang his head against the wall. Not too hard, because if he broke through the drywall and had to clean up after that too he really might actually shoot himself.

“What’s your fucking point, Steve?” he yelled back.

“Help!”

Steven Grant Fucking Rogers, folks. Mr. I Don’t Need Help With Anything. Mr. I Can Storm The Base All By Myself. Mr. I Can Making It On My Fucking Own.

But he needed help getting the TV remote. Because it was too far away.

Fuck the bullet to himself, Bucky was going to fucking shoot Steve.

Just as he was pulling a knife and trying to convince himself that he wouldn’t really do any damage to Steve, he’d just scare him a little, Jarvis interrupted.

“Sgt. Barnes, Mr. Wilson is on his way up. He said he’s bringing dinner.”

“Thank god,” Bucky said quietly.

Whatever twisted gnarl of mistrust and frustration he once had with Sam, it had all melted away under the stress of the past few days. The man was a damn saint, and Bucky was ready to fucking kiss him in relief every time he showed up. At this point, Bucky didn’t even care if it was only for Steve’s well being, because the sad remnants of Bucky’s sanity and temper had long since frayed away under the sheer weight of Steve’s laziness.

It didn’t seem that bad at first. So Steve would lie around. Big deal. The guy needed a break. But it turns out, Steve was willing to get up just long enough to make the largest mess possible, and then he’d collapse back into the couch or his bed.

The more charitable, patient side of Bucky thought that this might be Steve fighting off the effects of the spell. He’d muster up enough motivation to get some food, or something to drink, or another blanket. Then the spell would push back with force, and crush his will once again. But it never lasted for more than an hour and then Steve would be up wandering around again, dragging ass all over their floor.

The part of Bucky that had to deal with Steve licking whip cream off of the arm of the couch just because he was too tired to get a plate and didn’t want to get his hands covered in whip cream, that part was ready to fucking murder something.

Not to mention that stumbling across that scene had done Bucky no favors. He had been frozen solid watching Steve lick slowly at the mound of white fluff for a solid five minutes before he realized what the fuck was happening.

Luckily, rage and irritation did wonders for repressing his libido.

“Hey there, Steve,” Sam called from the other room. “How’s it goooOH MY GOD, really Steve? Really?”

Bucky took a deep breath and tried not to grind his teeth. Sam must have just walked in and seen the other thing that was driving Bucky to distraction. He steeled himself, grabbed the bag of trash he’d been collecting, and made his way into the living room.

Sam was standing with his jaw dropped and eyes wide, taking in all of Steve’s gloriously naked form on the couch.

“What?” Steve asked innocently.

Deep breaths, Bucky thought to himself. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to not think about killing Sam for taking a good long look. Then he had to remember not to take a good long look himself.

“I know you two are close friends and all, and maybe things were different back in the 40’s, but dude. Pants. Please put on some pants. Or a blanket.” By this time Sam was studiously looking at the TV, take out bags held in front of him like a ward.

“I keep trying,” Bucky said with a sigh. He walked around the couch and dragged the couch throw blanket back over Steve’s lap, confident that Steve would be too lazy to move it for at least the next fifteen minutes.

“Pants are a tool of the oppressor, Sam.” Steve looked perfectly serious. Anyone else might have been fooled, but Bucky had known Steve since he was a sneaky little bastard with light fingers. He could smell a rat.

“You’re not serious,” Sam said flatly. “Are you? I mean, yeah, clothing kinda is a way people have kept up class divides, but---”

“He’s fucking with you.” Bucky grabbed a wet wipe from the stack of them on the end table and proceeded to attempt to get the latest collection of food debris off of Steve’s mouth.

“Hey! Buck. Bucky! Stop! Buck--- I mean it!” Despite all of the protests, Steve only put up a token resistance.

“Like a fucking child, I swear to god,” Bucky grumbled as he walked off, grabbing the take out bags from Sam and setting up them at the table. “If you could wipe your own damn face you would, so until then I will whether you like it or not.” That last was said at a yell. He pointedly didn’t look at Sam, sure in the knowledge that he was probably laughing at them.

Deep breaths. This isn’t Steve’s fault. It’s the spell.

“Seriously though, Steve. Really?”

“There was this thing on youtube. Looked kinda cool, so I kept watching. And did you know that youtube has an auto play option? You just…click something and then it’ll just keep going! You don’t even have to touch anything!”

This was how Bucky had found Steve at four am last night, watching endless rounds of cat videos. That was still better than the night before, when Steve had gotten up in the middle of the night and started watching a news comedy skit. Apparently that led to five hours of news parodies.

One would think that being afflicted with Sloth meant that Steve would be sleeping the whole night through. Seems that all it really meant was that he slept on and off throughout the day, only to be restless at night. He always waited for Bucky to be asleep before he wandered off.

The first few times he did this, Bucky ignored him. Steve wouldn’t go far, probably couldn’t go far, and Bucky had needed the rest after cleaning endlessly all day. But the five hour news stint had gotten Steve so upset that now when he got up at night, Bucky got up with him. Losing a little sleep was definitely better than seeing Steve get all bent out of shape over injustice, but unable to do anything about it.

Bucky finished setting the table. He made sure to leave out a lot of extra napkins.

“Dinner time, Steve. Get your ass up if you can and get over here so we can eat.”

“Why even bother, dude?” Sam asked. “Is it really worth the effort to get him to the table?”

“YES! You tell him, Sam!” Steve said excitedly from the couch. His momentum carried him just far enough to raise a fist in celebration, but then he sank back down into the cushions.

“Have you seen him fucking eat?! I can at least put a goddamn drop cloth under the table and I am not cleaning up more sauce from the couch cushions. Especially since SOMEONE won’t move off of them for me while I’m cleaning it up! Like a fucking zoo in here, swear to god.” Bucky rubbed his hand over his eyes and debated about seeing if Stark had some super soldier aspirin somewhere.

Both Steve and Sam started chuckling, though Bucky’s glare cowed Sam into silence.

After a moment, Steve’s laughter dropped off too. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence passed and then Steve asked, almost timidly. “Um…Bucky? Could you, uh. Help me to the table?” Bucky could see him grab his hair in frustration and he growled a bit. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just. I’m really fucking tired.”

All the anger and frustration melted away and Bucky dropped his head to stare at the floor. His heart bled a little. None of this was Steve’s fault. He couldn’t help it. Wouldn’t put Bucky through all this if he had a choice.

“Sure, pal. Anything you need.”

He went over and helped Steve up to standing, pulling an arm over his shoulder and tucking in the blanket around his waist. Steve sighed miserably. “I’m sorry, Buck. I hate this. I’m such a miserable piece of---”

“Hey,” Bucky interrupted. “None of that. This is just a bit of a rough spell. You’ll be right as rain soon enough. Now come on. Let’s get some dinner.”

Steve hung his head and nodded, and they made their way over to the table. Before they could sit down though, Steve tugged at Bucky’s shirt.

“I. Um. Could you.” He winced and heaved a big sigh.

Understanding dawned on Bucky. “Need to hit the restroom?” Steve nodded. “No problem. Let’s go do that now. But seriously, Rogers, I ain’t holding your dick for you. That’s on you.”

Steve looked up at Bucky, a sly smile on his face. “You sure, Bucky? I’d let you hold my dick any day.”

Bucky almost fucking dropped him on the ground.

What the hell.

“Wait, what?” His whole brain crashed and burned under that statement.

Sam snorted next to them. “Seriously, Steve? That’s how you wanna come out to your best friend? With that line?”

Bucky floundered, jaw agape.

“Eh. Seemed like a lot of work to keep it under wraps, you know? Lot easier just to say something.” Steve shrugged.

There were words Bucky wanted to say. Somewhere. But nothing came out. He couldn’t even fucking breath. What the fuck just happened?

“Dude. Are you actually telling me that you’re too lazy to pine?” Sam looked both appalled and impressed.

Steve just shrugged again, and then looked at Bucky. “Well?” It was said casually, but Bucky could hear the thread of fear in the statement. Could see the anxiety that couldn’t quite twist up Steve’s frame, despite its best efforts.

Bucky panicked.

He shoved Steve at Sam and was down the hall and out of the apartment in seconds. The last thing he heard before the door shut behind him was Steve say, “Well, fuck. He left before I could use the bathroom, too.”

--

To be continued...

[sage-nebula]

Hydrangea and Lavender

Hydrangea: What inspired you to begin writing in the first place?

Hah, well, there were three stages to this!

The first story I ever wrote, as embarrassing as it may be to admit this, was Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog fanfiction when I was in first grade. We had an assignment to write a story about anything we wanted, and, well, that’s what I wrote. I was super jazzed when we were first given the assignment because I loved reading and making up stories, and I enjoyed every second of writing it. I even drew some really bad illustrations to go with it. I mean, the story itself was bad too, I’m sure, but I was also about six or seven years old, so … I can be excused, I think. Either way, I knew at that point that I loved creating stories, although since I was so young it hadn’t really clicked in my head yet that I, too, could write books of my very own.

Fast forward to fifth grade. Stages two and three took place in that year. The first stage was when I was still attending my first elementary school, before I moved, and I was once again given a creative writing assignment. At my first elementary school, the fifth graders would write a short book every year that would be hard-bound and put in the school library. I was super mega psyched about this, because I had recently beaten The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask and I wanted to write a sequel to it. (Note: My sequel idea was horrendous, good god, self. But again, I was ten, so I think I can cut myself some slack.) My teacher vetoed this idea, saying that it was plagiarism to write a Zelda story, which I was very offended by because, hey, I was making the plot and the words all by myself, that’s not plagiarism! Either way, I moved out of state before the project ever came to fruition anyway, but my first fifth grade teacher and I both clearly had very different ideas on the legitimacy of fanfiction.

Either way, I moved out of state for the spring semester, and at my new elementary school I met a boy who … you know those kids who would always brag about having super famous relatives or whatever to seem cool? He was one of those. He found out that I really liked video games, and although I was a huge outcast nerd that no one actually liked (trust me, I was very unpopular, I’m not exaggerating), he made up this whole story to me about how his uncle worked at Nintendo and was looking for new game ideas and that, if I gave him one, he’d pass it along to his uncle and it would get made.

And I, dumbass ten-year-old that I was, fell for it.

So I spent ages writing in a notebook, coming up with this game that was basically a Zelda rip-off, except the protagonist was a girl, had a dragon that she rode around on, there was no princess (although there were four female oracles to represent each season who were basically like royalty / demigoddesses), and there were fifty temples. No, really, I had conceived something like fifty temples because I was sad that my games ended and wanted one that would last FOREVER. Anyway, when I finally had all of these (terrible) ideas written down I took them to the boy, who then told me that, oops, the deadline had passed. I got upset because he had never told me there was a deadline, but it had passed and there was nothing that could be done. I spent some time being bummed about this (I put in all that work) before I realized … wait a second … I could turn this into a book … I could write this …

And that, my friend, is when it finally clicked in my thick head that I could write my very own books and when The Dream™ to become a published and beloved author was born. My original plan, when I was an idiot child, was to have a book published right away. I am now twenty-seven and feel I am not even close to that, but I also feel that I’ve improved a lot, and I do have my original fiction project that I’m working on, so … maybe someday. I hope. I dream. Please let it happen, universe. (In truth the universe can’t let anything happen. This power lies within me. I just have to utilize it. I must.)

Anyway, I know it might seem like all I write is fanfic, but I do have that original project as well. Fanfiction just helps keep me in practice … when I actually write it, anyway. I have got to get back in the groove.

Lavender: What is the most important thing to you as a writer?

HMMMM, I don’t know if there really one “most important thing”. I mean, when it comes to actually constructing the narrative, I feel like there are two main things:

The sentences — These are the framework of the story. They have to have the right amount of snap to keep the reader engaged. It doesn’t matter how creative your ideas are; if your sentences are garbage, your reader will not be able to get through the story. You have to have the mechanics down in order to get the story told, and so the sentence quality is massively important.

The characters — Your story is nothing without fantastic characters. You can have a myriad of plot twists and beautiful themes, but if your characters are boring, flat, or exist purely to be tropes or devices, your story is going to be tossed aside in no time at all. Further, your characters are what carry your plot; if they’re not strong enough to carry the plot, the plot will not be strong enough to support the reader for the entire ride. Really allow your characters to shine; they are what make the plot in the first place.

The second one also contains things like character development, relationships, dialogue, overall characterization, et cetera. All of those things are incredibly important.

Don’t get me wrong, the plot is important, too—you have to make sure it makes sense, that there aren’t gaping plot holes, et cetera. But your sentences and your characters are what make or break your story, at least in terms of whether or not the reader is going to toss it aside on the next page. I mean, for instance, I cannot read Tolkien’s work because, in my opinion, his prose is godawful. I understand that he set the stage for many of the high fantasy works that followed, that he gave birth to a lot of the tropes that we still see in use today, that his works were incredibly important for the genre. However, the man spends two pages describing goddamn trees. I cannot get through his prose. Even when it comes to The Hobbit, which is supposed to be for kids, I found myself so bored I wondered if I was reading an encyclopedia instead. Similarly, Neil Gaiman’s writing isn’t necessarily terrible, but I ended up disliking American Gods by the time I was halfway through the book because he was using similes or metaphors every other sentence, and so it felt like he was trying oh so very hard to seem impressive, which had the exact opposite effect. I distinctly remember rolling my eyes during the sex scene with Bastet because of yet another simile (or maybe it was a metaphor, can’t recall). I felt so annoyed at how smart he was trying to sound, and so his writing style is simply not for me. (Terry Pratchett, on the other hand? That man could write. His writing style is what made Good Omens one of my favorite books. Thank god he tempered Gaiman on that one. Thank god.)

So your sentences are incredibly important, but so are your characters. Your characters are everything. I don’t care how brilliant you believe your theme is, or how many plot twists you have; if your characters are garbage, that plot is not going anywhere. You will either get stuck when trying to write it, or your readers are not going to care about it. Readers like interesting plots, yes, but readers prefer fascinating characters. I mean, look at fandom. Sure, people talk about the plots of their favorite narratives, but what do they draw fanart of? What do they spend countless hours writing meta for? What inspires them to write fanfiction? The characters do. We don’t care about the Harry Potter series because of the plot. We don’t watch Star Wars because of the plot. We don’t really care about the plot of the superhero movies that we see and gush over. Again, aspects of the plot can be interesting, but the reason why we care is because we care about and connect to the characters. If your story does not have well-written, lovable characters (at least some of them have to be lovable, unless you’re explicitly trying to write a story in which everyone is loathsome and that is what causes the fascination), then it isn’t going anywhere, no matter how intelligent or witty your plot may be.

(And note: This is not to say that your plot isn’t important, because it is, of course it is. You need to put care into maintaining your plot as well. But it is to say that your characters must come first. Your characters are why your reader sticks with your story. And it’s worth pointing out that there are plenty of television shows that have great cultural longevity despite not having much in the way of a plot (e.g. Seinfeld, or The Office, or Parks and Recreation, et cetera), whereas it’s much harder to think of one that has lasted and been thought of as wonderful because it had a deep and intricate plot, but absolutely boring and dreadful characters. So your plot still is important, no doubt about that, but you must tend to your characters first.)

With all of that said, aside from that, originality is also important. Everyone should write a story that is theirs. And I don’t mean that cop-out I often see going around, about how, “just take someone else’s plot, because if you’re writing it’s automatically unique!” because that’s not true. Idea theft / idea plagiarism does exist, and I’ve seen it far too often in fandom (often done to my own works; I’ve been plagiarized in at least three different fandoms and it hurts like hell every time) to feel comfortable. However, although there are certain stories which are told time and again in different ways, they’re told in unique ways. You can see the narrative similarities between Harry Potter and Star Wars, for instance, but they’re both so incredibly different that you’d never feel that one was a direct copy of the other. The same goes if you throw Lord of the Rings into the mix. And although the His Dark Materials trilogy was written as a Take That at C.S. Lewis because of The Chronicles of Narnia, the two are still so different that if you didn’t already know that beforehand, you wouldn’t see how Lyra has elements of both Susan and Lucy in her. So I do think that originality is very important, and that everyone should strive to come up with something that is very much theirs, rather than just taking another’s idea and copying it wholesale. Don’t plagiarize. It never ends well and it’s incredibly hurtful to the person you do it to.

So yeah, those three things: Sentences, characters, originality. I think they’re all pretty important!