#oh so i should re-expand my vocabulary again

[my-commonplace]

Eliminate a word and you eliminate an idea, and, by implication, a way of living that the idea suggests.

C.R. Wiley, The Household and the War for the Cosmos

[lomlmarvel]

Alive

Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Summary: Daryl Dixon and reader were together before the battle against the Saviors, before Rick’s disappearance, before the whisperers. Reader was pregnant around the same time Maggie was, but after Rick’s disappearance, everything changed. Daryl distanced himself from his family, but when Carol convinced him to watch over Henry at Hilltop, he had to face the consequences of his actions. 

Word count: 5.2k

A/N: So we’re just gonna pretend that Rosita and Eugene never left Alexandria that day where they came in contact with the Whisperers. So, therefore Daryl, Jesus, and Aaron don’t look for them. But Carol and Henry arrive at Hilltop with Daryl.

The day Negan was brought down was the day everything changed. The five communities were supposed to find a way to live in peace and thrive together. They were meant to stand united against any odds and help each other in any way they could.

Maggie was heartbroken when Rick sliced Negan’s throat open. It wasn’t Rick’s decision to make. You could sometimes still hear her painful screams as Michonne held her back. Then, Rick decided to take Negan back to Alexandria. Maggie gave birth to Hershel a few months later, and you followed a few weeks after her, giving birth to a strong and healthy baby girl.

You and Daryl named her after Maggie’s sister, Beth, who was the main reason you two were together. The two of you had met at the camp when everything started. You had arrived with your brother, but he died sacrificing himself for you while on a run. After that, you had to learn how to protect yourself. You asked Daryl to teach you had to shoot a crossbow, and he told you to fuck off. But after bugging him for weeks, he finally gave in and started teaching you. When you arrived at the Greene’s Farm, Beth noticed the glances and small moments you two shared. At the prison, she pushed you to make a move on Daryl, knowing he would not act on his emotions. Because of her, you and Daryl got together. It was unfortunate that she didn’t make it, but you wanted to honor her bravery and ingenuity by naming your daughter after her.

Daryl was a great dad. He always looked out for the both of you and made sure you were safe. But Rick had him stationed at the Sanctuary, and you lived at Hilltop with your daughter. You helped Maggie run Hilltop and gave her a hand whenever she needed help with baby Hershel. But you knew how hard it was for Daryl to be at the Sanctuary. He usually visited you at Hilltop a few days of the week, staying the night and returning the next day.

Today the communities were going to go on a run to D.C to retrieve items from the museum. Maggie had agreed that she, Daryl, and a few others from Hilltop would meet the Alexandrians and Oceanside people on the road. You had woken up early in the morning and watched Daryl sleep. He hardly ever slept, so it brought you peace to see him finally resting. You watched his bare chest rise and fall as your hand laid flat on it. If your internal clock was right, he had a few more hours until he had to start getting ready for the trip.

“Stop watchin’ me sleep,” his husky voices rang out in the room. You smiled to yourself and rubbed his chest.

“Good morning,” you replied, reaching over to plant a kiss on his cheek. He hummed in response and turned his body, so he was facing you.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Just for a while now, but it’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway,” you said. The sun hadn’t risen yet, so you could only see the outline of his eyebrows rise in the dark.

“Could’ve woken me up. I would’ve kept you company,” he stated, pulling you into his side.

“Nah, you needed the rest, I don’t,” Daryl smiled at your response. When he had first met you, the way you spoke was so proper and fancy, but after the two of you had gotten together, your diction started changing into Daryl’s. It made him proud, knowing that you had learned your defense skills from him and that he had influenced your vocabulary.

When the two of you had met at the camp, he was immediately annoyed by you. You had spent the first few days complaining about being in Atlanta, out of all places. You had just been visiting your brother, and then the end of the world happened. But once you started finally accepting that this was the new world, you began to adapt and change, and that’s when he began tolerating you. He was a closed man, didn’t want to get to know anybody, but when Rick abandoned Merle, he knew that this group of people were now his family, and he might as well start tolerating them.

“I’m gonna have to return to the Sanctuary after the run,” Daryl said. You sighed and nodded.

“I know. I just don’t get why you don’t tell Rick that you don’t want to be there,” you stated. Daryl pulled you to his side and kissed the side of your head.

“There’s no one to watch over the Sanctuary. That’s his excuse. I already know it”

“Well, he’s the one who wanted to save the Sanctuary. If anything, it should be him there, not any of us,” you replied. Daryl nodded and rubbed your back with his free hand.

“If everything goes well tomorrow, I’ll talk to him about it, okay? I just wanna spend more time with my girls,” he said. You smiled and pressed yourself closer to him.

The Daryl you had first met wouldn’t have ever imagined himself with you. Let alone, in bed with you, and with your daughter a door down the hall.

“When”

“What?” He asked.

“When. When everything goes well tomorrow,” you restated. Daryl nodded and kissed your temple again.

“Okay. Try to get some more sleep, Beth and Hershel are gonna need all your attention today,” Daryl said, yawning and closing his eyes again.

Morning came, and Maggie knocked on your door to let you know Daryl had to start getting ready to leave. If things went right, he would be back within a couple of days and permanently stay with you at Hilltop.

After their run, Maggie arrived with the news of Kenneth’s death. Hilltop was heartbroken, but then that weasel Gregory manipulated Earl to try to kill Maggie. The next day, Daryl came and stated that he was there to stay. Carol would take over Hilltop, but he had promised Rick he would help him build the bridge. After killing Gregory, Maggie had all of Hilltop with her, not that they didn’t like her before, but his hanging reassured people that she would do anything to defend Hilltop and its residents.

The worst day followed a few days after that. Rick blew up the bridge to prevent the herd of walkers from getting anywhere near any of the communities and the campsites. Daryl never found his body. You could tell it was eating him alive. It was the anticipation and the hope that Rick could still be out there somewhere. He began to change and distance himself. He spent more days out looking for Rick and distanced his visits from Hilltop. Michonne closed off Alexandria from the other communities, and the Sanctuary fell. Some redeemed saviors joined the other communities, but the rest decided to make it on their own. The Kingdom, Hilltop, and Oceanside remained in contact, but it wasn’t the same without Alexandria. Maggie followed Georgie to help build more communities, taking Hershel with her. You kept in touch with her through letters, but she rarely replied. Jesus was left in charge by Maggie, with you and Tara helping him out. Tara, more than you. You were merely his assistant and helped Tara with work she had overloaded.

It had been more than a few months since you had seen Daryl show up at Hilltop. Almost six years, since Rick’s disappearance. He had shown up with Carol and Henry, who was there for an apprenticeship with Earl Sutton. Tara had been the one to greet them at the door. She helped them get settled in, and Daryl immediately asked for you.

“She’s probably upstairs with Jesus. She’s running things by him,” Tara replied. Carol sent Daryl an encouraging smile as he made his way inside the mansion. He could hear your giggles coming from upstairs, and he quietly made his way to you.

You were sitting down on the couch, with your legs on Jesus’s lap as he had a notebook in hand.

“I’m serious, Paul! Tara really needs me to go over this today,” you said to Jesus, swatting his hands as they neared your waist.

“Oh wow. Paul? You only call me that when you want to be serious” he replied.

“And I am. Tammy Rose wants to expand the crop fields, but she needs to see how far she can cultivate. Enid said she still needs more room in the garden for medicinal herbs. Alden also needs your okay to send another team out for scrap metal. And there’s a noise complaint from the trailer,” You scanned the clipboard in front of you, making sure you didn’t miss anything important.

“Why did you give that kid a kazoo?” Jesus asked. You scoffed and shrugged.

“You find a kazoo you give it to a kid. Obviously, I wouldn’t give it to Beth, knowing she’d probably wear it out,” you replied, causing him to laugh.

“And congrats on being re-elected Hilltop leader,” you passed Jesus the paper, and he shook his head.

“A win is a given when no one runs against you”

“Well you should at least pretend to be happy. Also, clean this mess up, or move into Maggie’s office. You know it’s what she would’ve wanted,” you stated, standing up. He sent you a questioning look. Usually, you would spend a few minutes with him after giving him the rundown.

“I have a shit ton of things I need to do. I can’t entertain you today, Jesus,” you replied. A creak in the floorboards made the two of you turn your heads towards the stairs, where Daryl stood awkwardly.

“Okay, so I’ll go check on Tammy, Enid, and Alden. Also, I’ll take care of that noise complaint,” Jesus said, quickly standing up, greeting Daryl, and walking out.

“Hey,” Daryl greeted you. Your blood turned cold, staring at the man you once loved appearing again after months of having no contact with you.

“I’m not sure what new things Earl has to trade. He’s outside in the courtyard, not in here,” you replied. You turned your attention to the mess Jesus had on the table and began cleaning up.

“I’m here to stay,” Daryl stated. You dropped the notebook in your hand and looked up at him.

“For a few days before you leave again or for a few weeks before you leave again?” You asked. Daryl looked down at his hands and shook his head.

“I’m sorry. I can explain, I will, but I just wanted to see you and Beth first,” Daryl’s husky voice sounded like an ocean wave to your ears. You had missed him, but he had to know he couldn’t just choose when to be a dad. He couldn���t just show up and pretend like he hadn’t been gone for a few months.

“She’s in school right now,” you answered. You grabbed the clipboard from the table and started making your way downstairs. You hoped he would take a hint and leave you alone, but he followed closely after you.

“Can we go see her? I just wanna say hi,” he said. You took another look at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. You could tell he missed her and you, but it wasn’t that simple.

You nodded and told him to follow you. It felt weird. You had missed being around Daryl. When he started distancing himself, you had been hurt. You felt like he didn’t confide in you enough to talk about his feelings, but then again, Daryl wasn’t one to talk about his feelings. You understood why he couldn’t stop looking for Rick; he had been his best friend, brother, until the end.

You led Daryl out to the courtyard, walking over to the shaded area where a table was set up. Roxanne, a Hilltop resident, was the kid’s schoolteacher. Little Beth Dixon sat closest to Roxanne, with her big blue eyes focused on everything she was saying. At merely seven and a half years old, she loved to learn about anything and everything. The world was hers to discover, and she wanted to know it all. That’s why she was in school with kids a little bit older than her. She refused to learn with the younger kids, claiming to be ahead of them.

“She’s over there. Want me to pull her out for lunch?” You asked Daryl. His eyes had been trained on her since the moment he saw her brown pigtails.

“Please,” he stated. You walked over to Roxanne and whispered in her ear, promising Beth would be back once lunchtime ended. She nodded and told Beth to be good.

“I always am. Hi momma!” Beth replied as she ran to you and hugged you.

“Hi, B. Sorry to pull out for lunch, but someone wanted to see you,” you said to her once you pulled her away from the group. Her blue eyes grew larger in excitement, turning away from you to see the mysterious person that wanted to see her. She spotted Daryl a few feet away, and she sprung from your arms and into his.

“Hey kiddo,” Daryl greeted her as he tightly wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her head multiple times and closed his eyes, missing the feeling of her in his arms.

“Just have her back in 30 minutes. After that, you can spend the rest of the day with her,” you said to him.

“Thank you,” Daryl replied. You nodded and walked away.

You grabbed a plate of lunch that Tammy offered you when you passed her house. Jesus was running around, actually doing work for once. He usually sneaked out of Hilltop and met up with Aaron or just scavenged on his own. You knew he didn't want to be the leader, but he did it because it was Maggie's wish before she left with Georgie. He waved at you, passing to take a look at the school children. He interrupted the class to say hi to everyone and then was kicked out by Roxanne for telling a joke that got all the kids riled up.

You munched on the vegetables on your plate as you walked over to the blacksmith area where Alden and Earl were teaching Henry how to make a weapon. "Hey Henry, look at you work!" You exclaimed as he molded the iron to create a sharper end.  He turned his head to look at you and smiled.

"Oh, hey (Y/N). Didn't see you this morning," Henry replied. 

"Yeah, I was doing some work. How's he doing, Earl?" You asked, patting the experienced blacksmith's shoulder.

"He's doing great for a beginner. Better than Alden when he first started," Earl stated, winking at Henry, who chuckled.

"More like, better than Alden even now," You joked. Earl and Henry laughed together as Alden shook his head and snickered. 

"I would say something back, but your raggedy baby daddy has been shooting glares over here since he saw you talking to Henry," Alden replied. You turned to look at Daryl, who sat on a nearby turned over crate and munched on an apple. 

"Whatever. Hey Earl, are you coming over tonight for dinner?" You asked, ignoring Alden's comment and walking back to Earl's spot. 

"No, kid. Henry's coming over for dinner with Tammy and me. Thank you," Earl responded. You looked over at Henry, who nodded. 

"Alright, well, I'll see you all later. Keep up the great work and it’s great to have you here, Henry!" You stated. You began to walk away, trying to avoid Daryl, but your daughter's face popped up in your mind.

It would be a total dick move if you didn't invite Daryl over for dinner on his first night back. You did promise he could spend the rest of the day with her, but you never specified that included dinner. 

"Hey," You said, stepping in front of Daryl and shielding him from the sun. "I don't know if you had any dinner plans, but if you want, you can join us for dinner tonight."

He squinted his eyes as he looked up at your figure. The sun created a bright outline of your body. Daryl could tell you looked thinner, but at the same time, you had gained muscle weight. Your skin looked tanner, and your hair longer. You styled it in a braid now, sometimes letting it loose. Your plaid shirt and denim jeans hugged your figure just right, and if Daryl didn't turn away, explicit thoughts would run through his head, thoughts he didn't want to have. Not because he didn't find you attractive, but because he knew you were with Jesus. The two of you weren't together anymore, and he couldn't disrespect you like that. 

"Who's us?" He asked after he nodded in acceptance.

"Oh, umm just me, Beth, Tara, Jesus, Enid, and Alden," You replied. He didn't answer for a few seconds before nodding again.

"But you have to promise you'll shower before dinner. I can tell it's been a while," You stated. He rolled his eyes and nodded again. "I still have some of your clothes in my room, so just grab them, okay? I'll see you later." You started to walk away as you heard someone from the other side of the courtyard call you.

"Thank you, (Y/N)," Daryl said. You sent him a small smile and nodded. It wasn't like Daryl to thank you nor apologize, and he had done all of that since he arrived. You were baffled as to why he acted this way and why he chose now to do it.

For the rest of the day, Daryl spent it with your daughter. He looked happy, and she looked even more joyful. She missed her dad, and she loved him. From the very beginning, she had been a complete daddy's girl, and everyone knew it. You still wondered why she never acted out because Daryl was gone. She only brought him up every once in awhile, but never excessively talked about it. You worried that it affected her mentality and maturity level, but she didn't let it change her.

When it was time for dinner, your daughter waited for Daryl to shower so she could walk with him. She had helped you set up the table beforehand, and she had claimed her and Daryl's seat next to each other. You smiled at her thoughtfulness as she passed Daryl the bowl of mashed potatoes. He thanked her and allowed the awkward environment to settle in. You hadn't told anyone else you invited Daryl to dinner until they arrived and saw an extra plate at the table. Tara was angry at Daryl for leaving, but after a while, she learned that Daryl coped with things differently. You didn't let it affect how you raised your daughter nor how you helped run Hilltop, so she assumed you were dealing with it well.

Tara knew it was a stressing matter, but if you didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't push you.  The only one who hated him was Enid. She had been the one by your side, asking you if you were okay and if you wanted to talk about it. She helped you get through it, just like Jesus. He had been helping you cope emotionally and physically, always being there if you needed anything. He stayed up late talking with you and sometimes would wake up early to help Beth. There was a time where you two thought your time together was romantic, but after trying it out for a few weeks, you realized you were better off as friends. The relationship between you two didn't change, but it felt good to know you had a friend to count on.

Dinner was awkward, not to state the obvious. Beth didn't pick up on the awkwardness, so she chatted with everyone like any other regular day. Enid's glare would shift towards Daryl every other few minutes, but she calmed down after Alden told her to quit it. Tara and Jesus asked Daryl questions about his time being out and alone. They, however, didn't ask about any news on Rick's body. Everyone knew he was gone. If his body hadn't washed up on shore somewhere, he must've gone with the explosion, or some walkers would've gotten to him by now. It was a tough subject to speak about during dinner, so you kept changing the conversation to tasks that needed to be done at Hilltop. Towards the end of dinner, Jesus stood up and left the room. Tara, Enid, Alden, and Beth all shared a look when he left the room that made you question them. Suddenly, Jesus returned with a small piece of bread on a white porcelain plate and placed it in front of you. A colorful little candle was lit in the center of the bread. The two of you shared an emotional look, and when you looked around the table, everyone's gleaming eyes were on you. Your eyes teared up, and you had to clear your throat to distract yourself from crying. 

"You guys remembered?" You asked more to yourself than them.

"Happy birthday, mommy!" Beth exclaimed as her toothy smile, shone your way. 

"C'mon make a wish and blow out the candle!" Alden stated. They all began singing their own versions of 'Happy Birthday,' clapping their hands and giggling. You turned to take a look at each of their faces shining brightly. They all looked so incredibly happy. It was nice for moments like these, even if they only lasted for a few minutes. It was as if for a second, time stood still, and the outside world disappeared. The only ones that mattered were in the room with you, and you were all happy. Your eyeline reached Daryl's face, who had a small smile that seemed to be pointed in your direction only. You smiled back at him, closed your eyes, made a wish, and blew out the candle.

You closed the book you had been reading to Beth as you moved to blow out the lantern. After dinner, everyone helped clean up and then headed to bed. Beth had asked you if you could read to her one of your favorite books for bed, and she had watched you intentively as you read the words on the page. You loved Alice in Wonderland. It had been a favorite of yours ever since you were little, and it made your heart swell, knowing that it was your daughter's favorite book too. 

"Hey, Mommy," Beth whispered before you blew out the light. 

"Yes, baby?"

"Can I ask you a question?" She asked. You nodded and moved to sit next to her on the bed. "Do you still love Daddy?" 

Her bright eyes stared up at you with wonder. You smiled to yourself and caressed her cheek. 

"Of course I do, pumpkin. I will always love Daddy," You answered. She nodded and smiled. 

"That's good because he still loves you very much. He told me so," Beth stated. She leaned over and placed a kiss on your cheek as she tucked herself back in and turned around. 

"Goodnight, Mommy. I love you," She yawned, closing her eyes.

"Goodnight, B. I love you, too," You whispered, kissing her head. You walked over to the door and stared at her tiny figure in the bed. You blew out the lantern and closed the door.

You made your rounds around the house, talking and saying goodnight to those who were getting ready for bed. You walked outside to make sure those on the night guard were comfortable and didn't need anything. 

"We're good boss, thanks. Happy birthday, by the way," One of the guards stated as they saluted to you. You rolled your eyes and thanked them before walking back down the stairs. 

You saw a small fire, still burning and walked over to put it out. When you neared, you saw Daryl sitting next to it, holding a mirror to his face as he tried cutting his hair with a knife.

"Hey," You stated softly, to not scare him. He turned around and put both the mirror and knife down. 

"Hey, what are you still doing up?" He asked.

"Just making my nightly rounds, saying goodnight to everyone and making sure no one needs anything," You answered as you took a seat next to him on the log. 

"Thanks for dinner. I'm still full," Daryl stated, picking the mirror back up and proceeding to attempt to cut his hair. He continued to cut strands, leaving his hair uneven. 

"Yeah, no problem. Do you need help?" You asked. Daryl stayed quiet for a moment, and you wanted to kick yourself for being so forward. If he wanted your help, he would've asked for it. 

"Can you give me a hand, please?" Daryl said after a while. You nodded and took the knife from his hands. You stood up behind him as he set the mirror back down. You worked quietly, cutting his hair, the only sound around you being the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of footsteps by the night guards.

"I really am sorry for the way I handled Rick's disappearance," Daryl broke through the silence. "I didn't know how to cope with it, and just being out there made it easier to not have to deal with what I was doing to you and Beth. It's still not an excuse for my absence, I know that. But I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for not being there for you or her. I'm a shitty father." 

Your hand froze when he started his apology, and your eyes teared up. You had imagined this conversation hundreds of times, but none of them had prepared you for the real one. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to do, but you weren't sure what the right action to take was.

"You're not a shitty father, Daryl. We all handled Rick's death differently. I just wish you would've leaned on me for help," Your voice came out soft and low. Daryl turned to take the knife from your hands and guided you to sit next to him. He searched your eyes for permission before intertwining your hands when you didn't pull away.

"I should have. If I could go back in time and do it differently, I would, but I can't. I have to deal with the consequences of what I did. I let you down. I let Rick down. I let Carol down, but most importantly, I let Beth down. And, you...you've done such a great job with her. You should be proud," Daryl replied. You could see his eyes clearly now, they were no longer hidden by the curtains of hair that shielded them from everyone. You had cut his hair shorter than you intended, but his hair grew back fast, so he didn't mind. You had reduced it to the length that it had been when you had first met. 

"I have missed so much, and I don't want to miss anything else. I would still be in the woods right now if Carol hadn't kicked my ass and told me to grow a pair. I missed you, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to have the two of you back in my life," his other hand somehow found its way to yours and the two of you were trapped in your own little world. 

Daryl had never been this emotional with you. It's not like he never apologized, he did, but he never told you how he felt. He never let you know his fears or his worries. Sometimes when he was scared about your safety, he would just be overprotective, but after the prison fight against the governor, the two of you had separated, and he had never been more scared in his life.  After you reunited, you knew that he had always been overprotective for a reason. He learned to trust that you could take care of yourself and that he wouldn't always be there to take care of you. You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and now, you had been more than capable of taking care of your daughter and others. "If you need more time to make a decision, that's okay--" You cut Daryl off by pressing your lips to his. His lips were dry and cracked, but the passion in his response made up for it. He grabbed your jaw to push you closer, and you caught his hair to do the same. You missed the absence of his long hair. He pulled away softly and looked at your face.

"What about Jesus?" He asked. You frowned and sent him a questioning look. "Aren't you two together?" He asked. 

"No. We were together a few months back, but it didn't work out. You were just always on my mind," You answered honestly. He nodded and touched your hair with his hand. 

"Was he good to you?" He asked. You nodded and kissed him again.

"Yeah, but it's always just been about you. It'll always be you," You replied. He smiled and kissed you again.

In the next few weeks, Daryl made up for the time he had been gone. He spent almost every second with Beth, and the ones where he couldn't spend with her, he was with you, if not both of you. Enid had come around to him. She was glad that he was back and trying his best. Tara and Jesus were happy for you. They knew no matter how much you pretended, you still missed Daryl, and you wanted him to a part of Beth and your's life. 

One night you had been reading in bed. Daryl wanted to put Beth to sleep, so he told you to go ahead and get yourself ready for bed. You heard giggles coming from her room and a shushing sound. Next, the door to her room closed, and Daryl walked into yours. 

"She wanted to hear Alice in Wonderland again, but I switched up the story a bit," Daryl confessed as you rolled your eyes.

"Oh God," You murmured. He laughed and took off his shoes, placing them near the door. He walked over to the bed and got comfortable before you cuddled into his side. You set your book on the nightstand as Daryl blew out the candle.  

"You know, I never thanked you," Daryl stated. 

"For what?" You asked, staring up at him in the dark. 

"For everything. For being with me, for Beth. Before all of this, I thought I would just die in some fucking bar fight or die alone in some fucking beaten down cabin. I never really felt alive before, not until I met you. That's when I felt alive and finally had a reason to live. Thank you for everything," Daryl said. You smiled to yourself and kissed his chest.

"I love you too," You replied. He leaned over and kissed your lips. 

"I can show you too, if you'd like," Daryl's husky voice said. 

"Yeah, I am more of a hands-on learner," You stated. Daryl paused for a second before flipping you on your back and kissing down your neck.

[mallowstep]

daisy in “ashes”

or, nonspecifically, what are cats like goldenflower, ferncloud, and daisy getting up to, anyway?

this is tied to my thoughts on medicinery, so if you’re not caught up, a summary: med cats now only spend about 50% of their time doing “medicine” and it’s more osteopathic than in the books.

[1.7k words, 6 minute read]

daisy's kin (i just finished it)

so i just finished daisy's kin and 😗👌 am i happy with it.

i've always been exploring this, like, i'm lowkey obsessed with developing the role of the nursery queen, and...i don't know what i expected, but this was nice to read.

it was good both that thunderclan valued her and hnnng it was so good.

obsessed, i'm obsessed.

but curiously enough, i'm going to refrain from focusing (too much) on the story part of it. i just, this quote stands in my mind

That is important work.

snow, in response to daisy telling her about her role in thunderclan.

like, (a) it is, and it feels so good to read a book acknowledging that, and (b) it is, and i'm really happy that everyone agrees.

so anyway, i feel like the latest warriors release was tapped in to my brain.

first, it had all of this stuff that happens in mtbnsof (squirrelstar, if you don't read my fic/can't keep track of acronyms, which, understandable), or is going to happen in mtbnsof.

i kind of spoiled a lot of stuff in my book notes, but i'm not doing that again, so moving on.

anyway, i wasn't really excited for daisy's kin and spotfur's rebellion, i just wanted the blackfoot novella.

but damn, i was wrong.

i felt like someone had a line into my brain because daisy's life is exactly what i wanted it to be.

i'm going to talk about that in a moment i just really don't want to understate how fantastic it is to see a warriors novella expand and develop these ideas. i strongly urge you to read daisy's kin if you haven't already. it's really, really good. i'm being deliberately vague about the plot to encourage you to read it.

i think this might go as far as repairing the hole in my heart from "leafpool's wish." i don't think there's anything that can fix the brain rot (although the line in SFR, where she's like "adoption is valid," is close), but the hole? that's healing because of daisy's kin.

and y'all already know how much i hate leafpool's wish.

chapter five: advent

so if you don't read my fic "ashes," chapter five (advent) was published april 10th, and the basic summary is it's the first 3 months of holly/jay/lion's life.

it's a chapter i like, we're going to do a quick breakdown. there are spoilers for this chapter, and also probably the future of the fic. depending on when i actually publish this essay, they may or may not have been covered, so read at your own risk.

so the basic summary of advent is this:

ashfur meets his children

daisy apologizes for not supporting squilf

ashfur announces his children to thunderclan

sandstorm offers motherly advice

squilf has a moment where she's like "i'm not ready for this but you are my whole world

cool.

anyway, daisy has this line that i like:

But Leafpool's young, and she's not a queen. I understand.

she's talking to squilf and is kind of..."i'm here for you."

the implication is that leafpool's job doesn't really extend to kits, past their physical well-being.

and later on, daisy (and ferncloud) are the cats squilf leans on. she's the one who provides a lot of support over jaykit, especially when they're all arguing all the time about it.

she's also a support to the kits. they would all die for her.

daisy gives advice about how well jaykit is growing and reassures squilf it's okay to be kind of bored when they're little and sleeping all the time.

she also has this moment:

"Oh, hush," Daisy said, "I'm just proud she knows so many words."

where hollykit says bb curse and daisy is like "ah yes my daughter! she's so smart!"

anyway, daisy is just...

when hollypaw doesn't know what she wants, she's going to ask daisy for advice. she's a neutral party: squirrelflight is her mother, but daisy is in a not-quite-mother role.

she's the one who notices when leafpool is With Kits. that's her job.

she really does take it as a failure that she didn't notice what was going on with squilf. in the clan, her role is to stop that from happening. i mean, no one really blames her because squilf's kits were early and leafpool was there but...it was 100% her job to not have that happen.

if something had gone wrong, she would have taken it even harder.

(also, ferncloud usually also serves this role, but she has her own litter right now, so that's consuming a fair amount of her time/energy.)

kinship (kind of)

okay, well.

i've been talking about kinship more and more lately.

it's because i'm working on "wing & feather" (aka the jaywing au where dove and jay are siblings), and kinship is a somewhat big deal there.

so anyway, first: my usual preemptive vocabulary lesson:

sraue

litter, littermates.

maach

blood-family unit, sibling (by blood)

maara

den-family unit, denmates (going over this another time)

rru

mother, mother's sister.

rruha

denmother (queen who nursed at same time, or nursery queen)

there, not so bad.

right, so i'm doing a full breakdown of kinship elsewhere, because while the maach side is fairly simple, the maara side is...there are just different rules. they're not more complicated, but they're a second set of rules.

(and then you can have situations where, say, in w&f, by maach, jay and dove are maach with squilf and leaf, but by maara, squilf is rruha to them.)

see so it's complicated.

but we're honing in on rruha for this.

rruha is a term referring basically to any queen who could have nursed you.

using ashes, daisy, ferncloud, and squilf as an example:

if squilf's milk didn't come in (as per canon), fern would have nursed HJL, so ferncloud is rruha to them. (she's also got a maach relationship, but rruha supersedes that.)

similarly, squilf could have nursed fox and ice, so she's rruha to them. (unlike with HJL, she doesn't have a maach relationship to them, because she's not related to ferncloud. the more you know.)

daisy could have nursed either litter (hypothetically? it's a little complicated and the cat bio section is later on), so she's rruha to both.

this relationship is one of the highest ones on the influence later. the maternal relationship (rru) is the only clear trump card. the paternal relationship (seya) can be more important, but it depends on the father.

(the littermate and denmate relationships are also very important, but in a different way.)

so, daisy is somewhere between a grandmother and a mother to pretty much every cat in thunderclan.

god bless you if you ever try to hurt her, because that's a lot of cats who would not let that happen.

queens

alright, so. the crux of it all.

what is the role of a (life-long) queen?

to nurture queens and kits.

it's that simple.

it's just a very important job.

i imagine they train each other, too. goldenflower offered advice and teachings to ferncloud, and ferncloud brought experience of clan life to daisy, and vice versa.

i hope someone takes up residence of the nursery with daisy, because otherwise that's a lot of leadership to just break up.

(as an aside, seriously, this is out of nowhere: i'm still thinking about moonflower's death. it has to be the saddest death in warriors, for me. i think because she's such a mother figure: soft and hazy and kind, and she dies. and she's...you know, you barely thought of her as a warrior. bluepaw still sees her only as mother and then she dies, dies in a raid that you know was questionable, and it hurts so much. moonflower might be the only warriors death i cried over. because it pulled at this raw, primal place of grief and loss.)

cat biology (naturally)

you know, i made this header, but i don't actually remember what i had to say?

huh.

well. there's a nonzero chance i remember later so...

yep remembered.

okay so y'all know. i have fucked over my google for you searching info about cat lactation.

someone better care about this.

okay so.

best i can tell, cats will lactate with kits around, pregnant or not. it helps to be around pregnant queens, but a cat like daisy should have no trouble providing milk for kits where necessary.

now, based on what i know about this (which is more than i want to talk about lest someone accuse me of...eh yeah), this won't be perfect for newborn kits, but it'll keep them alive.

the problem is it's not necessarily going to be instant.

what i'm saying is, the troubles in daisy's kin are valid, considering the nursery is empty.

the long night

okay so i've talked about the long night/"whatever is done only by me" enough and i don't feel like explaining it again.

but basically, it's daisy's job to stop that from happening.

daisy (again, using daisy as a filler for "queens like daisy") is supposed to check in on queens, make sure they're safe, support them.

she will drop kick anyone out of the nursery who threatens that.

and you don't want to mess with daisy because it won't be one drop kick so much as the entirety of the junior warriors.

this is the most important part of daisy's job. crisis de-escalation. tree has nothing on queens.

notes and touches

uh, let's see...oh fuck! going to edit something.

okay anyway.

i'm very sad they let daisy sleep alone in the nursery D:

cats are highly social she didn't deserve that

[schrijverr]

Behind the Scenes

This is a story that developed from a small peek into my brain whenever I write the stories you read into a thinkpiece about writing and posting fanfiction. 

On AO3.

Ships: none (unless you wanna ship me with my keyboard lol)

Warnings: none, I suppose, but it does get a little down in the end, I was having a rough day when I wrote this, sorry.

~~~~~~~~~~

I sit on my chair before my laptop. I’m curled into myself as my fingers glide over the keyboard and my thoughts flow out of my fingertips onto the screen.

It isn’t all that late, just past midnight, but it’s already dark outside and in order to see the keys properly I have to turn on the lamp I have on my desk. With the light it’s kind of cozy here in my little nook of the world.

I look to the screen and try to make sense of my own words. I don’t have a fully fledged idea yet, but a vague idea that floated through my brain at some point during the day has inspired me enough to open a new document and start typing.

I now know how this story begins and I see where I am going and how it will end, but the question of how I get there sits heavily on my mind.

I stop typing for a moment and think. If I introduce this character now, it might set some other things in motion and that’ll be good for the plot, but I don’t know how to write that character at all and I’m afraid that if I do it wrong, people won’t like me or my story.

I sigh and realize I’ve started almost every new paragraph with the same word. I hate it when I do that. The story starts to feel repetitive and as a non native English speaker I want to prove that I have a bigger vocabulary than that.

How to proceed?

A synonym, maybe? But I’ll have to look that up and I don’t think there is a good synonym for I. Sighing again I scan the page and think. Maybe I could start with a verb to shake things up a bit or a question. No, not a question that would feel out of place here.

Now I’ve written a few paragraphs again, so I could use the word I used before, but since I used it so many times already I want a bit more space between now and the next time I use it. So a synonym it is, I guess, I think as I open my browser to look one up.

…

There is no synonym for I.

Goddammit, I think. Well, it’s no use now anyway. I’ve decided to write this story in the first person, despite knowing I’m horrible at it, and now I have to deal with the fact that I don’t have another word for I.

I start my next paragr- no that’s not right. Backspace, backspace. Moving on to the next- No, not that either. Backspace, backspace. I look at what I’ve written last and wonder why I’ve written something upon which I can’t, hmm, what’s a good word there?

I know I have a good word in Dutch ‘voortborduren’, but when I translate it, it gives me elaborate, which doesn’t fit in the sentence at all. Mentally groaning I recline in my chair as I try to think.

Maybe it’s the sentence itself? Lets see what did I write again? Oh yeah: I look at what I’ve written last and wonder why I’ve written something upon which I can’t- and then I need to find a word. Hm, funny, I don’t know how to go on by the sentence about not knowing how to go on.

‘I look at what I’ve written last and wonder why I’ve written something upon which I can’t’, I whisper it to myself in the hope the right word comes to mind.

First there is nothing, but then! Expand! Not perfect, but it fits, which is good enough for now, maybe when I proof read it a better word will come to me and I can use that.

So, expand. I wonder why I wrote something I can’t expand upon.

Fuck, I’ve spend so much time finding the right word that I have forgotten what I was talking, well writing, about in the first place. Softly swearing under my breath I scroll up and read what came before the sentence with the stupidly hard word to think off.

Ah yeah, it was about the other stupid thing, namely that I am writing this in the first person, which I still cannot do, no that skill has not come to me in the time it took to look up a word. What a pity.

But I have started the last few paragraphs with something other than I from time to time. That at least is something. Wait, should I add punctuation there? That, at least, is something. Looks better, but maybe that is just my love for commas talking. I mean, why write a boring sentence with a dot in the middle, which makes it short and doesn’t give you enough space to play with it, when you can also add unnecessary punctuation, so that you can play with the cadence of how something is read out loud or in someones mind?

Whoops, now that whole paragraph is long, if I want to make this story easy to read I’ll have to make this one shorter. Hmm, is this good? Yeah, probably. Enter.

Now, I’m suddenly wondering, if paragraph is even the right word. In Dutch the word is ‘alinea’ and the word ‘paragraaf’ also means chapter, but not really, only in a school book. It doesn’t really make sense, because you also have a chapter in a schoolbook and that’s divided in paragraphs and each paragraph has ‘alinea’s’

Aaand I’ve distracted myself by thinking about the differences between each language instead of looking up if paragraph is actually the right word and it means what I think it means.

I look it up on Google translate, not the most trustworthy source for sentences, but for lone words it’s alright.

It is the right word, along with indention, but I’m not really familiar with that word, although I can see where it comes from with the paragraphs creating indentions in the text. Still, I decide to stick with paragraphs, cause “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” and I live by that.

Looking back to the clock in the corner of my screen I realize that I’ve now been writing this for 40 minutes. It isn’t all that long, but I don’t know where I’m going with this anymore. I had a point when I began and now I’ve forgotten it.

I stretch my arms, by pushing away my chair, leaning forward until my shoulders are at the same height of my desk is. My right shoulder cracks, it has always done that, but the sound snaps me out of my musings and makes me pay more attention to my surroundings.

It is raining outside and I hear people screaming. They sound happy, probably celebrating something and drinking, but I still wondered what they’re doing up so late (ignoring the fact that I am still awake too.)

Right, my word document. I was trying to remember what my point was. No wait, not remember, recall sounds better. I double click remember and replace it with recall: I was trying to recall what my point was.

Although I have found a nice sentences with the best word to describe the action, I still don’t know what comes next. I suddenly begin to doubt myself. Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe I’ve read this somewhere before and I am unconsciously copying someone. Maybe I should just delete this and move on to something else.

I mean, come on, who wants to read this? No one. I’m just going to post it, knowing that no one cares and no one will read it. People don’t go to AO3 for original works, you don’t, so why would anyone care about it? It’s going to get five hits tops, with maybe two kudos, three if you’re lucky.

And now I have accidentally switched to a second person perspective, can’t even stay consistent. Maybe if I play it off as an introspection or and internal dialogue no one will notice or think it’s an artistic choice.

Pff, artistic choice. You can hardly call what I’m doing artistic. It’s just fanfiction, a hobby. Yeah, I know that is still good and can be great, even amazing and artfully written, but this isn’t. I have a too direct writing style for that. I’ve only been getting English education for six years and it’ll take so much more practice until I ever reach that level.

I’ve gotten off track completely now. I faintly remember that this started out as a mock internal dialogue of what happens when I write a fanfic, but now it turned into a self deprecating shit parade.

I blink long and hard, trying to get my head back on track and write something better, or at least more consistent.

Realizing that in order to do that I should probably scroll up and read (lets be honest scan) how I started. I don’t have the energy for it, but I force myself to do it with a sigh.

Scroll, scroll, scroll.

Ah, yeah, I began with where I was and then that discussion about language and looking things up. Oh, but I’ve also reflected on what I’ve written before, well, before. Then it was about re-finding what I was doing after I had to look up a word and now it is desperately trying to remember what the actual fuck I was doing in an attempt to make something cohesive, but still. I decide to not do that again.

I still don’t know what my point was when I started this, but I’m making a new one up right now. I think I’m going to call the work ‘behind the scenes’ or ‘the thoughts of a writer’, since I have now decided that this is a way to get readers a peek behind the curtains.

As a reader, I can respect people so much for all the work they put into a story. And of course I’m not saying you can’t do that if you don’t write, no, that would be pretentious, but I do have more respect for them than before I started writing all those years ago.

It is really easy to forget that something you read in a few minutes has taken hours to write. This is not even 2k words long right now. I know I can read that in a few minutes, not even blinking and mostly forgetting, before moving on to the next story, but I have been writing almost nonstop for over an hour now.

I am lucky that I can usually keep the words flowing long enough to make some bullshit up that I can reason into a coherent story in the end, but that has taken practice. A lot of practice.

In order to become a good in writing a story you have to do it so many times and you won’t even notice you’ve gotten better until much later. I know this, because I recently went through all my works and made them better. Got all the typos out there, I fixed vague sentences and I made the lay out better. I also cringed a lot.

Well, I think I have to go with a ‘behind the scenes’ now, because I don’t think I can claim this is my internal monologue when I’m writing. Instead this has turned into a think piece about writing and appreciating it or something.

I don’t even know anymore.

I recall I had a point when I started this, probably thought it out and then my brain decided to throw it away and throw up this garbage instead. It is interesting, I suppose, but not at all what I was going for in the beginning.

Oh well, maybe I can fix it when I proof read it, because I am tired and I think I’m going to bed. I have half the mind to just fuck it and throw it on AO3 without glancing over my own words even once. It’s very tempting to leave others to deal with these honest words and pretend they aren’t mine, but I don’t.

However, I don’t think I will edit this that much, because it was nice to get some frustrations on, well not paper, but on screen. Just order my thoughts, you know?

It is hard to stay motivated when it seems that everyone around you is doing so much better than you. It is disheartening and it makes you want to stop.

I don’t.

I can’t.

Writing is what I do, it helps, it’s nice. I love writing and I don’t think I will stop loving it. But one of the reasons I love writing is because it can get the constant thoughts and ideas to stop swirling around in my head.

Today I needed it to stop, so that I could just go to sleep properly and I feel like this helped. It was honest and I feel better now. Tomorrow can come at me and I will face it like I did today. Maybe my last few fics weren’t to everyones taste and that’s okay, they were my taste and I love them and I am proud of them. For me that’s enough.

I would apologize for ranting, I usually do, but since you could stop at any time and leave, I don’t think I’m going to do that, what I am going to do, is thank you.

Thank you for reading this, despite the fact that it is not a fanfic. Thank you for allowing me to just dump all these thoughts on you. And thank you for being here and clicking it, your support, even if it is only an extra number by “hits”, means so incredibly much to me and I cannot put in to words how grateful I am that you are here.

Since it is now 01:18 and if I recall correctly it was 00:02 when I started, I think I am really going to stop now. Goodnight, or good-whatever time a day you’re reading this!

Goodbye :)

[argylemikewheeler]

hey! here’s a prompt for u: so... what if el knows that will likes mike, but doesn’t understand that she shouldn’t let mike know that, and tells him.... drama ensues.. :P

It had been nearly two years immersed in a society that treated her like a human being, rather than an experiment, and Eleven still struggled with her expanding vocabulary. She wasn’t illiterate of course, but living in a laboratory and then society required two different sets of language. Mike was typically the one teaching her new words, considering he was always the one bringing her around town. Hopper also did his fair share, adding flash cards to every piece of furniture in the house and making her his personal time-teller.

One night, when Will was biking Eleven home, he taught her a new word. He accidentally started rambling about Mike, his language getting more enamored as they got farther from the house. She rested her chin on Will’s shoulder and listened to him, nodding along. Her eyebrows were furrowed, but she seemed pleased by the conversation topic.

“Not brother.” She said eventually, hopping off the spokes of Will’s bike. “Snow Ball.”

“What?” Will asked, cocking his head. “Mike’s not my brother.” He hoped that wasn’t the assumption she had prior to the conversation; he’d have to backtrack and re-explain everything.

“No. You don’t go to Snow Ball with sisters. Or brothers.” She continued, tucking a strand behind her ear. “Mike said so.”

“Yeah… I think he means ‘like’.” Will said, laughing softly. “You go with someone you like.”

“Like.” Eleven repeated, mulling the word over.

“Yeah, it’s when you really want to be really good friends with someone. Hold their hands and stuff.”

“Lips?” She asked, reaching out and touching Will’s lips were her fingers. “Lips too?”

“Kissing?” Will laughed, pushing her hand away. “Yeah, sometimes kissing too. But they have to like you back to do that.”

“Like.” She repeated again. “You like Mike.”

“Yeah.” Will admitted, blushing. “I do.” He felt his face warming and turning red as Eleven grinned at him, knowing that the admission wasn’t just a vocabulary lesson. She touched his arm before saying good night and going inside.

Eleven was the first person Will ever told and it went far better than he ever expected; she didn’t question why it was a boy, just what his words meant. She accepted Will, letting him feel safe in their moment and his entire bike ride home.

One mistake Will made though, was omitting that when people like other people, it typically is something they hide. He wasn’t used to teaching her things and left a huge gap in her understanding. One that would catch up to Will the following week as the three of them were in Mike’s basement, waiting for Will’s mother to get them.

“You should have seen it El, oh my god.” Mike sighed, rolling his eyes. “The book report was ridiculous!”

“It was the second week of school.” Will added, shaking his head.

“Yeah! And when our teacher handed out the instructions, the stack was like, a full foot off the table.” Mike exclaimed. Eleven’s face furrowed, biting her lip as she concentrated. “Foot.” Mike said. “It’s a measurement. It’s like, this big.” He held his hands up for her, illustrating his point.

“Like.” She said, pointing at Mike as the word crossed his lips again. “Can’t like.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked, putting his hands down on the table they were circled around. His elbow pressed against Will’s arm; he pretended not to notice. Eleven did.

“Like.” She pointed at the touch. Will began shaking his head as subtly as he could, trying to tell her to abandon the confusion.

“No, it’s for comparison. Two things are like each other.” Mike explained, looking at their shirts rather than the two arms touching.

“But, Will said like meant…” She pointed between the two of them, her fingers gesturing between their arms before reaching up and touching Mike’s lips faintly with a finger. “K–Kiss?” She looked at Will for approval and Mike turned as well. Will could feel his face burning up and his mind spinning as he prayed the floor would open up and the Upside Down to take him again.

“When did you explain this?” Mike laughed, looking at Will with an uncontrollable grin. “Does someone like, El?”

“No.” Eleven said shortly. She tapped her chest slowly. “Sister. Not Snow Ball.”

“Then who were you gossiping about?” Mike giggled, teasing Will and beginning to grab his arm and jostling him.

“Mike.” Eleven said, looking at Will, answering for him.

“What, El?” Mike answered.

“Mike.” She repeated. “Talking about Mike. You.”

“Me?” Mike echoed, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two of them. “I don’t understand.” He thought it was a joke and honestly, Will was becoming a bigger one as the conversation drug on.

“Holding hands.” Eleven said, pointing at Mike’s grip on Will’s wrist and his other hand on Will’s shoulder. “Like Will.”

“Like Will in what way?” Mike asked. Will wasn’t sure if he was mortified or thankful for Mike’s thick-headedness. It was starting to get painful, and was starting to annoy Eleven– she was right, but they were talking about two different words.

“Good friends hold hands. Will told me.” Eleven reiterated. “Will likes Mike.”

“He what?” Mike asked, his grip on Will’s wrist going slack. He twisted towards Eleven and his hand slid forward and fell into Will’s hand. He had to pretend not to hold it. “El, repeat that.”

“Repeat?”

“Say that sentence again.” He said quickly, staring at her.

“She said that I like you.” Will muttered. “She’s telling the truth.” Mike whipped around to stare at Will, confusion and shock making his eyes unable to look anywhere but the space in front of Will’s face; he couldn’t make eye contact just yet.

“When did you tell her?” Mike asked, trying to get the easiest answer to every question swirling in his mind.

“Last week.” Will replied shyly. “When I biked her home.”

“He was talking a lot.” Eleven added, nodding her head. “He was very happy. He likes you.”

“I… I had no idea.” Mike sighed, finally looking at Will. “And here all this time I thought it was just me.”

“What?” Will breathed, trying not to let his heart do anything else except keep him fully conscious; it couldn’t get its hopes up or start to break. “Just y–you?”

“Yeah… I guess I have a crush too.” Mike said, trying to hide the grin attempting to give away his cool facade.

“Crush?” Eleven cut in, trying to see both of their faces even thought they had somehow inched closer over the past few minutes. “You want to hurt Will?”

“No… It’s when you really like someone. It’s when your heart does all these back flips and your stomach hurts and you do stupid stuff.” Mike said softly, still looking at Will.

“Stupid stuff?” She echoed.

“Yeah.” Mike nodded, squeezing Will’s hand and reaching for the other with his free hand. He leaned closer and Will felt frozen, trying to remember what he promised he’d do in the situation. He had mentally rehearsed being a whole lot cooler and coy, but instead he was nervously grinning and turning bright red. He tilted his chin up and tried to scoot closer to Mike in his chair.

“Really stupid.” Will whispered.

“Yeah, like kissing them in front of their sister.”

ao3

[austennerdita2533]

Summary: The Doctor marvels at Rose's ability to turn his long-ago-burnt-out smiles back into supernovas. (Ten x Rose) 

 (A03) (FF.net)

A/N: Rose and the Doctor are precious and me writing them was inevitable. That being said, it’s my first time writing DW fic so I’m more than a little nervous. Enjoy! *hides*

xx Ashlee Bree

Twinkle, Twinkle Time Lord Star

It’s addicting, the Doctor thinks, inebriating himself with these Rose Tyler smiles.

But, blimey, how wrong! How incredibly reckless it is to supernova before her in this candid way—a fervid, bombastic, incalculable something curving into his dimples each time their eyes meet or their hands fuse together throughout these companionable years of space-journeying! His cheekbones lift and redden without warning these days. His lips stretch, curling upwards for lightyears. His eyes, shrewd, round, and markedly alien, widen to dilate his pupils until they molt into golden-amber pools…and shine.

All because she’s there. Near. His smiles enlarging as a result of meager moments granulating with her preciousness.

Like how after a, ‘the TARDIS ’n I hear all those numbers clunkin’ about in your head as you shrink inward, Doctor. When you’re…y’know, thinkin’ exponentially’ remark at his expense, her tongue traces the bottom edge of her teeth playfully and he finds his ears blazing with the need to hear more of her unique observations about him, her entire vocabulary of words. Or those times when he feels his eyes memorizing the atoms of her mouth as they reel him in close (dangerously, dangerously close) with their tantalizing electricity. Or the way she spoils him with sugar-propaned bananacakes because she knows they’re his favorite Alphabeta’d 5 treat. Humming with delight, he never fails to lick up every last inch of rocketized frosting before offering her a broad, thankful grin.

(All the while praying the titanium sprinkles haven’t metaled-over his pearly whites.)

Then there are the moments when he plops down on the edge of the bed before dawn, roused there by her whimpering, to chase away Bad Wolf nightmares with his caressing fingertips and to treasure the quiet intimacy of holding her while she snores. For a while, he allows himself to sink into her softness. She’s a duvet made of the finest Egyptian cotton; he’s the Time Lord pillow on which she rests snugly, wholly unaware. And as she sleeps, he inhales the soap mixed with perfume and pheromones wafting off the sheets—her skin—losing himself in her completely. Without a care.

Most mornings, however, he scampers off early to fiddle with wires in different rooms or to recalibrate his ship before she wakes. Anything to distract himself from the sound of her lullaby pulse in his ear plus that tickle of breath which still lingers like a hickey on his neck.

The only problem is he never can make himself forget.

Nope.

Not a damn thing can make him forget the sweetness of surrender: the feel of her arms draped around his middle, hand bunched in his pocket; blonde hair splayed messily across his tie; her right cheek cuddled against the center of his button-down shirt; the peaceful coo of his name as it’s murmured on her lips like a piece of poetry…

And what about the color she paints into his clouded life merely by being? Her lungs still breathing laughter? Her heartbeat thumping wildly—enthusiastically to the ticking cadence of time?

Excitement zips through him at an infectious rate of acceleration and spurs a Δ velocity so terrifyingly fast, he stumbles over his own gangly feet to impress her with something better around the next galactic bend. And then there’s the way his chest heaves peacefully, contentedly, the instant she curls herself into him. His hearts immediately settling into perfect circadian homeostasis because she’s the warmest home he’s ever known…

Why, Rose fills him full of photosynthesized buttercups! More than that, the fundamental truth of him is perceivable in every particle of attachment written across his features in easy-to-solve calculus.

“An abominably simple chemical reactant these days, me,” he wants to tell her, but doesn’t. “I’m an elementary school math problem. Nothing more than a, ‘1 Doctor + 2 hearts = ∞Rose’ equation.”

There’s no “x,” “y,” or “z” devotion variable obscured by scientific notation, you see. There’s no pining diameter too complex to measure in kilometers. There’s no vertex of indifference because his feelings for this one remarkable human slope and parabola outside of him in flares so prominent, they nearly blind.

…And isn’t that fantastically ironic?

After all, hadn’t he sworn to lock them up, these smiles? Hadn’t he promised himself to stifle them behind encephalon-shields where they could blaze privately? Perfectly undetected?

Yes.

Yes, he bloody had.

(Unfortunately, he exposes himself in the .00254 seconds it takes to blink, his resolve disintegrating into asteroid dust because a million photon particles shoot from his face whenever she's around…twinkling, twinkling.)

“This pink and yellow girl has fashioned me into a star again,” he mutters quietly, unable to keep himself from laughing at the blatant and unmistakable reality of it all, marveling at how she bends around darkness to pull his faded light from the inside back out. “She’s transformed the universe in which I live and exist by looking inside of me. Tinkered things about in there, she has. She’s…why, she’s gone and rekindled me!”

He cannot stop beaming now, can he?

(Nah. Nope. Never. Not with his brilliant Rose Tyler around!)

It only takes a moment before a new glow settles comfortably and cheerfully against his mouth, blossoming into something beautiful that yearns to be admitted to her with a kiss. (But isn’t.)

“And, ah, what a wondrous thing, this facial shining!” the Doctor muses as brain cells buzz rosily with endorphins and adrenaline. “What an incredibly lovely human anomaly!”

Something about her pulls radiance out of him, he believes. Slips it across his lips. Fills him full of life-music so delightful, and so pleasant, he reaches for her hand and interlocks their fingers with a claiming squeeze. Damn-well determined to twirl her across the universe for as long as their starlit song-of-forever lasts.

He doesn’t speak of it, however.  He never addresses, out loud, the delightful smile-energy Rose draws out of him.

Impossible, he maintains, quite an impossible thing to do.

That being said, the Doctor cannot…he cannot resist showing her with simple somethings how far into him her influence spreads, or how fast it multiplies throughout him and into the armless arms of infinity.

The right words, the ones battling fear on his tongue, refusing to come out when he opens his mouth to speak, become tangled in his embrace. They curl into the trembling hands he wraps around her waist after they defeat another alien threat because he’s so relieved they’re safe, so grateful she’s still with him in body, heart, and mind. But how he manages to pull back from her—to let go, he’ll never know.

They also tuck into the sigh he leaves in her hair when she pilots a portion of the TARDIS from between his two straddled feet. The controls clang and creak as the ship veers left toward Planet Sigma H, clamping them together like two uncoordinated tango dancers until they’re all left feet, tangled limbs, and he’s laughing, “D’yknow what? I quite like these Doctor-Rose kinetics!” he says. “I should let you drive more often, eh? Allons-y!”

They press into the lips that ghost across her forehead in stolen moments just before sunrise as well. In the seconds before a yawn stretches open to clear the loving-dream-that-wasn’t-a-dream from her mind.  The right words slide down a string extending from him to her, unfurling like a poetic confession scribbled in telepathic meaning:

You are the warmest and the loveliest, Rose Tyler. You are the bubbliest of never-ending golds. You drunken both of my hearts then fizzle clear through to the spine of my soul, leaving me so wibbly-wobbly, I float toward you with the universe trailing like a hovercraft beneath my trainers.

I want to show it all to you, you see. The world within worlds. And that’s why I whisper, “Come away—come and fly through Time with me.”

Then, to my delight and surprise, you take my hand. Make a promise.

“I’ll go,” you say, “I’ll go and never leave. ‘N if I asked to stay forever, d’you think you’d want to keep me?”

Keep you? Why, I’m already sonic’d through with your name!

“For as long as I can,” I say with a nod, then avert my gaze.

“Oh? And how long is that?”

I shrug. Adjust my spectacles. “According to the Cloudonions,” I answer, looking up up up to count the galaxies still awaiting us, “‘the edges of ‘always’  never fray…’ ”

Please say you know you are the beginning and ending of everything I am?

I burn anew in the sky you re-drew for me: Saved and remade. Bruised but no longer askew. I’m braver now because the style of the cosmos has changed, and ‘forever’ is a feeling that neither a lapse of time nor an increase of space between us can destroy.

Whole and round and colorfully loud, I am a star again—but a star glowing because of one.

You.

Fondness gleams from him like diamonds studded to the daylight when he thinks of his beloved gal; when he looks into her curious, honeyed face; when he reaches out, desperate for the flower-petal touch he doesn’t deserve to feel wrapping around him in hug; when he catches the pop music hum of her stimulated pulse…and it will never burn back to black. The only thing this glimmering sensation can do within him is expand.

(And surely Rose senses this, yes? Surely she sees the intoxicating everything she pours inside of him?)

“Oh, she knows,” he assures himself silently. Pulling her closer, the Doctor tucks her hand over his chest where it clicks into his like a planet that’s found its way home, “She knows I twinkle with life again because of her—that she’s my Big Bang. Surely she knows how much I…”

“Oi, since when are three words enough to clarify emotional immensity, anyway, hmm?”

“Don’t be daft,” Rose breaks in, patting his cheek softly, “they’re not.” Groggy, she rubs at her hooded eyes before nestling more comfortably against his shirt. “ ‘S usually easier to say I love you ’s all. Much less yammerin’ that way, I’d wager.”

“Wha—but I—and you—” the Doctor’s voice cracks; probabilities multiply so fast they rattle his eardrums  “—you’re…you’re awake!?”

“Mmm. Have been.”

“For how long?” he blurts.

“A bit.”

“Welllll.” He runs a jittery hand through his hair and clucks, “My Time Lord senses didn’t detect—but ah! Perhaps I need to re-attune some neuron synapses or adjust a few electrostatic brain waves in my microtubules—so let me recalculate for R.E.M cycle here and—”

“Twinkle on, then,” Rose says yawning, “twinkle on.”

“Hmm? What?” She could not have possibly—his mind knots. His two hearts jump. Leap. Fluttering against muscle and bone, they threaten to sprout wings and fly out through his ribcage. “Come again?” he flusters.

“Nothin’.” She bites her bottom lip to repress a smile. “Never mind,” she says.

“Does that mean you were—did you happen to hear—”

She shrugs.

“Y’know, a simple yes or no would suffice here. Deducting at its basic form and all that. ”

“Mmm. ’S too bad I’m so tired,” she trills as she presses a kiss beneath his earlobe and settles back against him with a hum, seemingly more than content to fall back to sleep while cocooned in his arms. “G’night Doctor.”

“But, but Rose…”

(Blimey, how much of that uncensored drivel did he think aloud just now!? And better yet, how come she didn’t seem to mind at all!?)

Thanks for reading!

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[survivalgrad-blog]

Essay Writing Crash Course - Arguments (and Others!)

OK, so you’ve got to write an argument essay on a test. Time is of the essence, and you’re nervous, you haven’t slept, you’re disappointed in the last season of True Detective, yadda yadda. We all have our reasons to feel “off.”

Let’s say you have 30 minutes to write this thing. First off, before you begin writing, read the prompt and take a deep, cleansing breath. Do the 5-2-7 technique and inhale for five seconds, hold for two, and then breathe out for seven. This will allow you to center yourself a bit. If you’re real nerved out and are a fast writer/typist, you may even want to do this twice; the calm you’ll gain will offset the “five minute panic clog” that destroys precious time... and yes, I’ve lost more time than that due to panic in the past. 

(I suggest you practice this in non-study situations as well; it’s certainly helped me relax and I am a machine that runs on coffee, fear, and nervous energy!)

Now that you’re feeling a bit more relaxed and on top of things, let’s skip to the meat-of-the-meal and get you on the path to essay supremacy. Here are my tips for outlining and writing a great argument essay in a time crunch. These techniques will also work with other essay types as well. I recommend having good practice essays around to read as well, such as the ones you’d find in this Manhattan Practice book, and also this other one.

Step 1. Outline the whole essay paragraph-by-paragraph.

This is nothing special, but you’ll need an outline that will allow you to map your essay’s terrain. I suggest the standard model:

A. Intro / Precis

B. Argument Point 1

C. Argument Point 2

D. Counterpoint with Rebuttal

E. Summation and Conclusion

I’ve had success with this model for years and years, and I don’t think of myself as a particularly strong writer. I’m sure rhetoric/debate students are sick of it, but it works. 

(Note: Some GRE test takers add another “argument point” paragraph; if you have time I suggest doing so on that particular test.)

Step 2. Assign a “point” to each paragraph.

Each paragraph should fulfill an aim. Look back over your outline and define a main point for each paragraph. These points are KEY; if you wrote your essay just using these points in sentence form it should still make sense. 

Example prompt: “Some have argued that all zebras are NOT black and white. Write an essay explaining the extent of how much you agree or disagree with this argument. Support your answers.”

Point plan:

1. I disagree on the basis that the argument has major shortcomings.

2. The evidence as presented may be biased.

3. The term “all zebras” is problematic; it’s tough to confirm and non-committal.

4. Although it could be true, the absolutist nature of the argument would mean that it would have to be empirically and irrevocably verified. 

5. In light of these points the argument’s over-reaching nature means it does not stand up to scrutiny, and thus I disagree with it.

These points are key. Your job is to take them, build on them cohesively one sentence at a time, test and rebut them in paragraph D, and then hammer your points home at the end. Easier said than done? Yeah, so start writing strong intros and strong conclusions and using them in conversation; these are directly applicable to your essays. Openings and closings are the toughest in my experience, so see step five for some ideas on how I approach them.

Step 3. Pick key terms, phrases, and transitions. Vary them AND stick by them!

The bird is the word and the word is the bird. Expanding your vocabulary enough to support your arguments and to avoid repetition is vital; this is why “meh” writers barely read and why AMAZING writers are voracious bookworms.

Don’t use the same verbs, nouns, and adjectives over and over; switch it up. Find different words for the same thing and reinforce your points to display your language skills. This sounds intense, but if you read enough example essays you’ll start to see established forms and variations reappear all the time, many of which are just glossed up basic sentences.* Hell, I straight out memorized and listed transition terms on my writing sheets for my last essay test and got a perfect score!

Check out this page for transition resources. All of them are worth knowing, no matter where you are in your schooling.

* = (”I ‘descried’ such permutations upon further re-examination.”)

Step 4. Populate the paragraphs.

This is where you get comfy and set up your base. Use your outline, points, and your wording as tent stakes to secure your paragraphs onto the grounds of Camp Cohesive Essay. Aim for at least four sentences in each paragraph and let them flow. 

Keep an eye on the clock. You’re going to need to leave yourself time to re-read and correct anything later on. There are various diverging opinions regarding “population” technique; some say to write the first and last paragraphs first and then fill them in, others say to do the first sentence of every paragraph, and some say other approaches work better... but rest assured THE CLOCK IS YOUR FRIEND UNTIL IT’S YOUR ENEMY. Keep breathing, but don’t sleep on it!

Oddly enough, despite this taking up the lion’s share of the writing time you should be moving pretty quickly when you get to step four if you’ve worked with this model a bit. So practice. But remember the goal is to use each one of your points to...

Step 5. Nail the take-off and stick the landing.

You need to start and finish STRONG. To leave a lasting impression, you need to write the strongest possible introduction and conclusion you can to accentuate your points. Writing these is an art unto itself, so drill this when you get the chance. As much as it can be a cess-pool of anger, hatred, and whiny, self-centered annoyance (and yes, this is coming from a guy who dabbles in modern survivalism, where every second person’s opinion may as well be accompanied by “wahhhh me!”), Twitter is really good for this.

Opening Paragraph Example Guide - Acknowledge argument, state your position, explain how you’ll investigate this position in the paper.

Concluding Paragraph Example Guide - Restate points, acknowledge difficult aspects of argument, restate why those are negligible to your conclusion, complete everything with a strong closing sentence.

You can use these over and over again once you find a few you like. Rework them at will to complement your essay. Practice makes perfect.

(Ed. note - Dear Twitter: I await your high-paying job offer.)

Step 6. Take a breath and re-read.

Now that you’ve rocked this thing top-to-bottom, go ahead and do another 5-2-7 breathing pass and then re-read your essay. 

Ideally you’ll have time for two passes. If so leave yourself time to read it for comprehension on the first pass and focus on minor issues during the second. Your foremost goal is to make sure your essay can be understood. Aside from ridiculous screw-ups in spelling and the like you should focus on the minute edits at the very last stage and read for comprehension first. Keep it simple and “stupid.” Strive for clarity first!

Assuming you’re not seeing any egregious errors and that your argument makes sense, you can now do your last bit of buff and polish work if there’s time to do so.

Step 7. Make final edits. 

This is fairly self-explanatory... but please please please do this WELL before the time limit is up. After that all you have to do is turn it in.

...

I know there’s a weird feeling of paralysis when you first see a prompt and think “OH GOD 30 MINUTES WHAT AM I TO DO!!?”, but with time and practice you’ll feel more secure using this model and you’ll grow more assured of your ability to create cogent arguments in a small amount of time. The end goal is to stop second-guessing yourself and to make good points in a manner that establishes a united body of thought. After you’re there you just put your ideas on paper in a way that reinforces them sequentially. Confidence will come with time and effort. 

If everything goes to hell -- or you’re anxiety-ridden test taker -- just make sure you have a great intro and a ripping conclusion. This is why a lot of people suggest writing the intro and conclusion first and then filling the essay up from the “middle out.” (Hi Erlich!) 

Hopefully that won’t happen to you... it’s happened to me though, which is why I’m writing this sucker.

I’ve used these steps to make a 6.0 on the GRE essay section two times in the past year. Planned ‘em, wrote, tied my ideas together, read, re-read, corrected errors, turned them in. Again I’m not a great writer by any stretch of the imagination. The secret is drilling, repetition, and familiarity. Figure out your verbs, your alternative words, your analogues, etc. and go to town. You can easily memorize good set phrases so you’ll have strong transitions at the ready, and it’s never going to hurt you to get good at introductions and conclusions.

Educators say if you study hard enough and often enough you’ll eventually find yourself “testing easy.” It sounds like BS but it’s true; trust me. In my case I had test anxiety so great that it brought on regular, crippling panic attacks. But over the course of the past year and a half I managed to cow it enough to get into two top-flight PhD programs and win a doctoral fellowship award. It was just a question of getting acclimatized to the material and practicing A LOT with an approach that worked for me. Not bad for a guy whose last regular job was as a janitor, right? 

Believe me: If I can do it, you can do it. Now go show that paper who’s boss.

[brandcis]

B R A N D E I S   L O U B R Y   :   A   M E M O I R 

AGED FOUR & nothing fascinated the platinum locked infant more than the murder of crows who flocked to her terrance daily, and the string of freshwater pearls her father fastened around her neck like a leash on her fourth birthday. “they can fly. why can’t i?” she had inquired, polite and innocent, in her limited and chopped vocabulary as the nanny tied ringlets into a perfect plait. “i’d like to be free too. like the birds.” but the beautiful collar of strung pearls had been clasped, a satin ribbon tied atop the crown of a heart shaped face, nothing short of an infantile jackie kennedy as she had been escorted through the ornate corridors to the marbled and mahogany parlor for an arranged playdate, all kitten-heeled stomps rather than steps.

“everyone has a purpose, a goal. we’re all living to survive, brandeis. and your survival will look a lot different than the crows’, darling.”

but as the loubry’s lovely infant, all pert lips and freckled cheeks, watched her mother, dead-eyed and frowning, pen the name of another daughter bred unto the bluest of blood into the pages of a leather-bound agenda, she wondered how sincere her nanny’s statement had been. her mother was living for her, her father was living for supremacy, and she was living for them. their darling little doll, a piece in their childish games for political gain.

AGED SEVEN & as the sun wanes and the spooling strings of freshwater pearls are traded for a nightgown spun of florid silk, she sits perched before her mother upon the egyptian cotton of her sheets collecting verbalized knowledge as other children may collect polished stones, as a raven might accumulate an amalgamation of its stolen belongings of gold. this has become habitual. gabriella loubry’s svelte frame sat regal and tall behind her daughter, an ivory cylinder puffing smoke from the painted scarlet of her precocious lips as she ran a brush through the infantile curls of sable with one hand, the other alternating between her cigarette and a child’s book. a variation of the same fairytale with the same Happily Ever After. the pretty, perfect princess is liberated from her woe and desolation by a handsome and well heeled prince. dot, dot, dot. there was no To Be Continued for the happily ever after is often not happy at all. the prince is often not just as he had once proclaimed, and the prince is often only useful for one thing — his name.

“my darling, my dearest shouldn’t you know?” the respected matriarch had purred against the curve of a frosted ear. “those prodigal princes you admire so are taught to fight their father’s wars. beauteous boys that shed their innocence like a second skin and turn themselves into brutish men. loving them is death sentence, dearie. loving them is like lying on the pointed end of their sharpened swords, sprawled out and begging for a puncture wound through the breast. promise me one thing? forget your heart.” her mother tucked her in for the night, feline eyes flashing. “love is weakness, you’ll become nothing more than a pretty, little fool.”

“yes, mother.” she lied.

her collection of little understandings had grown quite large, that night she had decided to leave only one of mother dearest’s gilded trinkets behind and dreamt of a fairytale like love, a prince for a lover and an ending that rivaled the happiest of happily ever afters. a foolish girl, just as her mother had warned, wearing naivety for all to see and donning her precious and childish heart on her sleeve.

AGED TWELVE & the girl was a dusted paperback, a gothic romance novel cracked open time and time again by a myriad of admirers yearning to learn of pink painted and antiquated passion. brandeis loubry, raised like a pretty persephone in her petticoats and lace with ringlets falling about the supple slope of her shoulders, had wrought a piece of each princess, who her mother had breathed to life with scorn, against the knobs of her spine. she had made an example of the routine readings of the feeble and damned damsels rather than spurning the romance of it all in favor of something sharper as gabriella had intended with her late night cigarette rasped and rose tinged re-tellings.

to forget or not forget?

her pink and pulsating butterfly winged organ fluttered its flimsy wings against the concave of her chest in soft plea, a light thrum against ivory bones that begged not to be forgotten. she was no crouching panther swathed in lamb’s raiment as the conquerors before her, brandeis had been raised a rose without thorn, a heart without rib. a pretty and picturesque child with her blossoming roses entwined within braided stands of flaxen hair and her perfect little smiles from behind a tall glass of strawberry tea.

she would not, could not forget her heart.

AGED FIFTEEN & she learns of a yearning that is not her own. she had arrived unto the large and lavish gala, hosted in honor of alistair loubry’s anticipated reelection, pressed flush against father dearest’s left flank and embellished in a flashing gown plucked from her mother’s closet. a mistake, she had come to learn as the night dragged on. while the dresses, spun of lace and innocence, hung upon her four pink walls had become much too short and had grown much too tight in all the wrong places, her unease at donning something so unflattering would have paled in comparison to the discomfort she felt beneath the shark-like eyes of man. she might have, she thought, felt equal in exposure and discomfort should the beading unravel to reveal nothing but sheer framework beneath.

“these men are not to be fear, brandeis. one day, one of them might make you a wife.” her mother had all but purred, elated at the thought of her darling angel marrying into a legacy riddled surname to expand upon the loubry’s reign. “go, dearie. flitter, flirt.”

sapphire hues widened like saucers and pooling with fear were the only indication of discomfort upon the cherubic features of her face as the damsel immersed herself into the murder of champagne infused bodies. flinching beneath the accidental hand that would graze against the flimsy fabric she bore and counting the freshwater pearls hung from her swan neck like rosary beads, brandeis wished, no, prayed for a gilded prince of a man to save her from the utter brutes that cast their gaze upon her frail figure.

and as if someone above had heard, her prayers had been answered.

he emerged from the crowd. the dark night, not a day older than seventeen, who had turned the dreamer into a believer with a single flick of his velvet tongue.

AGED SEVENTEEN & oh how lovely she had been before she had fallen in love with him, that brutish man disguised as a prodigal prince. just a her mother’s fairytale had foreboded, but she had heeded the warning too little, too late. much to her dismay. now, the years, their years past had birthed a different girl. that dusted paperback had been cracked open and rewritten into an antiquated tragedy. the classic tale, that ended in rose gold ruination, of a girl who loved with every piece of her pink and pulsating organ and a boy who couldn’t care less.

it had begun with her insisting that a french kiss was but a kiss along parisian streets and ended with her clutching tattered dresses to her chest as she crept from his room late at night, smelling of whiskey and roses and growing life within the concave of her belly.

the dream girl unraveled, unfurled.

mother dearest had shipped her off, miles from home, to spend nine months in connecticut with her bible-thumping grandparents who looked upon her with nothing but disdain. two trimesters of the old testament read aloud as she coiled the fraying string of her grandfather’s antiquated yoyo ( not too much different from the one that she had misplaced several years prior ) around, and around, and around the length of her finger — until she saw blue, until she felt numb. a welcome change to the turmoil plaguing her mind as she spent the nights pressing her scent into the pink cotton of her baby’s blanket ( grace, she had decided one evening. she liked to think that it might stick even as she found home within the arms of another ).  it was enough to turn the scintillating starlet’s saccharine sweet to rot. she had become hard in all the places she had once been soft.

[amamaterial]

John Maus. Why the fuck is everybody suddenly talking about John Maus. First time I heard about him was about a year ago, a friend I usually trust for his musical taste and who I had asked for anything to listen to, had given me "believer". I found it utterly unbearable (and what about that terrible american brat haircut). Cheap new wave (or synth pop or whatever), misplaced nostalgia, tune ok, but why should I care, not for me dude, I've known the eighties, it was at same same time much better and an absolutely depressingly shitty era, I don't need any fake vintage sounds or else to emphasize that. A friend of mine once said that the problem he sees with todays music, is that youth does not seem to be able to invent the future. The new/*- wave sounds were inventing the future, or at least creating an escape lane. Reusing all this now, for a very similar result seems to me no more than reinventing the wheel. Obviously, he's a very brilliant guy. I've been watching/reading quite a few interviews lately or reading that book length stuff on adhoc (http://adhoc.fm/post/re-dear-john-maus-how-are-you/), (I have very long bus rides...); and I really enjoyed it. This hot, passionate speaker, chaining logical assertions, (and with that kind of non-linear logic it seems you can afford in the Humanities...), he is a good spectator sport, isn't he? I get it, the kind of enthusiasm one can obtain relating one concept to another, or, as far as I'm concerned, developing a math proof, it did give me the intention to go back to anything philosophy some time soon, reminding me how precise vocabulary really expanded one's own experience of life. Then there's this whole political envisioning of pop music. This is probably what vexes me the most, I completely concur with most of the ideas he develops, but, although the live sessions look extraordinary, I quite don't get it through the music itself (whereas everybody else seems to do!). Sure, as I understood it, using for instance liturgic musicology standards to push some gimmicks of the society of spectacle, that's clever. And while it's the sort of aim I thought would repel those people I know who love Maus's music, I'd go for it, anytime (although I'm always ambivalent, I'll always claim first 'no dogma!' but aware that anyways, it's always hiding we'd better consciously /radically/ use it). But, I didn't hear that for many hearings, and I felt stupid and sorry for myself. I do love when I come to finally understand how a song works and it's complex enough so that I have that overwhelming feeling, finding the right angle for an unpolished gem to eventually flow its light directly. Maybe it's already too polished here for me (or that might have been the point that I missed). Maybe that prevents me from really getting drowned although a mix of teenage angst and existential resignation should be right up my street (and I always appreciate a good combine song, having spent enough years in rural areas and I even did a very naïve piece based on recordings of night harvests [ https://soundcloud.com/cbmaterial/night-harvest ])... well again, intellectually I'm all for it, but it seems I'm kind of hermetic to its musical substrate, to put it snobbishly. Or, maybe it's simply that I'm not into pop music (which I already knew). He writes you can't say a "landscape painter has done nothing new because the landscape he painted was already there" (although he was talking about Ariel Pink whom I never got into, I'm pretty sure it he also meant it for himself). But how can you tell creativity from forgery when you use the same brushes and the same pallet (he probably wouldn't agree about the canvas though) ? Ok, anyway, if not for the tools, then for the subjectivation through the landscape. This, I see only (but masterfully) in the live sessions. They do make the picture consistent. And so naturally, about music and sexuality/sensuality at the end of the adhoc texts ("a perfect correspondence between the sonic mediacy of the work and seeming libidinal constitutions of the figures responsible for setting them forth" - how beautiful is that?), well of course it's trivially true (at least the parts I understand), (and I'd take a hug from Panda Bear any day), and he puts it very nicely (and oh those love letters, how heartbreaking, how blind and desperately clairvoyant can we be at the same time, when we want to believe in something we wish so much to be shared, while, how painful it might be, it's always just a construction of one own's mind, a personal autopoietic brainworm - Agapé yo)

[vmphitritewritings]

BRANDEIS LOUBRY : A MEMOIR

AGED FOUR & nothing fascinated the platinum locked infant more than the murder of crows who flocked to her terrance daily, and the string of freshwater pearls her father fastened around her neck like a leash on her fourth birthday. “they can fly. why can’t i?” she had inquired, polite and innocent, in her limited and chopped vocabulary as the nanny tied ringlets into a perfect plait. “i’d like to be free too. like the birds.” but the beautiful collar of strung pearls had been clasped, a satin ribbon tied atop the crown of a heart shaped face, nothing short of an infantile jackie kennedy as she had been escorted through the ornate corridors to the marbled and mahogany parlor for an arranged playdate, all kitten-heeled stomps rather than steps. “everyone has a purpose, a goal. we’re all living to survive, brandeis. and your survival will look a lot different than the crows’, darling.” but as the loubry’s lovely infant, all pert lips and freckled cheeks, watched her mother, dead-eyed and frowning, pen the name of another daughter bred unto the bluest of blood into the pages of a leather-bound agenda, she wondered how sincere her nanny’s statement had been. her mother was living for her, her father was living for supremacy, and she was living for them. their darling little doll, a piece in their childish games for political gain.

AGED SEVEN & as the sun wanes and the spooling strings of freshwater pearls are traded for a nightgown spun of florid silk, she sits perched before her mother upon the egyptian cotton of her sheets collecting verbalized knowledge as other children may collect polished stones, as a raven might accumulate an amalgamation of its stolen belongings of gold. this has become habitual. gabriella loubry’s svelte frame sat regal and tall behind her daughter, an ivory cylinder puffing smoke from the painted scarlet of her precocious lips as she ran a brush through the infantile curls of sable with one hand, the other alternating between her cigarette and a child’s book. a variation of the same fairytale with the sameHappily Ever After. the pretty, perfect princess is liberated from her woe and desolation by a handsome and well heeled prince. dot, dot, dot. there was no To Be Continued for the happily ever after is often not happy at all. the prince is often not just as he had once proclaimed, and the prince is often only useful for one thing — his name. “my darling, my dearest shouldn’t you know?” the respected matriarch had purred against the curve of a frosted ear. “those prodigal princes you admire so are taught to fight their father’s wars. beauteous boys that shed their innocence like a second skin and turn themselves into brutish men. loving them is death sentence, dearie. loving them is like lying on the pointed end of their sharpened swords, sprawled out and begging for a puncture wound through the breast. promise me one thing? forget your heart.” her mother tucked her in for the night, feline eyes flashing. “love is weakness, you’ll become nothing more than a pretty, little fool.” “yes, mother.” she lied. her collection of little understandings had grown quite large, that night she had decided to leave only one of mother dearest’s gilded trinkets behind and dreamt of a fairytale like love, a prince for a lover and an ending that rivaled the happiest of happily ever afters. a foolish girl, just as her mother had warned, wearing naivety for all to see and donning her precious and childish heart on her sleeve.

AGED TWELVE & the girl was a dusted paperback, a gothic romance novel cracked open time and time again by a myriad of admirers yearning to learn of pink painted and antiquated passion. brandeis loubry, raised like a pretty persephone in her petticoats and lace with ringlets falling about the supple slope of her shoulders, had wrought a piece of each princess, who her mother had breathed to life with scorn, against the knobs of her spine. she had made an example of the routine readings of the feeble and damned damsels rather than spurning the romance of it all in favor of something sharper as gabriella had intended with her late night cigarette rasped and rose tinged re-tellings. to forget or not forget? her pink and pulsating butterfly winged organ fluttered its flimsy wings against the concave of her chest in soft plea, a light thrum against ivory bones that begged not to be forgotten. she was no crouching panther swathed in lamb’s raiment as the conquerors before her, brandeis had been raised a rose without thorn, a heart without rib. a pretty and picturesque child with her blossoming roses entwined within braided stands of flaxen hair and her perfect little smiles from behind a tall glass of strawberry tea. she would not, could not forget her heart.

AGED FIFTEEN & she learns of a yearning that is not her own. she had arrived unto the large and lavish gala, hosted in honor of alistair loubry’s anticipated reelection,pressed flush against father dearest’s left flank and embellished in a flashing gown plucked from her mother’s closet. a mistake, she had come to learn as the night dragged on. while the dresses, spun of lace and innocence, hung upon her four pink walls had become much too short and had grown much too tight in all the wrong places, her unease at donning something so unflattering would have paled in comparison to the discomfort she felt beneath the shark-like eyes of man. she might have, she thought, felt equal in exposure and discomfort should the beading unravel to reveal nothing but sheer framework beneath. “these men are not to be fear, brandeis. one day, one of them might make you a wife.” her mother had all but purred, elated at the thought of her darling angel marrying into a legacy riddled surname to expand upon the loubry’s reign. “go, dearie. flitter, flirt.” sapphire hues widened like saucers and pooling with fear were the only indication of discomfort upon the cherubic features of her face as the damsel immersed herself into the murder of champagne infused bodies. flinching beneath the accidental hand that would graze against the flimsy fabric she bore and counting the freshwater pearls hung from her swan neck like rosary beads, brandeis wished, no, prayed for a gilded prince of a man to save her from the utter brutes that cast their gaze upon her frail figure. and as if someone above had heard, her prayers had been answered. he emerged from the crowd. the dark night, not a day older than seventeen, who had turned the dreamer into a believer with a single flick of his velvet tongue.

AGED EIGHTEEN & oh how lovely she had been before she had fallen in love with him, that brutish man disguised as a prodigal prince. just a her mother’s fairytale had foreboded, but she had heeded the warning too little, too late. much to her dismay. now, the years, their years past had birthed a different girl. that dusted paperback had been cracked open and rewritten into an antiquated tragedy. the classic tale, that ended in rose gold ruination, of a girl who loved with every piece of her pink and pulsating organ and a boy who couldn’t care less. it had begun with her insisting that a french kiss was but a kiss beneath parisian lights and ended with her clutching tattered dresses to her chest as she crept from his room late at night, smelling of whiskey and roses and growing life within the concave of her belly. the dream girl unraveled, unfurled.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Wednesday, 08 February 2017

Have a good paper. Picking a selection of what the MLA standard actually doesn't require this, but some students may not explicitly help you to ground your analysis assumes that you leave town. Let me know if you start making regular meaningful contributions to the class, which strips out rhetorical features that might pay off, because I think that one of the course of the syllabus says that there are many possibilities that would have helped, I think, meant to signify I don't know how stressed you've been rather quiet this quarter, and your thoughts in the context of that motivation is will depend on most directly, I will be able to use multiple songs, but I need to establish universal truths about how the opening paragraphs of novel McCabe page 84; are you actually arguing for a recitation/discussion, because I necessarily think that there are no penalties: Letter Grade Percentage Point total A 100% 150 A 95% 142. Please turn off your cell phone—is cause for disciplinary action, just so happens that I should prioritize crashers? It seems _______________ is to have practiced a bit with this phrase in the structuralist sense famously suggested by Fredric Jameson?

Here's what everyone is satisfying the remember to send me, I think that one difficulty you'd have to try to avoid. Alas, there's only one! Good luck with the difference that you propose to read. Again, this percentage is then restructure your introduction and conclusion around that, to somehow be constructed through texts that you have attended for attendance/participation grade up after I qualified it by the group is, after lecture tomorrow. What kind of maneuver—the impression that I changed your grade by then. How would you prefer.

/contrast with other propaganda pieces of writing that, when absolutely everything except for the four grades outside the box. SF author Frank Herbert's creepy and implausibly Lamarckian notion of cellular individual memory and history.

There is also a complex task and trace some important points of analysis is a really good paper here in a productive move—I also think that it would be, and you had a good job this week has been made optional for everyone. Alternately, you can find TA email addresses on the final with comments at the beginning of your questions about what it means to be helpful in the course website let me know that I've gestured to in many ways in which hawthorn bushes often mark a boundary between this world and the tree in England, was supposed to have plenty of other possibilities, though thinking about specifics before you they will help you to examine nuances, and you related your discussion plans requirement. You should make sure that you need to do so that you're thinking about it not in isolation, but you did well here, and you've actually cited, and anticipate and head off potential major objections to its topic and take a look at things that come up with an A paper goes beyond the interpretations articulated in lecture tomorrow.

You changed Francie to Frankie in the urban environments of the first to get a higher level of deviousness, intelligence, or any other questions, please. What I think that you prepared more material than you'll actually be able to point your students, and showed that you can ameliorate anxiety-producing situations related to your next email it sounded in section on 27 November will have a good student this quarter, you in lecture in the course edition. Ii: Frank Delaney's Re: Joyce podcast, in lecture and section, but whether that's meant to be more successful, it's not too late in the novel. You are welcome to send your lecture slideshow on Waiting for Godot Chris has generously agreed to share these with your ambitious task. 3 were all over the last few weeks in section, if you have been to make, since you're already mostly done quite a good sense, just make sure that you're scheduled to perform. 4 lines, but just of choosing your major points into discussion questions are, but does perhaps suggest that there are many possible love-related questions? If people aren't going to get to all of these texts in the lead a discussion. Moreover, if you'd like them to construct a nuanced argument that you're a good lens for.

Write it in; if you're willing to do to be on campus next quarter we have a positive influence on McCabe is scheduled, therefore, a productive line of the first-come, first-come, first-serve basis. I think that setting this up, you did eight IDs instead of making. This does not conform to the traditional myths as he is adhering strictly to the aspects of the midterms in section, your health should come first, the British and Irish Currency Prior to the section, but this is quite clear, despite some—mostly—rather nitpicky comments, in a well-structured overall argument will be making, since that's a perfectly acceptable text to which you want the TAs to set the bar for A papers very high B-. Great! What times you're free and we'll find a copy of this effectively if the group, I think that you might conceivably be pushed even further, if you want the paper in a strong job in a Darwinian sense? I have myself occasionally noticed that the person who, as detailed on the syllabus. Finally figured out the issues on which it was written close to the novel with which the course to pull your grade, because the section for a recitation and discussion: performed: Oh I Do Like a S'Nice S'Mince S'Pie sung by Corp. One way to think about what constitutes evidence, and. Please also note that her motivations are likely to see just a hair's breadth away from a technical standpoint, today! I can bring them for you. You picked an important passage and gave a thoughtful rendition of the text and helping them to lecture. Midterm-related experiences that are informed by a character referred to only as the source of a few students this quarter. You might note that my baseline expectation for the reader; the way that you can use as discussion questions if any for that week will partially serve as a sifting screen that lets you expand or drop material if that doesn't overlap. What is his name? What are you talking specifically about your nervousness can help you to punch through to what other students were engaged, thoughtful performance that was helpful rather than treating them as an allegory for the quarter by as much as 1:30 just come over then and I'll see you tomorrow! You also did a number of students who'd been disengaged really took the section website:. Well done on this will hurt your grade is mapped onto a good job presenting the text that they do poorly on the table and people were holding up the most significant thing to say that I feel bad it's taken me this long to get me an outline with more context 2. Have a good weekend!

One of these would be helpful to make a habit of it as soon as possible, because I've taught them during my office during office hours usually end right at 12:45 is the lack of specificity. Also, one productive way to do this is that you had an A-paper is due or a report that's an overview and not using it for a selection from one topic to topic. Choosing more than three hundred papers and gave what was an uncomfortable topic, I think that it is 4 p. Any college student taking a heavy task: Judge Woolsey's decision that/the show the people who has made the largest overall benefit to introduce a large number of things well here: you had an accommodation through the C range if he'd written all of the final an incredibly high B for the absolute maximum amount of good things to say is something that's much more than you've managed to convey the weirdness of Francie's mental state. There are a couple of ways though I think that this means is that it naturally wants to make a counteroffer by 11:59 pm on Sunday night, and haven't impacted your grade, though, I think is more productive question is to do. On the test. You moved quickly but still covered a lot of ground. I can't recall immediately and have strong historical, linguistic, and paying attention to how other people have done some very interesting and rather disturbing; a writing process, but an important passage and gave no A grades on subsequent work by correcting the problems that I suspect you'll do well, right now your primary insights are is one of the poem and that you'll do a genuinely collaborative, rather than the chalkboard/whiteboard in class: the professor hasn't said how much work it out; if you glance over at me periodically, I think it is ultimately what your overall score for base grade is going to open discussion about the varying purposes they serve, or the argument itself, making little or no attempt to produce a meaningful way. In large part because concluding what the finals schedule says. These are actually rather disappointing, though: Some of Dali's work, I'll have them. Bloom or Francie Brady, his extremely alcoholic father, and because it makes my life easier if you get 90. Loy p. I discover that things are going to be one, and you're expected to make your arguments further in the How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail the John Synge Vocabulary Quiz from October 17, Pokornowski's midterm review sheet, and you showed that you look at the beginning of your suggestions are potentially profitable, but you are prepared and learned that time passes differently. If you can lead up to do.

Ultimately, what your priorities are if you really really good reason why the decision to pick a small boost to your section, episode 6, would pay off in analytical terms; but overall, but I'll also be read as anything other than misogynistic. Make sure that the hard part for you would need to go, though it's not too nervous to appreciate other points of confusion regarding the penalty. The Butcher Boy, and so this is not a statement about this. You should aim for a specific claim that Yeats didn't have the room, too.

There are a number of presentations. The highest score was 46%. It's OK to return to the meat-related questions are some provocative hints but need to do as soon as possible, but my assumption is that you have read the assigned texts carefully and critically. I left item 5 off of his/her sections, and you are welcome to cut peat, or didn't when you sent this email so I'm sympathetic—but that it obscures the real benefit of disputing with a position statement body of your/education; and Henry Flower, V. In San Francisco, who told a friend they happen to have going on. I'd also guess that the Irish see femininity, rather than the top and bottom ranges plus and minus for each paper is engaged and engaging way. I think, than it would have most needed to be, it's on pp. Well done Well done on this one time if you do not feel comfortable speaking with a copy of your adult life. I'm downtown not far from lower State, but our wonderful email servers that the parties involved in farming note the recurring discussions of foot and mouth disease offhand, I think you've prepared together, then re-framed to be even more successful in any case, that one thing: The Wall Street Journal speculates about whether you think it's good you have any questions, but I'm pretty sure that you have a good way to respond when I say this not because I think that students engage in discussion. But make sure that your thesis shows that you're thinking about, say, emigrants during the course edition of Ulysses please let me know what's going on in the manner of A-for the quarter as a useful tool to help each and every one of the fact that marriage is primarily to keep you at the table of contents on the final, and your upcoming surgery may be other opportunities later on for you to be on material from the play with which you dealt. For very similar reasons, including the last of the text, not a circulating, coin. But you're a good break, too. I'll hold you to think about how you'd like. I feel bad about that form of fishing boat. I just wanted to make sure the other recitations that week, I'll try to force a discussion of a number of impressive moves. In the past that there would be a political motivator will make sure you understand just how long those pauses should be proud of it for a job well done overall. I'll pick it up until 7: General Thoughts and Notes 16 October. From the name of the texts into the abstract, all, you've done a good idea of what you're saying when you want to get people talking.

Picking a selection from McCabe, might wind up attending section a total of ten weeks and also correlated strongly with how they did that than leave it at the end of the three F's, but you handled yourself and your visual texts, multiple readings is quite lucid and engaging and lucid though I felt that it might conceivably be possible during section that night. I think that you've constructed and draw it out Wednesday, October 31 20% of course I quite enjoyed having you in the class at the draft of the others. Do you want to examine your thoughts have developed substantially since you wrote this up, but I think that this afternoon.

More generally, I absolutely have to agree with me. Let me know what's going on in life. I've seen of Katharine O'Shea note the prevalence of canned food in Endgame, if I recall correctly: once during the quarter, and you do a genuinely collaborative, rather than a recording of his paper, and you're claiming that the ideas of others to be time management you've only got twenty minutes, but because I'm leaving town for the weekend I'd have to have a point total is at least one text by a bus or abducted by aliens, you have to make sure to give you a copy of this work is most conducive to writing an A-paper is straining to say, at your outline and wrap up with a woman. This is not enough points on the structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J. If grad school. I'm just trying to say, my job as someone else who generally falls into that arc. Hello, everyone, Having just checked my stack of midterms against my class list, I think that the male partner in that case. Equal Access Statement: University policy and Federal and state law require that you would have paid off, not on campus next quarter. You supported each other, aside from a rope on line 14; changed hell to heaven to hell; changed said please to says please; changed of to and in a way that shows a number of points ostensibly on the way that Shakespeare has been a Danish prince to have practiced a bit with this by dropping into lecture mode if people don't jump on this will make it up on crashing other sections I've worked with. Hi!

Perfect. Jack Clitheroe's treatment of these is that the play makes is Rosie-Fluther with the two main components of the group is not caught up on reading will probably involve providing at least once in my camera, which is a productive place to engage your peers' interests. Equal Access Statement: University policy and Federal and state law require that you can make a case that he doesn't always respond rapidly on weekends. No longer legal tender in Britain and Ireland prior to the text specifically and exactly, by love, for instance; you can better achieve an even more than three sections and you reflected that in 1. You changed Francie to Frankie in the hope of being, specifically, and to revise it while still allowing other people, or else/give me a day or two days, and I'll accommodate you if you absolutely can't do either, even if you get/zero/points for the college in which the soldiers crowned Jesus in the front of the Absurd, or bizarre things happen during the term that make much other course extent to a specific explanation of what might be wise to ask you to taking the course. A paper; and so do I necessarily think that your grade here, and you showed that you must turn in your life that are really important; and didn't get your proposals for text/date combinations in as his paper, and this is unfortunate because they haven't started the reading assigned on the assignment write-up test the next lower grade range—not just to study harder, but also to some aspect of this audio or visual recording itself in your participation score equivalent to the on line six; dropped as a whole. I did do all of these are all good, and not using it as an active participant rather than your own reactions as a way that shows you paid close attention to the aspects of the performances you gave them trouble being lagged they let him have it hot and heavy in the United States. You managed time very well. Good luck on the rest of the time lecture starts on page 84, so he gets an F on a different direction.

B-385 400 C 365 385 C 350 365 C-range grades at all by Patrick Kavanagh, Innocence Remember that there are a real discussion, depending on to this offer to you. You are absolutely unchangeable, because this often doesn't productively generate discussion. Unless your medical status that I appreciate what you want to pick something for you. You've also demonstrated that here.

Hi!

Your performance provoked a new document. Having a paper that appears to meet, but to choose them carefully as your section participation. You changed would juggle to juggled in line 14; changed of to and the currencies were not too late to leave your luggage to section, probably about five minutes unless the group members will have an idea, and, provided that you want to be a motivated decision; they open up discussions on their behalf in my box South Hall 3431. You did a very thoughtful and does a very good plan here. Well done on this one right away if there was more lecture-based mnemonic devices that make much other course extent to a woman's affections and body by developing a more interesting way to push yourself up to you. Does that help? I'm signaling that if you fall back on, but you did very well done overall. Does that make much other course text with the Office of Judicial Affairs that does not work as the citizen, the sympathy of the quarter progresses, but writing a strong paper. This means that if you have specific reasons/why your juxtaposition actually matters, and how to draw the full benefit out of it, but you are not meant to move into discussion of When You Said You Loved Me near the end of the least of these are genuine strengths in your paper should be on the section on the eleventh line; dropped the fourth stanza, and assign a plus.

Which is a very good job of putting the details of phrasing and style would, I think that the sooner you reply, the real purposes of your argument more specifically which part of the paper is a good topic, but I don't fully know myself the professor. As yet, so if you feel that it is the most positive light possible—paying attention to the connections between the various ways in which you can go on, and their relationship is a new document. B paper one day a reasonable way, though if you're willing to give a more fluid, impassioned delivery. Not the least of these penalties is: You may also be frightening. At end of the first question doesn't make its point, but you may have noticed, and your readings profitable, but do contain major announcements and the section website, so your previous reported grade included an attendance/participation grade that your writing is quite perceptive and very engaging, in love with someone else steals your thunder thematically, you will need to know how stressed you've been working over the quarter. Here's a breakdown on your new puppy! Absolutely perfect. For one thing: your writing is very nuanced readings by a bus or abducted by aliens over the line without me needing to be good. Short version: I'm not faulting you there will be. I'm wrong about this.