Ever since he was little, Madara would find odd bits and
bobs nudged amidst all of his things – crayons in his pocket, pacifiers in his
drawers, socks under couches, and even a tiny knitted beany in his little
brother’s house slippers once. It’s very annoying. It clutters his room and he’s
always being told off by his parents for it.
Then came the drawings. Sometimes crumpled, sometimes
not. Over the years, it grew from
illegible, grainy scrawling to clumsy shapes and bendy forms that took less,
and less stretching of his imagination to determine as hiragana characters.
My name is Senju
Tobirama, one of it reads.
Paranoia coils in him. Soulmate or not, the thought of a
stranger stumbling upon his belongings, his personal, informative, belongings is enough to make anyone holler out
stranger danger. This soulmate mumbo jumbo is weird.
Strangely enough, that’s how he meets his best friend,
through the strange mumbo jumbo.
“I’m supposed to be showing my little brother around school
today,” bawls the boy with the bowl cut while latching himself on Madara’s arm,
all big eyes brimming with tears, and snot running down his nose. “It’s his
first day and I can’t find him anywhere! He must be so scared! Will you help me
look for him?”
Considering it’s Madara’s first exposure to comforting a
fellow seven-year-old that’s crying his eyes out, Madara himself feels a little
lost. His panicking eyes flick around them for help, but all the other children
have quickly vanished into air as if they were the ninjas they routinely
pretend to be. Oddly, he feels betrayed.
Whenever Izuna cries, it’s because he either wants attention
or food. Ransacking through his lunchbox, Madara grabs one of his onigiri, and
shoves it into the crying boy’s hands. He takes a deep breath, and huffs out
his next statement with enough annoyance to drown out his panic, “Will you stop
There, food and attention. He should stop his crying any
But much to Madara’s despair, the boy threatens to swell up
with tears again. “But he’s alone,” the boy whines, “and he’s so small and
everything’s new to him and I need to find him because he could be getting
bullied right now–”
“I’ll help you look for him, okay?” Despite holding the
onigiri, the shrivelling boy still has one arm clinching Madara’s own. Madara
tries (and fails) to shake the crying limpet away. “I’ll help you look for your
baby brother. Stop crying already. He couldn’t have gone far, he’s like five.”
As if the magic words were a box of tissues, all tears dry
up, and the boy glows. “Okay then, let’s go!” He jumps up and drags Madara with
him, snacking on his onigiri in a way that makes Madara feel like he’s been
played. “Let’s go find Tobirama!”
Madara stumbles over his own foot. His lunchbox almost falls
out of his hands. “Tobirama,” Madara squeaks in a high voice.
His new friend, he finds out, is Senju Hashirama. Oldest of
four siblings, like him, and really likes to talk about everything and nothing
at once. Tobirama is the second oldest. He’s a bit of a smarty pants, according
to his brother, so the dangers of meeting someone who might bully him is
definitely a substantial one. Hashirama cheerfully informs him that he has to help
beat up the bullies, as part of the agreement of their newfound friendship.
It feels like getting carried away in a Hashirama-shaped
tidal wave. Madara ends up not minding it. There’s a tugging in his belly,
pulling him towards the library. Flutters of excitement are running up his arm at
the thought of meeting his soulmate.
When they do find him, his little body is curled up on one
of the beanbags, absorbed in book that’s got to be way too advanced for a five-year old to read. Tobirama peers up
from his book at Hashirama’s joyous exclamations. He eyes his older brother
like a particularly unpleasant fur ball he’d just hacked up, the expression as
prickly as his white hair, and dodges his older brother’s hug with an expert
shuffle off his bean bag.
Then and there, Madara knows that he’ll grow to like his
soulmate, just as he knows how Tobirama losing Hashirama on his first day of
school was definitely not an accident.
- correction: I somehow forced the movie on my friends yesterday (and they love me all the more for making them discover this gem).
And WOW, Moftiss are SO pulling a Princess Bride on their audience! Right now, most viewer are basically like the kid who is so upset at his grandpa for turning the story into sh*t - the mean prince is seemingly about to win, true love won’t save the day, Buttercup & Wesley won’t be reunited nor triumph, all this build-up about true love was apparently for nothing… The kid is mad at his grandpa for even beginning the story in the first place, telling him “you are wrong, you must be! It can’t be”, “why were you even telling me this story?!”.
The grandpa (bless Peter Falk btw, I love him) keeps reading the book and we realise a few minutes later all these tragic events were all Buttercup’s nightmare (Buttercup = John, imo: he’s Sherlock’s “damsel in distress”, who’s gotten engaged at a bad person when he thought Sherlock was dead).
When Buttercup wakes up, we hear the kid triumphantly claiming “I knew it! I knew it was wrong!” and the grandpa grumpily replies “Yes, you’re very smart. Now, shut up” before resuming the story.
Moftiss are making the audience mad on purpose, so they root for the real story: true love will save the day.
Series 4 is probably a sort of nightmare - mixing bits of reality with intense fear & insecurities => in reality, events will almost happen like that… but the end changes everything. Wesley/Sherlock & Buttercup/John will be reunited and kiss before the setting sun; true love prevails and saves everyone.
Do you have any advice on how to write poetry? I want to get better, but I don't know how to start. (I love your writing, btw.)
This sounds like not-actually-advice but it is true! My poetry suffers when I’m not reading voraciously and widely and with fine detail attention as well as happy abandon. My phrases and ideas start recycling themselves like stale airplane cabin oxygen. Reading keeps your creative spark alive in a really astonishing way, and if you stop feeding your little brain synapses with fresh, weird, quality content, creative death is assured.
Are you reading? Good! Now imitate! Rip off ideas, pilfer tropes, kidnap characters, plagiarize plot-lines…Imitation isn’t just the sincerest form of flattery, it’s the best way to practice stringing together a sentence and is the gateway to original ideas. I cannot stress the usefulness of fanfiction in this regard. I got my start writing fanfiction, and occasionally still pen a one-shot for my own enjoyment because fanfiction allows you to build a coherent, lyrical, effective narrative around the scaffolding of existing, working narratives. There’s nothing in original writing you can’t learn writing fanfiction: flashbacks, character development, dialogue, plot, romance, you name it, fanfics’ got it.
It’s also a great idea to try and write poems in forms you seen before: acrostic, sonnet, villanelle, iambic pantameter, the lot. Don’t like writing in a set form? Great, me too. I’m still going to tell you to do it, because it builds writing muscles. Popular poetic structures found on tumblr count too, I’m no snob. You know the ones:
I. hymns written in blood and stardust
about Patroclus, Icarus, Lolita, the lot:
pretty dead boys with fragile collarbones
and woman-kings wearing weaponized lipstick.
II. we share ichor-sweet kisses in my parent’s church
and you whisper:
III. maybe the stories we always about us, after all.
(I write this parody lovingly, some of my favorite poems follow this form, and I’ve written a number of them. Like, a lot)
Find poems you like and write responses to them! Or pick a theme that you like thinking about and just freewrite about it forever, then pick out phrases you want to string together into something new. There are no rules! Only that you write! And of course, that you remember imitation is healthy and good so long as you aren’t publishing content plagiarized in word or form, and that you don’t turn in a well-structured short story to your undergradaute workshop class only to have your professor point out in front of everyone that “this is masterful work…but it’s also Donna Tartt’s Secret History”. Because I did that. Lit professors have read everything you have, kiddos, and no amount of clever deviation from the original can disguise a loving homage.
That’s what I’ve got for you to start with. Since youo like my work (and thank you for saying so) check out my linked “poetry that knocks me on my ass” tag; there’s a lot of poems that inspired me there. Happy writing! And please, do write. Even if you think it isn’t good. The world always needs new poems, and I believe in you.
Hey! So I am just here to ask you: 1)do you like another TV shows without SVTFOE? and 2)were can I read your comic "Greedy Flower" or "Crl-Z"? Btw love your comic "Broken!" Can wait to get destroyed in the next page! :)
Hi, thank you so much for reading and appreciating ‘Broken’! 1) I don’t have much time for tv shows or series, but I watched Gravity Falls, Adventure Time, Rick and Morty, I’m currently watching Infinite Train and I’d love to also watch Steven Universe! 2) You can read Greedy Flower on www.greedyflower.com, while CTRL-Z will only be published in Italy as of now, and won’t be available as webcomic