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rowavolo · 11 months

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Alrighty, i'm ready to ask ya general!

Can we hear

🌌- what was your first date like?

🎵- what are some song lyrics that make you think of your f/o/your relationship with your f/o?

💐- how did you two meet?

🏠- what's your and your f/os dream home?

For Ayato, Capitano, Diavolo and Lucifer?

I'm so glad to see some capitano selfships! Any genshin and obey me! selfships are so precious!

Your selfships all sound so nice! 🤩

So i hope you don't mind me asking

WHOAH ! absolutely, let's gooo !!

thank you so much for your kind words, youre so so sweet ahhh!!!

ramblies below the cut <3

🌌- what was your first date like?

Ayato - honestly, the way I imagine ayato and I is mostly in an arranged marriage type thing (I have a differently designed sona for it and everything khsjfsdj). our first 'date' i guess would be considered the boat trip back from watatsumi island (where the wedding took place) and we drank ginger tea and chatted about folklore and mythology <3

Capitano - i've never really thought about it much, but i'd imagine our first date would probably be some sort of nature walk/hike where we just chat whenever the mood strikes us and i point out cool stuff i see while he just nods politely <3

Diavolo - i. also imagine being in an arranged marriage with him in most scenarios, but outside of those scenarios, in an AU in which im just a normal exchange student, i think our first 'date' would be where im infodumping excitedly to someone else (probably lucifer, satan or solomon) about how dia's demon form looks like it might be a dragon and im all fascinated by that and barbatos overhears and relays it to dia, who then invites me to an afternoon tea and tells me im allowed to ask whatever i like <3 though even given that opportunity it Would still turn into me infodumping about dragons

Lucifer - he's a very traditional sort, he's very careful to make sure none of our regular hangouts could be misconstrued as dates until both of us are entirely ready (which id totally misread as him friendzoning me and be sad about). but the first date he makes a reservation at a nice restaurant and works really hard to make it this Whole Memorable Thing but honestly i still consider our first date to be that time he let me pace around his study and infodump about my favourite book series for 40 minutes while he nodded politely and did paperwork.

🎵- what are some song lyrics that make you think of your f/o/your relationship with your f/o?

(rifling through my eight billion playlists and vibrating intently)

Ayato - there's a particular set of lines from 'Inventor's Daughter' by Branches that just resonates so hard with the arranged marriage fic/au i have laid out and it makes me SO insane (/pos)

theres something extraordinarily perfect to me about the "A white flag torn from a wedding gown" line, especially considering my sona's whole gender situation in this fic and the fuckery surrounding that. this au/fic holds a very dear place in my heart and honestly i need to keep writing it because i love it so much <3

Capitano - Black Bear (by Black Bear) sort of gives me him vibes, and the kind of wistfulness and envy the singer has towards the bear just. vibes. and also the way i write him. he is literally a black bear. so thats kind of funny

Diavolo - ok i have a few songs that vibe with this ship but there's a specific one that gave me SUCH brainrot recently about an au in which he and i are like hades and persephone and theres just SUCH a vibe and aesthetic surrounding it that makes me INSANE. The song is Epic III from the live version of Hadestown

Lucifer - There's something about 'Never Love an Anchor' by The Crane Wives that really tickles the Lucifer itch in my brain and the angst resonates SO MUCH with him. This section in particular just gives me SO MANY feels and makes me want to write disgustingly depressing angst of the ship ,,

💐- how did you two meet?

Ayato - usually arranged marriage type stuff, but outside of that im like a stray that thoma brings in because were both from mondstadt and he thinks im silly

Capitano - just through whatever fatui shenanigans and the like, my guy is a knight of favonius so id imagine he just got sent out with that group that went out and met capitano and was like. "ok im fascinated by this big guy. seeya"

Diavolo - again, i mostly imagine arranged marriage, though the first time they meet would be Before that, during some like fancy soiree or whatever, i dunno. other than that, just the exchange program

Lucifer - exchange program. i latched onto him like a remora because i could sense his autism from across the room and he just kind of took it

🏠- what's your and your f/os dream home?

Ayato - the estate beloved <3 but also i could see us having a holiday home in liyue, since its where we went for our (very belated) honeymoon and we liked it a lot !!

Capitano - Answered here!

Diavolo - I think he'd be very emotionally attached to the Demon Lord's Castle but I could also see us getting a sort of smaller, more modern style house closer to the main bulk of the Devildom where we end up spending a lot of our time.

Lucifer - He's very attached to the House of Lamentation and despite all his complaints he and his siblings are pack bonded and if they're separated they'll all die of loneliness and broken hearts (and also his siblings are too dumb to survive more than a few days without him), but I could see us having basically the inverse of Diavolo's in which we get a small place in the human world or something that we can stay in for a few days at a time just to get away from things!

Again, thank you so much for sending this ask, it was so fun to answer!

#asks #general barks #my writing #self ship #rowavolo #capiro #lucifer x rowan #capitano x rowan #rowato #ayato x rowan #general howls

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “Saint.”

This is a bit short today, but we were also short-staffed at work so I didn’t have a lot of time. I hope you like it anyway

Sunny sat beside the pool of water, her spear resting across her knees watching the strange Drev as he knelt by the pool staring at the water below him. She still couldn’t tell how old he was. He could have been as young as she or older than her father had been when he passed, but either way she couldn’t tell.

The dark black of his carapace undulated so black it reflected blue.

They didn’t speak for a very long time, and she closed her eyes thinking quietly to herself as the sun rose overhead.

With the way the mountain encroached in around them, they didn’t see the sun for more than an hour or so before it sunk below the high cliff face once again. Moss was soft below her, and when the sun hit it it burned white hot, but she closed her eyes and relaxed taking long, slow deep breaths through the breathing holes at her neck. In for several seconds and out for several seconds until the world around her seemed to fade away.

In her mind it felt as if she could hear the thrumming of an engine, the Omen whirring above her in the darkness, comforting and warm like the arms of a parent. She missed its warm darkness…. Or did she just miss Adam who she associated to heavily with that place, with the ship.

It occurred to her just then that…. Well she didn’t really associate him with anything else.

The thought gave her a wave of displeasure as she realized.

His identity had been so tied up in his job and ho he was that she…. Well she wasn’t entirely sure if she had ever known him otherwise. Had she just been in love with an idea, had she just loved him simply because no one else had ever seemed willing to try. He was.... The captain of a spaceship, and that was simply everything.

It made her sad sadder than she would have liked to admit.

He had seemed so much more to her then that, so much more than just his job, but th more she thought about him the more she realised she couldn’t rationalize why she had thought that, and what sort of logic had brought her to that original conclusion. He was hollow, a representation of something amazing on the outside but filled with sawdust in the middle.

It wasn’t commentary on him of course. These thoughts weren’t here to make her regret or even to convince herself that he hadn’t been worth it because he had.

He was just…. So lost.

The past few days had convinced her not to feel sorry for herself. That wasn’t the way of the Drev.

But thinking about him, lost and alone, a gossamer through of a person with an identity not his own. She wanted to weep for him, feeling more sorry for the man than she ever had for herself. She thought she understood him now.

Sunny knew she understood.

He was a man who knew he was broken, a half man constructed from one thought. He didn’t believe himself worthy of someone’s attention and so had let her go to save her the hurt of bein with someone like him. He was wrong, of course, but she understood the logic.

In the same way that she would rather take any physical punishment so he would never have to experience it is the same way he would take any emotional punishment to protect her. Inside her chest her heart slowed and her body grew still under the sun, growing warm and then cool as the shadows passed over her.

Until there was nothing.

“It is good to see that drev of your generation have mastered such mental discipline and patience.”

She opened her eyes looking in consternation at the dark Drev who now sat before her, not feet away, and facing her.

She thought she would have noticed him approach, but evidently had been too caught up in her own musings to notice.

On his lap, the Drev held a decorative silver spear with intricate carvings up the side, and the blade sharpened to deadly cutting points by the most artfully crafted Drev obsidian under which would have been a steel and iron cutting edge for when the obsidian was likely to break. It was the most beautiful weapon Sunny had ever seen and she stared at it in awe.

“In past epochs many foolish and impatient Drev have been weeded out by this one simple test.”

Se frowned, “What test.”

He hummed in amusement, “Patience. They storm in here spears bristling and demand I teach them the way of the saints. They threaten and hey rage, and sometimes they would demand I duel them, those that demanded a duel never left this place. But patience is a thing not many Drev understand, for striking first may be advantageous, but the ability to wait for the perfect moment, is a skill not many acquire. Before that there were others, those who would almost have the patience but then would break the silence too early. Sometimes it took them weaks to pass the test with their incessant questions , you're not the first who has come to me, bu you are the first to pass this simple test.”

Sunny looked down at her feet, “I am afraid it is not patience so much as… preoccupation with other things.”

The other Drev seemed to be pleased with this revelation, “Using silent meditation to sort your thoughts is a worthy endeavor, and shows someone with an active mind. Tell me…. Did you find any peace in your thoughts.”

Sunny looked up at the distant blue sky and the clouds that rolled down from above, “I think I did.”

He seemed pleased.

“That’s good, you are further along than most of the Saints were when they came to my mountain.”

Sunny stared at him, “You talk as if you were there, but you can’t be that old.”

He chuckled, “Perhaps I was, perhaps I wasn’t. It's hard to remember with a life like mine. Maybe I was an extension of someone else, maybe I was told the stories as a child as if they were my own. Who can say. Regardless, you have already mastered the skills of patience and careful thought, which is not something that is often common in those who come to my mountain.”

“What IS common.”

He sighed, “Impatience mostly, a lust for power, greed. They don’t usually last long.”

There was silence between them for a long moment, “What’s your name/”

“Naktan Chal but Naktan will do, and yours?”

“Chalan.”

“The name seems like a stranger on your lips.”

She shrugged sheepishly, “I am not used to hearing my name spoken in my own tongue.”

He tilted his head in curiosity, “And what tongue do you hear you name in.”

“The tongue of humans.”

“Humans.” he seemed surprised, “I have never seen a human. I have heard their ships, and their war machines, but have never ventured down from my mountain.”

“Sunny is what they call me.”

“What strange sounds, but surprisingly melodic.” he tilted his head, “tell me, Sunny, why are you here and what do you hope to achieve while on my mountain.”

“It is complicated.”

“The whole story then.”

She sighed, “I assume you can see that I am…. I am….”

“I see that you are short, is that what we are getting at?”

She looked down at the turquoise water, “yes.”

“And?’

He didn’t seem to care and she looked up at him in surprise.”

“Everything, everything about you is an opportunity to take an advantage on the battlefield. Some of our traditions are steeped in lies and the misconstrued words of a few confused prophets. Traditions often become twisted and as times go on. The important part of that particular piece of spiritual doctrine is if you can lift a spear. If you cannot lift a spear is when the original wording of the original doctoring takes effect. Though you are small, you can lift a spear, if you only have one hand, you can lift a spear. The tradition of the recycling only comes when the Kit being born has defects so severe they cannot lift a spear.”

“If a kit were born blind?”

“The kit can still lift a spear, can still smell and feel the currents of wind, can still hear the thundering of feet on the ground and the spear whistling through the air.”

Sunny stared at him in awe, “I had…. No idea that's what the…. Original doctrine said..”

“No one remembers. There is a certain air of elitism in the new drev tradition.”

Sunny paused and nodded, “I think that is what I wish to change.” he listened intently, “I fought the humans, during the Drev war…. Do you know of it?”

“I am kept appraised, yes.”

“Well no one expected me to be good at fighting because of my…. Disfigurement. When the Drev war came along I finally found a foe, I thought I could beat, but when we ripped them apart they came back later with synthetic limbs and we lost the war. In an effort to fight against a mother who never approved of me, I went to learn from the humans, thinking that maybe they could help me. I learned in that time that…. The way we have been doing things, may be done better. That we could learn from them, and in my travels across the universe, that assurance has only grown. I wish to bring the Drev into a new age of martial doctrine, one that matches with the universe we have found ourselves a part of. I want to keep the old tradition alive, and by doing that I know that it has to change.”

Naktan stared at her his fance unreadable for a long moment, but then he bowed his head, and when he looked up again his yellow eyes were twinkling with some sort of…. Merriment, or perhaps excitement.

Either way she couldn’t tell, but supposed the expression was a good one.

“The saints smiled down upon you, wanderer.”

He stood, and with the tip of his spear, he reached out and touched the surface of the water causing a delicate wave of ripples to roll out over the pool, “I will guide you in the right of creation.” he rolled the ip of the spear in the other direction, “I will guide you on a journey to bring the martial doctrine of the Drev into a new age. I cannot tell you how long it will take, and I cannot guarantee you will leave as the same Drev who came here. But I can promise you, that I am glad to see you, and I am pleased to help in your honorable efforts.”

He kicked up a wave of water into the air, and when he did shining sparks of clear seemed to refract rainbows against the sky.

“Sleep, and tomorrow we begin.”

“And may you begin your journey unto sainthood.”

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fangirl-sansa · 4 years

Text

Youtuber MC - Part 3

Summary: Mc and the demon brothers find out they are in a game, they gain the access to watch a YouTuber's (who is MC) gameplay of the game. This basically allows the bros to hear MC’s true thoughts through their gameplay commentary

MC: This MC is based on my gameplay of the game and my thoughts. Although the MC is based on me I will be writing them with gender-neutral pronouns for all readers to enjoy :).

Warnings: Eventually spoilers

The in-game text will be marked by italics.

As this was being said Solomon shot Simeon a knowing look and smile which was quickly returned, but went unnoticed by the others. The attention of the room was then shifted as the Onscreen MC began their outro.

“Okay my lovelies that is all I will be playing for today. So far we’ve met all the brothers, I think except one and we have found a brethren of ours. None other than our fellow Otaku Levi, he is kind of mean to me but I’m sure we can win him over. Also Mammon just straight up ditched me, but it’s fine, whatever. Anyway don’t forget to subscribe, like, and comment, and I will see y’all next time.”

Off-screen MC clicked onto the next video. After the intro onscreen MC and Levi were still chatting in Levi’s room.

Levi:I don’t think there’s any harm in just coming out and saying what you already know is true; Mammon is a complete and utter scumbag. It’s very important that you understand this. So I’ll say it one more time. Mammon is a hopeless worthless scumbag.

“Goddamn Levi. Everyone is really laying it on thick that Mammon is a scumbag, I really don’t think he could possibly be that bad,” the MC onscreen said

“Oi see MC always thought the Great Mammon was good,” shouted mammon off-screen.

“Actually they said they don’t think you could be that bad, considering how impossibly awful you are that comes as no surprise,” chimed in Asmo

“Actually, I don’t think Mammon is bad at all,” off-screen MC added.

“Yeah! See MC doesn’t think I’m a scumbag end of story,” Mammon finished.

Back onscreen Levi was telling the tale of how he and Mammon first became “enemies.”

Levi:...As I started to lose consciousness, I remember thinking...why does he have to sleep in the nude? He could at least put on some underwear. I don’t remember anything else after that...

“Haha! Wow there is a lot to unpack there, but moral of the story Mammon is super strong, good to note,” MC onscreen observed.

Levi: You’ve seen just how fast he is yourself, haven’t you? No one aside from Lucifer or Beel has that kind of speed. But if, say, a human made a pact with Mammon and bound him to their service...then he’d have to do whatever that human told him to.

“A pact? Like selling my soul?,” questioned MC onscreen.

MC: I don’t want to give up my soul!

Levi: That isn’t always necessary. It depends on what’s in the pact. But, well, you need to give SOMETHING to the demon to make it worth the exchange, so it’s pretty much inevitable. If you don’t want to give up your soul, then I’ll tell you how you can negotiate with Mammon

MC: How would I go about doing that?

Levi: If you just walk up to Mammon and ask him to make a pact with you, he’ll never agree. No, you need some leverage... something he wants so badly that he’d do ANYTHING to get it.

“Aw I don’t want to like force Mammon to make a pact with me. That feels so icky,” complained onscreen MC.

The lesson ends and onscreen MC continues to the next one. The scene shows MC walking to class passing two nearby demons.

Demon A: Hey check it out. That’s the human that everyone’s been talking about. You think it’s true what they say, that Mammon became a babysitter?

Demon B: Well, if so, then I’d say that actually works out great, doncha think? If we wait and strike when he’s not paying attention, he’ll never figure out it was us.

“Okay, so we can either run away or make a move. Earlier Mammon told us to always run away so I’m going to follow his advice and do just that.”

Solomon: Hey, you there. That’s right, I’m talking to you, the human with that frightened, tormented look on your face that demons love so much. You’re practically screaming “Come and eat me! I’m scrumptious!” Your name’s MC, isn’t it?

“Okay first of all, rude, secondly I assume this is the other human in the exchange program,” stated Onscreen MC.

At this Solomon off-screen let out a light chuckle as he half-heartedly apologized to MC.

Solomon: This D.D.D here belongs to you, right? I saw you drop it just now. Here, take it.

“Thanks...,” MC onscreen said.

Solomon: Haha. What’s with that look? there’s no need to be suspicious of me. My Name’s Solomon. I’m an exchange student from the human world, just like you. Nice to meet you, Johanna.

“Okay, no offense, Solomon, but you are suspicious, well maybe more mysterious I guess,” said MC onscreen. “Also, it’s interesting that he’s named Solomon, like King Solomon from the bible. Okay, so, my three options are ‘I need your help’ I’m not asking that, ‘How do you know my name?’ and ‘Are you really human.’”

MC: Are you really human?

Solomon: Haha, good question. Honestly, there are times when even I’m not so sure. Long ago, I obtained a ring of wisdom- a gift from a certain someone in a VERY high position. And, drunk on its power, I used it to form pacts with 72 different demons, becoming a wicked sorcerer...That is, if you believe all the stories people tell about me.

“That is super interesting, I don’t know about the Bible, but in the Quran King Solomon actually got his powers from God himself. He had many powers but his most notable being that he ruled every being on Earth, including Gin (Quran version of demons basically,) but he was considered a good guy and a prophet of God, not a wicked sorcerer. So that’s just an interesting parallel there,” Onscreen MC spoke.

At this everyone in the room grew quiet taking in MC’s words, not fully understanding what they were referring to.

Solomon: Regardless, I’m fairly sure that I am indeed still human, though it may not seem like it...Uh-oh. I’d better get going. See you around, MC. Take care of yourself.

“Okay, that was weird and I’m immediately interested in learning more about Solomon”

Lucifer: Good morning, Johanna

“Good morning, Lucifer <3,” MC said in a singsong voice

At this Lucifer smirked, earning a certain knowing look from Diavolo before scowling again.

MC: Good morning, sir.

Lucifer: Looks like you made it through the night without being eaten. Good for you. Still, there’s no guarantee that you’ll make it to tomorrow. Was that Solomon I saw you talking with either? Seeing as you’re both human, it’s fine if you associate with him, but know that he can’t be trusted.

“Awe, is Lucifer jealous of little ole Solomon,” teased the onscreen MC.

At this Solomon let out a laugh, while Belphie and Satan smirked at each other and then MC. Lucifer just scowled more.

Lucifer: He may be a mere human, but he has a ring imbued with wisdom, and he wields powerful magic. He’s the type of man who will try to subjugate even a powerful, greater demon if he gets the chance.

MC: that reminds me of what Leviathan said...

After that the scene ended and MC began their usual outro. While they spoke Solomon turned to MC

“So, I’m suspicious and mysterious?”

MC blushed then replied with “Okay, everyone at that time was suspicious and mysterious to me. Unlike you I only had the knowledge of what various religions said which to be frank wasn’t very helpful.”

“Human religions are weird and very misconstrued. Especially with the relationship of the three realms,” acknowledged Satan.

“You know considering the information you came to Devildom with you adjusted quite quickly, MC,” added Simeon.

“I think it’s always good to have an open mind and just go with the flow sometimes,” finished MC

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the-descension-inks · 4 years

Text

Sojourn (Zutara Week 2020)

Summary: It's a strange fate that they have crafted for themselves; lines that don't quite meet, stars that circle each other, and stories that are almost written. (Or, glimpses into Zuko and Katara's lives, told in reverse, from the very end to the very beginning.)

[3/9] Fuse

"Ask me what," she persists, arms crossing over her chest.

He doesn't miss a beat. "If I don't, will you spare me?"

Katara pulls a face and immediately thinks she might be a little too old for that. But then, hasn't Ember Island always been there for exactly that?

To be who she wants to be. To be who she could have been. To be who she is.

Not Master Waterbender Katara, or the Avatar's wife Katara, or Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, but just Katara.

She wonders if this is why Zuko chooses Ember Island to return to, year after year. To be just him, no titles attached to his name, no bloodied legacies entwined with his very existence.

"No, I won't," she says before she gets far too ahead with her thoughts. And then, only for good measure, "Do I ever spare you, Zuko?"

Read the entire series here, and this chapter under the cut, or on AO3, or on FF.net.

162 AG

Katara doesn't understand much of Pai Sho, never has.

She is seventy-six, and figures if she hasn't picked up on the tricks of the game in all these years, then perhaps it is nothing more than a hopeless pursuit.

"Why delay the inevitable, waterbender?"

It's mostly said in good humor, but there's still some pride in his voice. Being on the throne for more than half a century can do that to someone, Katara thinks.

She considers the tiles laid ahead of her, and decides: "Your hubris knows no ends, Fire Lord."

Zuko grins at her, all teeth and entirely unabashed. He looks so much younger when he smiles, something that Katara has been aware of for most of her life. She thinks – hopes – that some day she'll be able to tell him that.

"Your turn, come on," he prods.

"Always so impatient," she huffs, takes a long look at the board, realizes anew that there is no winning on the cards for her.

(She wonders why she cares so much about winning a stupid game. After everything she hasn't been able to win in all these years. Maybe that's why.)

"Katara."

She can sense his nervous energy wrecking through the room; this tiny heaven they have crafted for themselves, in Ember Island, away from civilization and noise. It's nice, she thinks, to take this time off for herself.

(To give herself a semblance of what she's lost. Winning has never felt this important.)

Something strikes her. She smiles, ever so innocently, and picks up the Knotweed tile off the board. "I have an idea."

Zuko groans, throws back his head for what she calls the visual theatrics.

"Ask me what," she persists, arms crossing over her chest.

He doesn't miss a beat. "If I don't, will you spare me?"

Katara pulls a face and immediately thinks she might be a little too old for that. But then, hasn't Ember Island always been there for exactly that?

To be who she wants to be. To be who she could have been. To be who she is.

Not Master Waterbender Katara, or the Avatar's wife Katara, or Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, but just Katara.

She wonders if this is why Zuko chooses Ember Island to return to, year after year. To be just him, no titles attached to his name, no bloodied legacies entwined with his very existence.

"No, I won't," she says before she gets far too ahead with her thoughts. And then, only for good measure, "Do I ever spare you, Zuko?"

He laughs, hearty and whole, and she feels something uncoil in her chest. She might be too old for this, though.

"Tell me, Katara."

She beams at him, wonders how he always lets her win.

(She likes these little victories over him. They almost make up for a lifetime of losing him.)

"I was thinking," she imagines there's a glint in her eyes by now, "it's been a while since I've taken a ride on Druk."

He sighs lengthily, dramatic, yet another one of his visual theatrics. "Always with the dragon."

"Well, it has been a while. What can I say?" And then, because she is old enough to joke about this sort of thing: "For all I know, I could be dead tomorrow."

Zuko freezes, hands stiffening mid-air over the Pai Sho board, as his eyes slowly meet hers. And fuck, turns out she is the only one who thinks that's appropriate for a joke.

"Zuko..." she begins, but sees no ending in sight.

He shakes his head, tears his gaze away from her, and rises to his feet. She is quick to follow, feet moving on automatic, and arms reaching out to keep him in place.

He angles his face away from her, and for a moment all Katara can see is the terrified boy from the Crystal Catacombs of Ba Sing Se. Her heart wrenches, and she wonders since when it had become physically painful to see him like this.

Perhaps always.

She rests a gentle hand on his scarred cheek and forces him to look at her.

"Don't," he bites out, somehow entirely hollow, eyes still not meeting hers. "Don't do that, Katara."

"I have never been very good with jokes, you know." Her thumb traces an idle pattern on his skin, circles and more circles. Isn't that what they have always been running in?

"Zuko," she finally says at the silence.

He pulls away from her, draws back, so much distance between them that it makes her reel. She readies apologies, thinks of words to say—

"It's not what you said."

She stutters, "It's n-not?"

Zuko shakes his head, starts, "Well, not exactly. I... There is something I have been meaning to tell you for a while now." Drags his eyes finally to meet hers, and she realizes she feels a lot lighter. "It never really felt like the right time but..."

Only took me to talk about my death, she almost asks but holds her tongue.

"...I think I'm ready to step down as Fire Lord."

Katara feels her eyes widening, all thoughts of tactless jest disappearing from her mind.

He probably mistakes the surprise on her face for horror, says hastily, "It's not... that I don't care for my nation. But I think there is a lot more that I could help with, things that I can't do as Fire Lord."

Realization dawns upon her; politics can be a dirty game, and she surmises how harmless actions can be twisted and misconstrued when there's a monarch behind them. "So what are you going to do?"

There's a pause, and then, wary and jittery: "I was hoping you could help me with that."

Oh.

Zuko straightens himself, eyes bright, burning, and damn, if she doesn't feel twenty and stupid again; willing to throw away everything for the man in front of her.

"The world could do with someone like you, Katara." He sounds so certain, she almost believes him. "It's a new world, but the problems are the same. You know them, you understand the people, you are fair and compassionate and—"

"Zuko," she cuts him off while she still can.

There's resignation in her voice, she knows he recognizes it. Recognizes where it stems from. But something tells her he isn't willing to hand her a victory right now, not without a fight, anyway.

"Republic City could do with your help, Katara." He crosses the distance between them, warm calloused hands tugging at her own. "It's just as much as your city as it is mine. As it was Aang's."

Bitterness bubbles within her, in a way it should not. That's not what the scrolls say, she almost tells him.

Almost. But not quite.

She glances at his hand wrapped around hers, thinks how this is what Katara from years ago would have wanted, and thinks how it's too late now. "You know my work is at home, Zuko. Training the next Avatar, is what I'm supposed to do."

"Katara..."

She separates their hands, watches him fold in on himself. Tears prick her eyes, but she knows how to hold herself together; she has a lifetime of doing that behind her.

"I'm sorry," she tells him.

He gives her a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and waves her away like it's no big deal.

(This is a victory, she knows. Doesn't feel like one, that too she knows. She hates it; this fusion of winning and losing. The blurring of lines that should exist.)

Zuko clears his throat. He sounds hopeful: "Maybe, someday?"

She wants to lose now. Or win, she isn't sure. "Maybe, someday."

A/N: Thank you for reading! I don't know if this chapter does justice to the prompt 'Fuse', but oh well. xD

Also, while inconsequential, I'd like to point out that the Knotweed tile that Katara picks up is a 'Fire' tile. There's a Boat tile too, which is a 'Water' (duh) tile, and I toyed with the idea of fusing those two tiles, but somehow that didn't happen.

Before I devolve into a Pai Sho Manual, I'll see myself out. xD

(Tumblr still doesn't let my work show up on the tags. 🤷)

@zutaraweek

#zutara #zuko #katara #atla #zutara week #zutara week 2020 #my writing #sojourn

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risingsouls · 3 years

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Conversations: 1

[I finished that self-indulgent Vegbooru ship project(?) bit I started that probably is really only going to be interesting to me for ship reasons and also a space to flesh out their stories, how they parallel, how they differ, etc. SO forewarning, it’s not going to be a very interesting series of little things to most but I’m going to have fun doing it.

So here’s part one.]

The beatings had started to blur together. Nabooru lasted longer, packed a harder punch, landed more blows with each session. But Vegeta still outclassed her no matter the progress and, for the umpteenth time since he agreed to train with her, she questioned why he continued to do so. While sparring with a partner could produce better results, she doubted he got much out of this power wise. Entertainment, perhaps. Considering the ruthless show he put on at her tournament, she wouldn’t put it past him to get a thrill out of beating her senseless when the chance presented itself. She couldn’t rightly demonize him for that when she took pleasure in the moments in which she quite literally wiped the smirk off his face with a devastating hook or clever tactic that put him on the defensive. At the end of the day, she chalked it up to his boredom and his own pride in her progress under his training.

Her assumptions would have to do; she didn’t dare question why he bothered to take time out of his own training to spar with her. She enjoyed their invigorating sessions and, as expected, he was just the type of partner she needed to push her own limits. One who would criticize her instead of coddle, one she could go all out with and worry little about his ability to handle her.

Nabooru took a step back toward the half-smashed boulder behind her and attempted to make a convincing show of it not being the only thing keeping her on her feet at the moment. She wiped her bloody lip on her forearm. “Let’s keep going,” she called up to the Saiyan floating above her, face set in stubborn determination. “I’m not done.”

“Tch, yes you are.” Vegeta landed in front of her, boots tapping on the solid, rust-colored earth beneath them. He powered down, light hair and eyes resuming their typical onyx hues. Though he admired her aptitude for improvement, her sheer willpower in battle, she did him little good dead. A sentiment he shared with her regularly. She opened her mouth in protest, but he snapped before she could argue. “I don’t care if you’re still on your feet, either. I expect you back in fighting shape by tomorrow, and pushing you further tonight will only decrease those odds.”

The Gerudo peeled her back off the craggy surface, wobbling on shaky knees before regaining her fortitude. “But you being so kind as to carry me back to my house the other day was such a good trust exercise for us.” She tore off a flapping bit of fabric just barely clinging to the rest of the shredded tank top. “Wouldn’t it be fun to do that again?”

A snort, and he folded his arms over his chest, defiant. Growing tired of her incessant begging to continue their spar, Vegeta had given in that day. Nabooru lasted another solid five minutes before collapsing beneath her own weight, weakened by pain and sapped of energy. Fearing he had actually killed her, he leaned over her motionless body to check for a pulse. With her last bit of energy, her hand shot up and gripped his throat, a cheeky grin on her lips. She mumbled “got ya,” and her hand dropped back to her side. Had he been a finickier man, he might have killed her in his surprise. Blasted a hole straight through her. She didn’t remember the shock on his face, the chokehold, or how he picked her up and flew her back to her home, dropping her on the couch before leaving again as far as he could tell. He couldn’t, however, convince her that someone else had returned her to her surprisingly modest home. A fact she didn’t hesitate to tease him mercilessly for when she found the chance.

“Go get some rest,” he said at last, turning his back on her. “I won’t go easy on you tomorrow just because you’re sore.”

Blue-white energy surrounded him, and Nabooru’s heart stuttered in unexplained panic. “Wait!”

To her astonishment, the light around him faded, but she didn’t miss the perturbed growl that preceded the scowl shot back at her over his shoulder, sharp canines bared. “What? Don’t tell me you can’t make it back on your own.”

“Of course I can,” she spat back, casting him her own daggered glare. “I just…”

She huffed as she sought the right words, all the while considering whether asking him anything that had nothing to do with fighting or training would result in a proper answer at all. Perhaps it was all the wollops to the head that convinced her this very moment would suffice in quelling her curiosity about the prickly Saiyan prince’s past. Since her conversation with Cell before the Warrior Games began, she failed to convince herself that she didn’t care to learn more. To hear his story from his own lips, rather than the words of someone obviously keen on besmirching him at any possible chance.

And, perhaps, because something about it all struck a chord with her own history. If she could get him to talk, she might not feel quite so alone. She quickly blamed those thoughts on the head injuries, too.

“I’ve been wondering about something...Cell mentioned it back at the tournament…”

Dark brows furrowed and he grit his teeth. Cell. Vegeta scoffed. “And just what did that bastard have to say about me that has you so curious? Go on, spit it out!”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and bless him with a snippy retort. She tread on razor-thin ice in unknown territory; her attitude would not be as tolerated or appreciated. “He told me that you were a slave to that Frieza guy. He’s the one that destroyed your planet and people, right?” She rested her back against the stoneface again, though it offered less comfort than it had before. “Is that true? He was trying to use it to undercut you after your tiff with Honeydew, so I couldn’t really discern what he had exaggerated.”

Vegeta hadn’t expected such an inquiry, and he suspected it showed on his face and his failure to respond immediately. Cell was not shy to mock him, and this revelation certainly fell under that vein, Frieza’s cells likely offering an inkling of insight on the matter. He had expected some scathing remark about his defeat at Cell’s hands for which he had a prepared answer. But he hadn’t expected to discuss the galaxy’s tyrant with her. Or anyone. He avoided the topic of Frieza with practiced and deliberate dodging, mostly through his own sour demeanor keeping too-curious fools at arm's length. Most didn’t breach that or many other topics with him. He vaguely wondered if they remembered Frieza at all, or his involvement with the tyrant. With how quick these heroes and self-touted “good guys” were to forgive him and forget his past atrocities, it was the only explanation that made any sense.

The silence between them in the dying light of the day had swelled to an awkward bubble. He heard her shuffle her sneakered feet on the ground, a breath sucked in as if she wanted to speak again. He cut her off. “What does it matter? Why do you care, anyway?”

Defensive and avoidant. The response she expected but not what she hoped for. She swept her fingers through her crimson locks, grunting softly as they caught in a tangle near the end. “Curiosity, like I said.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Would it really surprise you so much that I might want to get to know you a little as a person? You’re obviously far more than a bad attitude and strength I can only assume could make a god blush.”

Vegeta narrowed his eyes. He learned young that everyone had an angle. He had no doubt Nabooru had one of her own, but he struggled to decide if it was malicious or sincere. Compared to most he endured on this planet, he found her company tolerable, their typical conversation centered on topics that interested him: combat, strategy in a battle, whether one on one or against an army, ki manipulation. It came as a bonus that she could match him in knowledge in most of those areas, and was willing to listen and learn when she didn't. Her teasing aside, she knew when to take him and the task at hand seriously. Obvious flattery aside, was he surprised that she may just want to get to know him? Bulma and a select few others had made sorry attempts, lost their temper, and given up on the endeavor entirely due to his spurnings. Nothing that felt like true interest in him, but more to hear themselves talk or an obnoxious need to fill the silence with something no matter how vapid or shallow. None dared bring up a topic like this one. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to give her credit for it or clip the conversation’s wings before it could take flight.

“Is this how you get to know everyone, or am I just special?”

“Would you prefer I ask you your favorite color or your least favorite kind of weather? You didn’t strike me as the type to enjoy small talk.”

A growl rumbled in his chest, the urge to leave out of spite mounting. However, he made no move to take off into the twilight. “Fine. It’s not like it matters anymore, anyway,” he acquiesced at last, crushing a rock into gravel beneath his heel with a crunch. “In every capacity except that we got paid, yes, we might as well have been slaves. To defy Freiza was a death wish. Not that loyalty or doing your job well meant anything. The Saiyans served him and his family for years, but he killed them anyway.”

Though she attempted to fight it, a frown tugged the corners of her lips downward regardless of her efforts. She did not care for people’s sympathy in regards to hers or her people’s plight and she guessed Vegeta felt similarly; she did not want her expression to be misconstrued as such. The heavy weight in her belly and the twisting of her heart struck closer to anger, for the injustice done to his people, those done to hers. How often had they tried to play the placated and happy allies with Hyrule as their treaty asked, only to be met with solid walls of ridicule and denial of meager requests to aid in their survival and the ever growing cloud of contempt for them in the end?

She blew a strand of hair out of her face and smoothed it back into place on her crown. "That's how it goes, isn't it?" Bitterness seeped into her words in lieu of the conversational tone she wanted to maintain. She didn't know if she wanted to sock Hyrule's King in the face or that Frieza character. Or more. "You can play their game by the book all you want, but at the end of the day, it's their game to end how they choose."

Vegeta eyed her, the changed demeanor, the edge to her words. A discontent and terse delivery that alluded to experience. Piecing the scraps of information he had gleaned from the tournament, he understood the Gerudo were refugees from another planet of some capacity. They must have suffered similarly under a tyrant which led them to leave their home in search of a new one. The details hardly mattered. Frieza was dead and the Gerudo resided on Earth; neither had to deal with whatever problems they had faced in the past anymore.

He communicated such thoughts with a noncommittal huff. "At any rate, I take pride in the fact that it was fear of the Saiyans that led to their demise. He feared our potential, what we could become. It was only fitting that a Saiyan ended his miserable existence."

Hatred fueled by fear. Violence spurred by unfounded paranoia. The Gerudo recognized the phenomenon from her dealings with the Hylians and their allies. She opened her mouth to relay such, but the prince turned his back to her. As obvious a sign as any that the conversation was over.

"Go rest. I'll find you tomorrow when I'm ready to spar."

He allowed Nabooru no time to reply, argue, or say her farewells before taking off. With the last dregs of her own energy, she floated upward and flew off in the opposite direction, a muscle-relaxing bath calling her name.

#// vegeta ♅#:: nabooru ☀#i need to get a vegbooru ship tag #i have one but it's also the one for me and lau and that's liek sacred and only for her pff #but like i guess a little bg this is like a few years after buu #maybe less #idk i wasn't concerned about where the tournament falls to let people decide whatever in their verses #so yeah just post buu saga

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writemoment · 4 years

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Failing Flirt

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Part: 1/1

Summary: She wasn’t used to growing affections, Jaskier wasn’t inexperienced but he was rather untalented at showing his feelings, and Geralt was tired of it all.

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Warnings/Rated: Mostly fluff, maybe second hand embarrassment if you squint.

Word Count: 2,163

A/N: With everything going on with the virus, I figured I might as well post some of my drafts that have already been finished. I’m working on more! Hopefully I can get a few series finished over the next two weeks. Thanks for being patient! xx

( Reader ) P.O.V.

When I had agreed to travel with the Witcher and the bard, Jaskier had played off their need for a healer with much exaggeration. “I mean- you can tag along but Geralt can take care of himself.” That’s what he had said.

Since then, I have used chaos to heal not only Geralt but also Jaskier many times. The more they played off their need for assistance, the more they seemed to need it. Though, I was not one to brag about this. I was more than content to be a part of something bigger than the life I had been scraping by.

However, as the days turned into weeks, I had fallen into a rhythm of friendship, or mutual acceptance according to the Witcher, with my colleagues. These types of dynamics were something I hadn’t much skill or experience in.

How was I to know the difference between friendly banter and awful flirting?

Jaskier and I got along the best. Though Geralt and I could have decent and meaningful conversations underneath the fall of the night. Jaskier was the delightful opposite of your everyday Witcher. He was loud, obnoxious, didn’t know how to take a breath in between talking and, man, did he love to get smack dab in the middle of where he doesn’t belong.

It was a stark contrast to your quiet, all-brooding Witcher whom of which spent most of his free time complaining to Roach. That or yelling at the bard to shut the hell up. Yet, this somehow made up a family-like scenario for me. I could even get Geralt to crack a smirk at my lame jokes on occasion.

But the closer I got to Jaskier, the more flustered I became around him. I know of his past dalliances with court women and others-alike, but I was very inexperienced and unprepared in this territory. Romance had no place in the life of someone who had to use every moment to survive. Finding this unlikely pair had been the first breath of fresh air I had in a long while.

One night as we were eating at our camp, the fire blazing to chase the chill away, Jaskier said from beside me, “Y/n, you are like the flames in which set in front of me. I can’t stand to look at you for too long.”

Geralt huffed and, almost as if being just as exhausted at us, Roach snorted derisively. My brows furrowed at the bard as he looked uncomfortably at the ground. “Uh, I’m sorry to hear that, Jaskier.” I replied, but my tone set it up as more of a question.

A moment lingered before I had bid them both goodnight, retracting to my tent. As I settled in to rest, I heard a groan followed by Geralt’s gruff voice saying, “Nice going, bard.”

Ever since then, Jaskier has been saying things of a similar nature. All of them easy to misconstrue one way or another. Despite his odd behavior, I continued to seek out his company any chance that I could. I felt pulled to him, like a bond between our destinies, as if his soul were meant to be melded with mine.

Finally reaching the village, we pad behind Geralt into the streets. Jaskier the ‘dandelion’ bard was almost as recognizable as the ‘white wolf’ Witcher of Rivia. His ballads painted the tales of awe and woe, of adventures and horrors alike. The valley’s rang with the people singing his work from far and wide.

We quickly spot a tavern for us to rest in for the next few days while Geralt finds work. The sound of clanking pints and drunken jeers are familiar as we slither in past the occupants. Taverns all tend to have the same musty aroma mixed in with the scent of earth and stale sweat. It’s a common occurrence to travelers like us. Not that it makes it any better.

While getting our rooms, a man fidgets over to the Witcher with hushed words. I get the gist of it; another monster in need to be reckoned with. Jaskier floats about as if he just received the gift of a lifetime, “Let us go and slay thy beast!”

“Us? Would you like me to let you take care of this one?”

Jaskier backpedals, hard. “Oh, I- You wouldn’t let your most best friend in the whole wide world get hurt, now would you, Geralt?” But he’s only met with a grunt of a hum from the Witcher. “Geralt?”

With a light chuckle, I grasp Jaskier by the arm and drag him along to follow. Being in contact with him like this causes my pulse to race. I hardly want to let go. He grabs my hand that has a fist-full of his garment bunched up in it and loosens my hold. Slowly, my fingers fall against his own and together they fold over each other.

The tips of his fingers are hard and calloused, obvious traits of being a musician. What’s unexpected is how soft and warm his palm is as it’s pressed up against mine. It molds with my own in a way that I could never explain in it’s complexities of perfection. The feeling draws a shiver down my spine.

Jaskier doesn’t let go of my hand, he just continues to hold it. Nervously, I attempt to look anywhere but at the man beside me. That’s how I spot Geralt glancing back at us with a raised brow. Embarrassment strikes me and I yank my hand away, coiling it into my abdomen as if to quell the eruption of butterflies.

Instant regret tugs at me as the cold replaces the warmth of his embrace. I feel so bad about it, I can’t even bring myself to look at him. So we walk in Jaskier-esque silence. Which translates to an occasional ramble as the opportunity presents itself but not as much talking as you would normally get out of the bard.

Geralt pauses outside the location he was given, telling us to wait for him here. There’s nothing much more to do, really. One thing I’ve come to really admire over these past months is Jaskier’s blind faith in the Witcher’s ability to be to stubborn to die. Time and time again I’ve been proven that it’s a fairly reasonable belief. Besides the handful of times one of them have almost died due to that faith. But I suppose destiny has continued to side with them.

Being left alone with Jaskier feels different now. On the verge of uncomfortable. My ache to be near him is combated with the pure horror of making another mistake. It was a conundrum.

“Did I burn you?”

My eyes jump up to meet his pale blue orbs, “What?” I question. We were surrounded by nothing but earth and a mild heat from the sun. Nothing to cause any, if much, damage.

His jaw clenches in, what I can only assume is, frustration. “You sure whipped your hand away fast enough. You either got hurt or I’m about to be.” He purses his lips, brows furrowing. “So which is it, Y/n?”

The words tumble in my head, knocking into my ability to form coherent sentences that portray what I want to say; how I feel. Inhaling, I try to gather my courage to bare my soul to him.

“Life as a mage has ingrained in me many things. All these years, I’ve learned the art of give and take. Everything has a price in my world, Jaskier. If I were to be painfully honest, I’m afraid that if I give a part of me to someone... I don’t know how much they will take.”

I stare into his eyes and I see my own vulnerable reflection staring back. “I can’t afford to lose.” It’s the truth. My entirety is built upon giving only enough to survive. To give my heart, my whole self, to someone would be a risk. It’s a luxury that can’t be had to people like me.

I hate the pity that swirls behind his expression, hate the way I care about how he thinks of me. It hurts to be so close to him and yet, feel so far. The unknown is a dangerous lover to destiny. You can never be too sure that one won’t hold the other.

“Y/n, I-”

Geralt returns, effectively cutting off Jaskier’s sentence. The Witcher is covered in a thin layer of blood and heavily coated in his signature irritation. He grunts at us as he obviously couldn’t care less about the conversation he interrupted. Silently, we follow his trek back to the tavern where he will collect what he’s owed and we can rest for the night.

At this point, feeling heavy with exhaustion and clouded with gloom, the idea of sinking into the stiff mattress of my room sounds inviting. That’s all I can focus on as we walk in true silence. Chaos is an element in which I’ve learned to control, though I sometimes wonder if that’s a cruel punishment from this world. What’s the point of being powerful if everything around me is spiraling?

When the tattered building is in view, I pick up my pace. I had been falling a ways behind the white wolf but now I’m almost stepping on his heel to get where we are going. Of course he’d take notice of this.

Holding the door open, Geralt allows me to sweep past him. It’s as if I’m on autopilot; marching up the stairs to my quarters, dressing for the night and sinking onto the edge of the bed.

I’m not one for self-pity. There’s nothing to be done but accept what you’ve been dealt. Though the cards I’ve been given have been nothing but rubbish. I wonder if Jaskier and I could work through this, if we could remain like we have been in the past. If not, then I’d have to revert back to the life I lead before.

Knock-knock-knock

Three taps. Three perfectly timed raps are placed upon my door. They’re so distinct and unexpected that they break me from my self-absorption. I’m up and opening the barrier in a flash, eyes searching for the cause to the interruption.

“Jaskier...”

He stands on the other side looking a bit sheepish. “May I?”

Standing aside, he waltzes into the room and I shut the door behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” There’s a lingering awkward that hangs between us and it makes my skin prick with unease.

For a moment, I doubt the bard will say anything or if he’s even heard me. It all tumbles forth from his rosy lips so fast, I don’t have any time to prepare myself for what they mean. “I know you said that everything has a price and the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t deny that truth.

“You’re afraid of the price you’ll pay for loving someone, but you shouldn’t be afraid of loving...me.” With every breath he takes a step closer, “Because I can’t promise to know what the future will hold or that we won’t lose some along the way, but I can tell you that I believe destiny has us bonded. I can tell you, without a doubt, what you would gain if you allow me to have your heart.”

I can feel his breath on my lips, fanning over the curve of my cupids bow. “What would that be?” I insist.

“My heart.” Everything inside me lurches as his lips capture mine in the sweetest embrace. The taste pulls every cobwebbed emotion from my depths and I willingly surrender to him. Because this exchange, this give and take, is one that I would gladly partake in with confidence.

His name tumbles from my lips like a mantra. I can’t get close enough to him to satisfy this hunger that’s growing inside. My very breath seems a burden in this show of affection. “I love you, Jaskier.”

It’s a whisper. Those words float between us and I can only pray he’ll catch me as I fall. His lips stretch into a wide smile, eyes lighting up with giddiness. “I love you, too.”

Here in this room, our hearts pressed up against one another’s, I feel at peace. This bard has plucked at my heart strings for so long and finally, we are in tune.

The next morning, Jaskier and I walk out hand in hand. Geralt watches us with a vaguely amused expression. “Geralt of Rivia! What a fine morning it is!” Jaskier announces, prancing about and dragging me with him as I smile widely.

Geralt’s lips turns up into a smirk, “It’s about time you two figured it out.”

Laughing, I shake my head at them. Destiny or not, venturing into the unknown with these two makes the risk seem all the more worth it. Besides, our fate is still to be made.

Masterlist Here

A/N: I love Jaskier. That is all. - Ellie-Mae

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blahblahwritings · 4 years

Text

Contracts and Captains - III.

A/N: I’m definitely making this a Billy fic sorry lmao.

Words: 1844

Warnings: Drinking and vomit.

It had been a month since Mr Gates had approached you and you had returned to him with a lead each week for them to hunt, bringing them and yourself plenty of money. You’d given them merchant ships carrying dyes, spices, tobacco, sugar and more that turned a favourable profit when brought back which didn’t go unnoticed by Miss Guthrie. Although you hadn’t talked since the job she needed, she seemed to have let the whole ordeal go after learning you were part of the reason Flint was bringing in more prizes.

The Walrus had returned early this morning and so you were currently walking down to the beach as they unloaded their cargo, hoping to find Flint or Gates to hand them another lead. It had taken a little while for you to find one this time so you had sent letters to some old friends in Port Royal asking for information which you were hoping would bear fruit. If not, you may very well be hunting out new employment.

The sun was still low as you found the crew, tired but in high spirits. They were laughing as they worked, and you’d caught word of a celebration at the tavern tonight as you passed by them to the old wooden dock. A longboat was slowly advancing toward the shore, the familiar faces of the captain and quartermaster among a couple of other crew members sat inside. You shot a friendly smile as they climbed out and quickly moved to join them.

“Another successful haul?” You chimed, gesturing to the surrounding crates and chests. The captain gave a small smirk, squinting against the light of the sun as Gates chuckled.

“Couldn’t have done it without your intel Miss Devereux, accurate as usual.” Mr gates clapped you on the back and you playfully rolled your eyes. “I assume you have our next target.” Flint said flatly. As much as you had proved they could trust you, he seemed a little cold to you since day one. He would give small smiles and be civil but never deviated into any kind of action that could be misconstrued as friendship. He preferred this to be more... professional. You were used to it with the men who would give you one off contracts but never in long-term work.

“I do, captain, here.” You dug through your pouch tied to your thick leather belt and handed him a piece of paper with times and coordinates scrawled across it. He inspected the page with furrowed brows before handing it to Mr Gates and nodded his thanks. “I have to take care of some business, I trust you’ll organise this, Gates. Excuse me.” He spoke briefly before leaving for the town.

“We appreciate you working for us, the crew are, of course, very happy with the results and if you’d like to meet them, I believe they’re having a celebration tonight if you’re interested.” He cocked a brow. The invitation was a little unexpected, seeing as the captain obviously seemed to be apprehensive about you. “Flint is Flint, he keeps everyone at a distance, you shouldn’t feel put off by it. You deserve a drink with the crew you’ve been working for and they should know who you are. Lord knows they’re curious having watched our little talks. If not for yourself, do it for me, I’m sick of the questions.” He laughed lightheartedly though you could tell there was some truth to his exhaustion with the crew. A chuckle left you. “Fine, but I’m not getting drunk.”

You were drunk. You’d damn the crew all to hell if you weren’t having such a good time. Gates had brought you along and introduced you to the men who were almost all intoxicated before you’d even arrived so they took to you very quickly, the armourer, Logan throwing an arm around your shoulders and offering you drinks. You drank for free mostly, the men refusing to let you pay as ‘a sign of their appreciation for your leads’.

So here you were, sitting in the corner of the tavern, singing your heart out to some old shanty alongside the others, feeling like part of the crew yourself as the room swayed. Your mug was empty and you’d made the decision that if the room was moving as you were still, you shouldn’t drink any more. Then there was a bang as another mug of rum was put in front of you. You half grimaced, half cackled as you took it, sipping the dark liquid despite your head telling you otherwise.

This was going to be a disaster tomorrow. The moon was high in the sky as you stood from the table, walking outside in pursuit of some fresh air. You were leaning against the wall of the tavern, desperately trying to get the floor to stay straight as someone walked toward you.

“I’m assuming they’re having quite the night by the looks of you.” An unfamiliar voice sounded above you. It took everything you had to stand up straight and look at the man. He was tall, far taller than the others and he wore an old shirt, sleeves rolled to the tops of his arms. His arms, Jesus, they were big. You’d have been ashamed of staring at them for so long had you been sober but those thoughts quickly faded as you met his eyes. Your body wobbled and you pressed your shoulder against the wall to keep you upright. “I’m Billy Bones, Boatswain.” He introduced, scanning you to ensure you weren’t just going to tumble right there.

“Try sayn’ tha three times” You slurred with a giggle. He scoffed, a smirk apparent on his face, knowing you were trashed. “Am ‘Lizbeth Devreux” You smiled at him, offering a hand to him in greeting but stumbling in the process. He quickly steadied you, hands on your shoulders. You tried to play it off as if you were perfectly sober but, well, you weren’t at all. Your stomach lurched and you pushed away from him, turning and falling to your knees unceremoniously. You wretched twice before the contents of your stomach made an appearance onto the sandy floor. Billy’s nose scrunched up at the stench but knelt beside you, pulling your hair back so it didn’t get caught in the mess. You kept bringing up the liquids from the long night for a few more seconds before collapsing back onto your behind, head leaning against the wood.

A groan of discomfort left you as you were forced to open your eyes again, the feeling of being spun threatening to make you vomit again. Billy gave you a pitiful smile and grabbed your hand, hoisting you up off the floor. “Let’s get you some food.” He said.

“I’m sorry ’m such a mess, I don’ usually get in this state.” You said slightly clearer than before, finding your footing. You hated that you’d just vomited in front of the boatswain of all the crew and he was handsome too which made it worse in your head. Another lighthearted scoff from him. “It’s alright, I guess you’ll just owe me one.” He jeered, raising his eyebrows at you and you laughed. “Deal.” You replied.

He had a hand outstretched behind your back, not touching but there just in case you were to fall again. Walking back into the tavern and through the crowd, you both found a seat at the bar and he ordered you some warm stew and bread. Stopping him as he went to pay with a few coins, you took out your own money and handed it to the barman.

“You’ve done enough and the crew have been paying for my drinks all night at least let me buy my own food.” You insisted. A smile found its way on his face as he nodded. You grazed at the meal, the feeling of it filling you taking away some of the nausea and decided to strike up a conversation. “Why aren’t you drinking with the rest of them?” You questioned, blowing lightly on a spoonful before eating it. His lips were brought into a tight line for a moment.

“I don’t drink very often and I’ve learned from past mistakes that drinking with the men has… painful outcomes.” He gave you another glance and a small smile. You snorted, looking away for a moment towards the crew, Logan was making his way over, bumping and crashing into every table and chair in his path until he reached you.

“Trus’ Billy Bones to take the lady to dinner.” He prodded, beaming. Your eyebrows flew up, nearly choking on your next bite. Billy rolled his eyes and looked at the armourer. “That is not what this is, I’m just making sure she was still in one piece after a night with you lot.” The taller man returned as you looked between the two of them. “Well res’ assured we’ve invited her into the crew with open arms and plenty o’ rum, she's a fine drinker and keeps up with the best of us.” Logan shot you a wink and a pat on the shoulder. “Now, if y’don’t mind I’m gon go see my beloved Charlotte.” His speech slurred as he turned on his heel and headed through the crowd and across the street to the brothel.

“Well, good to know I kept up.” You laughed, turning and finishing the last of the stew. The world was surely spinning a lot less and you thanked Billy for looking after you. “What did he mean? Trust you to take a lady to dinner?” He sighed and his shoulders slumped as he looked back at you with a look that said ‘please don’t’. This only led you to be more curious, cocking an eyebrow and leaning in slightly. “Come on, you wouldn’t leave a lady in suspense would you?” A snigger left you as you teased him, knowing that you were anything but a lady. He snorted, the recent memory of you puking your guts up just an hour ago replaying in his head.

“The men like to joke, I just don’t think women should be bought, I mean good for them because they make a living and all but I prefer to earn their fondness.” He explained, a light blush on his cheeks as he stood. You tried not to smirk or laugh, your mouth struggling to stay in a straight line not because it was funny but because it took you by surprise, a big burly pirate wooing a girl with wine and chivalry. “Don’t- Please don’t laugh.” He chuckled, throwing his head back and betraying himself.

“No! No, it- you just shocked me a little. I don’t usually take pirates for the romantic type.” You grinned. “It’s sweet really.” You added hoping to reassure him. He huffed out another sigh.

“Come on, you should probably go get some rest.” He didn’t look you in the eye as he led you to your room, leaving you to sober up for the night.

#Billy bones x reader #billy bones #black sails #captain flint #mr gates #Black sails Imagine #multi chapter

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thatmediocrestreamer · 5 years

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Another year almost gone, let's look back!

Welp, another year has gone by in this mortal coil, and I feel as though I've come a long way forward and gone a long way back in the process this year. There are many things I COULD write about on this blog, but for want of not rambling like a loon, I'll attempt this brief sentences thing like on twatter.

Part 1:New year. New girlfriend. New job. New hope? No hope.

Well, first things first, as I rang in 2018, I was seeing a girl who lived a hundred and odd miles up north, in a little town called Blackpool, a seaside town that up to then, I'd loved visiting.

Isn't it sad when people show true colours?

I learned very quickly at the start of 2018 that it only takes a short time for someone to demonstrate what they can truly be like, and the moment I did, boy did things take a sudden nose-dive from there.

The great Christmas bitch-fest of 2017

I'd agreed to spend Christmas of 2017 in Blackpool with the ex and her daughter. That was mistake number one. I'll never abandon family again, especially not when this year, my mum sadly suffered a stroke while I was in Blackpool, leading me to basically feel as though I didn't want to be there at all. The ex actually helped me feel at ease about it all, and comforted me in my time of need, ostensibly reassuring me it'd all be okay, and to her credit, it mostly was.

The wicked psycho witch of the North West.

The now-ex girlfriend from Blackpool was absolutely lovely as a person, right up until her mother came on to the scene.

Now, this was one hella poisonous witch of a woman. One who basically told me that because MY OWN DAUGHTER lives with my ex, her birth mother (a normal thing, no?) that I was not allowed to send her birthday and Christmas money, despite the two falling in a week of one another, purely on the grounds of dating someone else. I’m selfish and unfair for doing that, apparently. This coming from a psychopathic apparent psychologist who’s only marketable skill is causing total ructions with anyone she meets. So that, right there, landed strike one for Team Blackpool.

Apparently, I'm controlling, abusive and manipulative, don't you know?

The next mental alarm bell was set off in the form of me being branded controlling, just for helping said ex, who is rather short in stature, to rearrange her kitchen cupboards so things she needed most frequently were more easily accessible. Again, a perfectly reasonable thing to do, help out someone you care for, you'd think? BUT NO! I got branded as a control freak for this simple gesture of kindness.

So, we're two months in, and it's already two strikes for Team Blackpool, But the best is saved for last.

Christmas at Ground Zero.

The final malaise is more a three-part saga than a termination of ways. So, best to Buckle up.

The Google Home Sex- shopping list Saga

First in the trio of amusing things that led to the breakdown of me and the ex, was her receipt of a Google Home Mini for Christmas. (I'm gonna assume that, because you're on a Tumblr blog, you know what a Google Home is.) So anyway, it's Christmas day, her mum had come round to deliver some of the presents before going home and returning later to do dinner (the one nice thing she actually did the whole time I was there.) The ex had become fixated by the fact she'd received this Google Home Mini, and so we tested it's capabilities to the absolute max, even Going as far as to add sex- toys to a shopping list, along with concrete shoes and other amusing items, just because we both had a sick sense of humour.

Her mum came back and she was literally having not a single bit of it. This resulted in ANOTHER argument over the Christmas dinner table, again instigated by her mum, and again, totally uncalled for. So I proceed to lock myself in the ex's room, playing GTA the rest of Xmas day, to make sure I didn't have to deal with any more of it.

The intervention I neither needed, wanted or asked for.

So, it's Boxing day, a time for happiness, being thankful and general good cheer, but not in that household. So, because I'd decided that the best option to alleviate issues and discourse was to stay in the ex's bedroom on the PlayStation, a strategy that had mostly worked until that point. But not that evening. Her mum decided that the best way to make things better was by inviting her friends round and literally picking me apart downstairs while I listened. She made a passing comment about "he needs to get off his fucking arse and stop playing the computer games and get a job if he wants to support my daughter and my granddaughter." Of course I had none of that, and proceeded to sit at the top of the stairs listening, not appreciating being critiqued by someone who literally knew nothing about me. Then a full blown ruckus ensued downstairs where they demanded I come down before I got dragged down, and had police and my ex's dad threatened on me if I didnt. But what use was it? She wouldn't listen to a single word I said, and even went as far as saying that I ruined HER Christmas! Bitch please, what about mine huh?

The secret friend turned best mate, and the parting of ways.

Before the Christmas period, I had become friendly with a girl called Jen, who, to her credit has now become one of my best friends, and one of my other best friends lives with her as a partner (GG ReaverAF.) All too often though, people have mistaken my kindness for me being flirtatious. To that end, I can sort of see what the ex's point was, as I had asked Jen a few questions about if someone were to take her on a date, what would it be and why? Yeah that could be misconstrued as flirting to the wrong eyes, but nonetheless, that's irrelevant in a way to whats to come.

Things were at this point, not good with me and the ex, with her mum's attitude towards me, and the ex herself being in possession of a selfishness so strong it puts most self-absorbed narcissists to shame (not going into the whys though.) The final nail in Blackpool's coffin came in the form of the ex's overwhelming paranoia about what me and Jen had been discussing, so she waited until I was asleep and physically went through my phone to see it for herself. She found almost nothing of an overly incriminating nature, however still used this as fuel for blabbing to a lot of people, and alongside this, proceeding to wake me up from my reverie the morning I was due to return home to Nottingham, to have a FULL BLOWN argument about it all in front of a TWO YEAR OLD CHILD. As someone with children of my own, however, I was having literally not a peep of it, and so proceeded to pack my belongings, book a taxi and get out of there, not ever looking back on Blackpool again.

Two good things came out of Blackpool though, I gained two friends for life In John and Jen, and I also came away from there having been given a job by John!

Part 2 next week. :)

#anxiety #anxietyanddepressionawareness #abusive ex #controlling #invisibledisabilities #survivor #warrior #gamerswithadhd #livingmydream

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khiphopfrictionals · 6 years

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My Last (2/5): GRAY Scenario

Summary: This is an AU. You and Gray were in love. Sunghwa joined AOMG (not only as a producer but also a singer) and was offered a record deal – in which involves touring around the world. You suffer from an illness and know it’s impossible for him to follow his dreams if he stays behind for you. So in the end, the two of you part ways on bad terms. Little did Gray know, you kept a big secret from him. Now it has been nearly a decade – can the two of you reconnect?

// Part 2 //

--Flashback--

As you force your way through the sea of writhing bodies illuminated by flashes of color, you could curse yourself. The heavy thud-thud-thud pounds into your skull, and for all that you try to push the horrid noise from your ears, you can't quite manage it tonight.

Your condition has flared up as of late, making all your energies go towards keeping your dinner from coming up and your eyes fully opened. The last place you ought to be is at some club right now. But you and Hyuk-woo promised to take Hoody out for a round for her birthday, and you'd feel like an awful friend if you let her down.

After being bumped into by some half-drunken person, you shout over the music, "I hate you, Hoody! You and your awful taste in clubs!"

"You don't!" She's all smiles and squeezes your hand. "It's not healthy being cooped up in that pathetic little apartment of yours and you know it!"

Maybe you do know it. The thought has crossed your mind before, especially when you look forward to running into your elderly next-door neighbor for a chat. Your social life had declined after moving out of the dorms and even more so after breaking it off with your latest boyfriend. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’ve been looking forward to tonight.

"When should we expect your friend to show up?" You ask as the crowd thins at the edge of the dance floor.

Hoody scans the packed seating area before pointing to a corner booth. "There! That's him."

Your eyes follow Hoody's finger, and you immediately spot Hyuk-woo sitting with two dark haired young men. The first, you recall from a photo in her apartment, is Hoody's friend—all messy hair and tattoos. The second, however, is someone completely new to you.

Gorgeous, he is.

You can feel your heart falter at first sight of him. It's the hair that catches your attention, silky smooth. And the leather jacket certainly doesn't help matters. A bad boy, then? Your type to the very letter, and dear God how are you going to ever make it through tonight?

Because you and Hoody have rules about this sort of thing, you remember regrettably as they approach the booth. No dating friends' friends and the like. Your only hope is that this guy isn't Hoody's friend and has a penchant for someone like you.

Yeah, not likely.

Sunghwa—whose name you learn during the brief round of introductions—may be a little quiet, but he does seem genuinely interested in you. You discover this soon into your five-part conversation around beers. It's nothing Sunghwa does, just the way his eyes fall on you when he speaks. Mesmerized is definitely too strong of a word—though in your make-believe world there's something there.

Something like a spark, and it's so very difficult to keep your own eyes from meeting Sunghwa's when either of you speaks.

And you resist—or tries to, anyway—for the better part of an hour filled with anecdotes of mischief making, lamenting of particular professors and modules. It's only when Hoody and Elo gets up to dance—prompted by Hoody’s favorite song (this week)—and Hyuk-woo leaves for the bar to buy another round that you can't quite avoid Sunghwa any longer.

You feel a gentle nudge to your arm and turns to look at a grinning Sunghwa. He really does have a nice smile, as smiles go. Gorgeous lips and… And Christ, you haven’t been staring just then, have you? You can't quite suppress the heat rising to your cheeks and ducks yor head a bit, hoping to hide your embarrassment.

"You don't strike me as someone who gets up to too much trouble, but the way Hoody talks, you could give me and Elo a run for our money."

You don’t miss the impressed and teasing tone in his voice and feels slightly pleased with yourself. Not that people aren't usually surprised when they hear of your colorful record, but this is somehow different. The thought does cross you that you're misconstruing Sunghwa' interest in you, but you’re three beers in it doesn’t hurt to flirt a little.

"Probably could," you say, all confidence as you take a slow drink.

"Where'd you get those then? Breaking and entering?"

Sunghwa nods in the direction of your hands, smug smirk on his face. You realize that he's referring to your plastered fingers, and immediately sets your bottle down, bringing your hand beneath the table. Suddenly you feel very sober.

"Ah no, not exactly. I play a bit of guitar and overdid it yesterday. Rubbed my skin raw."

You wait for the moment of judgment to pass, inevitable as always. You know you don't look the type to be a music junkie—a little too awkward, a little too reserved—and wonders if Sunghwa will laugh it off like a lot of guys have in the past.

It comes to some surprise then, when you find the courage to meet Sunghwa' eyes, that Sunghwa appears to be completely shocked by your confession. You look at him curiously before Sunghwa's expression settles into something rather indescribable.

"You like music?" Sunghwa asks, and for the first time, you notice the strain-induced scratchiness to his voice

"No, I love music."

Sunghwa smiles, looking at you like he's seeing you properly for the first time.

"Yeah? Me too."

-- Present—

Why?

You realize that you ‘accidentally’ picks up the latest Dazed & Confused. And it's only a split second later that you recognize a gorgeous pair of brown eyes on the cover.

They dance for you. Maybe it's just because you remember what they were like in real life, the way Sunghwa's every mood could be read from them. Maybe it's because you often dreamt that Sunghwa would look at you like that again. It's a guilty desire, one that you can barely stomach most days. But no one could fault you for that.

And it's strange, looking at him like this. You desperately want to recognize the unrecognizable in Sunghwa, to have the satisfaction of telling yourself, you were right, he's not the same man.

But you can't.

It's as though time froze Sunghwa as he was years ago. Sunghwa hardly looks older—not like yourself who’s getting premature greys—and perhaps that's what's most frightening. Sunghwa appears to be exactly the man that you had once loved.

Or still loves.

With that, your lips pull into an infuriated grimace. You send the magazine to the floor with a violent thwack. And you bring your hands to your face, bites your tongue in favor of screaming your frustration.

How dare Sunghwa do this! How dare he accept Hyuk-woo's invitation! But it's just like Sunghwa, always looking for the next person or next big thing to stroke his giant ego. He'll be fawned over, praised for his infinite genius, his remarkable rise to stardom. No one cares to think about all Sunghwa sold—all he left behind—in order to get there.

All the people he betrayed.

A miserable sound escapes you. Some days you wonder if you’re the only person in the world that felt that betrayal—feels that betrayal even now—and you know the answer. Hyuk-woo and Elo asks you to stop punishing Sunghwa. Hoody, too, in her own way. You wonder how they of all people can refrain from doing so.

Familiar outrage bubbles up inside you at the thought of everything that happened years ago, but You try to quell it. You can't think about this tonight; it'll only leave you bright eyed and miserable. More miserable, really.

And you definitely won't think about Sunghwa.

Let him have his fame and glory, his money and cheap relationships.

What's it matter?

You find the energy to get up from the sofa, your foot coming into contact with the magazine. The cover crinkles under your step, and you barely notices—or pretends to—as you walks to the bathroom before heading to bed.

Things would have been fine, you suppose, if the magazine would have grown legs and kindly dropped itself into the bin during the night. You’re determined to not attend Hyuk-woo's party, to never see Sunghwa again so long as you live, would have remained firmly intact.

But the fact of the matter is that it most assuredly was right in front of the sofa as you sat down with your morning toast and coffee—Sunghwa' face planted between your feet. You stare down at it, transfixed by nothing in particular and yet everything in the same moment. Your hand reaches for the magazine almost of its own accord, and it's only after you have it in your grip that the reason behind your sudden interest becomes clear to you.

You suppose it has a lot to do with the date. It's almost Sunghwa’s and your anniversary—what would have been ten years if Sunghwa hadn't…if things hadn't…well, yeah.

And you, despite the disappointed looks and worried calls from your friends, still celebrates it to some extent. No more romantic dinners for you, though. If there is one thing that suffering from almost bi-monthly seizures has taught you, it's that you might as well live life how you want. There's never a guarantee you'll live beyond the next one.

The funny thing is that Sunghwa gave the biggest joy in your life – Momo. Like Sunghwa, Momo sets you back on the right path. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ve been at your healthiest during those years with Sunghwa. So despite all that you hate Sunghwa most of the time, a little piece of you can never deny that Sunghwa was good for you. And now, Momo has taken his place.

That's probably why you still have dreams from time to time, like last night. Of hot, flashing lights and the lazy lovemaking that followed. You wonder if it's a memory or a meshing of reality and fantasy. It was all so vivid. Sunghwa' breath in your ear, his performance-strained voice whispering I love you. And you returning the sentiments in full, rolling over to capture his lips.

Except, the only thing you rolled over to was the emptiness of your bed and unforgiving morning light.

With your thoughts already consumed by Sunghwa, you thumb the pages of the magazine. Sighing, you flip it open randomly and only had to turn once before you find the promised—purportedly revealing—interview.

You sip your coffee, uneager—and yet oh-so-eager—to read the contents of the interview. Brown eyes find the beginning lines, and you brace yourself for…for what? You have no idea. Confirmation, maybe, that this man is not the man you loved. Or heartache when you realize that he is.

It's the normal song and dance for the first few questions, nothing that you couldn't have told the interviewer yourself. What's more interesting to you is the way in which you can hear Sunghwa saying his response—the familiar cadence of his voice, the air of lightness in his tone. The interview even notes when he laughs, and it occurs in all the spots that you imagine it would.

But it's two-thirds of the way down the page that you feel you breath hitch, the question burrowing into you like a parasite and the answer equally as discomfort-inducing.

INTERVIEWER: It's interesting—and many of our readers have noted this—that you've re-released an unplugged version of "My Last" on your new album. Care to elaborate on the decision?

GRAY: Ah, this question! [Laughs]

INTERVIEWER: It's a song shrouded in mystery. Considered to be the most romantic song of the decade and developed by an anonymous co-writer? What are your fans to think?

GRAY: Well they should think that it's a song very near and dear to me, of course. The decision to re-release it in acoustic was made by me. "My Last" was intended for to be an acoustic from the very beginning, and was initially written as a ballad. I've spent a lot of time getting back to my roots with this album, and it was the perfect opportunity to record this song as it was originally intended. I think people will find it more moving than the original, to be honest.

INTERVIEWER: And your co-writer?

GRAY: [Laughs] Will remain anonymous.

INTERVIEWER: Not even the tiniest hint?

GRAY: I think it's obvious from the lyrics that this person means a great deal to me. You can't create something like "My Last" from imagination, you know?

INTERVIEWER: "Means" as in present tense?

GRAY: Do you think that "My Last" could be what it is if it was about any old flame? You—

You shut the magazine quickly, having read quite enough.

"You're such an ungrateful daughter."

You smirk, leaning down to meet your mom in a brief hug. You suppose that it's a greeting that would shock most anybody.

"And to what do I owe the insult to my character?" You ask, though you don’t really expect an answer.

Your mom passes Momo to you, and you quickly plant a kiss on her baby-smooth cheek. Momo laughs, pushes you away with a palm to her chin, and struggles out of your arms in favor of her toys in the other room. And it's crazy, how quickly Momo has grown. Where has the time gone?

There's a thud. Your attention is immediately drawn away from thoughts of your daughter to her grandma sopping up spilled coffee from the carpet. You roll your eyes, grabs a tea towel from the nearby kitchen table and joins her on the floor.

"Mom, you're an accident waiting to happen, you know that?" You say.

She looks up at you, fringe falling in her eyes. "You're one to talk. Your whole life is a giant mess."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Her eyes narrow as she jabs her finger at you accusingly, causing you to flinch. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Standing, your mom flings the coffee-soaked, wadded-up cloth at you and crosses her arms over her chest. And for being all of five feet four inches, she's still as intimidating as hell.

"Mom…"

"Don't mom me. I hear you're not going to the party in Sunghwa's honor tonight at the Freebird. What the hell is that about? I've raised you to be a lot of things, but never a coward."

"Mom, I’m busy. And who told you about the party?"

"Don’t change the topic!" She falls unceremoniously to the sofa, and you have to wonder if she hadn't just lost her balance. Her sudden rage flickers out into a frown, and she looks on at you in disappointment. You hate that look—thinks that maybe that's the reason she's turned it on to begin with—and moves next to her, putting an arm around her slight shoulders.

"I want you to be happy."

"I am happy, mom," you answer.

"You're lying. I can tell. You’re my daughter." She pokes your nose. "Your nose scrunches up a bit when you lie, just like Momo."

"I'm—"

"Not fine, not happy, and you don't have to pretend for my sake.”

Despite the number of times you’ve had this conversation, you have never gotten used to hearing the truth fall from your mom’s lips. The two of you sit on the sofa, brief silence between you and her, as the sounds of Momo playing in her room echo through the apartment.

"He loves you, you know."

"Who?" You asks almost fearing her answer.

"Sunghwa." Shifting, she pulls away from you and cups your cheek. "And you love him, too. So, don't be stubborn. Go see him."

"I'm over it."

"You weren't years ago. You aren't now, and neither is he. You should have seen his latest interview in Dazed & Confused. It was basically a love letter to you."

Wonderful. So, you weren’t the only person under that impression. You think to ask her what else was said but decides against it. You’re not sure you want to know, quite frankly. What you read was enough. Too much, maybe. And none of it matters.

It’s no surprise that your mom still keep in touch with Sunghwa. What’s surprising is that your mom accepts that you will tell Sunghwa about Momo in your own time.

"You're going," Your mom announces, uncurling herself from you and standing.

"I'm not."

"You are because your daughter loves Sunghwa's music—"

"—only because of your bad influence—"

"—and you'd make her day if you took her. You do want to be known as the coolest mom ever, don't you?"

"I—"

"You do. Come on!" Your mom turns to the corridor. "Momo, love!"

At the sound of Momo's feet, you know that this is game over for you. Your mom makes her announcement—self-satisfied smirk on her lips—and Momo's face lights up brighter than Christmas morning. She shifts from foot to foot, small hands curled up in fists from excitement. Momo wraps her arms tightly around your neck, and you reluctantly squeeze her back, thinking how completely fucked you are.

It takes a lot longer to get to The Freebird than is strictly necessary, and for once it's not because you have a toddler in tow. You’re the one making things more difficult than they have to be, pausing every few minutes on the sidewalk and slowing down considerably after Momo begins serenading you with "Drive" from—what you’re told is—Sunghwa' second digital album.

You both do arrive somehow, though it's almost a miracle that you do without having to turn around or stop for a trip to the restroom more than once. Judging from the sound of the music, the party is well underway. And as you glance at your watch, it's no wonder; it's 9:35. You pauses at the door, holding Momo’s hand firmly to keep her from rushing inside.

It's a mistake, and you know that. Nothing good is going to come from this get together; well, nothing but making your daughter ridiculously happy. And that's almost enough to make you press on. Almost. You think that perhaps you could just explain to Momo that you’re not feeling well and maybe she can try to catch Sunghwa another time.

Yes, lying to your child.

"Great parenting," you mutter under your breath.

"Mommy!" Momo growls, looking at you with a very stern expression that so is reminiscent of heer father.

"Alright, alright. Impatient, aren't you?"

Before you can think better of it, you twist the handle and ushers Momo inside. The Freebird is packed with people, and at a quick glance, you recognize most of them. The lighting is dim, but not as low as it would normally be if the bar were open. And the music is lower, too.

No sooner than you help Momo down the two steps to the main floor, you catch sight of vibrant red hair. And then there's Hoody, kneeling to pull Momo into a tight hug. You can't help but smile at the joy on Momo's face; part of you wishes Momo got to see Hoody and Hyuk-woo more often. But it's too difficult—too painful—to visit them more than a few times a year.

They live in a different world from you now.

"How are you, pumpkin?" Hoody asks Momo.

"Very good!" She nods vigorously. "I going to see Gray."

"Are you? That'll be fun."

Hoody looks up at you, question writ on her face—are you alright? And you just shrugs.

Hoody knew about your pregnancy. She urges you to talk to Sunghwa still – however, she came to term that it is up to you to make that decision.

You feel a little better when Hoody stands to embrace you, her arms wrap tightly around your shoulders. You shut your eyes, breathes in her scent. Three months since you’ve last seen her, and it feels like forever.

"I've missed you," Hoody says.

Just as you open your eyes, the same sentiments on your lips, you freezes—mind and heart. Because, between the part of friends and acquaintances is Sunghwa.

Your eyes meet his, and the whole world fades away.

#gray #GRAY scenario #gray scenarios #AOMG #team aomg #aomg scenarios #aomg scenario #aomg imagines #khh #Khiphop #khiphop scenarios #khh scenarios #khh scenario #khh angst #khiphop scenario #khiphop angst

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cwl190 · 3 years

Text

Week 6

Amy Tan's "Pixel by Pixel":

“You take the ideas you rely on for survival, and discard what weighs you down” (32).

“...when I had a feeling like sadness, I couldn’t find a word that meant everything that I felt inside of me. I always felt that words were inadequate, that I’d never been able to express myself- ever. Even now, it’s so hard to express what I think and feel, the totality of what I’ve seen. But this loneliness is the impetus for writing, because language is the best means we have to connect” (33).

Michael Chabon's "To Infinity and Beyond"

“I saw the rotted dust and bones that had once deliciously been Beatriz Viterbo; I saw the circulation of my own dark blood; I saw the coupling of love and the modification of death; I saw the Aleph from every point and angle, and in the Aleph I saw the earth and in the earth the Aleph and in the Aleph the earth; I saw my own face and my own bowels; I saw your face; and I felt dizzy and wept, for my eyes had seen that secret and conjectured object whose name is common to all men but which no man has looked upon- the unimaginable universe. I felt infinite wonder, infinite pity” (78).

Angela Flournoy's "A Place to Call My Own"

“Readers come to the book with all sorts of back-grounds, and they don’t need me to communicate how they should feel about a character. They don’t need me to suggest a character should be excused for his actions because of X, Y, and Z. They’ll make their own decisions” (182-183).

PIXEL BY PIXEL:

Some of the microscopic pixels that made Gonzeles’s, Parameswaran, Orringer’s and Wilson’s characters stand out to me was probably their thought process. You can get a good handle on what the character’s personality is based on how they react to a situation, such as the narrator wanting to view his wife under a microscope and the tiger being unaware of the carnage he’s unleashing until he kills the child and his zookeeper. Or Orringer’s main character being fixated on the tooth among all the other pressing problems which highlights that she is just a child. These little details are important because they are aspects of their flaws and also give us a wider picture of their personality traits.

TO INFINITY AND BEYOND:

I think Parameswaran narrating with a tiger is so useful because of the tiger’s own motivations versus the failed result of those motivations.

“What had I done? I had to find help for him if it was the last thing I did. I turned and ran out of the people door- I had never been outside of the people door before, but I didn’t even think twice about running outside of it” (13).

Here, we see that the tiger wants to find someone to take care of Kitch, but in the eyes of people, they see a threat that is trying to escape the cage after brutally murdering someone. You feel bad because the tiger has no ill intent and yet it will get misconstrued by everyone else around him due to the species (??) barrier. We can see the tiger’s impulsive decision when trying to help humans always blows up in his face but it doesn’t make us hate him. Maybe we feel pity and uneasiness but the fact that he is an animal makes us regard him with a more merciful moral lense.

EVERYTHING I MEANT TO SAY:

Most of the stories we’ve read and discussed did not make me feel good in any way. Maybe it’s the premise or the characters or the ending, but I feel like we start out at a low point already, and then it gets worse, and at best we are back at the same point at which we started. There’s not really a comfort to be found while reading these stories, but if I had to choose one text in this class that made me feel more comfortable with reading than the others, it has to be “grand stand-in”. I can’t tell if it’s the science fiction set-up, the dialogue, the first person point of view or the character herself, but it just felt like a writing style I was more familiar with than any of the other texts I had read so far. The exchange the main character has with the arranger just read very satisfyingly to me:

“You hate them, don’t you?” he says.

“Yes.”

“You’re going to make them love you, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes I am.” (10)

It’s effective and it works well in establishing her. She doesn’t even say much, but the simplicity in their exchange is so effectively telling of what the main character is like. Just from that we can tell the narrator does a morally ambiguous job, but she has her own set of morals that she strongly commits to that is strongly contradictive to what her customers expect of her. And even so, the narrator takes a lot of pride in her work. Despite her own personal feelings, performing exceptionally is at the forefront of her mind. I didn’t really connect with that feeling of spite, but it’s something I feel like I’ve seen before, but done in a way that shows exactly the type of person the main character is and handles her job.

A PLACE TO CALL MY OWN:

I think you need to treat your characters like people. I found that it’s a lot easier to get a feel of your characters through character sheets where you have to write about how they respond to given situations, or even their favorite foods. It might not seem as though it’ll be effective to your plot, but to me any inch of familiarity can get me a better understanding of who my characters are. The way they react to situations is more telling of their personality rather than describing them to the audience. However, at the same time, I find the more I explore aspects about my character, I end up being able to rationalize everything about them and that just makes them more uncertain to me. I feel like that kind of over analyzation can be applicable to real life. You don’t need to know everything about another person, and if you feel the need to you’ll just end up growing obssessed with the idea of them and not the person themselves. There’s a balance you need to strike so you don’t end up retconning them the further along you get with your story.

CONNECT THE DOTS—HORROCKS:

Caitlin Horrock’s “It Looks Like This” contains usage of a lot of the advice that Perry gave us. Percy states in “Get a Job” that:

“It is a job that frames and sets into motion every element of your story or essay or poem- and it is your job to do the required research that will bring the language and tasks and schedule and perspective of your characters’ work to life. Google can do only so much for you. The library can only do so much for you. You need to write from the trenches” (145).

Horrock does this especially well in her own writing:

“...this quilt, with the crooked angles and the lazy handstitching, was machine-pieced out of salvaged, distressed, printed cottons, on a 1886 Singer treadle, filled with flat, all-cotton batting, and quilted with a size 7/9 needle using unwaxed thread. The pattern (Log Cabin: Barn Raising) was popular in northern Ohio from 1865-1895, and if I told you that’s when this quilt was made, you’d have to know a fair bit about quilts to be able to prove me wrong” (22).

I have no idea what’s going on here. I don’t even know what a treadle is. My knowledge of sewing extends as far as a home economics class I took in elementary school, but from what I read from this text, even when the narrator points out her work’s shortcomings, I can tell that she definitely knows what she’s talking about. I really like that she sounds so self-assured here because although she didn’t finish school, you can tell she’s very knowledgeable about quilting. These specifics are exactly what Percy expects to make the character’s occupancy believable. The audience doesn’t really have to know what the meaning behind the phrases the narrator was using, and Horrock is well aware of it in the last sentence of the quote. You’d have to be an experienced seamstress or have a wealth of knowledge about quilting to be able to overturn the information she’s feeding us, because any average person would not be able to discern whether or not it’s real or not. The general, ignorant public would usually just accept it as fact.

CONNECT THE DOTS—WANG: Write a response that connects the dots between any of the craft essays we have read and Weike Wang’s story “Omakase.”

Amy Tan states, “I’ve found that the way to capture the truth of a character- and beyond that, to reflect the truth of how I feel- is to write microscopically. To focus on all the tiny details that, to-gether, make sense of a character. Each person’s perspective is absolutely unique; my job is to unearth all the specific events and associations that form an individual consciousness. It’s not enough to show how someone behaves in a single moment- I want to provide the whole history and context that informs each action” (33).

I think Tan’s viewpoint really shines through “Omakase” because the way in which the woman responds to the chef when he brings up that his manager was Chinese may seem defensive, but to her it appeared as a jab at her ethnicity. She seems very passive, but throughout the story we see her pick apart and analyze every action and every interaction between the people around her. Through her long, winding monologues we can see her own inner conflict about her suspicions her boyfriend had yellow fever, questioning why her friends thought that she got lucky for finding someone white, all her ambivalence. It’s established that she’s an overthinker, so in the moment it makes perfect sense for her to speak up to the chef.

#week 6 #weeks 5 through 7

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droewyn · 6 years

Text

Closure

The day before I left California, the day before my Grandma Sunny finally died, my mother asked me if I wanted to have some time alone with her. To “get anything you need to off your chest”, she said.

I looked at the dying woman in the bed. She was beyond frail, and thankfully out of it; whether it was the ruptured blood clot in her brain or hunger and thirst that was killing her, I was glad that she didn’t have to be awake for it. That was a mercy she’d been denied too often during the horrible week since her stroke, her doctor refusing to give her enough morphine to keep her sedated. “There’s a difference between providing comfort care and killing someone,” he told us with an air of paternal disapproval at our supposed ignorance. Apparently, starving a 95-year-old to death is more ethical than risking overdose and diaphragm failure. Letting nature take its course is certainly more romantic sounding, at any rate.

You start to seriously contemplate murder around day three or day four of the deathwatch. A spare pillow, the plastic bag you brought your grocery store deli counter lunches in, the combined pharmaceutical inventory of two generations of women who are being treated for various chronic conditions. Instruments of death that hold an awful sort of hope, a way out for both the dying and the living.

Don’t ever try to plot a felony with my mother and aunt, by the way. They can’t keep their mouths shut in front of the nurses. It’s embarrassing, particularly when they’re the ones who watch all of the crime dramas on network TV.

So we did nothing, the deathwatch continued, and suddenly it was Saturday night, I was being driven to the airport in the morning, and I was really, definitely, never going to see my grandma alive again.

Mom wants to know if I had anything to get off my chest? Hell, where do I start?

My grandma’s name was taken from her twice. The first when it was anglicized by the orphanage that took her in after her mother died, and she was suddenly Sophie instead of Zosia. Later, there was a boy who told her that ‘Sunny’ suited her better than ‘old-lady Sophie’, and refused to call her anything else until it stuck.

The nuns at the orphanage beat her, starved her, and locked her in dark closets and attics for days on end in the name of a merciful god. They crammed her feet into too-small shoes until they were permanently deformed. They taught her that love was a finite thing, a commodity to be earned. Paranoia, manipulation, and an all-consuming need for validation, for demonstrations of devotion, for any kind of attention at all; these are the things that she learned at the foot of the cross.

If I ever get access to a time machine, the first thing I’m planning is a 75-year trip to punch some penguins. Just so you know.

My grandma ran a little wild as a young woman. She was a divorcee in the 1940’s. She made it through not one, but two illegal, back alley, coathanger abortions, and survived with enough of her uterus intact to later give birth to my aunt and my mom. She met a handsome bootlegger, a member of Detroit’s Purple Gang, who became her second husband. He was twenty-two years older than her, made and lost four fortunes before dying on his eighty-first birthday, and enjoyed the company of little girls.

To me, my grandma was the woman who called me by a Polish diminutive of my name that I hated because it sounded like a feminine hygiene product. She’s the woman who taught me never to rinse sauerkraut, what a bay leaf was, and how to make golabki. She took me to parks, to beaches, to the movies, to the zoo. She loved sweets and her ‘little drinkie-poos’. She sang to me that I was her sunshine, that she loved me a bushel and a peck. She bought me rather adult romance novels when I was still in elementary school because she thought they were somehow more appropriate for a little girl than “aliens and monsters”. When I turned eighteen, she gave me ‘the talk’ with a grave face, clutching my hands in her own shaking ones as she insisted that if I ever had sex I must always be sure to use a condominium. She never failed to ask after my kitties, even if she could never remember their names. Even if she was terrified of them.

Her favorite game was ‘I love you more’. She told lies to pick fights between me and my brother, so that she could heroically resolve them. When she started spending winters in California for her health, she would tell us that she wouldn’t see us again because she was going to die. She was so happy when we cried over her. Everything was a test. Everything. Failure – a wrong opinion, an innocent remark that she misconstrued into something insulting, even failing to sound sufficiently giddy when talking to her on the phone – was punished with anything from guilt trips to smaller or less expensive holiday gifts. Whenever she was fighting with a member of the family (which was basically always), she would tell us how horrible that person was, how cruel. Even if it was my mom, my dad, my brother. Everything was an argument, and all arguments required taking sides. If there wasn’t something to be angry about, she’d sprinkle passive-aggressive comments around the family until a crisis had been manufactured. Everything she said was calculated to provoke a specific reaction in me, specific behavior. I was the best grandchild. I needed to be more like my brother. I was looking so pretty that day. I was looking very unfeminine, did I want to look like a little boy? I must have lost weight! I needed to lay off the food – no gravy for her, waiter, she doesn’t need it.

I loved her. I hated her. She taught me the names of flowers and how to feel satisfaction when a cruel word strikes its mark. I have her love of music. I have her instinct for manipulation. I am one of the living legacies of a sad, angry, seriously fucked-up woman, and I am not untouched by it.

“No,” I told my mom, finally. “Either she can hear me or she can’t… in the first case it doesn’t matter, and in the second it’d only be cruel to a dying woman.”

“But you could tell her that you forgive her.”

“Like that would make a difference. She’d never admit that she needed forgiveness in the first place.”

Which… is true. But really? I never needed her to understand that she hurt me. What I needed – still need, if the nightmares I’ve been having in the month since she died mean anything at all – is for her to see me. The real me, not the good-girl mask I learned to wear in her presence before I was in my first training bra. It’s not even about acceptance, just acknowledgement. I wanted her to know who I am.

So, Grandma? Whether you’re a ghost, or in heaven, or busy getting ready to be born somewhere, or there’s nothing left of you but a box of cremains that will soon be interred in one of the worse parts of Detroit:

I am your granddaughter. I’m forty years old, and I don’t play coy or lie about it. I’m fat, I don’t wear makeup, I have a dyed-turquoise streak in my hair, and a skunk tattoo on my shoulder. I am a pagan-flavored atheist, partly out of rationality, but mostly because I feel in my bones that causing a child to come into existence solely so that it can die ‘for mankind’s redemption’ is an act of purest evil. I’m queer. These days I identify as a biromantic demisexual, which means that while I could be romantically interested in anyone, it takes a deep emotional connection before I feel at all attracted to them. That ‘roommate’ we had for all those years? Yeah, she was my girlfriend. I still read those science-fiction and fantasy books that you hated so much, but I have a secret weakness for historical romances. I make a living in computers, and I still play video games. I don’t care about my appearance, except when I do, and I am a total magpie for sparkling jewelry. I’m afraid. Afraid of people, of the world, of the future, of the inside of my own brain. I want to kill myself sometimes. I take medication for my mental illnesses, and I don’t play coy or lie about that, either. And I try, hard, every day, to be kind. To look for goodness in other people instead of weakness. To not be thoughtlessly cruel. To be straightforward. To be less broken than my mom, who is less broken than you were. I fail sometimes. I keep trying.

Hi. It’s nice to finally meet you.

#original content #personal stuff #grandma sunny

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thefreelanceangel · 6 years

Text

In Defense of "Said"

said /sed/

1. past and past participle of say.

One of the most misconstrued pieces of writing advice I've ever seen is "don't use said!" There seems to be an absolute terror of using "said" more than once in a piece of writing, whether it's an RP log, a short story or a novel.

And you will find dozens of lists providing a ton of verbs all touted as the solution to the "said" problem. "Use these instead of said!" How many lists have you seen based off of this principle? Probably at least one.

These lists occasionally break themselves down by the insinuation or meaning of the verbs you're being told to replace "said" with--that is helpful. However, telling budding writers to avoid using "said" on pain of death?

Not helpful.

So why is this single participle being labeled the mark of an unimaginative, boring writer?

Because people, I think, don't realize the value of "said" and very often, writers do NOT think like readers. They're focused on perfecting their craft, which means pouncing on any possible flaw and rending themselves asunder for committing such sins as using "big" instead of "gigantic" "enormous" or "massive."

{Which is something else we need to address...}

So What Are Readers Thinking About Said?

Here's a little tip from someone who is 60% Reader/40% Writer --Your readers do not notice the majority of the minute flaws you're beating yourself up for. And using "said" three times in a page of dialogue is not a hanging offense. [Incidentally, for some amazing dialogue advice, check this post. It's A+ and demonstrates, at the beginning, where most people get their terror of the word "said."]

If you have a page of character interaction and "said" is scattered throughout, I can guarantee you that the Constant Reader is not going to give a flying fuck. If your characters are interacting, if the pacing is dynamic, if the story is INTERESTING, you can use said fearlessly. The basic building blocks of grammar aren’t actually that noticeable. We’re so used to them forming the construction of a sentence that when you’re reading, you skim right through them.

Other than a misspelling or incorrect grammar, when was the last time you noticed every “to” or “and” on a page...? Hmmmm???

Slowing down your writing just to sit and pick through a list of words that the internet is telling you to use in place of said is going to throw your entire flow off. The Constant Reader is not going to judge your book/story/RP based off of how often you use a participle that EXISTS FOR A REASON.

What reason is that? Well, let's see.

Why "Said" Then?

Here's the thing that honestly enrages me about all of those "replacement verb" lists. Every single one of the verbs on those lists carries its own specific definition and connotation. Every single verb creates an individual mood and should only be used when that is the emotion you want to convey.

Should you use emotional verbs in your dialogue? Absolutely. They help you create a scene, show tension and help us understand that a character is being affected by the events of the story.

HOWEVER!

You need to establish a baseline first.

We love examples, don’t we? Here we come with an example of what can happen if you take that “don’t use said” as gospel.

“I don’t care what you think,” she snapped, tossing her head. “Nothing about this is how it should be!”

“Really, is that where you’re going with this,” he growled, propping his chin on his hand.

“Yes,” she stated, hands on her hips. “That is exactly where I’m going with this.”

“Well, you go wherever you want with this,” he barked. Shoving his chair back, he jumped to his feet. “I’ve had enough of this!”

This is clearly an emotional scene. There is something going on between these two people that is causing a lot of tension and they’re expressing it with every word they say.

Now imagine an entire book of nothing but this. It’d be exhausting. And you’d genuinely wonder who these people are that can maintain such a heightened emotional state for so long. Are these characters you can identify with? I certainly can’t. I am an excitable little creature, but even I have long periods where there’s no emotion gripping me by the throat.

And even though story thrives on conflict and you want to see characters experience events that change their lives, you also can’t make it through a book and want to read it again if you feel like you’ve been dragged facefirst through a patch of goatheads.

Let’s look at this scene again, albeit with the usage of our oft-maligned “said.”

“I don’t care what you think,” she said, tossing her head. “Nothing about this is how it should be.”

“Really, is that where you’re going with this,” he said, propping his chin on his hand.

“Yes,” she snapped, hands on her hips. “That is exactly where I’m going with this!”

“Well, you go wherever you want with this,” he barked. Shoving his chair back, he jumped to his feet. “I’ve had enough of this!”

Here, there’s a clear build-up of tension. By using “said” at the beginning and using some physical expression to show what state of mind both parties are in, you’re able to step back from active emotion to create a mental image.

Now you can see the red-checked tablecloth on the linoleum table, the clean kitchen and her white apron. (Don’t ask me why I’m suddenly going for 1950s sitcom, just work with me here.) There’s no explosive emotion happening yet; you’ve stepped into the scene and you have a moment to look around and get your bearings.

And then the emotion peaks. She snapped, he barked. This is a direct variance with the placid, non-disruptive “said” that pulls your attention along immediately. Now that you have a baseline for the scene, the sudden change in pacing provided by using those powerful verbs is striking. It catches your eye and keeps you invested in following where this scene goes.

And that is the beauty of “said.” It’s a baseline, it’s where a character lives their daily life. You want to see a character change, you want to see them in a dynamic state, but if all you ever see is that character “growling,” “hissing,” “whispering,” or “murmuring” are you really seeing that character change? Or just explosively react to the world around them and the plot they’re in?

Think of “said” like the character’s calm expression. Your face isn’t always contorted into emotive looks; you don’t always speak in snaps, statements or groans. Your character is the same.

If the Constant Reader never has a chance to see what your character is like on their baseline days, they won’t be impressed or surprised when something dramatically changes your character.

And you want the Constant Reader to be startled when your character shrieks, leaning in when your character whispers, pouting with sympathy when your character sobs.

Using “said” to develop that baseline also gives your Constant Reader a chance to develop that emotional bond that makes reading so extremely entertaining. And then when things abruptly change and your character has to snarl his response to a question, your Constant Reader’s upper lip with curl right along with them.

But I’ve Seen Good Writers Not Use It!

No, what you’ve seen is good writers avoid the first example in the post by T.L. Bodine that I linked.

“I want to go out,” he said.

“It’s too cold outside,” she said.

“But I’ve got a coat,” he said.

^ THAT is “said” used very, very poorly. And yes, I’ve seen it in published books, RP scenes, etc. And yes, it is very, very jarring. You will notice “said” when it’s used in this flat, tedious manner.

But let’s be honest--you wouldn’t read much further, would you?

Now, what about this?

“Of course, I was only explaining to... to...” Capricia snapped her fingers repeatedly, glancing at the ceiling.

“Ashton,” he said.

“Yes, Ashton,” the blonde replied, smiling placidly. “I was simply explaining to Ashcan t-”

“Ashton.”

A smattering of discreet giggles swept through the parlor, ladies raising fans and lowering their heads to avoid the thoroughly annoyed glance he shot in their direction.

“My apologies,” Capricia said, reaching out to pat his forearm lightly. “I was explaining to Ashton that we certainly aren’t that sort of society here.”

“Really? You could’ve fooled me.” Harold looked between them, noted how tensely Ashton held his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I really should be going,” he said, backing away a step.

Because this entire thing is about “said,” I suspect you were on the lookout for it, weren’t you? And you counted to see how often it was used. {Three times.} But were you more interested in that single participle? Or in seeing if Ashton was going to turn around and smack Capricia’s punch cup right out of her hand?

Character interactions, snappy dialogue and interesting story will pull you right through a scene that has “said” scattered right through it. Why? Because it’s a utilitarian participle that we’ve kept in the English language for a reason; there’s no more reason to reject it than there is to throw out all usage of commas.

Sure, you could get fancy with semicolons, en-dashes and em-dashes. But you could also simply use a comma when the sentence calls for it.

TL;DR

“Said” on a page is not really going to be noticed by your reader if you’re creating an engaging story

Don’t exhaust your readers with constant high emotion; let them get into the scene first

“Said” is a baseline that lets us recognize when something has genuinely affected your character’s emotional state

Write your dialogue well, but don’t sacrifice the utility of “said” in favor of fancy trappings that drag your story down

#On RP #RP Advice #On Writing #Writing Advice #Angel #OOC #I will defend said to the death

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dent-de-leon · 7 years

Note

The "its killing me when you are away" line is so romantic imo. Idk how can someone explain it otherwise tbh. Like, you don't rly say it to/about your bro smh. It kind of changes my whole thinking about their dynamic :o

Anon I know exactly what you mean,, I’m like, hesitant to kind of include it in meta because it’s hard to read and even if that is what it says we’re not really sure if it’s just an easter egg expressing the views of one animator in particular but,, I really do think that’s what it says? Shipping preferences aside, I can pretty clearly see killing and away. And even before I read other people’s interpretations, when I saw Sunny’s post it really did look to me like It’s killing me when you’re away.

So, if that is what it says and it was intentional then,, that really speaks volumes about Keith’s year in the desert. I never understood people likening Keith’s self-exile to summer camp–saying “He loves the outdoors!! Of course he liked it” and “He must have felt so free after leaving the garrison!!” Keith as a character is often misconstrued, I think. People hear he likes the quiet and outdoors, and think it’s the same as having no human contact with the rest of the world for a year. Keith is kicked out for a disciplinary issue, and suddenly he’s a delinquent stifled by school restrictions and ready to rebel–as if he wasn’t the most successful cadet at the academy, as if he didn’t flourish and thrive, welcoming the sense of routine and regulation that finally brought some direction to his aimless life. As if he didn’t say, “After getting booted from the garrison, I felt…lost.”

I think the assumption that Keith’s time in the desert was somehow calming or freeing is woefully wrong. We know that Keith hates being alone, that he has deeply rooted abandonment issues that likely stem back to his father. In that sort of context, I think his year in the desert was not something he’d ever want to relive. It was a definite low point in his life, marked by total isolation and completely internalized, bottled up pain.

Yes, he sought a new purpose in the Blue lion and was very driven, very successful. Yes, he was undoubtably a strong willed and tenacious person, clever enough to puzzle out the pieces of a mystery left untouched for millennia. He doesn’t need Shiro to function, and he can certainly work miracles without him. But none of this negates the fact that Keith was also incredibly lonely. That, after losing both Shiro and the garrison, there was not a single person left Keith could turn to.

The thing is, I don’t think Keith would really fall apart over anyone else this way. When they lose Allura, he doesn’t want to leave her, but suggests the idea out of concern for the greater good–something that Allura herself would have wanted as well. For the most part, I think Keith is someone who will save as many people as he can, even at the expense of those close to him. But with Shiro, he just can’t turn his back on him, can’t bear the thought of losing him again. If Shiro’s in trouble, Keith will run to his aid without a second thought. If Shiro threatens to leave, Keith will give him the world to make him stay. In fact, in BOM he does do this, chasing after Shiro even if it costs him everything else he’s ever had.

The words “It’s killing me when you’re away,” don’t feel brotherly to me at all. They’re more reminiscent of heartbreak, following in the same vein of other lines like, “Your friend desperately wants to see you,” and “If it wasn’t for you, my life would be a lot different.” The sense of desperation, of longing and loss; honestly, I’m more inclined to believe these are signs of unrequited love. And after Keith loses Shiro, not only is he outraged–his anger is almost possessive. “We don’t have Shiro anymore–nobody seems to care about that.” This line is powerful because we know it isn’t true. The other paladins are mourning, albeit in their own way. But this notion that You all gave up on Shiro, none of you care about him like I do, seems to be something that Keith has internalized.

We know that all of Team Voltron have expressed they see each other as found family, but Keith directing his anger at everyone else over Shiro does not strike me as familial. It’s like he sees his relationship with Shiro as being on a completely different level from the rest of the team, cares about him in a way that no one else does. If we look at his behavior now and link it back to Kerberos, I think we’d find a lot of similarities. After all, wasn’t he told that Shiro died, wasn’t it likely he was told time and again to just give up and admit Shiro wasn’t coming home? “Shiro is the only one who didn’t give up on me–I won’t give up on him,” sounds like a line of thought he very well could’ve had before. And I’m sure that was a very lonely, painful journey.

“It’s killing me when you’re away,” definitely connotes depression. And at that point in his life, I really do believe Keith wasn’t in a good place. Yes, he was able to pick himself up and find a new purpose. But being strong-willed doesn’t make things any less painful, particularly for a person who’s worst fear is feelings. So maybe it did feel like the oppressive loneliness was killing him at times, maybe he was so overwhelmed by having all this raw emotion and no outlet that he’d just scribble down his thoughts to get them out of his head.

So anon, my feelings on the matter are basically this–we might never know if the note is intentional or not. But, just the mere fact that it’s completely plausible, and fully within the realm of possibility that Keith would do so–I think that alone says a lot.

#shiro #sheith #keith #voltron #meta #long post #anonymous #ok but in all honesty like #i am really attached to the idea that this note is an intentional thing though #even if it Hurts me

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hajiike-archive · 7 years

Text

Title: I need you and it terrifies me.

Words: 1,600

Summary: CangHina-centric, minor platonic KarinHina, mentioned badship AiHina, mentioned platonic MikiHina. Post TYBW arc, canon divergent. A gift for @jiiaian. WARNINGS-- implied sexual assault/relationship violence, slurs, minor violence, panic attacks. She is as empty as his gestures, yet it anchors her to him.

She insisted she came a long way over the six years since Aizen was defeated. The Wandenreich threw a wrench in her progress for a time, but her friends were okay and she had time to grieve over the last five years.

She was put together. She was okay.

She was okay, she insisted, though he kneeled and stared at her with twinkly eyes and lips parted so slightly like she was something of wonder and awe.

“I brought you these,” he said. Daisies. Girlish, juvenile, sweet. She used to adore daisies. That was a long time ago, when she wore her hair in pigtails and had the energy to stop and admire flowers. Her bones were tired those days. Forty years of a dead run only to fall into that monster’s hellscape took a lot out of her.

Daisies. Harmless, like Cang those days. He slouched, his arms were as thin as they were strong, Karin said. He hurt a lot of people but he knew he hadn’t fight left. Five years of prison must have declawed him. Cang was refreshing like that, impotent, fresh. He treat her normally while she was either fragile or trash to anyone else.

“Thank you,” she said. She took his daisies and pet the fragile petals affectionately, like she sometimes wanted to pet Cang’s cheeks. “Does she let you pick these? I don’t want you to get in trouble….”

“Fuyuno-taichou says it’s fine.”

“Alright.” It was fine for the time being.

Tulips. They’re more innocent than roses but a step away from daisies, no way around it. He wooed her and it her heart stammered in a way that made her sort of queasy.

“More flowers?” she said, her voice thankfully even. Even those days her control was feeble. Anything scrap she had over someone else was a scrap more to her. No man would have anything on her she wouldn’t let them, especially not her unchecked adoration.

Never again, she promised. Cang gave her a run for her money however.

“Yes,” said Cang, “do you like them?” He looked at her with that look again. They’re yellow like your smile. I love your smile, my heart palpitates whenever you look happy Momo-san.

His flowers couldn’t disguise the stink of gobantai. Even her outward beauty was questionable. She was grey and had crows feet and stank of tobacco and she was dirty to her core. Daisies and tulips couldn’t change that she was still dirty.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Her voice left her like her bravery, like the measly six years she tried to pull her shit together.

Cang’s fists rest upon her knees. He must prostrate himself before her, not like Karin prostrated to like the photo of Masaki kept in a corner of her barracks. Like an idol. Like an object of worship. Like an object.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said as her belly somersaulted. She doubt he could see it. Cang knew nothing about her and it wasn’t as pleasant as it used to be. “Can I bring you flowers everyday.”

She smiled though she trembled. Cang smiled too.

He brought her roses next and he may as well have kicked her.

Her mouth was dry and her gut lurched into her chest. Couldn’t he hear it slosh? Couldn’t he see how her hand shook?

The rose was red was like Tobiume’s hilt, like her favorite chemise, like her blood on Aizen’s hand.

“I-I didn’t eat today,” she told Cang. Ever a pleaser, she was full of excuses.

“Shall I fetch you something? Karin tells me you keep the break room stocked.”

“N-no…” no. No. No, she wouldn’t be able to swallow, she felt so sick. She’d just cough it up, she’d choke on it. Cang would slap her back until she gulped air with tears down her cheeks and act like a fucking hero even though he was the one who did it to her. He was enamored like she was some priceless relic on a pedestal.

He was a man. They were good at being ignorant.

“Alright then,” he said. She wanted him to leave but her mouth couldn’t move. “Do you like roses, Momo-san?”

“I don’t care much for flowers…” she confessed.

“Oh.” Cang’s lips fell. He was hard to read sometimes, always stone-faced. When he did express something it felt like another knife in her ribs.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m very busy, Cang, can you leave me now?”

His head bowed apologetically. “Of course,” he said. “I apologize for badgering you, Momo-san.” Cang stood, finally, and he left.

She dropped the rose in the trash. It made her taste copper like her last heartbreak.

“I don’t have flowers today.” Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. Cang was soaked, his hair and his cloak caked to his frame.

“Lord, you look like a wet dog. Did you walk here, you fool?” she said. “Come inside, Cang. Take off your shoes and your cloak, I don’t want you tracking water everywhere. I’ll be back with some towels.”

“Thank you….”

She did. Karin’s eyes followed her as she returned with a pile of terry cloth in her arms. Cang held a book close to his chest as she scrubbed his hair. The sickness returned and yet her arms refused to stop drying him off.

“You should’ve stayed home,” she scolded him.

“I-I’m sorry. Karin says you’re off on Saturdays and… easily subject to boredom.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m knitting my brother a sweater so I’m occupied.”

“Am I intruding?”

Yes. “No,” she replied. She hated herself. “Come. I’ll put on something warm for you.”

Karin leapt onto the bean bag from the couch before Cang reached it. Funny little creature. Smoked like she did and still had the energy to hop around like a frog. She almost envied Karin.

“Fuyuno-taichou loaned me this poetry book she has,” Cang told her. “She tells me you like poetry. I am not a poet so much of it… um… I’m afraid I can’t understand much of it, but there are a few passages that remind me of you. I would like to read those to you.”

“Oh god, I’m gonna go before this gets corny. I’m gonna use your room, Momo,” Karin said.

Like that, her heart seized and she was left to listen to his driveling love bullshit.

She grasped the counter as she listened. Her ears rang like she caught Cang’s right hook instead of some sugary poetry he sat down and jerked off to. Streams trickled off her chin and sizzled on the stovetop, the kettle rattled like her knees but she could only seem to hear the high-pitched ring. Breathless, like he stabbed her again and again.

“Momo-san!” Cang reached around her and flipped off the stove. The kettle quieted, though it shook with the rolling boil, and Cang turned her around.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked. Her palm clapped across Cang’s cheek and he stumbled back. “Don’t pretend fucking love me, you’re full of shit!” Karin emerged from her room with some sort of curse. Cang was escorted out by his shoulder and she braced herself on the countertop, gasping like she narrowly avoided drowning. Her heart roared in her chest. She swore it would collapse any second---

Karin wrapped around her from behind. They sunk to their knees, her forehead on the cabinets, and she wept. She was supposed to be a fucking adult, she was supposed to be there for Karin, not vise versa.

“I’ll answer the door if he comes back,” Karin said.

She nodded. Her mouth was agape, she tasted salt, and she whined. “Please,” she begged. “I can’t breathe when he’s in the room.”

He came back. Karin, true to word, went for the door while she escaped to her room.

“She’s not here,” Karin said. The youth’s voice carried unlike Cang’s. “Oh, you dumb shit, do I look like her babysitter? She’s a grown-ass woman. If she wants to go out, she doesn’t need your fucking permission.”

Karin was cruel in a lot of ways. It was much of a relief as it broke her heart.

“Yeeep. See you in the morning, Caaang,” Karin sang.

She had no idea how she ended up out of her room, but she shoved her charge aside and tumbled into the engawa.

“Cang!”

He spun and he met her back at her door.

“I’m sorry.” She’d cry again if he got in a word. “About that and the other day. I… I shouldn’t have panicked like I had and I apologize for that and for striking you.”

Cang, stunned, merely stared at her. There was a blush-pink dahlia wrapped in paper machete in his hand. “Momo-san…. You have nothing to apologize for. I understand my actions were easily misconstrued as… as coming on to you. I came here to apologize for scaring you and to promise I will behave more conscientiously in the future.”

How eloquent, fanciful. How blatantly scripted.

It was more than she had in the past. She cried afresh.

Cang held the dahlia to her. “I’m sorry I made you cry again. I know you do not like flowers, unfortunately they are all I have. I am clumsy and I don’t have the words to express how I appreciate your forgivingness.”

She smiled again and brought the dahlia to her nose to smell it. It was as sugary as the poetry. It was like another knife. But she was needy. However it hurt and nauseated her, she knew she-- a whore-- wouldn’t get anything elsewhere.

#mun's shit;#canghina; I heard love is a risk worth taking #karinhina; heads held above the tide #bleach #momo hinamori #cang du #karin kurosaki #canghina #jiiaian #((here it iiiis))

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hoodie-at-the-bar · 5 years

Text

our first fight

This is a long one, so buckle up.

It’s not uncommon to not be on the same page with banter or wit, and humor often gets misconstrued over text. If it happens once, that's probably the case: a simple misunderstanding. If it happens often, and there is heightened defenses and agitation, it could be telling of something far more serious than a misunderstanding. Let’s talk about Ryan.

Wait! But first - let’s get the definition of (2) terms out of the way. I see so many guys’ profiles self proclaim themselves as “witty” - you cannot self proclaim yourself! If you are funny, you do not need to draw attention. Did Robin Williams ever describe himself as funny? Did Brooke Shields ever describe herself as beautiful? Am I aging myself with the era of celebrities I chose to use as examples? Okay maybe they have, but the point is if it’s obvious, and if you are secure, there is no reason to call it out. But ‘wit’ isn’t the word I’m pointing out, it’s banter.

Banter: noun; the playful and friendly exchange of teasing remarks

Easy enough right? You’re with me? Playful and friendly, and there is an exchange, often teasing.

Screw it, let’s do “wit” too:

Wit: noun; a natural aptitude for using words and ideas in a quick and inventive way to create humor

What helps with this quickness, is always assuming the person’s response is something you can play with, think of it like a hand-off in sportsball, or passing the spirit stick. If your teammate hands you the ball, and you pause and say, “what’s this?’ or “this isn’t a ball” - you may have ruined the play.

In improv, this phenomena is called “Yes, and…” - basically accept what the other person is saying, and play off it. I do this 99% of the time, and it gets me in trouble. It allows for that back and forth banter, and an exchange of wits as well, but the average person may get confused; arrogance is a known side effect. Irrelevant Note: I’ve never taken an improv class.

Now that we got those key terms out of the way, let’s talk about Ryan.

I matched with Ryan on Hinge. He was cute, and I thought our first message exchanged had the potential of the vocabulary above.

Fun right? Aren’t we cute? He asked me about my meme game, which was a yellow/orange flag. As I mentioned, this style of humor shouldn’t be called out but flow organically. Anyhow, we moved off the app to texting - the sight of that green bubble should have been a sign. He sent me a meme, and I decided to give it a rating in a “playful and friendly teasing” manner - see what I did there?

I know, he “lol’d” at himself... twice. But there it was, that first line of defense - the assumption I was accusing him of an irrelevant meme, questioning his humor, or criticizing his word play. Granted, I didn’t find it funny, but that was also irrelevant. This is where the journey of explaining every text begins...

I could already see the sensitivity rising, which isn’t really my jam. However, maybe Ryan was nervous, so I should be cautious of wilting this delicate flower.

I wasn’t quite sure what he was rating, maybe my response? I merely inserted the McGuffin to tease him about his punchline, but sure Ryan, you can play too.

Oh he’s still at it? Wow he really was striving for that 10/10 punchline - I was trying to remove myself completely from said motif of rating system since he seemed triggered by it with his “are you going to grade my humor??” - I tried to stop the insanity. Is this a scenario where it’s okay if he does it but I can’t? Or is this a scenario where the toddler sees his sister make the parents laugh so he mimics her behavior, even though the imitation game lost its charm?

There it is - the sensitivity. I wasn’t sure what he meant by “that”. Is he asking if I always break the cycle? Is he asking me if I always rate things? Is he asking me if I use the “shrug” emoji for everything? I was confused - I stopped rating him because I didn’t want to experience hearing someone cry over text for the first time, and I only threw in the other two to make it a solid list. He seemed to just go rogue and create a list of his own - he didn’t practice responses “in line”.

My confusion grew: he kept rating! I stopped! My head began to hurt. “Breaking the cycle refers to rating things” - was that a question, or was he trying to explain my own analogy to me?

Let’s explain everything now, because I think Ryan needs some help.

Painful? Yes, yes it is.

Ryan noticed I called out the obvious - we just may be too different. We may just not get each other. It’s not the humor necessarily, but he had a sensitivity that made me feel there was some anger in there, an anxiety or frustration I had no interest in discovering. I wanted badly to give him the benefit of the doubt. He began a more aggressive back-pedal approach.

You know when a guy says, “Sorry baby, I only cheated on you because I was so afraid of how much I love you.” Da fuq? One of those responses that does not explain the actions, but obviously tries to reason with flattery, or false compassion. Playing it safe? Ryan was questioning my every response: do you always do that? Are you going to grade my humor? Yet, he said he was trying to prevent him coming off as a jerk. So tell me this: how is sensitivity to my remarks is a way of avoiding coming off as a jerk via sarcasm? He would banter back with sarcasm until he gets insecure, then has to check:

“Haha.. Um.. we are still joking right? We are? Oh whew! I mean, cool, duh, I knew that ha. Lol. ha. I’m not a jerk I swear. Wait, are you joking again?”

And I’m sorry but...

We continued to chat some more, for some reason. When we were more serious, it seemed to ease the tension. I decided to let myself open up and pause on the joking - well, as much as I could. He asked me what kind of a relationship I wanted, so I decided to give a long answer so he had data points to play with, and continue the back and forth conversation.

and then he went back to the dark world of sarcasm I tried to avoid for safety. We were talking about what to do for our first date.

Sigh - why did he feel the need to clarify he was kidding? TWICE? Would I have casually said “nah” if I took him seriously? I didn’t want to offend him, or make him feel he wasn’t funny, so I implemented that “yes, and” - going with it, going with his line of thought. But every time, every time, he slammed on the breaks and my gut flew into my mouth. It tasted horrible, and was very unattractive.

Now I was just curious - did he date girls who didn’t understand sarcasm so he constantly had to explain he was joking, coming off as an ass? What’s going on here...

This may have been the most painful text yet. He was grasping - he wanted so hard to get back on the funny train, in my good graces, that he kept pushing his Ghostbuster joke forward even though my priority was easing his insecurities of being ghosted. I promised I would not ghost him, and to make the subject light - added in only if he said “Just kidding.” We may have a listening malfunction as well - this clearly wasn’t working. There was a valve that would close from time to time, only allowing one-way listening, or communication.

Why am I still messaging this guy? Perhaps that phantom improv class I never took has me continuing the story line against my will... and yes, I am very aware his jokes were confusing and only invited groans.

Meanwhile...Ryan asks me for a selfie.

The “yes, and” isn’t something he can go with, yet every time I call him out on it, he back pedals to him joking the entire time. You can’t fail at a punchline, then try to pick it back up. You know how you have a friend that says “oh man! I should have said this!” at a missed punchline opportunity? Not Ryan - he doesn't care. He’ll take a second or third strike. If he missed his cue, he’ll just say it later - relevance is not a requirement for Ryan.

Later in life…

I try to gloss over it all again, and go straight to meeting in person. I thought I was explicit: let’s grab a beer, and here are a few options of where we can go or what we can do.

Yes and… yes and… yes, and… I’m trying really hard to keep it going.

I saw it as a challenge... I tried to steer out of this dark hole into a normal conversation. What kind of haircut do you have?

He told me his hair style, and we could have had a normal, lovely conversation. But no, he couldn’t let this go. He tried to go back and insert that punchline.

Let it go Ryan, let it go. You already answered me literally, you can’t go back.

WHAT?!?!?! He was the one who brought up being roofied! I was trying to play along with whatever sick banter he wanted to go on!

You think this is a painful read? Try actually talking to the guy.... which we’ll get to in a moment.

It was a Sunday when he next texted me. I had just finished the Seattle Space Needle stair climb, and I was exhausted. I was laying on my couch when he texted me that morning. He knew I was exhausted... so exhausted, I could have fallen asleep.

That eager beaver. I was doing it guys - I’m going to call it off. I just can't deal with that level of anxious insecurities. But he kept pushing to talk on the phone -

I was not digging our text exchanges, but at this rate: let’s just finish the show.

Then he called. The upside was that it wasn’t awkward like a first date, but a call from a friend you’ve known, and apparently had passive aggressive fights with. He wanted to clear the air that our texting chemistry was fading faster than we could ever meet up in person, so I was listening.

Maybe texting was just as bad as they say, no real connection leads to misunderstandings. Nope - his texts matched him, it was him.

“It’s just that you're so great, and beautiful, and I really like you that I just wanted our first date to be perfect. I’m sorry I didn’t remember you suggested a place to go. It’s just that…” - literally felt like I kicked my boyfriend out of the house and he is graveling to come back in, saying sorry but when I asked “why are you sorry,” he’d have no response. He just wanted us to be okay - and again, we haven’t even gone on a date yet.

At one point, I was trying to defend myself and he said “Can you let me fucking finish?!” - I was shocked.

I had foreshadowed that he could have anger issues, and I was seeing it.

“Sorry, it’s just that I've never met anyone like you and…” and it continued

At one point he interrupted me, and I had to say, “Hey you swore at me when I interrupted, so it would be great if you can give me the same respect I gave you.”

Yes, this was a real life conversation.He told me that I wouldn’t let him in, and he felt I was constantly analyzing him.

“Ryan, you mean to tell me you thought I was watching your every word and step to see if you were someone I liked? Yes, I was. I was analyzing you -It’s called dating.”

He swore at me again for something else he was upset about, and basically we ended the call with isn’t it a shame that all this miscommunication didn’t allow me the chance to meet him. I guess he was really great or something, but I couldn’t see it. Probably my vision.

#first fight

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