#because sometimes he uses more slang/has a more laid back way of speaking

[hood-ex]

Does anyone else find it difficult to write Dick, Roy, and Wally in the same scene without giving them the same voice? Because fuuuck me. The three of them start to blend together in my brain and it's very hard for me to make them sound more distinct from one another.

[thegeminisage]

one of many reasons castiel spent the first year of knowing dean trying not to strangle him: dean's weird little winchester-only dialect

i’m fucking obsessed with this right now, so buckle in for a meta. a cool fun (horrible) thing about dean's dialogue is that a good 90% of what comes out of his mouth is:

a pop culture reference ("you're just gonna take some divine bong hit, and shazam, you're roma downey?")

references to real life phenomenon ("i don't wanna wake up missing a kidney in a bathtub full of ice" "try new mexico, i hear he’s on a tortilla")

these also often take the form of nicknames, and dean has a tendency to give people nicknames in general or call them something besides their given name, whether it’s affectionate or rude ("easy there, van damme" "so i’m girl interrupted" furthermore castiel = cas, ezekiel = zeke, etc, see also frequent use of "chucklehead" "asshat" and on the nicer/endearments end "buddy" "pal" "sunshine" etc)

an idiom ("a snowball's chance" "if it smells like a duck...")

slang ("drinking the koolaid" "jonesing for some hooch" not to mention the literal endless amount of words dean uses to refer to killing - gank, waste, juice, ice, etc)

a metaphor ("power up your batteries" "fly me back to my page on the calendar")

a euphemism ("cloud seeding" "i'd have given you an hour alone with her first")

sarcasm (his habit of replying "peachy" or "super" when asked how he is)

wordplay (see: the entire "vampirate" and "werepire" debacles)

completely nonsensical (guessing what happened to a magical artifact: "it was dug up by tomb raiders? it was seized by the king of the dead by warlords?")

said at lightning speed - if you pay attention, dean actually talks a LOT, usually a mile a minute (this makes me feel a way when you recall him being nonverbal for a year at age 4 but that’s another post)

slang IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE (casual usage of “guano,” etc)

a lie, a deflection, a joke, etc

or worse, something dean’s NOT saying, deliberately, because he’s one of the most repressed people on earth

the end result of all this being:

dean winchester is utterly infuckingcomprehensible. 

think about this. there's an ENTIRE SECTION on EVERY SINGLE EPISODE PAGE of the spn wiki devoted to JUST explaining dean's pop culture references, because the average viewer won't have seen everything he's talking about either. they have a whole page for this called “hunter’s lingo,” but honestly, it’s not all hunters, just sam and dean’s fucking batshit communication style. even i don't understand dean half the time. SAM gets it, sam speaks it back to dean a lot in the early seasons, but that's because sam and dean are 1. practically two halves of the same person 2. FREAKS. every time we get an episode that involves outsider POV is devoted to them going "what the fuck is WRONG with them?"

enter castiel. technically speaking, the show implies that angels are omnilingual. castiel should understand every language known to man, but knowing the meaning of words doesn't help him understand the following:

pop culture references

references to real life phenomenon

nicknames

idioms

slang

metaphors

euphemisms

sarcasm

wordplay

you get the idea.

listen to me. look me in the eyes. castiel cannot understand a single fucking word that comes out of dean's mouth. my guy laid a hand on dean winchester in hell and immediately fell in love with him and has no fucking idea what he's talking about ever. because not only is dean winchester's way of speaking CLINICALLY insane, and sometimes incomprehensible even to other human beings who are not sam, castiel is an angel, and someone prone to taking things even more literally than other angels do

go back and watch and watch seasons 4-5 especially. the reason cas does so much squinting and head tilting is because every time dean opens his mouth castiel has to open up his mental "dean winchester dictionary" and translate entire paragraphs on the fly, because again, dean never shuts up!

what makes this extra hilarious to me is this gem:

this line is from 5.13. at this point cas has known dean for AN ENTIRE YEAR AND A HALF. what you see here is my guy SNAPPING. cas made an EFFORT in this scene. he asked who glenn close was. he's telling dean that he can't understand him. he is doing his level best to have a normal conversation with this guy he has a crush on and for the life of him he cannot do it (equal but opposite energy to cas blowing up the gas station and motel room in 4.01, tbh)

yes, cas can understand dean's tone. he can use context clues, and he usually gets the general idea. and when cas DOES understand dean's jokes, he laughs at them. the first time we ever see him smile is during their 4.07 heart-to-heart when dean says "it was a witch, not the tet offensive." since cas has knowledge of human history, he knows what the tet offensive is; he got the joke, and he laughed.

but as far as actual dialogue goes, he consistently struggles to keep up. even after metatron gives castiel the pop culture knowledge in season 9, cas struggles to put it to put it to proper use (dean: "you wanna just walk right into the death star?" cas: "what does a fictional battle station have to do with this?"). whenever he asks dean to clarify it's always when he’s most annoyed, like most of the time he knows it would be futile but he's too annoyed to care. (dean: "i don't know who's on first, what's on second!" cas: "what IS second???") i’m pretty sure he spends seasons 4-6 wanting to shake dean by the shoulders and ask him why he is LIKE THIS. 

it takes cas - who, again, is omnilingual - YEARS to begin to acclimate to dean’s speech and start speaking that language back to him. it's season 8 before we start really hearing him use slang, season 9 before he begins to understand wordplay, season 10 before he starts using pop culture references (to other angels, who immediately fail to understand him, which disappoints him immensely), and season 11 before he really gets into metaphors. i don't remember what season he started using "yeah" instead of "yes" but i do know it took a really damn long time. 

and honestly, i don't think cas truly got the hang of it until at least season 11-12. that's something like 7 or 8 YEARS. it’s more than half the time they’ve known each other at the point of the series finale. 

so what's true romance, fellas? it's falling completely and totally in love with the most inexplicable person you will ever meet in your whole 4.5 billion year life, even though you have yet to understand a single thing he's ever said to you. thank you for coming to my ted talk

[spn masterpost]

[matthewtkachuk]

furphy - jamie oleksiak

fur·​phy | \ ˈfərfē \ (noun) – a false report : rumour

pairing: jamie oleksiak x reader

warnings: none (are you shocked cause i'm shocked)

word count: 0.9k

a/n: for @antoineroussel surprise prompt challenge, ps thanks for helping with laid v lain - english is hard

There’s something to be said about the internet. About the ability to communicate with people halfway across the globe, time zones and language barriers be damned. About the extreme amount of knowledge at the tip of your fingertips, just a few words and a click or two away. The internet used for good and evil like two sides of the same coin - endless possibilities but also unthinkable consequences.

There’s also something to be said about friendship. Casual friends and the best of friends and friendships that turn out to be a little something more. How two people can go from complete and perfect strangers to knowing the way the other takes their coffee. Friendships are living, breathing organisms that require upkeep and nurturing in order to blossom, and can just as quickly turn to rot if neglected.

Sometimes there is something to be said about both of these things working in tandem, particularly when your friend is a topic that the internet appears to be quite fond of discussing. But especially when your relationship is the latest bit of discourse.

“Me? Dating Jamie?” If the tone of your voice is borderline hysterical, it’s because you, yourself, are minutes away from losing it spectacularly. Throughout the years of totally platonic friendship with Jamie, you’ve been able to shove down and effectively hide your totally not platonic feelings towards your friend. It was harder when you were both young and in Dallas, but considerably easier during the year he’d been traded to Pittsburgh, then harder again when he’d been sent back to Dallas, but then easier once again when you’d moved to Seattle for a job.

And now? Now he was in Seattle, crowding your space and invading your meticulously guarded heart, all the while you were desperately trying to explain away his presence in your life to the people you’d grown closest to. Now, you were the latest bit of gossip going around the city and the internet and probably your hometown and Dallas, too.

“Look there’s no need to keep hiding it from us, from me,” Liza says and you can feel the frustration pouring off of her in waves. You see the disbelief in her eyes as she takes in the way you choke on seemingly nothing, unable to catch your breath through the panic. “We’ve known all along, no friend hangs all over you the way he does.”

It’s all so preposterous that your feelings are anything but one sided, you don’t allow yourself to really hear her or to consider that maybe her words could be true. No, you’re too busy trying futilely to convince her of the opposite. “That’s crazy, we’re not anything. This whole thing is a- a-” you turn to babbling in your time of panic, all words lost on you like you’d lived abroad twelve years on a tiny Greek island and forgotten english entirely with disuse. “A furphy!”

“What’s a furphy?” Jamie’s presence is almost as large as he is, his voice taking up the same amount of space as his tall frame. You all but deflate at his entrance into your living room and the cunning look in Liza’s eye - you know she’s not about to let this go.

And so you pathetically mumble, “it’s Australian slang,” at the same time Liza gleefully announces, “the two of you!”

He chooses to ignore Liza for the moment, something you’re grateful for until he’s turning his entire attention on you. He’s all big blue eyes and gap toothed smile and patience as he asks further, “but what does it mean?”

Briefly you consider lying, falsifying something or telling a furphy of your own, but there’s something about the honesty written across the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw that has you speaking honestly in turn. “A false report or rumour.”

“So there’s a rumour going around about me and you, huh?” You really don’t know where he’s going with this, aren’t sure whether to let the little flutter of hope take root in your chest or to cling to the panic stuttering like a hummingbird’s wings.

Liza seems to be content to believe in the former, as she oh so helpfully adds in a singsong voice, “A rumour that you’re dating!”

You go to speak, to defend yourself and him, to declare there’s no need to listen to Liza - she just likes the sound of her own voice, but there’s no need as he steels his gaze on you once more. “Nothing false or rumour about it.”

Liza squeals in the background you’re half certain, but you’re only focused on the flecks of green around his irises, and the faint smattering of freckles across his nose. You’ve a primal urge to grab him, to kiss him, to touch him, something. Except Liza’s gloating is already getting annoying and you’re certain if you took that additional leap she’d be downright unbearable, and so you just stare back at Jamie and hope the glance says everything you can’t say aloud just yet.

And later, when you’ve kicked out all busybodies and know it alls, you give into the feelings that have lain dormant for many years now and wrap yourself around him like an overgrown vine. The mix of friendship past and relationship future is an explosive chemical reaction, one that has your laughter ringing down the hallway as he all but drags you to your bedroom.

Nothing furphy about it, after all.

[sugar-petals]

:: random things about boyfriend yoongi

↳ ♡ NOTE I saw this format floating around the fandom and thought it was cool and sweet (just like our honey boy so here it goes) 😊  includes an sfw and nsfw bit, both can be read independently.

words. 3k

SFW

First off, Yoongi is laid-back and casually sexy the way we know him. But he also has spikes of energy where he actually gets a little clingy. Any opportunity he will use to hold hands or jump around like a madman with his gummy smile because he got excited about something that you never could predict would make him so happy. He truly is an epiphany.

He’s your most eager personal chef but funnily enough a little unsettled by onions so you end up helping him. Yoongi hates to be crying in the kitchen because of some evil little vegetable but hey, perfect time and place to spend half an hour huddled together cooking or baking. And Yoongi is secretly longing for a cheesy scene, he finds it romantic when you wipe the tears from his face.

His way of speaking to you is a mix of mumbly Korean, high-pitched pouty cat speak, and old-school English slang phrases that he learned somewhere on social media or award shows back in 2018. Most of the time he takes things seriously but is up for some joking anyway. He is sure to giggle every now and then which is really adorable of him. Yoongi is also the person who gets every nuance of your humor and reacts to it.

After being single, you really have to get used to someone waddling around the house. Like— oh, he’s there! And it’s none other than him! Since Yoongi isn’t noisy when he concentrates on his laptop, it really stands out when he morphs from his unmovable rock-like being to a slow rolling stone headed towards the kitchen from time to time. You have to blink every time. And how could you not look up, he’s walking by with his cutest oversized sweaters and striped fluffy socks.

He cannot hide things that normal people would try to keep secret — because of their own discomfort, but he is good at blocking out things that serve your comfort. I’ll explain what I mean. If you have been keeping up with Yoongi postponing the reveal of his surgery until it was successful, you know what I mean. In short, Yoongi is pretty much an automatic filter for things that disturb you. Knowing the right time and place to inform you is the key. As is disregarding things that don’t concern you as a couple, unnecessary drama and opinions. He’s really good at that without ever trying to sugar-coat the important things because he remains a frank and honest soul.

Yoongi has an easier time giving random presents for simple occasions rather than making a big deal out of traditional festivities. So, big celebrations are often kept simple — unless the rest of BTS is there advocating their ‘a little party never killed nobody’ motto — while Yoongi focuses on getting you something attentive or useful every other day pretty much. He’s still a frugal type, you know him. It’s more about inexpensive things that catch his eye because he heard you likes this or that type of snack or want this or that sofa cushion. 

There’s always something new and surprising in the fridge and it’s hardly ever empty because Yoongs takes care of the groceries, really thinking it through. Just personal chef things. Being Yoongi’s partner must be the most destressing thing. He takes responsibility for the worldly things, the ironing clothes and the trash cans. He himself thinks that’s the easiest shit ever and is ready to put time into it (he sees the merit, it drives him) while thinking your side — the sheer act of being in love with him, being there for him — must be hard. Which it isn’t. 

Yoongi thinks emotions and relationships are tough and complicated while daily life runs smoothly at the snap of a finger. You think maintenance is a drudgery while love is not the maze your boyfriend assumes it is. Deep down Yoongi thinks he’s unlovable and a bad person, that’s why he believes he doesn’t have the burden but you have. That your affection then blazes past the barriers in Yoongi’s esteem is something that he finds incredible. It catches him off guard there, you burst the bubbles of the flaws he falsely imagines he has.

You bet your ARMY bomb you’re watching cat videos together.

Guess who’s the first person to hear all of Yoongi’s upcoming hit tracks? Even Namjoon gets the first sample ten minutes later. You gotta be really advanced at keeping secrets and avoiding accidental leaks with your phone or something.

Yoongi hesitates with the analogy because it’s a little funny and you’re evidently not a steaming liquid made of beans, but he claims you really are like his daily americano. Makes his every morning better. 

Now, in all seriousness. What means the most to him is that you take him how he is and are stable company. Yoongi is afraid of betrayal and stupid games so he has to be sure to have a safe bet going. I think that’s why he fancies marriage, it’s a sign of commitment and some degree of permanence to him. And yes, he is a bit jealous in nature since he’s easily invested in someone with a purity of feeling, almost in a naive way. Yoongi easily idolizes his partner and puts a lot of energy into a bond. He wants to protect that, take the risk, and he has watched for someone who radiates genuine trust and faith. He is sure to have found it in you without any illusions and he is right. Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty.

Playing the piano for dinner or date night is a must, he practices constantly to advance to a great standard. He secretly finds a lot of satisfaction in you cooing at his skills and melodies. Those ten bony fingers gliding over the keys with such a technicality and focus, and a passion that makes you hold your breath, it’s great to watch.

Did you see that one coming? He will compose and produce a designated mixtape only for you personally. Yes, with a little self-filmed, self-cut music video for the title track. 

Now those things never see the light of day, they’re all for you. But what about your couple life once it touches the social realm? As one might expect, Yoongi is very ‘eyes turn narrow’ with people who bring disharmony to your dynamic and the relationship in general. In fact, he is grumpy and disappointed, and should someone give him a reason, distinctly brutal. If someone even attempts to test you or plays manipulative games, Yoongi is relentlessly turning them from the inside out with his words that never miss the mark. They’re efficient. As I said, he hates playing annoying games, he’ll do any shortcut and be Yoongi.

I guarantee you can lean back and will never the fazed by stupid people and time wasters again. No need to lose face. Yoongi does the dirty work and is the best possible defender to have on your side. He handles that. Invasive opinions and useless phrases he will shove right up some trashtalker’s ass and leave. Let’s squarely say he is unafraid to be a armchair critic of your and his haters and doesn’t want any of that nuisance to disturb what you have together. He cuts very quick and makes sure not to get tangled up in trouble.

Yoongi will also debunk a whole bunch of weirdos on weverse asking about your private love while he’s at it. Prepare for some very entertaining snide remarks. Oh my god, so many entitled people will be pissed off. Many will also celebrate him for stepping up. What’s actually important to Yoongi is that nobody taints what is like a treasure to him.

It won’t be hard to overlook that Yoongi is very proud of you as well. He looks confident and revering when he hangs out with the group and you’re somewhere close by, even just doing something trivial.

He’s also pretty touchy, sometimes publically to demonstrate something, but mostly in the relative calm and safety of a hotel room. When the lights are out, all barriers crash, the utter romantic takes over. His favorite types of kisses besides those onto his hands are when you kiss his lashes. And yep. Yoongs is such a cozy little spoon. A very curled up one with cute shooky pajamas on most likely.

Talk about clothes. Believe it or not, Yoongi’s fashion goes through a significant change due to the relationship. He knows that you are touchy and thinks about what kinds of flannels are the biggest cuddle magnet, after all. And oh wonder, he will also show some level of skin when he accidentally hears your praises for his arms and legs and collar bones and glowy skin while talking to a close friend of yours. So, look forward to that in summer (he still dislikes the winter cold and wraps himself into scarves twice his size, mind you) though it’s still for your eyes only, he covers up when going out. Truth be told, he enjoys when you casually touch his skin. Especially the arms. Which hold up the firmament to you, and your world, too, and guard it.

BTS will know about how excited he is about you because he often boasts about for how long you’ve been living together by now. We all know this is Yoongi’s favorite way of bragging and it further shows that loyalty, dedication and longevity is the spice to his every meal.

Yoongi is probably going to quit the bottle because you naturally make him feel at ease and upbeat. In fact, he simply forgets about his wine. I don’t have to convince you that Yoongi will be very immersed in any interaction with you whether that be watching movies or discussing his latest tracks. 

Those discussions come with extra back massages for him because he spends a lot of hours in his chair. Especially around the neck, it’s no secret that this is in every cat’s top 3 favorite massaging areas. Yoongi is gonna make some really raspy, sleepy sounds and just melt in your hands. He’s gonna sleep like a baby afterwards every time. Sometimes, he says funny and cute things while he dozes. He looks very content.

Say goodbye to the 21st century adulting annoyances in your life because Yoongi has a grip on those without a word. Those six specific chores that always plague you take him only a dozen minutes and he is eager, the forms to fill out are already sent off, the list of people to e-mail is weeded through. The taxes are paid, the bank account is full, the meals are on the table, garnished to perfection. Roof over the head, and it’s a sturdy one, Yoongi bought a sound haven house to inhabit a lot of happiness for two. 

He’s probably the only person who doesn’t see it as a loss of dignity if you want to hold on tight to him during a dentist visit as a grown ass mf. Why all of this? Yoongi cannot not strive to feel needed in his actions. He wouldn’t like himself if he couldn’t contribute something reliable and useful. That you find things worthy of your time is priority. You complement each other, what you think is a waste of energy makes him work and strive and vice versa. That way, in the end all things are taken care of.

Giving is more important than taking in Yoongi’s world. He thinks of everything because he considers it an offense to have you in a pile of duties, that is, if you don’t like ‘em. It’s his form of dedicating his efforts and showing respect. He doesn’t need much in return. The things he expects if at all don’t feel like a duty: Much like he doesn’t consider doing those acts of services for you likewise.

Work horse he is, he needs something on his daily to-do plan. Which includes making you feel unbothered by the occasions of an incoming strict world when it’s getting to you. You’re supposed to do what you feel like doing just like him and not slave away at fifty deeds. That you torture yourself with daily life hassle is the thing he dislikes seeing the most. He enjoys doing these things so he’s happy to get going.

What’s not a daily life hassle: Holly is a big fan of yours. Instant friendship. Just wanted you to know.

He always knows how to preoccupy himself and finds something to improve. Getting on your nerves, and that’s no surprise, is the last thing Yoongi will ever do. In fact, you sometimes have to search for his napping spot because he got lost somewhere in the house. 

He either sleeps or works, his philosophy is simple. If you need him, he does appear seemingly out of nowhere. And, he spends as much time with you as you enjoy, not always prioritizing his producing unless it’s urgent or he’s on an inspiration streak. Which is great anyway, you can sit next to him listening. It’s the right balance of work and play.

Yoongi is not above blatantly showing off. Actually, he goes for an act of stunning pretty often. You know how cats parade around whatever they just caught. He wants to impress you with assets and accolades and appraisals, the boy can’t help it. That you only lightly nod at most of it with a little smile will confuse him but he will get the point later on. You wanna signal Yoongi that you anchor your love for him not in shifting numbers and chunky metal pieces. 

That you don’t confuse his signs of outward worth and fame with the core of the guy you find the sweetest in the world is very important to him. He will take some time to see through that because he’s used to being loved through status and its symbols by people close and afar. 

The way you throw yourself at him to give a big smooch in random situations — especially when he doesn’t feel great about himself— rather than only when he say gets a new car is sending him a message. Again, he has to grow into that. He will retreat at the beginning because he feels worthless of your affection on days where he doesn’t feel big and bold and successful. But since he sees you jumping on him because you need only his kind and squishy presence and see him as no different than usual because he’s always Yoongi underneath, your boyfriend will change his mind about it sooner or later. He learns that your presence makes him feel like a billion dollars yourself.

You don’t wallow in the regrets of other people missing the point of Yoongi and instead focus on always understanding him rather than enabling Yoongi into wrong directions. And there are many of those, his mental health can tell you a thing or two about it. He begins to get that you really know what you’re doing and are in it for the real him which makes him feel really loved far underneath all surfaces and images. You accept his fame and admire his work with music which is what he’s truly doing it for but also don’t forget that the most vulnerable Yoongi is the one that you’re there for and not a facade.

NSFW

I know you’re curious. That Yoongi’s sexual style is more than just interesting goes without saying. To give you an idea. Anything steamy with Yoongi means him taking his time. You know, for making it quality. Yoongi wants to grow into the right balance of activity and staying relaxed. He is good at keeping cool and bringing some focus to the madness. He wants to figure out how to be more casual instead of tense and overly preoccupied which he’ll be at the start of the relationship. But the fast learner he is, his nervousness fades way faster than you think. 

Yoongi is extremely afraid that he can’t please you or starts to become awkward slash clueless so he darts to the opposite of the spectrum and overperforms, even plays a character. You have enough cool yourself to tell him what to do in the pace that works best. That he stays centered in his body is important for you to teach him. When he gets grounded and juggling his confidence is out of the equation, he fucks the best.

His favorite position besides giving oral — with you on your back — will be doggy style. Man, we gotta talk about that. Slow to upper moderate pace, nothing too all over the place. Yoongi moans very slowly, too, all drawn out. Get ready for a frequent session of some anal to unwind. You heard that right. First, Yoongi will get the two of you into the right rhythm with his hands at the sides of your waist, then, ride it out in slow mo with his right hand properly stimulating you from the front. 

By habit, he will add some lube here and there but not use insanely dripping amounts so everything gets messy or he can’t touch you without sliding off anymore. Just enough to slide well. Yoongi is so good at this I swear, it’ll be your favorite thing to relax. He has the restraint and technique to pull it off rather than pulling out, huh. Yoongi is gonna stay inside you for ages. It feels like he’s massaging every spot for some extra time. It’s amazing to slack off your muscles, cool off, and get many a gentle but fulfilling orgasm. 

He’s not gonna put you through the hassle of dealing with an anal creampie cleanup so he keeps it wrapped, and mostly focuses on your movements altogether while keeping his own climax smooth and more relieving rather than something that relentlessly knocks him out in one go. Yoongi is good at observing and doesn’t feel the need to chase a violent high which is why he is so great at sex. Fucking with Yoongi leaves a wholesome feeling and you never feel ashamed or guilty, or a sense of being dirty and ruined. 

He enjoys having sex to make you feel really good and works his hands on you very respectfully. His goal is to have you wet and pulsing after a long while of getting you there, and putting you to a good night’s sleep. He’d feel terrible if he left you sore or disturbed. He is really passionate, especially with his kisses or when you ask him to slide into very deeply, but Yoongi being brash and controlling is an image out of sight.

Besides giving you the number one heavenly assfucks, Yoongi also likes to work his tongue as we know, and he’ll work it all over. Few body parts of yours have not made contact with that glorious mouth and I say that in the best of ways. You can instruct him to do whatever, Yoongi obliges with radiant joy. And here again, he takes minutes upon minutes. Kissing and kissing and licking and maybe even teasing once or twice to make you smile. You know, a little signature wink. Honoring your skin and every shape is not something that Yoongi has to talk about, he will physically show it and I swear it’ll finally get into your head with every little move, Yoongi has totally surrendered his tongue to your body and worships it.

[superskeletonsimp]

Hello! What’s the personalities of the main characters you write for?

Also I think your blog is pretty cute so far ❤️

Omigosh! Hi! I could do that! I uh- have only written for three of these characters so far, so I’m not entirely sure yet myself actually, but I’ll try my best :)

Sans and Papyrus: The good ol’ classics! I write them the way that most other people do. Sans is a laid-back ‘lazy-bones’ who cares about his loved ones, Papyrus is a very optimistic skeleton who would do almost anything to make his friends and family happy <3

Underswap Sans: Blueberry! I love this tiny skeleton, he’s adorable and tiny and an amazing person. Most people depict him as very childish and naive, and while he usually is, he can also be mature if he needs to be. He loves his brother, and if you befriend him then he will also love you! This little guy is just full of love (and energy).

Underswap Papyrus: probably one of the nicest and understanding skeletons ever, Orange (named after the fruit, not the colour), not too unlike his brother, is filled with nothing but love for his family. He’s a great listener and he has a lot of great advice. I just really like him :)

Underfell Sans: Underfell Sans, or as I like to call him, Cherry, is a skeleton who has a lot of personal problems. He’s very reserved and very private with his feelings. This, however, does not mean that he doesn’t care about his family and friends, it just means that you have to be a little more patient with him to see his soft side. If you stick with him for long enough he will eventually open up to you, and he can be the sweetest little skeleton once he does.

Underfell Papyrus: I like to call this edgy skeleton, well, Edge! Edge can come across as very brash, even when he considers you close.. He likes to act very tough and like he doesn’t care too much, but unfortunately for him he suffers from something that almost all of the Papyruses do, accidental adorableness. He gets very flustered very easily, and it’s honestly very cute. Edge is a papyrus, so he can’t really be evil, even if he tried.

Horrortale Sans: Ah! One of my favourites!! I call this skeleton Slash! I have two ways of writing Slash, one that is more suited for fluffy stuff and one where he is a little more deranged. Personally, I like to write the fluffy version of him more. Slash is a very very big skeleton, he has the bestest hugs you will ever receive. This skeleton is the biggest cuddle bug in the world, but you need to be very close with him to see that side. He doesn’t really speak too much at all, but he’s somehow still really good in conversations. Like most other monsters in the Horror universe, Slash may show some more ‘animalistic’ behaviours, such has purring or growling. He can get rather possessive of those he are close with, but that’s because of the environment he comes from.

Horrortale Papyrus: I actually haven’t come up with a nickname for this papyrus yet, so I’ll have to figure it out. This super-tall skeleton has a scary look, but is one of the sweeter papyruses! He isn’t actually that different from Classic!Papyrus, so I don’t have too much to add. On the surface I would definitely see Horrortale Papyrus and Slash as vegetarian, or even vegan, like most other monsters from this universe. While he acts a lot like Classic pap, he can still be a little creepy sometimes, he just haven’t adjusted fully yet.

Mafiatale sans: One of my personal favourites, Judge! I haven’t really figured this AU out yet. While Judge is a lot like classic Sans in the way he acts, Judge isn’t against violence (since he’s...y’know...in the mafia). Again, I haven’t had time to figure out exactly how he acts or how to write for him, but I’m really excited to do so! So please request something for the Mafiatale AU!

Mafiatale Papyrus: I call this papyrus Snipe, like most of the fandom! I’d say he’s a lot like classic Papyrus, but much more mature. I’m sorry, I haven’t thought these through yet!! :(

Mafiafell Sans: OOOOOOOoooOo Boy! I love this boy a lot! I don’t know why, but I do. I call him Biff :) Mafiafell is probably one of my favourite AUs, it’s like Mafiatale, but more like an actual mafia? Anyways, Biff acts like the typical Mafia almost boss, he’s rich and handsome in his own skeleton way, and he absolutely knows it. He talks almost solely in 1920s mobster slang, and is NOT afraid to use violence to get what he wants. He’s a huge buttface and can’t take a no. Biff can really be a scary dude, but I love him.

Mafiafell Papyrus: I call him King(pin). He’s probably even more scary than Biff, this skeleton is absolutely terrifying to me. Like, Biff has limits, but this dude, he will do absolutely anything to get what he wants. He’s nuts and he’s the leader for the Mafia gang, so he’s also very smart.  Unlike Biff, King talks very fancy, he’s also very good at manipulating people. Over all, I don’t like him too much, but I still love him, if that makes sense.

Ahh! Thank you for sending this! Before I made this blog I kinda binge-read yours, so I appreciate it!

Now that I look at it, these aren’t really a lot of AUs...PLEASE SOMEONE SEND ME AUS IM REALLY NEW TO THIS I WANNA KNOW MORE thank you <3

[moonlightdreamzz]

Cozy — Jeon Jungkook

A glimpse into you and Jungkook’s love.

Request: Hi! I saw your writing and I enjoyed reading your works. I saw that you needed some request so here I am. I was wondering if you could write an imagine with BTS’s Jungkook where he comes home to the reader online shopping or something, and it’s a very touchy, lusty, feel. But lots of soft and subtle gestures towards one another. Sorry if it’s a bit much, it took me a lot to request 😬 but thank you for hearing me out! 🤗

Jungkook doesn’t understand why he gets like this doing something he does everyday. I mean, with all of his other daily routines he didn’t get nervous. Singing, dancing, speaking infront of others; these were all things that he just couldn’t get nervous about doing even if he tried.

But right now he’s standing infront of the door to his own apartment, and he finds himself taking deep breaths. His hand is on the keypad, but they’re not moving to type the code in.

“You’ve been dating this girl for almost two years now.” He chuckles to himself, knowing this was ridiculous. “She’s your girlfriend, and you see her practically everyday. Go inside.”

And as always, he listens to himself. He puts the code into his keypad, and steps in quickly. His shoes slip off his feet with ease as all he had to do today was re-record some things for the new album; no dancing.

Before he creeps around the corner, where he knows he’ll find you either asleep on the couch, or scrolling through your phone as you wait for him to come and kiss you all over, he always likes to listen. Sometimes you’ll hum, and it has to be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. You always say you can’t sing, but he’s listened in to your little concerts too many times to count, and knows it’s the opposite.

Sometimes, you’ll even be watching tv. He has a little guessing game he plays with himself to see if he can guess what you’re viewing, and he has to admit, he’s getting better at it. His favorite though was to hear you laugh. You always kept him up to date with twitter slang, and what was considered funny between his fans and such, but when he would hear you burst into a fit of chuckles and heavy sighs; it was music to his ears.

The house is silent right now, but not so silent that he can assume that you’re deep in slumber. He’s trying his best to keep the wood floor from making too much noise, as if the alarm didn’t already inform you someone was in your home.

He finally makes it around the corner, where he finds you. His heart always increases in speed whenever you grace him with your presence, and right now is no different. Your laptop is secured onto your legs, and he can see just how concentrated you are based off how your eyebrows are making you look like an upset child.

“Hi.”

Immediately your head snaps up, and the smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know. You missed him too. You still loved him even after a couple hours of space. Your hair was still wrapped up in the scarf he gifted your for your birthday. Funny enough, it’s red and yellow undertones were complementing his white walls very nicely. This whole scenery was so beautiful to him.

“Hi baby. You look tired.” You accuse with a raised eyebrow. You hated to see him like this; a weak walk dragging across his floors, and the color tainted from his cheeks. “Have you eaten today?”

“Just had dinner with Yoongi.”

There’s a silence, featuring the two of you making eye contact. You’re looking him up and down, trying to find the lie within his words, but based on the slight swelling in his fingers you know he’s being honest.

“Are you full? I can cook you something.” You offer, standing up promptly, but Jungkook steps towards you, gently setting you back down where you were sitting.

“Have a seat.” He smiles. It’s at this moment where he realizes he hasn’t kissed you since yesterday. He also realizes that you know exactly what he’s thinking, so he seizes his opportunity.

The kiss is loving, but also filled with the kind of lust that only the two of you could have. You both agreed a long time ago that your lips were made for eachother, but even so, you always giggled when your lips pressed together. It was always magic.

He has one knee on the couch as he hovers over you, hands moving up your neck, to the side of your cheeks, and then to your ears as he allows this to calm him down. Even your breathing is in synch as the two of you just enjoy this moment.

Just when Jungkook was starting to feel his heartbeat increase to a deadly pace, and his blood rush to his face, and all the other familiar places, you break the kiss. He can’t help but to follow your plump lips, pressing another peck before resting his forehead on yours.

“What?” He questions, still hovering on top of your body that was now laid on the sofa.

“No can do tonight sir.” You sigh in disappointment, hands finding themselves rubbing circles into his fat cheeks.

“No.” He wines, and not because he needs it so bad. He just hated when you had to be bothered with such a demon. “The red sea?”

“The red sea, baby.” You confirm, and now the two of you are laughing. Once again, the kisses start, except, this time they’re much more sweet and slow. With his lips he’s telling a million stories. He’s telling you that this morning, he was really upset that you weren’t awake as he couldn’t properly embrace you. He’s telling you that while he was singing songs of heartbreak in the studio, he found it hilarious because that would never be the two of you. He’s confessing that he missed you so much, and this taste, and this feeling.

His lips move to your neck, and his hands are rubbing all over your comfort zones such as your legs, and your shoulders, and your back. He then stops his actions, looking right into your eyes. He loves doing this. He can always see how nervous you get. Your pupils start to twitch, as you’re trying your best to be a big girl and handle all the love that rests in his eyes, but at the same time wanting to look away because it’s too much.

“How did I get so lucky?” He questions, kissing you once more. Your scent is so distinct. Castor oil and black girl magic, as you would describe it.

“I think you must have been an important man in your past life.”

“Like Malcolm X?”

And now you’re screeching; that laugh that can make any man fall to his knees in an instant. It’s shaking every part of his body, and he loves you. Your little snorts are the icing on the cake; a recipe for his red cheeks.

“You’re funny.” Is all you can manage as you finally calm down.

“And you’re beautiful.” Jungkook finally stands up, placing his hand infront of you to grab. “You ate, right?”

You grab his hand that was calling out to you, standing up with a slight hiss. “Had a little soup. You know I can’t eat much when I’m bleeding to death.”

“You sure you don’t want anything else? Ice pack?”

“Just you.” Your smile is dazzling, even when your eyes seem a little weary. He doesn’t know if you’re worried about him, your day wasn’t the best, or both, but he knows he can turn it all around.

Setting the alarm, and turning off all the lights to the rooms you walked passed, he leads you to your shared bedroom. As always, the bed is exactly how you two left it in the morning. You both agreed that making a bed was pointless when you were just going to get back in it.

Jungkook pushes you forward, making you fall gently on the mattress. He then begins to remove his clothing one by one, followed by whistles coming from you.

“Oh how I wish I wasn’t about to throw up.” You call, now resting on your elbow in a seductive manner. You’re already in your pajamas, which consisted of nothing but a tank top. You’re comfortable, and he always loves to see you like this.

“You can still enjoy the show.” He winks, before stepping into the bathroom.

“You don’t have to take a shower, you know.” You offer, rubbing his spot in repeated circles. “You didn’t even do anything today.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because your hair isn’t dripping all over your floor from sweat.”

“Our floor.” He corrects.

“Our floor.” You smile. “I just want to Netflix and chill with you, baby.”

“You mean just Netflix?”

“Shut up.” You chuckle.

Of course, he takes your advice. He switches his boxers, and leaves it at that as he jumps on his high set bed. You always have Netflix ready; the horror section waiting to be surfed.

“Your scarf.” He whispers, using his hands to pull it down so your edges would be protected. He presses a light kiss to the cloth, before allowing you to nuzzle into his large arms. Your hand immediately finds the wrist that holds his tatted sleeve, and it’s caressing it ever so gently. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I get really nervous before I come home.” He confesses, not really knowing why. It just comes out.

You mute the tv, looking up at him now. “Why?”

“You just...make me nervous as hell. Never in a million years did I think I’d find you.”

“Am I that great?” You question, tilting your head as best you could. “All I do is eat your food.”

“And you also support me in everything I do. You’re always there and you always know what to say. You always can make my days better. You’re the greatest gift.”

“You’re being really nice to me today.” You’re squinting at him, clearly suspicious. “What did you do?”

“Absolutely nothing.” He assures with a laugh.

“Yeah yeah.” You brush, but he knows you’re enjoying every bit of this. This extra love he’s giving you right now.

His body is always warm, clothed or not, and the feeling of your skin on his is too good. Too pleasant. You had been so excited to watch a good movie and fall asleep, but neither of you had picked up the remote. Your hands were just playing with eachother’s, observing the way you fit together so perfectly.

“How are the boys?”

“They’re good, I hope. It’s kind of funny, but we’ve been spending so much time together getting ready for the comeback, as soon as we’re free we run away from eachother.

“Are you excited?” You ask.

“Yeah...yeah.”

You notice the hesitation in his answer. “Why the pause?”

“I’m always excited to see the fans and stuff, but I’m never going to be happy about having to leave you. It sucks.”

You slide up his body just a tad, kissing him gently before allowing yourself to be the big spoon. Your hands find themselves entangled in his locs, and you can hear the way his breathing is calming down just from the motions.

“I know, baby. I know.” You assure. “But you love it. I promise I’ll be here when you come back. I always am.”

“It’s like—we’ve done this a thousand times. I’m gone, and you’re here. You would think I know how to cope with it, but it gets worse everytime. I’m going to think about you the whole tour.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“How?”

“That means you really do love me more each day.”

That makes him chuckle and smile all at the same time, as he remembers the times when you were heavily insecure about your relationship. You always questioned yourself, but now you were the complete opposite. You were giving him the peptalk.

“I told you I meant it.”

The night continues like this; you massaging his scalp with love and care while you talk about everything and nothing at the same time. The two of you doze off in this position, Netflix still blaring at your eyes.

[gallickingun]

hofortendou x nishinoya || gallickingun matchups

@hofortendou : first off conGRATS !! i’m so glad to see that your blog keeps growing! also i would like to participate in your matchup event! i would like a male match from haikyuu 🥰 i’m (she/her) 5’4”, short-ish haired brunette with big hazel eyes (i’m talkin’ tim burton scale) and covered in freckles. I do digital art both as a hobby and for uni, i play video games, watch too much anime, i longboard when i can or if it’s a particularly nice day out, and i absolutely love plants, like they’re all over my apt. if i had to give myself an aesthetic i’d say a mix between art mom n grunge, i think? i usually wear a hoodie and shorts/sweats bc i work from home but i’m a sucker for cropped jackets/shirts w mom jeans and docs when i need to actually get dressed. i like to learn new things and am v organized but not overbearing w it, my personality is very open minded, intro-extroverted and humor based but i’m literally baby and WILL cry if you raise your voice at me. that being said i’m v affectionate and love me some tenderness. if i had to look for anything in a partner it’d be sympathy and humor, for sure. and i would love to go do something fun like roller skating or walk around a fair for a first date, something memorable and not super basic, y’know? ty and ily moe ❤️

Thank you so much for participating! I really hope you like this! And thank you again for supporting me, it means the whole entire world 🧡

Warning: Slight NSFW ahead! Under the cut~

― Noya supports going out or staying in - whether that’s trying a new Thai place, or watching anime on the couch. Sometimes you gotta paint the town red, other times you have to chill out on the sofa! ― He’s affectionate as all get out, absolutely adores and requires to touch you at all times. Hand in your pocket, hand in your hand, hand on your waist. Once you two get comfortable enough with each other, he’ll kiss you in public if you’re okay with it, he’ll hold your hand at all times, and will definitely make sure that everyone knows the two of you are grossly in love. ― I think your aesthetics would go really well together! Noya canonically loves the color black, so I think that your grunge aesthetics would go together, even if you both like to switch it up from time to time. 

☁ Nishinoya absolutely adores you. To the point where you’re not sure sometimes if he’s genuine or not. Whether you’re fully decked out in a complete face of makeup and a full snazzy dress, or lounging around the house in one of his old jerseys and some joggers.. that man is going to remind you how beautiful you are.

☁ He definitely wants to kick your ass in video games, though. He has a radical competitive streak, no matter what the activity is or if he’s done it before. It will be his first time playing Mario Kart and he’ll jump up and down on the couch, mashing buttons and squealing at the top of his lungs every time he gets thrown off the track. If it’s more FPS style games, he talks too loud and pretends to know what he’s talking about by using slang that he’s heard from his other friends who play video games a little more. 

☁ Noya loves it when you wear crop tops - sweatshirts, tanks, tees, etc. - he likes to sneak his hands along your waist and up your shoulders. His thumbs run along your ribs and he pulls you in closer all the time, nuzzling your nose and whispering sappy compliments and corny pick up lines and raunchy one liners. He ducks his head into your neck and as he’s pressing kisses to your skin, his fingertips are searing into your waist, and you feel completely lightheaded at being so overwhelmed by his closeness.

☁ He gets loud from time to time, but when you shy away from him or possibly even tear up, he’s immediately bringing his voice down a few octaves and rushing forward to apologize and comfort you. His hands find your face and his voice is gentle, eyes warm as he looks across at you to 

☁ There is a pretty heavy praise and worship between the two of you - Nishinoya loves to kiss your lips and tell you how pretty your eyes are and how good you take him and how beautiful your body looks while he’s fucking into you slow and deep. He’ll whisper with his nose against your temple, his lips against the shell of your ear, “Such a good girl, damn, you’re gorgeous. Look so pretty when you’re taking me just like this,” and then he makes your pussy cream with his fingers sneaked between your hips to find that precious bundle of nerves. 

☁ On the same hand, he loves it when you whimper praises into the thin air between your bodies. You whimper, gasping out, “N-Noya, love your cock, please, fill me up, I-I want more.” And oh, does he deliver. Somehow he’s able to keep stretching you out and filling you up, even when you both think your cunt has sucked him in to the base. You tell him in blundering babbles how strong he is and how safe you feel with him, and the sound of you doting on him with your words is what makes his cock twitch just before he coats your walls white.

☁ At least once a month you two have a veg out on the couch night. Noya orders dinner, you put together a blanket nest, and you two snuggle down into the corner of the couch and watch whatever reruns or new anime is on that you’ve both decided to watch. He’ll ask you a million questions if he’s never seen it before, even if you haven’t seen it before, because he’s just so curious to know how it ends even though he doesn’t really want you to tell him.

☁ Nishinoya wants to do everything you love, no matter if he’s truly interested in it or not. It’s important to you, so it’s important to him. However, he really has a short attention span, so unless it’s something super stimulating, you’ll need to be willing to redirect him whenever necessary. You might need to stop for food in the middle just to break it all up. 

☁ Affectionate? Please. Nishinoya can’t keep his hands off of you. If you’re in the same room together, he’s stood next to you, hand in your back pocket or arm around your shoulder. Everyone knows you two are together from the moment you set foot anywhere because he’s kissing your forehead or you’re leaning into his bicep or you’re holding each other around the waist. Sometimes the others have to remind you that you’re in public, even though Noya is just giving you a lil’ forehead smooch.

☁ Noya is a pretty joking guy, even though he does have his serious moments. He and Asahi are really close and he knows how to joke with him, so he learns from that and uses it to determine how far he can go with you so far as sarcasm and banter. He nudges your ribs and giggles in your ear and tells too many jokes sometimes, but you love it. There are times when he takes it too far, though, and the first time you get upset because of something he said, he’s apologizing for days and latching himself onto you like a koala. You have to tell him a dozen times over that you’re okay, so long as he doesn’t tell that joke again. 

"It’s hot! And I’m not getting any better at this!” Noya groans, dropping back on the concrete so he’s laid out, sprawled limbs spread out every which way. He drapes his arm over his face to cover his eyes from the beating sun, his lips pulled into a pout, “Please, can’t we eat?!”

You chuckle, squatting beside him to tickle the little sliver of skin that’s peeking out from under the hem of his shirt from where he’s caused it to ride up by moving his arms around. “C’mon, Yuu, you’re not going to quit on me now, are you?”

Noya groans, rolling onto his side so he can rest his cheek against the tops of your knees, “But it’s hot and I’m hungry. We’ve been at this for hours!”

“It’s been twenty minutes.”

“Well-”

“It’s fine, babe,” you tell him, running your fingers through his hair, pulling gently at the brunette strands with your digits. Another chuckle shakes your chest and he turns his head to look at you, thankful that your body is blocking the direct sunlight, “I don’t want to not learn, honey, I just forgot to eat breakfast. Maybe we can grab something, go for a swim, and then try again?”

You do as he says, finding a food cart to grab something small to eat and scarfing it down on a picnic table that’s centered along the pavilion that overlooks the beach. You hold hands underneath the table, your palms rested on Noya’s knee. He’ll play with your fingers, squeezing your knuckles and following the curve of your palm down to your wrist. It feels that sometimes he’s even checking your pulse to make sure that you’re still okay, still with him. As if he cannot believe that this isn’t some sort of dream that he has the ecstasy of reliving every day.

As you drop your tee shirt to reveal your bathing suit, you can’t help but notice Noya’s eyes are all over your frame. He comes up behind you before you can turn around to admonish him for undressing you with his eyes in front of everyone here on the beach, and his arms wrap around your waist, head tucked into your neck. When he speaks, his voice is husky and it sends a jolt of electricity directly to your core, “We could always just go home-”

“You promised, Noya!” You whine, circling your hands around his wrist and tugging playfully. He groans and bares his teeth to your shoulder, sucking one harsh time before releasing you, “Only because I’m completely whipped for you, babe.”

Your feet hit the water and Noya is flying past you into the waves, screaming at the top of his lungs before he plunges into the sea. You can’t contain the giggles that part your lips, covering your mouth with your hand as the waves crash into your shins. You’re meeting him halfway, floating in the ocean water up to your shoulders, your body folded at the waist beneath the crest of the waves, “You’re so dramatic, Yuu.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, would you?” he asks, eyes still burning with that familiar flame as he tugs you by your hips so you’re straddling his waist beneath the water. You gasp as he rolls his hips up into you, the feel of his thick length hardening against your thigh, “N-Noya-”

“Shh,” his voice is accented by the feel of his middle finger slipping your bathing suit to he side, “Keep quiet, baby girl, and I’ll make sure we both feel good.”

Your voice is lost in your throat, irises swallowed by your pupils when the first languid stroke of his fingers finds your innermost folds. Nishinoya pulls your chin with his free hand, tilting your head so he can kiss you on the mouth, eliciting a gasp from the back of your throat, “That’s not quiet, baby. Try again.”

The way you gulp and nod your head makes him chuckle, but he can’t keep himself from you, and before you know it, he’s devouring you from both ends.

Matchups Original Post | Ko-Fi | Patreon | Commissions | AO3 | Writing Tag

Please check HERE to see if I’ve done your matchup already. Remember, I will also post your matchup with the tag: “#emoji-matchup”, using your emoji in place of the word, so if you can remember your emoji, you can search my blog for that tag to see if I have completed it already!

[larrydrosalez]

I like relaxed language and I like blackness. This anthology is a celebration of both.

tawk  

Sometimes we’re afraid to talk. Yes, WE. This might be about black talkin, but this here is for you too Sandy-Sue and Jin-Woo.  I know you’ve had those days when somethin forces you to speak or preach or teach something you’d be much better off talkin about. You scour your brain in search of synonyms you learned in an English class (some time ago) or for some phrase you picked up from your favorite politically active musician – all for nada – because, in your scavenger-hunt for eloquence, you end up with 1000 syllables that don’t say anything.  Trust me, I know the feeling. (Deleting those Gs and forgoing those apostrophes a few lines up still has me wary of some impending doom.  O_o)  [imagine the courage it took to include an emoticon.]

    It is this fear of writing the way I feel most comfortable expressing myself that convinced me that this anthology needed to be compiled. It needed to be compiled and needs to be delivered to every writer that thinks their words aren’t good enough and to every reader that thinks some writer’s metaphors are too big and meaning too small. I want this anthology to combat any notion that in poetry white high-language is right language and that slang is to be reserved for Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou. This anthology, black-tawk, is intended to act as an examination of Black-American identity in contemporary poets through their specific use of colloquial vernacular, to be referred to as black-talk. These poems are compiled in order to reject “high language” (white-talk) as the only suitable means of intelligent and normative expression and that slave-talk is the only example of recognizable black expression. I seek to find a contemporary river of black voices that flow somewhere between a Mattie and a Michael Eric Dyson (and certainly above a Tyler Perry.)

     So what does black-talk between a Mattie and a Dyson sound like? It sounds like black people you hear talking every day. There are no meanings lost in abstract metaphor, no need to keep a library assistant on call and there’s the occasional glimpse of slang. Nah, I ain’t only talkin ‘bout that talk you hurd on the corner’a 3rd and Main, because while that’s beautiful, this anthology hopes to reveal subtle currents of vernacular that black poets use to express blackness. Of course there’s more than a heap of uses of slang’s shining star - “ain’t,” but he’s joined by “nuff” and “betcha” and even “cd” (could.) And these are sometimes decorated by the absence of punctuation that lends itself to an exploration of space and caesura to create natural and lulling speech patterns that mimic the way black people talk. You won’t find Queen’s English here. Nothing like what Jamil (Robert Sims) in his poem “pre-sentence Report” (page____) refers to as “…nouns that // old Sigmund couldn’t EVEN spell.” Though in his poem Sims speaks of medical jargon, there are certainly poets that employ a sort of poetic jargon requires too much energy to decipher.

    Not that deciphering is all bad, we wouldn’t want lazy readers, but when simplicity is forgone merely to sound poetic, the authenticity that makes poetry beautiful is lost. Stephanie Pruitt, a young poet from Nashville, could write novels about the process and love involved in getting her hair hot combed in the kitchen – but she doesn’t need to. Her haiku “Hair raising” (page _____) is beautiful in its ability to, concisely, resonate with black girls everywhere. “Hair burning in the kitchen” could easily become “kinky fibers laid straight by heated comb permeates the air in the place meals are made,” but it doesn’t need to. Now the form of haiku is innately simple but this same current of simplicity can be found throughout the anthology in various forms.

 black

Sometimes we’re afraid to be black. Yes WE. This might be about black talkin but if you change black to “chino” or “country” this here is for you too Jose and Billy-Rae. It’s about black talkin because black talkin is what I know best. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been made to feel afraid to express my blackness (or asian-ness or mexican-ness.) If a university environment is any representation of the real world, and I fear it may be more forgiving of race, people don’t want black people to be black. Every scorned sagging pant, every kinky twist pressed to oblivion, every set of braids chopped off for a job where suits and ties are need can serve as a testament that black people aren’t allowed to be black.

Oh, but that’s not true, we have a black president! – right, having one black president negates the pressure every white professor ceo quarterback vice-president student government official city official member of congress  employed contributing member of society member of congress places on black people to act white right.

…

…

I needed space to let that sit. The minority will always be made inferior when evaluated against the majority. Being black isn’t wrong, it’s just not being white. There are thousands of conversations to be had about blackness and black identity and defining what “black” is, but this is not a research paper and I am not an anthropological expert on the matter. So you ask, what does blackness have to do with this poetry anthology, and what does that contribute to life? Well, blackness is in the everyday things that black people do. There is no singular blackness. If you’re a black girl that gets a perm and a silky-smooth 32” Remy, you’re exuding blackness just as much as the sister pickin her afro every morning. If you’re a black boy with clean locks sitting proudly on the shoulder pads of your new Armani suit, you’re exuding blackness just as much as the scruffy brother in the newest Js and a tall-tee (although I personally detest tall-tees, that doesn’t negate the blackness found wearing it.)

Since poetry is a manifestation of expression based on personal experiences, black poets should be allowed to be black poets, right? No. An Essay by Evie Shockley entitled “All of the above: Multiple choice and African American Poetry” included in the introduction to the anthology “Rainbow Darkness,” edited by Keith Tuma, examines the reasons black authors are not allowed to be black authors. In short, he states (and I agree) that black authors (I would say all black artists) are subjected to “the poetics litmus test.” They must be judged based on political allegiances and racial “authenticity” rather than ability or talent. If a poet talks like Langston Hughes, they are authentically black, which is good, but they are a “black” poet not an “American” poet. According to Shockley, in order to receive the privileges “American” poets are afforded:

“An African American poet has had to avoid writing in styles or about subjects that are recognizably “black” in favor of “universal themes” and conventional aesthetics. Or  she could slip in the back door by appearing willing to narrate ‘the black experience’ for white consumption in ways that do not fundamentally deconstruct white (liberal) understandings of race or directly advocate revolutionary social change.”

This provides a perfect explanation concerning why black poets are pressured away from talking black. Even I question whether or not I want to be “that black poet” every time my mind wants to pen a thought about kinky hair, “unique” names, or encounters with racism. Just as the fear of talking convinced me of the necessity of this anthology, the fear of being black doubly convinces me that there are people that need this.

 black-tawk

I like relaxed language and I like blackness and this anthology is a celebration of both. These poets aren’t afraid to be black even when they’re not talking about black things. This collection includes poets just talkin and poets just being black and poets talkin about being black – none afraid to share their identity and the language they speak. Ntozake Shange isn’t afraid to write poems in a manner that is supposed to be talked. Sapphire sees the significance of what Claireece P. Jones has to say, and how she says it. Celes Tisdale saw the need for people to hear what inmates from Attica think. All of these voices have been gathered to fight the fear of being Black regular Mexican Asian poor Jamaican poorly-educated well-educated strange normal smart dumb black-tawking.

black-tawk is right. Don’t be shamed of it. These are your peers.

  my tawk

    And now that I’ve splattered you with my thoughts/rants about blackness and language and wooed you with my semi-intellectual prowess, I’d like to free myself of the black burden – a burden that has weighed heavy on my mind since I started compiling these poems. What is the black burden you ask? For me, it is the false interpretation that any black voice is THE black voice. To those reading in hopes of better understanding the black race based solely on the compilation of a 22-year-old-half-black-half-mexican-and-japanese-middle-class-college-guy I say:  I am not THE black voice. I am not THE black voice. I am not THE black voice.  I, like the poems selected for this anthology, do not represent the entire black race or encompass all Black-American identity. There is no anthology or single person that does. I, and these poems, do however represent a current of thought, a movement, towards talking. Towards tawking. Towards tawking black. black-tawk. Enjoy.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Help Wanted (final chapter)

Thank you so much to everyone whose enjoyed this fic! Writing it has been a real joy and a relief right now, especial thanks to @minky-for-short​ and @spiky-lesbian​ my lovely beta readers!

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 if you’ve enjoyed this fic!

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

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Fjord and Caduceus get the happy ending they deserve

WARNING: This chapter deals with physical domestic violence, it doesn't happen on page but the results are seen. Also, conversations around internalised homophobia

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“Are you really going to let him leave without saying goodbye?”

It was all Yasha had said to her that evening, since she’d come storming in after her disastrous ‘conversation’ with Fjord. Not at first, of course, both of her girlfriends knew better tha to approach her when she was in a mood like that, giving her space to burn her anger away. Jester, of course, had immediately crept onto the sofa as soon as the coast was clear, wrapping her soft arms around her and not asking for an explanation, just holding.

Yasha didn’t speak her love through touch as much as Jester, instead there was a cup of warm tea in front of her all of a sudden and the strong, sure presence behind her he knew so well, a hand on her shoulder.

And those words, in her quiet, level voice.

Jester looked like she wanted to say more, that expression on her face like she was just full of words and was about to burst, until Yasha laid a gentle hand on top of her head and suggested that maybe she could go and help her make dinner. The tiefling bit her lip and flared her nostrils but eventually nodded and hopped over the back of the sofa, Yasha turning after her and leaving Beau with those words.

“Are you really going to let him leave without saying goodbye?”

Not admonishing or judging, there was none of that in her tone, as steady and sure as the sight of home from a long distance. It was just another moment where Beau felt her girlfriends knew her better than she knew herself, like they saw what was under the anger at the surface, the anger that many would assume was all there was to her. So many that sometimes Beau would believe it.

Because of course she wasn’t going to let her best friend go for gods knew how long without a goodbye. She couldn’t have their last interaction be them screaming at each other on a street corner, throwing words like weapons. No matter how she felt about his choices, he was still her friend. They’d been through far too much to leave it like that.

It had just taken her up until now to realise it.

Sighing, Beau unfolded herself and stood up, heading for the door, “I’m going to go to Fjord’s.”

Relief flooded Jester’s expression and Yasha gave a small nod, “We’ll have dinner ready for when you come back.”

Beau gave them both a rueful smile, taking a moment to admire the simple domesticity of them with Jester chopping carrots and Yasha stirring a pot on the stove. She couldn’t believe this was her life now, after so much time believing she was undeserving of anything half as lovely. A square window of warm yellow light on a dark street, always there for her.

And she would repay them by continuing to get better.

Beau shouldered on her jacket and slipped her feet into her comfy walking trainers, already planning out what she was going to say, how she was going to rescue the clusterfuck that had been their last interaction. At least it wasn’t the first time they’d had to do this, they were practically experts at navigating their way back to friendship after both letting their anger do the speaking for them.

She was a second from putting her hand on the door when someone knocked on it.

Frowning, Beau opened the door and sucked in a sharp breath.

Fjord stood on their doormat, panting heavily like he’d run there. A gym bag sat at his feet, haphazardly stuffed and hastily zipped. He was shivering in just a t-shirt and jeans, the cold night air turning his joints a harsh, dark green, arms wrapped around himself protectively and his eyes red and raw.

And an angry swelling around one streaming eye.

“I…” his voice was raspy, like he was struggling to get the words out, “Um, I broke up with Avantika. Can I sleep on your couch tonight?”

Fury flooded Beau within an instant, her jaw clenching hard and her hands turning into white knuckled fists. Adrenaline snapped hard in her chest, making her voice a low growl, “I’m going to kill her. I’m going to fucking kill her.”

Fjord closed his eyes, shrinking down, looking so completely defeated, like a man with water up to his jawline and rising, “Beau...please, I...I just need a friend right now. Please?”

Beau found it hard to control her emotions, as a rule, particularly negative ones. They seemed to take root in her, in her muscles and chest and nerves, and take over until it was so hard to care about anything else.

But the one thing Beau did care about more than anything was the people she loved.

So she inhaled deeply, feeling it fill her up, as the monks had taught her. And as she exhaled, her jaw unclenched, her fingers spread and palms opened.

“Of course,” she reached out and put her hand on Fjord’s arm, gently bringing him inside, “Jester can have a look at that eye and we’ll make a bed up for you. Stay as long as you like, man, seriously.”

Fjord’s lower lip trembled and he bit down on it, hard, just nodding.

“Hey,” Beau murmured quietly, dropping her voice before folding him into the attentions of her family, the wide eyes and gasps and immediate action, the realities of his healing, “You’re safe here. Okay?”

Fjord gave a shuddery gasp and in it Beau could hear every time he’d let something slip as a teenager about the realities of the Asylum, every disastrous break up with women he couldn’t force himself to love, every impossible rule he’d been given to live by, every nightmare and flinch away from a raised voice, every scar he’d been given by so many people. She heard a lifetime of hurt start to shift like an earthquake starting to stir.

“Okay,” Fjord breathed, tears starting to fall.

Caduceus stayed in bed far past his alarm, lying on his side and listening to it’s dull buzz in the predawn gloom. He’d been awake long before it sounded but now it had, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

All he could do was replay the kiss over and over in his mind, the last moments he would ever spend with Fjord. He frantically searched for something, anything he could have done to change the outcome, changing his words and actions over in his mind like puzzle pieces he couldn’t make fit. Was there any way he could have kept Fjord close to him, taken the fear out of his eyes, any way he could have turned him around in the darkness?

He knew it would do no good but he couldn’t stop his mind chewing it over, punishing himself for every choice and everything he could have done differently.

It was as if the clocks had turned back on him and he was the firbolg he’d been two years and change ago. The one with weights on his wrists and ankles keeping him pinned to his too small bed, lost and depressed and scared to go out into the loud, foreign city he didn’t know, endlessly punishing himself for leaving too soon, for leaving too late, for leaving full stop. Falling before he’d even taken his first step, building walls around himself when he’d worked so hard to be free.

He couldn’t bear that again. So Caduceus did what he had done two years ago and touched the earring that looped through his right ear. He’d always played with his ears as a child, running his fingers over their soft edges to calm himself whenever he was anxious. Apparently he’d done it as a baby too, when he’d been born with the largest set of ears any of his family had ever seen on a newborn, so the story went. So when he’d been thinking where to set his mark of the Wildmother, the choice had seemed obvious.

He ran his thumb over the carved, polished oak, following the whorl of the wood and took a deep breath.

“Please give me strength,” he murmured, “I’m going to need you to get through today. And...wherever he is, please protect him. Please make sure he’s okay.”

And then he got up, far from ready to face the space in the cafe beside him that would always feel empty, but at least able to try.

He tried to focus on simple things, once the door to the cafe had closed behind him, letting out it’s usual cheery ring.

Take off your coat. Hang it up. Take out your apron. Put it on, double knotted at the front. Take the first chair down. Then the next. Then the next.

Simple instructions for an exhausted brain and an aching heart. And it worked, for a time. It stopped him thinking about how Fjord would be coming up the street right now, how the bell would seem extra bright when he pushed it back. How he would call out a friendly hello and probably use some slang term Caduceus wouldn’t understand but he would put together from context. How he’d be wearing shorts, even in the cold and Cad would tease him for it and Fjord would jokingly call him his grandmother in return. How he’d help him take the chairs down, going twice as fast as he did, asking when Cad would be putting the croissants in the oven because it just so happened he’d missed breakfast that morning, just a coincidence. How he’d call him Caddy and be the only person who ever had.

Maybe it wasn’t working as well as he’d thought.

Fortunately, the ringing of the bell above the door gave him something else to think about.

“I’m sorry, we’re not quite open yet,” Cad straightened up, “But if you’d like to take a seat, I can get the kettle on…”

“I think I’d like that,” Fjord answered, his voice small and hopeful, “If you had the time.”

Caduceus froze, eyes widening, wondering if he was still back in his bed, listening to the alarm and had finally drifted to sleep. But he never would have imagined Fjord like this, looking so tired and hollowed out, with a fading, sickly yellow shadow over one eye and a fresh scab on his lip.

The marks were all he could see, hand lifting to touch them, heal them without question but he forced himself to stop, “Who…”

Shame darkened Fjord’s expression and he hunched his shoulders, “Um...Avantika…”

Cad’s jaw dropped and he felt a pit of disbelief open up inside him, quickly filled by an anger he’d only felt rarely but when he did, it was like a forest bursting into flames, “What?”

Fjord winced, “Don’t worry, I’m done with her. I mean it, for good. She’s leaving anyway and...and I just want to let it go, okay?”

Cad quelled his anger, tucking it away to examine later, “So...she’s going and you’re…”

Fjord smiled then, even as it clearly tugged painfully on his lip, “I’m staying.”

Cad blinked, shaking his head slowly, wanting to believe it so desperately but terrified of being hurt again, pulled in two directions at once, “You’re staying? For good?”

Fjord nodded, “With Beau and Jester and Yasha until I can sort something more permanent than their couch. I mean, I still need to get stuff from...from her place and...I-I’ve never really put down roots anywhere so…”

He even sounded different. His accent had shifted slightly, like a layer of it had been pulled away. A lot of him seemed to have been pulled away, actually, pared back and stripped down and he was trying to figure out what was left.

“I’d like to work here again, if you’d have me,” Fjord asked shyly, “I mean, I’d completely understand if you weren’t comfortable with that. After...after everything.”

Yes, Cad wanted to answer wholeheartedly but he made himself stop.

“After what, Fjord?” he said instead, “I think we need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be right now but we need to.”

Fjord shook his head, “No. I mean, thank you but no. You’re right, we need to talk about it and we need to talk about it now. I’ve waited far too long already.”

Cad nodded and gestured to the table he stood by. None of the tables or chairs in the cafe matched, as he’d sourced them from half a hundred different thrift stores and flea markets and scrap yards. This one was black wrought iron with a mosaiced top, flowers done in squares of leaded glass. It was a table made for partners, for third or fourth dates, only big enough for two people to sit close with not an inch of spare space.

Fjord sat across from him willingly. He’d looked like he’d slept in the clothes he was wearing and judging by the room, they were probably Yasha’s. Cad wondered if the ladies even knew he was here, as early as it was.

“I, um…” Fjord cleared his throat, “I want to apologise for the kiss last night. Not that I did it, just the way I reacted. Well...maybe how I did it too. That wasn’t how I’d want our first kiss to go. What I mean is, I want to kiss you, Caduceus. I...I like you. In that way.”

Cad felt something come to life in his chest, a fluttering that settled in his throat as his heart began to pound, “I like you in that way too, Fjord. I have for a while.”

Fjord’s golden eyes widened, “Really? I...I hoped, I thought I saw it sometimes but I didn’t know if I was seeing what I wanted to see.”

“Neither did I,” Cad smiled kindly.

That made him smile again, that shy hesitant smile. He took a deep breath, fixing his gaze on the table top while he marshalled his thoughts, like he was having to rearrange everything with this new information.

“Um...it might seem stupid but knowing I...I can feel this way, I’ve kind of only known it since yesterday. Well, not really, it’s always kind of been there but up until now I tried to hide it, even from myself. It just wasn’t something I could be, it wasn’t allowed in the world I lived in until I met you,” Fjord swallowed hard, “In the orphanage, I would have been beaten up for it. In high school I would have been even more rejected than I already was, on Vandran’s ship, I...I would have lost the only man who I could call a father. But I didn’t realise how much it was hurting me, how...how it was like an infection? The more I tried to hide this part of me, the sicker I got, the more twisted, the more sad.”

Cad only nodded and gazed at him, trying to be a constant, sure presence.

“But...I’m done feeling sick,” Fjord took a shaky breath, “I’m done hiding it. I’m...I’m gay,” his voice broke almost immediatley and his face crumbled, tears flooding into his eyes, “Gods, I’m sorry…”

Cad leaned forward, voice soft, “Oh, Fjord, it’s okay. I promise it’s okay...can I touch you?”

Fjord nodded wordlessly as his shoulders shook, gripping back just as tight when Cad wound their fingers together and held fast.

“It’s okay,” Cad stroked his thumb across his knuckles, feeling the scars and callus there, “Fjord, it’s okay to feel grief, it’s okay to feel lost and confused and happy, all of these things come with realisations like this. But I need you to understand you’ve just done a wonderful, brave, beautiful thing and I am so very proud of you.”

Fjord didn’t fight his tears, they fell on their joined hands as he gasped out, “But...I don’t know when I’ll feel comfortable kissing you, I don’t know when I’ll be able to say ‘I love you’, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to have sex with you...Cad, I can’t ask you to take all this on.”

“Yes, you can,” Caduceus said, firmly, “You can, Fjord, because you are worthy of love. You are worthy of patience and care and kindness. You can always ask. And I am saying yes.”

Fjord gave a sodden, shaky gasp and collapsed fully into his tears, pitching forward, stumbling until Caduceus caught him. He caught him and he held on tight, as strong as any anchor had ever held a ship, folding him into his arms and letting him sob into his chest. With the scent of fresh breeze and dew heavy flowers around them, Caduceus held the man he loved and who loved him back and let him cry. As he would through so many hard days and difficult times.

Eventually, Fjord’s tears ran out. In Cad’s arms he felt so small, like he’d shrunk down without the weight of the poison he’d purged. He let him pull away for air, holding his face in his hands and stroking his damp cheeks so gently.

He wasn’t looking at the mask of a man who had believed all the lies he’d been given and swallowed the hate he’d been shown for long, long years. But nor was he looking at the man who’d made him laugh so much, who’d been occupying his cafe for the last months, the one who had reached out to the Wildmother and Caduceus with hope and desperation in his eyes.

Caduceus was looking at someone new, someone halfway between those two and someone entirely himself. He was looking at Fjord at the very start of a long and difficult journey. He was looking at the man he now realised the Wildmother had put him on this earth to love.

They kissed, a soft and gentle kiss, shy and sweet as honey. And this time, Fjord smiled from ear to ear.

It would be hard for both of them at times. They would both struggle and cry and need different things at different times. But it would always wash up better than when they started, they would grow together stronger.

And both of them knew the light would always be left on.

A year was a long damn time to keep a secret. Beau was pretty pleased with herself for managing it.

She would hide her knowing grins behind her coffee cup as they’d all sit together in the Blooming Grove and someone would bring up how strange it was that Caduceus hadn’t found someone for all the time he’d been in the city. She’d feel a burst of pride when one of them would comment on how much happier Fjord was looking, how his tusks were coming in, how therapy seemed to be doing him a world of good, if they really were just going to ignore the fact that his accent had totally changed. She’d snort down laughter whenever Caleb would cluelessly comment that Fjord and Caduceus had been in the back room an awful long time for guys who were just supposed to be getting sugar and why did that take two people in the first place anyway?

Because she’d spent nearly her whole life looking out for her best friend, ever since they were in high school. There was no way she was going to miss how Fjord would put his hand in places it had no rightful reason to be during work hours, when he thought the counter was hiding them better than it was and Cad happened to be passing by. She wasn’t going to miss how, whenever busy days or stormy weather would have Fjord paled and shaking, Caduceus would be the person he’d turn to. She wasn’t going to miss the extra long lunch breaks in the back room or how late Fjord would come home some nights, after cleaning up apparently took hours longer than expected.

But she said nothing, shrugging innocently whenever asked, all while watching through the corner of her eye as Fjord stole a kiss to the back of Cad’s hand behind the coffee machine.

There were no secrets with family after all.

[mxtantrights]

˚ · · . · ✵ ✷PART TWENTY-EIGHT

word count: 2.7k!

Warnings: jessie gets high but it’s not detailed, just the after part. ALSO FLUFF 

HAWKINS, INDIANA

DECEMBER 26, 1984

I watched as all the kids sat around the game table and exchanged gifts. It was the day after Christmas- friendsmas as I'm dubbing it- and we were all held up in Mike's basement. I know they wanted to see each other all on actual Christmas day but their schedules and families wouldn't allow it. So I called everyone up this morning and arranged this.

They all thanked me with a hug when I got here with Mickey and Dayton.

Speaking of which,

I find Dayton sitting on the couch fiddling with his hands. He's been back for about two weeks now and we haven't talked much about the elephant in the room.

I take a seat next to him and smooth down my skirt. "Why are you fiddling with your hands so awkwardly?"

He stops and looks to me. "I feel like I left you here and I let you down."

"You didn't. You did the best you could do for someone who was in a different time zone. Trust me." I clap his shoulder hard- like really hard, he hates it when I do that. And he winces. "You raised me right."

"Ha-ha."

Theres footsteps coming down the steps and quickly at the bottom is Steve. He waves to the both of us before saying his greetings to the kids. Dustin and him are up to some new handshake and I think if they don't find one soon we'll all be in trouble.

After that he finds his way on the couch next to me and my brother.

"I think we met last year at the fourth of July party. Steve right?" My brother asks Steve so un-smoothly. Did he really think I didn't know that he had Steve look over me while he was gone? He even holds his hand out for Steve to shake.

Steve awkwardly laughs. "Yeah Dayton she knows."

"What? She knows?!"

I try to stifle my laughter at his outburst.

"She used her abilities on me to make me tell the truth! What was I gonna do?" Steve argues his point.

It's true he couldn't have done anything about it.

Dayton only shakes his head in annoyance.

Lucas and Dustin come up to us on the couch with two bags in their hands. I looking between the two of them and their shit eating grins.

"If this has anything to do with milk I'm giving y'all both wedgies."

Dustin passes me a red bag. "It has nothing to do with you being milk girl."

Lucas gives Steve his bag as well.

I move around the fancy tissue paper and see jeans? I pull it out with my hands and I see that it's not pants but a jean jacket. And the back is painted on with some eye popping colors but the patches on the sleeves are what gets me.

One of them is the state of Texas. And next to it is a Hawkins patch. There are a few notable patches besides those. A lasso. One says Cherry bomb. And one with a brain on it.

I look up and it's not just Dustin and Lucas anymore. The rest of the gang is behind them now watching me.

I pull the jacket on and it fits loosely. It's the best kind of fit.

Looking over at Steve I see his gift. It's another jean jacket but his is different from mine. His has got no patches on it just the paint on the back. And I can't miss the big 'MOM' on the back.

"We wanted to thank you guys for everything you did for us." Mike- the kind asshole- Wheeler speaks up.

I get up from my seat and hod my arms out. "Hugs right now or so help me I will cry on every single one of you."

Max and Mickey are first in almost making me fall over. Then Dustin and Lucas, lastly Mike. I quickly place a kiss on the top of their heads, almost missing Mike because he pulls away slightly but I pull him back.

"Okay Jessie, give me my kids now."

HAWKINS, INDIANA

JANUARY 1985

My stomach grumbling was getting annoying. I needed to put food into my system before I combust. I just didn't feel like leaving Mike's couch. After sitting here while the boys play their precious D&D after a whole year, I'm growing attached.

I'm laid on the couch like a mad woman. My legs are leaning off the side arm, only one of my arms is slanged over the back of the couch. The other one is holding me up properly.

Steve comes down the steps. Hair flopping around like usual.

"Steve! Good you're here!" I say as he descends down the last steps.

"Hey!" He waves to me.

Then he's saying hi to the kids. I watch as he makes his rounds and then walks over to me and the couch. NO if he sits down then we're not leaving here. And I need food.

I bolt out of my seat. "I'm revolting I need food."

"Why don't you ask my mom for something?" Mike asks me.

I didn't want to trouble his mom. I also didn't want to have to interact with any adults. My mouth is a little crazy as Mickey and Dayton keep saying. I'm not good at holding back my opinions.

I shush Mike and look at Steve. "Please can I get food? Please? Pretty please? The D&D is making me want to eat the floor."

"Hey!" All the boys and Max say at once.

Steve chuckles and puts his hands on his hips. Oh no what does he want. He only does that when he wants something. What could he want from me? Wasn't being friends with me enough?

"I need your skilled handwriting for some envelopes." He puts rather simply.

Okay I can do that.

"Alright I'll do it," I grab his arm and start dragging him the way he came. "I just need food. Food. Steve my stomach is like boiling. I need food."

"Alright alright. I got you." Instead of letting me drag him up the steps he falls in line with me.

Always the gentleman, he opens the door and lets me out. I let go of his arm, and let him lead the way. He takes the both of us out the back and I see his red BMW. With a spur of energy I run to the passenger side and dive into the seat.

"Come on, faster pretty boy. I'm trying not to die of starvation here."

-

"Have you been getting any memories lately?"

I turn to look at Steve in the drivers seat. I had just finished a whole meal and now he wants me to talk? I need my post-meal nap pretty soon.

I guess I could just talk to him and wait until we get back.

"Not really, no. It's been radio silent up here." I knock on my head twice.

He can't help but laugh when I do. Maybe that will ease this conversation back to a more friendly topic. I don't want to think about all the bad things today. I was trying to just have a nice day. I could think about it tomorrow. Or the next day.

"I'm serious though. You'd tell me if you did?"

"Yeah." I shoot back.

We continue on the drive in a comfortable silence. It feels like it should be awkward but its not. We have some weird upside down bond now. We haven't seen it all but we've seen enough together.

It doesn't take long before I see Mike's house appear outside my window. Steve's quick to get out of the car but I'm not, I just ate! I need to take it slow don't wanna pull a stomach muscle or something.

I've got the itis.

Slowly I open my door and roll myself out of the car. As I do I know Steve is watching me struggle. He loves to do that sometimes I swear if he wasn't my friend I would yell at him, I swear it.

He's back at my side in an instant holding his arm out for me to lock with mine.

"Ah Steve, such a gentleman."

-

HAWKINS, INDIANA

JANUARY 1985

I try to smoothly make it to my desk in one piece without raising suspicion. I don't trip, or look anyone in the eye as I make it to the back where Steve is sitting. However I do see his floppy hair and I have to clamp my mouth shut to not giggle.

His hair!

How does he do it everyday?

How?

I sit down and put my notebook on the desk.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks.

I turn slowly to nod at him, I don't wanna do it to fast or he's gonna think something is up with me. I can't alert the troops. I can't alert anyone!

He studies my face, and then his face changes. Did he just figure it out? Did he just find out that quickly? Maybe he won't say anything.

"Are you high right now?" He whispers to me.

My head is nodding again even though I wanna deny it. I was about to deny it. But my head is faster than my mouth.

Ha!

I watch closely as Steve pulls my chair and then my desk close to his. My fingers start playing with the loose ends of my knitted sweater. I wonder how those little dangling threads happen. Why did they happen? I didn't cut my sweater.

I hear our english teacher clear her throat to get the class to settle. It's then that I roll my shoulders back and face the board with the straightest face I can make.

The class settles after a few moments pass and our teacher begins to write names on the board. I watch with confusion. Why was she writing down our names? Did she forget them?

Then she writes down my name. And Steve's.

I look at Steve.

"She was picking random students to read their essays today- Jess we are fucked." He whispers to me and the way he sounds is so funny I start laughing under my breath.

I pull my sweater over my mouth to try and hide it. My eyes are watering before I know it and I have to put my head down on the desk to hide my laughter.

"Ms.Glendall whats the matter?"

Then that makes me laugh even more. Holy shit I'm about to get caught! I'm about to get caught and I don't even have an excuse to give! I'm gonna get detention! Holy shit have I ever gotten detention since I've been here?

No I haven't. I would remember.

"Jessie's not feeling to well, can she read her essay another day?" Steve asks for me.

I can feel his hand come to pat my head like I'm some sort of dog- I'm laughing even harder now. My stomach is starting to hurt with how much I'm dying from this.

"Sure Mr. Harrington."

Steve peers in close to me, close enough to whisper in my ear. When I can feel his hot ass breath on my ear I stop laughing. "You owe me big time Jess."

Oh god how am I gonna make it to Lunch. Hopefully Jon doesn't mind skipping with me to get some food. I am not eating slop while under the influence.

-

I can't believe I'm this much a wuss. I mean I tasered a demo-dog for crying out loud. You'd think I've grown some macho in me.

But no.

Here I am with my envelopes for colleges. Ready to send.

And I'm holding them in my hands like they're about to fly away.

"Step away from the applications."

I swiftly turn around.

Steve's leaning against his car.

"You know I can just go right back upstairs and cancel our plans to hang out." I quip, already turning away.

It's not long, what with his long ass legs, before he has my arm in his grasp and he's stopping me. I turn around slowly to face him, ready for that stupid look on his face. He's gonna make fun of me. I know he is.

He sent out his early applications and I'm standing here, fiddling with my regular applications.

But he doesn't have a look on his face. He looks serious.

"Alright so do you want me to do them for you or do you want a pep talk so you can do it yourself?"

I look between him and my mailbox. A few times. Maybe it's actually more than a few because he snatches the envelopes from my hands and does it himself.

Instead of letting him get the final touch I do it myself. I raise the red flag on the box.

"Well ladies and gentlemen I think Jessica Glendall has finally finished with her applications! How about a round of applause for the girl!" He starts yelling. I try to cover his mouth but he's too tall. And he's fighting me off a bit.

"Cut it out you weirdo! I have neighbors!"

"Is that what the other houses are for? I thought it was decoration."

HAWKINS, INDIANA

JANUARY 1985

"Did you actually have a lasso back home?"

I stop eating and look at Jonathan. He's got a big smile on his face because he knows he's being a little shit. But he wouldn't come up with this on his own. I know this is Steve's doing.

"Steve put you up to this?" I ask him back.

He shakes his head but can't hide his laughter.

"Nah. I just heard it from Will, who heard it from Dustin, who was told by Steve." He explains to me.

"I don't care that we're the same age I will give you a wedgie you do know that right?" It's rhetorical as he puts his hands up in surrender.

"I'd love to see you give Steve a wedgie. Or put him in a lasso."

"Yeah I'd love to see it too."

-

I was cheering Steve on in the gym not too long ago. He's playing really hard right now so that the scouts can see him. I know that he feels like he has to overcompensate with sport because his grades are too hot.

But neither are mine. We're in the same boat here.

His car chirps and I look around for him. I was waiting for him on his car after all. I find him walking my way with his sport bag slung over his shoulder. They didn't win today but he did carry his team the whole way through. That's gotta count for something.

He doesn't say anything to me- no snide remark, no sass, not even a hello. All he does is get into his car and slam the door. Maybe he wants to be alone right now?

I hop off the hood of his car and he turns the engine on.

Maybe I should take the hint and leave.

I put my bag over both of my shoulders and start to turn my body away when I hear the horn honk. So I turn back.

The window is rolled down on my side.

"Aren't you coming?"

I open the door swiftly and get in. "You sure you don't want to be alone right now? I mean I can understand-"

"No I'll be fine. I just need to drive around for a little bit." He says to me and starts pulling out of the parking lot.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" I offer

I remember the forth of July party and what he said. About College and parents. This was definitely a topic that he dreaded.

He pumps the breaks on the car when I say it. I almost jolt forward but he holds his arm out to brace me. It makes me let out a breath that's all I know. His arm retracts back to his side as he keeps his eyes on the wheel.

"My dad sucks. And my grades kind of suck. And he's riding my ass about college."

I carefully put my hand on his shoulder. "Look all you can do is your best Steve. At the end of the day it's all anyone can do. Your dad might not see it but it's you who needs to start seeing it. It's your life."

"Y-yeah."

"Plus all of the shit you did with those monsters from hell is pretty badass. You'd probably get a metal for it if it wasn't top secret."

He laughs. "Thanks Jessie."

"Of course Stevie."

"Jessica!"

"Stephen!"

[brainsmut]

No Barriers

This is some very self-indulgent Braym smut (Braym being Bram and Ray, my OCs). Keep in mind, kids: Ray comes from an extremely advanced alien race with tech verging upon Clarke’s Third Law. YOU should always wear gloves when fingering! I wibbled a lot on that, but decided that “No Barriers” meant “NO Barriers,” so there’s no gloves for anal fingering because Super Advanced Tech + Literary License (mostly the latter). 

Since not everyone knows my mountain of OCs, Bram is a time-traveling sort-of hero who originally came from a Steampunk Victorian London. He has a prosthetic right leg (well, right lower leg) made of brass and clockwork due to a little... accident he had. He used to be a criminal... sort of. He’s a lot better at hero-ing than villain-ing, really. 

Ray is an alien with his very own spaceship and host of high-tech stuff. He and Bram met on the campus of IOU (Illuminati University), which is a dimensional nexus. Ray is studying human sexuality; Bram’s in the time travel program (as mentioned above). Other programs include magic, mad science, and law. 

At this point, they’ve been dating for a while. Neither of them did much extensive dating before each other; Ray’s scientific method in the bedroom put off some people (he’s pansexual) and Bram mostly just had flings (because that’s what his partners (he’s homosexual) were interested in, and he was just happy enough to have sex because homosexuality was considered immoral back where he’s from).

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         Bram almost fell out of the machine. Almost. He was getting better about regaining his stability immediately after being healed by his boyfriend’s amazing technology. Being without his prosthetic certainly didn’t help with the whole “stability” thing, but the disorientation of waking up on a spaceship was lessening each time.

           Ray was still there to catch him, to steady him and keep him upright. “How are you feeling?” he asked. It was a silly and unnecessary question to Bram’s mind, but he never said so because he was in nothing but his pants – not his trousers, his pants, his… well, the package had said ‘boxers’ on it – and Ray was in only his pajama trousers and he knew what was… well, coming, in a manner of speaking.

           They always had sex after Ray healed him. It was an unspoken law with the two of them, ever since the first time it had happened and Bram had just been so relieved to be whole (well, as ‘whole’ as he’d ever be again, since losing most of his right leg below the knee) and well and back with Ray that he’d kissed the stuffing out of him almost instantly, and Ray had returned it, one thing had led to another and another and dear sweet god, another…

           Also, Ray insisted it helped the healing process for him to be as close to starkers as his modesty would allow. And Bram wasn’t about to argue with the man who knew how to work the nigh-magical healing machine.

           Still, “how are you feeling?” was a silly question because he was feeling the same way he always felt coming out of the machine: wonderful, tip-top, and overwhelmingly glad to be home again, so rather than answer that in words, he grabbed Ray’s head with both hands and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

           Ray slid his arms around him, bare skin on bare skin and ohhhh, it felt so good. It made him feel alive, which was a wonderful thing to feel when he’d barely made it back from the Tithonian age after unfortunately looking a Juratyrant straight in the eye. Or… as straight in the eye as you could manage with one of those things, anyway.

           His heart raced as Ray picked him up and carried him towards the bed. The healing machine – or, as Ray put it, the Inductive Physic Equilibriator – was on the spaceship, and they only used the spaceship’s bed rarely. Usually only at times like this. Still, there was a bed, round instead of rectangular, hovering nearby, with hydrophobic sheets that felt like silk and shifted between heliotrope and cerulean and every color in between the two, seemingly at random. It wasn’t just a trick of the light; the sheets actually shifted color, and the first time he’d seen it, he’d spent more time playing with the sheets than paying attention to his lover.

           Not this time, as Ray lowered him down to the bed before he climbed up himself and atop of him. He grabbed Ray’s face again, hauled him back down for another kiss as he laid back, and he felt Ray’s tongue curl around his own. The joys of having an alien boyfriend.

           Ray pressed his body against his, and Bram arched up as best he could in invitation. One of his soft hands slid along Bram’s side, down to grip the strong thigh of his right leg as he began to kiss down: his chin, his throat, the hollows above his clavicle, down his sternum. Bram gasped and sighed and closed his eyes to savor this feeling of being wanted, being desired, of someone so happy he was alive as to need to make love to him that very instant.

           Ray’s tongue flicked over a nipple. He teased it, blew on it until it was taut and peaked enough for him to lightly nibble. Bram hissed as he raised his head, opened his eyes, caught his lover’s blue eyes looking right back at him, watching for his reactions. As if you couldn’t play me like a Stradivarius by now. Still, it made his cock twitch to see those hungry eyes locked on him, flitting away only occasionally as he closed them to concentrate on the taste of Bram’s skin as he licked his way down, down, down…

           “Hold on,” he said just as Ray started tugging his boxer shorts down. “I… I want to ask you if you’d… if you’d do something for me. With me. But… well, I’m not sure if you’ll know what I’m asking.”

           “You think I won’t recognize the slang you want to use to ask me this favor?”

           “Well, to be fair, it’s not easy for me either sometimes. But I… I heard this and it… I like it. But I…”

           “Ask the way you want to. If I require clarification, I’ll ask for it then.”

           Bram nodded. Honestly, he’d just been buying time, trying to work up the nerve to say it. He liked it, the phrase ran down his spine and pooled in his belly, but that didn’t make pushing the words out of his mouth any easier. So much for my being the silver-tongued sweet talker. Not that there was much ‘sweet’ about this particular phrase.

           He cleared his throat, feeling the heat swim up into his cheeks. “I… I want you to take me raw.”

           Ray blinked at him.

           “It means…”

           “You wish me to have sex with you without a condom?” Should have figured he’d know that one, given his major. He sat back between Bram’s spread legs. “Are you certain?”

           Bram pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah, very. You know my history. You know I was a virgin when I came to IOU.” Ray nodded, and Bram continued. “And you know why.”

           “Yes. In your time period, dimensional flux coordinates, and specific location, homosexuality was considered amoral and potentially criminal.”

           “Well, so was I, actually.”

           “Forgive me, but you weren’t, from what I’ve heard, very good at criminality.”

           “Yes, yes, we’ve been over that.” His blush was coming back. “But my point is that, when I came here, this was my first real opportunity to have sex, and… well, I always did it safely.”

           “As you should.”

           “Right. But I’ve never had the opportunity to… to experience it without that… that barrier. And I’d like to, now. With you.” He smiled nervously.

           Ray smiled, too, but if he was nervous, he didn’t show it. “And I ask again: are you sure?”

           “If you are, anyway. I… I mean, we’re in a ‘long-term monogamous relationship’, right?”

           “Absolutely.”

           It made his pulse quicken again. “And you’re… Ray, you’re the only one I want to be with. And God knows I don’t have any diseases after all the time I’ve spent in that thing.” He jutted his chin at the healing machine.

           Ray laughed. “I also keep myself healthy, with regular scans and tests. And I don’t wish to have sex with anyone but you, either. I’m just very pleased to know you trust me so much.”

           “Yeah, well, I have to.”

           He hadn’t meant to… he hadn’t been thinking at all, it had just come out: a wry expression of the truth of things, and a truth he’d been even more scared to bring up than this. And he knew, he knew Ray would pursue it, even though he was afraid of the consequence of it. Be happy with what you’ve got, he’d chided himself so often before now. A handsome, sexy boyfriend who is loyal, sweet, kind, and has a fucking amazingly skilled tongue. Wasn’t sex enough when, for so long, it wasn’t something available to him at all? And not just sex, but someone who cared about him, who would put up with his tirades about the ridiculousness of steampunk movies, who would heal him when he nearly got eaten by dinosaurs. Don’t push it, don’t ruin it.

           But it was too late. Ray cocked his head adorably and asked, “What do you mean by ‘I have to’? I have not intended to force anything on you…”

           “No, no, you haven’t, you didn’t, it’s not you,” he said with a groan. “It’s… It’s me. Because,” it’s too late now, you have to say it, “because you have my heart,” he confessed, “and you could…” he felt tears welling up in his eyes, “you could crush it like an empty paper sack. But I know you won’t. I… I know you won’t and I have to trust you won’t because otherwise I… I’d just…”

           Ray stretched himself forward, hands prowling alongside Bram’s body, all the way up until he could kiss him. “Does that mean what I believe it to mean?” he asked quietly.

           He grumbled, “Of course it does, you daft…”

           “Then say it? Please?” His eyes searched Bram’s own and that last little wall gave way.

           “I love you,” he admitted.

           And Ray smiled that ‘I knew it’ smile, that ‘You have pleased me’ smile, and hope sparked in his chest. “And I love you, Bram.”

           “Really?” he asked, warmth and joy seeming to radiate from Ray’s smile into his own nerves.

           “Have you ever known me to lie?”

           “Well, you did tell that pizza delivery guy that you were exercising when you answered the door sweaty and mostly naked that one time.”

           “That was not a lie. My heart rate was elevated, my body was generating sweat in an effort to cool me…”

           “Because you were going down on me at the time,” he reminded him.

           “Speaking of which…” His hand slid along his body to hook into the top of his boxers. “…if we’re to have sex without condoms, shall we forego them while I am sucking you as well?”

           The casual dirty phrases – well, non-scientific phrases, anyway – mixed in with perfectly normal speech, delivered in Ray’s calm, even, straightforward manner… He could feel himself reacting again. “I-if you want, sure. I… That one’s up to you.” Oh please, oh please, oh please…

           “And you know, the Equilibriator takes care of your waste functions and cleans up for you while you’re inside…”

           “How long was I in this time? I forgot to ask.”

           “Only 18 hours.”

           “Oh, ‘only’.”

           “As I was saying, you have been exceptionally cleaned both outside and in. Normally I would at least wear a glove to finger you the way you like so much, but…”

           “Oh God, please stop talking about it and let’s just get back to it,” he groaned.

           Ray chuckled. “I will still require lubrication.” He moved back, scooting off the end of the bed to remove his trousers.

           Not that Bram watched the show this time. As soon as he had room for it, he lunged over towards the wall, where a drawer auto-opened in reaction to his hand. He pulled out the lube and let the drawer shut itself. It took all his control not to just lob the lube at his lover. Instead he sat up, practically slammed it down on the bed between his legs and then threw himself back into a laying position on the bed, raising his hips and thrusting his boxers off as best he could.

           “Impatient?”

           “Yes. Ray, I… You love me, and I love you, and we’re going to… this, I… you’re…”

           Ray crawled back onto the bed and asked in a voice so quiet it was almost a purr, “I’m going to ‘take you raw’, yes?”

           Bram damn near melted. “Ohhh yes please thank you.”

           He helped him get his boxers the rest of the way off, then leaned in to gently, achingly-slowly lick from the base of his dick aaaalll the way up to the top. Then his tongue wrapped most of the way around his shaft just before Ray slid his mouth onto the head.

           Bram sighed and let his head loll back into the pillow. “That is… oh, love, that is incredible.”

           “Mmm,” and then Ray raised his head to say, “I think I prefer ‘love’ to ‘dovey’.”

           “Oi!” Bram raised his own head now. “What’s wrong with ‘dovey’?”

           “Nothing. ‘Love’ is simply better.” He swirled a finger around the top of Bram’s cock.

           “Okay, fine.” He laid back down. “Not like I could ever say no to you anyway.”

           “Have you ever wanted to?” And he once again sheathed him in his hot, hungry mouth.

           “Not even once,” he groaned. He rolled his hips, raising them just a little.

           Ray hummed again and pressed his legs apart farther. His hand slid under Bram’s right thigh, all the way up to grip his ass, gently pushing apart more to open him up. Bram had no idea how he could do it all one-handed, but by the time he felt a finger teasing his hole, it wasn’t just slick but also warm. And still Ray’s mouth was taking its time, languidly up and down, tongue deftly stroking around and under the head.

           He couldn’t help but moan, glad of the ship’s sound dampeners. As usual, Ray was parked in the Fuligan Parking Lot, and there was no telling who might’ve been walking past outside. But even if they could hear him, he was past caring.

           One finger inside him already had him begging for more. When a second finger joined the first, Ray grunted and pulled off to eye the situation. “You’re tighter than usual.”

           “I’m always tighter after healing.”

           “The Equilibriator doesn’t do that.”

           “I think it does. Or…y’know, it’s just that I went from near-death to being home and healed and with my love, and so I want to make sure it’s extra good for you again.”

           “You cannot consciously adjust your… can you?”

           Bram laughed, a full-body-shaking laugh. “No, I can’t. I don’t know what it is, but I swear I’m tighter the first fuck out of the machine. And I know I’m not complaining.”

           “I’ve never complained either, but I want to make sure there is nothing but pleasure for you.”

           “Then keep fingering me.”

           Ray did as he was told, two fingers pushed in and Bram pushed his hips back against the sensation. His love – Christ, it’s good to call him that – was careful, re-lubing constantly and seeking out the favorite spots that drew the loudest moans. He also resumed licking and sucking his cock, and by the time Bram got a third finger, he was gripping the bedsheets tight with both hands.

           “More, deeper,” he panted. “It feels so good to feel your actual fingers inside me… ohhhh, I can hardly wait for your dick.”

           “You don’t have to wait if you don’t want to,” Ray assured him. “But I would prefer to take full advantage of our first time without condoms.”

           “Mea-meaning?”

           “I’d like to taste you when you come.”

           “Jesus FUCK, Ray.”

           “Is that bad? I can’t tell when you say that.”

           “No, no, it’s not… right now it’s not bad anyway. I just… I want so much and I want it all right now and it’s hard to choose.”

           “Then may I?”

           “Of course. Absolutely anything you want, love, I can’t even think straight with three fingers in my ass and the promise of coming in your mouth on top of it all.”

           “That makes it sound like you might be incapable of consent.” The fingers started to withdraw. “Perhaps I should…”

           “RAY, DON’T YOU DARE STOP.” He didn’t raise his head, so he was, in effect, ordering the ceiling. “PLEASE.”

           “Very well then. Let me just…” The fingers disappeared and Bram whimpered, but then they returned, freshly slicked up and able to push into him even better than before.

           And Ray’s mouth returned, hungrier than ever, tongue teasing just under the head as he sucked on it. Bram arched his hips to get more of himself into his boyfriend’s mouth, but Ray was adamant on focusing all his attention on the area with the most nerve endings, the area that would bring him the most pleasure, and the fingers were pistoning in and out of him, building him up expertly.

           Bram panted and writhed, let himself get lost in the sensation for a bit before he warned, “I’m going to come, love. I can’t hold back much longer.”

           He might’ve expected Ray to have something to say about that, but instead he just locked eyes with him and sucked his cock all the way into his mouth as his fingers pressed as deep inside him as they could get.

           And he was gone, that was the end of anything akin to restraint, and being able to shoot freely without the latex obstacle, to fill Ray’s mouth and not a reservoir tip, to feel that wet heat so clearly and perfectly…

           “Dear God, that was worth waiting for,” he said when he had words again and air to say them.

           “Mm, we’re not done yet, I don’t think.”

           Bram opened his eyes to find Ray toying with his still-erect member.

           “As usual, your stamina is excellent immediately after healing.”  

           “Come here,” he said, beckoning Ray forward with two fingers and a smile. “I wanna see if I can taste myself on your lips.”

           Ray arched an eyebrow but smirked as he did so, seizing Bram’s mouth for another deep kiss, tongue twisting around his own instantly. He could feel Ray’s erection brushing against his own, both hot and hard and ready to go.

           Apparently Ray’s people didn’t have foreskins at all – there’d been a ‘fun’ conversation about circumcision the first time they’d had sex – and Ray’s dick was tapered: at its base it was incredibly thick, but at its rounded tip it was smaller than the overall girth of Bram’s. He supposed that made for easier entrance, but none of it really mattered to him because all he knew was how good it felt to have Ray inside him, and soon he was going to get to feel the actual skin of him within him, too.

           “Well?” Ray asked as he pulled out of the kiss. Of course he was interested. He was a scientist of sex, after all.

           “Salty. Something I’d have to work to acquire a taste for. I hope it wasn’t too unpleasant for you.”

           “Mm, let us say I will enjoy acquiring the taste. The experience was worth it. I enjoy knowing exactly how hard and how much you are ejaculating.”

           “Measure of pleasure, eh?” It was an old joke with them now.

           “Very much so,” he agreed, eyes sparkling as he smiled. “But if you are ready to be entered, I would like to be inside you.”

           “So polite.”

           “You like it.”

           “I do. I like it when you’re dirty, too. I just… like you. Love you.”

           “I love you, too,” he said again, and Bram’s blood sang with it. And then Ray leaned down and whispered in his ear, “I must have you, love, because your ecstatic moans are the most erotic sounds I have come across in all the universe.”

           Bram was fairly certain he’d set a new speed record for fastest full-face blush at that. And, hell, if he hadn’t already been hard as steel, he thought that might have gotten him there from fully limp, even. “Well, by all means,” he joked weakly.

           Ray pushed himself up and moved back just a little. He kneeled between Bram’s spread legs, only to start stroking them. He ran his hand up and down Bram’s left leg, and all the way down his right thigh, over the stump, and back up again. Then his hands slid beneath him to get a quick grope of his ass. “You know my favorite position.”

           “Of course.”

           He started lubing his hard dick up, getting it good and slick. “Any objections to…?”

           “None,” he said crisply, because he loved Ray, he did, but he was wordier than Bram was himself. Right now, he didn’t have the patience for it. “I’d love it, please just…”

           “Fuck you raw.”

           He whimpered.

           Ray helped him sit up, helped him get on his knees straddling him. This part was a little dodgy: Bram had to put most of his weight on his left leg because there wasn’t much leg below his right knee. But, as always, Ray helped him, hands moving to his hip and his back, taking hold and helping support weight when needed.

           Bram held onto Ray’s broad shoulders. “I’m good, help align.”

           Ray didn’t answer in words, just set to the task. “Good?”

           “Yes, right there.” He began to lower himself onto his boyfriend’s cock. “Easy…”

           Not that he had to say it. Ray was always gentle when first entering, as he was now. At first, it was like just having a couple of fingers in him. It was easy to adjust. And as he took more of Ray in, he got thicker and thicker.

           Ray groaned. “This… does… have increased sensation…”

           “Oh, fuck, you’re tellin’ me,” Bram sighed, able to feel the direct heat of his cock inside him. He rose up a little, sank down more.

           “Do you regret not having this before now?” Ray asked him.

           “Maybe. I-I didn’t want it with anyone else, if that’s what you’re asking.”

           And Ray smiled just before he kissed him. But it was the truth: there was a feeling of deep intimacy in this, in letting himself trust someone so much. He couldn’t have imagined this with any of the (very few) guys he’d been with prior to Ray. It wouldn’t have felt so right with them.

           And then he pushed himself up inside Bram some more, causing him to break from the kiss with a moan.

           “There’s one of those sounds I like so much,” Ray said with a grin.

           “Keep doin’ that and you’ll get more of ‘em,” Bram promised. He looked into Ray’s eyes as he slowly sat up then back down, over and over, getting more and more of Ray’s cock inside his gradually-stretching ass. “Mmm, fuck, this feels so good.”

           “Yes,” and Ray practically had to pant the word. He slid his hands back around to Bram’s ass, held onto it as he truly started to ride. “Yes, it does.”

           Bram just kept his eyes locked on Ray’s. It was his favorite part – Ray’s and his own. Looking in each other’s eyes, watching the desperation to come mount as he rode him… He could watch Ray unravel inside him like this.

           It was starting already: Ray was beginning to babble in “Raylienese,” which is what he called his boyfriend’s language since the actual name was unpronounceable if you didn’t have a prehensile tongue and an extra vocal cord or two. He was losing his grip on English, returning to his first language as he panted and moaned and his eyelids fluttered closed.

           Bram arched his back and groaned as loud as he could as he finally got Ray in as deep as he could. This was almost better than climax: that moment when they were as joined together as it was possible, that very first moment when they couldn’t get any closer without resorting to mad science or strange magic.

           I never want to be any farther from you than this.

           And Ray began to push him up, to remind him to move.

           He gripped his love’s shoulders and began to ride him in earnest, harder, faster than he had before. Ray’s strong arms helped him, his hands still gripping his ass tight.

           Even though Ray had lost any sense of English, he could still understand it, and Bram leaned forward to whisper somewhere vaguely near his ear, “Fuck me raw, love.”

           The sound from Ray’s throat had no earthly analog to which it could be compared, but he began thrusting up hard into Bram, meeting his own downward strokes in perfect time. He pulled a hand away from Bram’s ass, slid it into his hair, pushed his face towards his. The kiss was sloppy because of their motions, but it had a desperate passion in it that Bram couldn’t help but want more of. He moved his hands from Ray’s shoulders to his face, worked to hold the kiss as they fucked.

           It was too much, though: too much pleasure, too much heat, too much joy. The sensation – not just of not having the condom but of knowing he was with someone whom he loved and who loved him in turn – made everything else so intense.

           “Ray…” And he sounded even to his own ears as if he were pleading, but he wasn’t sure for what. And he felt his love release inside him, felt that sudden hot wave fill him just before he came himself.

           He was gripping Ray’s shoulders again, and he let go and just slumped against him comfortably.

           Ray wrapped his arms around him and fell back to the bed. The movement jostled his dick out of his ass, and Bram whimpered a little.

           “Forgive me. But…” He had to stop to catch his breath. “I wanted this.”

           “Forgiven,” he murmured. “So long as we can stay here tonight, make love as much as possible.”

           Ray chuckled and pressed a kiss to his temple. “We’ll get hungry.”

           “Lots of places deliver. Even to a parking lot. Won’ be hard: go to Fuligan, it’s the spaceship with all the happy sex noise comin’ out of it.”

           Ray full-on laughed. “My noise dampeners would…”

           “I know, but lemme be silly.”

           “Always,” Ray agreed.

           They laid there quietly, both enjoying the warmth. After a few minutes of listening to his heartbeat, Bram asked, “Say it again?”

           “I love you.”

           He sighed in contentment. “I love you, too.”

           “Good. Then perhaps you will remember that the next time you think it’s a good idea to go back in time and anger a carnosauroid.”

           “It wasn’t my idea!” he protested.

           “As much as I enjoy sexual intercourse here,” Ray continued, “I would rather it not happen at all if it’s only because you’ve gotten yourself nearly killed.”

           “We can come visit some other times, too. Some ‘non-healing machine’ times.”

           “Acceptable.” And then, “I enjoyed this. But now I will have to wipe down the sheets.”

           And it was Bram’s turn to laugh. “It is a bit messy. But you’re worth it.”

           “As are you, my love. Roll off and let me get some cleanser…”

           He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He took a lot of risks. Sometimes, he ended up hurt, and sometimes he got hurt pretty badly. But he felt sure that Ray would never hurt him and that loving him was a risk well worth taking.

[gingers-writing-blog]

New York Bound

Chapter 1

The story starts in April 1899.

Triggers: Mild Swearing, One Punch, Mention of Blood

New Words: /

Word Count: 2,819

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"Come on guys! Wake up and get a move on! Those papers ain't gonna sell themselves!" I shout over the noise of the busy London streets below. It's only half-past seven but some people, like the blacksmiths, maids and landlords, have been up for at least an hour; and these lazy newsies are still asleep! It had been rainin' last night, so there were some puddles on the roads and pavements and the cold wind was blowin'. It blew a few stray paper bags from the shops down the street. It was only just light outside, but it's April, so what's new...

I hear a few people stirrin' from their sleep.

"Aye! Lucky! Ya should be up by now. I can't run this place all by myself!" I twist around from the window and call over to the girl that helps me run the Westminster Newsies. She's barely awake!

I saunter over to my boyfriends' bed and try and shake him awake. We both laugh as he waves his arms around blindly tryin' to shove me away.

"Come on Tommy! Get ya lazy arse up!" I shove him playfully, and he almost fell off the bed, but he grabbed onto my hand and pulled me, so I was lyin' next to him. He put his arm around me and I almost forgot about sellin' papers...

"Mornin'." He said quietly, while tracin' the outline of the small birthmark next to my left eye. He was really warm, and it was a nice change from the freezin' cold of the lodgin' house. His cute Aussie accent came through a lot in the mornin', and sometimes he would make it really thick and I would try and guess what the hell he was sayin'! Yeah, I love him with all my heart.

"Mornin'," I said back. We ended up starin' into each other's eyes. I love his eyes, amazin' deep brown; they were like the fancy chocolate that ya see in shop windows in the rich part of the city.

"For Christs' sake, get a room! So much for wake up and get a move on, ey' Cat!" Our little moment was interrupted by none other than Lucky. I turn my head around and see her pickin' up her dice that she always takes around with her, ya know, just in case she gets tied up in another gamblin' game...again...

"Right! This is payback for all the times I have to listen to ya and Smalls swoonin' over each other!" I reply, flashin' her a cocky grin.

'Scuse my manners, I should introduce myself. My name is Caitlin. Caitlin Barnes to be precise, but I go by Cat. I am 15 and I live in Westminster Borough, London. I am one of the two leaders of the Newsies here; the other leader is a girl called Lucky. Our lodgin' house is in Westminster City, which is quite near the borders of Lambeth and Camden; and it is a mess, I mean, there are clothes, shoes and caps everywhere! If ya borough rankin' was based on how tidy ya lodgin' house is, we would be right at the bottom!

The boroughs are ranked by one thing and one thing only. It's not how many people there are in ya borough and it's not how tidy ya Lodgin' House is. Thank god! It's by how much money ya make every month, and we make a fair amount. Mikey, the Polish kid, is the resident maths genius and he always adds up all our money every night.

Westminster is actually one of the smallest boroughs in London, but we all look after each other. Turf wars are a nightmare! Ya can usually tell which boroughs are run by boys because they are the quickest to get into fights; whereas the boroughs run by girls, like Camden, City and obviously here, are more diplomatic and don't want to get anyone killed! Although Angel's Bromley ain't on my list of allies...and that system ain't always correct.

We always think of the famous Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly when we need to defend ourselves. Sorry, I'm probably borin' ya with this, they probably don't know it, but they're famous over here!

There's a kid named Roger who was sent over here by his aunt in New York, he's from Brooklyn and he told us all about Spot Conlon, his borough leader, and Jack Kelly, the leader of a borough called Manhattan. He called them the best leaders their side of the pond!

Anyways, after we were rudely interrupted by my co-leader, Tommy Boy released me from his warm, tight hug, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and we both got out of his bed.

I walked away from him while he chatted to Albie, one of the few people who actually live with their parents, but he was doin' stuff, so they let him stay here for the night. Mikey was stuff.

Yeah...

I made it over to Elise and Adelaide's beds. Those girls came over from France, just like my father, but they don't speak any English.

Luckily, my father did. So, he taught me and my mother, I tried to learn, but I don't have the right head for it, my brain prefers English and reading things in English. I only know a few basic phrases. Seams knows French though. She's the only one who can talk to them with any certainty of what they're sayin'!

"Tres bien mesdames! Il est temps de porter la banniere!" I said to them I saw someone, Red I think, glance over at them. They're new and I don't think they knew what Seams said!

That means "Alright ladies! Time to carry the banner!" by the way! Meanin', time to get up and sell the papers before it's too late! It's pretty much the only phrase I know for sure.

I chatted for a bit with Chase and how he flirted with his girlfriend last night! I know that doesn't sound very interestin', but he was either drunk or just really tired, but when he asked if she was single, he cried! It was way funnier if ya was there...

The two of us laughed for a bit. He went red and smiled, embarrassed. I left him to get dressed and walked back to my bed, clappin' him on the back as I went! I weaved my way back to my bed and kissed Tommy as I passed him.

I got my clothes out of my bedside drawer and laid them out on my bed, pushin' my recently-finished book aside. I put my bra on backwards, then twisted it around under my shirt. I pulled the straps up and took my nightshirt off.

Tommy Boy looked up and blushed when he saw me. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and grinned back at him.

"Whattaya got for me today babe?"

"Alright! Uhhhh...try and guess what this means!" There's this thing Tommy and I do every mornin'. He tells me some Aussie slang and I have to guess what the hell he means, and then I say somethin' in French and he tries to guess what I mean.

I looked over at him from where I was changin' into my day clothes.

"What are daks?" He said, with a cute little smirk.

"Ya what?" I laughed. I had absolutely no idea what he meant by 'Daks'. I love this idiot!

"Y'know! Daks! Ya wearin' 'em right now!" I stood there, lookin' down at myself. I was standin' next to my bed in my bra and trousers.

"Does it mean trousers?" It sounded ridiculous! I bent down and grabbed my blue and off-white striped undershirt and pulled it on as he replied.

"Yup! Well done! Ya gettin' betta at guessin'! That was an easy one though..." He grinned at the last bit.

"Right," I decided I was gonna give him a hard one. I clapped my hands together, rubbed them together and stuck my tongue out a bit while I thought of my plan. "Got it! Journaux. Take a crack at that!"

I pulled my mother's old red and grey shirt on and laughed at the look of complete confusion on his face. It was adorable, and he started laughin' with me. I gave him some time to think while I did up the buttons and put my black waistcoat, socks and shoes on as fast as I could. I had to time this perfectly.

The laces of my brown work boots were still undone when I walked over to him, wrapped my arms around his neck and looked up at him. God, I hope I timed this right!

Ding! Ding! Ding! YES!!!

"It means newspapers!" I said as the distribution bell rang out! I kissed him quickly and left him to get dressed. He was still shirtless and had only managed to put his trousers, socks and shoes on! Whereas I was fully dressed if ya don't count my hat.

I grabbed my hat off the end of my bed and yelled out to my newsies.

"Come of guys! Carry the banner!" I yelled out to everyone. They went thunderin' down the stairs. Most of 'em went two at a time and I'm really surprised that someone doesn't die or get really hurt every day!

"Ey! CAT?" I heard someone yell from the doorway to the stairs. I turned around to see who it was.

"Yeah, Fletch?" That's Fletcher. No one really knows where he came from, but we soon found out that he's wicked strong. Like, unnaturally strong, we had a bit of a situation and we needed to clear the main room. Fletcher just came up and lifted up a chair, Patch was still sittin' on it! And he just lifted it up like it was nothin'! Boy, crutch and all!

"What day is it?" His head bobbed up and down as he jumped to see over the few remainin' people.

"Uhhh...Tuesday 25th." I said just as everyone else made it out the door and down the stairs, Fletcher nodded to me, turned and ran down the stairs. I turned back to Tommy and we chuckled a bit about his slightly strange question, but we shrugged it off soon enough.

Once everyone was out, it was just me and Tommy. I bent down and did my shoes up and put my hat on and let my hair hang down. It fell past my waist and there was so much of it, I could rarely fit all of it in my hat!

"C'mon! Ya nearly ready?" I wandered over to the door leadin' to the landin' and the stairs down to the ground floor. The dormitories of the 'Mayfair Lodging House' - and every other lodgin' house, for that matter - were on the 2nd floor. The middle floor had the kitchens, but we don't use that much, and the near-permanently locked storeroom.

The storerooms were only to be unlocked in an emergency, and only the leaders of the boroughs had the key. Now, I have a feelin' about what ya goin' to say...But Mayfair has two leaders!? That's definitely true, but if a borough has two leaders, the first to actually become leader gets the key.

And that would be me. I was made leader when I was 12 because of some emergency from the old leader, Note; then when I was 14, last year, I "promoted" Lucky to become my co-leader. I always keep the key on a long black ribbon around my neck and tucked into my bra. I even sleep with it on because Angel snuck in and almost stole it from my bedside table. From then on, I kept it on at all times. No one that lives in the Lodging House has seen the inside of it...I don't even know if it's ever been opened before and the many times I've looked under the door, all I could see was darkness and dust...

I stood there thinkin' and waitin' for Tommy to finish tyin' his shoelaces up and grab his hat before he ran over to me. I thought he would stop next to me like he did every other day...but I guess every other day we haven't been this late. So instead, he planted a quick kiss on my lips and bolted down the stairs!

"Race ya to the gates!" He called out.

"Hey! Ya got a head start!" I yelled after him, jumpin' down the stairs two at a time. He bolted out the door and closed it after him!

"Really!?" I said, laughin' under my breath. I opened the door quickly and then slammed it shut and ran after him.

Now, what he didn't take into account, was that I was one of the fastest runners in all of the Westminster Newsies, but he knew he was always faster. I guess he just wanted to let me win...for once!

We got to the Distribution Gates with about five seconds to spare before they locked up! The Jordan Brothers were just about to lock the gates when we got right up to them and I stuck my arm through the gap between the rapidly closin' iron gates.

"Oi! Dan! Joey! 100 each!" Tommy yelled. Dan opened the gates reluctantly.

"Why was you two late?" That was Mr Fink. He is a literal weasel. He's the Jordan Brother's uncle and he is the paper distributor for Westminster. Despite bein' a complete arsehole, he's a fat man, he always looks like he's got a permanent hangover and he has a face a potato would be proud of. But 'e can throw a hard punch...

He sneered at us as we walked up the slope to the hatch.

"None o' ya business, Fink." I retorted.

"It's Mister Fink to ya." He slammed his hand down of the countertop. 

He wanted money.

I slammed my 50 pence piece with just as much force as he slammed his hand down. The price of the papers is two for a penny. So, its 50 pence for 100 papers. Most of the time it's an alright price, but if it's cold, or windy, or rainin'...then not so much. Fuck it! It's England! It's like that most of the time! Our Septembers are usually pretty good though...

I laughed under my breath and took my papers once he put them on the countertop.

"What's so funny? Huh?" Dan Jordan grabbed onto my arm as I jumped down from the platform at the top of the slope; he was standin' near the raised platform, but on the floor instead of the ramp.

"Oh, nothin'!" I replied sarcastically, fakin' innocence.

"Don't believe ya!" His grip on my arm tightened.

"Get offa me, Dan." I gave him my death-stare, full of anger and hate. I wouldn't let him bully us. He didn't loosen his grip at all. I clenched my fist, preparin' for a fight. I wasn't scared to fight the Jordan Brothers! They might be a few years older than us, but I know Tommy and I can take 'em.

Then he said somethin' that would've scared me shitless a few years ago...

"The Foreman says hello." My stare wavered and I looked down for a second, before raisin' my head again and death-stared him again. I was tryin' to form a plan of attack that wouldn't end up in either or both of us endin' up dead in an alleyway in the East End.

By that time, Fink had given Tommy Boy his papers, and he managed to get behind Joey without gettin' punched. Tommy grabbed Dan's left shoulder with his right hand and tore him away from me, his hand comin' away from my arm.

Tommy threw him to the ground and punched him hard in the face. The punch drew blood and Joey looked even more pissed off than usual.

"Run Cat!" He yelled. I was lookin' around for Joey and Fink, but a massive stack of papers had fallen, or had been pushed, in front of the door they had to get through to get to us. Joey and Fink were swearin' at us through the barred window of the door.

"Run!" I looked back at Tommy and Dan. Dan had a small cut on his face and Tommy was sprintin' towards me, his 100 papers still under his left arm. I still had mine and he grabbed the arm that wasn't supportin' the papers and tugged me out of the distribution square.

I locked the gates and we ran away from them as fast as we could, down slippery streets and across rain-soaked roads, until we collapsed out of breath with laughter on the wet, cold grass of the Victoria Tower Gardens, near my sellin' spot; I swear I didn't plan it this time!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N I really hope you enjoyed this first chapter! I’m looking forward to you reading the next ones! Please like and roblog. Have a perfect day!

[hanculs-blog]

♔‘ﾟ‣ { TASK 001 } — ❝ haneul’s profile ❞

                                 I’m not too gone to be                                                           healed, am I ?                                        I’m not                                                       too gone                                                                             am i ?

tw: mention of alcohol, death & murder.

GENERAL INFO

full name: park haneul nicknames: hani, han, oney gender & pronouns: cis-female, she/her sexual & romantic orientation: heterosexual and heteroromantic age & dob: 22, 1996/07/15 birthplace: daegu parent & siblings: park jongin (father), kang gahyeon (mother) & park hanjun, (older brother, deceased) pets: dal (mixed samoyed dog) & bam (stray cat) astrological sign: cancer dominant hand: left handwriting style: a bit unreadable, almost kind of cursive, not terrible. languages known: native korean, medium english & basic japanese. religion: agnostic atheist current living arrangements: her brother’s apartment. it has one room, one bathroom, a small kitchen, a nice living room and a small balcony; it still looks almost the same way he left it. not on the best area but could be worse. certainty an improvement from her old shared apartment. occupation: dancer, occasional bartender, influencer

PHYSICAL

picture reference: click blood type: O nationality: korean skin tone: light birthmarks & scars: a very distinguishing beauty spot on her nose, probably some small scars here and there. height: 1.66 m build: slender, athletic, kind of petite. hair color: naturally medium brown, sometimes tinted black or light brown. hair length: usually long. eye color: dark brown, sometimes wears colored lenses. diet: very diverse, sometimes a bit meat-heavy, she really enjoys food and actually doesn’t restrict her eating that much. exercise & level of fitness: compensates her lack of a strict diet with exercise. visits regularly the gym and, of course, as a dancer, goes to long practice routines that could count as a full work out. how’s their posture?: quite a good posture due to her dancing background, mostly straight and proper but not stuck up, a bit relaxed. may slouch veeery occasionally. typical style of dress: red and black are her go-to colors. there’s almost always some leather, her jacket, or her skirt, or her shoes. sexy with a bit of glam. tends to show a bit of skin but not too much actually. skinny jeans and a crop-top, a high waist skirt with a silk blouse. and, although not dress-related, really enjoys glittery eye make-up and red lips. body modifications: multiple ear piercings (one on the left lobe and two left helixes, three on the right lobe and one right helix) and some small tattoos (yet to be described).

MANNERISMS

how does your muse walk?: like the dancer she is, there’s a natural cadence in the way she moves and a lot of confidence. how does your muse talk?: kind of smooth and mellowly but not overtly sweet, controlled one could say. the speed varies with her emotions or intentions a lot. it can become harsh and cutting very easily though. hat accent does your muse talk with?: usually in the typical daegu satoori with lots of slang very much associated to the peripheral poor neighborhoods, basically you can tell where she’s from in one or two sentences. but she can switch to a more neutral tone since she sometimes works directly with the public. how would you describe the tone of their voice? are they loud or quiet?: it’s actually kinda deep for a girl, at least definitely not high pitched. not loud but neither quiet, she basically can get herself listen. what does their laugh sound like?: she actually has a silent laughter, almost no sound coming out of her mouth, but if she’s laughing very very heavily then she can be quite loud. how does your muse typically smell?: there’s almost no occasion she won’t use at least a bit of perfume before going out, but she doesn’t go for strong ones and prefers light refreshing scents. what kind of air do they carry?: like she already owns your soul. do they have any catchphrases?: probably some curses. what are their nervous ticks?: movement, that being her fingers tapping the table or playing with her hair, pacing, swinging her feet. basically it’s difficult for her to get completely still.

PSYCHOLOGY

what makes your muse happiest?: doing what she loves, enjoying herself with engaging people, being with her brother, spending time with @myvngok​, exercising, causing mayhem in the streets. what upsets them the most?: judgmental people mostly, feeling caged, being out of control, people badmouthing those she cares about. does your muse have any quirks?: she flirts as she speaks. what are their hobbies? how frequent do they do them?: dancing, clubbing/partying, going out with people, drinking, cooking (not the best cook but she has fun), watching horror or crappy comedic movies. she does them when she pleases. do they have any guilty pleasures?: perhaps kpop, she’s very into it, even obscure survival & variety shows. but she doesn’t consider it an actually guilty pleasure. is your muse an extrovert or an introvert? neither?: socially extroverted, emotionally introverted. do they have high or low self-esteem? what about confidence?: at first instance, she has very high confidence but more than anything it’s an attitude. she tells herself she’s great and is sure of everything hoping it’d come true. are they easily stressed and how do they normally respond to it?: usually not, she’s very laid-back and chill for most of the time. but certain very specific situations, when they get out of her control, can stress her very much and completely freak her out. she doesn’t externalize that panic, though, instead goes deep into her thoughts, where for sure everything will mess her up even more and produce a big emotional outburst. what is your muses worst fear?: loneliness & lack of love. what is your muses biggest dream?: safety, she want’s to feel safe and loved and cherished and at ease with herself and the world. is your muse a morning person or a night dragon?: for sure a night dragon, almost the majority of her daily activities occur at night or late in the day. how intelligent is your muse? do they acknowledge it?: average? she’s not the brightest bulb out there but for sure she’s neither stupid. she doesn’t have the greatest academic knowledge but is well versed in practical stuff and street-wits. describe their sense of humor: ironic, witty, deadpan snarker.

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES

are they currently in any sexual or romantic relationships?: yes to the first, no to the second. what is their experience with relationships?: complicated, troubled, turbulent. how does your muse view the idea of friends with benefits? have they ever had one?: amazing concept, and yes she has had more than one. how important is sex to your muse?: very important. what are their biggest turn on and turn offs?: that would require a whole questionnaire itself. let’s just say there are plenty things she’ll go with and that she’s quite experimental, but if we had to point some, that be: praising, dirty-talk & teasing. she also has some deal-breakers, for example, she’s not into daddy-kinks or derogatory language. does your muse find it easy to make friends?: it’s easy for her to make friends since she has a very entrancing personality, but usually “friends” are simply people she enjoys spending some time together and that’s all. close friends, those she confides with, are more difficult to make. how important is friendship to them?: good/close friends are very important but she may not show it that much. quantity or quality of friends?: quality for sure. how important is family?: more important that what it may seem at first sight. hanjun was literally the most important person in her life. and she does care a lot about her mother, even though she gets on her nerves constantly and usually doesn’t shows it. are they close to their family?: see above for her relationship with her brother and her mother, hanjun was the closest person in haneul’s life up until his death. as for her father, he left them when she was six and there’s been no contact between them. she has little memory of the man besides him cursing at her mother.

FAVORITES

activity: sex dancing. animal: cat. beverage: alcohol, coffee. color: red & black. designer: @arxum​ ? she’s really not much into designer clothes since she can’t barely afford them. food: pork meat. flower: rose. gem: red quartz, black opal & bloodstone. holiday: doesn’t care, just give her free days. mode of transportation: her motorcycle, there’s also her brother’s car but she never uses it. quote: keep going forward. scenery: the city at night, silent, with its lights vibrating, far away echoes of music and a clear sky. scent: coffee, fire, wood, cleanness & vanille. weather: stormy or cloudy.

ATTITUDES

greatest dream: get an actual real serious job as a dancer, establish herself as a person, find her path, have a family one day. greatest fear: loneliness & failure. most at ease when: dancing or wandering the street with nice company. least as ease when: she’s alone with her thoughts, in a hospital or out of control of a situation. worst possible thing that could happen: any other person she cares dying or getting very ill probably, or getting an injury that would affect her mobility drastically. biggest achievement: being still alive and kicking and functional? i mean i guess we could discuss the functional part but, still, that’s an achievement if you consider the circumstances. biggest regret: she tends to not have any regrets because she can’t change the past or undo what’s been done (but one of the things that haunts her the most is not having been able to do some stuff with her brother...). most embarrassing moment: embarrassment is for babies. biggest secret: she desperately wants to be loved and also is a bit (lot) scared about finding who killed her brother and having to face that truth. top priorities: finding her brother’s murderer? :D

[archetype-online-blog]

Crash Course in Dialogue, Part I

Writers tend to stress a character’s actions as the most important way to show who they are, but creating effective, interesting dialogue is just as important to a great story. Good dialogue can illustrate interpersonal relationships, reveal fears characters don’t even know they have, show development, and so much more. At the same time—and maybe more importantly—bad dialogue sticks out like a sore thumb, making readers uncomfortable and unwilling to get invested in your narrative. Your prose might be amazing, but if your characters can’t communicate, it’s going to put people off.

But never fear! Here are a few handy tricks to writing amazing dialogue that will get your characters saying what they mean or misdirecting like a pro, all while drawing your reader successfully into the story.

Creating Unique Voices

When you start writing dialogue, one of the most important things to keep in mind is that your characters should all sound different from one another. Just based on their words alone, a reader should be able to tell whether your character’s personality is bubbly or gloomy, if they feel comfortable with the people around them, if they’re in pain, what kind of education they have, and so much more. You want these factors to be unique for each character, even if they were raised together or come from a similar background.

A great test is to write down only the spoken part of your dialogue, without any speech tags (he said/she said, etc.). Does each character sound distinct? Can you tell whose lines are whose just based on what they say, without the surrounding context clues?

If not, try some of the techniques below. There are so many ways to say the same thing differently—and reveal your characters’ history, personality, and quirks at the same time!

Techniques

Using lots of big words like abysmal, paramount, satiate, ubiquitous, etc.

This can make a character sound more educated, imply a wealthier upbringing, or show the care he puts into communicating. Or, it can make him sound pretentious, and become a trait that annoys your other characters. Just be careful your character doesn’t come off like a weirdo carrying around a thesaurus in their pocket (unless that’s what you’re going for, of course!)

Character 1: His rant was just the shameful rambling of a crazy old man. Character 2: The display was simply the ignominious drivel of a deranged geriatric man.

Using clipped speech—only a few words at a time, monosyllabic answers

Quiet characters, characters who don’t like their companions, characters who are in pain, and characters with something to hide might not want to have long conversations where they bare their soul to others.

Character 1: I really don’t think so. I’m sure I’d remember an intense reaction like that. Character 2: No.

Using terms of endearment or pet names—babe, sweetheart, bro, dude, pal

Depending on how these are used, your character can come across as warm and fuzzy, sarcastic, flirty, or evil and taunting.

Bonus: if your character is angry or distracted, they can leave off the pet names they usually call their friends. This is a good way to reveal to a reader—and other characters—that something fishy is up.

Character 1: Can you toss me that pencil? Character 2: Hey babe, be a sweetie and toss me that pencil? Character 3: Uh, that’s my pencil, pal. Character 4: Toss me that pencil, bro!

Speaking formally versus informally with contractions

Is your character uncomfortable around present company? Are they trying to act extremely professional to prove they’re qualified for their job, or still recovering from a strict, affectionless upbringing? If so, making their speech more formal can help convey what’s going on.

Character 1: Admittedly, I have been wondering much the same thing. I will look into it. Character 2: Yeah, I’ve been wondering that too. I’m gonna check it out.

Swearing

Depending on context, characters who curse can sound meaner, rougher, cooler, more laid-back, and even funnier than the people around them who don’t.

When using curse words, be aware of your audience. If you’re writing for kids or younger teens, you may get some pushback.

Remember that these words are sometimes at their most powerful when they’re not overused. When your sweet character finally snaps and mutters something really strong under her breath, you’ll know she’s at the end of her rope.

Think of Simon finally confronting Martin in the movie Love, Simon—if Leah (who swears all the time in the book’s sequel) told Martin to f*ck off, it wouldn’t have anywhere near the same impact.

And yet, in The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater, Ronan’s glee at swearing is one of the things that sets him apart from the more polite Gansey and Adam.

Try this:

Sit in a public place where people talk—a coffee shop, a food court at the mall, a break at school—and listen to a conversation. Write down what you hear—every little um or ah, pronunciations, pauses, stutters, repetitions. How do words, fillers, and phrases shape the distinct voices of the people you’re listening to?

Using Accents and Dialects

Another great way to make characters sound different is to give them accents or let them speak in dialects. If your character is from the South, he’d have a Southern drawl; if she’s from the India, she’s not going to sound like your classmates from Connecticut. But how can you capture a voice like that without making your writing sloppy or distracting (or exaggerating it into an offensive caricature)? Passages like the following, from Huckleberry Finn, certainly take a lot of concentration to read:

“Oh, Huck, I bust out a-cryin’ en grab her up in my arms, en say, ‘Oh, de po’ little thing! De Lord God Amighty fogive po’ ole Jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogive hisself as long’s he live!’ Oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, Huck, plumb deef en dumb—en I’d ben atreat’n her so!”

A general rule, using features other than phonetic spelling to show how characters speak differently can communicate the same information in a less distracting way:

Diction/word choice: Taylor from New York eats fries for lunch and chips as a snack, but Henry from London eats chips for lunch and crisps from the vending machine during his break at work.

Syntax/word order: Someone whose native language is English will likely say “the brown shoes” or “the white fence,” but if your heroine was born in France and learned English not long ago, she might say “I was wearing my shoes which are brown” or “the fence that is white stands behind the house”

Idioms: Different places have different expressions that mean more than what they look like. While you’d say you’re “buttering someone up,” someone who speaks Spanish might say they’re “stroking his beard.” Research idioms that would be a natural part of your character’s speech—or, make up your own!

Some phonetic spellings and slang, every once in a while, do a great job of signaling a continuing accent: s’pose, ain’t, ya, dahlin’. But if what you’ve written takes any amount of real concentration to decode, it’s going to be annoying, not helpful or cool. In other words, if your main character has a lisp, tharting every thentence like thith ith going to get really fruthtrating, really fatht. An’ writin’ an o’er-exaggera’ed Cockney accen’, owr a loooong Suthen draaaawl, is sure to get on your reader’s nerves as well.

If your protagonist’s baby sister with three lines has a lisp and says, “Thamantha, read me a thtory” or her great-auntie from Georgia bemoans, “Lawdy-me, it shaw is hawt in hea today” once in 300 pages, though, you’re probably good.

If you want an example of dialects and pronunciation done really well, check out the Chaos Walking series by Patrick Ness. Protagonist Todd Hewitt grew up in a primitive settlement and can’t read—while always completely understandable, he does say “ain’t” all the time, and occasionally throws in misspellings like “creacher” and “recognishun.” The sections narrated by his friend Viola are more grammatically correct, because while Todd was doing farm work, she was attending school. And people Todd meets with even less schooling than him talk like this: “Ah kin give y’all a ride thrus. If ya want.” (But these characters don’t pop up very often, so the style doesn’t become distracting—instead, it highlights the differences between outsiders and the protagonists.)

A note of caution:

Remember that African American Vernacular English, American Sign Language, and other variations/translations of English have their own complex rules. If you aren’t familiar with a dialect you’re writing, don’t just simplify standard English, throw in an extra “be,” or take out some helping verbs. If your character uses one of these, do some extra research to make sure your dialogue is accurate.

Include the Right Kind of Content

So now you’ve decided how your character talks—but what should they say? Here are a few things to avoid: small talk, excessive info dumps, drawn-out background information, and background conversations. (Like most rules of writing, these can and should be broken if you have a good reason, but in general, they can be helpful in moving a story along and keeping it interesting.)

Instead of the characters taking up valuable space and audience attention on pleasantries, focus on the real meat of the conversation. Alfred Hitchcock once said something to the effect of, “Drama is real life with all the boring parts cut out.” Which would you want to read about? A character describing her brunch of thick, fluffy pancakes to her mother in mouth-watering detail?* Or the moment she asks her mother for $500—the third time this month—to cover her outrageous credit card debts? As the writer, you have the privilege and responsibility to pick the important moments to pass on to the reader—the ones that are important to the plot later, that develop the characters, that are memorable and exciting. Be kind to them—and yourself—by carefully judging what’s worth everyone’s time.

This then gives you an opportunity to work something else essential into your conversation—conflict. It’s very hard to make a compelling conversation where each character agrees with everything said before them. Just because “yes, and” works for improv, doesn’t mean it’s the best strategy for dialogue in fiction—instead, put your characters against each other. If they have opposing goals, or even slightly different takes on a situation, you’ll be able to flush out both viewpoints and push them to an interesting breaking point much easier than if they simply build on whatever the other says.

It can also be tempting to save long, detailed explanations for dialogue—especially when it comes to worldbuilding in sci-fi or fantasy. If you have a physics professor who’s perfected time travel or an old witch who’s worked out everything about magic, it would be easy to give them a few pages to give the specifics to your clueless protagonist. But unless you can’t get your story to work any other way, try not to do this—long descriptions tend to end up pretty boring, and hard to follow and remember. Instead, let your reader pick up fewer details at a time from different people, or see how things work for themselves. In the first Harry Potter, Hagrid doesn’t explain everything about being a wizard to Harry—readers get to experience the many magical details firsthand through Harry’s eyes in Diagon Alley, and then later at Hogwarts.

*Note: If your character is a cook and criticizes the pancakes because he could obviously do better, or if she grew up in poverty and is promising her mother she’ll move back home and take her to brunch every morning once she gets one more paycheck, this is obviously fine. So is her describing how great she thought the pancakes were if it turns out they were actually poisoned, and next thing she knows she’s waking up from a 10-year coma. And so on... Find exciting exceptions!

Try this:

Listen to a scene from your favorite movie and think about what’s included and what’s not. Do both characters greet each other and ask how the other has been, or do they jump right into the deal they need to make? Does one character agree with everything the other says, or do they disagree frequently?

Have more questions about writing dialogue? Leave us comments for Part II, coming soon!

[skullgruntdana]

Trainer Dana’s Bio

Art done by Pokemohn

Name: Adanais “Dana” Estrella María Sanchez

Pronunciation: Ah-day-nas Ehs-treh-ya Ma-Ree-Ah Sahn-chez

Birthday: July 19 (9 yrs) 

Height: 3’5”

Occupation: Child Pageant Star (formerly), Team Skull Grunt (Currently)

Family: Elise (mother), Rick (father), Diana (twin sister), Finn (brother)

Ethnicity: Hispanic, Japanese, and English. 

Face Claim: Yotsuba from Yotsuba&! (manga) 

Voice Claim: Ponyo 

Status: Primary Virus

Race: Human

On Elise’s side of the family:

On Rick’s side of the family:

Background: Dana was born to Elise and Rick Sanchez in the Kanto Region. The family lived in the Kanto Region until Dana was three years old. Previously, Dana’s parents had worked for Team Rocket but they were fired before Dana was born. As soon as Dana was born, Rick began doing DNA experiments on her in an attempt to get back in Team Rocket. While he successfully gave Dana her electrokinesis, he did not gain the fame he sought. Instead, he was ridiculed in the Kantonian science community, which caused him further distress. Rick was unable to get another job, and the family was forced to flee to the Hoenn region. The couple did not have enough money to support themselves after arriving in the Hoenn region, which forced them to work odd jobs until Dana was six. Rick and Elise decided to move to Lilycove, and apply to Team Magma when Rick got laid off his sales clerk job in Rustboro City. Until then, Dana did not have a lot of contact with other children and therefore did not have a lot of friends. She was further isolated when living in the Lilycove Hotel while her parents worked. Unknown to her parents, Dana often went off on her own to the Pokemon Safari, where she met a Drifloon. This particular Pokemon often stole children away, and it dragged Dana to the Alola region where she found Mimikyu, Tirtouga, and Drifblim. While in Alola, Dana made many friends and started to hang around Team Skull. 

Over time, Elise and Rick’s relationship began to worsen the more Rick drank, and Elise finally divorced him after a bitter and violent argument about Dana. Elise took him to court and won full custody of Dana after which she quit her job at Team Magma and moved with Dana to the Alola Region. Elise re-established contact with her parents and they gave her back her inheritance which she lost after marrying Rick. Dana now lives in a nice house overlooking the sea on Akala Island. Dana still goes and visits Team Skull in Po Town and her friends in Aether at the Aether Paradise. 

Update: After transfering to the Galar region, Dana was endorsed by Bede and completed the first four gyms, but she lost against Bede. She plans to rematch him. 

Family Information: Rick’s grandfather Keitaro has a dance house dojo in Ecruteak City that is run by Rick’s aunt Masako. Takako, his cousin, is unable to take the next position to be dance master, so Dana is next in line to be one.

Appearance: Dana has brown hair and pupil-less blue eyes. Her dress is handmade and purple in the style of Drifloon. There is a yellow X stitched onto the front along with two black circles. Her most iconic accessory is her Drifloon headband, which she never removes. Dana wears black church shoes.  

Hobbies: Collecting rocks, making friends, and annoying Team Skull.

Gaming Systems:  Wii, 3Ds, Game Boy, Game Boy SP, Nintendo DS, Xbox, Playstation, and Playstation Two.

Personality: Dana is a very outgoing child who enjoys making friends. Because of her Asperger's Syndrome, she has a very hard time responding appropriately to social situations. At times she can get hostile, but only when she thinks she is in danger. Another one of her oddities is how she refuses to take off her headband. Dana hates the way her head feels without and gets very upset when it is taken from her. Dana is very impulsive and does not think before she acts, unlike Batty who is very careful about everything she does. Being indecisive and impatient, Dana often jumps into situations she can't easily back out of, which makes it very hard for her to make the right decisions. People usually have to fix things for her as she is incapable of solving her own mistakes. Dana can also be very vulgar mouthed as she thinks it is cool to go around swearing, much to the dismay of the adults around her. Though Dana uses slang, she knows how to talk normally and only does so when she is serious. Aside from her selfish behavior when to comes to sharing toys, Dana is a very good, loyal, and cherished friend who you can rely on in times of need. Dana is also lively, open, easygoing, and lovely to speak to. Dana always has engaging conversations, though can sometimes stray from topic to topic with her own reasoning if something reminds her of something else.  Dana is easy to annoy, irritable, surreal, odd, bizarre, and prone to flights of fancy. Sometimes she loses concentration because she is too busy daydreaming. Dana is a very blunt person who does not sugar coat things, but it really depends on the person when it comes to her responses. Despite always being sarcastic, Dana does not understand sarcasm well and it often goes over her head, taking things literally to the point of causing her and the speaker to become confused. Being patient is something Dana struggles with as she expects things to happen when she wants them to happen. Dana is often annoyed when she has to wait for things. Like most children, Dana believes everybody should be a mind reader: knowing what she wants or needs at all times when she needs/wants them. Dana often gets annoyed when nobody picks up on her wants or needs. Despite her selfish demeanor, she puts her friends first and enjoys helping them, though there are times where Dana wants others to cater to her wants and needs. Dana is very vocal when she does not get her way, and often says “i want this” or “i want that.” Dana does not struggle when it comes to her wants and needs, though, as stated above, she believes everybody should know what she wants or needs at all times. As said previously, Dana is very vocal and this is also true when it comes to her thoughts, which she cannot keep to herself. Dana often talks about how she thinks about certain things, not caring if the other person does not want to listen/ does not care about that particular topic. Often volatile, Dana is unpredictable and often does things on a whim, much to the annoyance of adults who can’t follow her sudden changes in demeanor or actions. Dana also: takes things personally, is adventurous, and a thrill seeker.  

Interests: her casio, classical piano music, rap/hiphop, her headband, Drifloon, cheesecake, strawberries, metal/punk, rocks, cotton candy/bubblegum ice cream, tea parties and tea, mud, her squirt gun, grape soda, anime, double chocolate chip cookies, chocolate milk, 

Dislikes: Spearow, Fearow, Murkrows, taking her headband off, the police, large bodies of water, 

Headcanons: Dana is right handed, Dana can whistle but she can’t snap her fingers, she can’t swim, Dana almost drowned when she was younger, Dana has been to Juvie for a week for theft, Dana was bullied at school so her mother took her out, Dana listens to Usher and N.W.A, Dana is good at Dance Dance Revolution. Dana sucks on her hand, which is a bad habit. 

Gaming Consoles she owns: Wii, 3Ds, Game Boy, Game Boy SP, Nintendo DS, Xbox, Playstation, and Playstation Two. But I need a Game Cube.

phone: one: DOCOMO FUJITSU F-03D GIRLS POPTEEN (smart phone) 

DoCoMo SH-11C

(Flip phone)(purple) 

LG Cyon Lollipop 2 Phone (pink)

Instruments: pianos: Casio Privia PX-870 and a Pink Casio SK-1

9Songs she can play: Dream On by Aerosmith, Fur Elise by Beethoven, learning the Turkish March by Mozart, House of the Rising Sun by the Animals, Bohemian Rhapsody, 

[briberrioswriter2020]

The Struggle of the Transnationalist

Following the industrial revolution and with the consistently more accessible international transportation, globalization has been rapidly increasing in the last century. Though globalization also happens through access to information via better forms of communication, globalization also occurs through the physical vessel of the transnationalist. Though globalization also includes the transmission of products and information, the transnationalist allows one to observe cultural globalization, which includes ideas, values and language. In the texts Drown and The Jade Peony as well as the film A Better Life, one can observe the figure of the transnationalist and the negative and positive aspects that come with them. Through the lens of the transnationalist, one can see the effects of cultural mixing.  

The transnationalist is created through cultural mixing itself, and has an identity that is neither stable nor specific; they may be attached to no place or to many places. As the transnationalist struggles with their identity, they may find themself becoming a mixture of the multiple cultures that have had an  influence on their life; when the transnationalist knowingly mixes their two or more cultures, this is called hybridization. The transnationalist is often also either a multilingualist or a speaker of a mixed language. Drown, which is written in the perspective of a transnationalist, is an example of the multilingualism or the mixed language of the transnationalist; Junot Diaz frequently interjects the English text with slang words and profanity in Spanish. In “Postborder Cities, Postborder World” Dear and Lucero discuss the phenomena of “code-switching,” explaining, “Perhaps the most important case of hybridity is the case of the rise of 'Spanglish', a mongrel language somewhere between English and Spanish...a 'code-switching' in which words and phrases from one language are dropped into sentences of another language.” (Dear and Lucero 135) Spanglish is not the only example of a hybrid language; in The Jade Peony, many of the characters speak 'Chingrish', a mongrel language somewhere between Chinese and English. Often, the reader is unsure as to whether the characters are speaking Chinese or English, and Wayson Choy drops Chinese words into the text in between English words. The youngest brother of the story, Sekky, explains that he “never possessed enough details in either language to understand how our family, how the countless cousins, in-laws, aunts and uncles, came to be related.” (Choy 150) Instead of being multilingual, Sekky is monolingual in an unofficial mixed language, and needs to learn parts of two languages to be understood. Language, however, is only one part of being a transnationalist, and each of the characters in the texts and the film bring forth their own definition of transnationalist.

In Drown, Yunior is a transnationalist in more than just his ability to speak multiple languages. He is a physical vessel of globalization, and through him, ideas and values are transmitted transnationally. For example, Yunior is also a transnationalist because he is transmitting his taste for Dominican food from Dominican Republic to the United States. Without the influence of Hispanic culture like that of Yunior and his family, the United States would not know of pastales. Yunior also transmits his family values to the United States, despite the fact that they may not be exclusively Dominican. For example, he seems to inherit his promiscuity from his father. Yunior is promiscuous because it is expected that Dominican boys are to be promiscuous; his uncle even tells him, “Back in Santo Domingo, he'd be getting laid by now.” (Diaz 30)  Futhering this spread of cultural values, Diaz dedicates an entire chapter to Yunior explaing “How to Date a Whitegirl, Browngirl or Halfie.” Finally, Yunior brings his idea of beauty to the United States. In the second chapter, he explains that his mom looked nice because “The United States had finally put some meat on her.” (Diaz 23) Despite the fact that Yunior's family values may not be good values, he spreads them to the United States, and they affect other people.

Almost all characters in The Jade Peony have a transnational identity. Grandmother, for example, brings several different Chinese dialects to the Canada, and with that, brings the idea that she can “eloquently praise someone in one dialect, and ruthlessly insult them in another.” (Choy 8) Dialects of this complexity are an entirely new idea in Canada, where for the most part, the only dialect spoken in Canadian English. Grandmother also brings a wealth of stories, which are passed on through her grandchildren. Stories are an important value to the Chinese, as Jung expresses when he explains, “I believed in ghosts, like everyone else in Chinatown.” (Choy 79) Also, much to the confusion of her grandchildren, she brings the ideas of familial relations and power statuses that do not exist in English. These ideas are only translatable through the transnationalists, and their complexity is explained by Liang and Sekky. Finally, the characters in The Jade Peony provide Chinese ideals of beauty to Canada. Liang mentions that she sucks in her cheeks to lengthen her face look like an actress that Stepmother mentioned. Grandmother tells the children about foot-binding, and how she was deemed to ugly to have her feet bound; her ugliness was related to her coarse hair and cheekbones, which shows that these features are of value to the Chinese. By bringing their ideas of language and dialect, their stories, and their value of beauty to Canada, the characters of The Jade Peony are undeniably transnationalist.

A Better Life gives a close look at a transnationalist father, and his possibly transnationalist son. In the film, Carlos is born in Mexico, but his son Luis is not, and Luis seems to identify strongly with American culture, possibly implying that he is assimilated. Nonetheless, Carlos is brings his Mexican values to the United States, and is certainly a figure in cultural globalization. Most notably, Carlos values hard work, as is seen through his laborious job as a landscaper. Secondly, and in conjunction, he values family. All of his hard work is an attempt to give his son a better life, and later in the film, he even risks his life to get back to his son. He also is shown to have a close relationship with his sister. While “family” is certainly not a value unique to Mexico, the importance of family can be seen throughout the Chicano community in the film. All of Luis's friends seem to be very close to their families, and the gang culture in the area expresses the importance of family even more; not so much biological family, but cultural family.  

Cultural mixing creates tensions for the transnationalists in several ways, first because sometimes cultures inherently wish to remain separate. The cultures refuse to assimilate, and instead create ethnic enclaves which are exclusive to one cultural group. In The Jade Peony, the three children live in Vancouver's Chinatown, and are exposed to several different dialects of Chinese, implying that one could not get by here if they spoke only English. The children also all attend Chinese school, which means that their peers are most likely all Chinese or Chinese-Canadian children as well. While having these exclusive ethnic enclaves may slow cultural mixing, they also promote immigration because Chinese immigrants already have a community where they can be accepted. Also, while it did not seem like any white people lived in Chinatown, they certainly still came to Chinatown; in The Jade Peony, Jung invites his friend from English school to see his turtle. In A BetterLife, one can also observe ethnic enclaves attempting to keep exclusive. The area where Carlos and Luis lived was ridden with gangs, specifically a Chicano gang which appears to have serious power in the neighborhood; at one point in the film, Luis does not want to go to an area because it is the territory of another gang. There are also images of the neighborhood with show the overabundance of Mexican laborers who has to be driven out of the community to white neighborhoods to find work as landscapers. In A Better Life, the boundary between neighborhoods works differently from Chinatown in The Jade Peony. Rather than creating a community to maintain their culture, the Chicano community is more likely kept out of the white neighborhoods; this type of discrimination will be discussed later in this paper.

Cultures often want to remain separate not because they do not want to spread their values and ideas, but because they fear having their culture taken away from them. As Mamdani is quoted in “When Does a Settler Become a Native?” cultures have this fear because “Settlers are made by conquest, not just immigration.” In the case of the characters in the texts and the film, this quote is backwards; while the characters were the settlers and immigrants, they still have to fear conquest because as the minority group, they are at risk for oppression. At the same time, Mamdani's quote could be interpreted to hold true for the characters; Chinatown is a sort of conquest of part of Vancouver, and Yunior expresses his masculinity through his sexual conquest, where he dates girls of every race and therefore spreads his Dominican influence across many cultures in the United States. In A Better Life, it is clear that the gang has the power in the neighborhood, and their influence is probably what keeps the community primarily Chicano. On the other hand, this “us versus them” complex can be an oppressive force that discriminates against the minority.

An unfortunate side-effect of cultural mixing is racism and racial profiling, which is seen most clearly in A Better Life and Drown. Racial profiling is “the use of race or ethnicity as grounds for suspecting someone of having committed an offense.” When Luis gets into a fight in school, he is taken to police station and asked to remove his shirt so that they can take pictures of his gang tattoos. Though he repeatedly tells the police officer that he is not affiliated with any gang, he is asked to remove his shirt anyway, and exclaims something about “Why you gotta make every Chicano kid out here...” before being silenced. Luis is certain that the white police officer is targeting him because of his race, a claim which is probably very true. Later, when Luis tells his friend that he has been suspended, his friend explains, “All they know how to do is lock us out or lock us up,” “they” referring to the white majority and “us” referring to the Chicano community. In Drown, Yunior attempts to get into a house to deliver a pool table. However, he and his partner are reported to their boss as looking “suspicious” by the customer, who claims he was scared to open the door. It is implied in the story that Yunior only looks suspicious to the white customer because he is Dominican. While Yunior and Luis are both fairly assimilated to American culture at this point in their lives, they are marked as criminal because of their skin color.  

Discrimination against the minority also includes a below par education, which is seen in all three books. In The Jade Peony, the family of the three children does not think the children will receive a sufficient education in English school, and forces them to go to Chinese school as well. While the education in English school may not have been bad, the Chinese family wished for the children to learn Chinese culture and language as well, something which would be lacking in a normal Canadian school. A better example of minority status leading to a poor education is found in A Better Life, as Carlos repeatedly insists that he needs to “get [Luis] out of that school.” The school that Luis attends is infiltrated with gang violence, and also corrupted by those in positions of power, who discriminate against all Chicano students because it is primarily Chicanos who are involved in the gang. Luis does not seem to be doing well in school, and frequently skips, and though Carlos is upset by this and insists Luis goes to school, he is also understanding because he knows Luis is trapped in a poor education system.  

Finally, this discrimination leads to poverty, a cycle which is increasingly difficult to break in today's world. Often, immigrants come to the United States or Canada with no money, hoping to fulfill the American Dream, which tells them that if they work hard, they will be successful. Unfortunately, the rise of capitalism that occurred in the last century has made the American Dream less attainable, and instead has caused an income disparity that keeps the lower-class poor. In The Jade Peony, the family does not seem very poor because there is very little discussion of money in the story. However, in “Second Brother,” Jung explains that his nice coat is actually the tattered hand-me-down of a family friend, a coat in such bad condition that not even the man who gave it to him's son wanted it. In “Third Brother,” Sekky refers to the parents of himself and his classmates as “poverty-raised.” Because he is in a class entirely made up of the children of immigrants, there is a notable correlation between poverty and transnationalists. In Drown, the connection between “immigrant” and “poor” is even stronger. The story begins by explaining that Yunior and his brother Rafa are sent away every summer because their mother works too much to take care of them; the place they are sent is impoverish, lacking television or electricity. After this introduction that shows Yunior comes from a poor family, the story goes on to show Yunior remain poor for the rest of his life. At times, he resorts to selling drugs for money, and when he is working a job delivering pool tables, he notes that he will never have enough money to buy a pool table of his own. Because he is Dominican, jobs like delivering pool tables are the only jobs he can get, and his family has not provided him with skills to work elsewhere. In fact, the fact that he sells drugs is probably influenced by his family. Finally, Carlos and Luis deal with poverty as a result of being immigrants as well. Their poverty is shown in the first scene, when it is revealed that they only have one bed, and Carlos sleeps on the couch. Carlos is undocumented, so he can only work under-the-table jobs such as landscaping, and will never make enough money to rise out of poverty. He attempts to break the cycle of poverty by purchasing a truck and becoming his own boss, but is unsuccessful, once again, because he is undocumented. Because of the discrimination against immigrants, transnationalists are often forced into these situations of poverty that they cannot break.  

Finally, there is the discrimination against ones own culture that comes with transnationalism. In an attempt to make one's own culture look better to others, people often discriminate against those within their culture, as a way of denying deviants membership. This sets up another “us versus them” dynamic, where people divide into groups, set rules of exclusivity to the group, and attack anyone who is not part of the group. In Drown,, there is an example of this happening, when Yunior and Rafa physically attack Ysrael for his deformity. Even though he was just a young Dominican boy like them, Rafa did not want to associate Ysrael with himself; Ysrael was something different, a deviant that must be punished. In The Jade Peony, Grandmother and Stepmother are often very rude to the children, claiming that they are not Chinese enough and forcing them to attend Chinese school. This is part of the dynamic as well; the children deviate from Chinese culture, so they deserve the harsh insults of Grandmother and Stepmother.  

Another negative affect of cultural mixing that can be seen in all three stories is illegal immigration, which is only a negative affect because of the laws in place that are against it. If people were allows to immigrate freely, the struggles that the characters face from illegal immigration would be nonexistent. “Postborder Cities, Postborder World” discusses illegal immigration, explaining, “No one knows how many illegal immigrants are coming to the United States to stay permanently. Official estimates put the figure around 350,000 people per year, but anywhere between 400,000 and 500,000 seems more probable.” (Dear and Lucero136) Illegal immigration comes in multiple forms, whether through convenience marriages, such as those in Drown and The Jade Peony, or through literally running across a border, such as in A Better Life.

When Stepmother is introduced in the first pages of The Jade Peony, she is not portrayed as a member of the family. Rather, she is referred to as a concubine that later became a wife to the father of the family, despite the fact that she is the mother of two of the children. Grandmother tells everyone to call her “Stepmother” because she is not the first wife, which is especially degrading because even her own children refer to her as such. Stepmother was raised in poverty, and is “a dozen years younger” than her husband, but because she is not allowed to simply immigrate to Canada, she is forced to marry. Though Stepmother seems fairly satisfied with her life in Canada, being forced to marry to immigrate is still a negative affect of cultural mixing. In Drown, there is a similar situation; Yunior's father marries a woman in the United States, despite already being married in Dominican Republic, so that he can acquire a green card. This situation was horrible for both the woman and Yunior's mother, as the father ended up leaving the woman anyway. Convenience marriages for the sake of immigration can have a negative affect on both the immigrant and their convenient new spouse.

Immigration is a central theme of A Better Life. At the time of the film, Carlos has already crossed the border illegally from Mexico to the United States once. Because of this, Carlos cannot work a real job, and cannot make much money. When Luis is in the police station, he cannot allow the police office to call his father, for his father's safety. While he is in the United States, he has to be very careful not to be caught by immigration officials, otherwise he will get deported. The film concludes with Carlos, having been deported back to Mexico, attempting to cross the border again with a 'coyote'. In crossing the border again, Carlos is risking his freedom and his life, and the message of the film is that  immigration laws tear families apart.  

Often, the transnationalist has a difficult family life as a result of cultural mixing. When a child has a different cultural identity than their parents, they behave differently, and this can cause tension between families. In The Jade Peony, the children are frequently insulted by Grandmother, called lazy and stupid. In Canada, this type of behavior seems almost emotionally abusive, but it seems to be acceptable in China. In Drown, this tension between the differing values of parent and child is most poignant, as Yunior faces abuse from his father for not doing things the way his father wants; Yunior specifically says, “It was like my God-given duty to piss him off, to do everything the way he hated.” (Diaz 26) Of course, Yunior is not getting beaten by his father on purpose, and it seems that his father cannot stand the fact that Yunior gets sick from car rides is because he is a boy and getting sick shows his weakness. One wonders whether his father would have beat him so much if he were a girl. Futhermore, Yunior is pressured into having sex at a young age; he explains that his brother is twelve when he starts having sex with girls in Dominican Republic, and Yunior's uncle tells him that even though he is young, he should be getting laid already. These pressures probably had a significant affect on Yunior's psyche, and turned him into the promiscuous person that he is. The situation is switched in A Better Life on the other hand, where Luis has issues with his father for not understanding the culture of southern California. Having grown up surrounded by gang violence, Luis is tough and when his father attempts to pay a man for a stolen phone, Luis stops him. Later, Luis thinks that his father is weak for letting the man who stole the truck get away, and is so angry at Carlos that he runs away to his friend's house. Cultural mixing can create family tension in both directions, either from the parent imposing the old culture on the child, or from the child imposing the new culture on the parent.

Finally, the transnationalist also suffers because they do not feel as if they fit in anywhere. In A Better Life, Luis struggles with the decision to join a gang. Initially, he does not agree with Carlos's Mexican values of family, hard work, and education, and he does not want to assimilate into American culture because the people around him discriminate against him so much. In his need to belong, he almost turns to a gang, because he is facing the common struggle of isolation of the transnationalist. Sekky feels this need to belong as well, when he asks Stepmother “Am I Chinese or Canadian?” Stepmother immediately responds that he is Chinese, but his father tells him that he is Canadian as well. Of course, this does very little to help Sekky understand his identity. Overall, the struggle of the transnationalist is a very real one, but the transnationalist is an important part of globalization.  

Though it seems that there are only negatives that come out of being a transnationalist, the transnationalist identity does have some positive affects. The transnationalist is the bridge between two cultures. Because they are often multilingual, the transnationalist can understand and communicate ideas between two or more cultures. They are an incredibly important figure in the grand scheme of globalization because it is they who are the physical vessel for spreading ideas. In an interview, Junot Diaz talks about how his character of Yunior is supposed to be “two places at once” because of how casually Diaz switches the setting from the Dominican Republic to New Jersey. In a way, all transnationalists are two places at once, because they are simultaneously two cultures.

There is little we can do to ease the transition for the transnationalist without a complete assimilation of all cultures. Of course, a complete assimilation of cultures, a true 'melting pot', is not beneficial to globalization. If all cultures completely assimilated, there would be no diversity, which would be bad because a diversity of cultures means a diverse way of thinking, which leads to further development of humanity. Globalization is a good thing, as long as globalization keeps diversity in mind. What we can do is stop discriminating against the transnationalist for being a transnationalist. Ongoing battles of racism and immigration are continuously fighting to make the life of the transnationalist easier. If we continue the fight against oppression, some of the negative affects that the transnationalist faces can disappear.